What We're Writing Week: Julia Edits

JULIA SPENCER-FLEMING: So I do have some cool news to make up for talking about editing, which is, frankly, kind of dull. I have a publication date for AT MIDNIGHT COMES THE CRY: November 25, 2025. 

This tickles me enormously, because the novel starts at almost that date, on the day of the Greenwich Lighted Tractor Parade, which is the Saturday before Thanksgiving. (The year I first say this wonderful event, it was on the 23rd. PS, it's not that Greenwich.) The 25th will be two days before Thanksgiving next year, which means you can all rush out and buy it during Small Business Saturday.

That is, of course, if I finish the edits. I have a combination: some in-depth changes that need a lot of work and some extremely small stuff. Examples of the latter:

9. the tumult was split...tumult? seems a bit fancy

51. bottom of the page. adult full grown should be full grown adult, yes?

106. You're missing the chapter number - 9

141. Absolutely not...who is talking?

And here's an example of the deeper stuff: I've been dealing with my female protagonist's alcohol/ pill addiction for three books now. I was sick to death of it, frankly, but I didn't know how to move on in a realistic way. My brilliant editor said, "It's okay to have her healing and going forward offscreen!" I never would have thought of that on my own. So now, instead of a bunch of scenes about her wanting to pop a painkiller - all of which seemed weirdly inserted into the real story - I have this conversation: 

“How are you doing?” St. Laurent’s voice changed, became more, well, pastoral. She recognized it because she used the same tone herself.

“With sobriety, you mean?” Clare sighed. “Not going to lie. It’s hard. I seriously backslid around the time my husband quit his job and the police force was on the chopping block. So much pain and fear and I couldn’t…” she didn’t know how to complete the sentence.

“You want to help everyone, and when you can’t, you don’t know how to deal with it.” St. Laurent tugged on his knit toque. “I’ve been there myself, more than once. What got you out of it?”

“The next morning, the baby was fussy, so I brought him into bed with us.” She smiled at the memory. “I looked at him and my husband, all drowsy together, and I thought, I can have this, or I can have those pain pills hidden in my glove compartment.” She shrugged. “I walked to the car in my PJs and slippers, flushed the pills down the toilet and went to my first AA meeting that night.” She ducked her head. “I get my thirty day chip this Wednesday.”

 

Such a relief! Dear readers, what do you want to know about editing? And aren't you glad Clare is sober now?

What We're Writing Week: Julia Snuggles and Listens to Podcasts

 JULIA SPENCER-FLEMING: Like Lucy's upcoming Key West mystery, the manuscript of AT MIDNIGHT COMES THE CRY is also in the repair shop. (I love that metaphor and I'm going to use it for the rest of my life.) So how am I proceeding with the edits? Snuggling and listening to podcasts.

Wait - it's not quite what it sounds like. I kicked off the process at a mini-writing retreat with my friend Jessica Ellicott, who is a great person with whom to bounce questions and toss ideas back and forth. I came home with a good grasp of how I was going to address the trickier changes my editor had asked for in his letter. (Yes, I know they're all emails now, but I still call it a letter.)

I also came home with a post surgical cat with a plate in its femur. Not obtained at Jessica's place; I picked him up from the Portland Animal Hospital, where he'd been staying four the past four nights. And if you're thinking, Four nights in hospital and surgery... that sounds expensive! you have NO IDEA. (Not that the doctors and nurses don't deserve it. They're amazing.)

Dear readers, this isn't even my cat. You may recall my daughter Virginia, a/k/a Youngest, is off in the Netherlands getting a masters degree. Well, along with the entire contents of her apartment, she left me with her barely-two-year-old kitty, Walker. 

Yes, those are the remains of my Post-its outline!

For a month and a half, Walker was so awed by This Old House's 3,000 square feet, he didn't even look when the front or back doors were opened. Alas, as anyone who has had a cat knows, that didn't last. A tad over two weeks ago, he escaped while I was bringing the dogs in, and at some point, had a close encounter with a car. No, no one stopped. Ugh.

The good news is, after $10,000 skilled and attentive medical care, he's projected to make a full recovery... if he stays in the large dog crate I've erected next to the desk in my office for eight weeks. No jumping, climbing or excessive weight on that leg. 

So, we're in this together, Walker and I. (The dogs are scornful lookers-on.) The cat is a very cuddly fellow, who formerly spent evenings resting against my head as I read or watched TV, and who used to sprawl out next to my laptop as I worked. He needs highly supervised time out of kitty jail, without the Collar of Shame. (He also gets his litter changed twice daily and special treats following his gabapentin. I feel like a Victorian nurse caring for an invalid baron.)

Hanging on to that collar just in case

Which (finally!) leads to me snuggling and listening to podcasts. I try to sit with Walker on the loveseat in my office three times daily. The evening is easy - I'm often streaming a show. But morning and afternoon, I've taken to putting a writer-oriented podcast on my laptop or phone. Specifically, I'm listening to shows about editing, both to keep me in the groove and to give me ideas for making my stitched-together novel prettier. 

Some of what I've found useful: Fiction Writing Made Easy, The Creative Writer's Toolbelt, The Creative Penn Podcast, DIY MFA and Writing Excuses. I love learning from other authors. And I love feeling inspired to get back to my computer after re-inserting Walker's head in the Cone of Shame and gently laying him in his fluffy bed. Yes, I bought it new just for the recovery kennel. 

Dear readers, do you have podcasts you use for inspiration and education? Or, alternately, tell me tales of your pet's expensive medical treatment!

What We're Writing: Hank is CUTTING!

HANK  PHILLIPPI RYAN:  Jonathan and I went to a black tie event the other night–a gorgeous fundraiser for the Boston Public Library. (Speakers included Heather Cox Richardson, Alison Bechtel, Stacy Schiff. Ooh.) Don't we look happy? 

I am especially happy because I–maybe–am ALMOST  finished with this round of edits.

My book is due in exactly 7 days. I sent in the first draft last month, at, ahem, 121,446 words.

 

That, darling ones, is, as they say in the biz: too long.

 

Well, they say a lot more than that, but ‘too long’ is the point. I do remember, back in the day, when I wrote my very first novel. The first draft of PRIME TIME was 723 pages. How many words is that? Calculating now.

 

Hey Siri, what is 250 times 723?

 

SIRI:  250 times 723 is 180,750.

 

HANK: Well that's pretty hilarious. And I remember, back then, 2005 it was, realizing that I had to cut 400 pages. And it was the most extraordinarily educational thing I've ever done. I cut everything that was repetitive, derivative, cliched, tangential, stuff where I was trying to be funny, and a lot of things where I was trying to be writerly. (That is always the kiss of death.)

 

But killing your darlings is a great thing. If those darlings are clogging my pacing, and keeping readers from the story, they are not my darlings, and I cut cut cut with mad passionate glee.

 

In writing a novel, though, I don't know what to cut until I've written the whole thing.

 

So, that’s what I've been doing for the past two weeks. Going through every word, every sentence, every paragraph, every scene, and asking myself: what work is this doing? Why do I have this? Is this advancing the story? Why would this make you turn the page? Why do you care?

 

As has been announced in Publishers Lunch, my new book is called ALL THIS COULD BE YOURS. It stars Tessa Callaway, a debut novelist with a surprise best-selling book. She's been sent on book tour by her happy publishers, only to discover she's being stalked by... someone. Someone who is out to ruin her career and destroy the family she's left back home --and it's all a result of a faustian bargain she didn't realize she'd made.

 

Great story, huh? When I wrote that little synopsis, I thought so too. Then all I had to do was figure out what it was.

 

Who is after Tessa, and why? Is there something wrong with her family? Her past, her book? Her publisher? Is it arrival author? A rabid fan?

 

Why do you think they call them fans? someone asks her. It comes from fanatic.

Ohh, Tessa says. I thought it was from fantastic.

 

It's very meta, as you can imagine, and quite hilarious to be on book tour while I was writing this. And anyone who's ever traveled, on book tour or not,  will certainly relate to some of the situations Tessa encounters. Anyone who's ever flown, or raced through an airport, or battled with hotel air conditioning. And, most importantly, anyone who's ever been to an author event at a bookstore, or done research in a library.

 

And anyone who has ever tried to juggle a career and a personal life. Tessa realizes she's trying to be a mom to her kids via zoom. And she knows, because of her laptop discussions with her husband, that Henry has control of the zoom screen, and only allowing her to see the specific slivers of the world he wants her to see.

I finally figured out the story! Now. Cut cut cut.

 

And I have discovered kind of a secret for this last stage of editing. As I write, I begin to realize that I am using the same words again and again.

 

Tiny little words like... tiny. At least. Of course and you know and actually and certainly. And wow, people are pausing and smiling and shrugging and grinning like crazy. So I keep track of them, as I notice them, in a notebook.

 

Then, at the end of my draft, I have a page of those pet words. And it's so much fun to go through and do an edit-find for them, and cut cut cut.

 

But the cool part is that not only do I cut those words, but that every time I extract one, the entire sentence it was in gets rearranged. How do I say it in a cooler smarter better way, I ask myself. And sometimes the cooler smarter better way is to take out the sentence entirely.

 

I will confess to you I had said ‘of course’ 64 times. I mean, you know? (Oops. I had 32 ‘I means’ and 15 ‘you knows.’)  When you are writing 1000 words a day or so, you forget the words you used the day before. And I don't worry about it as I go,  I just write write write and have faith that I will take out the right words at the right time.

 

And sometimes, when the book turns to mush in my head, I just pick one of those pet words and search for it. And somehow (21) the Zen of the search gets me back into the book.

But it's the fun part, right? (I haven't counted the’ rights’ yet) . This is the time I get to carve away everything that isn't the book, and the book I meant to write is revealed.

 

Now I'm down to 100, 437 words. Yay me. And a week to go.

 

Do you notice, readers, when an author has repeated a word? There was one book I read, years ago, when the author used the word façade about 50 million times. Didn't anyone catch that, I wondered? I once got a note from an editor saying ‘please be aware of the use of the word flickered.’ Sure enough, I did an edit -find and everything was flickering: eyes, birds, monitors, video screens, digital clocks. Flicker flicker flicker.

 

Writers, do you have words that you constantly use? Whether they are things you don't even notice like just, or some word you've heard that you love, like... lattice, or convoluted, or imbroglio.

 

Tell us the words you notice in your own books, or in the ones you read.

 

And now I'm off to cut cut cut. I mean: cut.

 

(And because you will understand this: YAY. ONE WRONG WORD hardcover went into second printing, did I tell you? Yay.  AND so did THE HOUSE GUEST trade paperback. And HER PERFECT LIFE trade paperback went into third printing! And yes, all because I cut cut cut.)

Lucy is Wrapping Up Loose Ends #AmWriting #WhatWe’reWriting

LUCY BURDETTE: First things first, I have a bit of news. Key West food critic mystery #14 now has a title: A POISONOUS PALATE. I was calling it The Mangrove Murder as I wrote, but I think APP makes more sense both because of the story and the food theme. I’ll be able to share the cover soon. I was hoping they’d include a Key deer, but the team decided it would be too busy—so I’m including the deer right here!



Now on to today’s topic…have you ever noticed while reading a good book, maybe especially a mystery, that the pace picks up at the end, as though the author just wanted to wrap things up and get it sent off to the publisher? When you finish what otherwise was an excellent book, you are left shaking your head and saying, wait, what just happened here?? This is one of my husband's pet peeves, and I have grown more sensitive to it as well, both in my books and in books written by my peers. (Yes, I know I talked about nailing endings two months ago, but it’s not that easy and I’m a slow learner!)

So this is how I’ve spent the last week, trying to make sure that my 14th food critic mystery makes sense all the way to the final chapter. My struggle demonstrates the value of a talented editor. The editor hired by Crooked Lane to work on my books is Sandy Harding, who I was lucky enough to have edit almost all of the earlier books in the series. So she understands the characters and applauds their growth, but she also doesn’t let me get away with waving my hands at a problem and hoping the readers will buy it. If the editor or early readers don’t understand the murderer’s motive or can’t picture exactly what happened leading up to that point, I have a problem! This is not a screenshot of the ending, because I didn’t want to give anything away—but I did want to show you what the comments are like:

I finally sent those edited pages off last Friday, and guess what I thought in that moment? No, it wasn’t ‘I don’t ever want to see this book again’ or ‘gosh, readers are going to love this book’—it was, ‘I hope I land a super talented copyeditor!’

Do you have pet peeves about endings? How much wrapping up of details do you like to see? 

What We're Writing Week: Julia takes stuff out and puts stuff in

My standing desk aka the kitchen counter

JULIA SPENCER-FLEMING: This month I've been grinding away towards finishing the manuscript for AT MIDNIGHT COMES THE CRY (Yes, Jenn and Rhys write three books in one year and I write one book in three years. It's called averaging, okay?!?) One of the issues with taking a long, roundabout route to the first draft, is starting out with certain locations, characters, or plot devices, only to realize once you've reached the 5/8th mark (which for me is between 65 and 70 thousand words) that you've forgotten, abandoned, or changed those things.

 

For instance, I made one character pregnant when we first meet her. (No, not Clare or Hadley.) I thought it would make her precarious position even more fraught. Then, I just sort of... forgot about it. I had to go back to check on something that occurred when we first meet her and surprise! She's six months pregnant.  There was only one problem (besides the fact I hadn't mentioned anything about her being in a family way in any scene after the first two.) Now she was in some action-adventure-y scenes, and being an expectant mom was just TOO much of a pain to write around. 

Fortunately, in Maine, it's legal to end a character's pregnancy at any time up to the last pass of the galley pages, so I went back, did a little rewriting, and taa-daa, she's no longer pregnant. 

 

In another place, I had a scene with a character who just... doesn't show up again. Which is a problem, because I've learned that if there seems to be enough weight on a character, if they're TOO vivid or TOO important, the reader will feel as if they've been left hanging when that person doesn't reappear. 

 

So I figured out what his essential business was, parceled it around to other characters, and got rid of him. (Writing is a ruthless business, don't let anyone every tell you otherwise.)

As Debs wrote about yesterday, I'm also dealing with weather constraints. I had characters picking up shells from the ground, only to remember that two days before, I had bedeviled everyone with a snowstorm. (Why was there a snowstorm? Because it's a Julia Spencer-Fleming novel. All my books have snowstorms. Even the ones set in summer.)

Well, I had made life harder for my characters, which was the point, but also harder for me. I had to go back and add in brooms, and sweeping, and snow removal. 

 

Don't even get me started on the way I had Clare and Russ's dog, Oscar, in the opening prologue and then haven't written a word about him since. And it's been almost a month in the story! Poor Oscar! He's been waiting a long time for a walk and some kibble. I'll have to correct that before turning it in, or someone's going to report Rev. Fergusson to the ASPCA.

 

Here's an excerpt with the newly NOT pregnant Tiny March (whose last name may also change, we'll see...) and Clare fleeing trouble:

 

She let out a breath she didn't know she was holding when they reached the broader, two-lane stretch to the state highway. “Okay, it'll take us a little over an hour to get to Millers Kill from here. How about we pick up a few things for you and Rose at the a Wal-Mart in Fort – oh, shit!”

She and the driver of the pickup heading past her recognized each other at the same moment. Tiny twisted around in her seat. “It's Cal! Oh my God, what are we gonna do? Oh, God, oh God...”

Clare had already hit the gas. Her Subaru was no sports car, but it was a goer, and Cal March had to make a three-point turn before he could follow her. She swung onto the state highway without slowing and immediately accelerated to seventy-five. She split her attention between the road and her rear-view mirror. Sure enough, in the distance, she could see the pick-up turning onto the highway after her.

Tiny leaned forward, looking from side to side. “Is there some place we can hide? Take another route?”

Clare focused on the road ahead, inching her speed up to eighty. “This is it. It's about fifteen miles to the first town, and that's not much more than a cluster of buildings along the highway. It's twice as far to the Northway.” She wrestled the Adirondack atlas out of her side pocket without taking her eyes off the road and handed it to Tiny. “See if there's any place likely.”

“What about a police station?”

“I know the Essex county sheriff is up in Lewis, but that's got to be an hour from here.” Up ahead, an oil delivery truck lumbered along at a sedate five miles below the speed limit. Clare shifted lanes and blew past him. “State police Troop G is south of here. Somewhere around Brant Lake.”

Tiny bent her head over the map. “That's, like, thirty miles.”

The oil truck dwindled in her rear view mirror. Maybe...? Then the truck popped out from behind it and continued after them. That was the problem with Route 28N – it was a thirty mile long gentle curve, with stretched-out sightlines that made it very safe for tourists traveling into the mountains and very inconvenient when you wanted to disappear. She slowed slightly to scan the area ahead of the SUV in front of her, then revved up to pass it. The good news was, it was Sunday, and there wasn't much traffic on the road. The bad news was, it was Sunday, and where in this corner of the Adirondacks could they find enough people and vehicles to get lost in?

Have you ever read a book where one of these little "Ooops!" moments has been left in, dear readers? Do you ever return to an earlier part of a novel, brows furrowed, trying to make sense of something? (P.S., Tropical Storm Lee will be hitting my area with torrential rain and high winds today, so keep your fingers crossed I keep my power and internet!)

Managing the white space...

HALLIE EPHRON: I know what writing is about. Evoking images. Expressing voice. Mining the sense. Words are our tools... right?

And yet I often find myself paying attention to white space.

Where to put a paragraph break (carriage return), sometimes just to give the reader a break so the page doesn’t seem dense and impenetrable. Or where to place a scene break (double carriage return) where the point of view or the time or the setting changes.

Readers glide over the middle of paragraphs and sentences; they land hard on beginnings and endings. So I also think about where to put key information.

If it’s a red herring that I’m planting, I might put it in the middle of a paragraph. Deliberately making it harder to spot. But if it’s an important and I want the reader to notice, then I make sure it’s at the start or the end of a paragraph.

If it’s more than that, something which dramatically changes the emotional valance (for instance, the narrator’s suddenly feels afraid or wary), I might put it on a line all by itself.

That’s when she noticed. Water dripped from the ceiling.

Do you think about managing the white space in your novels?

JULIA SPENCER-FLEMING: What a great topic, Hallie!

It’s true, I think a lot about white space, along with paragraph and sentence length. It’s all part of creating a reader experience that feels as if its actually happening in real life, and to make them forget that everything - emotions, environment, people - are only words on a page (or a screen, to be modern.)

I use many of the same techniques you do, and I love, love, love the single solitary sentence for emphasis.

I started a chapter in one of my books with a single swear word. The last sentence of the previous chapter had Russ stepping into a woodchuck hole and falling backward, with an audible “snap” of his tibia. Then the reader turns the page and sees:

“F—!”

One of the few times my mom didn’t ding me for using the F word in a manuscript!

LUCY BURDETTE: I’m always in awe of the way you break things down, Hallie. That’s what makes you such a good teacher.

My management of space seems to be much more intuitive, which makes sense since I don’t think about beats and acts and outlines either. Though I do bury clues and red herrings, as you suggested, and also open and close with important information.

One thing I’ve gotten better at I think is ending chapters with something that I hope will urge a reader forward. Not crazy, hanging hooks, but little bits that should make someone want to read another chapter. Here’s an example from the end of chapter two in A CLUE IN THE CRUMBS:

“We were wondering,” Miss Gloria said, “whether you’d whisk us on a little tour of Old Town before dessert? Maybe we could even drive by the scene of the fire?”
All three faces looked so wistful and hopeful, I couldn’t say no. Besides, I was curious too.

HALLIE: I call that a “hook-and-grab structure” - where the ending of one scene (or chapter) provides a hook that gets grabbed by the opening of the next scene (or chapter). 

You see it all the time in movies. A telephone rings and the scene fades to black; the next scene opens with someone (somewhere else) answering a phone. A scene ends with a door closing/next one opens with a door opening. 

It’s so obvious when you start to notice.

HANK PHILLIPPI RYAN: Yup, all of this. How the book looks is so pivotal, and it's a way for the author to give the reader a roadmap to the emotion and suspense of the book. Pacing. And also a bit of misdirection. 

Yes, exactly, the ol’ list trick, where the key is in the middle. The forest for the trees, right? We were being totally fair–but we made you look the other way. The author used… sleight of words.

Chapter endings, too, where the pause is built in. How do we get the reader to turn the page, and what will be going on in that white space in the readers’ brains? It should be different, depending. Hook and grab, absolutely. Or...a moral question or philosophy. Or quiet foreshadowing.

For instance: END of Chapter 5

“I hope you won’t be mad,” Bree finally said. She curled her fingers around the stem of her wineglass. “I have a confession to make.”

Beginning of Chapter 6

“Confession?” Alyssa stepped back from the center island, caught herself looking at the shiny knives stabbed into the wooden rack on the drainboard, then, embarrassed, actively didn’t look at the knives. Trapped in a kitchen with a stranger was not the best prescription for good outcomes. She imagined the explanation she’d have to give to the police after whatever horrific thing that was about to happen actually happened. If she were alive to tell it. She could imagine the headlines. Idiotic suburban housewife invites . . .

END of Chapter 6

The refrigerator motor kicked in, its hum seeming louder than usual, and the red light from the alarm system blinked reassuringly from the panel on the wall. Alyssa stared out into the night, and watched a wide-winged moth flutter into one of the outside security lights, frantic and needy and throwing itself into the irresistible and lethal brightness.

RHYS BOWEN: This topic took me by surprise as this is something I’ve never thought about. Now I’ve got one more thing to obsess over!

I am only aware when I’ve had my heroine Molly being introspective for too long and I see a big block of text on the page that needs breaking up. 

I am aware also that today’s reader is used to TV with 90 seconds before the scene changes. I don’t write like that but I am aware of the need for pace and switching from dialogue to description to action to make sure the reader is being kept engaged. 

But mostly I just write and then go back to tweak if necessary. If I’m writing an exciting moment I plunge ahead then go over it again to fill in details of setting etc.

I do try to end chapters on a line that provides suspense or makes the reader think.

JENN McKINLAY: Oh, dear. I’m with Rhys. I have never thought about the white space – not once, not ever. And now it’s all I’ll be thinking about. Thanks, Hallie!!! LOL. 

I think it’s just one of those things where I let my instincts take over. If I want to emphasize a line I do. If I’m hiding a clue, I bury it in an action packed scene. I personally find large blocks of text daunting, so I don’t write them.

Fascinating topic. I love reading everyone’s answers!

DEBORAH CROMBIE: Hallie, this is so interesting. I do all of these things, but I never thought of it as "white space." I just want to keep things moving, and as much as I like long sentences, I know that if you put too many of them together it's hard for a reader to stay focused. But too many short choppy sentences is annoying, so it's all about balance.

And I always use the "hook-and-grab" in my scenes, but I had no idea that was what it was called. A lot of this seems to be instinctive–I just know when I have to cut the action or the dialogue in order to keep the tension up and keep the reader wanting to turn the pages.

HALLIE: So, for you as a reader, do you notice the white space? Does it bother you when a page is one big block of text? Do you notice chapter endings that make you want to go on to start reading the next chapter??

Behind the scenes at the sausage factory: What we're REwriting

 

HALLIE EPHRON: Recently got a message from Michael Neff, founder and chief architect of the excellent Algonkian Writer Conferences asking if I’d be interested in putting together an intensive, advanced workshop that would be a sort of “finishing school” for suspense and mystery novels.

I was hooked. This would so different from the kind of one to three hour workshops I often give. I’d get a chance to look at entire manuscripts rather than a single aspect, and work with more advanced writers on how to polish their own completed (or nearly completed) work.

Immediately I’ve set about trying to envision what exactly are the finishing touches that a manuscript needs so that an editor will want to pluck it from the slush pile and offer a wad of cash for the honor of publishing it. So that a reader who samples Page One is so hooked that they continue reading right through to the surprising and satisfying finish line.

So that readers don't post devastating critiques like this one:

Most of the experienced writers I know love being in that final writing phase: polishing story lines and picking nits.

Last week, behind the scenes, one of the Reds (AKA RED A): “I got the first batch of pages from my editor. The good news is that she says she loves the book, the family stuff is great, the crime works well. The bad news is that she says it needs to be 100 to 150 pages shorter!!”

RED B chimed in: “My latest I’ve just turned in is 430 pages but I can’t think of anything I could take out. Tell her every word is precious!”

RED C: “Your words may be precious but mine are definitely not! I have a very bad tendency to over-write with too much exposition, and my editor is a genius at seeing how to tighten things up.”

RED D: “I sent mine in KNOWING 15,000 at least had to go, and eager to cut! It's now SO MUCH BETTER in every way. It's like--a treasure hunt. I'm on the prowl--what work does this line do, what work does this paragraph do, is it pulling its weight? What can I take away? I love it, I completely do. Kill my darlings? If they're clogging the pacing or being tangential, they are not my darlings, right? BAM. Gone.”

RED E commiserated: “Remember "Bird by bird?" You need to do "Slash by slash." :-)

RED F: “Wish I could help. I'm an underwriter and always turn stuff in short and then I have to be a fluffer and gas it up in the revisions.

RED G: "I will gladly take anyone's extra words, just send them on. I struggle to get to 70,000 words in a first draft!"

HALLIE: But *too long* or *not long enough* is what I’d term  first-world problems. The Reds are an experienced bunch who know what we’re doing and, by the way, know our own strengths and weaknesses. For less experienced writer, the problems with an unpublished manuscript invariably run far deeper than word count. It’s more than a matter of tightening or enriching the storytelling or slashing and burning the establishing narrative. It’s the tricky business of capturing a reader’s attention from Page One, a compelling voice, a character arc, and effective pacing.

In other words, it’s complicated. And, having read so many not-quite-ready-for prime-time manuscripts, each (like unhappy families) is sub-par in its own way. Still there are patterns which I hope to get at in my workshop design.

So I thought I’d pose the question here: Beyond "it's just not my cup of tea," what makes you dissatisfied (or even stop reading) a mystery or suspense novel? A weak opening? An unlikeable character? Annoying voice? Too many coincidences? Too much background information? Unbelievable situations? Plots with massive holes in them? Typos and grammatical errors? Or, or, or...

Go ahead! I'm taking notes... What are your pet peeves? I’ll pass them along to writers who, armed with knowledge, can revise to avoid them.

WHAT WE'RE WRITING: Hank has breaking news, a sneak peek, and an experiment!

HANK PHILLIPPI RYAN: A sneak peek at my new book below! But first, breaking news. First, I have been named Guest of Honor at next year’s Malice Domestic convention. SO AMAZING! (Julia and Rhys were this year’s and the year before, and can you imagine that powerhouse duo at the podium this year? So now, they will be able to tell me the secret handshake.) I am still floating.

Second: My new book THE HOUSE GUEST has a cover! YAY! And it will be revealed on Wednesday. So watch for it! All the Reds shepherded me through the decision, of course, and I am incredibly thrilled. If you want to help me reveal it, just email me at Hank@HankPhillippiRyan.com and I will give you all the deets.

Also: Do NOT buy HER PERFECT LIFE. Seriously. I mean–not yet. It’s going on sale for a pittance on May 10. And you will hear about it, you can be sure. So get ready to click the buy button.

And! THE HOUSE GUEST advance review copies are being printed right now. Yay. (Gilly Macmillan, who read a bound manuscript, just called it “propulsive, smart, twisty, and impossible to predict”” and “A thriller-lover’s treat!” So, again, yay.)

So the whole thing has been a process, and the other day I looked back at several versions of the manuscript for THE HOUSE GUEST. I keep every day's version, maybe that’s silly, but it’s truly instructive. If you compare the versions, you can really see the thought process, the emergence of character, the appearance of theme and motivation.

So here's an experiment.  First, here's the version of page one that existed in May, 2021. Essentially a year ago.

Then, after that, the current version. Which probably won’t change.

What can you tell about the differences? What do you think?

Version from May 2021

Chapter 1

Ailsa swirled the icy olives in her martini, thinking about division. She stared through the chilled glass at the lighted bottles lined up on the shiny aluminum bar shelves in front of her. Division, as in divorce. Not only the obvious division, hers from Bill, but the division of their property. On her side of the ledger, she was supposed get the mortgage-free Weston house (but not the Osterville cottage), the jewelry, two of the important paintings, gym membership for life, and some other stuff. Money, certainly. The lawyers were discussing it, she’d been told. She jiggled the fragments of disappearing ice. Discussing.

What did Bill get? Besides everything else, he got the friends.

All the friends. Ailsa felt her shoulders sag, calculating the parts of her life now grouped on his side of the ledger. She understood, she did, it was difficult when a couple split. Allegiances were tested. Loyalties strained. She jabbed at the closest green olive with the little plastic stick. She’d have thought some of them, some of the friends at least, would’ve stuck with her.

The music from the speakers in each corner of the Vermillion Hotel’s earnestly chic dark-paneled bar floated down over her, some unrecognizable jazz, all piano and promises, muffling conversations and filling the silences. A couple sat at one end of the bar, knee to knee. On vacation, on business, clandestine. Impossible to tell. At the other end, a sport-coated man, tie loosened, used one finger to fish the maraschino cherry out of his brown drink, popped it into his mouth, and licked his fingers before he went back to scrolling the phone in front of him. 


Written January 2022

Chapter 1

Alyssa swirled the icy olives in her martini, thinking about division. She stared through her chilled glass to the mirrored shelves of multi-colored bottles in front of her at the hotel bar. Division, as in divorce.  Not only the physical division, hers from Bill, but thinking about what would happen after the lawyers finished. They’d already created a ledger of their lives together, then started the financial division. Which would be followed by the devastating subtraction.

Bill had subtracted her from his life, that was easy math. With a lift of his chin and a slam of the front door and a squeal of Mercedes brakes. She’d asked him why he was leaving her, begged to know, yearned to understand. But Bill always got what he wanted, no explanation offered or obligatory. She had done nothing wrong. Zero. That’s what baffled her. Terrified her.

She jiggled the fragments of disappearing ice. Division. The Weston house. The Osterville cottage. The jewelry. Her jewelry. The first editions. The important paintings. Club membership. The silver. Money. The lawyers, human calculators who cared nothing about her, would discuss and divide and then, Bill Macallen would win. Bill always won.

All she’d done for the past eight years was addition. She’d added to their lives, added to their social sphere, organizing and planning as “Bill’s wife,” fulfilling her job to make him comfortable and enviable and the image of benevolent success. She’d more than accepted it, she’d embraced it, and all that came with it. And then, this.

I need a break, he’d told her that day. She pictured that moment, a month ago now, could almost smell him, a seductive mixture of leathery orange-green aftershave and personal power. Bill talking down to her, literally and figuratively, wearing one of his pale blue shirts, elegant yellow tie all loose and careless, khaki pants and loafers. A break! As if his life with her was a video he could casually put on pause while he did other things. What things?


HANK: So again, Reds and readers, what can you tell about the differences? What do you think?

Don’t forget to email me for the cover reveal! And stand by for the wonderful sale on Her Perfect Life.

What We're Writing? Hank's Re-writing.

HANK PHILLIPPI RYAN:  I'm in the midst of editing my new book, still called 'HANK'S UNTITLED NEW BOOK.'  It will not be called Her New Best Friend, (and you heard it here first) because Her New Best Friend might sound like a sequel to Her Perfect Life. And so it goes.  

So now I am cutting, tweaking, editing. Below are snaps of real pages from the manuscript. You can see the changes.

Herewith, a scene starring the sole narrator in this single point of view psychological novel of suspense. You don't need to know more at this point.  Read his, and then, when you're finished, I have a question for you.

HANK'S NEW BOOK  from Chapter 21

The gray metal door of Room 611 was marked FBI in peeling gray decals. Alyssa twisted the knob to open it, but it was locked. She pushed a square black button on the door jamb, heard a buzz from inside. She’d been so surprised by that—a government office should be open, shouldn’t it?—that she’d wanted to check her text reminders to make sure she had the correct place. But before she could get her phone unlocked, she’d heard footsteps inside, and then a click, and then Agent Hattie Parker stood in the opened doorway. 

“Thank you for being so punctual,” Parker said. “Come in. Agent Espinal will join us shortly.” 

 Parker might have been wearing the same black jacket and pants as yesterday, but there was not a wrinkle or a crease, and Alyssa could almost smell the starch in her pristine white shirt. 

 No receptionist. No waiting room. No thin-cushioned fifties-era couches, no stacks of old magazines on a government-issue coffee table. The door to Room 611 led directly to an office, a government-beige metal desk with a black desk pad and black phone on top; not a speck of dust, and if the room had been prepared for a private meeting. Outside the open slatted blinds of a double-wide window, the view revealed a brick and concrete pedestrian plaza. 

Beyond that, the complicated cornices and stone columns of the John Adams Building. Where, Alyssa knew, the Supreme Judicial Court of Massachusetts sat, issuing their final verdicts on defendants’ futures. The irony was not lost on her. Maybe the FBI used that view as a reminder, or a downright threat, of what could happen if their interview subjects got on the wrong side of the law. Though court should be equally concerned with protecting people. Alyssa did not feel as if anyone was protecting her now. 

 “Have a seat, Ms. Macallen.” Agent Parker had somehow set her tone as a cross between solicitous hostess and drill sergeant. She looked at her watch, a chunk of black plastic and rubber. 

 “Are we being recorded?” Alyssa’s brain screamed lawyer-lawyer-lawyer but she knew that if she did that, called in an attorney and changed the entire dynamic, she’d lose what little control she had, and this whole thing might escalate to a place she could not afford to go. 

Afford, she thought again. She’d tough this out. See what she could find out. For as long as she could. 

 “I can’t record you without your permission, Ms. Mac--may I call you Alyssa?” 

 Parker was leaning toward solicitous hostess now, Alyssa thought. But her deference rang false, obvious enough to be annoying. 

 “Of course.” Alyssa matched her insincere tone and straightened in the black and silver metal chair; its rigid square shape meant more for easy storage than for human comfort. Tried to take back a bit of control. She was guest, an invited guest, and she could leave as easily as she’d arrived. They were FBI, but that didn’t mean she had to play the victim. 

“And it’s Hattie?” Alyssa went on, not waiting for an answer. “You came to my house last night at what I fear was an inconvenient time for me. So now that I have a bit of time to focus on your inquiries, how can I help you?” 

Alyssa heard the door rattle, then the click of a lock. 

“Sorry to be delayed. Agent Parker, Ms. Macallen.” Espinal handed Parker a manila envelope, which she put on the desk without looking inside. 

 This clearly was not her office, Alyssa thought again. But whose was it? It seemed impersonal, with no files or book-filled shelves, no stacks of papers, no personal knickknacks or weary yellowing plants lined up along the windowsill. She sneaked a peek into the upper right corner of the room, then the left, but didn’t see any cameras. 

“There are no cameras here, Ma’am,” Parker said. 

 “There’s no nothing here,” Alyssa said, trying to sound amused. “Is the FBI having money problems?” 

She heard an almost-laugh from Espinal. He’d stationed himself in front of the door, which made it awkward for her, since she could only look at one of them at a time. While they could both see her.  And it blocked her exit.

 She wondered if this was tactics, or simply too many people in a too-small room. Or maybe that was tactics, too. And they were taking long enough to get to the point. 

“As always,” Espinal said. “Most of our offices moved to Chelsea, as you might know. But we’ve kept a few satellite offices here, just for convenience. Proximity to the courthouse. And privacy. But Uncle Sam did not provide us much of a budget line item for decorating.”

 “Ah.” That made sense, Alyssa supposed. She looked at her own watch, not trying to hide her movement. 

 “We won’t be long, “ Espinal said. 

 “We hope,” Parker added. 

“We just have a few questions.” 

“And we hope you can help us.”

 It was like watching a tennis match to keep up with them. And without knowing which of the agents was in charge, it was difficult for Alyssa to avoid it.

HANK: Okay? How about that scene? Is there conflict? Sure. Tension? Sure. A decision in process? Sure. Stakes? You'd know them if you read what comes before.

Will you read this scene in HANK'S NEW UNTITLED BOOK? Nope. Like 19,000 other words, I cut the entire thing.

Boom. Gone.

Okay. Here's the deal. 

I ask myself every time: What work does this scene do? Hmm. 

We already know the FBI has talked to Alyssa--we were in that scene the day before. We have set up they are in a contentious cat and mouse situation. 

So...distilling what we actually learn in this scene: The FBI office is not what Alyssa expected. She doesn't want to be there, but she wonders what they're up to. She's worried about exactly what the agents think they know. And she is trying to take control of the situation.

So. What action do we have here: PROCESS.

And: We already know the things we get from this scene.

As a result: Gone. A scene you will never read in a book. 

And I was delighted to cut it.

Welcome to writing.

Reds and Readers, what do you think?

What we're writing week: Hallie assesses the mess

 

HALLIE EPHRON: Lately I've been writing *about* writing. Musing about something I heard when I was the panel moderator at a mystery conference. Walter Mosley drew a distinction between story and plot.

Story is what really happened. Plot is the order in which it's revealed to the reader.

I’ve been pondering that distinction ever since, because it perfectly captures why mystery novels are such fun to read, and why they can give you a brain cramp to write.

Here's an example from The Maltese Falcon. In the first scene, Detective Sam Spade meets a prospective client. He agrees to help the alluring Miss Wonderly find her missing sister who has run off with ne’er-do-well Floyd Thursby. Soon Spade (and the reader) will realize Miss Wonderly isn’t Miss Wonderly, there is no sister, and a bullet that takes down Spade’s partner who goes to investigate the missing sister was meant for Spade.

But the story begins long before Miss Wonderly set foot in Spade’s office. It involves the theft of a priceless artifact, a falling out among the thieves, with Spade’s affair with his partner’s wife thrown in to complicate matters. All of which is revealed to the reader by the end of the book.

One of the biggest challenges in writing a mystery involves reconciling the sequence of real events (Moseley's “story”) with the order in which they’re revealed to the reader (“plot”). The story should obvious and logically airtight, only in retrospect. The pleasure in reading a mystery comes from seeing past the characters’ lies and obfuscations, past the author’s clever misdirection, and sussing out each characters’ true motivations and actions an instant or two before the author reveals them.

Because I’m more of a pantser than a plotter, I often arrive at that glorious moment when I type THE END for the first time, only to find that my novel is riven with plot holes. I’d like nothing better than to pick up a blue pencil and start editing words and sentences, create more shapely paragraphs, more compelling beginnings and endings. But when I raise my head out of the weeds, print out the manuscript and read it through, I find inconsistencies and head-scratching moments. Sometimes, even I’m not sure how the villain pulled it off.

For instance, in the first draft of CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR, a murder victim misbehaves in a coffee shop after, it turns out, he’s already dead. I hadn’t worked out exactly how that happened without “Jiggery Pokery” or an “Act of God” which the Detection Club (formed in 1930) required their mystery-writing members to disavow. I had to assess the mess and make a million tweaks so that in the end it was physicall plausible and logically airtight, and yet the reader wouldn't see it coming.

READERS: Do you ever finish reading (or writing!) a mystery novel and find yourself muttering But but but... and reeling off the inconsistencies the author never properly addressed?

WRITERS; What do you do when you read your first draft and spot those gotchas and even you aren't sure how your character pulled it off?

Lucy is Editing A SCONE OF CONTENTION #Writing

 LUCY BURDETTE: Not every stage of writing is as much fun as every other--not by a long shot. And the stages don't feel the same for every author. For me, the first draft is a monster. There's simply nothing to be done but slog forward with the word count, get feedback from trusted friends, and hope it all comes together in some magical way. 

And then comes the editorial letter and comments--that's where I am this week with A SCONE OF CONTENTION, the 11th Key West mystery, coming to a bookstore near you next summer. (This week, I learned that that the Crooked Lane team chose that for the new title--I love it! Another title had been selected first, but after mulling it over, I decided it was (a) too silly and (b) unrelated to the content of the book. So I begged for a change and my people agreed. Phew!) I will not bore you with the horrible details, but my computer failed last Thursday. I've only yesterday gotten it back so I can get to work. What did I do in the meanwhile? Bake cinnamon scones, which are featured in the book. (Recipe will come later...)

Anyway, back to edits. I feel very, very lucky to have scored Sandy Harding as my outside editor--she bought the series for NAL back in 2010. She understands the series, the characters, and the whole point of mysteries, cozier mysteries in particular. Here's a little example of a comment early in the manuscript next to the section where I described Hayley's new home--you'll see what I mean, she actually believes in the characters as I do. (If you can't read it, she said "This has been such a lovely description. I'm so glad she gets to live here!")

It's been such a horrible year between the pandemic and politics. So I adored writing this book, reliving some of my favorite places from our trip to Scotland last year and taking Hayley and her gang to visit. I have lots of work to do--mostly beefing up the murderer's motives so you believe that he or she is capable of the deadly deeds. But the comments all ring true so I know it will be stronger once I think and tweak. I will share the description that Sandy was referring to, so you can pretend you live on Hayley and Nathan's houseboat too...

I got up from my lounge chair on the teak deck and walked into our new houseboat, our home. Nathan and I had been living here two weeks and I still had to pinch myself to believe it was real. Though we’d spent months pouring over plans and many more months waiting for workers and materials to show up, the outcome was, in a word, stunning—without a whiff of flashy.

Our builder, Chris, had managed to secure Dade county pine lumber from a demolition project that now found a new life as my kitchen counters and drawers. He’d also managed to find Dave Combs, an amazing contractor and woodworker who helped to execute our dream to polished reality. At the deep end of the counter, he had built shelves where I lined up my pottery containers of baking supplies, and above that, vertical slats for my prettiest plates and, a little higher, a glass-fronted cabinet for the flowered blue china mugs and teapot that had been handed down from my grandmother’s kitchen. There was a separate shelf for my cookbooks and a gas stove on which every burner worked without coaxing or danger of explosion, and even a special cabinet that exactly fit the mammoth food processor that my mother-in-law had given us as a wedding present. From a wrought iron rack on the wall and ceiling over the stove hung an assortment of pots and pans, whisks, cheese grater boxes, and the other tools of my trade. 

Though I wrote food criticism for a living, I lived for feeding my family and friends. The new kitchen made that activity almost purely pleasurable. There were of course trade-offs that came automatically with living on a houseboat— neighbors were close by and the water all around us amplified every sound. That meant we shared our neighbors’ music, no matter the genre. And we heard every woof and meow from every furry resident. And space was at a premium. That meant that our bed, three steps up from the double oven at the end of the kitchen, was built into the wall of the bedroom with reasonable walk-in space only on his side and a smaller mattress than a well-muscled man might prefer. As newlyweds, we did not find this close proximity to be a drawback. And we loved waking up in the morning and looking out on our aqua blue watery world.

How about you Reds? Is there something you've read or written or worked on this year that has taken your mind off the horrors for a little bit of time?

And by the way, if you haven't yet read DEATH ON THE MENU (#8), or have a friend who might enjoy it--the ebook is on sale for $1.99!