What We're Writing Week: Julia is Plotting and Planning

Go ahead, enlarge the heck out of it.

JULIA SPENCER-FLEMING: For everyone who read AT MIDNIGHT COMES THE CRY, noticed there wasn't some life-changing cliffhanger ending, and sent me an email wondering if This Was It for my mystery series, relax. I'm working on a proposal for Clare Fergusson/Russ Van Alstyne #11!

 If you did NOT notice, and you DON'T care, please don't tell me,  I'm sensitive.

So a proposal is basically an outline of the book; here are the characters, here's what's going to happen, and this is how it all turns out.  Some authors are whizzes at this; me - not so much. Part of my problem is I've never had to do this before! 

I have had to submit "proposals" before inking a new contract over the years, but to be honest, they've been more like breathless cover flap copy. I'm pretty sure I ended one with, "Can they find the killer before he strokes again?" I know, I know. I'm wincing, too.

Of course, every other proposal happened when I was still under contract to St. Martin's.  Now, I don't blame my editor or publisher for not re-signing my while I was working on  the last book. I mean, AT MIDNIGHT COMES THE CRY was overdue. By eleven years. If I were them, I'd want some evidence indicating I know what I'm going to write, and that hopefully, the book will be in by ( or before!) the end of the decade. 

Starting with story structure helps.

So, what's my process? I started with two facts, both handed to me by readers during my book tour in November/December. One was about the annual New Year's Day Polar Plunge at Lake George, NY. The other came from a couple who witnessed that polar plunge end in, if not disaster, total chaos, as spectators ignored the warning cones on the lake ice and fell in!

Now, dear readers, doesn't that sound like the perfect set-up to find a body floating in the dark and ice-clotted water?

For every book, I need to figure out what Clare and Russ (and Kevin and Hadley) are doing;  what's driving them, what problems besides the murder are they going to confront and hopefully overcome. But this time, I'm adding two more major characters.  NYDEC Ranger Paul Terrance and newbie lawyer Yixin "Joy" Zhao appeared in the last book, because each had a specific role I needed them to fulfill in order to tell that story. As I wrote forward, their parts got larger and larger, and I have to admit, I fell a little bit in love with them. So, apparently, did readers, because I've gotten countless emails and comments asking to see them again.

Sadly, I didn't plan ahead, because Paul works in the Adirondack High Peaks and Yixin was dead-set on finishing up her job in Albany and moving up the ladder in DC. So now I have a real puzzler - how do I get these two back to Millers Kill?

Walker will probably need some $$ too...

No, I'm not going to tell you, I want you to buy the book once it's out. (Now Youngest has her MSc, she's talking about law school, so I'm going to need every penny I can scratch up.) 

Have you read other authors who introduced new characters you fell for?  And for those of you in Massachusetts or Vermont, I'm appearing with Paula Munier at Odyssey Bookshop in South Hadley in March 3 and at Norwich Bookstore in Norwich on March 5. I'd love to see you there!

Debs: My Love Affair with the Comma

DEBORAH CROMBIE: To this I could add "my love affair with long sentences," both of which go against all the things we were taught in writing workshops. Write short, blunt sentences, they said. (See what I did there? A comma!) I am the first to admit that short punchy sentences have their place, and I do use them. (No comma between short and punchy there--we don't need it.) Short sentences move the action along. They express emotion. They add interest to a paragraph or a page of longer sentences, and help keep the reader from getting lost in the prose. But where short really shines is in dialogue, because real people seldom speak in complete sentences.

But pages and pages of short, punchy sentences can become really annoying, and long sentences without commas to clarify them can put the reader to sleep in short order, so I'd like to think I aim for a happy middle ground. (You might guess that I am a diehard proponent of the Oxford comma, and that diagramming sentences was one of the few things that stuck with me from English classes.)

But all of this really is just backup to justify the way my brain works. When I'm writing, I hear the sentences in my head, and they have a certain rhythym. Hence the commas, and if I don't hear that pause, I will leave the comma out. At which point Microsoft Word will usually correct me and I have to choose between the software's grammar police and what I think sounds right. 

I'm really curious to learn how my new editor feels about commas! And then, of course, there's the copy editor, but that's a fraught subject for another day.  (I do know that technically there should be a comma between and and then in the above sentence, but here I made the judgement call to leave it out.)

Readers, do you think about these things? If so, do you fall on the side of more commas, or less?

And now for my progress report! I am steaming along in the last quarter of Kincaid/James #20--it's all downhill from here, I hope! A few more chapters and it will be done--at least until my editor gets her hands on it.

Here's a little snippet of Duncan paying a visit to one of my favorite places, in real life as well as in the books. We haven't seen the Scotch Malt Whisky Society in a couple of books and I was missing it. (You'll have to wait to find out just why he's meeting with his former boss, Denis Childs.)

Kincaid now felt a bit silly for having insisted on the hideaway of the whisky society rather than Denis Childs’ favorite pub, which was considerably nearer Childs’ home in Clerkenwell. But as he pulled open the solid wooden door tucked away behind the Bleeding Heart Tavern in Hatton Garden, he felt the sense of security the place always conjured. Quickly, he climbed the open stairs to the first floor members’ room.

He remembered his surprise on his first visit when he’d found not the dark fustiness he’d associated with members’ clubs, but a high-ceilinged wide-windowed room painted in pale gray, with black leather banquettes and soft furniture covered in jewel tones. Clean-lined photos of whisky distilleries adorned the walls and the mirror over the fireplace reflected the awe inspiring ranks of society whiskys displayed behind the bar. Today the fire wasn’t lit and several of the windows admitted the warm afternoon air. It was still a bit early for the afterwork drinks crush, for which he was grateful, and Denis had not yet arrived.

At the bar, he asked the bartender for a recommendation, having learned that trying to pick a dram from the society’s complicated menu was practically an afternoon’s task.

“We’ve a nice Speyside in the new Outrun,” the bartender answered. “Twelve-year-old, lots of honey notes. Suits such a warm day.”

“Sounds perfect. I’ll have that and a packet of the vinegar crisps.” He’d suddenly realized he was starving, having not taken time for lunch, and it didn’t do to drink neat whisky on an empty stomach.

Claiming his favorite table in the front corner, he slid onto the banquette so that he was facing the door. There were a few business types, men and women still in suits, occupying other tables, but no one close, and no one he recognized.

With a little exhalation of relief, Kincaid raised his glass to his nose and sniffed. Closing his eyes, he took a very small sip, letting the syrupy liquid expand in his mouth. Honey, yes, and was that...pineapple? Then came the burn, with notes of ginger and spice, chocolate and cranberry. He swallowed and felt his shoulders begin to relax.

When he opened his eyes, he saw his friend just entering the room, raising a hand in greeting. 

I hope this makes everyone want to sip a good single malt--or the non-alchoholic equivalent!

And, last thing, as every post should have a picture, I took this one this morning. Spring is coming, and the rosa japonica on the back of our deck is the first thing to bloom.

If there's no hint of spring in your neck of the woods, enjoy ours!

At the Table in Paris: What Lucy's Writing

 

LUCY BURDETTE: I haven’t been in Key West over the past couple of months—at least not in my mind. Instead, I’ve been determined to write a real draft of my Paris novel before I need to get started on Key West #17. Writing this book has been on my wish list for several years, and I’ve had to make multiple trips to Paris (for research, of course.) You might remember that this is women’s fiction, about the journey of a young woman finding herself while looking for her biological father, a famous French chef. I’m closing in on 30,000 words and it’s been quite an adventure! The main character has changed, the point of view has changed, the opening scene has changed. I’m sure other things will change too, but I’m enjoying the journey, even though it’s hard. With a mystery, another murder always sparks up a sagging middle. With women’s fiction, it has to be all about the character’s odyssey. Here I give you the opening paragraphs, while warning you not to get too attached to these exact words…

Chapter One: The Paris Recipe

Natalie

Outside the arrivals hall at Charles de Gaulle airport, Natalie showed the Café de Floré’s address to the taxi driver who took her duffle. He grunted as swung the bag into his trunk, and they careened away from the curb, speeding along the superhighways that led to the city. Natalie gasped when she spotted the outline of the lacey wrought iron Eiffel Tower in the distance. The distinctive metal structure towered over the city, much taller than the other buildings that surrounded it like a sea of hungry chicks around a mother hen.

“C’est belle, oui?” the driver asked, smiling in the rearview mirror for the first time.

“Mais oui,” she whispered. “She’s gorgeous.” 

The taxi drove from the ring road that encircled the city—the périphérique exterieur, as her iphone told her—and dove through a series of narrow streets, into the harsh cacophony of the city. As they drew closer, she scraped her dark hair into a messy bun and patted a bit of glossy color on her cheeks and her lips. Even after staggering off a red eye, this city made her want to try a little harder.

The cabbie lurched to a stop in front of a large café across the street from a church. “Voilà,” he said, after dragging her duffle bag from the trunk and accepting the five euro tip she offered. “Bonne chance,” he called as he drove away.

During their one very short conversation, Aurelie, the kitchen-manager-plus-who-knows-what-else, had instructed Natalie to take a cab to Chez Cassan at noon. There she’d give her a quick tour of the restaurant along with the key for the place where she’d be staying. At least that’s what Natalie thought she’d said, as it had transpired in rapid French which was totally different than repeating words and phrases into her phone in the Duolingo app.

“C’est tout provisoire,” Aurelie had added, meaning it’s all temporary. Underneath that, probably meaning: We’ll see. I have my doubts. Maybe even, I did not want to hire you.

Natalie had shaken that off. No stiff, unfriendly French woman was going to ruin her dream before it even got started. The Real Natalie in Paris. Ha! Working in what was surely one of the top twenty restaurants in the city. Ha! Or had been anyway, until Chef Cassan’s ship had lost its rudder. Oof!

What’s the best non-mystery novel you’ve read lately, and what did you like most about the story?

Meanwhile, the final edits have been finished on A DELICIOUS DECEPTION (coming July 14,) as well as the paperback version of THE MANGO MURDERS (July 7.) Pre-orders are always appreciated!