True Crime Confessions

Note: Jan is anything but a mystery guest but we had a little trouble setting up this column so her name doesn't appear in the usual spot.  Our apologies.  — Robert Lopresti 

 

TRUE CRIME CONFESSIONS

by Jan Grape

 As a crime writer have you ever committed a crime? You don't have to admit to any of these  minor...surely misdemeanor things.

Stealing as a kid? Candy, gum, baseball card? Lipstick. Prizes from a Cracker Jacks box. Yes, kids, there used to be prizes. Even money, up to a quarter, I think. I don't remember ever getting more than a nickel and maybe only two of those. I never pryed open a box but I shook at least fifty or so. Trying to guess if any box rattled like a quarter. 

As a teen-ager did you ever steal a car? Tires, money? Ever get caught? I didn't really steal a deputy's car, one evening about twilight time, but he left it running with the keys in it. I think I drove it around the courthouse square. Around the block in case you've never seen a small county courthouse square. What was I doing at the courthouse on an early spring evening? I have no memory of that.

As an adult? Have you ever swiped ashtrays, towels, blankets, pillows or one of those soft, fluffy robes  from a hotel? Or silverware? Or shot glasses from a bar or restaurant?

Have you done any crimes more serious?? Like maybe a DUI? You don't have to answer that either.

Did you ever write about or fictionalize your experience as a Juvenile? Or committing a felony? 

I know most if us have never committed a serious crime but we write about it often. Especially murder. Was it a joke that the heroine of Murder She Wrote was really a murderer because she always stumbled over a body?

If you've never done a crime then how do you research so confidently to write about a kidnapping, a bank heist, or a car bombing?  Do you talk to Police officers? FBI or CIA agents?

This looks huge and it's not.
See next photo for reference.

I once called the Security Chief at Dallas/Fort Worth Airport to ask if an idea I had for a story  was feasible. After I explained that I was a mystery writer he listened to my idea. 

Which was: Could a person flying from Los Angeles, eat dinner and slip the metal knife in the chair back pocket and the hostess who picked up trays didn't notice the missing knife. The bad guy retrieves the knife, goes to lavatory & sharpens the knife point and puts it in his pocket. The plane lands at Dallas/Fort Worth airport for say 30 minutes, half the passengers including our bad guy, stay on as it's a continuing flight to Miami. The passengers who stay onboard are not rescreened and it takes off again. So before the plane gets to Miami, the bad guy stabs another guy to death in the lavatory. The Security guy told me it was feasible but not very likely.

But I had already slipped a steel plated knife into my purse on such a flight. I got away with it. I think I wrote a story like that which was published but I don't remember what anthology where it was published. Have no memory of which one. I'm fairly sure the statue of limitations on both of my crimes have run out. I'll plead not-guilty if ever questioned. 

 Airline knife next to
kitchen knife & scissors.

This was back when security was fairly lax & you got meals on long flights and nice metal forks & knives.

If I'm not mistaken I heard recently some guy used a plastic knife which he'd broken & made a shiv which he used to stab a flight attendant. Hope he didn't read my story 40 years ago to get the idea.

The Austin police dept used to have a Citizen's Police Academy program and as a student you attended a 4 hour class one night a week for 10 weeks. Ours were held at the actual police academy location.  I took the training in 1991. Each week a department head would give an hour talk on their department . The training began for citizens interested in becoming a neighborhood watch captain. But I applied as a mystery writer wanting to be as accurate as possible when writing about police work and I was accepted. Programs covered: White Collar Crime, Robbery/Homocide, Burglary, Firearms, Drugs Victim Services.  Firearms Specialist gave a demo of different weapons & Canine dogs went through their routines, both outside. Fingerprinting got us on a school bus & driven downtown to APD headquarters where we were printed and shown  how they read and reported on fingerprints. We were photographed  and saw how ballistics were done. And shown insider views departments at HQ, including homicide & the Top Floor bosses offices. 

Our two final classes were special.  For one each person was shown a scenario on a big screen, where you had to pretend you were an officer who'd received a call out to a crime scene. You also held a computerized gun which you pointed at the screen, not knowing what you might find. You were then to decide if the scene was a "shoot or don't shoot" situation. You had only 3 seconds or so to decide. Mine was a "shoot" at first, but by the time I pulled the trigger I shot the bad guy in the butt, because he stopped pistol whipping a guy,  then turned and was running away, which then made it, a "don't shoot" situation. It had became a pursue, catch and arrest. It had changed before I could see, understand, then decide, to shoot or not. You just how slim the time margin can be as the deciding factor for an officer.

We had a real graduation ceremony with invited guest & the APD Chief gave us diplomas (certificate) and could join the Alumni Association , which I did.

The other final item was to go in a ride-along in patrol car with an officer for a full 8 hour shift if you wanted to and I wanted to. You could chose a busy or  reasonably quieter sector of town which I did. I was paired with a gruff sounding but very nice officer. We only had two or three potentially dangerous calls. Only one was scary but turned nothing happened he had had me stay in the car.

 

I enjoyed the whole program. My late husband, Elmer Grape attended CPA and graduated in 1992 and it ran for several more years that I'm aware of, just not sure if APD does the program anymore. I do know you can no longer go on patrol car ride alongs because of insurance, privacy and such nowadays. Next time I'll clue you in on my exciting days & nights as an APD alumni member and getting to be a bad guy. 

In view of mother's day and to honor my mother, aka PeeWee Pierce, I must mention, my adventure at the corner grocery store when I was about 8 years old. We lived about one block from the corner, think maybe 4 houses in the same sjde of the street. I was given a dollar and also permission to walk to store and buy a candy bar. But I could only buy that one chocolate bar and bring home all my change. Mom emphasized only that one candy bar. But while there & looking at all the goodies I decided I absolutely had to have a package of dentyne gum. Naturally I finally slipped the gum in my pocket. Naturally Mom knew by the way I was acting that I'd done something. And am sure she could see the bulge in my pocket. I didn't get a spanking but I got a "talking to" which was worse than a spanking any day. Then I had to walk back to the store and tell Mr Parish what I had done, return the gum and tell him that I was sorry and that I'd never steal from him again. Boy, did that ever hurt my soul. 

Thank you, Mom for keeping from a life of crime. However, she was always proud of my fictitious lies. She read  enjoyed several of my published short stories and thrilled when I won an Anthony Award in 1998. She passed away only 4 days later and my first book wasn't published until 2000. She had read the almost final draft.  I love and miss you, Mom.

To Mask or not to Mask, that is the Question: Spoiler alert, those who mask may not be criminals.

When the Mayor of New York city asked shoppers to remove their masks, it led to very worrisome conversations with many moving parts that need to be unpacked.

First, Mayor Eric Adams framed mask wearers as likely criminals by saying, “When you see these mask-wearing people, oftentimes it’s not about being fearful of the pandemic,” he said. “It’s fearful of the police catching them for their deeds.”

Second, it prompted many like Fernando Mateo of the United Bodega Workers of America, to weigh in with an assessment of the risks of COVID19 - despite having no expertise to do so - by saying, “COVID is over, let’s take the masks off.”

This conversation is being echoed in Canada as well, as can be seen from this quote by a guy who works in security with no expertise in COVID19, “We are seeing a lot of people who are up to no good keeping masks on, and I’m sure it’s to aid in their ability to do what they want to do.”

Let’s unpack the facts. If COVID19 is still a risk for hospitalizing and killing people, masks would be warranted and this makes the whole argument that only criminals wear masks a moot point. So, let’s start there.

Vaccines have helped reduce the harms of COVID19 but even those who have fully updated bivalent vaccines can still get infected. We are hoping for better vaccines that prevent infection but they are still in the works, so until the time they arrive, masking is crucial if COVID19 is still a risk and, indeed, it is.

In Canada, COVID19 is the second reason for hospitalization and the third cause of death.

So, the narrative that COVID19 is over and there isn’t a need to mask, simply doesn’t fit with the facts. When lives and health are at risk, facts matter.

In his statement, Mayor Adams suggests what he probably considers a compromise, by saying, “We are putting out a clear call to all of our shops: Do not allow people to enter the store without taking off their face mask… And then once they’re inside, they can continue to wear it if they so desire to do so."


This statement also misses the facts by a wide margin. COVID19 is an airborne virus and, in an area where many people removing their masks, the density of the virus would be significant, putting people at risk by breathing in enough virus to get infected.

When calling out inaccurate facts, I’d also like to call out bad takes, because Mayor Adams called people who wear masks as “being fearful of the pandemic.” and this is a call to remove masks and get infected when COVID19 is still a clear and present danger to the population.

There is a hidden bad take in all of this and it warrants some airtime: identifying who might be involved in criminal activity on first glance is fraught with biases. Much has been written about racial biases in policing and this call against masks puts those masking while not white at risk.

An article published in April 2023, presented findings showing that Indigenous, Latino, Pacific Islander and Black Americans all have significantly higher COVID-19 mortality rates than either white or Asian Americans when the data are adjusted to account for age distribution differences among racial and ethnic groups.

So, those more likely to be identified as criminals while wearing masks are also the same groups that are most in need of masking because they are most at risk.

Between inaccurate facts and bad takes, the conversation about masks and criminal activity is problematic. It may well be that criminals are using masks as a way to hide their identity but many are masking to protect themselves against an airborne virus that is still putting people in hospital and killing them. Conflating mask wearing and criminal activity is something I did not expect to be on our Bingo card for 2023, but here we are.

And let’s get personal – because it is for me – If my 6’ 3' mixed race son enters your store masked, do not tackle or taser him. He’s my child, trying to protect his parents – including his father who just had heart surgery – from COVID19.

Mother's Day and Why I Crack Foxy

Perched atop my basement cabinet is a Maltese Falcon. 

Not the Maltese Falcon prop, understand, but it’s the same size as the movie dingus, the same regal pose, same black matte if less dramatically lit. I bought the thing off eBay complete with that needless sort of tack-on certificate that calls authenticity into question. The whole room is a nod to The Maltese Falcon, with replica period furniture and sidelight insets of Spade and Archer-style frosted glass. The reason behind the homage goes back long ago, to the woman who first encouraged me to dream.

My mom. She died in February.

Mom was always drawn to the creative, to art and architecture. She wrote histories of Louisville homes and reveled in garden design wherever she traveled—and over a lifetime she traveled her share. She loved plays, musicals, the orchestra, anything with a story. She read widely and constantly. Biographies were her staple, to feed her curiosity about what people did and what made them tick. Her tastes in fiction leaned toward literary--but only a lean. Mom could talk Poirot or Rumpole or Morse with anybody. Perry Mason was a favorite show, and maybe she had a little thing for Paul Drake.

One weekend, Mom and Dad bundled the whole family into the car and drove us to UofL’s Speed Art Museum. Young Me wasn’t exactly stoked over art museums. I was more of a dinosaur man then. Mom’s lure was that we would catch a movie. A black-and-white classic, she said, which did not boost Young Me’s excitement. Young Me wasn't getting a vote. There was a classic movie festival, and I was going.

To The Maltese Falcon.

I don’t know why Mom picked this particular festival that particular day. It occurs to me now that I never asked. That’s another thing about grief. You keep stumbling on so many half-stories and so many fuzzy memories you want to be remembered. There stays this shape of a loved one where they'd filled your life. I keep thinking it’s time to call her. And I can’t.

But I've long understood why Mom wanted her kids to see classic films. Because they were classics. Mom believed in a way of living. There was the world of family, of practical safeguarding and careful shepherding. Beyond that was the reason we're all here, a big world that we're to seek out. 

Life is a beautiful community, in her view, or at least it should be. People are meant to engage each other, to laugh and enjoy good company. To live well Mom’s way, you had to be up on events, on dance steps, on the classics. You had to be on the scene and conversation ready.

Plus, she liked Bogart. Of course, she did. Even the name is evocative a half-century later. Bogey made any story crackle. Young Me sure thought so watching him match wits with Astor, Lorre, and Greenstreet. That noir patter was corny--in a great way. These people snapped off terrific line after terrific line like champs in pro banter. This was gold, this stuff about black birds and sending up gunsels and birds cracking foxy. And anything could happen in this black-and-white San Francisco. Anything, even a sea captain bursting into Sam's office.

I spent the next weeks letting my imagination revel in Bogey and this character-palooza. Mom could've shut me down, and no doubt wanted to a few times, but she did what she always did. She egged me on. She'd put books in our hands as soon as we could read. When she spotted my storyteller's instinct, she bought me a notebook and asked me to write. 

It's only fitting on Mother's Day to thank her for that and being right about a million other things. This world is huge. Fascinating, and it can even be beautiful on its best days, with the best stories and best teachers to help us through. 

Last night I re-watched The Maltese Falcon for the umpteenth time, this time in her honor. I still think about that darkened museum theater whenever Sam Spade lands a wisecrack or my maybe-authentic Maltese Falcon replica makes me smile. My dingus has a few chips in it, but don't we all? So, yes, I enjoy the classics. Yes, sometimes I listened to my mother. Admitting stuff like that puts you in solid with the boss.

Audiobooks Revisited

I like audiobooks.

Jim Winter’s May 5^th column “Listen” about audiobooks took me back to my audiobook column of May 24, 2019, so I've updated it.

I used to listen to audiobooks primarily during my commute to and from work. Since retiring, I listen to more audiobooks – novels primarily but some non-fiction books. It gives my eyes a rest after writing on my computer and reading short stories in magazines and anthologies. Now that I think of it, I've listened to some short stories as audiobooks in collections and anthologies.

There are many audiobook mysteries from Hammett to Chandler, Elmore Leonard, James M. Cain, Cornell Woolrich Donald E. Westlake, Dorothy Sayers, Maria Muller, Bill Pronzini, and many others, including nearly all the works of Agatha Christie, Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes tales.

Most of the audiobooks I read come from my local library and from audible. Both allow me to expand my reading/listening as I also read a lot of historical fiction as well as science-fiction and young adult fiction.

Audible and amazon have a platform called ACX, which provides an outstanding way for writers to produce audiobooks, especially indie writers like me who own and control the audiobook rights to our books. I've 15 audiobooks available through ACX, a 16th in production.

I have recently binge-listened to an outstanding historical fiction series, the Norsemen Saga of Viking Books by James L. Nelson:

1. Fin Gall
2. Dubh-linn
3. Lord of Vik-Lo
4. Glendalough Fair
5. Night Wolf
6. Raider’s Wake
7. Loch Garman
8. A Vengeful Wind
9. Kings and Pawns
10. The Midgard Serpent

Stumbled on another delightful series, the Temeraire Books by Naomi Novik, about dragons during the Napoleonic Wars. Yep, historical fantasy books.

1. His Majesty’s Dragon
2. Throne of Jade
3. Black Powder War
4. Empire of Ivory
5. Victory of Eagles
6. Tongue of Serpents
7. Crucible of Gold
8. Blood of Tyrants
9. League of Dragons

I will repeat my praise of the books of Adriana Trigiani, Ken Follett Kristen Hannah, and Edward Rutherfurd, as well as other great books like Isaac Asimov's brilliant Foundation trilogy – FOUNDATION, FOUNDATION AND EMPIRE, SECOND FOUNDATION. I listened to Harlan Ellison narrating his own stories – I HAVE NO MOUTH AND I MUST SCREAM, JEFFTY IS FIVE, DEATHBIRD STORIES which includes his Edgar Award winning THE WHIMPER OF WHIPPED DOGS.

Mystery gems like John D. Macdonald's A BULLET FOR CINDERELLA, and James M. Cain's THE COCKTAIL WAITRESS, and Cornell Woolrich's NIGHT HAS A THOUSAND EYES are available as audiobooks.

Is listening to an audiobook the same as reading the book? Yep. It's the same words.

If any are interested in my books on ACX/audible, here is a link to the listings on my website: (http://www.oneildenoux.com/audio-books.html)

That's all for now.

www.oneildenoux.com 

Yes, But Is It HISTORY?

What good is a wet blanket against a cannonball?

Not THIS type of "wet blanket"

Yep. You read that right.

What good is a wet blanket against a cannonball?

We'll come back to that one.

Before I decided to try my hand at fiction, I spent a fair amount of time pursuing the tenure track as a "professional historian." I got my MA, published scholarly articles, and strongly considered going on to earn my PhD.

An actual blanket soaked in water

During that time I encountered all manner of apocryphal, anecdotal stories concerning the great and small, the wise and the foolish, the lucky and the unlucky. Some of them were just what they seemed: terrific stories, and nothing more, with little in the way of available evidence to support them. Others were well-documented with all manner of primary sources to serve as bonafides.

The ones that drove me nuts as a practicing historian were the ones I'd find in secondary sources, with primary sources to detail how exactly the incident in question came to be recorded, laid down for posterity, if you will.

Self-explanatory

Oh, and I should have clarified this earlier for those of you non-historians playing at home: when I say "primary," I mean a source who either witnessed or otherwise participated in the historical events being discussed. "Eye witness" stuff. A journal entry. A letter. A videotape. A blog entry/social media entry. "Secondary" means literally everything else: Someone at a remove of one or of several people in the communication chain. For example, if you're writing about your grandfather's experiences growing up in Seattle in the 1950s and using his diary as a reference, the diary is "primary," and your writing about it, "secondary."

The primary source can also be in certain instances, secondary, as well: like if your grandfather writes movingly about his father's experience as a young immigrant coming through Ellis Island a generation before the grandfather himself was born, your grandfather's account, even though it's related in a source that is mostly "primary" in nature, is in this case, "secondary."

Clear? Hope so.

With that clarifying digression out of the way, back to the type of history that drove me nuts as a professional historian.

Back when I was still working on my Master's (we're talking nearly thirty years ago now), I wrote a paper about the role of the Hudson's Bay Company in the exploration and settlement of the Pacific Northwest. I even got the chance to present said paper at a scholarly conference. I still have a copy. It was good work, solid analysis. I was pretty satisfied with it.

The only problem is that I had a series of events I wanted to include in my paper, but couldn't. Because I could only find secondary sources about them. These events culminated in a bloody confrontation between agents of the Hudson's Bay Company and members of a Native American tribe called the S'Klallam, in Dungeness Bay, on what is now Washington's Olympic Coast, bordering the Straits of Juan de Fuca on July 4, 1828.

I'm talking about the now infamous Cadboro Incident.

The Cadboro was a schooner built in England in 1824, bought by the Hudson's Bay Company, and sent to support HBC activities in the Oregon Country in 1826. The Cadboro will be important later.

As with many things, the causes of the so-called Cadboro Incident were many. The inciting factor though? Really just a single one. A man. a fur trader named Alexander MacKenzie.

MacKenzie was, like so many HBC employees in the Northwest at the time, a Canadian of Scots heritage who came out to the Oregon Country already an experienced fur trader. That's not to say he was good at his job, just that he had experience at it.

He was also possessed of a terrible temper and fiendish disposition. And of course, he viewed Native Americans as inferiors. This much shows in his actions.

In the Spring of 1828 MacKenzie was on a trading mission, having led a party of four men and a woman who walked from Fort Vancouver on the Columbia River, up to Puget Sound, and all the way to the territory of the S'Klallam (who were widely considered hostile to whites at the time). Once there, he hired two teen-aged S'Klallam boys to carry his party in a couple of canoes to several points in Puget Sound, then across the Strait of Juan de Fuca to Vancouver Island, and back to their point of origin at what is now Port Gamble, Washington.

Things did not go well. MacKenzie beat and cursed the two boys when they asked for their agreed-upon pay. That night his party was attacked and all four men killed, with the woman (presumably a Native American) taken captive. It was assumed the attack was undertaken by elders of the S'Klallam, the tribe to which the two boys MacKenzie had so abused belonged to.

The formidable Factor: John McLaughlin

When Chief Factor John McLoughlin, ranking HBC employee at Fort Vancouver, got wind of the attack, he dispatched the Cadboro to punish the killers and negotiate the return of their captive. After all, it would never do for local tribes to think they could kill HBC traders with impunity. Not only was it bad for business, there was also considerable outrage among the white denizens of the Oregon Country (British and American citizens alike) that Native Americans had dared attack a party of white men.

Long story short: the Cadboro arrived at the S'Klallam village on modern day Dungeness Bay, where it rendezvoused with a detachment of sixty-some HBC employees under the command of HBC trader Alexander Mcleod. After linking up, the HBC representatives entered into negotiations for the release of the kidnapped woman. The Cadboro carried three cannon onboard. In the middle of these negotiations, all three cannon opened up on the village.

By the time the smoke cleared the village was leveled. Forty-six of the tribe's canoes were destroyed. Twenty-seven people, men, women and children, were killed. The captive woman was "rescued" and a portion of MacKenzie's trade goods were retrieved. The Cadboro returned to Fort Vancouver by sea, and Mcleod's expedition returned south by the overland route, but not before burning another S'Klallam village for good measure.

Mcleod expected a warm welcome upon his return to HBC Headquarters. Instead the same superiors who had dispatched his force and schooner in the first place were put off by the actual extent of the punishment his men and the cannon of the Cadboro visited upon the S'Klallam. Apparently being too violent when meting out retribution was also considered "bad for business" by the braintrust running the HBC. It later cost Mcleod a promotion to Chief Factor.

I have found considerable evidence supporting the facts as related above regarding this incident. The problem? They're all secondary sources. I've looped in colleagues still in the business over the years: folks with tenure, who know the field, and they have had no more luck than I in tracking down any primary sources about the so-called Cadboro Incident.

So I couldn't justify using it in my paper all those years ago. And it's a shame, because this is a story that deserves to be told. And retold. And remembered.

Of course, I write fiction these days…

Oh, and the question above about wet blankets and cannonballs? The S'Klallam, not at all understanding the destructive power of a cannon, soaked their blankets in water and hung them from the walls of their homes in an effort to defend them from the cannonballs of the HBC.

Let that one sink in.

See you in two weeks.

Close-Up

Harry Lorayne died last month.  He was 96.  Most people, if they were familiar with his name, would have thought, “Oh, the memory guy,” because that’s what he was famous for.  He’d tell you it wasn’t a parlor trick; he could teach you how to exercise your memory, and he did it in corporate seminars as well as on Johnny Carson – twenty-four times – I’ve Got a Secret, Merv Griffin, Mike Douglas, Good Morning America, the list goes on. 

For me, though, Lorayne was a close-up card magic guy.  He wrote ten or a dozen books about it, one of them, The Ha-Lo Cut, explaining his single most useful sleight, which is essential to performing Gary Ouellet’s show-stopper of an effect, Finger On The Card.  (This is inside baseball, Gary Ouellet another influential popularizer of close-up.)

A vocabulary note.  Magicians don’t perform tricks.  They perform effects.  And the dizzying variety of lifts, palms, forces, counts, spreads, peeks, breaks, culls, and false shuffles are called sleights.  Any given effect can involve one or many sleights. 

Buddy Karelis.  Buddy Karelis was a classmate and a pal of mine, who lived out in Belmont, a bus ride away.  We were both into magic, but we were at the age where we were more into gimmicks, not sleights, per se.  We were ten.  I can pinpoint this, because I remember watching Davy Crockett and the River Pirates together, a two-part broadcast event of enormous significance.  (Davy had gone down at the Alamo the year before, the Mike Fink riverboat episodes were a prequel.  Disney recognized a merchandising bonanza when it presented itself, coonskin caps, “flintlock” muskets, and lunch boxes, we had ‘em all.)  Buddy and I were gear freaks, always getting new stuff to show off to each other, a lot of it mail order: spring-loaded paper flowers that compressed into a wrist-held clip, and exploded into a full bouquet; Chinese boxes, where giant dice changed spots, as you slid them back and forth behind their doors; the baby guillotine, where a finger in the upper slot was magically unhurt, but dad’s Chesterfield in the slot below was sliced in half. 

Daddy & Jack’s.  Daddy & Jack’s joke shop was on Bromfield St., off Tremont, behind the Parker House.  Like its cousins, Little Jack Horner’s, and Jack’s Joke Shop in Park Sq., they were nervous about kids coming in, because the back of the house was adult novelties, but they were serious enough about magic to have guys behind the counter who could demonstrate effects.  A lot of the tricks were gaffed, like a Svengali deck, with shaved cards, so if you reverse a card, you can strip it out.  This isn’t magic, in the classic sense, because A) anybody can do it, and B) it’s no mystery how it’s done.  Magic is when the ordinary is made to do the impossible.  The punchline of a joke, the reversal of expectations.  The reveal.

                                      Carl Bertolino, house magician, performing at Little Jack Horner's:

David Reddall.  Dave Reddall, an adult pal of mine, and another mystery writer, as it happens, comes by the house one afternoon, and out of the clear blue, whips out a deck of cards and does – I don’t remember – maybe the Elmsley Count, or something like.  I’m watching with my mouth hanging open.  I haven’t done any magic in something like twenty-five years, and I’m astonished not only that he’s into it, but that he hasn’t said anything about it before.  It takes me back to Buddy Karelis and Daddy & Jack’s.  Dave is amused and gratified to find a kindred spirit.

On his recommendation, I buy a couple of Harry Lorayne’s books, basic sleights, passes, double lifts, shuffles, card control.  This of course leads to Erdnase, The Expert at the Card Table, as annotated by Dai Vernon – acknowledged by and large to be the best living card handler, at the time – and the book sets me back something like $75, which seems like serious money.  But what I come to realize is that I’m not particularly interested in performing the tricks.  I’m interested in the process, the method.  It’s the sleights I want to learn, the techniques.  I don’t care that much about fooling people. 

Looking back, I see a development, maybe what I’ve thought about before as The Approach To The Canvas.  I was just a kid when I saw Blackstone (Harry, Sr., not Harry, Jr.), and it was a marvel.  Years later, I saw Doug Henning, also a terrific showman.  But quite recently, I saw a guy named John Carney, who’s among the best current close-up card people (and who did in fact study under Dai Vernon), and I have to say, seeing somebody do close-up, in a fairly intimate setting, is enormously more satisfying than seeing a big stage show.  It’s not the circus, it’s just for you.

 

And watching close-up, literally close up, isn’t so much about being manipulated as it is being invited into the performer’s confidence.  There’s a sense of participation.  I might suggest a link to the notion of craft, that much of it could be said to be hiding in plain sight.

A Mash of Mirth

The current issue of Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine kindly carries my story, "The Case of the Kosher Deal." While I am always over the moon to see a story of mine in the pages of Hitchcock, I confess to a bit of surprise to learn that this story would appear in their May/June magazine. 

Kosher Deal is a Hanukkah story.

Someone may need to buy the good people at Hitchcock a calendar, one with the holidays printed in small blue type at the bottom of each day. The end of Ramadan, Earth Day, and Mother's Day all fall within the span of this issue. In no calendar, however, does any Hannukah event occur. 

Can the case of the funny timing be explained? 

First, the story is about corporate gamesmanship. The characters use Hannukah as an excuse for a power grab and a chance to settle scores. That fact likely widened the publication opportunity window outside the November/December issue. 

Second, and more importantly, the magazine's editorial staff thought that the story was funny. 

As written in the editor's note, April/May is the mirthful edition. The current issue leans into the lighter side of crime. "The Case of the Kosher Deal" is one is a series of light-hearted stories. Regardless of the holiday, this humor element helped me wrangle a spot in the current issue. Creating the series has forced me to think about writing funny. 

Two mystery readers walk into a bar...

And from here, the story could go in several different directions. The pair might find a body and set off sleuthing. Alternatively, the familiar trope, "two___ walk into a bar," might unfold inside the saloon. That ambiguity alone could drive the reader into the story. Humor in a mystery can reveal character, hide clues, provide a brief respite from the dark topic of crime, or merely entertain. 

"The Case of the Kosher Deal" is the fifth installment in a series about a private investigator and marketing rep for the Potato Advisory Board. Throughout, the protagonist is known simply as the Spud Stud. 

The challenge with elucidating "The Rules" is that I have very few. But here goes: 

1. Be Yourself (unless yourself is deathly dull, then be someone else.)

I write things that entertain and amuse me and trust that I am close enough to the center of life's bell curve that others will laugh along with me. The Spud Stud grew out of a family joke made while preparing dinner. The idea took hold, a story sold, and a series was born. I hope readers come away thinking he had fun writing this.  I did.

We all laugh. Each of us has things we find funny. Those experiences can be tapped into and twisted. Disguise them, if necessary, to protect the innocent or wring the laughter. If you want to write funny, believe that you have funny potential. 

2. Remember, You're a World Builder

The humorist, David Sedaris, begins his essay "Understanding Owls" with the a priori assumption that we all have too many owls in our lives. He creates an absurd world, and we walk into it. In the Bible, Jonah got swallowed by a whale. He rode around in reasonable comfort until finally belched out onto the land he was initially commanded to visit. And why not? The biblical story teaches through the comic setup. 

The Spud Stud is simultaneously a private eye and a vegetable marketing rep, a position I've never seen posted on LinkedIn. The supporting characters occasionally question his competency, but they never wink. The authenticity of that world is never challenged. 

The writer creates the world for the reader, so she can make it comical if she wishes. She can make the absurd realistic through detail. She must also demonstrate that the characters believe in the sincerity of their world. 

3. But Build the World With Some Restraint

Think about comedy duos. They typically consist of a silly partner and a sounding board, the normal one who reacts to the absurdity produced by the first. Both play essential roles in landing the joke. Humor in a story might come from the main character or one of the surrounding characters. Too many slapstick characters lead to chaos. If that's the goal, then take a seat next to Eugene Ionesco. A narrative thread typically involves a regular character. 

Consider a distinction between humorous and silly. Humor works best when it enriches an already good story. When jokes and silliness serve only to distract the reader's attention, like a magician's props, it's likely time to consider a rewrite. 

4. Short and Specific

Sprinkle the humor throughout the story. Try to avoid a long setup. Think about the stand-up comic performing her monologue. She might spend her entire routine relating one anecdote. When she delivers the punchline at the end, there is the twist. The audience, however, may have already lost interest and gone searching elsewhere on Netflix. So along the way, she sprinkles asides and quick bits of humor to hold them. 

The Spud Stud derives many of these quick bits from specificity. I might say "potato" at the story's beginning to orient the reader. After that, I'll wear out my potato reference manual working in potato types. The specificity adds tiny drops of humor. Among the potato varieties, "Bintje" is reliable when I want a laugh. It sounds funny. 

Forced metaphors are good too. The Spud Stud sees the world through his lens, the tuber industry. His choice of metaphor reflects that--Life is like a Bintje. 

5. Include a Surprise

As mentioned earlier, the twist ending is the punchline of a joke. Like a laugh-worthy clincher, a good twist turns the setup in an unexpected and yet sensical way. Good comedy relies on the surprise. A writer might use the "Rule of Three." Two items in a series establish a pattern. The reader's brain anticipates what comes next and guesses at it. That third item is the punchline or twist. When the last piece breaks from the series, the reader is surprised. The twist might make any Tom, Dick, or Bintje laugh. 

Some people tell jokes better than others. Some writers craft funny stories more quickly than others. The fact that it may not be natural does not mean a writer can't. I invite you to try it. 

Just as soon as you and the other writer walk out of that bar. 

(I'll be away from my computer on the day this posts. Apologies in advance if you comment and I don't reply.)

Until next time. 

Bottoms Up

We’re often asked which politician we’d like to go have a beer with.  But what about writers?  Luckily, I know a lot of writers and they would all gladly have a beer with almost anyone.  Or maybe a bourbon on the rocks or a little white wine. 

If I got my pick from history, I’d definitely avoid Hemingway, who’d challenge me to a boxing match after the 11th Pernod.  Shakespeare might be entertaining if you could understand what the hell he was saying.  Dorothy Parker, for sure, along with the whole Algonquin crowd.  I’d pretend I was mute to avoid saying the one stupid thing ever uttered in the Oak Room.

I’d not only have a beer with PJ O’Rourke, I’d buy.  And keep buying as long as he could still conjure those genius wisecracks.  I actually had a drink with Tom Bodette, and he was as funny as, well, PJ O’Rourke.  I pounded a night of scotches with William Styron, and he wasn’t the least bit funny, from what I remember, which isn’t much.  He did stare into his drink a lot and say things like, “Sometimes my words remind me of little crippled children.”  Speaking of scotch, I witnessed Christopher Hitchens down at least a liter of the stuff and never once lose command of his perfect word choice and enunciation.  He spoke as he wrote, in exquisitely rendered, complete sentences.  Churchill could exhibit the same Olympian capacity and refined eloquence.  Must be something about the English liver. 

I studied early to mid-20^th century American literature.  Some of those folks won the Nobel prize and virtually all of them were alcoholics.  My scholarship revealed that the more they drank, the worst their writing became, career ruin frequently following.  So I’d pass on any of their offers to go have a beer, not wanting to aid in the corruption of American letters.

F. Scott Fitzgerald couldn’t hold his liquor, so no fun at all, despite the reputation.  Not so Zelda, who not only swam in fountains, but could consume their average volume in a single evening.  We don’t know much about the drinking habits of Gertrude Stein and Alice B. Toklas, though enough booze was consumed in their flat at 27 rue de Fleurus to refloat the Titanic.  She did famously complain that her designated Lost Generation drank themselves to death, and she wasn’t much wrong, though luckily the prophecy took a while to be fully consumated.   

While we’re discussing female novelists, who wouldn’t want to have a drink with Patricia Highsmith?  Or Anaïs Nin?  I would likely have to get to the bar first to fortify myself, since sitting across from that much dark brilliance might make the Algonquin Round Table feel like a cub scout retreat.

Though not if Anaïs brought along Henry Miller, whose loony, irreverent poetics could lift the London fog and polish the streets of the Rive Gauche into bijoux scintillants.  I’d have to buy this time as well, since Henry was always broke, though rarely as broke as Jack Kerouac.  He’s another important American writer who had a few beers too many, but if you caught him in the early days with Neal Cassidy, Lawrence Ferlinghetti and Gary Snyder it would count as a life transformer, if your head didn’t explode from the gush of frantic, bebop exposition.

I never had a drink with Tom Wolfe, though we once spent a nice long stretch in a green room (I think Diet Coke was the available beverage.)  He was pretty old at this point, but as sweet and kindly a person as could be, the soft Virginia accent still gracing his inflections.  And quite the dresser, if you fancy mostly white with a light blue shirt and white cane (his all-white Cadillac, with white hubcaps, was out in the parking lot.) 

Since writers spend so much time locked up in quiet rooms by themselves, you wouldn’t think they’d be such good company, but they usually are.  They tend to know a lot of things you'd never even think about.  And they spend many of those hours in quiet rooms mulling things over, trying to get something to make sense on the written page.  If you’re lucky, they’ll hash it out over that beer, or vodka on the rocks.   

In fact, I’d rather hang with writers than all the politicians in all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world.

My husband died.

I can’t write flash fiction without thinking of Fran Rizer. She ‘complained’ those ultra-short stories upset her Sunday routine of preparing coffee and then breakfast, whereupon she’d spend a few minutes enjoying SleuthSayers.

On flash fiction days, that’s when (a) she’d find those few minutes were reduced to a few seconds, and (b) it caused her to snort coffee up her nose. Damn, I miss Fran.

Here’s a flash fiction with her in mind.

---

 

 

 

My Husband Died by Leigh Lundin After he died, I couldn’t even look at another man for almost twenty years. But now that I’m out of prison, I can honestly say it was worth it.

Guest Post: Authors Helping Authors

It's been a year and a half since my friend Judy Penz Sheluk posted here at SleuthSayers, to talk about the third book in her Superior Shores Anthology series. I remember that post well--here's a link--and I also recall the enthusiastic response she received from our readers. Judy's been a busy lady since then, with all kinds of writing projects, and today I'm pleased to welcome her once more as a guest columnist. I hope you'll again join me in making her feel at home.

--John Floyd

Authors Helping Authors

by Judy Penz Sheluk

My visit on SleuthSayers today is thanks to John Floyd, who graciously gave up his regular spot so I could talk about my latest book. I've only met John once, at Bouchercon Raleigh in October 2015. It was at a sandwich/diner kind of place, where the food was fast but decent, and members of the Short Mystery Fiction Society, of which we are both members, had arranged to meet for lunch.

I was a debut author in 2015, with two published short mystery stories (2014) and a cozy mystery that had released that July, and to say I was intimidated to be in the presence of so many talented storytellers would be the understatement of the year, and yet all I experienced was kindness. I recall John telling me he worked at IBM and me telling him my good friend and running buddy also worked at IBM, albeit in Toronto. A minor connection, but a connection, nonetheless. And I remember the late B. K. Stevens inviting me to post on her blog. I couldn't believe it. The B. K. Stevens! I'd been reading her short stories forever.

There were many others who reached out to me, and memories of that lunch, and many others along my author journey, have made me acutely aware that the one thing that makes the writing life special is the way authors help one another. If there's jealousy among Derringer, or other, award nominees, I'm unaware of it. Rather, we applaud those whose work we admire, often from afar. It's enough to be able to say, "I'm an author," and be part of the club.

I've come a long way since 2015. Today, I'm the author of two mystery series (seven novels), the editor/publisher of three multi-author anthologies of mystery and suspense (John's stories are in two of them), and a handful of short stories. But while I'm grateful for every day of those seven-plus years as an author. It hasn't always been an easy journey, and I've taken my share of missteps along the way.

I've also been "orphaned" by two publishers, one defunct, the other closed to all work but her own. I've very nearly been orphaned by two other publishers I'd queried with "close, but no cigar" results. Both are now no longer in business.

In February 2018, I started my own publishing imprint: Superior Shores Press, and I've discovered that I love being an indie author (I tend to be a bit of a control freak, which helps). Since then, I've also been published by WWL Mystery (a division of Harlequin, which is a division of HarperCollins), and sold some foreign language rights, most recently Skeletons in the Attic, to a Taiwanese publisher for the Chinese market. 

Fast forward to January 2022, when my local library asked if I'd do a presentation for their patrons on publishing paths. I liked the idea of sharing what I'd learned, and the result was an hour-long webinar, Finding Your Path to Publication, which I followed up with Self-publishing: The Ins & Outs of Going Indie. Both were well received, and that sparked an idea. What if I took my hard-earned knowledge and wrote a book? One that demystified the publishing world, provided statistics, and tips on query letters and types of publishing paths, from traditional to self- to social? Unlike my usual mystery writing pantser ways, I'd actually have an outline. 

The result is Finding Your Path to Publication: A Step-by-Step Guide, which released on May 2 in paperback, hardcover, e-book, and large print. If all goes according to plan, Self-Publishing: The Ins & Outs of Going Indie will release this fall.

Authors helping authors. At the end of the day, that's really what it's all about.

Universal buy link: https://books2read.com/FindingYourPathtoPublication

About the book: The road to publishing is paved with good intentions . . . and horror stories of authors who had to learn the hard way.

For the emerging author, the publishing world can be overwhelming. You've written the book, and you're ready to share it with the world, but don't know where to start. Traditional, independent press, hybrid, self-publishing, and online social platforms--all are valid publishing paths. The question is, which one is right for you?

Finding Your Path to Publication is an introduction to an industry that remains a mystery to those on the outside. Learn how each publishing option works, what to expect from the process start to finish, how to identify red flags, and avoid common pitfalls. With statistics, examples, and helpful resources compiled by an industry insider who's been down a few of these paths, this is your roadmap to decide which path you'd like to explore, and where to begin your author journey.

About the author: A former journalist and magazine editor, Judy Penz Sheluk is the bestselling author of two mystery series: The Glass Dolphin Mysteries and Marketville Mysteries, both of which have been published in multiple languages. Her short crime fiction appears in several collections, including the Superior Shores Anthologies, which she also edited. Judy is a member of the Independent Book Publishers Association, Sisters in Crime, International Thriller Writers, the Short Mystery Fiction Society, and Crime Writers of Canada, where she served on the Board of Directors for five years, the final two as Chair. She lives in Northern Ontario. Find her at www.judypenzsheluk.com.