I wouldn't make a good criminal

Castle, that wonderfully funny TV series about a crime novelist, starts with this line: “There are two kinds of folks who sit around thinking about how to kill people: psychopaths and mystery writers.” I’m not a mystery writer, but I find myself contemplating things that wouldn’t cross a normal person's mind. 

‘At Her Boss’s Command’ has a subplot about corporate crime, embezzlement to be more precise, that is vital for the story. I have no experience in crime – or academic knowledge either – so devicing the crime plot has caused me a great deal of trouble. I have made things up as I go, but I would like the crime to be as believable as possible. So far I’ve skirted the issue by making the particulars vague. It's not an ideal situation, but it allows me to write on without getting stuck with details. But I may have to become an expert on embezzlements sooner rather than later; purely from the academic point of view, of course.

Otherwise, the book is progressing fine. The past week simply flew by as I sat at my computer editing. And since there are no distractions scheduled for the coming week, I’m positive I'll have the manuscript ready by the time my editor has time to look at it. In the meanwhile, here is the opening sequence of Castle, simply for your viewing pleasure.

Citius, Altius, Fortius

The Olympics are over and so is my weeklong solitude during which I was supposed to work hard to finish my manuscript. Needless to say, I failed. My husband returned with a bag full of dirty clothing and a body so bruised it looks like he has taken a steady beating with a cane – and you thought sailing is easy – but since the crew he sailed with had reached their objective, he was satisfied with his week. I can’t say the same about mine, although watching the Olympics did make me happy.

It was for the better though, or at least that’s what I keep telling myself. Since I made a large story overhaul in my manuscript, the slower pace has allowed me to mull over the plot changes. I have rethought quite a few things in the book and I hope they make it better once I sit by my computer to actually write them down. So while there is something to be said about being faster or reaching higher (and haven't I been quite a Latin buff in my titles this month), snail pace works better for me. In addition, as my mind relaxed, I came up with a brilliant idea for a book. The problem is that if I don’t step up with publishing the manuscripts I already have, it will take forever before I have a chance to start writing that one.

All in all, my summer vacation was relaxing and fun, even if the summer weather didn’t co-operate. But it’s over now and I need to get back to work. We’ll see how that goes.

Navigare necesse est

I mentioned in an earlier blog entry that my husband loves to sail. He shares a small sailing boat with a friend of his, on top of which he belongs to a crew of another boat with which they compete in local amateur competitions. Sometimes those competitions take him away from home. Next week is one of those occasions. That means I have the place all to myself for over a week, during which time I can complete my manuscript in peace and quiet. I should be jumping to a chance to do as much work as possible, but I’m not.

I’m blaming the Olympics. Women’s marathon held my interest better than revising my text did and I followed the entire men’s ten thousand meters (it was an exciting race), not to mention all the sports I have never heard of before but find important to watch. Kayak slalom, anyone? In addition, there are all the domestic chores that I suddenly find terribly important to tackle immediately. And while I’m not into sailing like my husband is, the sea seems to be calling me as well, distracting me from what is important.

Plutarch may have held that sailing was more important than living (well, actually he held that it was more important for the merchant navy to operate than for the sailors operating it to stay alive), but I haven’t reached that stage in my career of choice yet. While writing is the most important thing in my life at the moment, I’m not single-minded about it. Perhaps I should make the effort though. A little more writing and a little less Olympics might go far, and if I haven’t managed to unbox my summer clothes by now, I might as well leave them in their boxes. Then again, summer Olympics take place only once in every four years. I can write my book when they are over.

Life imitates art

My next book, ‘At her boss’s command’, opens with a storm scene. I know, Snoopy has done it already, but he sold books with it, didn’t he. In my book, I describe a huge thunderstorm with so many flashes of lightning that they illuminate an office darkened by a power cut. I had to imagine it though, because while I have witnessed many a thunderstorm in my time, I have never seen one with that much lightning – we don’t exactly have extreme weather conditions around here.

That changed last night. At midnight, a storm rolled in from the sea, waking me up, and stayed in place for over an hour. The lightning was exactly the kind I had tried to describe in my book, a constant flashing that made the night sky as bright as a day. I sat on my balcony, watching in awe as Mother Nature demonstrated her power, unable to go back to sleep. And as I sat there, I tried to rewrite the storm scene in my book in my mind, hoping to make it as dramatic as the one I was witnessing.

Needless to say, I couldn’t find the words. I wasn’t depressed by it though. It wasn’t so much about life imitating art as it was the other way round, and for a storm like that, there are no words. I will make do with the ones I have and if they are not enough, I can always borrow from Snoopy. It was a dark and stormy night…

© Peanuts Worldwide

Sic Transit

I cleaned up my home, top to bottom. You might think it isn’t all that great an achievement, but I’m not a household goddess. I don’t like cleaning up and I find it a chore to even think of vacuuming. So, whenever I manage the deed – and I do manage it – I think there should be fanfares and a commemorative medal awarded for the occasion. There never is, for some reason. Apparently, household work is something we should just get done, but for me there always are more interesting things I could be doing instead, like writing. So, I thought to write about my feat in this blog. Let that be my fanfare.

However, before I started to write this entry, I checked how my book, the Wolf's Call, was doing and learned to my utter delight that its ranking had shot up overnight at amazon.com. It had even made it into a top 100 in one category, something I thought would never happen. The overnight sales (for me, as I’m based in Europe) weren’t that massive, but they were the best for one day period I’ve had so far, so I thought the rise was justified. I rushed in to announce the news to the world – well, to my family, but I mentioned it on my webpages too – my domestic accomplishment all forgotten. Surely, this would be the start of a steady rise to bestsellers’ list.

Alas, no. It didn’t take long for the author forums to start questioning this miracle. Everyone’s rankings had either skyrocketed or disappeared completely and they thought a malfunction in software was to blame. They were right. By the end of the day, my ranking had returned to normal. What a disappointment.

So, the worldly glory is indeed passing. Having had a taste of it though, I didn’t feel like telling the world about my other achievement. What is a clean house compared to good book sales? Then again, the sales fluctuate on daily bases even in normal conditions, but my house is still clean. And I can clean it up again and again and again… Sigh.

<![endif]--> Cartoon Network.

Seaside Rendezvous

I spent yesterday at a seaside resort. Fled there, to be more precise. A rock festival is being held practically next door to where I live, and while the festival itself doesn’t bother me, the hordes of revellers wandering through my neighbourhood and camping in my backyard do. So, we try to be elsewhere for it every year.

The resort is an ideal refuge, as it is a small town that only comes alive during the summer months, its heydays long in the past. As a reminder of those days there is a casino (now a restaurant bearing that name), a Marina (many times larger than the original), tennis courts, and picturesque seafront villas that offer accommodation to tourists. Most importantly, there are long stretches of white beaches with their white wooden beach huts and the endless roar of sea that always remind me of Jaques Tati’s M. Hulot's Holiday.

Our escape wasn’t as perfect as usually though. The weather forecast promised hot and humid, so naturally it was raining the whole day, but at least it was warm. On top of that, it was the Regatta weekend, the only time of the year that the town truly comes alive. The Marina was overflowing with sailing boats and every restaurant was full of their exhausted crews who had spent the day struggling with gusty winds that had broken more than one mast. Still, if you are into sailing – and my husband very much is – the atmosphere was exciting. Even in the rain. Then, finally, in the evening, the sun came out and we could have a nice seaside picnic at one of the quieter beaches, a rainbow colouring the horizon.

Today, as the last gigs begin at the rock festival – Snoop Dogg, whom I wouldn’t mind seeing, if it weren't raining again – I can watch the photos we took yesterday and listen to Seaside Rendezvous by Queen, or the same song performed by the King's Singers, which I think is actually better. Or, since I'm keeping the windows open, I can listen to Snoop Dogg rousing the audience. It is not such a bad summer soundtrack either.

Think of a plot. Any plot.

It’s already July and the book I thought I would publish this month isn’t halfway finished yet. I know I said I had it written already, but when I started revising it, I did it more thoroughly than I intended. Meaning, I have pretty much rewritten the thing. Now, midway through, I’m struggling to steer the plot towards the original story, wavering between writing everything anew and sticking to my publishing schedule. The month is still young, you might say, but this is actually the month my husband starts his summer vacation and I can’t spend it by the computer, now can I. So I would like to finish the manuscript before that.

I would be more worried if this hadn’t happened to me before. Getting stuck in the middle of the book, that is. Looking for inspiration, I got help from a wonderful comic strip I read every day, Get Fuzzy by Darby Conley. It didn’t make me have a breakthrough with my own plot, but it made me realise others struggle with the same problem too. Even if it is just a small, fuzzy cat. Enjoy.

If you would like to see the strip in its original context, here is the link: Get Fuzzy