Uppity women

HALLIE EPHRON: Some NYU researchers have concluded that by the age of 6, girls are less likely to view girls than boys as brilliant. On top of this comes the news that American parents Googled “Is my son a genius?” more than twice as often as they Googled “Is my daughter a genius?” They also Googled “Is my daughter overweight?” about 70 percent more often than “Is my son overweight?” (Which got me wondering if it's parents who are more likely to be overweight and less likely to be geniuses.)

I have never had a problem calling myself a feminist. I’m the third of four sisters, daughter of one of Hollywood’s first female screenwriters, a mouthy broad, and I have never doubted women can be brilliant. My daughters, just for example, are brilliant. And it took me a very long time to find a man I thought was smarter than me (and interested enough) to marry. A physicist, he still can’t find the butter in a half-empty refrigerator or fry an egg while sorting laundry.

Now I have two grandchildren, a 11-month old boy and a 3 1/2 year old girl, and you can believe me when I tell you they are both brilliant. However, I find myself questioning my feminist credentials as I bestow upon my grandson a virtual fleet of trucks and cars, while to my granddaughter I search out the fanciest mermaid princess costume and ballerina dolls. It’s what they want, I say.

Or is it what I want to give them?

So where are you in the gender wars? And does hearing that it requires “brilliance” to do something put you off from trying?

LUCY BURDETTE: This is tricky Hallie, because I believe so much sexism and racism is embedded deep below our consciousness, both individually and as a country. I learned about sexism in the women's movement in the late 70s when I went to graduate school in Tennessee. I bought my copy of OUR BODIES, OURSELVES, my own plastic speculum (lol), and joined a consciousness raising group. And I have no doubt that women are as smart as men. But I have many old roots telling me (for one example) that the home is the purview of the woman.

HANK PHILLIPPI RYAN:  I am so baffled by this. And have no idea. I have two grandsons, 7 and 14. They want trucks, Legos, fighting stuff, wars, superheroes, Pokemon, videogames, competition, silly jokes.

The little girls next door, 7 and 14, are totally different. The are semi-tomboys--hmmm, probably can't say that now?--soccer and horseback riding and running around and skateboards. But they never saw sparkly stuff they didn't like. And would never turn down a tiara.

BUT--if you asked me who was "smarter"? Ah. They are all equally brilliant.

And. As I was deplaning yesterday, the man across the aisle gestured me to go first. He said "Ladies should always go first." And I said "Yes. Very true! Especially in dangerous situations."

I was very proud of myself.


HALLIE: Ha ha ha! Mango, anyone? This reminds me of the hilarious song from FREE TO BE YOU AND ME, Marlo Thomas singing "Ladies First."



INGRID THOFT: I'm the youngest of four daughters raised by parents who always taught us that we were strong, smart, and capable.  Given that as a society we choose to paint newborns' rooms based on their gender (let's remember that newborns don't even see that well,) I would say that humans are still socialized along very strict gender lines. 

It drives me crazy when people talk about a kid being "such a boy" because he's energetic or likes to play with trucks.  I'm an aunt to 14, (eight girls and six boys,) and I can tell you that we have energetic girls and low-key boys, girls who like building things and boys who like stuffed animals.  Their interests and strength run the gamut, but they're all brilliant, of course. ;) 

DEBORAH CROMBIE: My parents never gave me the least idea that there was anything I couldn't do because I was a girl, or that I wasn't as smart as boys. And I was a tomboy (what do we say now, for girls who don't play with dolls and girly things?) as was my daughter.

It's too early to say about my granddaughter, but I wonder how much girls' preference for girly things and boys' for boy stuff is due to the expectations of parents? I do strongly feel, however, that there is still a strong cultural gender bias, and that it is on the uptick with the current social climate. 

JENN MCKINLAY: Gender wars. It's difficult for me to accept that we still have to fight, that we haven't evolved as a society enough to see individuals beyond their gender.

I am a feminist but mostly I'm a humanist -- I guess that would be the word. I believe in the power of the individual to defy the odds, to make their own way, to be better than the people who came before, no matter their gender, race, religion, or socio-economic status.

My brother and I are only eleven months apart with him being older. He was my first best friend and the person I admired above all others (still do). As the youngest of six, we were always together. Always. Even our name became one word: JedandJenny! We were allowed to run wild and we did. Mischief and shenanigans abounded and it would never have occurred to either of us that there was anything from skateboarding to sewing that my brother could do that I couldn't or vice versa because of our gender.

I am ever grateful for my childhood and have strived to teach my boys to view the world the same way.

JULIA SPENCER-FLEMING: My mother was a feminist in the sixties and seventies (I mean, of course, she still is, but that's when she got her consciousness raised.) She raised my sister and me to expect to work, to value ourselves outside any relationship with a man, and to require respect. She was also adamant about a woman's right to choose - parenthood or not, stay-at-home or career, dresses or jeans and a T shirt. That upbringing has stood us in good stead as Barb and I have been single career girls, working mothers, stay at home mothers and work-at-home mothers.

I worry much less about the girl-toy versus boy-toy divide since I actually had kids. The Smithie and The Sailor are only 15 months apart, so they shared most of their toys and activities. They both took dance, they both took karate. The both swam, the both did gymnastics. Their equality carried on into high school, where they both ran X-C and track, and were both involved in theater.


True, she would spend hours dressing up her Barbies and playacting with them; while he never saw a toy truck he didn't like. And as young adults? They're both "woke," as the kids say today, both very aware of feminism, privilege, intersectionality, etc. The Smithie is a take-charge, aggressive person and The Sailor has a soft heart. And she still likes to dress very "girly" and his first car was a pick-up truck!

RHYS BOWEN: I was quite an adventurous girl, always getting knees skinned when I jumped out one of our apple trees. I went to a highly academic girls school and my classmates all expected to go into the professions. When I worked at the BBC I was treated with the same respect as my male colleages. 

I had four children, three girls and then a boy. I was interested to note in what ways he would be different. My girls all liked to play tea parties, to dress up in my clothes and shoes. When Dominic was two months old he was lying in his crib with a cradle gym above him. In his hand was a rattle. For about twenty minutes he looked at the rattle, then at the cradle gym. Rattle. Gym. Then suddenly he gave the gym an almighty swipe with the rattle.

That's a boy, I thought. Although he had all the girly stuff at his disposal he played with cars, trucks, balls, taking things to pieces. And my girls were all in the gifted program, as was my son.

But I think we do unconsciously stereotype. My daughter has twins. When they were babies people would say "Hi, handsome!" in a big voice to the boy, and "Hello, princess" in a gentle voice to the girl. She has turned out to be as physical and tough as her brother: a black belt in karate and absolutely terrifying on a skate board!

And I have to add there are certain males in the USA who still want to think of us as the little women, knowing their place in the kitchen!!!!

HALLIE: Guilty! If my husband tried to take over MY place in the kitchen, I'd drop kick him into the den. This is not because I think women's place is in the kitchen, it's because I'm a much better cook and he'll make stuff I don't feel like eating. Control freak? Yes. Sexist? In effect but not by intent.

It's... complicated. Or is it?

Mystery Fiction in a Post-Factual World with S. W. Hubbard

“The difference between fiction and reality is that fiction has to make sense.”
--Tom Clancy

HALLIE EPHRON: Today we welcome Susan W. Hubbard who writes mysteries with a twist. Her new series novel FALSE CAST was inspired by one of the more bizarre news stories ever. I remember reading about the brazen escape of two convicted killers from a prison in Dannemora, New York in 2015, and thinking this is just too bizarre.

I'll let her tell it -- how real life inspires us and sometimes leaves it to crime fiction writer to make it credible.

S. W. HUBBARD: Fiction writers have always been inspired by real life. Our job used to be to take the framework of real life and strip away all the dull laundry-folding /grass-mowing/car pool-driving part and leave readers with only the witty remarks, smoldering kisses, and tragic deaths. We’d shake up the pieces, but make sure they all clicked together by the last page. Enhanced reality: more intriguing, more vibrant, more fun, but still plausible.

Then came 2017, the dawn of post-factual civilization. Suddenly, it’s not so easy to be a novelist. Every day, the news headlines serve up plot lines wilder than anything a writer could fabricate. Russians hacking our election, country club members snapping pictures of the nuclear code bearer and posting them on Facebook, fake terrorist massacres. Every day people murmur, “you can’t make this stuff up.” And it’s true. If any author invented this and put it in a novel, her editor would come after her with a red pen flowing. Too wild. Too implausible. Too over the top.

Because fiction has to make sense. Real life, on the other hand, doesn’t have an editor.

More’s the pity.

So, can over-the-top reality ever benefit a fiction writer? My new release, False Cast, Book 5 in the Frank Bennett Adirondack Mountain Mystery Series, was inspired by the brazen real-life escape of two murderers from the Clinton Correctional Facility in Dannemora, New York in 2015. The case of Richard Matt and David Sweat captivated the nation as the two killers slipped through the heating tunnels of a maximum security prison, and then for three weeks eluded hundreds of law enforcement officers searching for them all over upstate New York.

If their escape plan had turned up in the pages of a novel, it would have been rejected by every publisher in America. Richard Matt, an amateur artist, bribed a guard by giving him original paintings, so the guard helped smuggle tools through the metal detectors. A female prison employee with a crush on the killers hid hacksaws in packages of ground beef. And a two-foot square hole in the prisoners’ cell went unnoticed for months. And all that came before their nightly explorations of the steam pipes behind the walls of their cells.

Susan, can you top this? Not even going to try!
I was less interested in writing about the actual mechanics of a prison break and more interested in how the escape transformed everyday life in the small Adirondack towns where the prisoners were hiding. Who was helping them? What was their endgame? Who was in danger?
And the Keystone Kops-like antics of the escape provided me with plenty of plotting cover. My prisoner in False Cast escapes while being transported from the Essex County Jail to his felony hearing. And while I’m sure police officers everywhere will howl in protest at the sloppy procedures that enable his escape (We would never do that!), all I have to do is point to that undetected two foot hole in the Dannemora cell to justify my plotting. And if anyone objects to the motivations of my fictional accomplices, I can point to that painting as evidence that people are driven by strange desires.

After all the drama of their escape, Sweat and Matt came to a pathetic end: one killed, the other wounded and recaptured by the police. This is where the mystery novelist steps up to the plate. Allow me to fix this saga with a dramatic climax, some well-deserved justice, and a touching epiphany. What power I have to improve the real world!

Whether I’m reading or writing, I want my mystery novels to make sense of the craziness and impose order on a world in disarray. Do you think mystery novels can restore a little sanity to a world gone mad? What’s your favorite “truth is stranger than fiction” story?

False Cast is available on Kindle and in paperback on Amazon. For those who haven’t yet tried the Frank Bennett Adirondack Mountain Mystery Series, The Lure will be FREE on Kindle February 24-28, so be sure to download a copy.

S.W. Hubbard is the author of the Palmyrton Estate Sale Mysteries, Another Man’s Treasure, Treasure of Darkness, and This Bitter Treasure. She is also is the author of four Police Chief Frank Bennett mystery novels set in the Adirondack Mountains: Take the Bait, The Lure (originally published as Swallow the Hook),Blood Knot, and False Cast, as well as a short story collection featuring Frank Bennett, Dead Drift. Take the Bait was nominated for an Agatha Award for Best First Mystery Novel. Her short stories have appeared in Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine and the anthologies Crimes by Moonlight, The Mystery Box, and Adirondack Mysteries. She lives in Morristown, NJ, where she teaches creative writing to enthusiastic teens and adults, and expository writing to reluctant college freshmen. To contact her, join her mailing list, or read the first chapter of any of her books, visit: http://www.swhubbard.net.

Follow her on Twitter @swhubbardauthor or like her Facebook author page. Connect with S.W. Hubbard on Pinterest and Goodreads too.

Travel: Rolling the dice

HALLIE EPHRON: When you travel, sometimes you luck out, and sometimes you roll snake eyes.

Two weeks ago a blizzard was forecast for the northeast. I was supposed to meet my editor and publicity team at HarperCollins the next morning and I was determined to be there.

Just before the storm hit, at 7 AM I drove to the Amtrak station just outside of Boston and boarded a train to New York. It started snowing in Rhode Island. Then whiteout. By the time we got to Queens you could not see the surrounding streets, never mind the Manhattan skyline.

But we arrived... only ten minutes behind schedule. I boarded a subway to Brooklyn (the A-train arrived as I was climbing onto the platform). Emerged in Brooklyn and slogged a block in well-trodden snow to my daughters' apartment. Spent the day playing with my grandchildren! Next morning, took the subway to my meeting, feeling as if I'd slipped through a crack in the space-time continuum and singing the praises of mass transit.

On the way back the next day I boarded an Amtrak train that had arrived an hour late to Penn Station. By the time it approached Boston it was creeping along at about 10 miles an hour and the PA system had died and many of the doors were frozen shut. I hoofed it through two cars to find a working the exit. But I got there.

MEANWHILE, THAT SAME DAY My friend Barbara Fournier tried to get to Boston from... Casablanca:

I had just flown from Casablanca into JFK airport to find my flight, and all others to Boston, cancelled. I went online and managed to buy the last seat on a 10:30 pm Greyhound bus to Boston! I grabbed the shuttle to the Port Authority, slogging through snow and ice. I printed out my ticket and headed for the dock when a representative announced that all buses to Boston had been cancelled three hours ago!!

But I just bought the ticket!" I whined. He shrugged.

I then checked the Amtrak train schedule and grabbed a ticket for the 2:30 am train. I cabbed it to Penn station and paced anxiously in the jammed waiting room. We left on time!!! I found a seat and dozed off as the train left the station. 

But in a few minutes I was jolted awake by the train stopping. The lights went out except for some dim back ups. The heat was off. The train was dead. We were not fifteen minutes out of the station, in the Bronx. We were getting colder by the minute. The toilets began to overflow. The first announcement informed us that the electrical system was down; an hour later it was announced that 'they' were working on it.

Four hours later, finally the train started. We limped into the next station ( New Rochelle). We were directed to leave the train immediately. We can leave our luggage on board, we were assured. The next train is right behind us. We piled onto the platform. It was ten degrees and the wind was howling. The doors shut and slowly the train pulled out of the station. People who left their luggage on board were yelling.

Three trains stopped but didn't open their doors, despite our pounding. Finally a train stopped for us - but it was already full. Many of us stood for the remaining four hours to Boston. But we were warm! We could go to the bathroom!  We were going home!

So it took me six hours to go from Morocco to the US but eighteen hours to go from New York to Boston. What a world!"

What are your good-luck/back-luck travel stories?
(Photo credit Matt Donnelly Lake Shore Limited Boston-DC)

RHYS BOWEN: My worst bad luck travel experience was when we were in Kashmir and wanted to go to Ladakh, in those days a forbidden kingdom high in the Himalayas.

We started in a jeep at four in the morning. Drove up a steep mountain pass with streams gushing across the road and a three thousand foot drop on one side. The pass was 15,000 feet high. Bitterly cold. Then for hours through a high bleak valley. At four in the afternoon we came upon a place where the road had been washed away for fifteen miles. No way around.

We had to turn around and drive back for twelve hours mostly in the dark, with a driver who thought he could save gas by shutting off the engine when going downhill. I had to sit with my hand poised above the keys to knock his hand away!

A good luck experience was when we wanted to visit Yellowstone. We spent the night in Cody where it was snowing and all the signs said the park entrance was closed. John, being stubborn, said we would drive up there, just in case. We drove up and they had opened the gate ten minutes before! We were one of the only cars we saw all day.

INGRID THOFT: A few years ago, my husband, mom, and I traveled to Vietnam.  We're an adventurous threesome, and it was a destination that interested us.  It was a fascinating and amazing trip in many ways, but it also included one of my worst travel experiences. 

As we drove away from our hotel in Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon,) we did a passport check only to realize that my mom's passport was missing.  We had a guide and driver for the day (we were supposed to be traveling to the Mekong Delta,) so we returned to the hotel. 

A lengthy search ensued, but the passport could not be found.  First, we went to the local police station to report the missing passport.  Next, we went to the American consulate where they very efficiently issued her a temporary passport.  Phew!  Except we then had to go to the Vietnamese immigration office to get a new visa. 

The next eight hours were filled with chaos, anxiety, and bribes.  Many, many bribes.  At one point, I went out to the car to get more money from my husband, only to hear that he and the driver had been involved in a car chase.  And you know what?  I didn't really care, that's how fraught the situation was in the immigration office! 

Finally, with a lot of cash and the help of our guide, we got the required visa and set off for the Mekong Delta.  A couple of days later the hotel in Saigon contacted us to say they had found the passport in her mini-bar.  Maybe it would have ended up there after our fiasco, but not before.  We suspect the front desk staff misplaced it during check-in and eventually discovered it amongst their paperwork. 

As for good travel stories, every time my plane lands safely, I consider that a successful trip!  Most travel aggravations can be overcome, but not if you don't finish it in one piece!

JENN MCKINLAY: My Mom and I decided to indulge in a trip to Florence (Ah, Firenze) Italy for my fortieth birthday. I left the Hub and Hooligans behind in the frat house for a week of visiting museums, historic sites, and Tuscan vineyards.

It was a wonderful trip. Amazing food, beautiful city, lovely people, lots of laughs, and more gelato than I could ever eat, although I did my best. The only blip in the trip was when Mom got into it with a transportation officer on a city bus and the next thing I knew we were getting hauled off the bus and charged seventy-five euros. Mom hadn't punched her ticket right away and when she remembered and went to do it, the transportation guy nabbed her. Not very sporting of him since she was trying to do the right thing but we were already under way so he felt he had a case. Mom, being feisty, refused to listen to the man, and started calling for "La Polizia!" (I kid you not), meanwhile the other woman who got snagged with us made her escape.

I was too busy laughing at the insanity and taking pictures of the cute police officers, they had white hats just like the British bobbies, who smiled and nodded and told us with a shrug that we had to pay. Mom was miffed but once we caught the bus to our vineyard tour at a castle and had some wine, she settled down.

Still one of my favorite memories. Mom has spunk!

LUCY BURDETTE: Our scariest travel moments involved driving to ski houses in Vermont back in the 1990's. If you rented a house with another couple for a weekend, by God you were going to get there no matter what it took.

I wouldn't have minded staying home if the forecast was for black ice or a blizzard while traveling. Especially with two squabbling children in the backseat! At one point I was reduced to a quivering blob moaning "motel, motel." John honestly could not see the road more than 100 yards in front of him.

I finally prevailed and we got the last room in a crummy dive and we were oh so glad to be there. I consider it sheer dumb luck that we survived all those weekends--and that our fledgling marriage survived too!

HANK PHILLIPPI RYAN: Yes, good luck is when it all turns out fine and everyone is safe. My plane to Atlanta Friday was FIVE HOURS delayed, and there's nothing like the crazed and frantic atmosphere of a planeload of travelers trying to to figure out how to get somewhere. It was doomed. It was presidents day weekend and school vacation week, and seriously, there was not one seat. It all turned out fine, I arrived five hours late, but my event was the next day, so all fine.

But once on a trip to Indianapolis, I smelled a funny smell. you know how when some thoughtless person brings Chinese food on a plane? That's what I thought it was.

Finally, though, it was clear it wasn't. I went to the flight attendant and said, you know, there's a funny smell. (I mean, you have to understand the level of terror I had to mention it..) And she looked at me like I was really annoying, and said this plot has twenty years of experience, I'm sure it's fine. So I shrugged, and tried (and failed) to believe her 

And truly, the smell  grew to be incredibly pungent..I had my scarf over my nose. The flight attendant saw me, and said: the smell is less in the back, want to change seats? And I did. 

As the Indianapolis airport came into view, and we were almost landing, the flight attendants came on the PA. 'BRACE BRACE BRACE"  they yelled. "Heads down, heads down! Brace brace brace!" I peeked out the window.MANY Fire trucks. SILENCE on the plane, except for the commanding flight attendants. We landed. We taxied way to the end of the runway. The pilot came out, and said they that before we deplaned, they had to make sure the plane was not going to catch on fire.

Turns out, the electrical system had shorted out, and been burning, and just before we landed, the ENTIRE electrical system went down.

Forgive me for how long this is, but I had the same pilot on the flight back. I said to him--wow, that was scary yesterday.

And he said yeah, in my twenty years of flying, nothing like that had ever happened. He said--the cockpit was filled with smoke. We put on our masks, and landed.

Oh! PS. He also said "When I first smelled it, I thought someone had brought on Chinese food."

DEBORAH CROMBIE: I made my book signing yesterday in Phoenix by the skin of my teeth! Flying early yesterday morning from Portland, big mess at PBX with a flight very delayed from Chicago and all the American agents scrambling to get people sorted who had missed planes, which delayed my flight, too. But so far, that's the closest call for book tour.

I have a fun travel story. A few years ago, my daughter and I were flying to London. She had booked us for afternoon tea at Gordon Ramsay Claridge's for that afternoon. Even reserving months ahead, that had been the only available date.

So we arrive at Gatwick at 7 in the morning. We get through customs and my bag comes in. Then we wait, and wait, and wait. No bag for Kayti. We finally realize it is not on the plane and fill out the necessary paperwork. Kayti is in sweats and we are panicked about our tea reservation.

So we go shopping in Gatwick and find her a dress at Monsoon, and then some shoes. By this time it's noon and we have to be at Claridge's at two. No time to go to the flat to change and freshen up. I said don't worry, we can change in the Ladies at the hotel. Really? Kayti asks. It's Claridge's, I say. Of course we can.

So we did, and our tea was fabulous, one of our most memorable experiences. Kayti's bag arrived the next morning...

JULIA SPENCER-FLEMING: My scary experience? A "free" week-long vacation in Manzanillo that my father-in-law got us when he sat through a time share offer. (He used the same technique to acquire a weekend in the Bahamas for us later.) We were young, adventurous and child-free, so we jumped at it.

First off, we booked a cheap flight (not included) saving money by arriving in the middle of the night. There was a driver from the time share company waiting for us, who ushered us into the back seat and began to drive. And drive. And drive. He didn't speak English, and we didn't speak Spanish. We went for what seemed like hours, seeing nothing but impenetrable jungle in the narrow headlight beams. Ross was convinced we had fallen into the hands of kidnappers.

When we finally arrived at the Barefoot Hotel, we were pleased with the spacious accommodations - but the only part of the hotel that seemed lit was our room and the antechamber leading to it. The only sound we could hear was the beating of the Pacific waves. No voices. No muzak. No greeting. Ross told me to bar the door and not open it for anyone, then went to see what he could find out.

Turns out, we were the ONLY guests in the hotel, which was otherwise closed for renovations. Only we never saw any work going on. There was one maid - from the village? - who cleaned our room. We never saw her. The only other person around was Ramon, a sixty-something who spent his days trying unsuccessfully to clear the pool of leaves and who kept a cooler full of ice and beer for Ross, whom he called "Patron." I felt like we had fallen into a Winston Graham novel.

It was a relaxing and eerie experience, made more so by the fact that I can't find any reference to a "Barefoot Hotel" in Manzanillo...

HALLIE: So please, were any of you out and about in a blizzard or trying to get somewhere in California's epic rains? Share the good, bad and the ugly.