A murderer turns good, a cop turns bad, a remorseless assassin turns on a man tracking him down. That in brief is Good, Bad and Murderous, the second Sid Chance mystery/thriller. It starts with a young black man getting out of prison at twenty-five for a murder committed at age twelve. When he's accused of another homicide, his grandmother hires PI Sid Chance to find the real killer. Sid's sometimes-associate Jaz LeMieux helps out on the case, and things get dicey when a woman who accused her of making racially disparaging remarks turns up dead. Do a pair of homicide detectives have an agenda of their own? Sid must navigate a maze of lawlessness involving drugs and Medicare fraud and contract murder that leaves him and Jaz in mortal peril.
That's the plot blurb for the new Sid Chance book that's nearing completion. When I started working on the plot, I decided to deal with Medicare fraud. I had seen a piece on CBS about FBI agents in Miami hitting store front operations that bill Medicare for thousands of dollars for durable medical equipment, then disappear. I did a lot of research on the subject and learned that new regulations provided tighter requirements for firms that bill Medicare. However, some scammers still get around them, as my fictional company does.
Starting the story with a young black man being charged again with murder came out of a newspaper's coverage of what happens to child killers. The focus of the stories was on Nashville's youngest murderer, who had been out of prison a couple of years after spending most of his life behind bars. I based my character on his experience. He had shot a man during a late night drug sale while he was twelve years old. Despite his age, he was tried in Criminal Court as an adult and sentenced to fifteen years in prison. Efforts have been under way to have such juveniles go to Juvenile Court and serve their sentences in a correction program designed for youths.
As with the young man in the newspaper stories, my character came out of prison determined to change his life and become a productive citizen. However, a month or so after the newspaper article, the real former prisoner wound up in jail for beating up a girl friend. My guy is more reliable.
Jaz LeMieux became a popular character with readers of the first book, The Surest Poison. She's a fun character to write, a young woman who overcame the odds and took over as board chairman of a national chain of travel centers. To give her a bit of a problem with this story, I had her accused of making racially disparaging remarks to a black company employee. When the woman is found dead, the tension ratchets up.
You'll have to read the book (hopefully it'll be out early this fall) to find out what else happens. I should have a cover to show shortly. Stay turned.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Sunday, May 1, 2011
A Cop's Night at the Office
I got a good look at what cops face on a daily basis when I did my ride-along (as a member of the Metro Nashville Citizen Police Academy) last Thursday on the second shift, 2:30 to 10:30 p.m. I was assigned to North Precinct Patrol Officer Joshua Mauzy. On the job I only heard him called Mauzy as cops refer to each other by last name. Around thirty, married with children, he was Officer of the Month in the precinct for February after chasing down a burglar.
We drew an old car (Chevrolet Impala) which was not as jazzily appointed as the newer models. Its computer didn't want to work at first, but Mauzy coaxed it into action. The radio channel with the dispatcher came from a speaker around the computer, while the officer talked with his colleagues on another channel using a mike attached at his shoulder. I presume cops, at least the younger ones, aren't too good at housekeeping as the floor on the passenger side was covered with papers and an empty drink cup. Having experienced that sort of thing with my stepson, I wasn't all that surprised.
During roll call, the lieutenant assigned duties and car numbers. We were Car 12. Our assignment was not to a particular zone but was called Enforcement. Basically we were driving around looking for trouble. We also served as backup when somebody else found it first. As it turned out, that happened on our first call. We had just pulled out of the parking lot and stopped for the traffic light when an ambulance roared past on Clarksville Pike. After it had headed across the Cumberland River bridge, Mauzy said, "We have to follow that ambulance."
He hit his lights and siren and swung out onto the street, which was five lanes wide, including a turn lane. He didn't believe in slowing much, if any, for cross streets. We swung in and out of lanes, but almost came to a stop at one intersection with a traffic light and two cars in the turn lane. The blaring siren convinced them to move out of the way.
We finally arrived at the scene where an ambulance and fire truck sat with another police car already there. The paramedics were bandaging a woman's leg as she lay in the front yard of a house. She told the officers three teenagers had thrown bottles at her. One broke and cut her leg. The ambulance crew said it was a deep cut. She claimed to have run from a street almost a mile away. We left her to be transported to the hospital. The two cops agreed it didn't likely happen as she reported. The first officer on scene would send in a report and let the detectives follow up.
Although Mauzy didn't have to file the detailed report, he pulled out his clipboard box and wrote an IR, Incident Report, giving the basic details of time and place and result of stop. This was required for everything we did.
We were assigned to generally patrol the County Hospital Road area. As we drove back in that direction, a car ahead of us at a stop sign had darkly tinted windows. Tennessee law requires side windows to allow at least 35 percent of visible light to pass through. On windshields, only a small strip at the top can be tinted. After the car pulled across the intersection, Mauzy hit his lights and siren and the car turned into a parking area.
He approached the car slowly from the back, remaining to the rear of the driver's window, which is standard practice. He checked the window tint with his light meter and found it on the dark side. He asked the woman for her driver's license and brought it back to the patrol car. Entering the details into the computer, he brought up her record. The license was valid, no outstanding warrants. He let her go with a warning.
When I told my thirteen-year-old grandson about that stop, he said, "Tinted windows are cool. I'd never stop anybody for that." For a cop on the lookout for trouble, there are two good reasons. One, darkly tinted windows are a threat to an officer who has to approach a car. He needs to see if anyone inside is armed. The two most dangerous situations for a cop are traffic stops and domestic violence calls. The second reason is that experience shows if a driver violates one law, he's probably violated others as well. Traffic stops are the main source of catching criminals. In a large percentage of traffic stops in Nashville, the driver has no license or a revoked license.
Whenever an officer makes a stop or answers a call, he reports it on the radio. If one of his fellow officers in the area is free, he heads for the location as a backup. We pulled in behind another cop on one occasion where the car he'd stopped had three people inside. The driver had a previous arrest for marijuana possession. Nobody in the car had a driver's license. You'd think somebody would go to jail, but not so. Because of the leniency of the local court system, you can be caught a couple of times without a license and get only a warning or a ticket.
We did one backup that resulted in sitting at an intersection for about fifteen minutes, listening to the radio and watching traffic pass by. Another officer had reported a fight in the block ahead, but we saw nothing. They finally decided the fight had ended or moved on. Mauzy filled out his IR and we took up our roving patrol. If you see a police car sitting alone at the side of the street, sometimes with the blue lights on if he doesn't bother to switch them off, the cop is likely filling out his paperwork.
Each time we would finish a task and find nothing of interest where we were driving, Mauzy would pull up the list of outstanding calls on the computer. They were listed with the time, location, and type of incident. Clicking on one would bring up the details. At one point there were twenty-seven 911 calls outstanding in North's territory. The precinct covers the entire north side of the county. Metro's total area is 526 square miles, so North's officers cover a lot of real estate. Metropolitan Nashville-Davidson County includes several smaller municipalities, but MNPD has jurisdiction over the whole county.
We took one call involving a suspicious SUV in a driveway, but by the time we got there it was long gone. Another call involved a burglar alarm that went off. It indicated a back door involved. When Mauzy checked he found a man there who said the house belonged to his sister. Mauzy brought his driver's license back and looked him up on the computer. He had the same last name as the home owner and no criminal record, so we moved on.
We stopped for a dinner break at a Taco Bell not far from the precinct headquarters with five other officers, including a Tennessee State University campus cop. TSU is located in the North Nashville section which is the highest crime area for the precinct. The mealtime conversation covered peculiar people or incidents they had encountered. Officers enjoy chatting with each other. In our wanderings we occasionally came up on a patrol or an unmarked car sitting at the curb. Mauzy would pause by the window and say something to the officer.
As the evening wore on, the list of outstanding calls shrunk, and we took a recent one involving a man cursing fellow tenants at an apartment. The location was a one-story strip apartment more like a motel, across the street from a low-rent housing project. Mauzy had been there before on a complaint about the same tenant. He checked with the on-site manager and a woman standing outside, then knocked on the offender's door. It was a large black man who sounded fairly well educated but quite agitated at everyone who, he claimed, gave him no respect, accused him of all sorts or things, and called him names. Mauzy talked to him for twenty or thirty minutes, calming him down, advising him to forget what other people thought. Leave them alone, he said, and just mind your own business. The guy finally agreed that's what he'd do, and we headed back to Car 12.
It was getting close to the end of the shift when we turned onto Rosa Parks Blvd. behind the precinct headquarters and saw a car with its brake lights on. It turned onto Mainstream Drive, the brake lights still burning. Mauzy switched on the blue lights and siren. The car stopped at the curb and we pulled in behind it. Another patrolman arrived about the time Mauzy approached the driver, his flashlight probing the inside of the car. When he told the man about his brake lights, the driver said he'd been having trouble with a connection. But as Mauzy moved closer to hear him better, he smelled a strong odor of pot.
The driver admitted having smoked a "joint" but claimed it had been several hours before. The other cop said, "No way, man. That odor is too strong." They searched him, including stripping beside the road (about the only vehicles that passed were trucks or other commercial vehicles). He had enough "roaches" (marijuana cigarette butts) to make more than an ounce, which Mauzy dropped into an evidence bag. The man said he was on his way to work at a TV station nearby. Mauzy gave him a citation arrest, requiring him to turn himself in within three weeks for fingerprinting and booking. He put the guy in the secured rear seat while he did some of the car search and got on the computer to fill out all the information for the citation. Using a small printer that sat like an arm rest between the front seats, he printed out two copies, about two feet long, one for the arrestee and one for the file. The whole process took about an hour, while I sat in the car with the blue lights flashing.
During roll call, the lieutenant assigned duties and car numbers. We were Car 12. Our assignment was not to a particular zone but was called Enforcement. Basically we were driving around looking for trouble. We also served as backup when somebody else found it first. As it turned out, that happened on our first call. We had just pulled out of the parking lot and stopped for the traffic light when an ambulance roared past on Clarksville Pike. After it had headed across the Cumberland River bridge, Mauzy said, "We have to follow that ambulance."
He hit his lights and siren and swung out onto the street, which was five lanes wide, including a turn lane. He didn't believe in slowing much, if any, for cross streets. We swung in and out of lanes, but almost came to a stop at one intersection with a traffic light and two cars in the turn lane. The blaring siren convinced them to move out of the way.
We finally arrived at the scene where an ambulance and fire truck sat with another police car already there. The paramedics were bandaging a woman's leg as she lay in the front yard of a house. She told the officers three teenagers had thrown bottles at her. One broke and cut her leg. The ambulance crew said it was a deep cut. She claimed to have run from a street almost a mile away. We left her to be transported to the hospital. The two cops agreed it didn't likely happen as she reported. The first officer on scene would send in a report and let the detectives follow up.
Although Mauzy didn't have to file the detailed report, he pulled out his clipboard box and wrote an IR, Incident Report, giving the basic details of time and place and result of stop. This was required for everything we did.
We were assigned to generally patrol the County Hospital Road area. As we drove back in that direction, a car ahead of us at a stop sign had darkly tinted windows. Tennessee law requires side windows to allow at least 35 percent of visible light to pass through. On windshields, only a small strip at the top can be tinted. After the car pulled across the intersection, Mauzy hit his lights and siren and the car turned into a parking area.
He approached the car slowly from the back, remaining to the rear of the driver's window, which is standard practice. He checked the window tint with his light meter and found it on the dark side. He asked the woman for her driver's license and brought it back to the patrol car. Entering the details into the computer, he brought up her record. The license was valid, no outstanding warrants. He let her go with a warning.
When I told my thirteen-year-old grandson about that stop, he said, "Tinted windows are cool. I'd never stop anybody for that." For a cop on the lookout for trouble, there are two good reasons. One, darkly tinted windows are a threat to an officer who has to approach a car. He needs to see if anyone inside is armed. The two most dangerous situations for a cop are traffic stops and domestic violence calls. The second reason is that experience shows if a driver violates one law, he's probably violated others as well. Traffic stops are the main source of catching criminals. In a large percentage of traffic stops in Nashville, the driver has no license or a revoked license.
Whenever an officer makes a stop or answers a call, he reports it on the radio. If one of his fellow officers in the area is free, he heads for the location as a backup. We pulled in behind another cop on one occasion where the car he'd stopped had three people inside. The driver had a previous arrest for marijuana possession. Nobody in the car had a driver's license. You'd think somebody would go to jail, but not so. Because of the leniency of the local court system, you can be caught a couple of times without a license and get only a warning or a ticket.
We did one backup that resulted in sitting at an intersection for about fifteen minutes, listening to the radio and watching traffic pass by. Another officer had reported a fight in the block ahead, but we saw nothing. They finally decided the fight had ended or moved on. Mauzy filled out his IR and we took up our roving patrol. If you see a police car sitting alone at the side of the street, sometimes with the blue lights on if he doesn't bother to switch them off, the cop is likely filling out his paperwork.
Each time we would finish a task and find nothing of interest where we were driving, Mauzy would pull up the list of outstanding calls on the computer. They were listed with the time, location, and type of incident. Clicking on one would bring up the details. At one point there were twenty-seven 911 calls outstanding in North's territory. The precinct covers the entire north side of the county. Metro's total area is 526 square miles, so North's officers cover a lot of real estate. Metropolitan Nashville-Davidson County includes several smaller municipalities, but MNPD has jurisdiction over the whole county.
We took one call involving a suspicious SUV in a driveway, but by the time we got there it was long gone. Another call involved a burglar alarm that went off. It indicated a back door involved. When Mauzy checked he found a man there who said the house belonged to his sister. Mauzy brought his driver's license back and looked him up on the computer. He had the same last name as the home owner and no criminal record, so we moved on.
We stopped for a dinner break at a Taco Bell not far from the precinct headquarters with five other officers, including a Tennessee State University campus cop. TSU is located in the North Nashville section which is the highest crime area for the precinct. The mealtime conversation covered peculiar people or incidents they had encountered. Officers enjoy chatting with each other. In our wanderings we occasionally came up on a patrol or an unmarked car sitting at the curb. Mauzy would pause by the window and say something to the officer.
As the evening wore on, the list of outstanding calls shrunk, and we took a recent one involving a man cursing fellow tenants at an apartment. The location was a one-story strip apartment more like a motel, across the street from a low-rent housing project. Mauzy had been there before on a complaint about the same tenant. He checked with the on-site manager and a woman standing outside, then knocked on the offender's door. It was a large black man who sounded fairly well educated but quite agitated at everyone who, he claimed, gave him no respect, accused him of all sorts or things, and called him names. Mauzy talked to him for twenty or thirty minutes, calming him down, advising him to forget what other people thought. Leave them alone, he said, and just mind your own business. The guy finally agreed that's what he'd do, and we headed back to Car 12.
It was getting close to the end of the shift when we turned onto Rosa Parks Blvd. behind the precinct headquarters and saw a car with its brake lights on. It turned onto Mainstream Drive, the brake lights still burning. Mauzy switched on the blue lights and siren. The car stopped at the curb and we pulled in behind it. Another patrolman arrived about the time Mauzy approached the driver, his flashlight probing the inside of the car. When he told the man about his brake lights, the driver said he'd been having trouble with a connection. But as Mauzy moved closer to hear him better, he smelled a strong odor of pot.
The driver admitted having smoked a "joint" but claimed it had been several hours before. The other cop said, "No way, man. That odor is too strong." They searched him, including stripping beside the road (about the only vehicles that passed were trucks or other commercial vehicles). He had enough "roaches" (marijuana cigarette butts) to make more than an ounce, which Mauzy dropped into an evidence bag. The man said he was on his way to work at a TV station nearby. Mauzy gave him a citation arrest, requiring him to turn himself in within three weeks for fingerprinting and booking. He put the guy in the secured rear seat while he did some of the car search and got on the computer to fill out all the information for the citation. Using a small printer that sat like an arm rest between the front seats, he printed out two copies, about two feet long, one for the arrestee and one for the file. The whole process took about an hour, while I sat in the car with the blue lights flashing.
It was an interesting day that concluded around 10:45 p.m. at the station, where I thanked Sgt. John Henry and Officer Mauzy for the experience. My driver was facing an extra shift on Saturday for the Music City Marathon. As I left, he said, "Come on back on a weekend and we'll have some fun."
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Of Cops and Guns
Sheesh! I can't believe I haven't posted on my blog since February. I've been working feverishly on Good, Bad & Murderous, the second Sid Chance book, but that's no excuse. I'm still not in sight of that magical THE END. Lately I've been attending the Metro Nashville Citizen Police Academy. It's only one night a week, but it has been quite interesting.
This morning I ventured out to the Metro Nashville Police Academy gun range and fired a few rounds. Shot the Glock 22 used by Metro police officers, an AR-15 from which the military M-16 rifle was derived, and a Thompson submachine gun. I had fired a "Tommy" gun while taking firearms training as a basic trainee in the Army Air Forces during World War II.
The officer who monitored my shooting kindly said I did good, that I had obviously shot before. Actually, I had fired on a range during MWA Florida's Sleuthfest mystery conference for a couple of years, though that's been awhile back.
Our police instructors gave high praise to the Taser (shown at right) as a defensive weapon, particularly for anyone who's unsure they have the will to use deadly force. Most of us think we would fire a pistol at someone who is threatening us, but when it comes time to pull the trgger, some have second thoughts.
The model cops use (at right) has a light and camera on it. Everything that takes place during use of the Taser is available for playback as a movie with sound. This is available for use in court to show how the weapon was deployed. It may include whatever threats the subject used against the officer. The smaller civilian model has no camera. Held in the hand, it looks much like a cell phone. Similar to the law enforcement version, it projects a red laser dot on the body where it's pointed. That's where the two barbs will hit when the trigger is pulled, giving a debilitating shock nineteen times per second.
The instructors debunked a lot of stuff shown on TV, such as a gunshot blasting a person backward. Also the one-shot kill. They said people have been shot multiple times and kept on coming at the shooter. Only three to four percent of people shot with a gun are killed. Frequently a shootout will result in no one being hit.
We were told how the Metro Police Department came to switch from a six-shot revolver to the Glock 22 with a magazine that holds fourteen bullets. Two officers went to a house looking for a fugitive with an outstanding warrant. His girlfriend said he wasn't there, but they searched and noticed scraps of insulation on the closet floor beneath an attic opening. They went up and found the man crouching in a corner. When they told him to come out, he opened fire, shooting numerous rounds with a crude-looking pistol that had an enormous magazine attached.
Both officers were hit but returned fire. One went down and the other jumped through the closet opening. Homicide detectives theorized that the fugitive thought the downed cop was dead until the oficer fired his last shot. Then the criminal stood over him and shot him in the head. The first officer went for help and the crook climbed down. When he heard more cops outside, he started firing indiscriminately through the front wall. They finally killed him.
The policemen complained to the chief that the officer might have lived if he'd had more rounds to fire, putting him on a more equal footing with the fugitive. The chief told them to find what they wanted. After testing and studying several guns, they decided on the Glock 22 and the department bought one for every sworn officer.
Though the cops are well armed now, they still suffer some disadvantages under the law. As one of them put it, "A mail carrier is better protected than we are. The penalty for punching an officer in the nose is the same as stealing bubble gum at Walmart."
This morning I ventured out to the Metro Nashville Police Academy gun range and fired a few rounds. Shot the Glock 22 used by Metro police officers, an AR-15 from which the military M-16 rifle was derived, and a Thompson submachine gun. I had fired a "Tommy" gun while taking firearms training as a basic trainee in the Army Air Forces during World War II.
The officer who monitored my shooting kindly said I did good, that I had obviously shot before. Actually, I had fired on a range during MWA Florida's Sleuthfest mystery conference for a couple of years, though that's been awhile back.
Our police instructors gave high praise to the Taser (shown at right) as a defensive weapon, particularly for anyone who's unsure they have the will to use deadly force. Most of us think we would fire a pistol at someone who is threatening us, but when it comes time to pull the trgger, some have second thoughts.
The model cops use (at right) has a light and camera on it. Everything that takes place during use of the Taser is available for playback as a movie with sound. This is available for use in court to show how the weapon was deployed. It may include whatever threats the subject used against the officer. The smaller civilian model has no camera. Held in the hand, it looks much like a cell phone. Similar to the law enforcement version, it projects a red laser dot on the body where it's pointed. That's where the two barbs will hit when the trigger is pulled, giving a debilitating shock nineteen times per second.
The instructors debunked a lot of stuff shown on TV, such as a gunshot blasting a person backward. Also the one-shot kill. They said people have been shot multiple times and kept on coming at the shooter. Only three to four percent of people shot with a gun are killed. Frequently a shootout will result in no one being hit.
We were told how the Metro Police Department came to switch from a six-shot revolver to the Glock 22 with a magazine that holds fourteen bullets. Two officers went to a house looking for a fugitive with an outstanding warrant. His girlfriend said he wasn't there, but they searched and noticed scraps of insulation on the closet floor beneath an attic opening. They went up and found the man crouching in a corner. When they told him to come out, he opened fire, shooting numerous rounds with a crude-looking pistol that had an enormous magazine attached.
Both officers were hit but returned fire. One went down and the other jumped through the closet opening. Homicide detectives theorized that the fugitive thought the downed cop was dead until the oficer fired his last shot. Then the criminal stood over him and shot him in the head. The first officer went for help and the crook climbed down. When he heard more cops outside, he started firing indiscriminately through the front wall. They finally killed him.
The policemen complained to the chief that the officer might have lived if he'd had more rounds to fire, putting him on a more equal footing with the fugitive. The chief told them to find what they wanted. After testing and studying several guns, they decided on the Glock 22 and the department bought one for every sworn officer.
Though the cops are well armed now, they still suffer some disadvantages under the law. As one of them put it, "A mail carrier is better protected than we are. The penalty for punching an officer in the nose is the same as stealing bubble gum at Walmart."
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Creating Secondary Characters
Our main characters, the folks who are in charge of the story, have elaborate backgrounds that we bring out in various ways. They are described as they move through the pages, and we learn about relatives and friends, places they've studied, jobs they held, all sorts of interesting facts as the story calls for them. We insert a lot of this "backstory" in small doses to avoid slowing the pace.
But what about secondary characters? They can be just as crucial to the story, depending on the roles they play. So how much background should they have? I don't have rules for writing. That sounds too inflexible. But I have a modus operandi, to use a good crime-speak term, that I follow with below-the-top-tier characters.
a. Use some sort of physical description, not necessarily any of the usual height, weight, eye or hair color. Here's one I used for lawyer Arnie Bailey in the first Sid Chance book: "Bailey launched his short, chubby body through the door like a well-dressed groundhog storming out of hibernation."
b. Provide some background pertinent to the story. In A Sporting Murder, which involves a basketball franchise, I used this bit for Greg McKenzie's friend, Sam Gannon: "He grew up in a rural area south of Tulsa and met Wilma at the University of Oklahoma, where he played basketball."
c. Describe their relationship with one of the main characters. Sam Gannon's wife, Wilma, is the best friend of Greg McKenzie's wife, Jill. Here's a spot where I gave a little comparison of the two women: "The daughter of one-time missionaries to China, Wilma liked to say Jill was born with a silver spoon in her mouth while she arrived with wooden chopsticks."
d. If possible, show how they think, how their opinions differ or mirror those of the protagonists. Here's an example from The Surest Poison, where Sid reflects on his friend Patrol Sgt. Wick Stanley: "Without a feature unique enough to stand out in a crowd, he would have made a great undercover man, Sid thought. Wick had no interest in detective work, though. He liked to be out on the street, dealing with the rough and tumble of everyday life."
Walk-on characters who fill minor roles in the story need less description. When Greg goes to a delivery service to find out who sent him a bottle of Scotch laced with arsenic, I described the man he talked to this way: "An older man with an abundant white beard that made him resemble a character out of a nursery rhyme greeted us from behind the counter." The man, who had only three lines of dialogue, was described otherwise as squinting through large, round glasses.
As I said, these should not be taken as rules, just the way one mystery writer does the job. Other opinions may differ.
But what about secondary characters? They can be just as crucial to the story, depending on the roles they play. So how much background should they have? I don't have rules for writing. That sounds too inflexible. But I have a modus operandi, to use a good crime-speak term, that I follow with below-the-top-tier characters.
a. Use some sort of physical description, not necessarily any of the usual height, weight, eye or hair color. Here's one I used for lawyer Arnie Bailey in the first Sid Chance book: "Bailey launched his short, chubby body through the door like a well-dressed groundhog storming out of hibernation."
b. Provide some background pertinent to the story. In A Sporting Murder, which involves a basketball franchise, I used this bit for Greg McKenzie's friend, Sam Gannon: "He grew up in a rural area south of Tulsa and met Wilma at the University of Oklahoma, where he played basketball."
c. Describe their relationship with one of the main characters. Sam Gannon's wife, Wilma, is the best friend of Greg McKenzie's wife, Jill. Here's a spot where I gave a little comparison of the two women: "The daughter of one-time missionaries to China, Wilma liked to say Jill was born with a silver spoon in her mouth while she arrived with wooden chopsticks."
d. If possible, show how they think, how their opinions differ or mirror those of the protagonists. Here's an example from The Surest Poison, where Sid reflects on his friend Patrol Sgt. Wick Stanley: "Without a feature unique enough to stand out in a crowd, he would have made a great undercover man, Sid thought. Wick had no interest in detective work, though. He liked to be out on the street, dealing with the rough and tumble of everyday life."
Walk-on characters who fill minor roles in the story need less description. When Greg goes to a delivery service to find out who sent him a bottle of Scotch laced with arsenic, I described the man he talked to this way: "An older man with an abundant white beard that made him resemble a character out of a nursery rhyme greeted us from behind the counter." The man, who had only three lines of dialogue, was described otherwise as squinting through large, round glasses.
As I said, these should not be taken as rules, just the way one mystery writer does the job. Other opinions may differ.
Monday, January 24, 2011
Writing a First Draft
For years I read advice from novelists who said you should sit down and write your story straight to the end without pausing to look back. If you were unsure about something, keep plowing on and take care of it later. Finish the first draft, they said, then go back to check out questionable details, fine tune the language, and add all those exciting moments that would delight readers.
My mind never worked that way. Each time I sit down at the computer to continue a story, I read what I wrote last to set the mood. In the process, I'll spot some word or phrase I feel could sound better and make the change. Once in a while I'll go back all the way to the first page and read through to where I stopped. tweaking here and there. My chapters also get raked over the coals of my critique group, so that gets added into the mix. By the time I finish my first draft, it's actually a comprehensive revision.
After I started on my new WIP (work in progress, for the uninitiated), I thought about this method that others consider the best way to write. It was time to do some research I wasn't particularly interested in doing at the moment, so I decided to forget it for the present and keep on writing.
What happened? The next time I resumed work on the manuscript, I went back to the last chapter, read through it and...started making changes.
Old habits are hard to break. I've set a deadline of April 1 to finish the first draft, though, meaning I can't piddle around any longer. When I get through, I'll decide if it was worth the aggravation. Meanwhile, I'm plowing ahead like I knew what I was doing.
My mind never worked that way. Each time I sit down at the computer to continue a story, I read what I wrote last to set the mood. In the process, I'll spot some word or phrase I feel could sound better and make the change. Once in a while I'll go back all the way to the first page and read through to where I stopped. tweaking here and there. My chapters also get raked over the coals of my critique group, so that gets added into the mix. By the time I finish my first draft, it's actually a comprehensive revision.
After I started on my new WIP (work in progress, for the uninitiated), I thought about this method that others consider the best way to write. It was time to do some research I wasn't particularly interested in doing at the moment, so I decided to forget it for the present and keep on writing.
What happened? The next time I resumed work on the manuscript, I went back to the last chapter, read through it and...started making changes.
Old habits are hard to break. I've set a deadline of April 1 to finish the first draft, though, meaning I can't piddle around any longer. When I get through, I'll decide if it was worth the aggravation. Meanwhile, I'm plowing ahead like I knew what I was doing.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
The Real Reason I Write Mysteries
I'm sometimes asked why I chose to write mysteries. I usually give the conventional answer, about how I like books that set the world right. In the end, the good guys win, the bad guys lose. That's true, but on further reflection, I realize it is hardly the whole story.
My fascination with crime detection goes back to when I was a kid. I was an eager reader of Dick Tracy in the comics. I read Big Little Books about the fictional detective. I listened to radio shows about FBI agents on the Gang Busters programs, and I was also a fan of the Junior G-Men radio broadcasts. I dutifully ordered their badges and whistles and spy gear.
I thought about being a lawman before that idea got crowded out by the prospect of being and airplane pilot. I wound up being neither. After becoming an adult and a journalist, I switched my reading interest to a mystery sub-genre, the spy story.
I followed the adventures of Helen MacInnes' protagonists and those of John le Carre and Len Deighton. I read books about the Russian KGB and the CIA. The first novel I wrote (discounting one I did while still in college) involved the KGB chasing down a defector working as a professor at Vanderbilt University. This was back in the sixties.
I suppose I had a secret ambition to become a spy in those days. I fancied myself as being rather nondescript and able to move about without attracting attention. It was the thought of traveling incognito and ferreting out secrets that excited my imagination. I kept up with the shadowy activities of Cold War operatives, and when the Soviet Union came apart about the time I retired, I started writing post-Cold War novels in earnest.
After a lack of success with several spy novels, I segued into the detective story. My first effort, Secret of the Scroll, became my first published book. I found I was writing about guys doing what I would have liked to do. I made my hero bigger than me, bolder than me, more confrontational. He still thought a lot like me, but more important, he was an action guy, doing exciting things.
That, it appears, is the real reason I turned to writing mysteries. I wanted to experience vicariously the sort of life I might have lived. I'm happy with what I've accomplished in a long career as a writer, but it's fun playing the role of criminal investigator in my mind.
I thought about being a lawman before that idea got crowded out by the prospect of being and airplane pilot. I wound up being neither. After becoming an adult and a journalist, I switched my reading interest to a mystery sub-genre, the spy story.
I followed the adventures of Helen MacInnes' protagonists and those of John le Carre and Len Deighton. I read books about the Russian KGB and the CIA. The first novel I wrote (discounting one I did while still in college) involved the KGB chasing down a defector working as a professor at Vanderbilt University. This was back in the sixties.
I suppose I had a secret ambition to become a spy in those days. I fancied myself as being rather nondescript and able to move about without attracting attention. It was the thought of traveling incognito and ferreting out secrets that excited my imagination. I kept up with the shadowy activities of Cold War operatives, and when the Soviet Union came apart about the time I retired, I started writing post-Cold War novels in earnest.
After a lack of success with several spy novels, I segued into the detective story. My first effort, Secret of the Scroll, became my first published book. I found I was writing about guys doing what I would have liked to do. I made my hero bigger than me, bolder than me, more confrontational. He still thought a lot like me, but more important, he was an action guy, doing exciting things.
That, it appears, is the real reason I turned to writing mysteries. I wanted to experience vicariously the sort of life I might have lived. I'm happy with what I've accomplished in a long career as a writer, but it's fun playing the role of criminal investigator in my mind.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Goodbye Weird, Wacky 2010
The TV folks spent most of their time this evening looking back at the wild and woolly year. Floods and tornadoes and earthquakes vied for attention with terrorists, spies who were never out in the cold but came in anyway, and, oh yes, Obamacare. Nashville had its share of water problems with a 1000-year flood in May. The other most-talked-about event was the election that considerably altered the landscape. For us in Tennessee, it brought a Republican governor, a Republican majority in the U.S. Congress (we already had two Republican senators), and a State Legislature with the largest Republican membership in history.
The weather curse caught me the following month, however, when I was invited to talk about my new book to the Nashville City Club Book Club. The threat of nasty weather kept the members at home while I had a nice dinner with the club president and his son.
I suppose the most significant event for me this year was turning 85 in November. I don't bemoan old age the way a lot of my contemporaries do, plus many of those not as long in the tooth as me. I think it's pretty cool to still be sailing along singing a song. Actually, I don't do much singing anymore. My one problem is a cough that has left my voice sounding like somebody with terminal laryngitis.
My most shocking accomplishment, maybe weird would work here, came earlier this week. In A Sporting Murder, one of the characters talks about gambling a few times with the murder victim at Harrah's casino on the Ohio River at Metropolis, IL. Greg McKenzie thinks:
"Jill and I made that trek up I-24 to the Illinois side of the river occasionally. We looked on it as a recreational thing and set a fairly modest limit for what we’d spend. Sometimes we came back winners. Most of the time we didn’t."
That was wife Sarah and my personal experience. This time we took our usual $400, realizing we might come back empty handed, but hoping otherwise. We had two free nights in the hotel and coupons for free meals. After day one, Sarah was about ready to pack it in, but I assured her I would win it all back (did I mention I'm an incurable optimist?).
The guy who came to pay me off and reset the machine said it hadn't increased much since the last jackpot. We went and played some other slots, feeling much better though not winning a lot. Later, as we made our way back to the entrance, Sarah said, "Let's play these Blazing 7's again." Having never hit a jackpot before, I was sure my luck had been depleted. But I sat beside her at the same machine.
Before I had hardly spun the reels 10 times, up came three Blazing 777's and the JACKPOT sign flashed again. It was still paltry compared to what you'd get on a dollar machine, but to a guy whose luck had always been lousy at best, it was quite a thrill.
So I'm looking forward to 2011 with a new lease on luck. Meanwhile, I'll keep writing mysteries and plugging along as usual, weird or no.
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