Scondary Characters: They Can Make or Break a Novel

As writers, we spend a lot of time on our main characters, giving them biographies and attending to every detail of their lives, but how much time do we devote to the supporting cast of characters? They are the best buddies of our heroes or relatives, minor villians, the people who lend interest and credence to our stories.

When I construct scenes, I usually think of the main character and what she/he wants and how this will work in the scene, but when I start writing, well, that's when the secondary characters come into play. Boom!  You need somebody, be it a watchman, a farmer, or a stripper.  Who is this person? They need a personality, maybe not a life story, but we must know enough about them to find them believable.  And interesting. In some ways, they must advance the plot.

In Promiscuous Mode, my soon-to-be published mystery, I felt like I hit the secondary character jackpot.  The book is set in Northern Wisconsin.  The real Northwoods.  There's a shoe factory that not making shoes anymore, but ordering them from Asia.  There's computer shenanigans, business shenanigans, sexual shenigans. And people!  I came up with the lowlife Darrell who kidnaps the main character's cat. He's a ne'er do well with a wallet full of cash.  Claims he won it up the road at an Indian casino.  But did he? There's the Revenend Josie, an Episcopal priest who peppers her speech with French. She loves a good glass of wine and adventure.  Maybe she loves adventure too much.  And lastly, there's Phyllis King, a VP at the shoe factory.  She's the town tennis champ, golf champ, has a beautiful Victorian house and a dreadful secret. Oh, I do love secondary characters. They all have secrets.

In The Shadow Warriors, I have a Bulgarian spy, Georgi Balakov  of whom I've very fond.  And a landlady with a bunion who always wears carpet slippers. And a bad guy who turns into a good guy.  This happened because he was based on a real person whom I did not like.  Then we were assigned to a big project together and I got to know him.  He wasn't so bad, and the more we worked together the better I liked him, and his character changed from 100% bad to part-bad, part-good.  I felt better about writing him into the book after that.

Secondary characters are not such nice to have, they're mandatory.  Make them colorful, make them good, bad, evil or better yet, a mixture. Think hard about them.  They prop up the plot and should not be cardboard.  Never cardboard.  Make the reader perk up when they come on the scene. 

 Here are some talented writers who have original thoughts about secondary characters.  Do give them a read.

Skye Taylor http://www.skye-writer.com/blogging_by_the_sea
Margaret Fieland http://margaretfieland.wordpress.com
Helena Fairfax http://www.helenafairfax.com/blog
Dr. Bob Rich https://wp.me/p3Xihq-1tC
Fiona McGier http://www.fionamcgier.com/
Beverley Bateman http://beverleybateman.blogspot.ca/
Connie Vines http://mizging.blogspot.com/
Rhobin L Courtright http://rhobinsrambles.blogspot.com/
Victoria Chatham. http://www.victoriachatham.com

Confrontation: The Heart of Conflict

 

Confrontation:  the heart of conflict

From GOOGLE:

con·fron·ta·tion

ˌkänfrənˈtāSH(ə)n/

noun

noun: confrontation; plural noun: confrontations

1. a hostile or argumentative meeting or situation between opposing parties.

"a confrontation with the legislature"

synonyms:

conflict, clash, fight, battle, encounter, faceoff, engagement, skirmish; More hostilities, fighting; informalset-to, run-in, dust-up, showdown "I've been trying to avoid a confrontation with his new girlfriend"

Every writer of fiction needs conflict. Conflict moves your story. The three main types of conflict are: 

1)    Individuals or groups against one another

2)    Inner conflict  (within the individual)

3)    Conflict with nature or society 

How do we as writers show (remember, show, don’t tell) conflict? By far the best way is through confrontation. 

With nature or society, we could show our character(s) fighting a forest fire, or caught in a flood. We could show them in a heated election campaign debate. Always confrontation.

Inner conflict is also at the heart of every great story. The character at war with herself, confronting her worst nature, worst fears, worst deeds.  A character confronting mental illness.  Think of the possibilities.

Conflict between individuals drives nearly all writing. Adam and Eve vs. God, Cain vs. Abel. King Hrothgar vs. Grendel. Agamemnon vs. Achilles.  We could go on forever, and at the heart of every conflict is a confrontation. 

Confrontation can be subtle, such as a woman brushing off a man hitting on her, or loud and ugly in a scene of domestic violence. The writer can use body language and emotion to depict these confrontations. 

Here are two brief scenes from my WIP, Promiscuous Mode. (A computer term).    

Early in the book, the main character, Laura, meets a man who will be her nemesis throughout the story.

Outside, the atmosphere felt close, like the oxygen had been sucked out the air, and the strata of cloud layered the sky in metal shades from pale gray to graphite.

 A scrawny guy in dirty coveralls emerged from a pickup parked next to mine.

“Honey bunch, don’t think of leavin’ when I’m coming.” He smirked, running his hand through his lank blondish hair. “Name’s Darrell.”

I gave him a curt nod and unlocked the Datsun’s door.

“Hey, I’m talking to you!” The smirk morphed into a scowl. He took a step toward me, and I smelled his boozy breath and got up close and personal to his bloodshot eyes and whiskery face.

“I’m in kind of a hurry.”

 He pushed my car door shut and looked me up and down, then focused his full attention on my chest. “Ah, just have one beer. I’m buyin’.”

“Sorry, Darrell, but I don’t drink and drive.” How lame did that sound?

 “Well, excuse me all to hell, Miss Prissy Pants!”

I looked him in the eye, shifted my weight and grasped the car key. He sensed some change in the power dynamics, glowered at me and stepped back. The heavens opened and giant raindrops splattered us.  

“Woman, just stand there in the rain like a damn stupid turkey.” He headed toward the tavern.

And here’s a scene toward the end of the book. It’s a lot of fun to write confrontation.

A rupture in the rhythm of the dancers as a rock fractures the surface of a pond gave the first hint of disturbance. The ripples widened and in one pocket of the dance floor movement ceased. The song ended, and the pony-tailed DJ stood up and stared over the crowd.

 A furious female voice yelled, “Who are you to be calling anyone a slut?” 

The answer was a shriek. Tom looked with horror in the direction of the commotion. I heard Red shout, “Hey, wait a minute!” 

Tom said, “Oh my god,” and pushed through the crowd. I followed him. Down on the dance floor Phyllis and Heather thrashed around. Phyllis, with her yellow dirndl pushed up around her thighs grabbed a fistful of Heather’s long hair and yanked it for all she was worth. Heather, screaming and crying, bit Phyllis’s arm, and now Phyllis screeched. Tom dived into the melee and tried to wrest Phyllis away, but in the strength of her rage she held fast to Heather’s hair. Red and Al tried to remove Heather, kicking and flailing, but she clawed at them like an angry cat. It took five men to subdue them. Tom, white-faced and shaken, led a sobbing Phyllis into the house. Heather held her hand to her head as Kelly and another woman helped her down the driveway, past the row of Japanese lanterns toward the street.

Confrontation!  The writer’s bread and butter. 

Here are some other bloggers with their own unique views of confrontation. Take a gander. 

Skye Taylor http://www.skye-writer.com/blogging_by_the_sea
Margaret Fieland http://margaretfieland.wordpress.com
Diane Bator http://dbator.blogspot.ca/
Dr. Bob Rich http://wp.me/p3Xihq-FD
Connie Vines http://connievines.blogspot.com/
Helena Fairfax  http://helenafairfax.com/
Fiona McGier http://www.fionamcgier.com/ 
Rachael Kosinski http://rachaelkosinski.weebly.com/
Victoria Chatham http://victoriachatham.blogspot.ca
Beverley Bateman http://beverleybateman.blogspot.ca/
Rhobin Courtright http://www.rhobinleecourtright.com

Stormy Weather

 

My novels are all set in summertime, my favorite season. In Promiscuous Mode, (a computer term) my work in process, the protagonist, Laura, is consumed by problems and conflicts. Weather symbolizes her issues. Just after she finds out the man who hired her is dead, she encounters his funeral procession in the rain. More rain pours down when a lowlife character is snooping on her life. Another incident is a thunderstorm on a lake when Laura is fishing with a friend and his daughter. They find an old boathouse to shelter in and of course something happens. More conflict, more problems. During another storm, someone snoops around the house where Laura has gone to keep a frightened young woman company. My husband says the North Woods have never had such a rainy summer.

In Festival Madness, the heat and dust at the Burning Man Festival echo the problems for main character Emma. A pea soup early morning fog in the Adirondacks delays the characters from their floatplane trip. Weather worms its way into everything. 

I use fog in World of Mirrors, as well. A thick blanket of it fog hovers over the Baltic, and my characters must cross the shipping lanes in a tiny sailboat with no wind and a noisy motor. Bad guys are searching for them. Nothing good happens. I almost scared myself writing those scenes. 

My only novel with a winter scene is The Shadow Warriors. The protagonist passes information on a park bench in the Boston Public Garden on a frigid day. No swan boats, no flowers, just danger and drama. That’s good isn’t it? 

Characters freezing, sweating, wet, bedraggled, suffering.  That’s what we like in fiction. And the story can turn. Remember the thousands of daffodils that became the first sign of spring in Dr. Zhivago? What a welcome sight after a Russian winter.  

Make weather an antagonist in your fiction, and you have build-in drama and conflict. Man against nature. Hasn’t it always been that way?  

See what these bloggers have to say about weather and fiction. 

Skye Taylor http://www.skye-writer.com/blogging_by_the_sea
Rachael Kosinski http://rachaelkosinski.weebly.com/
Beverley Bateman http://beverleybateman.blogspot.ca/
Connie Vines http://connievines.blogspot.com/
Anne Stenhouse  http://annestenhousenovelist.wordpress.com/
Helena Fairfax  http://helenafairfax.com/
Dr. Bob Rich http://wp.me/p3Xihq-EP
Victoria Chatham http://victoriachatham.blogspot.ca
Kay Sisk http://kaysisk.blogspot.com
Rhobin Courtright http://www.rhobinleecourtright.com

Secondary Characters? Secondary in Name Only.

Secondary characters have many functions in stories. Often, my secondary characters have surprised me, indeed, they have gobsmacked me. Who are some of my favorite secondary characters in my own works? In other books?  Read on.
In my first novels, I didn't understand about plotting, and the stories underwent much critiquing and rewriting as I tried to make them good.  One of the (many) things I had t learn was to go deep into each character if he/she  appeared multiple times.  
In The Shadow Warriors, my first published novel, there was a "bad guy" named Stephan, a secondary character.  Truth be told, I modeled his physical appearance and even some of his personality on a co-worker whom I didn't like. He didn't like me, either.  We exasperated each other.  Then, we were thrown together on an important corporate committee.  Not only did we see each other daily, but we had to work together.  Familiarity bred__not more dislike but understanding.  I would never say friendship, but I learned where he was coming from.  We started to like each other.  Just a little.  And as like grew, the Stephan in The Shadow Warriors became more complex, and at the book's end, he did a magnanimous act.  It helps to know your characters. 

Festival Madness, my Burning Man novel,  has a lot of zany characters. Sometimes, when I need to get a character from point A to point B I'll have something happen en route, something important to the story, which can mean a new character, but the reader doesn't know that the person will be important. Sometimes I, the writer, don't know how important that character will become.  When the protagonist, Emma, is driving from Reno, NV to the Burning Man Festival in the Black Rock Desert, she stops by Pyramid Lake to enjoy the scenery.  (It is spectacular.)  Someone nearby is having car trouble, and Emma asks is she can help.  She is astonished and a little rattled when she sees this person closeup.  It is a man?  A woman?  It is Daze, soon to be Daisy, a man undergoing a change of gender.  Right away I liked Daze and his/her sense of humor.  I even bought a book by a woman who had changed her gender.  Daze became, while still a secondary character, important to the plot of the book. And she emerged as a full blown personality from that one encounter seen looking under the hood of her  (glittered encrusted) car. 

Festival Madness is free on the Amazon Kindle from March 18 - March 22nd.  Catch Festival Madness!

The novel I'm currently working on, Promiscuous Mode, (a computer term) has a character, a female Episcopal priest called Reverend Josie, who is modeled on a good friend of mine from college.   She was always eccentric, and when I introduced the character (as a distraction for waiting for another character to appear), I didn't know it was my friend, I just knew I was describing her garb.  Suddenly, she appeared again in the story, and then again. With her French phrases, her odd  speech and her all black wardrobe, she stood out among the somewhat bland corporate types.   My friend died during the writing of the book, and if /when it's published, I'll dedicate it to her.  Writing about her was almost like reliving our friendship, as we seldom saw each other after college.   

An anecdote from college days: I stopped by my friend's dorm room so that we could walk to our gym class--all the way across the campus and usually a total bore. She was reading Epicurus and began reading aloud.  Suddenly we had a bottle of vodka, and after each saying of Epicurus, we'd shout, "I'll drink to that," and swig the vodka.  We left for gym class (finally) and probably staggered all the way.  I remember hysterical laughter.  It was so like her.  Crazy but fun. We had a wild time at a party in the Adolphus Hotel before a Cotton Bowl. 
I never do outrageous stuff like that anymore, and sometimes, I wish I did.   

What other authors have secondary characters I like?  Old Toby in Lawrence Durrell's Alexandria Quartet.  Rat, in the Easy Rawlins stories of Walter Mosley, and Maria Bolkonskaya in War and Peace.  So different all, and yet all so memorable.  

Who is YOUR favorite secondary character?  My fellow bloggers will surely have a lot to say on the subject.  Give them a read. 

Anne Stenhouse  http://annestenhousenovelist.wordpress.com/
Skye Taylor http://www.skye-writer.com/blogging_by_the_sea
Beverley Bateman http://beverleybateman.blogspot.ca/
Connie Vines http://connievines.blogspot.com/
Victoria Chatham http://victoriachatham.webs.com/
Helena Fairfax  http://helenafairfax.com/
Marci Baun  http://www.marcibaun.com/
Rachael Kosinski http://rachaelkosinski.weebly.com/
Hollie Glover http://www.hollieglover.co.uk
Dr. Bob Rich http://wp.me/p3Xihq-CZ
Rhobin Courtright http://www.rhobinleecourtright.com/

Writing Cats into the Story

My series character, Emma, always had two cats around the house, Mitzi and Sabine, and they missed her when she was off on her many adventures, and when she was home they meowed for catnip.  Sound familiar?

When I wrote my "Wisconsin" book, Promiscuous Mode, still unpublished, Emma rented a garage apartment in a small town in Wisconsin and the place came with "Cyrano" a stray whom the landlady offered to send to the pound, but Emma demurred and adopted him.  The name came from the cat who lived in a  (long gone) Wellesley bookstore.  As the book advanced, the cat had more importance and at one point was kidnapped (catnapped?) by a bad guy to get back at Emma.  Don't worry.  Cyrano came out of it fine.  When he first showed up, as happens with many of our characters, I had no intention of making him anything except a companion to lonely Emma, away from her home and thrust into an awkward undercover situation.  Then he became part of the story.

My other cat as major character is Lucy, a half-grown kitten in my "woman in jeopardy" book, Chased by Death, not published but with an agent.  Lucy was also saved from the pound by a spur-of-the-moment adoption.  She, too,  became an important "character" and travelled across the country in a big RV, disappeared during  a thunderstorm and was fondled by a very bad man whom she growled at, once safely under the bed.

I've had cats since I was a child, and we have two now.  Since I know cats so well, it's easy to write them into a story.  Almost everyone likes animals, and it can make your main character more appealing if she has a lot of flaws.

My latest book, a 1928 historical set in Southern California during prohibition has a cat, Oscar,  who again appears to make the characters a bit more loveable.  He ends up  traveling from Pasadena to Taos by train in a basket. I hope he didn't yodel the whole trip.

Peter Abrahams writing as Spencer  Quinn, has a wonderful mysteries series about Chet and Bernie.  Chet the dog, who does not have a speaking role, helps solve the crimes.  Bernie is the PI.  I love these books and other mysteries with cats and dogs.  We share our lives with animals, so why not our writing?  My cats asked to be included in this post which is going up very late.  Do read the other posts on writing with animals

-

 Thisbe 

 Dogwood

Check out these great "animal" blogs:  

Skye Taylor  http://www.skye-writer.com/

Beverley Bateman http://beverleybateman.blogspot.ca/

Marci Baun  http://www.marcibaun.com/
Connie Vines http://connievines.blogspot.com/
Rachael Kosinski http://rachaelkosinski.weebly.com/
Helena Fairfax  http://helenafairfax.com/
Fiona McGier http://www.fionamcgier.com/
Rhobin Courtright http://www.rhobinleecourtright.com/

 

Seven Suspenseful Sentence Sunday - Week Five

Below is the beginning of a mystery novel that I'm trying to sell.  Does it have suspense?  Unanswered questions?  Do you want to find out what happens?  I've changed the beginning several times.  Beginnings are hard.  Endings are even harder, but literary agents don't read the ending before they reject your novel.  Nope!  They read the beginning.  Because I worked in technology for a donkey's age, I usually put some aspect of technology into my writing. The novel is titled, Promiscuous Mode.  Tell me what you think.  Would YOU read on?

Sex seldom rears its head during a technical presentation, but the minute I noticed him, I knew he was going to hit on me. His just-for-you smile, like we shared a secret joke, and his half-lidded bedroom eyes gave him away. He sat in a Chicago hotel conference room with fifty other attendees, the audience for our dog and pony show, Conduct Your Own IT Autopsy, a snoozer for anyone but techies. We stood while the meeting honcho announced, “please  welcome Wayne Wendel and Emma Lee Devens of Nemecek Associates in Cambridge, Massachusetts.”  Thumbs flying, the mystery man keyed on his cell phone during our introducion. I suspected he had entered my name into contacts. 

Waste of time, Romeo.

One of my books that is available as a trade paperback AND on the Kindle is The Shadow Warriors.  It has lots of suspenseful scenes, and some funny ones, too.  You can find it on Amazon. 

Visit the other Seven Suspenseful Sunday Authors at: 
The Magnificent Seven

Congratulations to the players and fans of Green Bay.  What a great thing for a little city. 

Seven Suspenseful Sentence Sunday - Week Four

Earlier in the evening, I had admired this green-roofed boathouse with its little cupola, the big sloping upper story dormer windows, and the neat white doors of the boat bays. Now, in the light from Tom’s lantern, we confronted the dark cavernous space with the fetid smell of lake. 
The light revealed two big compartments with a pontoon boat floating in one, and an old speedboat moored in the second. The water, made restless by the storm, lapped and sloshed below us, causing something to creak. The lantern beam flitted over a wall plastered with oars, a fishing net, a snorkeling mask, and yellow life preservers.
 “Daddy, this place is scary and there’s no place to sit,” said Shelly when Tom put her down.
Amen to that.

From Promiscuous Mode

Don’t forget to read all the other excerpts of suspenseful sentences.  Hie your browser to: Suspense Sunday Seven Sentence Authors 
 
If you're looking for a good Kindle read with technology, suspense and a touch of romance, try the Shadow Warriors by Judith Copek.

A six percent chance and the definition of insanity

My entry to a contest for a spot in an anthology has a six percent (6 %) chance of winning.  That is actually better than the odds of being published as a novelist.

At the end of the month, I travel to the Big Apple from Beantown for Edgar's Week.  This year I'll be pushing my suspense novel (hopefully finished by then), the last of my crime fiction writing.  It's been an interesting eighteen (18) years.  This last book wasn't supposed to be, as I had intended to write my Southern California in the late twenties novel, but the damn character came to me, sat on my shoulder and started telling her story.  Of course, she didn't tell all of it, and I had to fill in a lot of blanks.  I have no feeling for how good it is.  My writing group has gone from enthusiasm to neutrality, shall we say.  Significant Other like my earlier novels, but is not all that enthusiastic about this one.  Actually, he liked Promiscuous Mode and the Shadow Warriors.  

I don't know why I stuck with crime fiction for so long. Some time ago I realized that the parts of my novels I enjoyed writing most were not the cop scenes, the action scenes or the crime scenes, but more the stuff of everyday life.  By then I had so much energy tied up in Mystery and Suspense that I kept at it. 

"They" say the definition of insanity is to keep repeating the same act, expecting different results.  That's me and my so-called writing career.  So onward, to finish In Flight and then to Such Stuff As Dreams.  


I have some short stories to write, and a decision to make about the last crime fiction story I had to truncate to keep the word count down to the contest level.  I spent 3 weeks cutting words. Should I write the story to its "proper" length?  Dunno.   Looking forward to penning the short stories, some of which are about animals.

Speaking of which, we have a huge red-shouldered hawk in the woods by the slough, stalking the birds.  I shudder for my poor little terrorized gold-finches, titmice and chickadees, to say nothing of the doves, the robins and the sparrows!  And all the other feathered friends.   I know.  I know.  Hawks gotta eat, but they can go to another yard, and  not treat ours as a smorgasbord table.

Loved watching the Masters this week and am still so happy that Phil Mickelson won.  And how about them Red Sox?  Now if Big Papi could just hit a few out of the park. One can waste so much time watching sports.  Still, the drama and conflict and effort remind me of writing fiction.


Wish me luck in my new non-crime writing career.  I can go where my whimsy takes me, and have learned good rules about suspense and conflict and plotting which will serve me  in other genres.  

Sucking it up, as per usual.  Yup. Yup.

Grapeshot

Weirdness Rules the Writing Life

Festival Madness  has advanced to the second round of Amazon's ABNA contest, which is a first for me, after three tries.  Two years ago I was dumb-founded when World of Mirrors didn't go anywhere.  Last year, my great pitch for Promiscuous Mode didn't make it.  I almost didn't submit this year, but in a fit of white heat wrote an over-the-top pitch for Festival Madness.  This year I made the cut.  For now, that is good enough.  Promiscuous Mode is with an agent.  Whether he will take it on is anybody's guess, but at least somebody is reading the manuscript. 

That leaves World of Mirrors, which has a huge problem, in that it has now become a  historical mystery of technology. This is likely a genre whose time has not yet come.  I could do a story within a story like I did for the published Shadow Warriors,  I even have an idea, Of course, then the word count, so excruciatingly pared down) goes up again.  I'm thinking of publishing it online scene by scene in a new blog with photos of the scenes and historical commentary.  

That would be like, well, work.  Worthwhile?  Dunno.  As things stand now, I don't think it's publishable.  The moment has passed.  That's the thing with writing about technology. 


In the meantime, I've been slaving over another short story.  Man, are they ever hard.   It will be a submission to an anthology, and therefore has to have a crime and some other stuff.  I have decided not to solve the crime.  Since, with the exception of the crime, the story is based on some more or less true experiences, it was fun to write.  A good, i.e. exciting and interesting experience can be endlessly milked.  


My WIP, In Flight, is languishing on the computer but I did write two scenes this month, and once the short story is put to bed, I can return to it and  finish before summer.  This has also  been a fun novel and when I go to Reno this spring I can get the final details.  We made a trip to Woods Hole and the boat show for the short story, and again, I find myself writing about technology.  Just can't help it.  Everything revolves around technology now. 

My next work, the 1928 California novel, thank heavens has no technology, well, just the invention of waxed paper and the new Los Angeles city hall.  Not much.  Of course the research is humongous, but I don't have to worry that 1928 Southern California is going to change while I'm writing.  Actually, writing  a historical novel is scary.  I am wondering if it will be literary.  Maybe a little.


Last night I cooked up a steak and potato soup from a recent Gourmet.  Couldn't seem to get enough salt and pepper added.  Finally, at the table, we did.  Leftovers for today, too.  
Steak and Vegetable Soup 
Add some extra seasoning like smoked paprika; we found the soup a little bland.  It was filling and of course all the veggies are good for you.  I chopped up some leftover cabbage fine instead of using the kale.   You could easily double the garlic.   


One of my (few) short stories is going to be nominated for an award.  This is totally unexpected and a great honor.    Sometimes characters just arrived in your head and start talking to you, or else they have been standing around the periphery for ages and step into the spotlight. 

There is no doubt about it.  Writing is weird, but then the inside of one's head is weird.
After all, I've got two women on the run, conflictd drug lord, a crack whore, a pimp and a flapper churing around in my head.  And I manage to live a pretty normal, some would say boring life. 


Nope, not really. 


Grapeshot

Bird Watching 101

Thisbe watching birds.  A cat's most cherished activity.  Annie enjoys the same pursuit.  The birds seem oblivious to the presence of a cat just a few feet away.

I haven't been posting, alas and alack.  I've been writing.  I did yet another rewrite of Promiscuous Mode, and it is now (whole MS) with an agent, but no great hope.  I've done some more on In Flight and am almost 5000 words into a crime short story.  Sent another story into a contest.  So the writing goes apace.

Also cooking up a storm.  Big Valentine's Day menu which we ate on for days.  Then S.O.'s birthday dinner of stuffed cabbage.  Finished it last night.  Mega-yum.

I've also been working on a writing group's web site, dieting, working out, working on finances, yada yada.  The diet is just a calorie count diet, which means I have to enter every bite into this web site which helps figure out the calories.  It took a long time at first, but I'm kind of into the hang of it now.  Total loss:  3.5 pounds, but hey, that's something added to the 3.5 pounds I lost before the formal diet.

The thing about a simple calorie count is that no food is forbidden.  A lot of diets say that but weight watchers will penalize you a gazillion points for a tablespoon of butter, but you can eat a whole can of beans.  The more something is portrayed as forbidden, i.e., foodstuffs, the hungrier I get for it.

So I take my lumps with 1/4 cup peanuts and the St. Andre cheese and  eat less of something else.  I haven't been hungry, by the way, in spite of the fact that I'm trying to stay around 1200 calories on days when I don't work out.  Turns out I wasn't eating THAT MUCH to begin with. 

I made my mother's recipe of lemon squares to take to a friend's house.  They are so good I will post them here soon.  And I also made crepes with a sweetened cream cheese filling and a strawberry sauce to go on top.  This gave us dessert for  4 nights, 2 crepes each.  A lot of bang for the buck and also cheap.

Tomorrow I'm baking a chocolate/walnut pound cake to take to another event.  I would rather take a salad but it has to be something easily transportable.   Doesn't sound like a diet, does it?  Small portions are the key.

Tonight, we're back to chicken breast, and I'm doing the Boston Globe Saturday/Sunday recipe with  one main dish and then another made from the leftovers.  Not high cal and very tasty looking.  First Spanish, then Mexican. Spanish Style Chicken

Then you make the Mexican Recipe with the leftovers:
Chicken Chilaquiles

 Off to work on my short story.  It's a lot of fun, and I'm visiting Mattapoisett today for research.

Ta Ta

Grapeshot

January, 2010

How did it get to be the 13th?  When you are busy, time just is fleet of foot.  All the guests are gone, and the house is undecorated.  A drabness prevails when the Christmas decorations are packed away. I left the wreath with its red bow on the front door.  A couple more tasks and we can officially put the curtain down on the holidays.  


I'm taking a revision class which is helping with the umpeenth rewrite of Promiscuous Mode.  This novel is such fun that I can't believe that no agent has ever taken it on.  Beloved by my writing group and Significant Other, it is even fun to revise again.  And again.  And Again.  My friend Claire liked it, too, and gave me some tips which I incorporated. 



I'm 75% of the way through The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo and the violence is rather getting to me.  Must be one of the "more sensitive" viewers.  Certainly not younger.  Nope.  Watched 'Big Love' last night. Great characters and story line.  Nothing beats writing about families.  The ancient Greeks knew that.  Tolstoy, practically everyone.  What were "Friends" and "Sex in the City" if not modern-day urban families?  And The Sopranos, of course.  And The Good Wife.  It goes on and on.  And back to The Odysseus and the Aeschylus.  I had to look up how to spell "Aeschylus."  


There has been a string of boring recipes in the papers since the holiday.  A pre-lenten lets-lose-the-weight-and-fast mind set.  Phooey. 


We had a marinated flank steak (well at least it's LEAN) last night, and I realized the marinade is similiar to one I've used for eons. 


Red wine, garlic, olive oil, curry powder, soy sauce an salt and pepper.  The meat was almost fork tender.  Served it up with Brussels Sprouts and a salad of romaine topped with pear slices, blue cheese and a sweetish dressing, Marzetti's to be precise.  Marzetti's makes wonderful dressings found in the dairy case.  Pricey, but sometimes they are on sale or one has a coupon. 


BTW, nothing recommended on this blog is ever  paid for by a sponsor.  Nope.  Grapeshot runs a commercial-free blog.  That being said, my Penzey's order arrived yesterday.  Peppercorns, two kinds of paprika, and other good spices.  Love Penzey's Barbecue of the Americas seasoning. It will enliven your grilled meats big time.



The new stove will be installed today, one of Sears finest. We've been without an oven since January 3rd, hence the stovetop dishes.  I even made a good rice pudding in the double boiler.  And with 2% milk.  It still tasted nice and rich even without eggs.  Something to do with the slow cooking of the rice.  The recipe was in the old Joy of Cooking, but I zapped it with some raisins and a little nutmeg.  


Blood oranges are in season.  They are incredibly cool.  Time to work on my novel.  


Grapeshot

From PC to MAC

My old Dell is dying. Various family members have been bullying me to get a MAC, and I have finally consented. Today is the last day on the old Dell, although I will be doing Money on it until I figure out which financial program to use. Of course I have an old Money (2002) and you can't convert Money to the new Quicken with a Money version earlier than 2004, and Money 2004 costs $40.00, which is just another amount to add to the total. A devious idea came to me, and we'll see if it works.

Apple is going to do the conversion and I bought Office Suite for MAC, and cleaned up the computer, did some backups--more to do, and have my list of questions and concerns. Called Verison to make sure this was plug and play, known in my circle as plug and pray. Well, you know. The project manager in me insists on making a plan and raising issues. Once a geek, always a closet geek. Murphy's law and never assume.

So, we'll see how it goes. There will be pain, the only question is how much. And of course I don't know MAC software f rom sh__, but I'm willing to learn. As an early adapter to word processing, spread sheets, project, powerpoint, email, and PC's in general, I am anxious, to say the least. Because my life is pretty much on my computer: email, writing, blogging, finances, address books, Christmas card lists, recipes.

So, again, we'll see how it goes. Big into leftover turkey this week. Lots of desserts still in fridge. Tonight we're having turkey crepes with mushrooms and a yummy sauce. Tomorrow, too. We're been too full of leftover stuffing the last two nights to eat the desserts.

The green bean casserole from scratch was to die for. God, it was good. And the little mini-Halloween cupcakes with the cream cheese frosting were also wunderbar.

Churning through Promiscuous Mode to give it another round. Woke up in the middle of the night thinking of World of Mirrors, but I can't get my arms around a "frame," unless I make it a romance. Seems a bit dicey. Festival Madness needs a total rewrite, a lot of work involved there, and In Flight is presently driving a motor home across Wyoming. Thinking of the plot. Always happens to me before the big denouement. Makes it better. Many literary irons in the fire. Want to write a story about becoming a school teacher in Kansas in the 20's.

And Christmas is coming up like a fast-moving freight train. Baking. Presents. Etc. I have another stalled project, a web site. All my support people have evaporated. Don't know what to do.

Finished reading The Watchman by Robert Crais. He is such a good writer. Enjoyed every page. Lots of good tension. Twists and turns.

Friday used to be cat blog day, and I haven't blogged the cats for a while. Both have health issues and they don't do much except sleep, although Annie was sitting on top of the car when last seen. This photo is of Thisbe, and a kid took it, a kid that has spent 5 years trying to relate to Thisbe. Finally happened.

Onward,

Grapeshot

Natick Writer's Group

Last night at Fenway Park. Beautiful evening, and then the Blue Jays humiliated the young pitchers brought up from the Paw Sox, and finally the rains came, huge sheets of water drenching the field.

Notice the sign says "Welcome Natick Writer's Group to Fenway Park."

We dined and wined and chatted and even watched the sad game. Youk hit a couple homers which definitely livened things up.

At the park, you get to hear all the cool (hot) music that you never hear on television because there is always a commercial.

Fenway Park rocks, and in three years, the park will celebrate it's 100th birthday. Yowza! The incredible energy--when Papelbon comes in to save the game in the 9th inning it's like the large defining moment, with the Drop Kick Murphys belting out "I'm Shipping Up to Boston."

The Natick Writer's Group segued from Wellesley to Natick when the bookstore closed. I named a cat Cyrano after the bookstore cat. Mine was fictional. That book, Promiscuous Mode, still hasn't sold, the one the Natick Writer's Group liked best. Less cerebral than the others.

A thinky person writes a thinky book. A feely person writes a feely book. Whatcha gonna do?

A decisive person writes a decisive book. TDF! Oh yeah.

I am so far behind in my tasks that I may never get caught up. Oh, sure, eventually.

Onward.

Grapeshopt

Sucking It Up Again

Last week, in a query frenzy, I sent out queries for World of Mirrors, Promiscuous Mode and Festival Madness.

Today, the rejections started coming in like kamikazes after a battleship. Poor old World of Mirrors, which I rewrote numerous times, has ninety-three (count 'em) rejections. I need to get 114 before I throw in the towel. Harry Hunsicker who went on to publish several well-received books and become an officer in MWA got 113 rejections before he found an agent. Persistence wins the day. I guess. This is really a cool novel--an honest-to-god original story , with fun (read bad) characters, a suspenseful plot and a slice of history on a beautiful island. So whatchagotta do? Dunno. It's hard to let this book die.

I'm having trouble finding agents who might like Promiscuous Mode with its funky locale, business setting and lighthearted adultery. Cripes, it even has a cat and casinos. BTW, a relative reports the sleazy casino I wrote about has been gussied up and has a fancy hotel across the street instead of El Sleazo Motel. I like the lowlife locale better. My writing group loved this book; even Significant Other says it's his favorite, but so far fifty-eight rejections.

Festival Madness is coming up on the rail, rejection-wise. forty-nine to date. If the agent never responds, I count that as a reject. And with Burning Man next month I should query a bunch more agents.

Have you been doing the math? That's 200 rejections, a universe of sucking it up. And still, I'm writing another novel and have one on the horizon after that. Maybe yet another. Crazy Grapeshot, must be the world's biggest masochist. Not.

So. I made pizza tonight for us and the two guests. We always do a lot of toppings, with fresh veggies ascendant, and beaucoup cheese. Always tasty. I can control what comes out of my kitchen. Actually, I can control my writing but not its acceptance.

I'm going up to watch the Red Sox in the All Star game. Tomorrow we're trekking to Plimouth Plantation and the Mayflower.

Thisbe is curled up by my feet and having a cat nuzzle your toes makes up for a world of pain.

Two hundred rejections! OMG.

Novels and Work

Alain De Botton has a thought-provoking article in today's (Sunday) Globe about how few novels take place in an office setting or even a work setting. This is true even in the mystery genre. You have various cozy hobbyists and PI's who are usually in the office only for a customer to come in and get them out of the office. Cops are seldom seen at their desks. But in point of fact, maybe the work that police and firemen do are one of the few occupations that writer's dwell on. Oh yeah, and the movies.

The headline of De Botton's article reads Portrait of the Artist as a Young Data-Entry Supervisor.
Ain't gonna happen. My writing group is not big on "Office scenes."

In fact the pictorial book, A Day is the Life of America, if memory serves me, did not have a single photograph of the inside of a real life office. I was working at the time and felt the familiar pang of alienation. Invisible again.

I have beaucoup scenes set at the office in my as-yet-unsold novel Festival Madness. The office is a high tech firm and I try to portray how a consultant (yet another occupation) would work there. Of course the office experiences an FBI raid and some late night fornication and things that make (one hopes) the reader want to turn the page, and the fornication may not be so rare, but of course the raid is.

It is difficult to write about life in the office because people in meetings or sitting in front of computer screens, butt in chair--all activities that can be deadly dull and you need some conflict (also found at meetings) to move the plot along. It is harder than a dysfunctional family scene or cops at a crime scene. And many writers, as Botton pointed out, have had dumbed down day jobs allowing them to write, but not jobs which require a huge committment of mental resources.

I had the kind of job which required the intellectual committment, and yes, writing was hard. Promiscuous Mode also took place in an office, and, well, we know that it's still unsold, too. Not from a lack of conflict and interesting goings-on at the office. Well, maybe. What do I know?

Of course there is the television program, The Office, and cultural snob that I am, I don't really watch network TV, but the program seems to be popular. Maybe not with people who read. Oh dear, there I go again.

Botton's new book is The Pleasures and Sorrows of Work, of which there are many.

By the way, I just finished Sue Grafton's T is for Trespass, and as a writer she spends quite a bit of time on Kinsey Milhone's work in her office, and nary a client showed up to distract her from her bookkeeping, etc. You really get a feeling for how a PI might REALLY work, including some of the boring cases which of course turn out to be not so boring.

Botton is discussing literary writers, not genre writers. His book sounds interesting.

Off to Florida to conduct research, part of a writer's (genre or otherwise) work. Not the "plant butt in chair" tedious part. I will see for myself for my drug lord works, eats and sleeps. Yes, I show him in an office and eating lunch like an ordinary office worker. Hey Alain, how cool is that?

Grapeshot

Elaine Viets, The Deadend Job series has lots of information about the heroine's dead end jobs. Hilarious, too. The books are funny and witty and altogether a good read.

When Life Imitates Fiction

My first long-ago never-to-see-the-light-of-day mystery began with a crime in a parking garage. I used the area where I worked, naturally, and parked in that garage day and night without much thought to safety. After all, it was a hop, skip and a jump from the office, well-lighted, yada, yada. Imagine my surprise, nay, horror, when a real crime hit the garage, and someone actually tried to kidnap a woman in broad daylight. It gave me pause.

My next book, The Shadow Warriors, dealth with an info war which has only broken out in minor skirmishes in real life, but that seems destined to happen. Maybe the book will take off when it does, but I really wouldn't hope for such an event, book sales or no.

Wisconsin book, Promiscuous Mode, has not sold, but there have been several mass murders in that neck of the woods. Gives one pause.

Burning Man Book, Festival Madness. So far no murders connected to festivals, at least to my knowledge. Whew!

Current book: In Flight. I picked a physical heroine out of my daily life--someone I knew but not well. Took her profession, too. The real person of course was nothing like my heroine who had had genuinely awful things in her life. Until yesterday, when the model told me of a huge tragedy which had befallen her. I felt almost guily. The issue has been building for years, long before the book was a gleam in my eye, but still . . . One charmed life, no longer.

Fiction and life are in a deadly embrace. That's why it's so tempting to fictionalize a memoir. Don't.

Another post soon. I just put chocolate panna cotta in the fridge to gel, and now I'm off to make the port wine ice cream. Yowza! Like God in France.

Grapeshot

The New Year Lurches In Like A Zombie

Recovering from houseguests. Laundry. Leftovers. Lethargy. The 3 L's? After the laundry comes the ironing of napkins and pillowcases. Sheets can tend to themselves.

What is better than a meat pie? I had LOTS of leftover pork tenderloin. Cut it into bite-sized cubes, browned in butter with some scallions and garlic, sprinkled with flour and roast-beef seasoning (go figure) and added some stock mixed with a bit of white wine. Tossed in lots of chopped parsley and a couple big spoonsful of sour cream. Stir like crazy. Tossed in a bit of leftover rice since I had no potatoes, and a few cooked baby carrots and some frozen peas. Put a Pillsbury ready-made pie crust on top and cooked in a hot oven until the crust was brown.

We ate it last night and tonight. Yum!

Today was the day to exchange some presents at Macy's. I have to tell you that if everyone in the city and suburbs of Boston bought a bra and some panties at Macy's in South Shore Plaza, there would still be plenty for the people in Providence. Sheeesh! Never have I seen so much underwear, so many pj's. People, there are also a lot of really ugly clothes out there. Kohl's had some in the kids dept. and Macy's had some in the women's dept. Ugly. Ugly. Probably everyone could buy something ugly and the store would still have . . . well, you know.

We had a frugal lunch at Au Bon Pain. I noticed with sorrow that the tarragon chicken sandwich was not on the menu, nor was the Florentine tomato soup. Alas, alas. S.O. had broccoli cheddar soup and I scarfed down a spicy tuna sandwich. Lunch for two for $13.00 with lemonade is not bad. Some places a glass of wine would cost that much.

Hit the Body Shop for soap and foot cream and other sundries. The Body Shop rocks.

On the Scottish Highland Cattle front, the young black bull is gone, which must mean the freaked out pregnant cow is in residence. I fed them yesterday--three bags of fruit and veggie scraps. The grapefruit rinds from 4 people filled a whole bag.

I made apricot bars today. Hope they aren't overly sweet like the last batch. Current recipes can way overdo the sugar.

Promiscuous Mode received another rejection today. I am back in my drug lord's head, which is not a bad place to be as he daydreams of Cali and Cartagena.

Onward,



Grapeshot

Queries: the long and the short of it

After my last post, at 10:44 this morning, I tackled the list of agents appearing in the spring at a writing conference. First I had to separate those I had already queried and from which book. I went through their web sites and discovered some didn't take genre writing and others accepted only non-fiction. Some had already rejected one book or another. The list had really shrunk by the time I parsed the whole thing. It also hurts if the agent has no web site. Will they like a so-called high tech novel? I think not.

Went upstairs and made and consumed a turkey sandwich. Ah man! What could be better than thin sliced white meat on thin sliced white bread with slatherings of mayo and sprinkled with salt and pepper with thin sliced tomatoes and a big leaf of lettuce thrown in to salve the conscience? Yum! Add a few slices of Mrs. Fannings pickles and a few potato chips.

When I got on the scale this morning, the first thought was: how can my pajamas have gained four pounds? Then, I thought: no, it has to be water. Lots of water.

Ye gods! I put on my gym clothes with good intentions for a walk or a visit to the gym, but the rains came and the weather was dark and cold and I didn't feel like going to the gym. As evidenced above, I felt like scarfing down some more of the turkey.

Thisbe's diabetes is much improved, and her coat is so much softer. She is eating Atkins for kitties and the fancy high-priced moist food. Yesterday, most unaccountably, she begged for roast turkey while I was slicing it for dinner. Ate some. Ate some more. When I fixed my sandwich she asked for more. And again.

This from a cat who never eats people food. Well, not since yesterday. It's good high-quality protein, I tell myself when Thisbe and I both feel like a bit of a nosh. This is amazing. I wonder if her body knows this is a good thing in her current state of health. My body only knows that it likes to eat.

Back down to the agents: After all was said and done, I found two, one for Festival Madness and one for World of Mirrors. Nobody for Promiscuous mode, which was the whole point of the exercise. So one email and one SnailMail query have gone out. It's 3:45 and the day is gone. Few queries and no exercise.

I will visit my drug lord. Maybe he'll talk to me. And then again . . . .

Grapeshot

Agent Queries

Somali pirate. I had a dress out of the same fabric as his "headpiece" when I was in grade school. Photo may be from the BBC. Couldn't find a credit. It was on another blog that didn't credit. These pirates all have automatic weapons and cell phones.

Back to writing. I'm calmer about the whole piggy shopping scene, although the sight of all those glossy adds in today's Globe nearly got me into rant mode again. Not my zebra. Not my zoo. Just keep repeating.

I have a big list of agents to query about Promiscuous Mode, a book my writing group loved, a traditional amatuer sleuth whodunnit with lots of suspects, small town, a cat, low lifes, bass fishing. God, what more could you want?

Anyway, I need to send out some queries about this book, since the sequel is already completed. She's into high tech. He's into homicide. The Northwoods rock and roll . . . yada yada. That's my "Pitch" line. God, I wish someone would just read the freaking book. This business of queries to agents, in spite of all the good advice, is something I haven't mastered. It's like there is this giant blind spot the size of the sun.

And also I need to get back to my fabulous fish robot, Frances, and back to Lotto, the Colombian Drug Lord and his worries and tribulations. I live in a world of strange characters, and sometimes they talk to me. How weird is that? And I listen.

Lotto is a little like the Warren Beatty character in "Shampoo." Everyone wants something from him, and he's pulled in many directions.

I take some of the "props" out of the headlines, like small submarines and Somali pirates.
So, off to the drug wars and the agent battle and Indian Ocean piracy. What a fun way to spend a rainy Sunday. Take that, Baudelaire.

Cheers,

Grapeshot

All Is Forgiven

Last night, Thisbe joined us in the living room in front of the fireplace and indicated that "all is forgiven." I went into the kitchen, prepared the syringe, brought it into the living room, swabbed her fur, and gave her the injection, which she appeared not to notice. These are small, fine needles, and that went rather well. She was unfortunately under the bed having "private" time this evening, and I had to wait rather longer than proper timing indicated, but when we got back from my writing group she was waiting for food and I swabbed and jabbed while she was scarfing down moist food.

We're back to moist food, as the web sites dealing with feline diabetes indicate this is the way to go. Far too many carbs in the dry stuff. I'll see. The dry stuff from our vet (available only thru a vet) is for diabetic cats. Right now Thisbe is eating both kinds, and Annie, also porcine, prefers the dry. Annie takes heart medication twice a day. We live in cat sitter hell, that's what.

At the supermarket this morning, the produce truck was LATE. Supposed to be there at 9:00, and not in sight at 11:00. No lemons. No Brussels sprouts. We waited around and waited around and kept accosting the produce people. "They are late because of the holiday."

Grrr. Like the produce people didn't know it was Thanksgiving and might put some extra help on. Finally the truck showed up. I swear to god the Brussels sprouts were unloaded last. We had been hanging out and cooling our heels for a half an hour with entreaties and pleading looks.

Finally, finally the B.S. were brought out and we took four packages, because not only were we doing a side dish for Thanksgiving, but S.O. had it in his head they would be good with the stuffed pork tenderloin tomorrow.

The store didn't charge us for them. Have you ever heard of such a thing? I felt kinda bad, as they were not exactly cheap, and while we seem to be in a financial free fall, we can still buy groceries. They insisted there was no charge. Argued a bit but they were adamant. So thank you for the Brussels Sprouts. We'll enjoy them in good health and and are indeed thankful for your generosity and making us feel the time hanging around and looking at the produce was not time wasted.

Mostly I am thankful that we don't have to eat American Chop Suey one more night. Some wag defined eternity as a ham and two people. I have to say a pound of pasta starts to seem that way by the third night. My oldest kid could, at one time, eat a pound at a sitting. And he stayed skinny. Oh for a metabolism like that in my current years. Yowza! I could eat all the stuff I stay away from. Or try to stay away from.

Yesterday I made oatmeal raisin cookies, a kind of generic cookie from childhood. The recipe made a big batch and there are two bags in the freezer, which is always like manna from heaven. Got the recipe off the Internet. I am getting a good feel for recipes from strange sources. You can look at the seasoning and the fat and get a pretty fair idea if it will be fit to eat.

All recipes calling for margarine are ignored. If all ingredients are "non-fat," that recipe is also disregarded. Low-fat may be all right. We don't object to low, just non. You can always substititute. Healthy salads and veggies are cool. I don't make a lot of desserts, except we like a cookie daily. Seems like one should be able to eat one. Or two. Fresh fruit desserts--yum! Hard to beat fresh fruit. I'm especially fond of Cafloutis.

So I jumped from cat food to people food. Our cats won't eat people food. Won't touch. Won't sniff. It's wonderful. I've had cats that would snake a piece of chicken from a plate with their paws. Cats who ate a half a roast beef. Cats would enjoyed pizza and broccoli and green beans. Cats who want to lick the cereal bowl. Thisbe and Annie are not like those cats.

I am reading a Carl Hiassen book and he showed me how to do a great short flashback. I love his books, which are over the top but in a good, fun way. Great characters, especially the weird bad guys. This book is about bass fishing. I had a bass fishing scene in Promiscuous Mode, but the characters didn't catch any bass. Now I know that bass boats can go fast. You always learn something.

Do you think there are any mysteries where the diabetic cat and the cat with heart trouble solve the crime? I thought not.

Onward,


Grapeshot