Author: Elizabeth Spann Craig

My daughter’s best friend is Natalie. Natalie’s parents moved here from South America nine years ago.

I always enjoy going to their house. I think it’s because I’m so aware how different we are. We have lots of similarities, too, but I feel like such a gringo when I visit there.

The Spanish I know came from Sesame Street in the early 1970s. They speak excellent English.

I’m always in a tearing hurry when I arrive there—I’m either there for two minutes because I’m on my way to something else, or I quickly realize something that I need to do. They move at a very slow-pace. I must appear like I have ADHD to them.

I can go there at any point during the day and something wonderful is cooking. And the most exotic aromas are wafting out of the kitchen. If you come to my house, unless it’s a crockpot day, I probably haven’t figured out my plan for supper yet.

When I went to a party at their house recently, their jaws dropped when I started to help clean up their kitchen after supper. They were very uncomfortable with that, although they were smiling politely. I realized that none of their Hispanic guests were cleaning…in fact, they were looking at me with a rather puzzled expression.

Although I’m the same exact person at Natalie’s house, I feel different. I’m very aware how different I am from them, in a nice way. When I’m with other busy moms, I’m very similar to them all. I may be the only writing mom in the group, but I’m not the only frantic mom who is doing too many different things at once. At Natalie’s house, I’m the exotic person. Which makes it interesting.

When we move out of our comfort zone, our days can go in completely different directions. I usually end up sitting down and visiting and having a bite of something delicious that I can’t pronounce and have never eaten before.

It’s only natural for most people to congregate with people who share a similar mindset and background. We do tend to set up tribes with like-minded people. But I think it’s good for us as writers to grow a little bit.

I look at my characters and they tend to colonize with similar types, too. They hang out with family, and their circle of friends. And, of course, a killer. :) I do write mysteries.

I’ve realized that when someone radically different or an outsider is introduced in my books, they usually end up dead.

This is a challenge for series writing. On the one hand, series readers usually enjoy checking back in with their favorite characters. But we also need to keep it fresh and different—mix things up a little so our protagonist isn’t hanging out with the same people all the time.

If I feel like I’m growing a little every time I make a new friend (especially a friend who’s so different from me), then it’s got to be good for character growth, too. Especially for a series.

It was a great Thanksgiving. Our family enjoyed a trip to South Carolina to visit my parents.

My sister stayed in the Charlotte area to have dinner with her husband’s family there. I’ll be catching up with her in a couple of days.

My sister and I, although we get along really well together, are absolutely nothing alike.

I’m very introverted; she’s very extroverted. She chose a job in the financial sector where she deals with numbers daily. I chose to work with words, instead. She claims she has no creativity at all; I got more than my fair share. She is extremely coordinated and was a serious ballet and modern dancer in college. I have a hard time walking and chewing gum at the same time and staircases remain a major challenge for me.

Most of those things are just genetic flukes. But there are definitely some behavioral differences that I believe result from the fact that I’m first-born and she’s second.

Birth order has always interested me. I read a book on it a few years ago and was surprised at some of the book’s claims. It stated that we frequently befriend people who share our birth order—we may not know their birth order, but we’re attracted to our common traits.

But, stated the book, we usually marry partners who don’t share our birth order. Opposites can attract, when it comes to romance.

I thought it was a load of hooey—but it just so happens that all my closest friends are first borns. My husband is a second-born.

I’m always interested in gaining a little insight into my characters or making them stronger. Birth order isn’t something I mention in my books, but the traits can be useful when inventing characters and studying personality traits.

(Oh, am I stirring up trouble! Now y’all….there are exceptions. And this isn’t necessarily scientific. But here goes. This is from the British paper, The Guardian.):

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Oldest children

Typically responsible, confident and conscientious, they are more likely to mirror their parents’ beliefs and attitudes, and often choose to spend more time with adults. Oldest children are often natural leaders, and their role at work may reflect this.

Because they are more likely to have authority over younger siblings, or take on the role of surrogate parent, they have a tendency to be bossy and want things to be done their way. Oldest children can be perfectionists and worriers, and may put pressure on themselves to succeed.

Middle children

Likely to be adaptable, diplomatic and good at bringing people together, middle children are often popular and patient. However, because their role in the family changes from youngest to middle, it is thought that they often struggle to establish a clear role for themselves, and many go through a period of rebellion.

Middle children can be competitive: they do not have the time on their own with their parents that oldest children enjoy, and their role as the baby of the family is supplanted, so they have to find other ways of getting their parents’ attention.

Youngest children

Charming, impulsive and good at getting their own way, the youngest child’s role as baby of the family means that he or she is likely to be indulged. This may mean fewer responsibilities and more opportunities for fun, but youngest children often find that they aren’t taken as seriously or given the independence they crave. Youngest children often rebel as a way of distinguishing themselves from older brothers and sisters. They are more likely to take risks, and often choose a career that is different from other members of their family.

Only children

Only children enjoy the same parental attention as first-borns and are often confident, conscientious and socially mature, due to the amount of time they spend in a largely adult world. They may have a tendency to assume that others know how they are feeling, or think the same way as they do, without question. They may be dependent on their parents for longer than other children, spending more time at home and delaying decisions about their future.

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These results, obviously, change in very large families, or if there is a large gap between children.

I will say that a lot of the above is related to family dynamics and how the parents treat each individual child.

But it’s interesting. And, for me, it’s fun to find perspectives on what motivates and drives my characters.

On a separate note, please pop over and see my fun interview at the Book Resort today. Thanks!

The fantasy: I knock out a ton of writing at the beginning of the day.

The reality: I’m frequently distracted by email when I first wake up. It seems vital to me that I respond immediately. This takes some time and then abruptly, it’s time to drive the school carpools.

The fantasy: A picturesque writing cottage in a lovely village is my inspiring retreat as I pen timeless masterpieces that will be studied by collegians for generations.

The reality: I write on the go. I frequently write in the car, pediatricians’ or vets’ waiting rooms, the playground (while trying to ensure my daughter is not abducted by strangers) and carpool lines. I’m a paperback mystery writer…fun stuff that’s a good escape. Not exactly The Divine Comedy, though.

The fantasy: After a restful night in the arms of Morpheus, I scribble quickly as my personal Muse prattles on and on.

The reality: I’m a raging insomniac. I rarely sleep more than 3 hours straight. The Muse is never there; I have apparently deeply offended her, so I’m left to my own devices.

The fantasy: I write perfect prose while keeping an immaculate house, neatly attired children, and providing nutritious suppers.

The reality: I write decent first drafts. Draft ten, however, is much better. The house looks fine unless you look too closely (which I don’t advise. Please back away from the refrigerator, sir.) The children do usually pass muster. Supper is hit or miss. Occasionally we’ll have a special occasion, which I call Breakfast for Supper –a charming name for Eggos, cereal, bananas, and pre-cooked bacon. (Oddly, this meal is a tremendous hit with my husband and children.)

The fantasy: A fan of my series approaches me with great excitement, burbling with admiration about my appearance on the Today show.

The reality: I’m recognized by someone who read a write-up in the local paper. Unfortunately, I’d just finished a grueling day of yard work in 95 degree Southern sun. I hardly even recognized myself.

The fantasy: I write for myself at all times. Anything less would be selling out.

The reality: I write for my editors and my readers. Anything less and I would not be selling at all.

The fantasy: I am living my dream.

The reality: I am living my dream. In the real world.

I’m taking a three day break from blogging to celebrate Thanksgiving with family. Hope you all have a wonderful Thanksgiving and will enjoy these older posts of mine. :) All the best to my non-American friends, too! This post originally ran May 13, 2009.

I’m still in the point of my life where I’m reading a lot of Brothers Grimm and Hans Christian Andersen. Sometimes I even feel like I’m continuing the storytelling tradition by retelling the tales to my kids sans books.

No matter how often I read and tell these stories, the kids are caught up in them.

What I’ve learned from fairy tales:

Start out right in the middle of the action: Jack and his mother are out of food at the beginning of Jack and the Beanstalk. So Jack goes off to sell the old cow, the last saleable asset, for their very survival.

If you start out with an ordinary day, it should abruptly veer off course (and pretty quickly.) Red Riding Hood was on a run-of-the-mill trip to Grandma’s house before ill-advisedly chatting with a wolf. In Goldilocks and the Three Bears, the bears had some hot food that needed to cool–and the need to walk off a few pounds. It was a normal morning for the bears until that naughty Goldilocks broke into their cottage and started destroying their furniture.

Limit the number of characters: Fairy tales have only a handful, suitable for easy retelling through the generations. And, yes, the stories are super-short. But think how memorable these characters are.

Characters’ shortcomings can contribute to their downfalls: Yes, the wolf was a terrible antagonist for the Three Little Pigs. But two of the pigs were brought down just as much by their own failure—laziness. Obviously, brick building matter was available, but they decided to go the easy route with twigs and straw. Little Red Riding Hood shouldn’t have talked to strangers. The poor villager should never have bragged to the king that his daughter could spin straw into gold. Peter’s habit of lying nearly caused him to be devoured by a wolf.

Greed is a powerful motivator: The people of Hamelin didn’t pay the Pied Piper for ridding them of their rats; he lured off their children in retaliation. Jack’s greed (he went back up the beanstalk several times to steal additional items from the giant) nearly killed him.

Before an attack, have tension build steadily. We know something that Little Red Riding Hood doesn’t know—she’s in the room with a ravenous wolf. The tension builds as Red comes slowly toward the bed. “Grandma! What big eyes you have!” Jack hides in an oven while the giant bellows, “Fee-fi-fo-fum!” It’s not a jumping-out-at-you kind of fear. We hear the giant’s heavy steps, see Red come closer to the wolf to peer at her ‘grandma.’ Waiting for the inevitable attack creates painstaking tension.

Have the protagonist save himself by using his wits. Now this isn’t always the case in fairy tales. Yes, the woodsman saved Red and Grandma. And Bluebeard’s wife was saved by her brothers. But in many cases, there wasn’t some last-minute savior. In Three Billy Goats Gruff, the goats outwitted the troll by repeatedly promising him that a better meal was on its way to the bridge. In Hansel and Gretel, Hansel tricked the nearsighted witch by sticking out a small bone leftover from a meal to prove to the witch he wasn’t fat enough for her to eat. The pig with the brick house was one step ahead of the wolf: realizing he was going to try to enter via the chimney, he anticipated the attack and boiled a large pot of water.

When the characters save themselves, the result is much more satisfying.

When I’m reading fairy tales to the kids, I sometimes think I’m getting more out of it than they are. Sharing the stories is a good experience for both of us.

I’m taking a three day break from blogging to celebrate Thanksgiving with family. Hope you all have a wonderful Thanksgiving and will enjoy these older posts of mine. :) This post originally ran July 17, 2009

Isn’t it funny what sticks in your head sometimes?

You’d think that holiday memories would be comprised of some really Martha Stewart moments of hearth and home. A beautiful centerpiece, an exquisite meal. Perfectly compatible relatives conversing in harmony at the table.

I don’t know about you, but my memories are more along the lines of Thanksgiving mayhem.

Pop by and share your favorite holiday craziness at the Mystery Lovers’ Kitchen blog today.