Saturday, December 17, 2011

Barking Up The Chocolate Tree

Barking Up the Chocolate Tree

Tis the season to be jolly. Also the season to be overworked, overwhelmed by lists
and chores, and sometimes, sadly, to be overwhelmed by the task of so much socializing. It isn't that we don't want to see our friends. We do. And it isn't that we're not pleased to find that others want our company. It's just that it all seems to come at us at once, like an enormous wave, rolling over us until our heads spin a
nd we're caught in the undertow of dressing, eating, drinking, and recovery.

For those of us who aren't superbly organized or get absent-minded or frantic when we have too much on our plates, I offer the following suggestions for making the holidays go more smoothly. I hope you'll take these in the humble spirit of fellowship in which they're offered. They derive from experience, not expertise.

Holiday survival trick #1: Take your special occasion make-up and put it in a bag and leave it where you can grab it in a hurry: the front of a drawer or by the sink. Then you can find it when you need it and you can drop that bag in your purse for quick touch-ups later.

Holiday survival trick #2: Select one or two outfits that make you look good and feel comfortable. Put them together on a hanger, sweater or top, pants or skirt and jacket. Then gather the jewelry or scarf to accessorize, any special "foundation" garments, like the one bra that works with that slinky sweater or control top pantyhose, and the right shoes or boots, put them in a plastic bag, and slip the handle over the hanger. That way, everything is ready to go when you are, and you don't have fight dust bunnies crawling under the bed to find your shoes, create chaos on the bed trying to find the right sweater, or rush half-dressed down two flights of stairs to the laundry room to find your underwear.

Holiday survival trick #3: Buy some colorful gift bags, a packet of bright tissue paper, some fancy teas or hot chocolate and packets of cookies. Make up some gift bags and leave them where you can grab one as you go out the door in case you need a last minute gift.

And last, but not least, because we all know that chocolate fights stress, because taking something homemade is far cooler than Trader Joe's cookies or another bottle of wine, and because we're all in need of something quick and easy that will make others ooh and aah as we present it, I offer, this week, a selection of Chocolate Bark recipes for the quick and dirty cook.

Jacquie Old's Chocolate Bark

1 lb of good quality bittersweet chocolate from some place like Whole Foods
about 50 tamari almonds from Trader Joe's
Cut up sugared ginger nuggets. They sell them at Whole Foods.

Chop up chocolate a little and melt it in a double boiler or microwave Have a cookie sheet prepared with foil lining. Then sprinkle chopped up almonds and ginger nuggets randomly in an oblong. When chocolate is full melted spread it on top of the almonds and ginger. Let it harden over about 8 hours. Then break it into bark slivers.

Alternative 1:

Peppermint Bark
Spread melted chocolate over crushed candy canes

Alternative 2:
Try regular almonds, or walnuts, pistachios, or pecans. Trader Joe's roasted and salted pecans are great with chocolate.
Use dried sour cherries or cranberries.
Spread your melted chocolate over trail mix.

Red, White & Blue Bark:

Instead of dark chocolate, use a 12 oz. bag of white chocolate chips

Melt and spread out on the baking pan and sprinkle with dried cranberries and blueberries.

Dark Chocolate and Toffee Macadamia Bark

½ box of graham crackers
¼ cup brown sugar
¼ cup sugar
½ lb butter (2 sticks)
3 cups dark chocolate chips (or your favorite chocolate bars, broken up in small pieces)
1 cup roughly chopped macadamia nuts (or other nut if you prefer)

Preheat oven to 350F. Line a lipped baking sheet with a layer of tin foil. Arrange a single layer of graham crackers in the pan without overlapping. In a small saucepan, melt butter and add the sugars. Whisk to dissolve. Let boil and simmer for 5 minutes on low. Very carefully pour mixture onto the graham crackers, working quickly with a spatula to even out the layer. Bake 10 minutes. Remove and evenly spread out the chocolate chips and leave it to melt for 5 minutes. Using spatula, spread the melted chocolate evenly. Top with chopped nuts. Let cool. Refrigerate for 2 hours. Break into pieces.

A great treat that you can customize to your liking. Substitute with milk chocolate chips, those fancy white chocolate chips, pecans, walnuts, pistachios.

Share with the world.

note: the Dark Chocolate & Toffee Macadamia Bark takes 2 hours to chill.

Sunday, September 25, 2011

Gerry Boyle interviews Kate Flora

OK, here’s a question I’ve wanted to ask you. You’re a lawyer. Why no courtroom series? Why not go the John Grisham route?

Great question, Gerry. I realized early on that if I made my character a lawyer, I’d constantly be checking to be sure I’d gotten the law right, the courtroom procedure right, etc. and I’d end up doing research and reading cases instead of writing. So I followed the “write what you want to know” instead of the “write what you know” route. For the Thea Kozak series, I picked my next door neighbor’s job—consultant to independent schools—which provided geographic mobility and a flexible job schedule, gave it Thea, and I was off and running.

How I got into writing police procedurals and true crime is another story.

So when in your life did you realize that you were drawn to crime (writing about it, not doing it, I presume).

It was a lovely moonlit night. I was walking on a beach in Bermuda. We’d just passed through one of those round, oriental gates, heading back toward the hotel, and this idea just popped into my head. I turned to my husband and I said, “I’ve got the plot for a mystery.”

Of course, the desire to write came a lot earlier than that. Probably around the time I could first hold a pencil. My first job, at 11 ½, was assistant to the librarian at the Vose Library in Union, Maine, and my passion for reading just spilled over. Every now and then, Elizabeth Coatsworth—tall, elegant, and a REAL WRITER, would come into the library. I was in awe.

Do you think crime/mystery novelists are closet criminals? Or closet cops?

I think some of us are one; some the other. Someone who can write The Silence of the Lambs? Probably a closet criminal. Tess Gerritsen could go either way. I’m so rule bound it’s ridiculous, so I guess I’m a closet cop, and Joe Burgess is definitely my alter-ego. But I think to write credible bad guys we need to be able to understand their points of view and rationales. Otherwise, they’d stick out like rhinos at a deer park. As I often tell my library and bookstore audiences—most bad guys don’t look into the mirror when they’re brushing their teeth and think…oh, I am sooo bad. Except for our sociopaths, most bad guys think they’re justified in what they’re doing.

You write from the point of view of a homicide detective, Joe Burgess. And Thea Kozak has a detective in her life, too. Have you spent a lot of time with real-life detectives?

Not nearly enough. I’m a huge cop junkie. Though it’s getting to the point (awkward confession here) that all the ones I know well enough to hang around with are retiring and the new ones are young enough to be my kids. But that’s okay. I like hanging around with my kids.

Seriously—I learn stuff for a book and then it drops away when I find myself learning another world, and then I have to go back and take a refresher course. Do a ride along. Get arrested. Shoot a handgun. Go into the interview room. Because if I don’t make the time to have those late night conversations, driving around Munjoy Hill, about what the officer is seeing, about why he became a cop, about the scary things and the rewarding things, Joe Burgess won’t be the dimensioned character I want him to be. And I won’t know how to make Terry Kyle different or the many ways that Stan Perry’s impulsive nature is going to get him into trouble. And I won’t understand so well the tension between Thea Kozak, with her determined, “gotta fix it” nature, and Andre Lemieux, whose job is to serve and protect.

Do your cop sources like your books?

One of the greatest compliments I ever got was when Hugh Holton, the first black commander in the Chicago police department, told me I wrote good cops. He even said so in an article in the Edgars program book. (Unless it was the Bouchercon program.)

Another source told me he thought I should have been a cop, because I included so many little things that only a cop, reading the book, would see and understand. And I’ve done interviews with sources where they’ve told me things, and I’ve gone back to the detectives and said, “Did you know this?” and it was something they’d never been told.

I know I’ll get things wrong…but I try hard to get them right. And then, as you know from writing your rookie, the rule-bound, SOP-driven nature of police work, and the structure of the command staff, can get in the way of a good plot. We have to take some liberties.

Here’s another one I’ve wanted to ask you. You’ve written from the POV of both men and women. Any challenges in getting inside the head of a man? I’ve written one book with a woman protagonist. It was tough and I’m not sure I got it right.

Lots of challenges, Gerry. And this is another thing I think I learn, forget, relearn, and have to work hard on when I’m in revision. In general, men talk differently than women. They’re more certain. Less likely to equivocate and qualify. And they may see things more concretely, while women often tend to focus on the emotions of the situation, men will focus on the solutions and results. But there’s a broad spectrum. So yes, I’m challenged by writing men, but I’m challenged by writing all kinds of characters. By how to make them distinct and diverse, with voices and lifestyles and backstories and worldviews that are uniquely theirs.

I think it’s part of the job. The part I love and the part that never stops being a challenge.

OK, on another subject, you’ve been international president of Sisters in Crime. Do you like spending time with other writers?

I love my colleagues in the mystery field. I’ve been the beneficiary of so much generosity over the years from writers like Mike Connolly and Tess Gerritsen and Laura Lippman. If I can pry myself out of the house to go to a conference, I always have a great time seeing people I’ve known for decades. I love the feeling of being among others who understand about the voices in our heads and the challenges of story-telling, and also about the awful feelings of insecurity when we’re among the “big name” writers. It’s great to hang out in the bar and bitch about the business. I love teaching. I love speaking at libraries. I’m happy to be one of the founders of the New England Crime Bake conference, our regional mystery conference that we hold every November.

That being said, I’m a deeply solitary writer. I don’t join stuff, I don’t hang around with my friends. I probably have lunch with someone two or three times a year. I don’t go to meetings. I’m either at my desk or I’m out doing research, like last week when I was up in Gilead watching the Maine wardens train search and rescue dogs. I am, truly and insanely, addicted to writing.

How on earth do you find time for organizing panels, workshops, and an excellent mystery writers blog?

I don’t have a life, except a life of the mind?

No, that makes me sound so uninteresting. I guess that I believe in community (might come from being raised in a small town?) and so I make the time to contribute to it.

The blog? Well…I kept waiting for someone to organize one and invite me to join, and that didn’t happen. And since I love trying new things and I didn’t know anything about organizing a blog, I decided to try it and see what happened. (Which is either courageous or a prime example of ignorance is bliss.)

Trying new things, after all, led me to Level Best Books, and seven years of editing and publishing crime story collections by New England writers, one of the most rewarding and wonderful things I’ve ever done. (Our co-blogger Barb Ross and three others have now taken over that project.) Trying new things led me to co-write Finding Amy, with Portland’s then Deputy Chief Joe Loughlin—a terrifying undertaking that resulted in a book I’m very proud of. It was wonderful to give Amy St. Laurent that legacy. And now the blog….?

Isn’t organizing writers like herding cats?

You bet.

Do you learn from your teaching?

So much I sometimes think it’s unfair to charge them for the classes. I started teaching a new Grub Street class on Wednesday and I’m already crazy about them. They’re so hopeful and so talented and they say things that just blow me away. Last night there was a nugget about embracing process that just went to the heart of things. If we don’t love the process—even when it makes us sweat blood—it’s hard to stay in the chair. And story will only happen if we stay in the chair long enough to let it develop. To try, and retry, and listen to our characters, and let them take us in new directions. And nothing happens if we don’t take chances, which is what they’re all doing with their dream of writing.

OK, back to the books. You’ve written some on grim topics, like the killing of a young boy in THE ANGEL OF KNOWLTON PARK? What draws you to what some people might see as a subject to avoid?

For me, story arises out of character, and Joe Burgess is a guy whose bad experiences have made him hate investigating child killings. That’s his story. I’m just telling it. Okay…I know. I control the horizontal and the vertical. But it often doesn’t feel that way. It feels like the story is there and it’s my job to discover it. Kind of what sculptors say? The statue is there, they just have to carve away what doesn’t belong.

And maybe sometimes I have an agenda, like how it can be folly to leave kids in toxic households in the name of “keeping the family together.” Something Mike Chitwood and I agree about. Or it might be trying to illuminate worlds of people less abled or fortunate than we—characters like Iris, in The Angel, who is deaf, or the little boy with spina bifida, possibly the result of his father’s exposure to Agent Orange in Vietnam, in Liberty or Death.

When I write cops, I try to reflect the world they inhabit, where they see a lot of ugliness and some of the worst things that humans do to one another, and I try to show their struggle to preserve their own humanity and decency in the face of that.

And you’ve written true crime. That’s one I haven’t tackled. Was it more difficult than making it up?

There seem to be two schools about fiction vs. nonfiction. Some people find nonfiction easy, because you don’t have to make it up. I find it extremely difficult. It’s an incredible challenge, writing something knowing that most of the people in the book are going to be reading it, so you have to get it right. And for me, at least, it takes a long, long time to get the story. I’ll think I know it and then someone will say, “Did anyone tell you about the night we….?” and I’m off to reinterview and revise.

The challenge of true crime, for me, is best summed up by this quote from Philip Gourevich’s book about the Rwandan massacre, We wish to inform you that tomorrow we will be killed with our families.

He writes: “This is what fascinates me most in existence: the peculiar necessity of imagining what is, in fact, real.”

It’s what the cops have to do to recreate the crime, to understand what might have happened, and it’s what the writer must do again to recreate it for the reader.

Are people who meet you casually surprised to find that you’re a mystery novelist? (But you seem like such a nice, cheerful person!)

One of my all-time favorite quotes, courtesy of my mother-in-law: That lovely girl. Those awful books.

What are you working on now, if you don’t mind me asking?

Although I believe in working on only one thing at a time, right now I’m seriously fragmented. I’m finishing a true crime story set up in Miramichi, New Brunswick, that came to me via the wardens who found Amy St. Laurent. I’m editing a suspense novel that needs serious deflabbing. I’m writing a non-mystery novel in linked stories about how people deal with loss. And then there are the short stories and the screen play.

Confusion about how to prioritize keeps sending me out to the garden.

And lastly, if you could offer one tip to an aspiring mystery writer, what would it be?

Believe in yourself and the value of your work. Respect your writing time. And give the work it’s due, so that when you send something out, it’s absolutely the best you can make it. And of course—from someone who spent ten years in the unpublished writer’s corner: Don’t give up. I guess that’s four, isn’t it?

Tuesday, February 26, 2008

Exciting Household Tips from the Product Maven

or A Refreshing Break from Truth

My blog last week about telling the truth of my publishing experience—a truth I share with many other authors—brought a flood of responses, from the sad “oh dear, is this what I’m getting myself into” of the new author to the single word “amen” from those who have been through it. I even got a note from one of my publishers, apologizing for being part of the problem. I was touched and moved by all the responses and grateful that we can talk openly about these things.

But plumbing my own truth, and discussing it with others, is draining. This week, in a refreshing change from all the glory, gloom and passion of publishing, I’m going to revert another mantle so many of us wear: The Domestic Engineer.

As those who know me well can vouch, I do not embrace the shopping culture. With the thirty or forty cents I get from a paperback or the whole dollar and change I maybe get from hardcover sales, I have not rushed out to stock my closet with Jimmy Choos or Manolos or bought an Eric Javits bag. I do relish the treasuring hunting challenge of finding great things at Goodwill (In fact, in Maine, I carry Goodwill’s now discontinued lifetime Gold discount card) and other thrift stores, so I do have a Marni bag that cost $5.49. I go to the Mall only under duress when I can’t do the errand on-line or by mail.

I also watch very little television, so I am generally safe from the blandishments of commercial messages. (I’m so out of it that when the guy in a recent commercial talked about ED, I had to ask someone what he meant.) From what I have seen, they’re not advertising to me anyway. Why would I want to sweep away a sexy young woman in my hot car? Why would I even want a hot car? I don’t think of my car as an extension of myself; my car is a tool to get me where I’m going. Sadly, if my car IS an extension of myself, I need to be vacuumed and taken to the car wash and buffed and shined. And I’m very high mileage.

My primary consumer excursions are to the grocery store and my usual circuit is around the outside edges of the store, rarely venturing into those dangerous inner aisles. But sometimes a coupon appears with the Sunday paper and I do decide to try something new. And even more rarely, I find a new product that is actually an improvement on the one I’ve used for decades, or one that truly does make life easier. So this week, I am going to share three of my recent product discoveries with the world. Maybe, staring tomorrow, your life will be better, too. And perhaps the excitement of these new products will lift the gloom I cast on your lives last week.

1. Dawn Power Dissolver Tired of the back-breaking, knuckle-bruising, nail-bashing chore of scrubbing out the thrice-reheated lasagna dish, the crusted on macaroni and cheese, the stubborn remnants of pot roast gravy? Tired of soaking pots and pans overnight and still wearing your Brillo to a nubbin scrubbing out the pan? Look no further. This product really works. Just spray this stuff on the dried on, dried out, intractable crusts around the sides and edges of your pan, wait twenty minutes and voila! It is magic.

2. Reynolds Release This amazing foil, coated to create a nonstick surface, is wonderful for baking salmon or oven-fried chicken, for making low-fat sweet potato fries (cut into French fry-sized slices, toss with a bit of olive oil, grind on some coarse salt and bake at 4:25), or roasting vegetables. Just cover your baking sheet with this foil. No need to use cooking spray or grease or oil your pan. When you’re done, strip it off, throw it in the trash, and your pan is as good as new.

3. Tide Stick I learned about this one from my law school friend, Judy Dickson. For those of us who seem to have become messier over the years, but still have some public presence to maintain (or a vestige of pride), this is the perfect accessory. Spill wine or food, Coke or coffee on your nice new blouse? Sitting on a plane when the flight attendant manages to spill someone else’s drink all over you? Have you absent-mindedly written on your shirt with your pen? Well, Tide Stick is here to rescue you. With a little persistence and effort, it usually will take out the spot; even when it’s not a complete success, a tiny spot is far less humiliating that a large glob (especially since those globs like to fall somewhere in the chest area, where they’re difficult to hide unless you carry several large, matching brooches in your bag.)

Now it’s your turn to share your secrets. What great product discoveries have you made that the rest of us need to know about? What household helpers are so valuable that they’d almost make your desert island short list? Tell us. We want to know.

Gearing up for the upcoming launch of my new Thea Kozak mystery, Stalking Death, due in May, I’ve devised another one of Thea’s Quick and Dirty Recipes. These are tasty dishes which can be made effortlessly and in a hurry.

Thea’s Quick and Dirty Teriyaki Chicken

In a gallon-sized zipper bag, marinate as many pieces of chicken as

you plan to cook for several hours or overnight in a teriyaki marinade. (I

use KC Masterpiece Honey Teriyaki)

Arrange chicken in a baking dish and pour marinade over. Cut a green pepper

and some fresh pineapple into chunks and distribute over the chicken. Bake at

350 for 45 minutes or until chicken begins to brown. Serve over rice.

(You might add cashews or also use red peppers for color)

Thursday, February 21, 2008

Here’s the Truth: Staying Published is like Spending Twenty Years on Survivor

or I’m Sorry but I may be Too Tired to Swim Back to the Island

(Warning: Content May Be Harmful to Unpublished Writers)*

I appreciated Elizabeth Becka’s honest post on Writers Plot last week because, for most us, there are too many reasons not to tell the truth. Most of those reasons are obvious: we don’t tell the truth because this publishing world we inhabit is a very small one, and we don’t want to say or do anything which might have a negative impact on our ability to survive as a published writer and continue to have our books published, sold and read. The agent, editor or publisher who has broken our hearts, destroyed our egos, or treated us shabbily today might bid for one of our books tomorrow, or lunch with someone bidding for our books or considering taking us on a client, or mention what a pain in the rump we are to someone we are heartily hoping will be our ticket out of the midlist slough.

So we smile and say “Thank you” even when we want to beat our heads against the table and weep or scream in frustration that we cannot create the kind of partnerships with our publishers which will help us sell books. We smile and say, “No problem” when we cannot learn our pub date so we can plan author events, or can’t learn the size of the print run, or learn that our print run is so small we’ll never do more than earn out our small advance. We murmur politely when we’re frustrated that we can’t see the cover copy or the cover design or when we can’t get a copy of the cover in a timely fashion so we can print the postcards we’ll pay for and mail or the bookmarks we’ll pay for and distribute. We nod agreeably when we’re advised to have a content-rich web site, which we must pay for. We ask for content suggestions when we’re told to create a newsletter, which means time away from our writing to write about ourselves or find other topics of interest to draw readers to our personalities as well as our writing.

We don’t tell the truth because we’ve already beaten the odds in so many ways just getting to the point where our book is in print that we know we ought to feel lucky, even when it feels to us like we’re spectacularly unlucky. We don’t tell the truth, which is that after spending a year or two writing the best book we can, we don’t make enough money from the book to live in a cardboard box.

We don’t tell the truth because we don’t want to negatively influence our readers. Many readers want to believe that we’re special, set-apart, the chosen ones, the amazing people who, through the exercise of expansive imaginations and incredible discipline, have managed to create entire worlds into which they can escape. Actually, this is true. What we don’t say is that, having done all this at great expense of emotion, intellect and time, as well as great delight, we can’t make a living. I have never yet given a talk to a school group without being asked if I am rich.

We also don’t tell the truth because we don’t want to discourage aspiring writers. We don’t want to cloud their dreams of publication, the anticipated joy of holding a printed book in their hands and the wonderful pleasure of knowing that someone has read and enjoyed the book. We have all been there at that moment and know how sublime it is. We don’t want to color their daily striving toward a great piece of fiction with all the other reality that comes with being published, so we talk about the upward trajectory of their careers as well as the unending trajectory of learning the writer’s craft. It is never mastered; it is always an exciting process of discovery. We don’t tell the truth about the pain of having a beloved series dropped when we still have an emotional and story-telling life with that character. We don’t tell the truth about how painful it is to have a agent say they’re giving up because no one is interested in the book. We don’t talk about the dark days when we wonder if we should just give up, go back to an earlier career, or simply wander out to play in traffic.

We try not to talk about the pain. The heartbreak. The stunning blows to our egos and our self-esteem. We try not to talk too much about how it feels to come back from the mailbox with the rejection letters we’re paid to have mailed to ourselves. To get the cover letters we slaved over for weeks back with “No Thanks” scribbled in pencil on the top, just above the coffee stain. We try not to talk too much about how tired our arms get when we’ve been voted off the island and insist on swimming back.

My career, if something so iffy can be called a career, has been like a rollercoaster. I spent ten years in the unpublished writer’s corner, stubbornly refusing to give up while I learned to write ever better books. When I sold my first book, it was actually my fourth. It was a three-book contract, and I had been toiling alone and unrecognized for so long that I was working on my sixth book when I signed the contract. Since then, I’ve gone through the lovely period when I thought I’d made it, when I had a book a year, and a series of contracts. I’ve had the “big” book that had foreign sales and was an audio book and a book of the month selection, that didn’t earn out and made me an untouchable in the world of New York publishing. I’ve waited three years for a publisher to bring out a series book, worrying that all my fans were dying off, only to have the book come out in hardback the week after Christmas, then been told that the sales were so bad there would be no paperback.

I’ve had an agent quit the week my book came out. I’ve had an agent I adored tell me that I needed to writer “bigger books” only to respond to my question: “Who writes a bigger book that I could use as a model?” with John Grisham and Robertson Davies. A decade later, I am still trying to triangulate a place between these two authors where I might be located. I’ve had an agent who couldn’t spell my name or the name of my character. I’ve had an agent who taught me an incredible amount about rewrite and made me a much better writer, but could never sell a book.

We try not to tell the truth about our status. Being an author without an agent or a contract is a lot like having a bad case of body odor. As soon as people get close to the truth, they move along. There’s not a lot of cache in being a failure. I’ve sold my last four books myself. One of them was nominated for an Edgar. One of them got starred PW and Booklist reviews. I like to take this as evidence that I’ve still got some talent as an author.

Recently, in the shower, I had the radical thought: Maybe I don’t have to do this anymore. Since that day, I’ve been trying to figure out what “this” is. I’m as passionate about writing today as I was when I sat down and wrote my first novel almost twenty-five years ago. I have two books coming out this year: Stalking Death, my seventh Thea Kozak mystery and The Angel of Knowlton Park, my second Joe Burgess book. I’m deeply into my third Joe Burgess police procedural, have begun the research for another compelling true crime, and have the plots for my next Thea Kozak mystery and a screenplay. I’m as passionate about story telling as I was on the day I twenty-four years ago when I opened a blank page and typed: Chapter One. Maybe more passionate.

I love talking at libraries and I love teaching writing and I love talking to aspiring writers about craft. So maybe that isn’t it, either. Maybe “this” is spending so much time worrying about whether I have a career and all the “other stuff” I try to do to build a fan base. Maybe “this” is all my anxiety about My Space and Blogging and video trailers and handouts and all the trappings of the business of writing. Maybe “this” is all the energy that goes into trying to be a bigger success (or any kind of a success) instead of recalling the times when it was just me and the blank page and the power of imagination.

So maybe “this” isn’t giving up writing. The truth is that I’m tired of feeling discouraged. I’m tired of feeling like a failure at promoting myself. I’m tired of writing really good books and getting nowhere. I’m tired of being so worried about success and promotion and where I ought to be that I lose all the joy I get from writing. So the truth is that maybe what I have to do is just go back to where I started and write, and write, and write.

Because there’s one final truth and that is that for most of us, writing isn’t a choice. It’s a compulsion. We could no more stop writing than we could start now and hold our breaths forever.

*My fellow bloggers made me include this warning.

And for those of you who are always looking for an interesting story idea, here’s this week’s tip: Today via e-mail, the following spam arrived: Got unused cemetery plots you’d like to sell? Visit Just think of the possibilities.