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I thought I’d do a follow-up post on my radio/podcast experience yesterday at Red River Writers. I’m giving y’all the link but be advised I sound really, really quiet there right now! I promise I have a big voice. :) Really! I don’t even usually need a mike when I talk. Maybe they can tinker with the audio a little bit. In the meantime, you could turn up the volume a bit and hear me a smidgeon.

As usual, life was completely chaotic before I went on the air. I was emailing Barbara Ehrentreu about 45 minutes before the show, ironing out some last-minute details. I suddenly got a text from my son: “Help me.”

I text back. “What’s wrong?!”

“Feel sick.”

“Why r u txting during class? Can u hold on?” The dismissal bell was only45 minutes off.

Then it was time to run out the door and pick up the drama class carpool. They ran 10 minutes behind.

Get home at the same time as my nauseated son, who arrives home via carpool. He goes up to bed and goes to sleep.

I tell my 8 year old to please not bother me. Mama is going to be on the radio. Please do bother me if the house is on fire or if you start bleeding profusely. Please, please don’t bother me any other time!

I put the corgi, who gets excited sometimes, out in the backyard.

I lock my bedroom door.

I was going to get in the walk in closet, but then I decided the landline phone would be better than the cordless.

I had a glass of water. I had a couple of notes. I think that under pressure I could potentially forget the name of my book.

Everyone was really nice and Karen Hunter was really interesting to listen to.

About halfway through, I hear some tapping at my door. Which I ignore. The tapping continues. I continue ignoring it, and speak even louder on the phone, indicating that I’m busy to the little person on the other side of my bedroom door. I see no flames coming beneath my bedroom door or pools of blood seeping underneath, so I’m assuming that whatever is happening on the other side of the door is not an emergency.

The corgi starts barking in the backyard. I shut my window really quick.

After wrapping up the show, I open my door. My daughter was dying to tell me that she had unlocked something on the Wii video game. Yes. That’s what she wanted to tell me.

“Sweetie! I told you Mama was on the radio!”

“But you weren’t. You were on the phone!”

So my only advice as a newbie radio interviewee? Be really clear with children about what you’re doing. REALLY clear. Reconsider that closet to call in from. Talk louder than normal. And have fun. :)

  Barbara Ehrentreu who has a great blog for writers, Barbara’s Meanderings, very thoughtfully invited me to be interviewed by her on the Red River Writers podcast.  The interview will run live at 4 p.m. EST (3 p.m. CDT).

LIVE! Because I’m calling in at 4:00 to the show.  From my house.  My house which goes berserk at promptly 4:00 every day.

I’m thinking about doing this radio interview from my closet. I’ll let you know how that works. 

More information on Red River Writers: http://www.blogtalkradio.com/RedRiverWritersLive

Wish me luck. 

I was always a writer, like many writers are. I was the elementary school class reporter, the middle school reporter, the high school reporter and worked on the literary magazine. That was my extracurricular activity of choice.

So I was in London, working for a weekly magazine. My editor, John, was a nervous, hyper, chain-smoking fellow. I wrote whatever they wanted me to: I interviewed people, reviewed books, wrote articles on “slimming,” whatever. I was waaayyyy down on the totem pole, but they were all really nice to me.

One day John came to me in a panic. It was deadline day and somehow they’d come up short when they were laying out the copy.

“I need,” he said as he dashed up behind my rolling chair, “a story. Right now.”

“On….?” I asked.

“Spring fashions. Yeah. London’s spring fashions.” He dashed off again—this time out the door.

Well, I was in a fix. This was before the internet. Okay, yes, there was internet in the early 90s, but it was in some government building somewhere and the computer it was running on was as big as a city block or something.

At that moment I realized that nonfiction could be a major pain in the rear end. I was recently off the plane from America. I don’t follow fashion. I didn’t have any contacts to call up.

So…I made it up as I went along. It was my opinion of what the trends would be in London–heavily influenced by the trends in South Carolina, USA. Oh, I did look out the window for a few minutes to see what people were wearing as they walked down the street, but that was about it.

I continued working for different magazines after that, but I was a whole lot more interested in making things up full-time.

I chose fiction and my genre because that’s what I read. I’d read so many of them, I knew I could write my own.

I still write articles occasionally and they’re challenging in their own way. But…it’s actually easier for me to make stuff up.

Have you ever changed from fiction to nonfiction or vice versa? Did you like them both equally? Have you found your niche? Are you happy with it?

Lasagna at the Mystery Lovers’ Kitchen today, y’all! Run over and help your plates…

I’m one of those people who usually likes to go with the flow. I think that’s because I’m in a writing fog half the day. But once I come down off my happy imaginary high, reality hits. And once I get my hackles up, watch out.

I’ve unfortunately been on a roll the past week of problems that needed to be addressed. The tipping point for each thing, the bit that spurred me into action? My children, each time.

It started with a group my son volunteers for. It was a school night, the day before a test. Pouring down rain, very chilly. He was with some other middle school boys, removing a barbeque pit that they’d help set up the week before for their yearly barbeque sale to raise funds for the group.

He had a nasty cold. Two hours into the mandatory volunteer work in the cold rain, I called his cell phone. “I’m on my way to get you.”

“Mom—they said I’m not allowed to go.”

“Well, I think you’ve done well to work for two hours. I’m going to pick you up and you can work on studying for your test tomorrow.”

“Mom—he says I’m not excused. We have another hour to go.”

A pause.

“Tell this gentleman your Mama wants to talk to him.”

A moment and a quick conversation later and suddenly it was absolutely fine that I could pick up my 12 year old so he could study for his math test.

Ohhh, I hate to act ugly. Why is it that the squeaky wheel gets the grease?

Confrontations or getting ready for a confrontation is stressful to me. I’m a very different person when I’m stressed out or angry.

My characters reach their tipping points, too. Everybody has something that’s going to set them off. In a mystery, that straw that broke the camel’s back could result in a murder.

As I’ve mentioned before, our characters are stressed out. Their lives are completely upside-down. I wrote about the way the confusion they might feel a few posts ago. Yes, they would feel very taken aback at the way their lives were running completely off track.

But what about stress? What kinds of things might a character do under stress?

• They could say something they shouldn’t have said. This could cause a ripple effect in many ways but could especially create a rift between characters during an argument.
• Stress could cause them to briefly act out of character. Have you got a well-controlled, polite character? Reacting to a stressful situation could make their temper flare up and open up some plot possibilities.
• A character might drink too much under stress. This could create a whole host of other problems and conflicts in our plots. They might start a bad habit, like smoking, again.
• They could react in a very wholesome way—increasing the amount of exercise they’re getting, watching what they eat, and trying to work in more sleep. (But really, what fun is that to write with? :) )

In my murder mysteries, stress causes my murderer to kill again. Naturally, the killer wants to remain unknown and will eliminate anyone who knows his identity.

Stress causes my suspects to point the finger at other suspects—who had been their friends prior to the murder investigation.

Character stress causes arguments and conflicts in my small town settings and old grievances bubble up to the surface again.

Got stress?

I had a problem with one of my kitchen cabinets for over a week.

The problem was that when I opened the door to the cabinet, Pyrex dishes and Tupperware flung themselves at me. “$%#$#$!!!” I’d say, but would end up stuffing the glassware and plastic back in there with one hand while pulling out whatever it was that I needed.

The next day was a repeat. I’d open the cabinet and, “^#%$R#$#!!!!” once again.

Yes, I had a whole week of getting assaulted by my own cookware. Each day I’d have to stop what I was doing to work around this problem.

Finally I actually got a clue, opened both doors to the cabinet, sat on the floor, and looked at the problem critically. Oh. Two round pitchers on the bottom of everything. Yes, that’ll do it. Round things aren’t good to put a collection of 9 x 13 inch glass casserole dishes and stacks of Tupperware on. Once I took out the pitchers, my problem was over.

I have this scene in my next Myrtle Clover book that was the same way. Every time I read over the scene in my revisions, I’d frown at it. Something wasn’t right. But I never really stopped to find out what the problem was—I just skipped right over it and kept on reading. Whatever it was wasn’t too egregious, but it just wasn’t right.

Then I looked at it critically. I’d obviously liked the scene when I put it in. But now:

*It seemed awkward
*The actions of the protagonist seemed out of character.
*And—the kicker—it didn’t further the plot that much. I’d already accomplished the point I was trying to make in an earlier scene. It seemed like I was belaboring the point.

Thanks to the magic of computers, I cut out the scene and pasted it on a blank document, in case I wanted it back. Then I read over those pages again, this time without the scene.

Much better.

I think sometimes it could possibly mean the scene isn’t in the right location—too early in the story or too late in the story. Or maybe you’ve written in some scenes in the revision process that made the old scene unnecessary and redundant.

Either way, when something is popping out at me, I’m going to pay attention for a few minutes to correct it.