If You Think Your Life is Going to Pot, Call Annabelle ...

Where do you get your story ideas? I don't usually have a good answer to this question. They often seem to come from nowhere. I'm sure something must have sparked them, but what exactly, I would be hard-pressed to pinpoint. Still, sometimes I can tell you exactly where a story idea came from. My newest story is a prime example. 

A few years ago, a friend was posting somewhat regularly on Facebook about the people who rented the home to one side of her own. They were selfish people, not caring about how their actions affected the people who lived near them. One day, my friend wrote about how these neighbors often smoked pot outside, so close to her own home that even with the windows closed, the smell crept inside, and her house reeked. She felt without recourse. I decided to give her some fictional justice.

Yesterday, several years after I penned the first draft of that story, it was published. The story is called "Gone to Pot." Here is what it's about:

Annabelle loves her next-door neighbor Micki like family. Not so much the couple who live on the other side of Micki’s house, who regularly smoke pot on their back deck and don’t care who gets a contact high, even when the victim is poor Micki’s cat, Chairman Meow. But Annabelle cares. She cares a whole lot. 

I told my friend yesterday about this story, and she was as happy with the surprise as I had hoped she would be. You may not be able to tell from the description, but this is one of my funny stories. You can read it in the anthology Crimes Against Nature: New Stories of Environmental Villainy. The anthology is the brainchild of fellow SleuthSayer Robert Lopresti. It is published by Down & Out Books.

Here is the book’s description:

The way we treat the world is a crime—fifteen of them, in fact. Some of the best and most honored mystery writers today have written new stories for this book dealing with environmental issues including pollution, wildfire, invasive species, climate change, recycling, and many more.

Authors include Michael Bracken, Susan Breen, Sarah M. Chen, Barb Goffman, Karen Harrington, Janice Law, R.T. Lawton, Robert Lopresti, Jon McGoran, Josh Pachter, Gary Phillips, S.J. Rozan, Kristine Kathryn Rusch, Mark Stevens, and David Heska Wanbli Weiden.

The stories cover a wide variety of styles including noir, comic, caper, psychological, police procedural, and even a tale inspired by comic books.

Putting their money where their mouths are, the authors have chosen ecologically themed non-profits that will receive half the royalties. 

Barb again. So my environmental issue is secondhand smoke, a type of air pollution. I set the story in my beloved Ann Arbor, where I attended college. And my charity of choice is American Forests, an organization dedicated to fighting climate change through the planting of trees. I am not a scientist, so I won’t try to explain how that works. But you can read about it and this great organization at https://www.americanforests.org/. 

If you read my story, you'll see a mention of a court case involving a woman who sued over secondhand marijuana smoke and won. That isn't fiction. You can google it if you want to learn more. But for now, I hope I've enticed you to buy this anthology. You'll be able to find it elsewhere, but here are Amazon links. You can get the ebook by clicking here and the trade paperback by clicking here. Or skip the middleman and buy it straight from the publisher by clicking here, thus ensuring the authors, as well as the ecological charities referred to above, get more money. Buying books and helping the planet at the same time. Winner!

Every story paints a picture, don’t it

Mary and I went to this year’s Bouchercon in Nashville.  Aside from the venue, which was undoubtedly the weirdest place I’ve ever been (Harlan Coben said it felt like being trapped in the world’s biggest terrarium), it was a pretty good program.  A writer friend asked me what I took away from the experience, so when thinking about it, in that moment, I realized it was all about the story.

There’s so much advice, good and bad, so much bullshit and blather about writing mysteries, that one tends to forget the core mission:  To tell a good story. 

I grew up walking our big collie at night with my older brother.  He kept it interesting by

telling stories, novel-length narratives he conjured in real time and strung together like a radio series.   During the day, he fed me books, mostly from the stacks collected by our father and grandfather, early 20^th century adventure books and tales of Victorian derring-do.  Most of my family were also big readers, and story tellers, even fabulists, often concocting imaginary tales rendered as indisputable fact.  So I was awash in a storytelling environment.

This is the point of the whole enterprise. 

The plot is naturally at the center of this, though plot is nothing without believable characters, voice, setting, brisk dialogue, etc., all the scaffolding that holds the thing together.  The vegetables in the beef stew.  Pick your metaphor.  It’s not one thing, it’s everything.  

One thing you don’t need is a Ph.D. in English literature, though Robert B. Parker had one.  As does David Morrell, who gave us Rambo.  Though Mick Herron, who invented Slow Horses, told us at Bouchercon that he knew exactly nothing about the British Secret Service, which he feels served him well.  All he had to do was tell a good story. 

To wit:  Right after graduating from college, a friend and I thought it would be an excellent idea to drive from Pennsylvania to the West Coast in my ’65 MGB.  We travelled light, with only the essentials:  two sleeping bags, a guitar, beer cooler and about $80 in hard cash.  Somewhere in Arizona we were driving through 100 degree air down RT. 66 at about eighty miles an hour, since any slower would reduce airflow to the MG’s engine, causing it to overheat.  We kept seeing signs for “Arroyo Ahead.”  I figured that meant a taco stand, or Native American trading post, so pressed on at the same velocity. 

Arroyo actually means a big ditch in the middle of the road to allow for very occasional flash floods to pass through unabated.  So when we got there, the MG basically became airborne, hit the bottom of the ditch, then shot up in the air on the other side.  My friend, asleep at the time, spent most of the zero-gravity pinned under the top of the car, when he wasn’t bouncing off the seat.  The entire exhaust system, never more than a few inches above the road, was scraped clean and scattered into the desert. 

Civilization was only about a hundred miles in either direction, but down the road we could see a maintenance crew at work on the white-hot pavement. 

So after piling up all the exhaust components we could find, we hiked down there, hoping they had some thoughts on next steps.  Though before we got there, I found a spool of mechanic’s wire lying off to the side of the road.  Exactly what we needed.  So using the aluminum beer cans and C-clamps I always kept on hand (if you’ve ever owned an MG, you know why), and the mechanic’s wire to suspend the whole jerry-rigged apparatus under the car, I had a serviceable exhaust system.  Actually sounded pretty cool, since the resonator and several feet of tailpipe were lost to the scheme, resulting in a pleasing, guttural purr. 

We made it to the Pacific Ocean, up to Oregon, across the big sky states, then down to New Orleans by way of North Dakota, then back up to home.  About another 10,000 miles. The exhaust worked fine.   

And that’s the story. 

 

 

Autumn's Poet, part 1

When the Frost is on the Punkin

When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock,

And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin’ turkey-cock,

And the clackin’ of the guineys, and the cluckin’ of the hens,

And the rooster’s hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence;

O, it’s then’s the times a feller is a-feelin’ at his best,

With the risin’ sun to greet him from a night of peaceful rest,

As he leaves the house, bareheaded, and goes out to feed the stock,

When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock.

As the Americas developed as nations, they adopted and adapted arts from the ‘old countries’ until the US, Canada, and the Caribbean found their footings. Massachusetts operated as an intellectual axis while the City of New York grew into a cultural centre. To the surprise of many, movements arose from America’s heartland, in particular Indiana, which for half a century beginning in the latter 1800s, enjoyed a reputed Golden Age.

Landscape painting and a nexus of folk music, blues, and jazz rose through the tumult. With plain talk and an absence of affectations, a nation’s voice echoed quips, slang, and dialect of the fields, forests, farms, and soon enough, city streets. One could argue this laid the groundwork for pop culture.

They’s something kindo’ harty-like about the atmusfere

When the heat of summer’s over and the coolin’ fall is here—

Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossums on the trees,

And the mumble of the hummin’-birds and buzzin’ of the bees;

But the air’s so appetizin’; and the landscape through the haze

Of a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn days

Is a pictur’ that no painter has the colorin’ to mock—

When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock.

Prominent names in turn-of-the-century Hoosier literature include George Ade, Theodore Dreiser, Edward Eggleston, Frank McKinney Hubbard, George Barr McCutcheon, Meredith Nicholson, Gene Stratton Porter, the recently mentioned Booth Tarkington, Maurice Thompson, Lew Wallace, and for today’s article, James Whitcomb Riley, the Hoosier Poet, sometimes called the Children’s Poet.

If you’ve wondered where the phrase, “The goblins will get you if you don’t watch out,” that’s Riley. ‘The Old Swimming Hole’  (which as a kid I waded in and deeply cut a muscle in the arch of my foot) and ‘The Frost is on the Punkin’… That’s Riley again. He also composed the popular plantation parody folk song, ‘Short’n Bread’.

The husky, rusty russel of the tossels of the corn,

And the raspin’ of the tangled leaves, as golden as the morn;

The stubble in the furries—kindo’ lonesome-like, but still

A-preachin’ sermuns to us of the barns they growed to fill;

The strawstack in the medder, and the reaper in the shed;

The hosses in theyr stalls below—the clover over-head!—

O, it sets my hart a-clickin’ like the tickin’ of a clock,

When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock!

Greenfield, Indiana is known for two American icons, Eli Lilly and … Riley. His home serves as a local museum. Although Riley became wealthy through his writing and touring, he lived a typically modest Midwestern life, although he battled alcoholism in mid-life. Surprisingly, extant recordings of him reading his poetry can be found, but unsurprisingly, sound quality is murky. At least the author’s cadence survives. Generation Z might appreciate the quirky spelling… or not.

Note: I can’t be certain I can respond to comments. Thanks to Hurricane Helene, our area has internet outages with no promise of repair dates, very minor compared to the deadly losses in other states. (To post this article, I purchased cellular data from Google Fi, slow, expensive, with spotty reliability.)

Then your apples all is gethered, and the ones a feller keeps

Is poured around the celler-floor in red and yeller heaps;

And your cider-makin’ ’s over, and your wimmern-folks is through

With their mince and apple-butter, and theyr souse and sausage, too!

I don’t know how to tell it—but ef sich a thing could be

As the Angels wantin’ boardin’, and they’d call around on me—

I’d want to ’commodate ’em—all the whole-indurin’ flock—

When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock!

Next time, little horror stories.

The Rules of Dialog (Good and Bad)

  

I love writing--and reading--short stories. Almost everything about writing them is fun for me, though the things I most enjoy are the plotting and the dialog. For that reason, I'm often surprised to hear others (novelists, too) say they find those two things to be the hardest.

Easy or hard, plotting's a subject for another time. Today I'd like to rant awhile about what the characters say to each other, and how we convey it to the reader.

As for the title of this post, I think most advice about writing dialog is accurate and helpful--but not all of it.

Consider the following twelve points:

1. Some writing instructors urge their students to avoid the use of dialog attributes ("tags" like Joe said, Jane asked, etc.) unless absolutely necessary to identify a speaker. I agree to some extent, because ideally we should write dialog such that the dialog itself makes it clear who's speaking. But you can't take that to extremes. I've read a lot of student manuscripts, and several published stories, in which the writers were obviously going out of their way to treat dialog tags as if they were Kryptonite, to the detriment of the story. That total avoidance of tags, to me, was as distracting as using too many.

Even though I agree that dialog tags are mainly to identify the speaker, they can also be used for other purposes. 

- A he said/she said can serve as a way to change the subject in mid-speech. Example: "I'll sure be glad when this week is over," she said. "How's your dad doing?" 

- It can be used to isolate and put extra emphasis on a final sentence. Example: "I'll just tell you one thing," she said. "Don't trust him too much."

- It can create a needed break or pause, just to help the common-sense rhythm of a sentence or paragraph. "I coulda had class," he said. "I coulda been a contender."

2. I've heard writers say they dislike using the word said, to the degree that they usually substitute a synonym. I think that's wrong. I used to tell my writing students to remember that dialog tags such as he said and he asked (and maybe she replied) are so common that they've almost become transparent; the reader's eye goes right over them, while expressions like he exclaimed, she inquired, he interjected, etc., can interrupt the flow and distract the reader for a moment from the story, which is something no writer wants to do. (This is why Elmore Leonard famously advised writers to "never use a synonym for said," although I don't quite agree on "never.") Adding to the problem, tags like she explained, he insisted, she inquired, and he retorted are repetitive--the dialog itself should tell the reader whether someone is explaining or insisting or inquiring or retorting. 

Read, or re-read, Lonesome Dove sometime. Larry McMurtry used said constantly, regardless of whether an identifier was needed. If I weren't a writer, I would never even have noticed it. Not only was it not distracting, the book won the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction.

3. In a nutshell, (1) don't feel you have to use a dialog tag if it's clear who's speaking, (2) don't overuse possibly-distracting synonyms for said, (3) don't worry about repeating said or asked too many times, and (4) do use a dialog attribute or an embedded name if there is any question at all about who is speaking. Readers hate to have to count lines backward to identify who's saying what. (And yes, I know I shouldn't complain about repetition--there was plenty of it in this little summary.)

4. Here's something that's rarely mentioned but can be helpful: It's usually better, especially in informal writing, to place the name or pronoun first (Mary said instead of said Mary). The only times I find myself putting the name last is when I need to add some kind of phrase afterward, in the same sentence. Example: "I'm leaving," said Mary, putting on her hat and coat. 

5. I've seen beginning writers, in their efforts to avoid dialog tags, overuse characters' names in back-and-forth dialog between two people. "Hi, Tom, what's up?" "Not much, Jimmy. Taking a trip tomorrow." "Where to, Tom?" "Well, Jimmy, we're headed for the mountains this time." That's an exaggeration, but not by much--and people obviously don't talk this way. Same thing goes for the use of contractions. Nobody speaks like this: "I think I will go see Bill. I am sure he is fine, but since his wife is away, I will go check." Instead they use contractions like I'll and I'm and he's and wife's. If you read your dialog aloud afterward, you'll be able to spot problems like this right away.

6. To again paraphrase Mr. Leonard, try to avoid the use of "ly" adverbs. If the dialog's written well, it probably won't need adverbs after the tags (he said softly, she asked sadly, he replied angrily) to prop it up. And silly repetition can come into play here as well, if you write something like he whispered softly, she moaned sadly, he growled angrily.

7. Since I've already mentioned formal vs. informal, the use of semicolons in dialog can make the writing appear stiff and formal even if that's not your intention. I use far fewer semicolons than I once did, in all kinds of writing, and I never use them in dialog. Dashes, by the way, can be good substitutes for semicolons.

8. Something I do a lot in dialog is indicate interrupted speech. If it's an abrupt interruption and not a "trailing off," the best way to do this is to end the sentence with a dash (not a set of ellipses). Example: 

"What do you think you're--"

"You know very well what I'm doing."

It's especially effective because interruption happens so often when we speak to each other in real life.

9. Feel free to fragment sentences whenever necessary, in dialog. One trick I think I've mentioned before at this blog is to delete certain words, especially at the beginning of some sentences, to make the dialog sound more like the way we actually speak. Here's an example:

Original sentence: "Do you want to go see a movie?"

Better: "You want to go see a movie?"

Even better: "Want to go see a movie?"

10. Be careful about using dialect. The key, I think, is to ask yourself if it's really necessary. And if you do try to write dialect, remember that many editors hate intentionally misspelled words (sho nuff, etc.)--I've found those sometimes work if you don't do it too often. A better idea is to occasionally use slang or regional or ethnic expressions or change real sentences around a bit: (Where you think you headed? or You got mush in your ears? or Daisy says Jimbo has done shot Charlie or You best get over here, and quick.)

11. An ironclad dialog rule that often gets overlooked: Do not include closing quotation marks at the end of a paragraph in a speech that resumes in the next paragraph if the same person is speaking. A correct example: 

John said, into the microphone, "Thank you so much, Councilman Smith, for that fine presentation. We all appreciate your taking the time to visit us today.

"Our final guest is Dr. Susan Jones from the Carter Foundation. Please join me in welcoming her."

I still see this misused, probably by accident, in many published works, and I always find myself wondering if it was a typo or if the author and/or editor just didn't know better.

12. Try, when you can, to use what Sol Stein called "oblique" dialog. In other words, introduce something unexpected--have people reply in a way that doesn't answer a question or brings up new questions or changes direction in some way. Examples:

"Hey. How you doin'?"

"Wow--I sure didn't expect to see you here."

"What have you been up to?"

"Oh. You haven't heard?"

"Where you going today?"

"Believe me, you don't want to know."

"Looks like it's beginning to rain."

"What do you suggest?"

12. Last but not least, try not to construct paragraphs of dialog that look too much alike. Example:

"We're ready to go," John said. "You coming?'

"Hang on," Judy called. "I'm in the bathroom."

"Well, hurry up," Bob said. "We're already late."

"I'm coming, I'm coming," she said. "Good grief."

That kind of writing looks and sounds amateurish. You need some tags here to ID the speakers, yes, but maybe some of those tags could be deleted or moved to the end of the paragraph instead of being in the middle--or maybe some beats of action could be plugged in. Example:

John picked up his car keys. "We're ready to go. You coming?"

"Hang on, I'm in the bathroom," Judy called.

"Well, hurry up," Bob said. "We're already late."

"I'm coming, I'm coming. Good grief."

So, what are your thoughts on all this? Do you like writing dialog, or do you find it difficult? Do you ever write plays or screenplays, which are almost nothing but dialog? What are your own personal "do's and don'ts"? Do you ever use dialog tags just to help regulate the sound or rhythm of a sentence? Do you ever read your dialog aloud to see if it "sounds" right? What are some of your own hints and tips?

There is of course much more that could be said about dialog and its rules, but I know (or I hope I know) when I've rambled long enough. So pick up your car keys, unless you're in the bathroom, and come on--we're already late. Go do some writing.

"What kind of writing?" she asked.

"Dialog," he said.

Rounding Third and Headed for Home

Source: Cincinnati Reds

Monday was a busy day, like any other. One might point out, as my manager did, that it was my work anniversary. I generally don't take notice. But I also always take my birthday off so they don't decorate my cube. (I hate that.) Had to help my car-impaired stepson and his wife get around while they wait for a water pump install. And my television's backend platform went down so I couldn't even watch broadcast or a DVD. I entertained my wife for two hours with my vast vocabulary of swear words and shaming Vizio on two social media platforms, both with GIFs of someone smashing a television.

Oh, and to cap it off, Pete Rose died at the age of 83.

To say my reveling in my technological misfortunes and hanging out with family ground to a screeching halt is an understatement. A big piece of my childhood just disappeared without warning. We had already lost Dame Maggie Smith and Kris Kristofferson over the weekend, along with a pair of lesser-known but well-regarded actors. But Pete Rose. Charlie Hustle.

Wow.

Pete is one of those guys who is complicated. And yet he's not. His gambling scandal in the late eighties came as a shock to those of us who grew up following the Big Red Machine. Even growing up in Cleveland's sphere of influence, we worshiped the mighty Reds. They had an all-star line-up: Rose, Johnny Bench, Tony Perez, Joe Morgan, Dave Concepcion, Ken Griffey Sr. I had Rose, Bench, and Concepcion's Topps cards from 1976. Of course, my mom threw them away before I realized how valuable they were. But when you're forced to watch a foundering Cleveland Indians, who would go on to a decade under the ownership of a dead man, you latched on to the next nearest thing. And no Clevelander in their right mind would become a Pirates fan. Oh, we had Steelers fans. There's a reason the original Steelers-Browns rivalry worked so well. But the Pirates? Ew! The Reds, however, were from Ohio. And unlike cities like New York, Chicago, or LA, with two teams in the same city or very near each other, we knew the Reds were NL to our struggling AL team.

And Pete Rose was the face of that team.

As an adolescent, I sat at the edge of my seat as Rose chased Joe DiMaggio's hitting streak record. (He came up short, alas, but boy, was that great baseball.) As a young man, I was shocked when Pete beat Ty Cobb's hit record. I still lived on the fringes of the Cleveland exurbs back then, blasting Led Zeppelin from my Camaro while the wind blew through my mullet. I thought, "Wait. He's how old? And he's still breaking records?" He would retire from playing a year later and settle in as the Reds manager. That's when it happened.

It was discovered Pete bet on baseball. Eventually, he would admit to it, and he would even admit betting on the Reds, a big no-no. I was shocked. Mind you, juice ball was not really a thing yet.

I moved to Cincy not long after, and as I spent more time here, I also ran into people who knew Pete, met Pete, even did business with Pete. And I was not surprised. Or even disappointed. Pete is a product of Cincinnati's West Side, and it doesn't get anymore Cincinnati than that. This is old neighborhood, where you're born, live, and die within the same city blocks. Gambling in bars is a part of the culture there. Skyline Chili, an institution in the rest of the city, is sacred there. You don't drink craft beer; you drink Hudey or Natural Lite or Bud Lite. (The woke thing did nothing to dent Bud Lite's sales. The trans model who triggered it was a UC athlete, so Kid Rock could go hang. He's not even real Detroit anyway, 32-mile to Eminem's Eight Mile.) Gambling is a big part of West Side culture. It's at every church festival, in every bar, at the Eagles Club. It's Fred and Barney hanging with Joe Rockhead. Blue collar culture.

And no one was more blue collar than Pete Rose.

Was what Pete did that bad? 

Well, he broke the rules. In fact, it's a rule the NFL doesn't think twice about coming down on and with less fanfare. I suppose if Tom Brady had been caught gambling on football or Joe Burrow or Patrick Mahomes, it'd be career-ending. At the same time, there was a sense the lifetime ban and the exile were only the beginning, that Commissioner Bart Giamatti intended to rehabilitate this most revered baseball player. Indeed, the Reds and the city of Cincinnati refused to acknowledge the ban. Owner Marge Schott received less support than Pete over the years. In fact, it seemed only Johnny Bench, the one player as talented and beloved as Rose, could be a critic. 

But Giamatti died before the healing could begin. And Rose spent decades in exile. Only in the 2000s, after Marge Schott was run out of the MLB on a rail, after juice ball, after the botched attempt at contracting the leagues, baseball tried to meet him halfway. Pete confessed to betting, and baseball let him participate in the opening of Great American Ballpark as long as he didn't wear a uniform. (He wore a Reds cap with a suit.) Soon, he was in the Reds Hall of Fame. He was doing commentary on one of the baseball recaps. One wonders if he might not have been a viable replacement for Joe Nuxhall, the Hall of Fame broadcaster who retired from Reds color commentary in the 2000s. Of course, Bud Selig, a saner commissioner than Faye Vincent, might not have suffered that line to be crossed, but Pete Rose was back in baseball. But he wasn't. And Cincinnati didn't care what MLB thought.

Pete Rose is a great noir character, one Shakespeare might have loved and Twain would have poked gentle fun at.  But Pete didn't need Will or Mark. He was already larger than life just showing up for work. Even when it all went sideways.

Headline Junkie

by Eve Fisher

"Minnesota man gets 33 years for fatally stabbing his wife during Bible study."
(SOURCE)

"California Gets Earliest Snow Advisory in Nearly Twenty Years" (And it's bringing a month of rain with it! (SOURCE)

"For 57 days this fall, Earth will have a second moon"  An asteroid is expected to make a “horseshoe path” around Earth over the next two months. (SOURCE)

"Jurors help detain a man who flees a Maine courthouse in handcuffs" - GREAT video. (HINT: Fleeing in handcuffs is harder than it looks)
(SOURCE)

Absolutely brilliant:
Florida Man hides in chest, uses whiteboard to evade deputies: PCSOCredit: PCSO

Good news, for once:
"Boy abducted from California in 1951 found alive more than 70 years later" (LINK)

"Kentucky judge shot and killed in his chambers by sheriff, officials say."
So far, no idea what they were arguing about, but it must have been a doozy...
(SOURCE)  

Meanwhile, this is another irate sheriff's way of dealing with the judge situation.  Dyer County, TN, from 1983:

BTW, I remember that, at the time, there was another article about it, which referred to the sheriff having stolen the judge's "favorite sheep".  Not even gonna go there...

"This Mummy Cheese is Full of Ancient Secrets" (LINK)

Okay, fine it's kefir made from sheep and/or goat's milk.  But what inquiring minds want to know is why was it sprinkled on and around mummies' heads and necks?  

"Is Morder Based on the Himalayas?"  (LINK)

"In Tolkien’s world, the Himalayas transform into Ephel Duath, the Mountains of Shadow; and the Tian Shan into Ered Lithui, the Ash Mountains. And the circle-shaped Pamirs are the same shape and in exactly the same corner as the Udûn of Mordor, where Frodo and Sam originally tried getting into Mordor, via the Black Gate.”

And after all, this was all part of the British Empire until the late 1940s...  

Headline Junkie will be back again!

Fooling the Professors; Schooling the Professors

 

I recently came across the strange story of an unusual brand of criminal - a literary forger.  He committed his crimes almost two centuries ago and yet, oddly enough, you may be familiar with some of his work.

John Payne Collier* (1789-1883) was an English  journalist and drama critic, with a somewhat erratic career.  His incorrect report on a speech by a member of Parliament had him chastised by the House of Commons.  It took him eighteen years to be called to the bar because of a book he wrote criticizing lawyers.  

With that promising start he dove into scholarship on Shakespeare.  His critics found much to complain about in his work but generally found it valuable.  In 1847 he became secretary to the Royal Commission on the British Museum.

Five years later he claimed to have discovered a copy of the Second Folio, the 1632 collection of Shakespeare's plays.  His copy was called the Perkins Folio because of a name inscribed on the title page.  Any copy of that book would be considered important but this one was full of handwritten annotations and corrections, apparently in a seventeenth century hand. A remarkable find!

Collier published a book of the annotations and later put out a new edition of Shakespeare with the Perkins version of the text.   

You've probably guessed that this didn't end well.  A scholar/friend of Collier's described the changes in the Perkins Folio as "ignorant, tasteless and wanton." By 1859 scientists had proved that the annotations were modern scribblings in the old volume. No one could prove that Collier had done the deed and he was, remarkably, allowed to continue to publish scholarship. No cancel cuture then!

His other works included dubious lecture notes  by Coleridge, forged additions to old letters, spurious annotations supposedly written by Milton, and so on.  Nonetheless he also produced scholarship the professors found useful, when he could find sources to work from.  It appears that, like not a few modern scientists, when he couldn't find the results he wanted he made them up.

I have taken most of this information from the Wikipedia article and the anonymous authors/editors there said: "No statement of his can be accepted without verification, nor any manuscript handled by him, without careful examination, but he did much useful work."

But remember  I said  that you might be familiar with some of his work.  Here's the deal:  In 1828 he published The Tragical Comedy or Comical Tragedy of Punch and Judy. While the  Punch and Judy show traces its origins to the 16th century Italian comedia dell'arte, Collier's is the earliest existing script for it.  To some extent every modern "professor" (the traditional name for the P&J puppeteer) is improvising from Collier's text. 

He claimed to have  copied it down from a performance by an Italian puppet master, and maybe he did.  But he was as untrustworthy as Mr. Punch himself, so how can we know? 

 

* Not to be confused with the great and more recent John Collier.

Helene

Michael dressed appropriately
for a murder mystery event.

Helene disrupted many people’s lives in ways far worse than it disrupted mine, but when the hurricane caused postponement of SleuthFest, I found myself with five empty days. I had scheduled my workload to accommodate time away from the office by finishing some projects early and working far enough ahead on others that time away would not cause missed deadlines.

So, I spent the first three unscheduled days—Wednesday through Friday—doing something I haven’t done in quite some time: I reviewed story partials.

I have several hundred partially written stories on my computer (more than 300 of them are crime fiction). Some are little more than a sentence, while others are full outlines or are opening scenes with notes about what might follow. Some partials are much further along than that.

I didn’t make it through all the partials in three days, but what I did is open and read as many files as possible. Sometimes I added a sentence or a scene. Sometimes I made notes about what the story needed, and sometimes I did nothing but read, close the file, and move to the next.

During this process, two stories caught my attention. One was missing only the final scene, which I wrote. The other was missing bits and pieces throughout the entire ms., and I filled in the gaps. I now have two short stories that are almost ready to submit. The first needs the last sentence or last paragraph tweaked and the other needs a final proofread. Now that I’m back to wrangling deadlines, it may be awhile before I can put the finishing touches on these stories, but I already know where I intended to submit each of them.

WHY SO MANY

A common question early career writers ask experienced writers is where we get our ideas. There are many facetious answers—I get mine for a dime a dozen from a PO Box in New Jersey—but the truth is that ideas come from everywhere.

What I learned long ago, though, is that if I don’t capture the ideas, I lose them. That’s why I have so many partially written stories on my computer.

Some are unfinished because I can’t resolve a plot problem, others remain unfinished because they require research I have yet to do, and others remain unfinished because there are no appropriate markets. (Trust me, if anyone ever resurrects True Story or any of the other confession magazines, I can single-handedly fill several issues by finishing all the confession partials I stopped working on when the last two confession magazines ceased publication.)

And I don’t consider my files an idea graveyard. Several times I have completed and sold partials that were years—even decades—old because a new market surfaced or because I finally resolved a plot problem that had vexed me.

Hurricanes don’t usually prompt a dive into my files, but any excuse to review the partials has the potential to reap rewards.

It did this time.

HELENE REDUX

Helene didn’t just cause postponement of my trip to SleuthFest last week, it also caused Temple and I to cancel next week’s trip to Asheville, NC, where we planned to visit Temple’s daughter. Luckily, her daughter, her daughter’s roommate, and both of their pets, are safe.

I hope everyone else we know in the hurricane’s path are also safe and that all y’all’s lives will soon return to normal.