Ready for Autumn? For Magic? For Murder? How About All Three?

It's the end of August, and to me that means the end of summer and the beginning not just of autumn but of ... SPOOKY SEASON! (Yes, yes, I know: autumn doesn't begin for another 23 days, but in my heart, September equals autumn, and September starts on Thursday. Close enough.)

What better way to celebrate the imminent start of SPOOKY SEASON (do you hear me announcing it, as if with trumpets and fanfare? I hope so) than with a brand-new anthology mixing magic and murder? There is no better way. And that's why it's perfect that today is the official publication date of Magic is Murder, the tenth volume in the Chesapeake Crimes series. Every prior volume in this short-story anthology series has had at least one story—one as many as four—that won or were nominated for major awards (the Agatha, Anthony, Derringer, Macavity, and/or Thriller). My fellow editors (Donna Andrews and Marcia Talley) and I are hopeful that the stories in this book will be as well received.

So, you're wondering, when I say magic, do I mean stories with witches and sorcerers? With more unusual fantasy elements? Or maybe a stage magician? Yes, yes, and yes. We have all of that—and more! (Is there a magician/stripper in the book? You'll have to find out for yourself.) As the book's description says, tales of fantasy worlds and stage illusion, of magic-users and magic-abusers, fill these pages with a heady, deadly mix. That word "deadly" is key, because this is, first and foremost, a crime anthology—with magic baked into each story.

We've had two reviews so far, one by Mystery Scene magazine and one by Lesa's Book Critiques. I'll be so bold as to share parts of both:

Mystery Scene called the book "a solid anthology" with some "excellent tales" and said of some of them: "Rosalie Spielman's 'What's a Little Murder Between Mammals' is a smile-inducing take on cats, shape-shifting, and murder. 'The Thirteenth House,' by Jaquelyn Lyman-Thomas, verges into urban fantasy with a disappearing house, secret passages, and (of course) murder. Stacy Woodson's 'The Midnight Show' is a melancholy take on family, loss, memory, and death. 'The Snow Globe,' by Greg Herren, is a dark and humorous Christmas tale—'Santa, Dylan thought, certainly has a great six-pack'—about loneliness, voodoo, and reconnecting with family."

In her review, Lesa Holstine said, "My favorite story was 'The Thirteenth House' by Jaquelyn Lyman-Thomas. [...]  I’d love to read an entire novel about this neighborhood. [...] Then, there’s one that’s fun for anyone who enjoys traditional mysteries with a touch of a ghost. Eleanor Cawood Jones' 'Whiskers McGruff and the Case of the Missing Clue' introduces the most recent owner of a combination bookstore and charm shop, along with the ghost of a cat who knows just what book readers will want. [...] There are so many excellent stories here that fans of short stories will undoubtedly find at least several they enjoy." You can read the entirety of this review here. 

I know you're eager to see the full list of authors and their stories in this book, so here they are, in order of appearance:

• "What's a Little Murder Between Mammals" by Rosalie Spielman
• "Courting Disaster" by Cathy Wiley
• "The Thirteenth House" by Jaquelyn Lyman-Thomas
• "The Midnight Show" by Stacy Woodson
• "The Wig" by Tara Laskowski
• "A Touch of Magic" by Shari Randall
• "The Snow Globe" by Greg Herren
• "Something Dark and Dangerous" by Donna Andrews
• "A Charming Solution" by Smita Harish Jain
• "What Goes Around" by Robin Templeton
• "Everyday Magic" by Pam Clark
• "Pyewackett" by K.M. Rockwood
• "Behind the Magic 8-Ball" by Marcia Talley
• "Whiskers McGruff and the Case of the Missing Clue" by Eleanor Cawood Jones
• "Abracadaver" by Alan Orloff
• "Mr. Filbert's Classroom" by Adam Meyer
  

These stories were chosen by judges extraordinaire Heather Blake, E.J. Copperman, and Douglas Greene. Our wonderful cover was designed by Stacey Logan. Eagle-eyed Sherri Mayer helped with proofreading. And the amazing Daniel Stashower wrote the introduction. We thank them all for their efforts.

I hope you're as excited for Spooky Season as I am and that Magic is Murder will fit perfectly into your reading routine on the coming cool nights, when the moon is bright and anything is possible—even a shapeshifting PI winging her way across the sky (literally) on the way to solve a murder.

In addition to Amazon, you can buy the trade paperback version of the book right now from one of my favorite indie bookstores, Mystery Loves Company of Oxford, Maryland, as well as directly from the publisher, Wildside Press. It should appear on Barnes and Noble's website as well as the sites of lots of other online bookstores any time now.

I wish you a magical day. 

Thornes and Roses – The World of TK Thorne

Ladies and gentlemen, meet author T.K. Thorne.

T.K. Thorne, a retired police captain, woke up one morning and decided to wildly depart from her previous writings to explore murder, mayhem, and magic in her newest novel, House of Rose, where Birmingham Police Officer Rose Brighton discovers she is a witch of an ancient line. Set in the Deep South, House of Rose is the first book in the Magic City trilogy. T.K.’s previous works include award-winning historical novels— Noah’s Wife and Angels at the Gate— and nonfiction. Last Chance For Justice, detailing the 1963 Birmingham church-bombing case. She writes from her Alabama mountaintop, often with two dogs and a cat vying for her lap.

— Velma

Crime Meets Magic

by T.K. Thorne

The first thing most people say to me when they learn I was a career cop is, “Oh? You don’t look like a policeman.”

This is a good thing because I’m a woman.

Perhaps at 5’3”, I don’t fit the stereotype in their minds. That’s not worrisome to my self-image because during my 20+ years in the Birmingham (Alabama) Police Department, it never occurred to me that I was too small … other than the annoying fact that my hands couldn’t fit properly around the gun’s grip. Not only did I have to figure out an alternate way to shoot, there were other challenges.

In those early academy days, we had to carry the fifty bullets needed for the firearms qualification tests in our pants pocket and dig them out to reload with one hand (the other held the gun). Tight time constraints for firing and reloading were in place to try to replicate some of the stress of being under fire. If I pulled more than six bullets at a time out of my pocket, it overwhelmed my hand’s capacity to manipulate them into position to reload. Bullets tumbled to the ground, making it impossible to reload in time. With practice, I developed the ability to blindly grab exactly six bullets at a time. I’m inordinately proud of that now useless skill.

Since Joseph Wambaugh’s controversial Choir Boys appeared in 1975, the number of law enforcement authors has grown, but they’re still an anomaly, and so I get to surprise with the double whammy of being a retired cop and a writer. I’ve learned to deal with the “You don’t look like a policeman,” reaction with a smile and a simple, “Thank you.” And when I explain my latest novel is about a young police woman in Birmingham, Alabama who discovers she’s a witch, I get an even more fun reaction—“Is it autobiographical?” And an even more fun answer—“Yes.”

Ironically, my new novel, House of Rose, is the first one to pull from my law enforcement background. Previous writing adventures took me to the ancient past with two historical novels about women in the Bible who get no name and one line (Noah’s wife and Lot’s wife) and to my city’s civil rights days as nonfiction.

Then Rose came into my life. Rose Brighton is a rookie police officer, a somewhat prickly loner, surprised that she loves the job and determined to make it despite the challenges. She is also is a young me—only taller, with adequate-sized hands, exotically beautiful … and a witch.

It was love at first write.

Magic is not an element to introduce into a story without serious contemplation. It must exist within the fictional world as a “realistic” element within the story structure. The rules of how it works must be internally consistent. Also, it needs to match the voice of the story’s narration. A light-hearted, humorous approach, such as a fairy story or a comic book-based type of story (think Once Upon A Time or Dr. Strange) can get away with more loosey-goosey magic. That said, any story can include humorous elements. I had a great time playing the traditional broomstick-and-potion concept of witches against the real-(story)world powers of three ancient Houses whose members derive their magic from the three ores used to make Birmingham steel—coal, iron ore and limestone.

Orson Scott Card says magic must have a cost. I would add that all power, to include magic, needs to have limits. Frodo’s ring in The Fellowship of the Ring allowed him to be invisible, but at the same time, exposed him to Sauron's deadly wraiths. Harry Potter had to learn to use his wand and get the memorized spells exactly right or bad things could happen. Even Superman has to avoid kryptonite.

The rules of magic within the world you’ve created must be obeyed. Additionally, the use of magic needs to play a role in moving the character and plot forward. At the same time, it can’t substitute for the character’s need to make choices and face consequences. Merlin mustn’t show up and save the day (unless your character has worked and sacrificed to free him from his ice prison). In House of Rose, the ability to see the future is not something Rose controls and when it happens, she is left with a debilitating headache and serious complications in her life, not to mention her job as a police officer.

Magic Checklist

• Are the “rules” consistent and consistently applied?
• Does the “shade” of magic correspond to the narrative tone?
• Does the magic have a cost? Does your reader understand what it is?
• Does the magic move the plot forward and/or character development?
• Does the magic supersede the character’s need to make choices and grow?

As a writer, I want to be as intrigued and entranced as my readers. Writing a novel is a long term commitment. Despite the challenges, magic—used well—can add spice and depth. For me, weaving magic “realistically” into a crime story was a bit like learning to blindly pull exactly six from a pocket full of bullets. It seemed improbable at first, but maybe learning that skill was not such worthless endeavor after all. Maybe it was a reminder that anything is possible.

Even a police-witch.

Merging Magic and Mystery

by Barb Goffman

When I was growing up, I soooo wanted to be Samantha on Bewitched. All she had to do was wiggle her nose, and she could do/be/get/go whatever and wherever she wanted. How absolutely cool.

But Samantha would be make a terrible amateur sleuth because with a wiggle of her nose, she could go back in time to when someone was murdered and watch it happen, thus learning who the murderer is and either catching him immediately or preventing the murder from the start. Talk about a short story, and an unsatisfying one at that (except for the dead guy--he'd probably appreciate the help).

Wiggle that nose, baby!

Readers want their amateur sleuths to actually sleuth--find clues, observe things, figure the puzzle out. If your character has unlimited magical powers like Samantha, there won't be much to the story. But I know from experience that it can be fun to write about magical characters. So how do you  merge magic and mystery and still have a satisfying tale? Your sleuth's powers must be limited so that solving the crime is based on deductive skills, not on magic.

In my story "A Year Without Santa Claus?" my main character is a fairy named Annabelle. She's in charge of everything magical that happens in New Jersey. When Santa tells her he's skipping Jersey this year because the state is too dangerous--a murderer is on the loose, killing people who look like magical beings--Annabelle realizes she has to find the murderer to save Christmas. But I couldn't make things too easy for her. What would be the fun in that? So Annabelle's powers are limited. She can "wink," which means she can wiggle her invisible wings (kind of like how Samantha wiggled her nose) and magically appear somewhere else but only in the current time. (This was a helpful skill because it enabled me to move the story along faster without having to worry about Annabelle driving (or flying) from place to place.) Annabelle can also snap her fingers and have items appear. In this case, she snapped up all the police files on the murders, allowing her to quickly get up to speed.

But when it came time to figuring out whodunit? She investigated like any good sleuth. She went to a wake and spoke with friends and family of one of the victims. She talked with the head of her security team about her hunches. (It's always good to have another character to bounce ideas off.) She went to the bookstore where one of the victims worked to chat up his co-workers. Her magical powers made the story more fun, but ultimately she figured out who the murderer was using her powers of deduction, and that made the story satisfying. Combine fun with satisfying and you have a good mystery (at least I hope so). You can decide for yourself. The story is available on my website: http://www.barbgoffman.com/A_Year_Without_Santa_.html.

My friend Donna Andrews used this approach when she wrote a short story called "Normal" a few years ago. Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine ultimately published this tale about a private eye who came from a magical world, but she had no magical powers herself. She fled her world for earth, where she hoped to fit in. But she found herself surrounded by magical beings here too: trolls, vampires, and more. The unfortunate tutor (a wizard) who discovered--and was blamed for--her lack of magical ability came with her to earth, and when he is murdered, Donna's character is determined to figure out whodunit. But does she tap her friends' powers to get the answers? No, that would be too easy. Donna instead allowed her character to figure out whodunit using her powers of deduction and her understanding of human nature. That's what made the story work. And you don't have to take my word for it. You can listen to Donna read the story herself: http://podbay.fm/show/351202656/e/1349099269?autostart=1.


Do you have any favorite stories that mix magic with mystery? Please share. There's always more room on the To-Be-Read pile.

The 4th Wall

I wrote a story awhile back called "The Devil to Pay" and, at the end, Tommy is visiting his grandmother, who's living in a nursing home.

It's a beautiful fall day, crisp and clear, with just enough breeze off the river that she needs a lap robe. He's pushing her around the grounds in her wheelchair. The gravel on the path crunches underfoot. He's telling her a story, full of gangsters and gunrunners. She doesn't really follow it. Too complicated, too many foreign names, too many people she doesn't know.

The point, of course, is that he's telling her the story you've just read. There's a term for his, and I believe it's called metafiction– correct me if I'm wrong– meaning a narrative that's self-referential, where you play with convention, and the story comments on its own structure or dynamic. This, in turn, got me thinking about breaking the Fourth Wall.

Hamlet begins his story by addressing the audience, "O, that this too too solid flesh would melt…" Richard III does the same, "Now is the winter of our discontent…" Macbeth, after he first meets the witches: "If chance will have me king…" In each case, they don't step out of character, in fact, the reverse, but they step out of the play, to invite us into their confidences, and make us complicit in what follows. The soliloquy is a dramatic device going back to the earliest theater, but Shakespeare and the other Elizabethan playwrights, like Marlowe, use it in a very specific way, to enter a character's thoughts.

The equivalent these days would be first-person narration, where whoever's telling the story let's you know what's going on in their head, or admits they don't in fact know what's going on. MAGNUM P.I. often used voice-over, and one common phrase Magnum was fond of, as he went off on some errand you knew could only lead to trouble, was "I know what you're thinking, but–" This is actually a variation on a Victorian literary trope, had-he-but-known. Nor were the Victorians at all

embarrassed by addressing you directly: "And now, Dear Reader, we must leave this scene, and return to…" whatever it is. Dickens does it all the time. So does Trollope. The effect is to make you a party to the machinery, or joinery, and remind that this is all invention. It removes you from the fiction, so to speak, that the story is accidental.

We follow certain conventions, and I think rightly, because we assume a bargain between the writer and the reader, and you basically have to play fair. It doesn't mean you can't have an unreliable narator, or be deceptive, or simply mischievous, but the reader understands you're in collusion with each other. He or she surrenders to the illusion in hopes of being entertained, or invigorated, puzzled, or shocked, or surprised, even transported. When do you break the rules? In effect, only when you have the reader's permission. If you step out from behind the curtain, you have to do it in good faith. "I know what you're thinking, but---" In other words, the reader is your accomplice.

The trick, really, if I can put it that way, lies in not losing the reader's confidence. When you do close-up card magic, for example, the distinction is between the "effect," the agreed-upon narrative, what the audience sees, and the "sleight," meaning the method you use to pull it off. This is known in magic circles as misdirection, but the audience is asking to be fooled.

This is part of the bargain, that you enter into a world of masks, and the writer can let the mask slip, if you have what amounts to informed consent. You're dealing from a marked deck. The reader accepts this, if the narrative is convincing, and the sleight of hand reinforces it. What your reader won't forgive is the loss of trust. You've invited them in, after all, and they've made the choice to be included, to inhabit the fiction, the understanding that you'll give good weight. You promise, across the footlights, to make mad the guilty, and appall the free, unpack your heart with words. They'll take you up on it.