The Uses of Mystery: The Heaven & Earth Grocery Store

The discovery of a body in 1979. What is a more classic mystery opening than a stray and unexpected corpse? Followed up, in this case, by a police visit to an old man who looks very much like the prime suspect? Category police drama anyone?

 

In The Heaven and Earth Grocery Store, James McBride has some other ideas. The passage about the discovery summarizes events that were genuinely mysterious to most of those involved back when the deceased was dropped in an abandoned well at Chicken Hill, a hardscrabble section of Pottstown, PA.

In 1932, Chicken Hill was home to the newer inhabitants of an increasingly industrialized town. Blacks fleeing the Jim Crow South and east European Jews fleeing pogroms scratch out mostly marginal lives with one eye on the unwelcoming forces of law and order. 

Two of the more fortunate inhabitants are Moshe and and Chona Ludlow. He runs the local theater and has found considerable success booking Black as well as Yiddish musicians. She runs the grocery store that, with its generous credit, functions as a life line in the current hard times and gives her rapport with locals in the Black community, especially Nate and Addie Timblin.

The Timblins' struggle to keep a young, deaf relative out of the notorious orphan home enlists both Ludlows and provides a spine for the dramatic events of the novel. But even the genuinely gripping main plot line is only the armature for McBride's detailed portrait of the community, bursting with fully realized and fascinating characters. 

 

Many are engaged in some dubious hustle, as Chicken Hill copes not only with poverty but with a lack of basic services. Even a water supply is tricky; health care is a dangerous gamble, and decent jobs are basically beyond the grasp of even competent people like the Timblins.

 

The 1920's and 30's saw a resurgence of the Klan, widespread anti-Semitism, and a deep suspicion of immigrants. This was true in the north as well as the south. The Depression only deepened those social ills and a fear amounting to hatred of those on the margins.  

 

Success, or even survival, in Chicken Hill takes sharp wits, a sense of community, and a great deal of ingenuity, social, political and mechanical. The Heaven and Earth Grocery Store is a portrait of a community under stress: intelligent, but under educated and full of odd customs, superstitions, and rituals. 

 

Is there a mystery in there, too? Certainly, with two bona fide villains, a contract killing, a fatal assault, and some high risk schemes involving the brotherhood of railroad workers. There is plenty going on but the novel takes some familiar mystery conventions and tropes and works them into a bigger picture. 

This gives National Book Award winner McBride time to expand his characterizations and atmosphere, to indulge in some flights of fancy, and even to harken unto the supernatural. Some mystery fans may prefer a more streamlined plot. But I think most will be charmed by how some favorite devices are employed in this beautifully written and very accessible novel.

###

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.

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

Is That a New Derringer in Your Pocket?

The Short Mystery Fiction Society was formed in 1996, and presented the first Derringer Awards, recognizing excellence in short mystery fiction, in 1998.  Not surprisingly, the awards have changed in many ways over almost thirty years, and they're about to do so again.  

Taking a look at Derringer history is illuminating.  Over the last few months, the Society's current Assistant Derringer Coordinator, Mark Schuster, has put together something long overdue: a database of all the nominees and winners over the lifetime of the awards.  Thanks to his outstanding work, we've been reminded of some awards presented in the early years--Best First Short Story and Best Puzzle Story, for example--that have fallen by the wayside.

  

There have also been shifts in the categories which have stuck around.  The initial definition of flash stories was 200-400 words.  For several years the three main categories were flash (up to 1,200 words), short (1,201-10,000 words) and novella (10,001-25,000 words).  By 2004, there were categories with the awkward labels short short, mid-length short, and long short.  

It seems to have been about 2010 when the categories settled into the four competitive Derringer categories used today: flash (up to 1,000 words), short story (1,001-4,000), long story (4,001-8,000), and novelette (8,000-20,000 [the upper limit has changed a few times]).  In addition, the society presents an annual Edward D. Hoch Memorial Golden Derringer Award for Lifetime Achievement in Short Mystery Fiction, and selects one deceased writer to enter the short mystery Hall of Fame.

Earlier this year, the Society voted to add a new Derringer award for the first time in many years: Best Anthology.  This idea originated with Josh Pachter, himself a Golden Derringer recipient, one of the best writers in the field today, and, not incidentally, the editor of many a fine anthology (including an upcoming anthology of Derringer-winning stories celebrating the 30th year of the Society).

Making changes to an institution like the Derringers shouldn't be done lightly, but the time is ripe for an award recognizing that anthologies have become more and more important in recent years.  I've heard more than a few writers suggesting that we're living in a golden age for the form, in fact.  

In part this may be, unfortunately, due to a decline in the number of magazine markets open to short crime fiction.  To be sure, there are still some fantastic traditional magazine markets out there, and there's an undeniable thrill to selling a story to Ellery Queen or Alfred Hitchcock.  There are also great online periodicals, like Tough.  The recent demise of Mystery Magazine (formerly Mystery Weekly), though, was only the most recent of many such losses.  Even if a magazine still exists, finding it can be a challenge.  I live in a fairly large town with a big university, but when I recently had a story published in The Saturday Evening Post, I couldn't locate a single store in my community that actually carries it.

For writers in our field looking to get their work in front of readers, then, anthologies have become increasingly important.  Many of them come from smaller publishers, run by people passionate about fiction: Down & Out Books, Misti Media, Level Best Books, others I'm sure I'm not thinking of right now.

About two thirds of my own stories have been published in anthologies.  For writers, these markets have a lot to offer.  They usually have entertaining, inventive themes, encouraging experimentation.  They offer the chance to work with highly skilled and engaged editors (I know my own work has benefitted tremendously from working with anthology editors like Josh, Barb Goffman, and Michael Bracken).  They have the potential to reach new readers who might otherwise never encounter our work.  They're likely to remain available for several years, long after a magazine publication has faded away.  

Most of all, they're just plain fun, as much for writers as for readers.  I sometimes feel I should be writing more for magazine markets, but at any given time there are anthologies open for submission on topics I just can't resist.  This year alone, I've published stories in anthologies themed around sports, one-hit wonders, fairy tales, the solar eclipse, sex and classical music, 21st century noir, and the songs of Aerosmith and the Grateful Dead.  Could one of those books take home the first Derringer for Best Anthology?  Stay tuned!

If you'd like to nominate an anthology, or stories for the other Derringer categories, you must be a member of the Society by the end of this calendar year.  Membership is free, and offers you the chance to rub virtual elbows with many of the leading writers in the field, along with readers, editors, publishers, and various others invested in short mystery stories.  In the interest of full disclosure, I am the current President of the Society--but I'd be telling you to join even if that wasn't the case.

So what are some of your favorite recent anthologies?  

As a writer, what draws you to certain anthology calls?  

As a reader, what are you looking for in an anthology?  Familiar authors?  The editor?  The topic?

     

Can We Be SANE Without Writing?

 

Recently, I reached an age where I admit to being in my 60s. 

This milestone has got me thinking about what it means to be a working author at a time when all your friends are retired. (Husband as well, the poop.)

For instance, today Mike is golfing.  I - in contrast - am sitting at my computer taking a break from three solid hours of going through publisher edits, working to a deadline of Friday.  This includes several hours yesterday, the day before and the day before that.  

My neck hurts.  I'm not sure I'll be able to get out of this chair without help. And as I look wistfully out the window at lake Ontario on this glorious day, I can't help wondering if I'm doing the right thing.  There are only so many hours left to live.

 

1000 HOURS A BOOK

It takes me a year to write a historical mystery, from the original first draft, the endless research, to the final edited version.  1000 hours for each book, I estimate.  

My 18th book will be published in March.  My 19th (the work in progress) will be a year after that. My 70th short story will be published this November. 

Even ignoring the short stories, that's 20,000 hours of writing for 19 published books. (The first didn't get published, to my immense relief.  Even I thought the protagonist was a whiny nincompoop.)

I have writer friends (the best of the bunch) and non-writer friends (incredibly patient and tolerant) who seem to have more brains than I do.  So I ventured this question out loud to them:

WILL SOMEBODY PLEASE TELL ME WHY I'M STILL DOING THIS?

Bless them all. Here are the two best answers I got:

YOU HAVE A PUBLISHER, NINNY!

For so many of my writing students, getting a publisher is the Holy Grail.  And indeed, I thought so too, as I shlepped my work around twenty years ago. 

Having a publisher means your work is still getting read, and is making the publisher money.  They let you go if it isn't. 

I'm under contract for two more books, but it does make me wonder what comes after that.  And this leaves the ultimate question: do we quit writing novels on our own terms, while they are still being sought, or do we wait until a publisher no longer wants them?

 

WHAT ELSE WOULD YOU DO?

At first I burst out laughing, when Thom said this to me. My friend and writing colleague Thom Bennett is blessed with wisdom and good nature.  He also deals in tough love.  I listen when he talks.

He tells me this:  "What else would you do with that time you spend writing? I know women your age who have nothing to do but go to lunch. They spend hours lining up people to have lunch with every day, desperate to keep their calendars full.  Is that who you want to be?"

I like lunch.  But I have to admit, he made me think.  If you had a full time job in your middle years, and kids at home, you probably didn't have time to develop many hobbies outside of work.  My hobby was writing, of course.  Which is why we are having this soul searching today.

To which I add my own question:  

CAN I BE SANE WITHOUT WRITING?

I honestly don't know.  Can you?

I've been writing since I was eight. I earned my first award when I was a high school senior (a City of Toronto children's book award.)  

I can't imagine my life without days full of writing.  In fact, it scares the hell out of me.  

At the same time, I worry that - on my death bed - I will regret having spent so much of my final decade/s alone in my office at a keyboard.

How about you? Any advice? Do you ever question whether spending your 60s and upward years writing is the right thing to do?

 

Melodie Campbell has been called the "Queen of Comedy" by The Toronto Sun.  Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine called her "The Canadian literary heir to Donald Westlake." You can get her books on Amazon, and all the usual suspects.

 

 

  

Elizabethan Noir

MGM

My current read is The Merchant of Venice, Shakespeare's seminal play about greed and revenge. The play is often criticized for its anti-Semitic tone and rightfully so. The characters' main beef with ruthless money lender Skylock is he's a Jew. And yet, Will seems to be giving Elizabethan England a well-deserved punch in the eye for it. After all, this is where the line, "Tickle us, do we not laugh; prick us, do we not bleed? Wrong us, shall we not revenge?" (And I cannot not hear that in Christopher Plummer's voice.) It's Shakespeare's way of saying, "Well, if you treat me like a monster, don't be surprised if I become one."

But Shylock is by no means a hero. The prejudice against him fuels his rage, but at only five scenes in, I've only seen him in one. That's actually a brilliant piece of writing. (Well, it is Shakespeare. Even his duds are impressive. Except Edward III, and he was likely the script doctor on that one. "Why didn't I give this to Marlowe to fix. Joan of Kent? Zounds!") Shylock is such a presence that he shifts the center of gravity in every scene he's in. I'm just reading this, not watching Plummer or Patrick Stewart or Al Pacino play him, and he immediately grabs one's attention, a malevolence rivaling Shakespeare's Richard III in the play of the same name. 

But we know Shakespeare for two types of plays: Histories and comedies. His comedies are hit or miss, and I admit, I don't really connect with those very much. They are probably best seen performed rather than read. The histories, more often than not, are what grab my attention. But Shakespeare wrote in a transitional period, moving from poems to prose, from the epic to the everyday. Had Shakespeare lived two centuries later, might he have adapted Tom Jones (current Audible listen), complete with all the bawdiness he held back on in the days of Elizabeth and King James I? (Yeah. The Bible guy. Who clearly never read it. That's a rant for a different forum.)

Henry V and Julius Caesar and Richard III, however, are epic figures, heroes and villains (and sometimes both) who operate on Olympian levels. But what of The Merchant of Venice? It's the titular merchant, Antonio, who takes out a loan for his friend, Bassanio, then defaults on it. The penalty is, legally, "a pound of flesh." 

Wait a minute. You take out a loan and, instead of debtors prison or the lender taking all your stuff, as usually happens, he gets a literal piece of you? That sounds a lot like...

A loan shark. Now, I've known an actual loan shark, as in he worked for one of the Five Families back in the day. You hear stories of leg-breaking, but more often, an actual loan shark would prefer breaking things and intimidation. Your broken leg impedes your ability to earn the vig. However, Shylock is, to put it mildly, a bit of a jerk. There's animosity between Shylock and Antonio, and it goes beyond the prejudice Shakespeare saddles his characters with. Shylock hates Antonio's guts, and helping himself to a pound of those guts drives that home. Antonio knows this and takes the loan intending to pay it back and rub Shylock's nose in it. Antonio is not a nice guy, nor is he Shakespeare's standard hero. Like Shylock, he's ruthless.

So, does that mean The Merchant of Venice is noir?

In some ways. Typically, in noir, the protagonist is screwed and comes either to a bad end or winds up diminished. (If Shylock had his way, Antonio would be diminished by a pound.) But the First Folio listed Merchant as a comedy. Why? Because the fair Portia and her friend Nerissa pose as lawyers and con Shylock in a move worthy of Tom Cruise in the movie version of The Firm. (I still like that better than what Grisham wrote, if only for the look on Paul Sorvino's face when he realizes the kid he came to whack just outmaneuvered his own law firm.) So the comedy aspect, in terms of the classical definition of a comedy, fits. 

But this is really, really dark. Antonio's scheme to put one over on Shylock backfires. We already know Shylock is a vengeful, angry man. So while his methods are abhorrent, you have to recall the old Chris Rock line, "I'm not saying I approve, but I understand!" Kind of like watching a Hannibal Lector movie and wonder when he'll just eat some annoying character. (They were legion in Hannibal.)

But Antonio is the arrogant rich man. Shylock is the ruthless money lender. The mob even named the slang for loan shark after him. Head-to-head, it's almost an episode of Penguin or Tulsa King.

Furious Fisticuffs: Fact, Fiction & the Line in Between

 How is it nearly Halloween?

Hey, and Happy Nearly November! 

Last time we met, I gave you some thoughts on writing realistic fight scenes. And for this go-round I promised to talk about the weirdest fights I had ever broken up. So without further ado, here a few quick honorable mentions:

Just like one of these.

The Cocktail Napkin

Back in college, I once helped break up a fight between two brothers (yes, they were both drunk). They were coming to blows over a cocktail napkin.

That's it. Cocktail napkin. Nothing more. No phone number written on it. No directions for a hook-up. No crudely drawn map to a gold mine.

A cocktail napkin.

No subtext or hidden meaning here, either. Except for the fact that these two loved to scrap at a level that might Oasis's Gallagher brothers blush.

The Solvent

This one hearkens back to my time spent in the Navy.

I helped break up a fight on the mess decks (where the ship's crew ate meals) between a couple of guys who worked in Engineering. One of them accused the other one of stealing solvent from the supply locker in his engineering station (he was responsible for keeping track of and order more supplies). These guys duked it out right there in the middle of mid rats ("midnight rations": a meal prepared for watchstanders either coming off of or going on watch at midnight.).

Just like this one.

Both guys got written up and likely would have lost rank and pay and been restricted to the ship had tragedy not struck.

As it turned out, the guy accused of stealing solvent was in fact guilty of stealing solvent. Apparently unaware of how dangerous the fumes given off by this substance could be in an enclosed space, he stored it in his locker, which was right beneath his bunk (a "rack" in Navy parlance. And that type of locker? Appropriately enough, in this instance: a "coffin locker."). The guy liked to use solvent to get the combined oil and grease off his hands after a day's work.

And it killed him. The fumes from the solvent asphyxiated him in his sleep.

(I used this incident as the germ of an idea for my short story "Show Biz Kids," featured in the crime fiction anthology Die Behind the Wheel.)

Unsurprisingly, the charges against the other fellow were dropped after the autopsy confirmed cause of death. 

Sooooo....solvent.

The above are two of the weirdest ones, now let me tell you about the three most violent ones I helped break up. All of them took place at a school where I was working as a teacher. Two of them at the middle school where I currently teach, and one at a high school where I worked over two decades ago. First up: middle school.

The Language Barrier

Ever seen a human reenactment of the story of the Mouse that Roared?

I have.

A student of mine, always in trouble, always smiling, never letting anything get to him, picked a fight with a newly arrived Pacific Islander who spoke nearly no English and stood literally head and shoulders above him.

The mouse in this instance picked his fight by sucker punching the big man in the back of his head (apparently the big guy had pushed a lady friend of the brave mouse in the hall, and he could not let that pass).

Needless to say, this enraged the Pacific Islander giant, and he turned on the mouse. I and two other teachers (both male) got between the two combatants before blood could be shed, and I grabbed the mouse and pulled him into a classroom, locking out the enraged islander before he could get his hands on the smaller kid.

Thank God the door I locked was two-inch thick solid oak.

The entire school went into lock-down while this modern-day South Seas Hercules took out his rage on the lockers in the hallway (the dents he put in the top of one row are still there). Eventually the police arrived and sorted things out. No charges filed, but....phew....

A Tale of Two Amazons

Now, I am six feet tall and not at all a small person. But when two 14 year-old lady athletes took a beef that started at basketball practice to the hall outside of my classroom and I went charging in to try and stop it, I felt tiny. And weak.

Both of these young women were physical specimens: taller than my six feet, strong and athletic, and they were waling on each other. Let me take a moment also to let the uninitiated in on a salient fact of life: the most violent fights tend to be between women.

There are lots of theories about why this is, and I'm not interested in advancing one of my own. I am just going to say that my own experience bears it out.

None moreso than during this fight. I got between them first and immediately regretted that move, as I quickly got bounced off a locker as if I were a rubber ball.

Other teachers stepped in (female and male) and helped quell the battle royale. I will say that one of my fondest memories from my teaching career is of when one of the girls said to me, "Let me go, Teach! I don't want to hurt you! I like you!" (I did not have a hold of her. I was simply interposing my body between her and the other young woman. As were about six of my colleagues).

It's Always the Quiet Ones

This final example comes from a brief stint I did teaching high school English at a school in a neighboring district. 

It was passing period and I was standing outside of my classroom (it was my third year of teaching) greeting students, and several kids ran up and breathlessly told me about a fight involving a couple of girls in the hall around the corner. One of the names I recognized as a small, quiet, fairly shy Latina student of mine. So I went tearing down the hall trying to keep this kid from getting hurt.

I needn't have worried.

I turned the corner to see another girl (Pacific Islander and strong) standing, bent at the waist over the first girl, with her long hair hanging down nearly to the floor, and shaking rhythmically, as if at the footfalls of a giant.

As it turns out the quiet girl knew how to brawl. Flat on her back, she had gotten a deep solid grip on the other girl's hair at the nape of her neck, and was holding her in place while repeatedly punching her in the face.

I only discovered this when I attempted to pull the taller girl off of the one of the floor (a move I have not attempted since, as the memory of the sore back I nursed for weeks after has turned out to be very instructive.).

I never saw the taller girl after we broke that fight up.

The quiet one tracked me down and invited me to her wedding years later.

And I went! A great time! Her father and I laughed and laughed over that fight. 

Last I heard this young lady was a mother of three and teaching middle school math. And boy do I pity the student who gets on her bad side.

And on that uplifting note, that's it for me this go-round.

Tune in next time to hear about "Firing Bob" and why every writer ought to do it.

See you in two weeks!

The Long Goodbye

 

Jackie Winspear’s new book, The Comfort of Ghosts, is her eighteenth Maisie Dobbs mystery, and the last.  You wonder why, and the author says she imagined a narrative arc to the series, as well as the storyline in each novel, and she felt that she’d closed the circle.

I say, God bless.  I’ll miss Maisie, as will huge numbers of other readers, but there comes a time.  I’d rather make the choice myself.  All too often, you don’t get to.  I’m still sorry Philip Kerr died, when there were many more Bernie Gunther stories to come; and Bruce Alexander stood us up, before his blind 18^th-century magistrate, Sir John Fielding, was ready to step down from the bench – what will happen to young Jeremy, ever on the prowl for that sinful Turkish brew, haunting Lloyd’s for both the coffee buzz and the maritime gossip?

The other side of the ledger, we have Conan Doyle famously trying to kill off Sherlock Holmes at the Reichenbach Falls, and Agatha Christie wanting to rid herself of the “insufferable” Hercule Poirot, but market demand kept them going.  Speaking of, Tom Clancy shuffled off this mortal coil eleven years ago, but he keeps manufacturing product. 

I’m not a huge fan of publishers profiting off dead guys, although Ace Atkins has done a good job with Robert B. Parker’s legacy (plus the blessing of Parker’s widow Joan). Ace gets Spenser’s rhythm right.  You can’t say the same about Parker himself, and Raymond Chandler.  Poodle Springs isn’t a bad book, on its own; it is, however, dreadful as Chandler.  Parker clearly admires the master – Spenser, Marlowe, get it? – but he doesn’t have Chandler’s lapidary and Byzantine habit of mind, or Chandler’s precise and mischievous ear for language (to wit, “a couple of streamlined demi-virgins went by caroling and waving,” from The Long Goodbye).  I happen to be a big fan of Islands in the Stream, too, if only the first fifty pages or so, which I’m actually confident Hemingway himself wrote. 

I know this sounds mean-spirited, but the most specific thing about any writer is voice.  This is usually different from story to story, sometimes inviting and intimate, sometimes chilly, or arm’s length.  Homely and domestic can open out into the epic.  Larry McMurtry and Jim Harrison are very unalike, but Lonesome Dove and Legends of the Fall share an almost Arthurian scale of delivery.  On the other hand, A Narrow Grave, McMurtry’s essays, would seem to have nothing in common with Letters to Yesenin, Harrison’s poetry.  Two writers who are utter strangers to each other. 

Probably not, though, if they meet in heaven.

There’s an originality to any writer.  We have the dictum, write the book only you can write, which can be taken in more than one way, but for the moment, let’s say it means, this book, at this moment, couldn’t be written this way, by anybody else.  Somebody else could write a story about a nurse, in a combat surgery, behind the trenches, in the Great War.  But only Jacqueline Winspear is going to use her character, Maisie, to speak to the trauma of Jackie’s own grandfather, still picking shrapnel fragments out of his scarred legs in his seventies.  The specificity is everything.  War is never over, a character in one of the Maisie books says, it lives on in the living, in the guilt of the survivors.  The arc of Maisie’s story, in eighteen books, is a map of grief, and the consequences of loss.  It has a shape, like something stuck in your throat.  Maisie can’t be imitated, because she’s invented herself out of a certain, particular piece of the past – I mean Maisie, as a character in her own story, is self-invented, and Maisie, the character that Jackie the writer has invented, can only have become this Maisie. 

Jackie Winspear says Maisie will always be taking up space in her head, even if she’s longer writing about her.  I’d suggest that’s because Maisie is partly a vehicle, like any character – your characters are a way into the story – but also because she’s taken on, over time, the burden of responsibility.  You might say it’s a necessary plot device, which it is; Maisie, though, has become necessary to the author.  Not an avatar, or a second self, but a physical metaphor, for the gravity of hope.  Maisie carries the weight.  Jackie has lightened her own heart, and ours.

Dialogue to Die For ... Again

Due to a medical issue, I am rerunning a column from 2017. If you love dialogue, it is worth reading--even if you read it seven years ago. After all, great dialogue is one thing that lures readers and viewers back over and over and over ...

Remember the TV show Name That Tune? The idea was to see how few notes of a song a person could hear and correctly name that tune. I don't know how well I'd do on that show, but if there were a Name That Movie show, I would clean up--assuming they asked about movies I've seen. Spoken dialogue, I've found, sticks with me. I adore snappy and heartfelt dialogue in books too, but for whatever reason, I don't retain it the way I do dialogue from movies and TV shows. (You'd think, then, that I would have good recall for dialogue from audio books, yet not so much.)

Anyway, I started thinking about ear memory the other day when I turned on the TV. I wasn't looking at the screen. All I heard was, "Always," and I knew it was the late Alan Rickman as Professor Severus Snape in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part II. (I might have seen that movie a few times.) That one word transported me back right to the exact scene in the movie. Rickman delivered it perfectly, revealing so much about Snape's character. Even now, recalling the scene breaks my heart a little all over again.

Alan Rickman

 

Of course, Rickman had help. His dialogue was written for him. Great dialogue depends on the team of great writers and great actors working together, as well as the folks who add the background music that adds drama or tugs at your heart. When done right, dialogue can be magical. I only need hear certain words or a sentence in the right voice, with the right rhythm, and I know the film. I'm transported in my mind right back to that scene.

Here are a few examples. They may not be the most well-known from each movie, but they certainly stand out:

"I want the truth!" "You can't handle the truth." Tom Cruise and Jack Nicholson in A Few Good Men

"You can't kiss her!" Sally Field in Soapdish

"Why can't I write shit like this?" Whoopi Goldberg in Soapdish

"Shall we play a game?" Joshua (computer) in War Games (even a computer can make dialogue memorable)

More Alan Rickman

"There was more than one lobster present at the birth of Jesus?" Emma Thompson in Love Actually

"Oh jeez. I'm getting pulled over. Everybody just pretend to be normal." Greg Kinnear in Little Miss Sunshine

"I guess it comes down to a simple choice. Get busy living or get busy dying." Tim Robbins in The Shawshank Redemption

 

"And for what? For a little bit of money. There's more to life than a little money, you know. Don'tcha know that?" Frances McDorman in Fargo

"You don't really know how much you can do until you stand up and decide to try." Kevin Kline in Dave

"Here's looking at you, kid." Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca

"A toast to my big brother, George, the richest man in town." Todd Karns in It's a Wonderful Life (It's interesting that one of the most memorable lines in the film is from a minor character.)

And even more Alan Rickman

"I'll have what she's having." Estelle Reiner in When Harry Met Sally (another minor character who steals the scene)

"By Grabthar's hammer, by the sons of Warvan, you shall be avenged." Alan Rickman in Galaxy Quest

"Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die." Mandy Patinkin in The Princess Bride


"You're going to the cemetery with your toothbrush. How Egyptian." Robin Williams in The Birdcage

"Snakes. Why did it have to be snakes?" Harrison Ford in Raiders of the Lost Ark

"It was like ... magic." Tom Hanks in Sleepless in Seattle 

"I'm not crazy. I've just been in a very bad mood for forty years." Shirley MacLaine in Steel Magnolias

"But I don't want to be a pirate." Jerry Seinfeld in Seinfeld

"I'm not insane. My mother had me tested." Jim Parsons in The Big Bang Theory

Alas, not Alan Rickman
but still wonderful

"As God is my witness, I thought turkeys could fly." Gordon Jump in WKRP in Cincinnati

Inspired to go watch a great movie or to try to write your own memorable dialogue? Great. But before you go, please share your favorite movie or TV show line(s) of dialogue. The lines that stick with you, that you remember sometimes out of nowhere. The words that transport you and make you smile. And if you know how to make dialogue on the page stand out in memory the way spoken dialogue does, please let me know. I'm open to any and all tips.

 

Goin’ places that I’ve never been, seein’ things I may never see again

 I heard a philosophy professor on the radio, Agnes Callard, who famously wrote a piece for The New Yorker called “Against Travel”.  Her basic premise is that the actual, long-lasting benefits of travel are delusional.  All you’re doing is disturbing the lives of people who speak another language, spoiling the very places you profess to admire, while retaining nothing of any enduring value.  That discussing your travels is a type of virtue-signaling that pleases your ego and bores your listeners

Rarely have I disagreed with a person more than Professor Callard.   She has the right to her

opinion, and her feelings, which are hers and fairly held.  One of my best friends hates traveling.  He’s a brilliant, erudite, accomplished man.  We just don’t share the same convictions on this matter, just as I hated the original “Top Gun”, which he loved, and he heaps scorn on my cherished “Independence Day”. 

Callard maintains that “tourist” is a term you use to describe other people with suitcases who go running around the world, but not yourself.  Fair enough, since tourist is clearly a pejorative, often for good reason.  The assumption is these are people who travel badly: dress like slobs, hog scenic overlooks, yell at shopkeepers as if volume will overcome a language gap, gorge on unhealthy snacks and cheap tchotchkes, and fall off cliffs trying to take shareable selfies.  They clump together in their tour group, rarely mingle with the natives, pine for hometown meals and remain blissfully unaffected by the foreign country’s physical and cultural charms.  They’re dumb jerks over there, which means they’re likely dumb jerks over here, too. 

Asked if she’d give a pass to creative people, such as Gauguin in Tahiti, or Picasso in Paris, Professor Callard grudgingly gave an inch.  The thing is, the question itself is fraught with a certain elitist presumption.   A professional accountant, not encouraged to be overly creative, can be utterly entranced and enriched by visiting a new place.  I know this because my brother-in-law was a partner at Deloitte and Touche and was positively glowing after returning the other day from a cruise around Scandinavia.  He doesn’t have to be transformed into a different person, nor would he expect to be, but he now has a mind that’s fuller and more aware than before he hopped on that boat.

My wife spent a few weeks in Africa on safari in four different countries.  She thinks about it every day, and is always moved by the recollections.  Is she a different person?  Not exactly, but she would say she is more of a person, an expanded version.

Entranced, expanded and intellectually refreshed is how I’ve felt after visiting strange new lands.  Notably Japan, Australia, Alaska and Budapest.  You can only really grasp these places, however superficially, by going there.  Driving around the Australian state  of Victoria, I felt like I’d been dropped onto a different planet.  Vast grasslands punctuated by gigantic Eucalyptus, waves of Kangaroo streaming through the grass at startling speeds, a mountainous rainforest where you half expected a Tyrannosaurus to burst out of the tangled tree limbs and vines. 

You might not care to know that on one side of the River Danube is the city of Buda, and on the other side Pest.  By I do.

My wife and I always make a point of talking to people wherever we go, which mostly means conversations with bartenders, waiters and waitresses, cab drivers, bell hops and store clerks.  But these are people who live in their places, and they have a lot to tell you if you ask.  You don’t have to move in with a family to get the basic lay of the land.  People love talking about their lives and their homes.  You just have to engage. 

For creative people, the benefits of travel are self-evident.  James Joyce moved to Paris (along with Picasso, Dali, Hemingway, Stein, Pound, etc., etc.).  Orwell, John Singer Sargent, Joyce Cary, D.H. Lawrence and artists you’ve never heard of journeyed and lived all over the place.  Critics agree that their art was hugely influenced by the changes in venue.

Brain science can explain some of this.  When you’re in familiar surroundings, your mind can sort of relax and shove many basic mental functions down and away from the most cognitive, and energy consuming, portions of the brain, like the pre-frontal cortex.  When you’re in an entirely new environment, your survival instincts kick in, and you become hypervigilant.  Your brain literally gets extra busy.  You also instinctively compare your immediate experience with the well-known, which has the effect of bringing perspective to your life back home.  This is why James Joyce sat in a room in Paris and wrote about Dublin, why Lawrence wrote about English people in Italian villages and an adobe hut in Mexico. 

I love writing in places where I don’t speak much of the language. I’m in the midst of people having a pleasant time with no danger of being distracted by neighboring conversations.  All I have to say is café Americano et croque monsieur, or cervesa y patatas bravas, and I’m good to go.  I once wrote half a book over less than a week in joints hanging off the cliffsides of Positano.  It just gushed right out of me. 

Faulkner muddled through rarely leaving Oxford, Mississippi, my favorite philosopher Immanuel Kant barely budged from Königsberg, and Emily Dickinson basically never left her room, and they all did fine, though I still think those smart folks should have travelled more.  Dickinson’s poetry might have taken a different trajectory had she consumed a Philly cheese steak or punted on the Cam.  Kant’s belief in the tenuousness of objective reality might have been bolstered by meeting a platypus. 

As with all literary pursuits, there are prosaic travel writers who can recommend great hotels and ticketing hacks, and geniuses who happen to like a good amble.  For that, you can’t do better than Bill Bryson.  Or Paul Theroux, who I think went everywhere on the planet without ever relaxing his keen eye or joie de vivre.  Even Mark Twain, the Innocent Abroad who was anything but. 

Sorry, Professor Callard.  I’m sure you have other fine qualities, but on this issue you’re just dead wrong. 

Autumn's Poet, part 2

What connects poetic Halloween tales of terror, Little Orphan Annie, and Raggedy Ann and Andy dolls?

An Indiana poet and an actual little orphan nicknamed Allie. You’ve heard James Whitcomb Riley’s poem, famous for the iconic lines intended to be read aloud,

    The Gobble-ums will get you

    If you don’t watch out.

Little Orphant Annie
by James Whitcomb Riley

Little Orphant Annie’s come to our house to stay,
An’ wash the cups an’ saucers up, an’ brush the crumbs away,
An’ shoo the chickens off the porch, an’ dust the hearth, an’ sweep,
An’ make the fire, an’ bake the bread, an’ earn her board-an’-keep;

An’ all us other childern, when the supper-things is done,
We set around the kitchen fire an’ has the mostest fun
A-list’nin’ to the witch-tales ‘at Annie tells about,
An’ the Gobble-uns ‘at gits you
   Ef you
      Don’t
         Watch
            Out!

Orphant Annie illustration
by Ethel Franklin Betts

Annie was based upon a real orphan, Mary Alice ‘Allie’ Smith, a childhood companion of Riley. At age ten, James’ parents brought Allie into their house to clean, cook, and help their mother. She quickly became part of the family, which found her real talent was telling horror stories while sitting around the fire after dinner.

Riley’s ‘Frost is on the Punkin’ hinted at the supernatural, but the real Annie (Allie) happily tore into tales of terror replete with beheadings and other murders, according to Riley’s recollections. The children loved them.

Riley incorporated some of her tellings into poems and tales of his own. His muse didn’t realize she was his inspiration until her 60s, which she visited him. The girl certainly had an effect upon him.

Wunst they wuz a little boy wouldn’t say his prayers, —
An’ when he went to bed at night, away up-stairs,
His Mammy heerd him holler, an’ his Daddy heerd him bawl,
An’ when they turn’t the kivvers down, he wuzn’t there at all!

An’ they seeked him in the rafter-room, an’ cubby-hole, an’ press,
An’ seeked him up the chimbly-flue, an’ ever’-wheres, I guess;
But all they ever found wuz thist his pants an’ roundabout: —
An’ the Gobble-uns‘ll git you
   Ef you
      Don’t
         Watch
            Out!

Until the 1900s, children were often treated as undersized adults. In line with that view, children’s stories were written as cautionary tales, ‘who’s naughty or nice’ morality plays. Many times children’s stories featured blood and guts, horrible events, and murder.

The poem is surprisingly complex for a children’s work. It utilizes alliteration, dialect, onomatopoeia, ordinary rhyme, parallels, and phonetic intensifiers brought together in iambic meter.

The work went by several titles including ‘The Elf Child’ before an accident changed the name to Orphant Annie. A typesetter spelled the title wrong. Riley initially wanted it corrected to Orphan Allie, but the poem’s reception and increasing popularity persuaded him to leave it alone.

An’ one time a little girl ‘ud allus laugh an’ grin,
An’ make fun of ever’ one, an’ all her blood-an’-kin;
An’ wunst, when they was “company,” an’ ole folks wuz there,
She mocked ‘em an’ shocked ‘em, an’ said she didn’t care!

An’ thist as she kicked her heels, an’ turn’t to run an’ hide,
They wuz two great big Black Things a-standin’ by her side,
An’ they snatched her through the ceilin’ ‘fore she knowed what she’s about.
An’ the Gobble-uns‘ll git you
   Ef you
      Don’t
         Watch
            Out!

The actual orphan muse
Mary Alice ‘Allie’ Smith

‘Little Orphan Annie’ became a silent movie. A reading was cut on early phonograph records. It provided inspiration for songs, musicals, films, television and radio broadcasts.

• In 1911, American composer Margaret Hoberg Turrell composed an arrangement for choir.
• Harold Gray’s comic strip, Little Orphan Annie with the trademark hollow eyes, and the Broadway show, Annie, based their titles and initial plot premise on Riley’s poem.
• Johnny Gruelle’s Raggedy Ann and Andy characters and part of the story line were based on Riley’s poem.
• The 21 September 1972 second episode (S01E02) ‘The Carnival’ of the CBS television series The Waltons featured John Boy Walton reading Little Orphant Annie to Jim Bob and Elizabeth.
• Other television programs have referenced ‘Little Orphans Annie’ including Cracking Up: The Darrell Hammond Story and the series Getting On.
• Little girls in Texas Killing Fields recited the poem whilst skipping rope.
• Dean Koontz’s 2004 novel The Taking featured the same premise as the previous stanza written 140 years ago.

An’ little Orphant Annie says, when the blaze is blue,
An’ the lamp-wick sputters, an’ the wind goes woo-oo!
An’ you hear the crickets quit, an’ the moon is gray,
An’ the lightnin’-bugs in dew is all squenched away, —

You better mind yer parunts, an’ yer teachurs fond an’ dear,
An’ churish them ‘at loves you, an’ dry the orphant’s tear,
An’ he’p the pore an’ needy ones ‘at clusters all about,
Er the Gobble-uns‘ll git you
   Ef you
      Don’t
         Watch
            Out!

And that, my young friends, is the story behind the story. Remember,

The Gobble-ums will get you

If you don’t watch out!

---

Adventures in Strandland

Three things prompted me to write this column today. One was a kind email last week from a writer in the Balkans saying he had read one of my SleuthSayers posts about mystery markets and asking if I had any updated advice about those, the second was a conversation I had the other day with old friend Rob Lopresti about mystery publications, and the third was the recent announcement that the wonderful Mystery Magazine was calling it quits.

All this got me to thinking about how relatively few mystery markets are still out there these days, and which of those have been the most helpful to me, over the years. Now that Mystery Magazine is no more, those are (again, in my case) AHMM, EQMM, Strand Magazine, Black Cat Mystery Magazine, Black Cat Weekly, Sherlock Holmes Mystery Magazine, and (if you consider them a mystery market) Woman's World. For that matter, Black Cat Weekly isn't solely a mystery magazine either, but that's what almost all my BCW stories have been.

Which brings us, in a roundabout way, to today's post. A few weeks ago, my story "Welcome to Armadillo" was published in the new issue of Strand Magazine. It's a private eye story, but a bit different, in several ways. For one thing, my PI spends far more time in this story running from killers than he does in detecting anything, although the skills of his job do help him to survive the tale. Another thing is, one of the people intent on killing him is his own wife. (Have you noticed that very few fictional private detectives are happily married?) Also, though I guess it doesn't matter, this particular guy is new, and not one of my series PIs. 

Much of the fun I had in writing this story came from the four or five major plot reversals that happen in the course of the story and from a number of characters I grew to like so much I hated to leave them when I wrote END. The story features betrayals, shootings, stabbings, marital infidelity, political corruption, a bomb threat, a cross-country bus ride, killers for hire, rattlesnakes, drug trafficking, a birthday celebration, a jailbird bent on revenge, a guy abandoned in the middle of the desert, and a roadside cafe. (For some reason, several of my recent stories have featured diners and other restaurants; never let it be said that I allow my hardworking characters to go hungry.) 

This story also marked sort of a "first" for me: This was my sixth story in a row to be published by the Strand. I'm not sure I've ever had stories in six consecutive issues of a magazine before, and I would like to think this is the beginning of a trend. With most of the magazines I submit stories to, I'm more accustomed to having half a dozen issues published in a row without one of my stories in them. So I'm enjoying that while I can.

My other most recent publication was a short story that had appeared in Best Mystery Stories of the Year 2024 and then showed up a week or two ago in that anthology's UK edition Best Crime Stories of the Year. That story, "Last Day at the Jackrabbit," also has ties to Strand Magazine--it first appeared in their Spring 2023 issue.

Back on the subject of current mystery markets, I would encourage you to try submitting to them all, including some that I didn't list. I often find that a story rejected at one market can later be accepted at one of the others. I'll close with two tips: (1) don't spend too much time trying to make sense of the selection process--that way lies madness--and (2) don't worry if your story isn't a traditional whodunit mystery. Very few of mine are. If your story contains a crime, that's all you need, for these markets. 

Questions: If you're a short-story writer, which mystery magazines do you submit to most often? Which ones do you tend to try first, second, third, etc.? Which magazines have proven to be the best match for the kind of stories you write? Do you--as I do--find yourself writing less for magazines nowadays, and more for anthologies? I welcome you to share your experiences and thoughts on all this, in the comments.

Meanwhile, keep writing!