Diversions

Every time I set out to post a blog entry or look for comments, I see the introduction at the top of my home page. "An ongoing conversation with myself and others about a book I am writing..." and I feel an immediate thud in my stomach. "A book I am writing" should more aptly be "A book I started but pay scant attention to nowadays". There are many excuses. One of these is that I love to read books. So, the latest "diversion" is a tidy little mystery from Poisoned Pen Press, "The Coffin Trail" by Martin Edwards.

I read about this mystery on my favorite book blog, "Books Please". I looked for it in several used bookshops but no luck. A quick search on Amazon.com netted a used copy in good condition. So, earlier this week I took a little imaginary trip to England's Lakes District in an effort to slay the "blue mood" dragon (the bane of my existence, I am sorry to say).

From the back cover:

"When author/professor Daniel and journalist Miranda decide to abandon their hectic big-city lives for bucolic bliss at Tarn Cottage in England's Lakes District, they come under the spell of an old murder. Unbeknownst to Miranda, the alleged perpetrator of a bizarre, bloody killing involving the nearby Sacrifice Stone lived in said Tarn Cottage and was Daniel's friend.

Soon Daniel's helping the Cold Case Squad's Hannah Scarlett, who worked with Daniel's recently deceased estranged dad on the original case. With its twisty plot, atmospheric setting, and typical English-village characters, this new series from British crime novelist Edwards will appeal to Peter Robinson and Reginald Hill devotees."

So you see, we have the academic playing amateur detective with personal connections to the suspected murderer and to the investigating officer, all in a storybook setting. Perfect diversionary material! I was on to the murderer about halfway through the book but totally missed the motive. Actually, I think it was just a lucky guess on my part because the reason behind the murder and how it all played out was quite unexpected. I will definitely look for more books in this series and for Peter Robinson and Reginald Hill mysteries too.

A note about Poisoned Pen Press (I love the name!)...founded in 1996 by Barbara Peters, owner of The Poisoned Pen a Mystery Bookstore and More in Scottsdale, Arizona, this publishing house is dedicated, according to their website, to "making available books, whether originals or reprints for today's mystery audience." Peters started Poisoned Pen Press as a response to consolidations in the publishing industry that, in her view, "represented a threat to cultural diversity and to the survival of the independent bookstore--ultimately becoming a subtle form of censorship. Besides, she wants to sell books she likes."

Good for her! If you are a mystery fan, you have probably already run across Poisoned Pen Press. If not, be on the lookout, I know I will.

So, another happy diversion. Perhaps, at this stage in life, I should not think of these as "diversions", but as "doing what I like". Is "writing the book" what I like? Good question.

Easter Bunny Fun

We're off to the southern Oregon coast to visit family for Easter. Good quality time with our little Ducky and all of her assorted relatives. Many thanks to our host and hostess, in advance.

Childbirth

OK, I'm feeling a bit crabby tonight...a long week at work...TGIF, and all that. My "daily literary quote" on Google Home Page is from Norman Mailer. Here is what he says:

"Writing books is the closest men ever come to childbearing."

Give me a break. I think Carol Burnett's definition of a man giving birth is more apt. Paraphrasing:

"Imagine pushing a watermelon out of your butt".

Norman Mailer, all due respect to the dead...YOU DID NOT HAVE A CLUE.

My rant is now over.

The Knowledge

In another life, I would be a London cab driver. Always an Anglophile, I went over the edge in 1997, in London. My sister and I were heading to Gatwick to catch a plane to Marseille. The night before our departure, we made arrangements with the hotel desk clerk (an interesting Russian woman who disparaged our complaints about the lack of hot water as "oh, you Americans, you expect instant hot water...this is an old building, it takes time") for an early morning cab to take us to Victoria Station for the train to Gatwick.

So, there we were, the next morning, bright and early, standing in front of our hotel on Norfolk Square, bags at our sides, waiting for our cab. Before long, a cab pulls up, the driver hops out and begins to load our luggage into the trunk. I should say here that the driver was of middle Eastern heritage, and the cab was not a traditional "black cab", which we did not think much about...at the time. We ask him a about the cost of going to Gatwick by cab (too expensive) and generally hang about as he is busily piling our bags into the trunk. About the time he was finishing up, and we were getting into the back of the cab, a traditional black cab pulled up and yelled my last name as a question. I told him "yes" and he started haranguing the other cab driver and telling us he was our driver and this guy was an illegitimate cabbie, unlicensed, an opportunist, and we would be wise to get out and send him on his way. My sister and I, wide-eyed and a bit flustered, got out, asked for our luggage to be removed, and headed for the black cab.

Once safely ensconced in the black cab, and on our way, the driver began giving us what, in retrospect, was a lecture. Here is my best recollection:

"A licensed London cabbie has to pass a number of tests to qualify for a license. To pass these tests, the driver must have an encyclopedic knowledge of London's streets, alleyways, lanes, and bypasses. I spent two years driving around London on a motorbike to learn every street name and landmark. I sectioned the city off into grids and concentrated on one grid at a time. All the while, I was working a regular day job and had family responsibilities. The information required to pass these tests is called "The Knowledge" and it is no mean feat to learn it all. This is why I get very upset when innocent tourists are lured into unlicensed cabs. These cab drivers do not know the city, are uninsured, and they charge exorbitant fares. In general, to be safe, always take a 'black cab'." Or some such...

After that, I became quite fascinated with the geography of London. I bought a London street atlas and keep it by my side when reading anything set in London. Every street name is looked up and located on the various maps. When reading the Pepys Diaries, I trace Sam's movements using the atlas. This has become kind of an obsession.

So, as I said, "in another life"...

Uncharted Territory

This afternoon I heard the mayor of Fargo, North Dakota tell NPR that Fargo was in "uncharted territory" with this flood emergency. Ice jams, swollen river, snow, thousands massed along the riverbank making and stacking sandbags. Heated sandbags...they don't work as well when frozen.

My heart goes out to the people of Fargo and to others in this "uncharted territory".

Much of a Muchness

"They look much of a muchness." George Orwell, referring to a parade of mostly Senagalese soldiers on maneuvers, Morocco, 1939. From 3/12/39 Orwell Diaries.

Much of a muchness. Thinking of this phrase, I am wondering if there are other obvious examples. Human endeavors: Sports figures, cheerleaders (related to the sports thing), soldiers (very obvious, obviously), girl scouts, boy scouts, rotary, fraternal organizations in general, sororities, clubs of all kinds, generally groups of like-minded individuals. Animal kingdom: Any flock, herd, pride, infestation, on and on. Plant kingdom: Forests, wheat fields, tulips.

Much of a muchness.

Spring

Spring...spring season, springtide, springtime, seedtime, grass; vernal equinox. So says Ralph's thesaurus. By the way, thank you Deb for the Ralph Segal obit. Let's agree this is our Ralph, OK?

Spring...new, innocent, pure, ideal, ready, the time of coming into being, dawn, the beginning, a cutting, a slip, a sapling, the rising of the sea, a bound, a jump, a leap. Spring fever.

Spring...a promise.

Late snow is an insult to spring.

Other reflections on spring:

"Spring had really come.
The south opened like a mouth.
It blew one long breath, humid and warm,
and flowers quivered inside the seeds,
and the round earth began to ripen like a fruit."
Jean Giono, REGAIN

From "Provence: A Country Almanac" by Louisa Jones

"Colette, traveling south on the famous "Blue Train" from Paris, describes a Provencal spring:

We just passed Avignon and I might have thought, yesterday, after sleeping only two hours, that I had slept two months: Spring had come to meet me, a fairytale spring, the exuberant, brief, irresistible spring of the South, rich, fresh, with its spurts of sudden greenery, its grasses already high, which sway and ripple in the wind, its mauve Judas trees, its paulownias the color of gray periwinkles, its laburnums, wisteria, and roses...My head has been spinning since Avignon. The northern mists have melted over there, behind the cypress hedges bent by the force of the mistral. The silky murmur of tall reeds came through the open train window that day, along with the scent of honey, of pine, of varnished buds, of lilac about to bloom, that bitter smell of lilac before it flowers, a blend of turpentine and almond. The cherry trees cast violet shadows on the reddish earth, already parched with thirst." From Colette, THE VAGABOND

This blog has survived one season. Let's journey together into the next. Thank you to everyone who visits, and especially to everyone who comments. I LOVE comments.

Spring Forward

So, we move the clocks forward one hour Saturday night, before sleep. Why? Does cutting an hour off at the beginning of a day and adding it at the tail end make for a longer day? No. I don't get it. I hear Arizona has opted out of changing the clock. Probably the only reason I can think of to move there...

Speaking of time...I have a bedside clock on order from LL Bean. It is a very cool, retro looking clock. When the "alarm" goes off, the whole clock gets "light", kind of like sunrise. If one does not respond to the "light", then it beeps. I love the concept. We'll see how I like it "real time".

More about time...I would like to create more structure into my daily life. I know it is pretty hard to teach an old dog new tricks, even if it is the old dog trying to teach itself. However, I do think that if I am ever going to write my version of the great American novel, I have to set aside time every day (except maybe one day a week for piddling) and WORK on it! A friend of mine warned me to beware of the distractions, and boy, was she right. I have it all in my mind, albeit kind of jumbled up, but it's there. Here are my new "daylight savings time" resolutions:

Make a list of research still undone and DO IT
Write every day (take the laptop out to the deck and make the most of the extra daylight, right?)
This is a biggie...decide once and for all whether I am writing a "story" or a "literary novel".
Research agents and process for publishing (thinking optimistically)

My favorite season is still autumn, when we get to turn the clocks "back" and hunker down inside by the fire. But, I admit, gaining appeal as I enter the third stage of life, are warmer days, twilight at 10 p.m., the surprise of a bat, that soft feeling of a summer night. So, I guess the welcome mat is out for daylight savings time.

Let us all "spring forward"!

On Guard

Fergus and MacGregor doing their favorite thing.

Waiting and watching
Winter dogs on guard.
Kids on bikes, baby strollers,
Cats.

Ouch

Light posting here because I'm "down" with my back. Feeling somewhat better now. I'm trying to work from home and stay in a creative frame of mind too. Here is what Dr. Johnson has to say about pain:

"The mind is seldom quickened to very vigorous operations but by pain, or the dread of pain."
Johnson: Idler #18 (August 12, 1758)

The Car of My Dreams

Aston Martin DB5. Need I say more?

Scars

I'm feeling a bit down tonight. My young son-in-law is facing one of life's unexpected ordeals and it weighs heavily on my mind. Hang in there kiddo. We all love you to pieces. There will be scars. Life inflicts scars. Nobody is immune. Scars tell stories. They are deep. Scars are life changing, life affirming, badges of courage.

Sanglier

Le Sanglier. The wild boar of France, sus scrofa scrofa. Shy, not often seen, but much maligned, le sanglier is the most hunted mammal in France. It is considered to be very dangerous but this is "largely unfounded" according to Lost-in-France.com. Most dangerous is the female who "will understandably protect her young if she feels threatened." This is where my story begins...

In 1997, my sister Rhonda and I visited Provence. We were taking a few last minute pictures of the countryside on our last day. We had just visited the hilltop village of Brantes and were meandering our way to the Marseilles airport. Nearing Beaumes de Venise, we pulled in to a picnic area to snap a few pictures of the "Dentelles de Montmirail", a rock formation resembling dog teeth or lace, no one is sure (dentelle could mean either in French).

Rhonda and I were standing beside our car when suddenly I caught a glimpse of a strange looking deer, or dog, or "Oh my God!" it's a wild boar!!! There she stood, snorting and grunting at us, her teats hanging nearly to the ground ---very menacing indeed. We jumped into the car, she ran back into the bushes and that was that.

The following year, my husband and I traveled back to France. In Beaune, the wine "capital" of Burgundy, we found this wine bottle stopper in a kitchen shop. My husband fashioned an Oregon wine cork to "Madame", our very own Sanglier.

Beginnings

One of my favorite things is the beginning of a road trip. Get up in the dark, make coffee, double check the list, the bite of morning in the air, the little thrill of knowing this day is different. In a way, starting this blog is like starting a road trip. Of course there are obvious differences, but the biggest one, I think, is not knowing the destination. As the heading says, this blog is a place to record random thoughts about writing, reading, books, and the business of books. "Life in general" covers everything else.

This is my first blog, I am writing my first book, I am learning about the business of books. All new beginnings.