On Lying

"And, after all, what is a lie? 'Tis but The truth in masquerade"

Lord Byron

JAN: Do people really lie three times within 10 minutes of meeting someone new? That's a popular statistic circulating the web. Even as a journalist, always searching for lies, I found this tough to believe.

But then I realized. Hey, It's true. I probably lie a minimum of three times within the first ten minutes of a cocktail party. At least by the way the study defines lying.

Included in the definition are things like falsely agreeing with others and the misrepresentation of feelings. Ever choke back the way you really think?? I do it all the time.

Let me explain. Politically, I'm probably to the left of 80 percent of the country. Personally, of course, I think I'm dead center, with some surprising views on various issues that keep both the conservative and the liberal action groups sending me mail. But I live in Massachusetts, so by local standards, I'm a raging conservative. And because I'm a writer, people take it for granted that I'm liberal. They make statements presuming I agree with them. Do I jump into it?

It would mean a verbal fist fight, and because I believe that no one has ever really swayed anyone's political beliefs by cocktail conversation, I smile and say nothing.

For me, it's politics. For others it's religion, music, or whether they actually enjoy the ballet. I know people who have to lie to stop people from shoving a cocktail into their hands. Sometimes we just keep our mouths shut because it just doesn't seem right to tell your best friend her new hairdo looks like straw or that her new drapes are making you dizzy.

So come on, fess up: What do you LIE about??

HALLIE: Here's what I don't lie about. My age. Or what I paid for the outfit you just complimented me on, bless you.

But yes, if someone starts in on anything political, I don't so much lie as refuse to engage. My politics are my personal business, thank you very much. Besides, it seems like I rarely meet anyone who is genuinely interested in engaging in a discussion on issues--they just want to be clever and dismissive and yell. So I shut down. Is that lying?

JAN: Yes, according to this study's definition: You are lying about your feelings, God forbid.

RO: My first instinct was to protest that I never lie, but reading your definition of lying I guess I do. I went to a reunion recently...and definitely dropped a few omissions/lies there. And Bouchercon is coming up...oooh I'll probably do a bit of fibbing there. (e.g., "It's an honor just to be nominated!") I try not to make a habit of it, though, because I'm really a terrible liar. My mother always used to say that and I think she did it just to spook me into always telling her the truth. She said she could always tell when I was lying and now I think everyone else can too.

So Hallie...where did you get that wonderful black shoulder bag you have...the small one with the metal clasp? Was it fabulously expensive? (This is a test.)

HALLIE: Ooooh,isn't it great? Italy! At a factory outlet...gorgeousness for less than $50.00. Unless you count the cost of the trip. Those Italians really know how to make gorgeous handbags.

HANK: I guess...I do...I always feel SO GUILTY,though. Social excuses, mostly.(Oh, so sorry we can't make it, because...but most often I don't give a reason.) And I actually do lie about the cost of things. Actually, I don't lie, I just don't tell. And in political discussions, I generally just try to prevent the other two guys from fighting.

There's a person I see from time to time, and if you ask her a question, she'll often begin her answer with "I'm not gonna lie to you, but..." I just instantly decide whatever she's saying is not true. (And RO, it IS an honor to be nominated for an Anthony. No lie. Congratulations!)

On Secret Languages

Letter from Aix-en-Provence

JAN: When I was a kid, I loved secret languages. My friend Karen had older sisters who taught them to us. There was one language that involved adding "ub" or "ubba" between the syllables. As in Jungubbalububba Redubba writubbaters. Or something like that. All that mattered was it sounded incredibly exotic and your best friend could understand you in the playground. Better yet, you could talk about boys when they were right there, and they never got it. Boys didn’t go in much for secret languages.

That quickly gave way to Pig Latin, which was a more highly respected and widely understood secret language. You had to be more careful in your usuage, but there was the possibility of an older junior high school student actually picking up on something you said and responding to you in your oh-so-in-crowd special code.

When I got to high school, I quickly fell in love with first year French, which was so pretty and way more exotic than Pig Latin. Had Cinderella originally been from France and spoken to her fairy godmother in French? I was pretty sure she had.

But French was a hell of a lot harder to speak and understand. And the challenge was on. I wound up taking eight years of French, minoring in it in college and did a semester abroad in Aix-en-Provence. Although I work hard to try to keep up on my French via Pimsleur and Rosetta Stone, I’m still pretty much a piker. But God knows, I try.

Which is why I’m back in Aix-En-Provence for a month, living in a condo, and shopping at the Monoprix and the market, which requires more use of French than staying at a hotel where the concierge can step in and help. Last week, my daughter and I went to the market to buy ingredients we were making for a special dinner that night. We bought cheeses, which I promptly put down when I went to another vendor and searched through my wallet for five euros to buy sunflowers.

By the time I got home, realized I didn’t have the cheeses and ran back to the square, the market stalls were down, the garbage trucks had rolled in, and everyone was cleaning up. I raced back to the cheese guy to see if I could buy more cheese. To get him to reopen his stall and sell me some, I had to explain what I’d done.

J’ai perdu mon sac du fromage quand j’ai achete des fleurs, I told him. This also included a lot of hand gesturing to both indicate where the sunflower vendor had been and that I was clearly a space shot (finger pointed to head with roll of the eyes and shrug).

Not only did he open to sell me the cheese, he gave me a one Euro discount because he felt sorry for me.

And I thought, my God, the SECRET LANGUAGE WORKS.

I realize that on some level, I think that every time I say anything to anyone in French and they understand and respond. There is always this rush of both surprise and excitement that these exotic words I’ve strung together form a sentence that can be decoded.

It's why I spent all that money on airfare. And well worth every penny.

So I think, that the thrills in life haven’t changed much for me since I was a kid in the playground, only in France, I’ve noticed that the crowd "in" on the decoding is pretty signficant. And you have to watch what you say -- and not just to the junior high schoolers. All the boys are in on the secret language, too.

(Do you remember any secret languages from elementary and junior high school? Apparently, it's a regional thing with Ubba Dubba in the Northeast and Gibberish in the South. Gungi was spoken in Waltham, MA and Opish in New York City.)

ON Queries about Queries

Yeah, it's one of the things you don't find out til later.

You've written a wonderful book, a marvelous book, and you're getting ready to write the cool acknowledgment page and sign up for an author photo.

Waaaait a minit. First you've got to get an agent. THAT you know. And to snag your perfect agent, you suddenly find out need to write a query letter. A--sales pitch. That perfectly (but briefly) describes you and your book so irresisitibly that you'll have agent offers filling your email and mailbox.

The query letter. In the annals of writing, it goes down with the dreaded synopsis as the scourge.

But hey--we've snagged Wendy Burt Thomas. She has a new book that'll answer it all for us. It's called: The Writers Digest Guide to Query Letters.
(And its not just for novels--it's got info on non-fiction, and short stories, and magazines.)

And we're getting a sneak peek.

HANK: Query letters. We all cringe. How make-or-break is a query letter to an aspiring author's career?

WENDY: Breaking into the publishing world is hard enough right now. Unless you have a serious "in" of some kind, you really need a great query letter to impress an agent or acquisitions editor.

Essentially, your query letter is your first impression. If they like your idea (and voice and writing style and background), they'll either request a proposal, sample chapters, or the entire manuscript. If they don't like your query letter, you've got to pitch it to another agency/publisher. Unlike a manuscript, which can be edited or reworked if an editor thinks it has promise, you only get one shot with your query.

I see a lot of authors who spend months (or years) finishing their book, only to rush through the process of crafting a good, solid query letter. What a waste! If agents/editors turn you down based on a bad query letter, you've blown your chance of getting them to read your manuscript.

It could be the next bestseller, but they'll never see it. My advice is to put as much effort into your query as you did your book. If it's not fabulous, don't send it until it is.

HANK: You know, my first query letter, which I loved, got no no no no from every agent I sent it to. It focused on the main character. The second one--which was about exactly the same book--focused on the plot hook. I think I only changed the first paragraph. And everyone said yes. It was the same book! How do you know you've got it right?


WENDY: That's a tough one. There are a few things that will help your chances of landing an agent. First, make sure your book idea is a match for the agencies you're pitching. Research some of the most recent books the agency represented.


Were they action-oriented (e.g. plot-driven) or character-driven? Your query will need to whet the agent's appetite based on his/her taste - and what they think your book will be about. If your book is plot-driven but your query focuses on sketching out the character, they'll likely get the wrong idea.


Second, learn from the feedback you get. Even rejections can be helpful - and get you closer to an acceptance. If all the agents are saying they like the character but not the fact that you set it in the 1980s, you might need to change that in your query - and manuscript. If they all simply say, "no thanks" without any feedback, it's probably a sign that you need to revise your query (and/or manuscript).


Thirdly, if you get a lot of positive responses ("Great concept - just not a fit for our agency") then don't give up. I think my co-author and I queried 30 or 40 agencies before we got an offer of representation on our first book. I see too many authors give up after trying only 10 or 12 agents.




HANK: What's the biggest lesson you've learned as a full-time writer?



WENDY: Seize every opportunity - especially when you first start writing. I remember telling someone about a really high-paying writing gig I got and he said, "Wow. You have the best luck!" I thought, "Luck has nothing to do with it! I've worked hard to get where I am."




Later that week I read this great quote: "Luck is when preparation meets opportunity." It's absolutely true. And writing queries is only about luck in this sense. If you're prepared with a good query and/or manuscript, when the opportunity comes along you'll be successful.



HANK: Okay, who wrote the bad letters? Do tell.



WENDY: I did! And that was such fun. I've read - and written! - so many horrible ones over the years that it was a little too easy to craft them. But misery loves company and we ALL love to read really bad query letters, right?


HANK: But--there are all these rules.One page. Your own voice. Big hook. Your platform. And then the final rule is--be natural. Ahhhhh...what should writers know?


WENDY: I want them to remember that writing is fun. Sometimes new writers get so caught up in the procedures that they lose their original voice in a query. Don't bury your style under formalities and to-the-letter formatting.



HANK: Full disclosure--my query letter is in this book! And it was really fun to see it. (I didn't let Wendy get her hands on the one that tanked.)


Wendy graciously says she'll come chat and answer your questions! So maybe she can give you some guidance.


And Jungle Red is giving away two copies of TWDGTQL to commenters we'll choose at random.


So ask away--and maybe you'll win answers to ALL your questions!

And how does your query letter start? Published authors--we'd love to know! Yet-to-be-published--have you figured that out yet?

(Thanks to Epicurienne for the typewriter photo!)

Happy Holidays from Jungle Red Writers

(With apologies and appreciation to Clement Moore...and maybe Dr. Seuss.)

Twas the week before New Years'
And all through this site
Not a blogger was working
Not even to write.

Our books are all saved on our thumb drives with care
In hopes that bestseller lists soon would be there.
Our new novels were nestled all snug in their beds
While visions of royalties danced in our heads.

The Jungle Red sisters, five east and one west
Had just settled our brains for a well-deserved rest.

When in PW’s pages--There arose such a clatter
We opened the mag to see what was the matter!

To the review pages we turned in a flash
To see Hallie and Jan both praised with panache!

The bookstores were loving “A for M’ by our Ro
And Rosemary’s gardener continued to grow!

And what to our wondering eyes should appear
Rhys and Hank pubbing new ones—and early next year!

But what makes us the happiest—keeps every day new?
We knew in a moment—it’s our blogging crew!

You listen, you chatter, you join in the game
We cheer you, we love you, we call you by name!


Thanks, Laura! Thanks Edith! Thanks Becky and Lee!
Thanks Michael, Susannah and S. Con-no-lly!

We love Maddy, and Rhonda, Felicia and Clare
We hope Amy and JB will always be there

To June and to Karen, to Marianne, too
Love to Janet. And Mo. And to Peter. (He’s new.)

Our guest bloggers were stellar
Chris! Mary! La Barnes?!
To the Paulas, and Maddee, and the fab Cathy Cairns.

To Jane, Gin and Charlaine (queen of the LIST!)
To the Femmes and to Lipstick--consider you're kissed.

Christina! Elizabeth! Alex! Michelle!
Hail “Anonymous” too—your comments are swell.

We had memories, recipes, tales of our youth
We’ve had jokes, and disasters, and telling the truth.

To the top of the lists! To the top of them all!
We’re revising, and writing, and sharing our call!

As dry words before our reviser’s pen fly
When they meet with cliché, and we fix them (we try):

We’ve landed at New Years, and our thoughts go to you
May you read perfect books, may your wishes come true!

May you waste not a word, may you write fresh and new
And fill all your stories with mysteries and clues

And remember: on days that things don’t turn out right
And you wonder if this was a fraud and a fright

You have sisters on line—there are six of us here!
And each one is wishing you all-the-year cheer.

And we all say—we love you! ‘Fore you click from our site--

Happy New Year to All

—and long may you Write!

What's your Red Ryder BB gun?

Remember what Ralphie Parker lusts after in Jean Shepherd's wonderful "A Christmas Story": "An official Red Ryder carbine-action 200-shot range model air rifle (BB Gun) with a compass in the stock, and this thing which tells time"?

My Red Ryder BB Gun was what I called a high-heel doll. This was in the days of yore, before Barbie, guys, and the doll I wanted was about a foot tall and she had an, ahem, woman's figure and she wore high-heeled shoes. My mother, bless her, bought me one, but the one she picked was blonde. I hid my disappointment and kept the doll, but I mean, look at me, am I blonde?

It seems so silly now, but those feelings came back to me awhile back when I bought my daughter (she's now in her 30s) her lusted-after doll: Kid Sister. She opened it and I recognized that dismayed look. Turned out I'd purchased a knock-off (in this case brunette instead of blonde). I returned it the next day, but she still trots this story out every Christmas to demonstrate how cheap I am.

So, what was your Red Ryder BB Gun, the present you lusted after, and did you get it?

RHYS: My best story of Christmas longing came when I was eighteen. Transistor radios had just been invented. (Okay, I'm giving away my age here, I admit) They were really expensive. I really wanted one but a dear friend was getting married in Germany over Christmas and had invited me to be bridesmaid. So my parents were paying for my fare as my Christmas present.

So I didn't even mention the transistor radio. My parents weren't overflowing with cash. Then on Christmas morning I opened my stocking (yes, I still had a stocking at 18) and the first thing I found was a battery. I stared at it wondering why on earth anybody should think I might want a battery for Christmas. Then the thought gradually crystallized... it couldn't be... they couldn't possibly know... I dug through the stocking and there, at the very bottom, was my transistor radio. I still get weepy when I think about it. It was my father, of course. He was such a kind and perceptive and generous man.

HANK: OH, Rhys, even I get weepy when I hear that story. Transistor radios were such a big deal. I was glued to mine, listening to the top 40. And the battery! No wonder you write suspense!

Anyway, this is probably some deep psychological thing, and Roberta will want to come right over and talk or something. But I must confess, I don't remember wanting--or getting--anything in particular. Oh, I did want stuff. And our Christmas mornings under the tree were an embarrassing array of presents for my parents and for all us kids. I think it was even Christmas when I got my first pony. But I don't remember, exactly.

It must be some sort of object lesson: I do remember, perfectly, the Christmas when my parents decided we weren't going to have a tree, and on Christmas Eve, my sister Nina and I sneaked out and got one, and put it up in the middle of the night, surprising everyone. And I remember we always got chocolate oranges in our stockings, the kind you whap on a table and the sections come apart? I can't even look at those now without welling up.

HALLIE: Hold on, Hank. You got a PONY?

RO: Ah yes, I remember getting my first PONY...I think mine was a handbag...

HANK: Okay, yes, I'm laughing. We lived in what was then pretty rural Indiana. We had a big barn, and there were four-going-on-five kids, and yeah, we got a pony. A Welsh pony named Sable. And from then on, we all had to muck out stalls before we went to school. Happy New Year!

ROBERTA: No, no Hank, I'm not rushing over to chat. You sound just fine:).

HANK: Oh, whew. (I mean, not that I wouldn't love to have you come chat.)

ROBERTA: My sister and I got a transistor radio too--we're 11 months apart so we often ended up sharing (and that's another story for a different day!) I was a huge doll fan--distinctly remember the year I asked for and received Patty Play Pal. (Isn't that an awful-sounding name?) But I really, really loved Barbies. There were four of us kids, and we got plenty of loot, but never as much as my only-child cousin. We'd head over to her house for Christmas dinner and I'd disappear into her room for hours to play with her stuff. Barbie's Dream House, Barbie and Ken and Barbie's sister and Ken's convertible, and racks and racks and racks of outfits. No wonder I like spending time with my characters...

JAN: Hard to choose from among all the toys I so desperately wanted for Christmas, ...I had three older brothers, so I was always longing for girl stuff. Easy Bake oven, (never got it), the light up vanity (got it), but most of all Tressy. Tressy was supposed to be competition for Barbie, but with a button in her stomach that made her hair grow to any length. I wanted her, I got her, and then I took her to my best friend Karen MacVicker's. Karen had two older sisters and every possible Barbie outfit. As it turned out, the outfits didn't fit Tressy, who immediately seemed second rate.

RO: I don't remember lusting after anything in particular. I was not a Barbie gal, or any dolls really. Calling Dr. Roberta...

I do know that I NEVER wanted whatever it was that Aunt Mary got me. Nice woman but not only did the woman choose the worst presents for kids - umbrellas, rubber boots, goofy hats, stuff no kid wants - she got all twelve of us the same thing in different colors. And of course we'd each have to open them and PRETEND that we didn't know what it was. (Sorry Aunt Mare.)

I did get the EasyBake oven one year which cooked with a light bulb. Very strange. After you used the box of (I'm sure it was all chemicals) cake mix, I don't remember what you were supposed to do.

HALLIE: That Easy Bake oven ended up on the "dangerous toys" list some year or other because it could burn you...duh.

I had one and I have to say it was one of the best toys ever. It had tiny little boxes of cake mix that you could actually whip up and cook in tiny little pans. And I did it all wear my Mom's frilly apron. (I DON'T THINK SO! My mother who wore high heels just about 24-hours a day would not have been caught dead in a frilly apron.)

So, gang, what was your Red Ryder BB Gun?

And tune in later in the week--Wednesday WRITER MAMA Christina Katz will be visiting JRW, and she'll be talking about that mysterious entity, a writer's platform, and how to "Get Known Before the Book Deal." Friday we'll be welcoming mistress of all things mysterious Janet Rudolph, editor of Mystery Readers Journal.

On Thanksgiving dinner

ROBERTA: It's hard to concentrate on writing right now because Thanksgiving dinner will be at my place next week. We'll be eleven. And so as hard as I try to focus on my new novel's synopsis, my mind wanders off to the menu. My husband's siblings will all contribute (the sweet potato casserole, the mashed potatoes and turnips, the brussel sprouts), leaving me with the turkey, the gravy, the stuffing, and the pies. Pies are easy--I'll bake a delicious pumpkin-maple pie and a chocolate cream pie, which is nontraditional but universally adored. But I agonize over the stuffing. It has to be homemade--no Pepperidge Farm bread cubes for me. One year when I lived in the South, I produced an oyster stuffing, which was expensive and labor-intensive. And no one has ever requested a repeat. Last year I tried a cornbread and sausage affair that horrified the vegetarians. I'll be happy to take suggestions from the floor. And what's your Thanksgiving dinner routine? Does the earth shake if you don't stick to the traditional menu?

Ro: Every Thanksgiving is different for me...from what we eat, to where we eat, who is there, and what day it is. (For years we had Thanksgiving on the Friday after T'day.) With three stepsons, assorted partners, ex-wives, new husbands and children from previous alliances...I just go where I'm told or ask for a head count (if I'm cooking.) I love everything on Roberta's menu so she doesn't know it, but I will be showing up at her place on Thursday.

When I have some say in the matter - aside from the turkey - I always make a cranberry tart. It's an old Martha Stewart recipe from the book Entertaining, which my husband published 26 years ago. It's foolproof, looks gorgeous and I could eat it everyday. If I'm cooking I like to watch videos in the kitchen while I'm preparing...Love, Actually, Miracle on 34th Street, and um...sometimes...Gladiator. ;-)


HANK: Ro, I just burst out laughing. (I have that cookbook. I'm going to look up that recipe this instant.)
Anyway. My little brother Chip, who is an environmental attorney in Colorado, was the one who always needed to have Thanksgiving be just the same every year. Long long ago, like, 35 years ago? My mother would make a jello mold (yup) black cherry jello with black cherries suspended in it. Decades later, when Jello-anything was far from our consciousness but we still all had Thanksgiving together, Chip was bummed because there was no cherry jello. It just meant Thanksgiving to him.

In other Thanksgiving news---when we were growing up, we had huge Thanksgiving dinners. So big, Mom would make two turkeys. Each year, she carefully made oyster dressing AND plain dressing. That way, one turkey could be delicious and pristine for us kids, and the other, filled with yucky disgusting slimy oyster dressing, could be reserved for the adults.

Fast forward again. I'm maybe 25. And in the kitchen watching Mom make the two turkeys. Without hesitation, she put oysters in the bowl of stuffing. And then proceeded to put oyster stuffing in BOTH turkeys. Mom Mom, I cried. Wait! You're putting oyster stuffing in both turkeys!

She gave me that Mom look. Of course I am, she said. I've been doing it every year of your life. I just told you kids there was plain stuffing so you would eat it.

ROBERTA: So do you make the oyster stuffing these days Hank? And Ro, we'd love to have you. Dinner's at 3. Bring the hubby and the dog--and the tart! What about the rest of you, Thanksgiving specialties anyone?
(Photo credits: dinner by orphanjones, cranberry pecan tart by bucklave, oyster by adactio)

On scrimping

"We can tell our values by looking at our checkbook stubs." --Gloria Steinem

JAN: My mother, were she still alive, would have an awesome carbon footprint.
Although she had a dishwasher, she preferred to handwash dishes because it used less energy. She was okay with the washing machine, because it was gas fueled, but spurned the dryer, because it was electric. She hung clothes to dry outside in good weather, and in the basement otherwise.

She also recycled religiously because she couldn't stand the idea of anything being wasted. Once she yelled at me for pouring a leftover pot of boiling water down the drain. "You could let that cool and it could go on the plants, you know."

But my mother wasn't green. And God knows she wasn't politically correct. What she was, was a child of the depression. She was forever telling stories of having to wash the floor in her father's bar with a scrub brush, and the economies of sewing her own clothes.

So each night as I hear some new dire economic prediction on Kudlow and Company or Charlie Rose, I wonder, will we all learn to scrimp and save? I've already cut out the gym and lowered my thermostat. But more importantly, could that scrimping and saving be a good thing for us all, benefiting the culture and the planet in ways we couldn't predict?

HALLIE: Learn? I've always been green. AKA cheap.
Call me what you will, I have rarely buy paper towels or plastic wrap. Dish towels work. I mortified my kids by wrapping their peanut butter sandwiches in wax paper (not made of petroleum). Store leftovers in bowls with plates for lids. Compost organic waste. And of course nowadays I bring my own cloth bags to the grocery store.
We also eat a lot of beans--white, kidney, black.... Still a great bargain and very healthy.
And...tah dah...I used cloth diapers for both kids!

HANK: Yes, I remember asking you, Hallie, for a paper towel. And got a nice cloth instead.
Today I took back a container of fruit to the grocery store. The berries had gone bad, gray and fuzzy, in two days, and that meant the fruit was old when it was sold. In the past, I would have just tossed them, angrily.
Now. I saved $3.00 by taking back the fruit. I spent--how much? by driving there. But--here's what I'm learning. I only buy EXACTLY as much as I think we'll need. No more random handfuls of green beans. I think: One bunch for me, one for Jonathan, done. I'm not throwing away any more food.

RO:This is hard to answer..because in some ways I'm thrifty and green and in other ways not. I don't bring my own bag to the market but when I remember I ask for paper (when I have plastic ones I use them for dog poop, which I'm sure will horrify some people.) I've changed most of the light bulbs to the squiggly ones, don't use chemicals in my garden, and I'm very happy shopping at tag sales and thrift shops. I rarely eat meat which makes me feel good about both my health and the fact that I'm not a part of the ginormous beef industry. And we only have one car for the two of us. But I don't compost. That's my dirty little secret. I've tried it a few times and the raccoons drive me nuts.
Right now my refrigerator in CT isn't working. Bruce and I went food shopping and spent $34. Maybe we shouldn't bother getting a new one.
(BTW that gray fuzzy stuff on the berries is botrytis. If there's even a speck of it, your berries are goners.)

ROBERTA: I love seeing all those cloth bags at the supermarket! It's just a matter of getting the old brain cells to remember to put them back in the car.

Maybe some of you read the article in the NY Times this weekend about the couple who decided to try eating on a dollar a day for a month. They ate tons of beans and homemade tortillas and had to cut out almost all vegetables and fruits. The woman said she almost wept when the month was up and she allowed herself to have strawberries. But she also noted how time-consuming it is to cook from scratch. Bottom line, I worry less about the conserving my family has to do--I think it is a useful exercise for us and good for the world. But what about the folks who are already living on the edge? these times are going to be hard, hard, hard.if

JAN: Roberta's right, it's a lot easier to take satisfaction in scrimping when it's not a matter of survival. But I think all of us are going to find ourselves scrimping more and in all this gloom, there might be an upside. (Researchers are already predicting a decline in obesity because of fewer restaurant meals.)

I'd like to hear from everyone out there who may be viewing the world with new or even old-fashioned frugality.

On Halloween

Now what else is the whole life of mortals but a sort of comedy, in which the various actors, disguised by various costumes and masks, walk on and play each one his part, until the manager waves them off the stage ? **Erasmus, "The Praise of Folly"

Rosemary: The folks at cozy library discussion group recently asked what our favorite Halloween costumes were - as kids and as adults. I don't remember dressing up that much as a kid. I must have, because I certainly remember the candy - candy corn and tootsie rolls being my favorites. And I always hated those cellophane wrapped packages with the pastel colored disks in them. Yuck. What was that stuff? I do remember dressing up as a Volkswagen once when I was a teenager - that was my only memorable costume. It probably got uncool to dress for Halloween for a while. Then in my twenties, it got cool again.

When my husband and I worked for large companies we used to have great Halloween parties, lots of people. Sometimes the parties had themes. We had a Hitchcock party once. I decorated with birds all over the house, rope hanging out of a trunk and a bloodsplattered bathroom. One clever girl came as Marian Crane (from Psycho) complete with shower curtain and hooks. For the dead celebrity party, my fave partygoer was the guy who came as Marley's Ghost - Bob Marley, that is. Dreadlocks, chains. Ingenious.

In recent years I've been Cruella de Ville, Frida Kahlo (I made my husband dress as Diego Rivera), Jim Morrison, and various ghouls. This may be my favorite though - Wilma and Fred Flintstone. I'm Wilma.

HANK: They were NECCO's, Ro. (Made by the New England Candy COmpany.) In college, one year, we were all supposed to dress as a song title. I got some RIT dye (remember that?) dyed a sheet black and went as "She's Not There." (Kind of a reverse ghost idea, see?)

I've dressed up as a tea bag--brown leotard and tights, then covered myself with a plastic dry cleaning bag I filled with torn up pieces of orange and brown construction paper. I hung a string around my neck and at the bottom was a tag that said Constant Comment.

An old boyfriend and I went as spaghetti and meatballs. We created this enormous contraption, like a table, which we then hung from our shoulders with ropes. We covered the base with a red and white checked tablecloth. We stapled a big cardboard cone on top of it to hold the spaghetti. I cooked spaghetti, and figured I could just glue it to the cardboard thing.Well of course, that was ridiculous.

So I ended up sewing the strands to the cardboard with a huge needle and heavy thread. Then we covered brown paper bags with cotton balls, and sprayed them red and brown to look like meat balls, punched holes for eyes and put them over our heads.

We could not get the thing in the car, so we had to strap in onto the top. So imagine the spaghetti table flying down the Mass Turnpike, stands coming off along the way. When we got to the party, we stepped into the table of spaghetti and put the meatballs on our heads.

It worked, but it was hard to dance.
Two years ago, Jonathan and I were the Ark Family. I was Joan of Arc, and he was Noah.

Last year, I was too busy to make new costumes. So I printed out a new flag to replace the Fleur de Lis, put on a bandana, and went as Joan of Arkansas. (Jonathan was Noah of Arkansas, which I know makes no sense.)
Those are little animals pinned to his tunic, two of each, of course.

JAN: Hey, Ro, Bill and I went as Fred and Wilma Flintstone once, too -- those styrofoam balls from the crafts store make easy Flintstone jewelry. But my favorite costume was from the college years. My roommates and I hosted a party, in our lovely but pest-ridden apartment. Bill and I went as a cockroach and a can of Raid. I was the cockroach in a dark brown body suit with lots of attached legs and cute silver antennae. Bill got inside a huge wire cylinder we covered with paper?? Paper mache? Can't remember now, except that we had an artist friend who did an awesome job of copying the RAID logo and making it look just like the real can.
I also had a room-mate who was quite funny and notoriously loud. Bill and I carved a pumpkin to look like her, gave it an enormous mouth, stuck a radio inside it and squirted with her signature perfume. She had a good sense of humor and got a kick out of it.

HALLIE: You guys are aMAzing! I'm so impressed. You could have been contestants on Project Runway. (Don't you think they should have a challenge: making Halloween costumes?) The only memorable costume I ever made was a fried egg (a white sheet with a big yellow circle of fabric quilted over my stomach. I was pregnant which helped. Jerry went as a pencil wearing a bathing cap on his head for an eraser.
My kids always made awesome costumes. (Early on they felt this was child abuse). Naomi once made a cardboard box into a milk carton with a cutout for her face and under it HAVE YOU SEEN THIS CHILD. Another year she went out painted green: the state of Florida. My (now grown) daughters still get together every Halloween and make costumes to go out.
Halloween is my favorite holiday.

ROBERTA: Funny thing that I can't remember childhood Halloween costumes at all. Now if we were describing dance recital outfits, I could tell you in detail...

But we had wonderful, wild parties when I was in graduate school. My very favorite costume was Wonder Woman. I wore a skimpy purple leotard, then made big felt breast plates with stars on them and sewed a short, flared skirt to match. I had a headdress of course, and knee-high maroon boots. It was the best. The next year, I sewed a Kermit the frog outfit which was technically gorgeous. The problem was no one knew who I was under all that green felt, so it got lonely. Then I ditched the frog and moved to Marilyn Monroe.

Love all these stories. We should definitely host a Jungle Red Writers Halloween party!

Ro: You're on!

On Bouchercon

From Baltimore,



The Jungle Red Writers had a great time, with Hallie moderating our panel on Do You Want to Know a Secret? What we all wish we'd known BEFORE we'd gotten into the mystery writing business.

This was Hank's idea and we attracted a packed crowd because everybody wants to know a secret.



We did our best to offer entertainment and encouragement, and had a lot of fun exchanging war stories.


Characters who won't behave, plots that won't work and writing ourselves into tight corners.

And of course, rejections, bad reviews, and the pros and cons of promotion.



At the Sisters In Crime luncheon earlier that day, Roberta said farewell as president of the national organization, where she'd wowed everyone with her hard work, cool hand and attention to detail.

We had a great weather in Baltimore, and lots of fun attending panels, auctions, and parties at this well-organized event.

Not to mention all the fun smoozing with other writers, editors, booksellers, reviewers and most of all READERS.

On words that need a comeback

You don't carry in your countenance a letter of recommendation. Charles Dickens

Jan: Everybody always writes about the overused words or phrases that irritate them. Lately, I've been collecting the underused ones that fell out of fashion. I'd like to see these make a comeback.

Countenance: The general impression given by the facial features. Kind of a mix of appearance and what today we might call aura. But it hints at intrepretation of the observer, rather than an energy emitted from the observed.

Fortnight: In Charles Dicken's and Jane Austen novels, everyone always goes away for a fortnight. What an economical way to say a two-week period. Why not use it? As in, I clean my house fortnightly!

Coupling: One of the nicest euphemisms for having sex, and a whole lot better than the much cruder term we overuse today. Wouldn't it be great if rappers converted to the use of Mothercoupler?

Singular: Big favorite of Somerset Maugham. I remember looking it up when I read one of his collections because he used it in pretty much every short story. The first definition is separate, individual, but Maugham used it to mean deviating strongly from the norm. Along the lines of extraordinary.

Physiognomy: -A favorite term of Sherlock Holmes if I remember correctly. It means judging human character from facial features, which fell out of favor for good reason. It was biased against anyone non-white or unattractive. But if you read Malcolm Gladwell's book Blink, you know that we still unconsciously assess people this way. So why not use the correct term for it -- if only to define it as a flawed human practice.

Strumpet: A much nicer way to say slut. It seems to imply a certain amount of flair --- or maybe musical ability.

Malarky: So much better to be full of than bologney or worse.
Come on, if you think about it, there are lots of these. We can force them into everyday conversation and make it a mission.

HALLIE: Oh, Jan, get thee to a library and check out H. L. Mencken's "The American Language" (1921). You and Mencken would have been soulmates. He was chronicling how American-English was diverging from English-English, and doing so with his own particular brand of wit.

In the book, you'll find a plethora(!) of colorful terms and their origins--like palooka, belly-laugh, and high-hat. And mourn colorful terms that have faded like infanticipating (expecting), shafts (legs), and Reno-vated (contemplating divorce).

JAN: Oh, I forgot about high-hat. I'm reading Millers Crossing, from the Coen brothers screenplay collection. The setting is Chicago during the prohibition years and the gangsters repeatedly use high-hat, as in "you were giving me the high hat." The uppity, condescending blow off.

RO: I love throwing in an underused word or expression every once in a while and watching the faces. Has she lost it? Is she that old? Hallie, I actually used Reno-vated yesterday! (Shades of the orginal Women, come-a ti-yi-yippee!)

Of the Damon Runyon-type words I like malarky and hooey, but really prefer the Brit-sounding (is it?) balderdash. I vote for strumpet or hussey over the all-too-popular slut. Even twelve year-olds are calling each other that.

Let's see...brouhaha...that's a good one...what else..I may need a cuppa joe first...

ROBERTA: yes, love brouhaha--I still use that one. and how about "rhubarb," as in "What a rhubarb!"

JAN: What a rhubarb? I never hard that before. Is that a Minnesota-ism, like Holy Buckets? And what is a rhubarb anyway? A jokester?

HANK: A rhubarb is a dustup, right? I like piffle. As in oh, piffle. And I just read about the word "wifty," which is like ditzy and fey. All three of those are lovely.

JAN: Piffle and wifty can double as excellent names for puppies and kittens.

It seems there are just so many useful words and slangs benched before their time. Please come tell us your favorites.

On fashion disasters

I base most of my fashion sense on what doesn't itch. ~Gilda Radner

ROBERTA: I know we have very serious concerns in our world, but we can't think about big problems all the time! Hence, fashion disasters...

A few weeks ago I overheard Hank talking enthusiastically with another writer about “Project Runway,” a fashion reality show. I went to check out their website and learned that the show is already in its fifth season. And that about sums up my knack for fashion. By the time I’ve converted to shoulder pads and puffed sleeves, the well-dressed woman is outfitted in pencil skirts and tuxedo blouses. Frilly girl dresses in style? I’m wearing pinstriped man suits and those stupid silk bow ties that were in vogue in the eighties. I’ve had to come to terms with the facts: I’ll never be on the cutting edge. And part of the problem is that comfort always trumps trendiness when I’m shopping. Anything tight, abrasive, or even with an itchy tag—forget it. An old friend recently sent a photo from my days in Tennessee in the late 70’s. I went to grad school dressed in these overalls—this is what we call a fashion disaster. And now we are ready to hear about yours.

JAN: Cutting edge isn't always a good thing. I bought this shearling coat from the window of a chic Newbury Street store -- with the proceeds from the first big feature I sold to Boston Magazine. (Literally, I was walking back from the BM office and the check burned a hole through my purse.) When my mother first saw me in this coat, she rolled her eyes and asked if I was trying to look homeless. I chalked it up to her lack of fashion sense. A few years later when we were going to an evening event, my husband, who rarely comments on my outfits, asked if I would please wear any other coat but that one. Again, what did he know about fashion? Finally a couple of years ago, my daughter confided she thought the coat was the ugliest thing she'd ever seen. She'd actually been photographed and named the most fashionable girl on her college campus, so I had to listen. Or maybe it was the rule of threes. Anyway, it's still in my closet, but won't be making an appearance this season. PHOTO TO COME

RO: This is hard for me. Not because I'm so fabulously stylish, but I feel like I've been wearing the same things since the fourth grade. Different lengths, tight, baggy, low rise, high waist, I probably have a hundred pairs of black pants and just as many black tops and jackets. I friend actually told me I was starting to look like Johnny Cash a few years back so I've tried to integrate some color into my wardrobe. Probably is, that's not what I reach for when I get dressed. Every season I buy a few magazines and tell myself that this year I'm going to look a little spiffier. Never really happens, but I keep buying the magazines. Last year I was on a flight from San Francisco to New York and the guy from What Not to Wear got on the plane. I swear, I thought my friend had set me up.

I did have a pretty excruciating perm in the 80's but mercifully no pictures survive.

This is my fourth grade picture. A black and gray blouse that I wore as often as my mother would let me. I'd wear it today if I still had it. It was cute. And I wore that headband, or something like it for about a year. Pretty hideous.


HALLIE: I am a huge Project Runway fan, but geeze Louise, I wish they’d deep-sixed Kenley. Talk about annoying and quel cloying, deja vue fashion sense. On the other hand, our waitress last night at the Ashmont Grill was wearing a red leather flower on a strap around her head, a la Kenley. With her baggy red South Boston T-shirt and jeans, I thought it looked pretty silly.

But I’m hardly one to talk—I was wearing black sweatpants and a bright orange zip-up sweatshirt hoodie. Celebrating early Halloween? It was cold! Still, not a fashion statement worth repeating.

Hey, I remember when we wore overalls. And later parachute-material jump suits (I had one in turquoise which was, as I recall, adorable).

Here’s me on vacation in purples and pinks—that was the decade when we tucked in our shirts. My favorite part is the sunglasses stuck over the babushka.

HANK: Rosemary! You were absolutely darling. You all are. And that attitude is so Jan. No nonsense.

Ah, well, you got me here. I spent lots of my teenaged years drawing fashion designs. I really wanted to be a designer, of some kind, though if I remember my drawings at all, the clothes were more suited to Barbies than real people. Think: mermaid skirts. I had Cyd Charisse paper dolls, and loved to cut out the clothes and tab them on.

When I was 15, I think, I cut my hair in an asymmetrical Vidal Sasson, up over one ear. I thought I was so mod. My mother never recovered. (Imagine! You walk into your bathroom and your daughter has hacked off half her hair. That's how she saw it, at least.) Blue eyeshadow, Cleopatra eyeliner. I do wish I had a photo. But, alas, no. And I ALWAYS got sent home from school for having my skirts too short. Once was with a white lace dress and white lace stockings. I was SO mod.

Anyway, now I'm on TV, and have to be kind of careful. And in the past, actually, until maybe 10 years ago, that has resulted in my "look" being a bit--prim. Don't I look like a dorm counselor here? With kind of Farrah hair. And oh yeah, my hair is brown. Imagine that. This is from 1976. (And I still have that blouse. Which, ta dah, is now back in style. And the pearls)

And um, I like Kenley. Yes, her voice is annoying. But she's really talented.

ROBERTA: Oh good job with the pix this week ladies! I think you all look cute. And Hallie, I remember wearing exactly those colors--I had a pink blouse and a maroon skirt that I was so proud of...

ON ASSIGNMENTS

"Once upon a time, there was a Martian named Valentine Michael Smith..."

*** the first line of "Stranger in a Strange Land" by Robert Heinlein

HANK: On the way to work this morning, I said to my husband--what books did you read in college? What books did you love?

You know Jonathan. He gave me that droll look. And he said: In college, I didn't read books for pleasure.

That's no doubt why he powered through law school, and my college career was spotty. At best.

I practically majored in a field the college did not know it was offering: listening to records and reading the books I wanted to.

Yes, I did devour some of the books that were assigned. Hemingway. Fitzgerald. Dickens. Austen. Tolkien's Ring books and CS Lewis's Out of the Silent Planet Trilogy were part of one course I took in my oh-so-liberal college. I think the class was called "Exploring Allegory." I also took the invitation-only "Seminar in Alice in Wonderland" which my mother still can't believe was an actual college course.

I was still devoted to Sherlock Holmes, of course. And all the Agatha Christie novels. But they weren't cool for school. So I was a closet mystery reader.

Was Catcher in the Rye college? I started talking and thinking like Holden the moment I met him--although my own language was carefully censored, I remember. (And I still think about him, every time I'm on the subway. Carrying the fencing equipment.) I forget who told me recently--the intial copies ofcatcher came out with the famously shy Salinger's photo on the back. He apparently freaked, and demanded all the copies be destroyed.

Stranger in a Strange Land. I just read something about that, how in revisionist criticism it's almost reviled as a screed against women, a pedantic rant. I don't remember that part. I remember "groking" and how that was one of them most evocative and descriptive made up words I'd ever heard. I still say--sometimes--yes, I grok that. And sometimes, people understand me.

I think Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance was just after college. That has stuck with me, profoundly. As a writer, the search for the understanding of quality haunts me every day. I found this copy in Amazon, as you can tell by the 'look inside' gizmos, which won't work here. But I really think my copy was pink.

I was so taken with Hallie's topic on our favorite books as kids--now I wonder, what books did you love in college?

ROBERTA: Okay, I'm drawing a blank on this one. I was busy making trouble I guess. And after wandering through biochemistry and art history, I finally settled on Romance language and literature as my major. So I was plugging through light reading such as The Stranger--in French!

HALLIE: I confess, I'm with Jonathan. College was a black hole for me as far as reading for pleasure goes. I’d read all the time through high school, but in college it was as if I’d undergone aversive conditioning… all those dense history and political science texts I ploughed through made reading painful. In four years I might have made it through “Exodus” and “Hawaii” and “Dr. Zhivago” but that’s about it.

When I finished school and could read just for the fun of it, I ploughed through all of Agatha Christie’s and Dorothy Sayers’ novels and short stories. Graduated to P. D. James’ “An Unsuitable Job for a Woman” with the delightful Cordelia Grey, and read everything else James wrote the minute it came out. Re-read all of Sherlock Holmes. Then I wallowed in the library mystery stacks and indiscriminately grabbed books, some of which I made it through.

When I got back to ‘real’ literature it was to discover Amy Tan (“The Joy Luck Club”) and Dorothy Allison (“Bastard Out of Carolina”) and Barbara Kingsolver (“The Bean Trees”) and Carolyn Chute (“The Beans of Egypt Maine”) and John Irving (“A Song for Owen Meany”). And to re-read Alice in Wonderland and my favorite Sci-Fi novels (“Stranger in a Strange Land”, “A Wrinkle in Time”). And to rediscover the poems of e. e. cummings.

It should come as no surprise that I also got hooked on food writers—Calvin Trillin (“Alice, Let’s Eat) and Laurie Colwin (“Home Cooking”) and Ruth Reichel (“Tender at the Bone”), just for example.

JAN: During college, I think I was busy validating myself as a wild thing by reading books like: The Art of Motorcycle Maintenance by Robert Pirsig, On The Road by Jack Kerouac, The Electric Koolaid Acid Test by Tom Wolfe, One Flew Over the Cuckoos by Ken Kesey, and Kurt Vonnegut's short story collections.

I shifted out of my hippy theme years into a literary phase. This involved reading everything by Charles Dickens, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Ernest Hemingway, Tolstoy, Dostoevsky,Jane Austen, the Bronte sisters, Thomas Hardy and Somerset Maugham.

Then for a while there, I got into reading every single book by Barbara Pym. Her novels were always set around some sort of English vicarage. There was no real theme here, I just really enjoyed her books.

RO: I was about to say that I was with Roberta...having too much..uh, fun..in college to remember what I read. Then Jan reminded me of all the hippie-type books I read. Vonnegut must be like Disney. Every generation gets to discover - and claim - him.

The cobwebs have cleared a bit and I'm probably getting the decades confused (all that sangria, I guess..)but I remember loving Small Changes by Marge Piercy, Something Happened by Joseph Heller..everything by Richard Yates.

I'll probably wake up in the middle of the night and say something like..Birdy! I loved that!! And wisely, my husband will sleep through the outburst.

HANK: I'm going to ask my interns--all attending colleges across New England--what they're reading now. After you tell us what you read during those four (okay, or so) years, or if you read at all, care to predict what the students will say?

AND COMING UP LATER THIS WEEK! A visit from current double New York Times bestselling author Charlaine Harris, whose darkly hilarious novels are getting even more fans after the HBO blockbuster True Blood made Sookie Stackhouse a household name.

And that's not all--we'll chat with the new owners of Murder by the Book, the beloved bookstore--and how they stood up to Hurricane Ike.

But wait, there's more. Come chat with Lori Andrews, whose newest mystery Immunity is just out. Her real life? Is just as exciting than any fiction.

On Our Harry Potters...

HALLIE: I was over at Buttonwood Books this week to talk about my "1001 Books for Every Mood" and as I wandered around the store I found myself, as usual, drawn to YA titles. There were all the Harry Potter books which I read and loved.

There, too, were so many of the books I devoured as a kid. "Wind in the Willows." "A Wrinkle in Time." "Stuart Little." "The Little Princess." "The Secret Garden." "Anne of Green Gables."

But my "Harry Potters" were the Oz Books, starting with "The Wonderful Wizard of Oz." If you haven't read the original, you're in for a treat. The cyclone is in the opening chapter, and the description of Kansas would make any little girl want to run somewhere green: "When Dorothy stood in the doorway and looked around, she could see nothing but the great gray prairie on every side. Not a tree nor a house broke the broad sweep of flat country that reached to the edge of the sky in all directions. The sun had baked the plowed land into a gray mass, with little cracks running through it.

Shades of "Grapes of Wrath."

From the Wonderful Wizard I went on to "The Marvelous Land of Oz" and "Ozma of Oz" and on until I'd consumed all 15 or so that Baum himself wrote, each one with new fantastical creatures, good against evil, a Homeric journey in the guise of an episodic trek to somewhere (or to get BACK from somewhere), overcoming obstacles along the way.

So...what were your Harry Potters?

JAN: I guess I was never much for fantasy -- not even as a kid. My aunt Clare lived next door and was a former school teacher, and pretty much the source of all novels that both my mother and I read. She gave me "Little Women" by Louisa May Alcott, which I adored, and then "Eight Cousins." I also loved "Celia Garth" by Gwen Bristow, which was about a young woman, a dressmaker in Charlestown, who becomes a spy for the patriots during the Revolutionary War. I think I was especially intrigued with the descriptions of muslin and the idea that each dress had to be specially made. Then I read Gone with the Wind by Margaret Mitchell, no kidding, seven times.

To this day, I love going back in time, not forward to sci-fi. Magic doesn't do it for me, I absolutely hated "Alice In Wonderland". I did read and enjoy "The Hobbit", but couldn't get through the trilogy. I enjoyed the first Harry Potter book, but not enough to read the later books.

ROBERTA: I can't say I had a "Harry Potter", although I read and loved plenty of books. "Wind in the Willows"--a total classic. Ditto "Winnie the Pooh". And all of E.B. White's books, "Charlotte's Web", "Stuart Little", "The Trumpet of the Swan". Need I even mention Nancy Drew?

But I don't remember waiting on the edge of my seat for a sequel, maybe because there was no media/Internet working us up into a frenzy for an author's next book?

Now this is embarrassing, but when I was a young, gawky, geeky, miserable teen, I adored the short stories in "Stories to Live By"--a collection gathered and originally published in "The American Girl" in the '50's. Stories about going steady, cheating on the football field, being overweight, first dates--I read these until the binding crumbled. In fact, in the very first article I ever had published, I wrote about one of these stories--how I showed it to my stepdaughter and we had a mini-connection over it. (Those moments were few and far between in the early days.)

I think there's a link back to Harry Potter there too:). After all, he never quite feels like he fits in either....

HANK: You mean other than sneaking "Marjorie Morningstar" and "Butterfield 8" from my parents' bookshelves? And I read the "Thurber Carnival" when I was about 12, I think. And love love loved it.

I had a huge love affair with horse books--there was some series, which I can't find now but I bet Mom still has them...which included "Golden Sovereign" and "Midnight Moon"? And "Silver Birch"? About a teenaged, maybe, girl who had horses. I adored them. Anyone know more about these? There was another author who wrote "Cammie's Choice" about another equestrian teenager who obviously had to make some choice which I forget what was. Plus all the Misty of Chincoteague books. (I had to clean out stalls in the mornings, so I loved reading about others who did, too.)

"Diamond in the Window" by Jane Langton, was so pivotal for me. Charming, intelligent, clever, and shows kids could be smart and still be cool. I could read that again, right now! Love it. It's right up there with Wrinkle in Time, another true true classic.

And because my grandson Eli is really a great reader now, at age 5, I got to share the Edward Eager books with him. They're also fantasy, about 4 siblings who have adventures. "Knight's Castle", "Half Magic", "Magic or Not". So witty and so clever! And even at my age, 53 years OLDER than Eli! still wonderful.

Let's see. Narnia--didn't read til college! Hobbit and Rings--also college. Harry Potter, loved. Loved them all.
Oz, yes. Little Princess, no. (I just never liked that book. I think it's creepy.) Charlotte's Web, loved it but too sad for me as a kid.

My next door neighbor two year old and I read "Don't Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus", which is pretty great. And "Knuffle Bunny". And I'm pushing "A Hole is to Dig" pretty hard. But that's probably funnier for adults.

RO: I wasn't much of a fantasy fan as a kid - not now either. I seem to remember reading a lot of biographies when I was little. And of course, like Hank, my spiritual sister..horse books. Although I wasn't shovelling too much horse manure in Brooklyn. I devoured the Misty and Black Stallion books. And dog books...Irish Red was one of them. Then I stumbled upon a copy of The Group. 'Nuff said?

HANK: Hallie, are you doing a 1001 books for kids? (And yay for Buttonwood Books. That's a fantastic store.)

HALLIE: No 1001 Books for Kids...but what a great idea. And "A Hole is to Dig" is a favorite of mine, too, and it's in "1001 Books for Every Mood. When Jennie the dog packs her bag to leave home, the potted plant asks: “Why are you leaving?” “Because I am discontented. I want something I do not have. There must be more to life than having everything.” Ah, words to live by.

So...what books have stuck with you since way back when?