Three Grifters, Off to Fleece the World...

(With apologies to "Moon River")

I've said more than once that South Dakota's favorite mainstream, non-sexual crime is embezzlement. From the small town bar to state government to federal grants, a lot of money disappears. Sometimes people die, although those are usually ruled suicides if the sum is large enough. So South Dakota Attorney General Marty Jackley ruled that EB-5's Richard Benda's death in a field - shot in the stomach with a shotgun - was a suicide.  And Gear Up!s Scott Westerhuis killed his family first, then set his house on fire, and then turned the gun on himself. (There was also a safe that apparently developed legs, trotted off like a pig, and has never been found...) I've written about these before.  (Benda and Westerhuis)

But over the last month, we've had three big cases of embezzlement that each involved someone in State Government who was somehow put in charge of monitoring their own finances. That's a pretty neat trick to pull off, and I'm surprised that more people haven't thought of it...

Embezzler #1:

Sixty-eight-year-old Lonna Carroll is charged with two felony counts of aggravated grand theft for embezzling $1.8 million from the South Dakota Department of Social Services over the last 13 years of her employment. Specifically, from foster care funds.

“The defendant was the employee making the request for assistance for a particular child. Once the request was made, she had also reached the position of being that supervisory approval,” Jackley said. “So she was the requesting person and the supervisory approval.”

Once the money was approved, Carroll intercepted the check, placed the funds in a bank then transferred the money to her own account in a different bank.

And that's how she eventually, after her retirement, was caught. "DSS converted to a different record-keeping system. A subsequent report filed by the state Department of Legislative Audit documented dozens of instances where checks from DSS were deposited at American Bank & Trust in Pierre, and later that same day cash was withdrawn from the accounts." So they looked into it and... 

The rest will be told in court.  (LINK)

Embezzlement #2:

Sandra O’Day worked for the South Dakota Department of Motor Vehicles in a supervisory capacity. She is suspected of creating fake car titles and using them to secure almost $400,000 in auto loans. Jackley says she created titles for campers without motors because they are not reported to the national registry.

“Once a false title was created, that title was taken to either a bank or credit union and a loan was taken out to somebody else, with the use of that as collateral. Once the loan was secured and the money, she then went and destroyed the fraudulent title.”

The DCI investigation led to the discovery of 13 forged car titles between 2016 and 2023. Since O’Day has passed away, no charges will be filed. According to Jackley, there is no evidence that anyone else was involved. KELOLAND News asked Jackley if the state could be on the hook to repay the loans to the banks and credit unions.

Because she was in a supervisory position, Jackley says O’Day could adjust VIN numbers, which allowed her to create the titles she would eventually destroy. Because of the statute of limitations, the DCI investigation only goes back to 2016. Jackley believes O’Day may have created even more fake titles as far back as 2011. (LINK)

We will probably never know the whole truth about this one - how many titles, how much money, because O'Day died in February, 2024, and Attorney General Marty Jackley has closed the case.  

Embezzler #3:

Lynne Hunsley, who served as a revenue supervisor in the Department of Revenue, was placed on administrative leave by department leadership within the last two weeks as she faces charges that she, too, falsified vehicle titles.

Interestingly enough, Hunsley worked for O'Day, and took over her position when O'Day retired in October, 2023. (I guess she learned from the best.)  This story broke only last week, so we're waiting on a lot more information.  

Meanwhile, A Blast From the Past:

A long time ago, I wrote about a place called MyDakotaAddress in Madison, SD, which was one of those online sites where permanent RVrs could become citizens in South Dakota (and other states with no income tax) through the simple means of spending the night at a South Dakota campground and then paying a regular monthly fee.  From my blogpost back in 2012:

This is only one of multiple little store-front operations that allow a person, in exchange for a yearly / monthly fee, to establish South Dakota residency and thus avoid paying state taxes in the state in which they actually live. They provide a SD mailing address, and help people obtain your new SD drivers license, SD vehicle registration and voters card.” They collect the mail and send it on, send on absentee ballots for voting, and basically allow a lot of people to “live” in South Dakota, thereby avoiding property taxes in their home state and perhaps avoiding other things as well. Who’s to say that the name they give is their real name?

 

Now, this is all fraudulent: It’s mail fraud, voter fraud, tax fraud… But, when I investigated it and brought it to the attention of all my state officials, I was told there was nothing illegal about it, and to contact them “when a crime had been committed.”  (The Wild West Continues)

Well, a crime was committed.  BIG crime.  Car theft.  In 2018:

A ring of savvy car thieves in New York exploited a bureaucratic weakness by registering many of their ripped-off Lamborghinis and Range Rovers in South Dakota, a state that lets people register out-of-state vehicles by mail and wasn’t thoroughly checking to see if they were stolen, the FBI said.

…In all, the group stole about $3.1 million worth of vehicles, according to the U.S. Attorney’s Office in Manhattan. The heists included the theft of five 2017 Nissan Titan pickups taken from a dealership in Tallahassee, Florida, and a Lamborghini Huracan stolen in Miami, according to court documents.

…According to the FBI, [alleged ringleader Marvin] Williams registered 43 vehicles with the South Dakota Division of Motor Vehicles using false documentation. At least 10 of those vehicles had been reported stolen, authorities said.

"I have reviewed records obtained from the SDDMV, which show that MARVIN WILLIAMS, the defendant, who resides in Connecticut, has registered approximately forty-three vehicles in South Dakota, with the SDDMV, on behalf of himself and others, and has submitted false documentation, including false titles with invalid VINs, to the SDDMV to do so. In contrast to other states, prior to this investigation the SDDMV conducted fewer or no checks to confirm authenticity of VINs and lawful ownership in connection with registration of vehicles" [FBI Special Agent Kevin M. Gonyo, Complaint, USA v. Marvin Williams et al., U.S. Southern District Court of New York, 2018.11.06, p. 6].  (LINK)

Now I can't help but look at Sandra O'Day's career in forged car titles and wonder... was she involved?  Did she copy-cat?  Will we ever find out?  

And also, will anyone in our Legislature consider making it illegal for someone to both purchase and approve their own purchases?  One would hope so:  However, in Davison County, they're talking about merging the Auditor's and Treasurer's Offices into one.  Great idea! Save money!  

But Chief Deputy Auditor for Davison County James Matthews is concerned about the removal of checks and balances that would come if roles combine. “In our current status quo system, we have an elected treasurer and an elected auditor and our offices take each other’s work at the end of the month and are able to balance all the accounts to check each thing to the penny,” Matthews said. “With one office, you eliminate that checking of balance of both independent offices, working together to ensure that all the finances are accounted for and to prevent fraud.” (LINK)

Bingo.  

South Dakota, where we talk like Mayberry and act like Goodfellas...  

  

 

A Case of Scotch

Stirling Castle

 My family recently returned from a trip to Scotland, which we mostly took to attend the World Science Fiction Conference in Glasgow.  Here are some highlights of the trip.

Stirling.  We spent the first few days in Stirling, a city with about 50,000 people, and a ton of ghosts. I say that because it is one of those places where  history kept piling up.

If you happen to be in England and you want to take 

Stirling Beheading Stone. Step right up.

your  army into the Scottish highlands for a little light pillaging and looting you pretty much have to find a way past Stirling.  That's why the battles of Stirling Bridge and Bannockburn loom large in the nation's history (and are inaccurately represented in Braveheart.)

It's a fun city to visit, with an amazing castle.  Mary Queen of Scots was crowned there, to name just one event. Those of us who are crimey-minded should also visit the Old Town Jail where costumed actors give you a tour of the building built in 1847 to replace "the worst prison in Britain." 

Oh, Stirling is also home to Bloody Scotland, the International Crime Writing Festival. Unfortunately for me, it doesn't happen until September. 

Edinburgh. Truth is, we hadn't planned on visiting Stirling, instead expecting to spend a few days in the nation's capital, one of my favorite spots in the world.  Then I literally woke up in the middle of the night 

Fringe Mob

thinking: "The Fringe!" In August Edinburgh hosts five international art festivals, but they pale beside the Festival Fringe which seems to bring every comedian, musician, and drama group in the British Isles to Auld Reekie.  Rooms are famously expensive and hard to find.  So we made a day trip by train from Stirling.  We had a good time, even fighting through the crowds which seemed to consist of equal parts tourists, buskers, and people handing out pamphlets for shows.

Glasgow.  Eventually we went on to the main event.  As I have said before, Bouchercon, the biggest event in our field, could hide in one pocket of Worldcon without being noticed.  For example, you could fit ten Bouchercon dealer rooms in this year's Worldcon book room, and that doesn't even count the equally large space holding exhibits from universitiies, literary and scientific societies, and food trucks (yes, inside).

And this goes on for five days.  Even friends much younger than me said it was exhausting. So here are a few of the exhausting categories of events.

* Readings.  I attended a reading by John Scalzi who specializes in humorous science fiction.  He was nominated for the Best Novel Hugo Award this year for a book with criminal connections.  Starter Villain is about an unemployed journalist who unexpectedly inherits his uncle's business, as a James Bond-style evil genius.  It also involves talking cats. Why not?

Scalzi read from his next book, When The Moon Hits Your Eye. Halfway through  he reveals the book's insane major premise. Then he gave us a devilish smile and said "I wrote this! And I bleeping got away with it!" I look forward to reading the novel when it comes out.

I have mentioned Jo Walton before.  She wrote the best alternative history mystery novel I have ever come across.  She read part of an essay called "Why I Read," which was terrific. 

* Table Talks, At a table talk,  ten lucky attendees got to sit down for an hour chat with an author.  I put in my name for several and was selected to meet with Ellen Datlow, a major editor of science fiction and horror anthologies.  I learned a lot.

* Workshops. E.M. Faulds and T.H. Dray ran a useful  workshop on reading out loud for authors.  Everyone got to do a brief reading and get critiqued.  My favorite comment was: "Emphasize the right words. No Shatnering." 

* Panels. There were dozens, if not hundreds. Some I attended: Ancient Cultures, Religion in Science Fiction, and Alternate History,

I also saw one on Fairy Tales. This included a discussion of queer interpretations of the stories. ("The Little Mermaid" may have been inspired by Hans Christian Andersen's love for a man, for instance.)  Then there's the eastern European tale "The Girl Who Pretended to be a Boy." Let's not tell certain parents groups about that one.  

Me on the last day

They also discussed something I had heard before:  the oldest story we have any record of may be "The Seven Sisters." (Seven maidens are pursued by a hunter and escape by turning into the constellation known as the Pleiades.) This story has been found all the way from Greece to aboriginal Australia, and usually includes seven stars, although only six have been visible for tens of thousands of years.  Cool, huh?

I also attended a workshop  on  Jim Henson.   Someone pointed out that one of Henson's recurring themes is found family (think of Kermit gathering up his tribe in the Muppets Movie, for example).  

During the question period an audience member told us that she had worked at the studio that made the Muppet Show and assured us that all those people loved each other just as much as you hoped.  

She also said that she would often see a director talking about a scene with a puppeteer. Then the puppeteer would raise his arm and the director would start speaking straight to the Muppet.

By the way, some of the panels were videoed so we are still enjoying them at home.

* Volunteering. I spent an hour in a green room fetching drinks for panelists, and another handing out info packets to panelists and Hugo Award nominees.  Each volunteer hour earns you a groat, a plastic card that most of the dealers accept as two pounds.

* Parties!  Every night featured parties sponsored by committees hoping to have future Worldcons in their cities.  (Next year will be in Seattle. 2026 in Los Angeles.)

I was also invited to a party for Flame Tree Press authors.  They produce mostly horror and science fiction, plus collections of ancient legends ("Story-telling from the distant past to the future"), but I managed to sneak into their Chilling Crime Stories volume.

Okay, that's way more than enough.  Next time, as you may have guessed, I will provide some words of wisdom from the panels.

Crime Scene Comix Case 2024-09-027, Batteries Included

Once again we highlight our criminally favorite cartoonist, Future Thought channel of YouTube. We love the sausage-shaped Shifty, a Minion gone bad.

Yikes! In this Crime Time episode, only one outcome is possible.

 

 

 

 

© www.FutureThought.tv

 

That’s today’s crime cinema. Hope you enjoyed the show. Be sure to visit Future Thought YouTube channel.

Birnam Wood and the Uses of Mystery

Ah, New Zealand, land of mountains and fjords, beautiful and isolated. What better place for a survivalist billionaire to purchase a little just-in-case bolt hole? None, it appears, and in Birnam Wood, Booker prize winning New Zealand author Eleanor Catton offers up a plausible one: Robert Lemoine.

He's about to buy an old sheep farm adjoining one of the South Island's national parks when he finds Mira Bunting trespassing. She spins him a yarn which he soon unravels: Mira is actually loitering with intent to garden. Talk about contrasts: she is an idealistic guerrilla gardener hoping to short circuit the capitalist system, while Robert became one of the richest people on the planet by purveying surveillance equipment and high tech drones.

That's the key meeting in Birnam Wood, a psychological thriller that delivers considerable suspense while presenting incisive character studies of the principal actors and a good deal about New Zealand leftist politics. It also raises interesting questions about the costs and feasibility of a quick conversion from fossil fuels and about the potential and astronomical profits for anyone in the right place with the right minerals.

Catton uses a complex structure to keep all these strands together, presenting the action via  the viewpoints of several characters, including the key Birnam Wood folks: Mira, founder and leader, whose tendency to step over the line in a good cause leads to the crucial meeting with Robert; her increasingly resentful roommate and second in command, Shelley Noakes, who proves not only more practical but more ruthless, and former member, Tony Gallo, an aspiring investigative journalist and an ideologue with some serious political ambitions. 

We also get inside the head of Jill Darvish, devoted wife of the recently ennobled Lord Owen, who sees some disturbing fissures in their long and happy marriage since her husband was raised to the peerage. The Darvishes own the old sheep farm where Mira wants to plant veggies and Robert wants a bunker – and perhaps more.

Robert is a bit of a Master of the Universe caricature, perhaps almost a necessity since his sense of his own power and intelligence drive much of the action. He is a chilly guy, never more sinister than when he is being charming and helpful.

The others are a more complex, but each has not only marked strengths but little weaknesses which become more pronounced after the Birnam Wood volunteers are settled at the farm, where their work is underwritten by Robert's largesse. Catton skillfully creates a situation where one careless decision creates a disastrous cascade. To my taste, there is perhaps more disaster than needed, but Birnam Wood is very much in the contemporary style with its splashy climax.

There is another character in the novel that deserves mention, rural New Zealand itself. Catton not only sketches in the spectacular beauty of the landscape but also the extreme isolation possible given the ruggedness of the terrain, the few roads, and the vast forests with only a few trails and even fewer hikers huts or services. It is a place where a lot can happen out of sight as the characters eventually discover.

---

Janice Law's The Falling Men, a novel with strong mystery elements, has been issued as an ebook on Amazon Kindle. Also on kindle: The Complete Madame Selina Stories.

The Man Who Met the Elf Queen, with two other fanciful short stories and 4 illustrations, is available from Apple Books at:

https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/the-man-who-met-the-elf-queen/id1072859654

The Dictator's Double, 3 short mysteries and 4 illustrations is available at:

https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/the-dictators-double/id1607321864

Why we can't have nice things

To avoid spoiling the storyline, I won’t comment on this video until after the break. Zoom in full-screen and please, please watch. Please.

 

 

 

 

© www.SandyHookPromise.org

 

Absolutely chilling. As September peeks over the horizon, schools across North America are either already in full session or will begin classes within two tweets of a teacher’s tablet. No one wants to think of the horrifying scenarios played out in too many schools, but think we must. Click below to discover the clues.

The Same Old Story

  

A fact of life, in this business: a short story will sometimes take on a life of its own, after it's first published. That doesn't always happen (I wish it did), and I've never been able to predict if or when it will, but sometimes you get lucky.

 

Here's an example. A little over ten years ago, I saw a piece on the TV news about a bank that no one thought could be robbed. I've forgotten what bank it was and where it was located, but I remember the report featured a bunch of security experts giving their reasons why that particular financial institution would probably always be safe from criminal behavior. And as far as I know, it was, and still is--but their long-range outcome didn't much matter to me. I mean, I continue to wish them well, but I already had what I wanted: I had an idea for a crime story.

As I have mentioned before at this blog, I always start the writing process by thinking about the plot, not the characters or the setting or the theme, and sometime over the next several days I worked out what I thought would be a cool little story with a bunch of reversals and surprises, involving a regular guy with a smart wife (I can relate directly to that) and what might happen if she mapped out a risky but interesting blueprint for a heist.

Flash forward several days. Having brainstormed the plotline until my head hurt, I came up with a title ("Molly's Plan"), sat down, and wrote the story--the writing itself usually goes pretty fast once I've figured out the structure and flow, etc.--and submitted it to Strand Magazine, where I'd had some modest success with stories that have twisty plots. Thankfully, after a wait of several weeks, editor Andrew Gulli accepted the story, and it was published in the Strand's next issue (June-September 2014). I was happy, the editor seemed happy, both of us hoped the readers who read it were happy, and, as folks around here like to say, life went ahead on.  

Then, around the end of that year, I received an email informing me that "Molly's Plan" had been chosen for the upcoming (2015) edition of Best American Mystery Stories. This was my first time for that honor, which had been sort of a bucket-list dream for me, and at the time I didn't realize just how much exposure and feedback and recognition those selected stores later receive. The Strand has a big circulation, but BAMS reached a lot of readers who otherwise might never have seen or known about Molly or her plan. Within a month following the anthology's release in September 2015, I was contacted--mostly via my website--by (1) people I'd never met, (2) old friends I hadn't heard from in years, (3) several high-school teachers and college instructors asking if they could use my story in their classes, and (4) an agent at CAA in Los Angeles inquiring about film/TV rights to the story. (I happily put her in touch with my agent, but alas, that project eventually went nowhere.)

I think a lot of this immediately-after-the-fact interest was because the guest editor for that edition of BAMS was James Patterson, who singled out my story for special praise in his introduction to the book. He said, "'Molly's Plan,' by John M. Floyd, details the formation and execution of a bank heist so real and intense that I find it impossible to believe the tale took up only a few pages. An imaginative twist at the end of the story makes it a truly satisfying read." And no, Mr. Patterson is not my long-lost uncle--he's just one of those kind and encouraging authors who are famous but have nice things to say about writers who aren't, and for that I'll always be grateful to him.

Shortly afterward, Kirkus Reviews said, in its coverage of BAMS 2015, "In 'Molly's Plan,' John M. Floyd maps out a nearly impossible bank robbery with a twist ending that's so ingenious it's tempting to root for the bad guys." And Publishers Weekly mentioned it as well: "A never-robbed bank practically invites criminals in John M. Floyd's amusing heist yarn, 'Molly's Plan.'" All these kind words were welcome and unexpected and humbling, and made me even more thankful that I'd happened to look up from eating ice cream in front of the TV long enough to watch that news broadcast about that unrobbable bank the previous year.

Back to my story-history analysis. The following year, 2016, a sixth collection of my short stories was published, called Dreamland. (A strange name for a mystery collection, I know, but the title is from a crime/fantasy story I sold to Alfred Hitchcock's Mystery Magazine.) The collection featured thirty of my previously published stories, including that one from AHMM, an Edgar-nominated story from the Strand, two Derringer winners (one from EQMM and one from the Strand), and "Molly's Plan." Signings for this book were especially fun for me because copies of the 2015 BAMS were still on display at most of the bookstores I signed in, and a surprising number of customers wound up buying my story collection because of that (I might've, in weak moments, happened to mention the BAMS inclusion to them). Many even bought both books, which was pleasing to the store managers--and bookstore managers rank high on the list of folks I like to please.

Anyhow, another year passed by, and around the time any excitement about "Molly's Plan" seemed to have faded away (I was the only one truly excited about it anyway), I was contacted by an editor from Moscow who had seen my story and wanted to reprint it in Inostranaya Literatura, Russia's leading literary journal. I again called my agent, put him in touch with the editor of the magazine, and this time all went well. I got paid, thankfully in dollars and not rubles, and the Russian translation of my story appeared in IL's January 2018 issue. I still can't read the story, but the issue's sitting here on my bookshelf. 

Also in 2017, while I was getting those emails from Russia with love, another unexpected honor came along. I received a kind note from a lady at the New York Public Library, informing me that "Molly's Plan" had been selected for inclusion in their permanent digital archive, and partly as a result of that, they wanted to acquire the rights to use the story in their newly-conceived Subway Library System project, which would allow subway passengers audio access to a number of short stories read by professional narrators. They even designed what I thought was an eye-catching cover for the story--the one with the blond lady shown at the top of this post--to put in their promotional materials. I don't know if the project ever got off the ground--or into the subway tunnels--but it sounded like a worthwhile effort and I was flattered that the library folks wanted to again resurrect Molly and her husband and their illegal activities.

Finally and most recently, a full ten years after this story was first published in the Strand, my friend and fellow SleuthSayer Barb Goffman chose it as her "pick for the week" in Issue #155 of Black Cat Weekly. Thank you once again, Barb, for doing that, and thus giving this story some new readers. I'm glad you liked it and I hope they do also.

How about you, my fellow writers? Do you have stories that you wrote and sold and possibly forgot about, only to see those stories pop up again in other places, months or even years later? I know many of you have, because I've seen those stories in your own collections or in best-of-the-year anthologies or awards. If you're one of those fortunate writers, please let me know, in the comments section, about your experiences. Did you ever have a feeling, early on, that those stories might go on to gain later recognition? Or did those opportunities appear out of the blue?

In closing . . . keep in mind, everyone, that every time you put your fingers to the keys, these stories of yours that might've begun as vague glimmers of ideas in the middle of the night could just possibly be around for a long, long time. It's the exception rather than the rule, but it can happen. 

Just another reason to keep doing what we're doing.

See you next Saturday.

 

 

Crime Scene Comix Case 2024-08-026, Tracer

Once again we highlight our criminally favorite cartoonist, Future Thought channel of YouTube. We love the sausage-shaped Shifty, a Minion gone bad.

Yikes! In this Crime Time episode, only one outcome is possible.

 

 

 

 

© www.FutureThought.tv

 

That’s today’s crime cinema. Hope you enjoyed the show. Be sure to visit Future Thought YouTube channel.

“You Wanted to See Me?”: A Lazy Writing Drinking Game

Fifteen years since our first date, and my beautiful, intelligent, talented wife continues to amaze and 

The aforementioned much-loved wife

delight me. Most recently when she came up with "The Lazy Writing Drinking Game."

Robyn (the aforementioned beautiful, intelligent, talented wife) first hatched the idea while we were bingeing the USA Network stalwart Suits this summer. A touchstone of the tail end of a different era in televised entertainment, Suits has morphed into an unlikely money-making giant in the waning days of the Age of Streaming.

This in spite of the fact that Suits is not built for streaming. It's weekly episodic television, as evidenced by the recaps at the beginning of every episode. Which is a big part of what makes weekly episodic television fundamentally different from streaming television: time between episodes.

As such "Time" can be both a blessing and a curse. To the good: it affords the viewer an opportunity to ruminate on the plot as it unfolds, building it up in their imagination, filling in holes, and enriching their viewing experience. To the bad: it opens up the narrative to the temptation of relying on lazy writing. "Time" allows writers to paper over cracks in the foundation, and to use linguistic crutches and shortcuts over and over and over again.

And nowhere is this more apparent than in a show like Suits.

Back in the day this show was a staple of the USA Network lineup, alongside such other USA originals as White Collar, and Royal Pains. As such it had a lot to recommend it: solid production values, great soundtrack music, terrific dialogue and dynamite acting.

Plus, conflict, conflict, conflict, the thing on which plot thrives the most.

But watch episodes of a show like Suits in succession one after another, and the cracks start to appear. For one thing a telenovela feel often pervades the succession of emotional conflicts, blow ups, confrontations and nearly dizzying reversals of allegiances, alliances, feuds and vendettas that litter the show's season arcs. And since Suits, against all odds, leveraged a thin premise (a guy with a photographic memory who never graduated college, let alone law school, fakes his way into getting an entry-level associate attorney position at a big time New York corporate law firm) into NINE successful seasons, that's a lot of litter.

And for another, there's the lazy writing. See below for a few examples. And then watch Suits armed with this foreknowledge, and make sure to take a drink at the appropriate time!

The Fantastic Gina Torres as the Indomitable Jessica Pearson

FIRST: "You Wanted to See Me?"

For most of its nine-season run Suits would begin at least one scene per episode by having one character stroll into the office of another (whether a superior or subordinate, no matter), and intone exactly the same opening line: "You wanted to see me?"

Make sure you have your beverage of choice ready and waiting. This line will cause you to drink deep should you play the Lazy Writing Drinking Game here. In fact, your liver may never forgive you.

Rick Hoffman stealing every scene he's in as the one-of-a-kind Louis Litt

Second: "We Have a Problem."

Second only to the oft-repeated trope of "You wanted to see me?" comes "We have a problem." And it occurs in exactly the same manner: as the opening of a scene wherein one character walks into another's office.

Another perfect opportunity to get your Lazy Writing drink on!

Gabriel Macht as the trickster hero Harvey Specter

Third: "Whatever It Is, It's Gonna Have to Wait."

Third but no means last, comes this little gem, also dropped as the beginning of any given scene, wherein one character has just learned something that needs telling to another character, usually in the scene immediately previous to this this phrase opens. Only to have a second character, invariably the person who needs to be given the above-mentioned information, cut off the first character with the words: "Whatever it is, it's gonna have to wait, because...." followed up by a shocking revelation about their currently dilemma coming out of left field to smack them all down.

And there you have it: the foundations of a potentially hilarious drinking game.

Lastly, I'd like to point out that none of these flaws stopped Suits, which wrapped production in 2019, from KILLING it when it dropped on both Netflix and Peacock's streaming services in mid-2023. It topped the Neilsen ratings for twelve straight weeks, thereby allowing series creator Aaron Korsch to shop a spin-off series, entitled Suits LA. NBC bit, and the series is currently in production.

Can't wait to see whether any of Mike Ross, Harvey Specter, Donna Paulson or Louis Litt pop up as guest stars.

But hey, in the meantime, one can hope.

And drink!

See you in two weeks!

Cultures & Their Disconnects

I read a book this past week that my sister gave me, A Killer in King’s Cove, the first of a mystery series by Iona Whishaw, a Canadian writer new to me but maybe not to the rest of you – the first book came out in 2015, her most recent in 2024, eleven of them so far.  King’s Cove is set in 1946.  The heroine, Lane Winslow, an SOE courier and clandestine op in Occupied France during the war, and troubled with PTSD, has exfiltrated herself to the woods of British Columbia, wanting to leave her past behind.  Not, of course, to be.  Lane, much like her cousin in spirit  Maisie Dobbs, is fated by temperament, a sense of duty, and her fatal curiosity, to be drawn toward the flame.

I’m making it sound more melodramatic than it is.  The story-telling is relaxed and even a little shaggy-dog, not my usual preference for hard-boiled blunt force trauma.  It leans on charm - by which I don’t mean fey, or whimsical, or labored hillbilly slapstick.  Characters who present as genuine, not tics or tropes.  Round, in other words, in the use of the word E.M. Forster gives us, not flat.  There’s something, I may say, Canadian about this, as distinct from British, a very different kettle of fish. 

This is actually where I’m going, here.  Another book I read, recently – again, a gift, so not something I might necessarily have stumbled on, all by my lonesome – is The Lost Man, by the Aussie writer Jane Harper, known on these shores for The Dry.  And then there’s the thoroughly subversive In the Woods, an Irish procedural, Tana French’s debut novel, which I also picked up this year.

The mystery story is essentially conservative.  This isn’t an original observation, on my part.  It’s generally agreed to.  The social compact is broken, murder being the most grievous breach of the common good, and the cop, or the private dick, or the avenging angel, knits up the raveled sleeve, and repairs the damage.  This is the classic set-up of an Agatha Christie, or S.S. Van Dine; not that it isn’t corny, and readily parodied, but Christie, for all that she may be dated, still puts the bar pretty high.  And moving forward, to somebody like Ross Macdonald, even at his most anarchic, in The Chill, say, the larger purpose of a social good is served.

Having said that, I’ve noticed some things mysteries and police procedurals don’t have in common, when set in exotic locales: not Christie, in Death on the Nile, or Martin Cruz Smith’s Arkady Renko books, the visiting fireman, but homegrown.  We’re used to the attitudes and accents of an Inspector Morse, or an Inspector Lewis, because we’ve seen a lot of PBS Mystery, and we’ve accustomed ourselves to how the Brits present these kinds of stories.  Cable broadens the overview.  I’ve mentioned Dr. Blake (Australian), Brokenwood or My Life Is Murder (New Zealand), and Blue Lights (Irish).  I’ve also picked up on Candice Renoir, in French, and the German police series Tatort – in its many different local iterations, the Dresden version my personal favorite, the Berlin storyline disturbing and too deeply creepy, even for me.  Speaking of, I also happened on the Hindi cop show Dahaad, which I wrote about on this blog, in September of last year.  Creepy, yes, but compelling.

Here’s my point.  Watching this stuff, which can come from very different cultural biases, you can be thrown off.  The case of Tatort, for example.  The series will do half a dozen episodes per season in a particular German city, so each season you get a few in Berlin, a few in Hamburg, a few in Frankfurt, and so on.  I followed, specifically, the Dresden episodes, over three seasons.  One of the things I found fascinating about it was the hangover from the not so distant past, of East Germany.  This attitude – shame, in fact, with some of the older characters – is of course not even present when the setting is Hamburg or Frankfurt.  For a German audience, it’s a crucial subtext. 

Same thing with Dahaad, this dissimilarity, or cognitive dissonance.  If you’re used to the rhythms of Bosch, or The Wire, or Barney Miller, for that matter, watching the beleaguered but furiously obstinate Bhaati and Singh fight their corner against religious politics, misogyny, caste prejudice, and plain willful ignorance is really something to behold.  Any lesser person would cave.  And although you might harbor the suspicion that Bollywood is going to simply paper over these intransigent differences in favor of a happy ending, by the actual end, you’re pleased not to be drowned in cynicism, although the happy is ambiguous.

We find, maybe, that something’s gained in translation, rather than lost.  I know there are other examples of this phenomenon that don’t in fact work, because I’ve tried to watch them and given up, but that doesn’t signify.  What’s fascinating to me is how these shows manage as best as they do, to tell stories that only work in their own context.  It seems obvious, but it’s not, that the conventions of a narrative depend on the inner tension between discipline and chaos, and arbitrary social structures aren’t just good manners, but a survival mechanism.  In this particular narrative construct, the Western hero is often an avatar of indiscipline; that’s not the only model for a story. 

Bouchercon Bound

On the day this posts, I will be on my way to Nashville to attend Bouchercon, the largest annual gathering of crime fiction writers, editors, publishers, and fans.

Last year I wrote about the value of attending Bouchercon and other conventions  (“Make Time for Meet-Ups”), especially for writers, and then, as now, I believe much of the value comes from planned and unplanned meet-ups.

The panels and formal presentations can be educational and entertaining, but they are most often intended for fans. The real value for writers happens in the hallways, at meals, and in the bar each evening. That’s when we rub elbows with other writers, editors, and publishers. That’s when we have the opportunity to develop business relationships and friendships, find collaborators and co-editors, and discover potential publishers for our short stories and novels.

For some of us, though, being gregarious does not come naturally. Being surrounded by so many people overwhelms us because we are at our best alone in a room with a book or a keyboard. But make the effort. Introduce yourself to someone you’ve never met or ask a question you’ve always wanted to ask.

If the thought of approaching someone you don’t already know makes you want to run screaming into the night, find a wingperson. When Temple is able to attend conventions with me, she serves as my wingperson. Several times, when my wife was unable to join me, Stacy Woodson, who I met at Malice Domestic several years ago and with whom I’ve collaborated on a variety of projects, has been my wingperson.

And there’s nothing wrong with taking breaks away from the crowd. Find a quiet corner, take a walk outside the venue, or disappear into your room for a brief interlude before rejoining the action.

Over time, though, if you attend enough crime fiction conventions, you’ll have less need of a wingperson and may need fewer or shorter breaks from the action. The people you already know will introduce you to people they know, and your ever-growing circle of acquaintances will soon make it impossible to walk down a hallway without being pulled into a conversation with new friends.

And, please, if you see me, feel free to introduce yourself.

Where to Find Me at Bouchercon

Friday, 3:30-4:20 p.m.

Bayou CD Mezzanine

Maxwell’s Silver Hammer

“Why is Editing so Hard?”

Moderator: Jessica Case

Panelists: Michael Bracken, Joe Brosnan, Ashley Sargeant Hagan, Otto Penzler, Luisa Cruz Smith

Sunday, 9:30-10:20 a.m.

Canal E Mezzanine

Achy Breaky Heart

“Short Stories—A Satisfying Snack Between Novels or the Perfect Bite?”

Moderator: Verena Rose

Panelists: Meredith Anthony, Daniel C. Bartlett, Michael Bracken, Don Bruns, Josh Pachter

Ode to the blank page.

           It doesn’t frighten me.  I like looking at it.  All naked, pure and brimming with possibility.  A flat field covered in snow, untrammeled.  A white void, unlike the black version whose magic is threatening and malevolent.  You’re invited to disfigure the nothingness with words, which in the age of electronic pages, you can easily wipe clean again.  You can have a conversation, first with yourself, then with a possible reader, if the words start sounding like something you’d want to share. 

There is nothing about a blank page you need to dread.  It will accept anything you wish to contribute.  There are an infinite number of blank pages waiting for you to trundle across, clumsily or with easy grace.  They don’t care.  Like your devoted Labrador, a blank page will forgive your every transgression and never love you the less. 

Nothing feels more perfect than the communion between two beings.  You and the blank page are one-on-one, a fundamental relationship that produces a third thing, nourishing the world.  And like all successful unions, the more you put into it, the better it gets.  The richness is limitless, the possibilities beyond counting. 

The blank page is the ultimate renewable resource.  Consume all you wish.  There will always be another blank page, and another after that. 

Assuming the continuation of the species, the product is eternal.  It will outlive you and other material things.  It will be reborn with every new edition, or preserved as an artifact for future observers to unearth. 

            All it asks of you is to join in the process, to convert its blankness into something real.  To shape the whiteness into a new form, unique unto itself, that allows the void to exist as a tangible thing and not just a potential. 

           When the blank page is no longer blank, it becomes something else.  Its purity has been compromised, never to be perfect again.  It can never be perfect because no two readers will ever agree on what is written there.  Including the writer, who likely has the least ability to judge the result.  Even a sonnet that wins the Pulitzer Prize will whisper possible revisions, hint at blemishes, betray compromises.  Though what should be celebrated is the almost-perfect.  Or perfect in its own way.  Perfect for me, if not for thee. 

The more the fleshed-out pages, the greater the possibility for imperfection.  Irritating for the writer, though often endearing to the reader, who may savor the nicks, scuffs and scars as evidence of the work’s unique allure, its true claim to originality.  As with any object prone to the capriciousness of time, the planned purpose, that first proof of brilliance, may dim, while the less intended, the rough shavings that litter the words, sentences and paragraphs, begin to glow. 

You don’t know, the writer, the maker of footprints across the drifts of snow.  You probably never will.  But this is no reason not to make the attempt, over and over again, as long as the hands, or voice, or blinking eyes have the ability to convey.  It’s why the act of writing is always justified, the blank page an everlasting invitation.

 What’s not to love?