The Day I Accidentally Walked 20 Miles

by Alafair Burke

This has been a joyous week for me, thanks to a visit from one of my BFF’s who recently left New York (boo!) for an academic position elsewhere. It has also been an active week. See, here’s the thing about people who know and love New York, but who are limited to occasional visits: They have a tendency to pack a month’s worth of their favorite routines into a single day. And, thanks to my friend’s kamakaze fly-by, I had the pleasure of living one of those days.

We didn’t set out to walk twenty miles. The morning began simply enough with a morning stroll with my french bullog, the Duffer.

We walked through the west village to the river up through the Meatpacking District, then back over through Chelsea to my place near Union Square. We picked up Starbucks and Bagel Bobs along the way. Stopped in Washington Square Park to snack.

But then we dropped off the Duffer and realized it was still only ten in the morning on what we’d sworn would be a true no-work day. Soon enough, my friend’s friend happened to call. He needed someone to help carry a new art acquisition from a Chelsea Gallery to his loft in the fashion district. Off we went, back to Chelsea.

By the time we finished moving the canvas, it was time for lunch. Back to the Meatpacking District. Bloody mary and a dozen oysters outside = yummy. Pitstop to the Apple Store for my handy, dandy, and completely unnecessary iPad. Woot!

Next on the route was SoHo, requiring a stroll down from the Meatpacking District through the west village. In SoHo, we hit six different furniture stores, researching the perfect pull-out sofa. Turns out, there’s no such thing.

Suddenly it was five-thirty. Back to the apartment for a quick shower before catching our Broadway play, Next Fall (marvelous, by the way). Small post-theater snack and glass of wine at the lovely Aureole. Subway back to Union Square. Still hungry. One a.m. stop at the late-night taco truck for corn tortillas and Horchata. By the time I checked my Bodybugg, we had logged just over twenty miles!

I went to bed exhausted. And really, really full. And incredibly inspired.

A few weeks ago, I wrote about my need to walk away from the keyboard and free my brain when I really need big-picture creative inspiration. Based on my near-marathon city walk, I now believe those walks away from the desk should always be through the city I now love and write about.

Among the various quotidian details, all inspired by my long walk, that you’ll likely find scattered through my next novel:

The New York foodie’s never-ending search for the best food trucks:

The chess-game culture of Washington Square Park:

The way a texting New York pedestrian will slam into another human being and then scream at that person for being in the way:

The Highline, an elevated park with a uniquely Manhattan blend of industrial chic and actual nature:

The Standard Hotel, whose floor-to-ceiling windows above the Highline have proven irrestible to exhibitionists:

And, not sure this will make the book, but I did learn that there is a chair called the “Do Hit Chair.” Price: $8,000, or $15,000 if beaten by the actual artist. I’m not making that up.

Best of all, I somehow came home with a major plot point magically worked through. A day of friendship, a plot development, new energy about the urban landscape of my books, and three thousand calories burned to-boot. I’d say my hooky day turned out to be productive after all.

Has a play day ever turned into inspiration for you?

It’s Been a Busy Week . . .

By Allison Brennan

Once again, Alex has a brilliant post about spiritual themes, analyzing one of my all-time favorite movies, THE MATRIX. And I have to blog after her. Sometimes, life is not fair . . .

I’ve had an unusually busy week (okay, nine days.) Last Friday was my daughter’s 14th birthday. (Happy Birthday Kelly!) The day started out unusual enough–I toured Folsom State Prison with the FBI Citizens Academy alumni. Fellow thriller author and all-around great guy James Rollins was there as well (as a guest, not a prisoner) and I think we both enjoyed the three hour tour (fortunately, we didn’t get stranded.) I blogged about it on Thursday at Murder She Writes.

After the tour, I rushed (not speeding) to my kids’ school to pick up the birthday girl for her special one-on-one birthday lunch, after which I took her to a track meet 45 minutes away. After the meet, we made it home by 7:30 to have cake and open presents . . .

The weekend was spent finishing the rough draft of LOVE ME TO DEATH, which I sent off to my editor at about 2:30 Monday morning. Well, the last 75 pages . . . the rest I’d sent a week before, so she’d finished and was ready for the very rough ending. Later that day, we talked for two hours about the book, what worked, what didn’t, and I got the manuscript back with comments. I mulled over her comments for a couple days, caught up on things I neglected when I was rushing to finish the first draft, and started revisions on Wednesday.

I love revisions. Some authors apparently dread them, but honestly, every book I’ve written is better because of editorial input. I think some people, especially if they’ve never been through this process, or maybe had a strict editor, think that revisions mean that the author has to make every change the editor suggests. My editor rarely says to change specifics–she tells me what she likes and what’s not working; where the pacing is slow or too fast; characters that are weak; and places to increase the emotion . . . among much more.

For example, in this book (being vague here so I don’t give anything away!) my editor had some questions on how my characters learned specific information, so it was obvious I wasn’t clear enough earlier. She felt that one of my main characters started strong, but fizzled when my hero came on scene and because they are both important to the suspense plot, I need to balance them better after the first third of the book. I also had a scene that is important but drew attention to itself because of over-description. And my primary villain–I’m writing a first person POV villain for the first time. I feared that was going to be the weak parts (I’ve never written first person before.) Fortunately, it worked–but she wanted him introduced earlier and add more scenes from his POV because he is such a strong villain.

A lot of these things I’d sensed, but couldn’t pinpoint while writing the manuscript. Perhaps, if I had time to put the book aside for a few weeks and then re-read with fresh eyes, I’d see the problems. But being on a tight schedule, I don’t have that luxury. My editor, however, never tells me how to fix problems–she helps identify them and then I can talk them through with her as needed. But the remedies, the fixes, are all mine.

A classic example I’ve used when speaking about the value of editorial input is when I was revising THE KILL, my third book. I was still a very new author and struggling with the revision process (mostly in finding my own path.) There’s a scene where the villain had the heroine hostage in a car (the heroine is forced to drive) and the hero and FBI Agent are following. They’re driving down a winding mountain road and the killer has a gun on the heroine. The scene plays out pretty quickly, and the villain is apprehended.

My editor felt the scene had a lot much tension and high stakes and it ended too quickly, and suggested that my heroine go for the gun. I didn’t see how that would work, but I agreed with her that the scene was too short. I role-played with my husband, trying to get the water gun from his hand while in the car, and in every scene I ended up dead. It would not be the smart thing to do while driving down a winding mountain road–and my heroine was very uncomfortable around guns. But she WOULD try to get away, knowing that she’d be dead if she went with him, and may live if she jumped from the car.

So I had her slam on the brakes and open the door, trying to jump from the vehicle, but the villain pulls her back inside. He’d dropped the gun when she slammed on the brakes, but now he has a knife in hand and it’s at her throat. I was able to draw out the scene and increase the tension.

My point here is that good editors know when a scene has problems. They don’t always know how to fix it. That’s why I always listen when my editor is struggling with something, because that means my readers will struggle. But ultimately, it’s up to me to find a solution that fits with my characters and logic.

So I was very excited to start! But first on Tuesday, I editing the synopsis for the second Lucy book and sent that off to my agent. I’d written it awhile back, but now that I was done with the first book, there were a lot of changes. Not that I’ll ever look at the synopsis again. That would be too much like . . . plotting.

Wednesday and half of Thursday I worked on the revisions . . . only I had to put the book aside early. I’d agreed awhile back to speak to the third graders at my son’s school. It was a blast. The kids were enthusiastic, they love reading, they asked great questions, and I had fun talking about the two things I love most: reading and writing. We talked a lot about perseverance (one of their themes this year) and working hard when you want something, whether it’s learning to play baseball or the piano or writing a book. There’s nothing to stop you except you. Third grade is a great age–too young for most of the drama and brattiness, but old enough to understand hard work and dreams. So enthusiastic about the future. I love this time!

While I tried to write at night, it proved impossible. And on Friday, I went to my kindergartner’s Mother’s Day breakfast where we ate, drank coffee, and listened to them sing. Yes, most of us moms were crying. My littlest guy is a hoot. There was a dance, and while he was dancing with me, he kept looking over at his “best friend” — a little girl. I asked him if he wanted to dance with her, and he started off . . . I pulled him back, saying she wanted to dance with her mom. But he wouldn’t stop looking over his shoulder, trying to catch her eye! LOL.

And also on Friday, my third grader turned nine . . . and my daughter had her last track meet, the final meet. She came in third in two events (the mile and the 4X400m) and did great! After the meet we rushed home to . . . you guessed it! Presents and cake. While my mom watched the two little kids, my husband took the birthday boy to the fish store to pick out fish for our new tank.

Then came Saturday, the party. Thirteen kids between the ages of 4 and 9, ten of them boys, at my house. Tired, but not completely out, I took the two oldest teens (14 and 16) plus one of their friends to see NIGHTMARE ON ELM STREET. Great remake. I really enjoyed it, especially since I thought the storyline was more believable than the original, and because of that more scary (more suspenseful while being less gory, though I haven’t seen the original in more than 20 years so my recollection is poor.) The new version used a lot of the same elements as the old one (boyfriend accused of murdering one of the victims; Nancy seeing her friend in a body bag; among others) there were fresh twists and a different crime for Krueger. Worth seeing if you like horror.

And now it’s Sunday. Well, for me, late Saturday night! For Mother’s Day, after church we’re going grocery shopping, then home, then an early dinner out with the kids and my mom. Probably some games when we get back.

Today is my last day off. Not only am I eager to get back to my revisions, the deadline looms two weeks away. Enough time, but it’s ticking . . . and there’s the next book, waiting for me to start writing.

Happy Mothers Day to all the mom’s reading this!

Breaking through the Matrix

by Alexandra Sokoloff

The Matrix is a movie I’ve been thinking about a lot as I work on my new book. Not just because the story pattern of my book is a Chosen One story – not as blatantly so as The Matrix is, but thera are some crossovers, especially the strong Mentor/Student relationship.

But also, as I’ve written about here recently, I’ve been doing a lot of inner work and exploration, and The Matrix is just overflowing with enlightenment metaphors and imagery from different spiritual traditions. I screened the film for a workshop I was teaching in Sonoma recently and people were just amazed at how many religious references they could see, once they were actually looking for thematic images.

These days I am very enamored of the idea that what we think of as reality is just a construct designed to enslave us and prevent us from seeing the world as it really is. And people as they really are.

(Of course as writers we break through the Matrix every day and create our own realities.)

But I’m also inspired by how The Matrix, a wildly popular sci fi action/adventure thriller, managed to get away with so much spirituality. The interesting thing is that I don’t think you have to understand the spiritual references to feel that there’s a transcendent and important struggle going on in that film. The filmmakers were passionately committed to telling a spiritual story, and it plays for millions of people, on many different levels. Now THAT is something to aspire to.

So since I’m in teaching mode (doing a workshop for First Coast Romance Writers in Jacksonville this weekend…), here’s my first act analysis of The Matrix (which I’ll continue on my own blog next week.)

Genre-wise, The Matrix crosses Sci-fi with Action. But the KIND of story it is, is a King Arthur, Chosen One, or Messiah story, like Harry Potter (all of them) and Star Wars (the original, and original trilogy) and The Lord of the Rings.

While the question about Harry Potter is: “Is he good or is he bad?” – the big question about Neo in the Matrix is – “Is he or is he not The One?” The question is voiced in the first few lines of the movie: “Morpheus believes he is The One.” “Do you?… You don’t, do you?”

———————————————————————————————————————

The Matrix, written and directed by Larry & Andy Wachowski

ACT ONE

SEQUENCE ONE: SET UP (17 min).

OPENING IMAGE – computer code. This of course is a reference to what The Matrix actually is: a virtual reality program. (And btw, it’s the intro to the MAIN ANTAGONIST – which is the enslaving Matrix). (FORCES OF ANTAGONISM).

We hear Trinity and Cypher talking; they are watching someone, and Cypher asks her the question, “Do you think he is The One?”

Trinity has a sudden suspicion the phone is tapped and hangs up. (We don’t know this right now, but this is a betrayal by the Judas figure Cypher, a secondary villain (FORCES OF ANTAGONISM).

(It may be a little early to say this, but what the hell. The name “Trinity” of course underlines the trinity that will form of Neo, Morpheus, and Trinity – the archetypal Father, Mother, Son (which later patriarchal religions defeminized, removing the Mother from the equation).

Cut to: outside a dark building, cops arrive for a bust, but are outranked by three bizarre AGENTS: Smith, Jones and Brown (FORCES OF ANTAGONISM). Agent Smith is one of the great screen villains, thanks to this triplet conceit, a fantastically robotic (and demented) performance by Hugo Weaving and some truly inspired costume choices – everything about these guys is a little off, from the spiral cords behind their ears to the impeccable but wrongly placed tie tacs. We get a sense of the power of this adversary when the street cop says disparagingly about Trinity, “I think my men can handle one little girl,” and Agent Smith replies – “Your men are already dead.”

His words are prophetic: we cut to the cops bursting in on Trinity, seated in a dark room at a computer – and see her kill all of them with superhuman martial arts moves. (We’ve see this all-knowing-villain technique of predicting action used with Lecter in SILENCE OF THE LAMBS as well.)

Trinity is a strong, sexy woman, but what makes her instantly relatable is that she is frightened – when Morpheus calls her and says there are agents after her, we can see her fear. Later in the scene she talks to herself to force herself to keep moving. That brings a reality and emotion to the action scenes that is often missing in this genre.

Morpheus tells her she needs to focus and get to a phone at a certain location. (SET UP of phone as portal).

There is a SET PIECE chase: The agents chasing Trinity through the corridors and stairways of a the dark building, then over the rooftops, again with superhuman moves. The production design of this scene is thematic – it looks like the inside of a computer or machine, a visual image of the Matrix.

Trinity gets to the phone booth with the ringing phone and picks up just as the phone booth is hit by a garbage truck driven by Agent Smith. But Trinity has disappeared from the rubble. (Phone as PASSAGEWAY to the special world). The agents say she made it out but it doesn’t matter because the informant is real. The target is Neo. (7 min)

Cut to Neo’s apartment. Neo is asleep in front of numerous computers running a search on computer terrorist Morpheus and The Matrix. (Important background info which is actually very easily missed; it should have been given a bit more time.) (This is a THEMATIC INTRO to main character – he’s asleep, and an underlying spiritual theme of the film – as is the point of all mystical traditions, the goal of earthly life is to wake up to reality – ie. enlightenment.).

This opening dialogue with Neo is so thematic it’s worth looking at the whole scene: I’ve underlined the thematic references.

—————-

From The Matrix, written by Larry & Andy Wachowski

In Neo’s apartment. He is asleep at his computer, with headphones on. On his computer screen, we see he is running a search on a man named Morpheus. Suddenly on his computer screen appear the words ‘Wake up, Neo.’ He sits up, and stares at his computer screen.

Neo : What?

On the computer, now appears ‘The Matrix has you…’

Neo : What the hell?

On the computer, now appears ‘Follow the white rabbit…’

Neo : Follow the white rabbit?

He presses the ‘esc’ key repeatedly, no effect. the computer comes up with one last message : ‘Knock knock, Neo.’ There is a loud knock at his door, and he jumps. He stares at the door, and then back at his computer screen. it’s now blank.

Neo : …..Who is it?

Choi : It’s Choi.

Neo : Yeah…yeah…you’re two hours late.

Choi : I know, it’s her fault.

Choi gestures towards DuJour.

Neo : You got the money?

Choi : Two grand.

Neo :Hold on.

Neo goes into his apartment, shuts the door, and opens a book, takes out a CD rom, and goes back to the door, handing the CD to Choi.

Choi : Hallelujah. You’re my saviour, man. My own personal Jesus Christ.

Neo :You get caught using that…

Choi : Yeah, I know. This never happened, you don’t exist.

Neo : Right.

Choi : Something wrong, man? You look a little whiter than usual.

Neo : My computer….it..you ever have that feeling where you don’t know if you’re awake or still dreaming?

Choi : Mm, all the time. It’s called Mescaline. It’s the only way

to fly. Hey, it sounds to me like you need to unplug, man.

————

The Matrix is all about waking up, about what reality is, and about Neo as the potential savior of the world, which has been enslaved by a virtual reality program. And escaping. And going down the rabbit hole.

Well, that above is maybe a four minute scene, and look how blatant the themes are. It spells out the entire story. And yet it works on the surface level as well, an audience isn’t stopping to think, “Oh, there’s a theme, and there’s a theme, and yet another theme.”

(If there’s anything I learned from screenwriting it’s that you can JUST SAY IT. And it generally works better if you just do.)

The scene ends with Choi inviting Neo to come out with them to a club, and while Neo initially declines because he has to work the next day (SET UP), he sees DuJour has a white rabbit tattoo and he follows them to the club,

As Neo stands alone in a bondage club (he’s in bondage to the Matrix, right?) Trinity comes up to him and in a very hot scene leans in to speak the entire dialogue of the scene into his ear. She seems to know everything about him, great start to a love story. She says: “You’re looking for him (Morpheus)”, but really “It’s the question that drives you.” Neo knows the question: “What is the Matrix?” She tells him he’s in danger, and they’re coming for him. (ALLY and LOVE INTEREST).

The club music segues into alarm – Neo wakes is in his own bed. (THEME: asleep or awake? What is reality?)

(12 min)

Cut to software company. Now we see Neo in his other persona as Thomas Anderson, an office drone. This is the very ORDINARY WORLD. He’s late for work and dressed down by his boss in the boss’s office – with noisy window washers outside the plate glass window (PLANT). More thematic dialogue from the boss – “You’re not special” (THEME – is he or isn’t he?) . “It’s time to make a choice.”

Back at his cubicle Neo receives a FedEx package containing a cell phone, which rings. It’s Morpheus. (And isn’t this every working man’s fantasy – being called out of cubicle world for a special mission?). Morpheus tells Neo the agents have come for him and, seeming all-seeing, gives him instructions on how to elude them. He instructs Neo to go out on the window washers’ scaffold. (PAYOFF of noisy window washers). Neo is clearly terrified (links him with Trinity, their vulnerability) , but obeys, crawling out on the precarious scaffold…

Then he doesn’t take the final step to get on the girder which would allow him to escape – afraid of falling/taking the jump. The cell phone falls and Neo whispers, “I can’t do this.” (THEME, and introduces the character’s FEAR: He can’t do it. Which will become our FEAR: He’s not The One.).

So Neo fails the first TEST, setting up the question of: “Is he really The One?” (All right, just pretend it isn’t Keanu Reeves and go with it.)

On the ground floor, Trinity watches the Agents take Neo away. (17 min)

SEQUENCE TWO: (18 min.)

(Might as well call this sequence: The Invitation – Neo gets two of them, actually, one from Agent Smith, and then another diametrically opposed invite from Morpheus.)

Agents are questioning Neo in an interrogation room. They have a comically thick file on him. They know Neo’s real name and hacker alias. Agent Smith tells him: “One of these lives doesn’t have a future.” But Agent Smith is willing to cut a deal – Neo’s freedom for his help catching Morpheus. Neo gives him the finger and demands his phone call. Agent Smith tells him, “What good is a phone call if you cannot speak?” Neo’s lips literally fuse together so he can’t talk; the agents hold him down and release a mechanical bug which crawls into him through his navel. (Rape image which will be repeated.).

(21 min)

Again, Neo wakes in his own bed, screaming. His mouth is normal. (What is real?) The phone rings – it’s Morpheus again, wanting to set up a meeting. Morpheus says that the agents have underestimated how important Neo is. But Morpheus has been looking for Neo his entire life: Neo is The One.

(Btw – “The One” is a very layered concept, here – “The One” is the literal translation of the old Biblical word for “God”. It is the plural form of One – ie. “Many in One” or “Us”. In other words, the implication is that Neo is ALL of us, and his task in this journey, breaking through the Matrix, is our task.)

Trinity, Apoc, and very androgynous Switch pick Neo up under a bridge and hold a gun on him. When Neo protests, Switch says it’s their way or the highway. When Neo starts to get out of the car, Trinity asks him to trust her, and he stays. (Note the waterfall off the underpass in this scene – a birth canal image which will be repeated. Bridges of course are symbols of transitions).

Trinity scans him in another quasi-rape moment, zaps the bug and pulls it out. It’s a real bug when she takes it out, but when she throws it out of the car, a mechanical device lands on the pavement. (REAL? NOT REAL?)

(24 min)

They take Neo to a crumbling, vacant, Gothic hotel. In a corridor outside a room, Trinity tells Neo to tell Morpheus the truth – “He knows more than you can possibly imagine.” (BUILD UP TO CHARACTER).

Neo meets the very charismatic Morpheus in a very Gothic, crumbling room. (MEETING THE MENTOR). They sit in two high backed chairs in front of a standing mirror to talk. Morpheus wears mirrored shades which reflect two Neos – a visual that will be repeated several times. Alice in Wonderland theme continues as Morpheus says, “You must feel like Alice…. Tumbling down the rabbit hole.” Morpheus goes on cryptically: “You want to know what The Matrix is. The Matrix is everywhere. You are a slave.” Then he offers Neo a choice of a red pill or a blue pill. If he takes the red pill, he will go back to his life and believe what he wants to believe. If he takes the blue one, he will see the truth. But, Morpheus warns, all he is promising is the truth. Neo takes the blue pill to continue. (Great, unique PASSAGEWAY INTO SPECIAL WORLD). Neo notices the mirror is cracked and reflects two of him. It looks very much like he is starting to trip, not that I would know anything about it. When he reaches to touch the glass, the mirror becomes liquid and envelops him, while Morpheus’ group tries to trace him. (With a steampunk kind of machine powered by a battery).

Thematic – is this really happening or a drug-induced hallucination?

(28 min)

Neo wakes up naked and bald in a podlike tank of goo, connected to tubes. He unplugs himself and lifts the lid of the pod to look out on a vast, endless hive of pods, all with naked bald humans sleeping inside. (SETPIECE). (THEME/IMAGE SYSTEM – I might be stretching here, but there’s a lotuslike appearance to this whole pod system, the pods as flower petals, the lotus in muddy water. Another enlightenment image). A mechanical insectoid thing darts down and ejects NEO from the pod, dropping him into a watery canal. Neo sees a bright light descending and is hoisted up into Morpheus’s hovercraft.

This is an image like birth, and also like a reverse baptism – Morpheus of course being throughout a John the Baptist figure proclaiming t
he coming of the Messiah (the One).

In the hovercraft, Morpheus (wearing clothing somewhat like dirty sackcloth, a student pointed out) welcomes Neo to the real world. Neo passes out. (and a MONTAGE begins… ).

SEQUENCE TWO CLIMAX

Now, this is 31 minutes in and could arguably be called the ACT ONE CLIMAX. But when Neo wakes up in the life support tank and sees the pods of people, the real reality, it’s climactic, and we might understand that this is the real reality, but we still don’t really have a clue what that means and what the action of the story actually will be.

So I’m thinking that the next nine minutes, even thought it’s a separate sequence, is all part of a long Act One.

SEQUENCE THREE:

The MONTAGE continues.

MONTAGE – with a lot of Neo passing out between clips. (THEME: Awake/asleep again).

– As Neo is unconscious, Morpheus tells Trinity “We’ve found him. He’s the One.” Trinity doesn’t agree, but says, “I hope you’re right.” (THEME: Is he or isn’t he?)

– Neo wakes up and finds his muscles being stimulated by electrified acupuncture needles. He asks why his eyes hurt and Morpheus says he’s never used them.

Neo wakes up in a room of the ship, on a cot. He pulls an IV out of his arm. Morpheus comes in and begins to answer his questions. First tells him that it’s not 1999 but more like 2199, but no one knows for sure.

Morpheus takes him through the ship, introduces him to the rest of the crew (MEETING THE TEAM) – Apoc, Switch, Cypher, Tank, Dozer and Mouse. Morpheus asks Neo if he wants to know that the Matrix is – and when Neo nods, they strap him into a chair, plug a coaxial cable into the socket in his head, and Neo is suddenly inside a virtual reality program with Morpheus. Morpheus explains (with images on a TV to illustrate) that the Matrix is a virtual reality program that simulates the world that Neo has been living in. The real world was destroyed when humans gave birth to Artificial Intelligence and that living consciousness spawned an entire race of intelligent machines. There was a war between humans and machines which basically destroyed the planet. The machines had been dependent on solar power and to replace that energy source they have devised a system of extracting energy from humans – essentially using people as batteries, in pod systems like the one Neo woke up in. New humans are not born, but bred, and dead humans are liquefied to feed the living. (Shades of Terminator, Soylent Green…)

Morpheus sums up: “What is The Matrix? Control. The Matrix is a computer-generated dream world, built to keep us under control in order to change a human being into this.” Morpheus holds up a battery to Neo.

(THEMATIC: The Matrix is Maya – the veil of illusion).

Neo freaks out at all this, not wanting to believe – he wants to go back. He has a panic attack, throws up and passes out. (This will be important – sets up the desire to escape the truth of reality).

Neo wakes up in his room with Morpheus there. Neo asks, “I can’t go back, can I?” Morpheus says no and apologizes for the trauma – usually they would not have “freed a mind” that had reached a certain age. But then Morpheus tells Neo of the prophecy: When the Matrix was first built, there was a man born inside who had the ability to change whatever he wanted, to remake the Matrix as he saw fit. It was he who freed the first of us, taught us the truth : ‘As long as the Matrix exists, the human race will never be free.’ After he died, the Oracle prophesied his return, and that his coming would hail the destruction of the Matrix, end the war, bring freedom to our people. That is why there are those of us who have spent our entire _lives_ searching the Matrix, looking for him. I did what I did because…I believe that search is over. “

Morpheus stands and tells Neo to get some sleep – he’ll need it for his training.

40 minutes – ACT ONE CLIMAX

Now we know everything we need to know about what this story is about. CENTRAL QUESTION: Will Neo prove himself to be The One who can face off with the agents and destroy the Matrix?

And Morpheus’s PLAN is – to train Neo so that he can take on that mantle and destroy the Matrix.

This extra sequence is a good reminder that story structure is not by any means inflexible – if your story needs another sequence in one of the acts, just do it! Remember the cardinal rule of storytelling: WHATEVER WORKS.

And if you’re building a world, in sci fi or fantasy or urban fantasy, you may well want to take an extra sequence to fully set up and explain your story world. The Matrix does this particularly well – it’s blatant exposition and back story, but with great virtual reality effects and shocking imagery, so it’s very clear without ever being boring.

Another interesting thing to note about the structure of the Matrix is that the mentor, Morpheus, drives the action for most of the movie. He’s the one with the PLAN, and calls the shots. Neo is merely a tool for most of the story – but that means that we are waiting for him to take control and step into the role of The One. A common pattern, and something to keep in mind when you’re writing a King Arthur and/or mentor story.

Okay, so a few questions. First of course – any visual and thematic imagery I’ve missed?

But what I really want to know is – writers, do you ever – or always – incorporate spiritual themes into your writing? And readers, do you gravitate toward books and movies with spiritual themes, regardless of genre?

– Alex

KEROUAC, JOYCE AND THE SOUND OF MUSIC

By Stephen Jay Schwartz

I know I’m not the first Murderati to talk about music. We’ve shared numerous blogs about the kinds of music that inspire us. Some of us find it essential to listen to music while writing, others get too involved in listening to the music to get any good writing done.

I myself cannot listen to music when I write, except when it is piped into a café and presented as background noise.

Of course, to all hard-and-fast rules, there is always an exception. A few years ago I faced a two-week writer’s block. I had never experienced anything like this and I was stymied. I broke through by putting the ear buds in and playing classic rock at volume level “eleven.” It was a con-job on my conscious self, creating a diversion that allowed my subconscious to sneak on through. All my conscious mind knew was that my fingers were typing. I had no idea what was coming out. I broke through the block in two nights, and ended up with some pretty inspired stuff. It was an exhausting experiment and one that could not be sustained for long.

The thing is, I find music so alluring, so all-encompassing, that when I listen I just want to dive in. I can’t focus on the writing. For me, music is the alpha and omega. It is the everything. And I tell you what, I would not be the writer I am if music wasn’t in my life.

Strong statement, I know. But I truly believe my writing is indebted to the music I studied as a child, from fourth grade into my twenties. I played classical clarinet early on and moved to jazz when I entered high school. Once I segued to saxophone, music became downright sexy. I continued private instruction in classical and jazz and my world opened up when one of my teachers introduced me to the fusion artists of the Seventies. Chick Corea, Al Dimeola, Herbie Hancock. I studied jazz performance for a short time in college, at what was then called North Texas State University. There I was introduced to the masters of bop — Charlie Parker, John Coltrane, Dizzy Gillespie, Stan Getz, Dexter Gordon (whom I saw live at the Kool Jazz Festival), and Oscar Peterson.

But I started skipping my Sight Singing and Ear Training class (the class was pure punishment and I was failing it anyway) to follow my English teacher to his office to continue the argument we’d been having for weeks. He was a nationally renowned poet and he knew instantly that I needed some literary ass-kicking. My writing was rife with clichés and it was his job to stamp them out.

At the same time I began discovering writers whose words read like music. I found writers who satisfied my love for music with the music they created in their words.

Authors like, well, James Joyce. How many here have sat transfixed by the words and sounds that roll off the pages of “The Artist as a Young Man”? And, while I’ve never been able to get more than a few pages into “Finnegans Wake,” just listen to this first paragraph:

“riverrun, past Eve and Adam’s, from swerve of shore to bend of bay, brings us by a commodius vicus of recirculation back to Howth Castle and Environs.

Sir Tristram, violer d’amores, fr’over the short sea, had passencore rearrived from North Armorica on this side the scraggly isthmus of Europe Minor to wielderfight his penisolate war: nor had topsawyer’s rocks by the stream Oconee exaggerated themselse to Laurens County’s gorgios while they went doublin their mumper all the time: nor avoice from afire bellowsed mishe mishe to tauftauf thuartpeatrick: not yet, though venissoon after, had a kidscad buttended a bland old Isaac: not yet, though all’s fair in vanessy, were sosie sethers wroth with twone nathandjoe. Rot a peck of pa’s malt had Jhem or Shen brewed by arclight and rory end to the regginbrow was to be seen ringsome on the aquaface.”

Okay, so let’s not worry so much about what the fuck this means. Just read it. Out loud. Listen to the music: “…while they went doublin their mumper,” “nor avoice from afire bellowsed mishe mishe to tauftauf thuartpeatrick…” Avoice from afire is “a voice from afar,” but is also the voice of God from the burning bush. There’s a lot more in Joyce than just lyrical sentences and I’m certainly not studied enough to blog about the dimension of his writing. But I can talk about the musicality of his words. And do you hear the Irish accent? Look at the word “thuartpeatrick,” which is “thought Patrick.” Now, read the paragraph in your best brogue. It’s beautiful.

When I read words on a page I hear consonants and vowels that form rhythms of staccato and legato. I hear triplets and eighth notes and the ghosting of jazz riffs leading into melodies and cadences. Words cannot help but create rhythm. Words spoken are sounds and sounds are percussive. Or melodic. And then a combination of both that leads to the phrasing of symphonies.

And we have so many wonderful words to choose our sounds from. We have combinations of words that roll with onomatopoeia, words that click and cough and bend upwards and down, words that modulate into fevered meters, alternating four-four to seven-four to three-four and back to measure one.

The authors whose works I love have an innate sense of the music of words, whether they are conscious of this fact or not. Dickens has his own musical style, which is different from the musicality of Steinbeck. And yet I can be lulled into a state of catatonic stasis from the reading aloud of either.

And maybe that’s why I nearly jumped out of my skin the first time I heard Jack Kerouac read his work. I was watching this hip little documentary called “Whatever Happened to Kerouac” when his voice emerged reading “Doctor Sax.” What I heard was a saxophone solo in spoken words.

I picked up the seminal Beat Generation novel “On the Road” and read it straight through. What surprised me, however, was how slow it seemed to read. There were moments of literary genius, but mostly I felt it needed an editor’s touch. Too many long run-on sentences. It just wasn’t working for me. But then all these Kerouac recordings began to surface and I ended up listening to him read from “On the Road.” And I got it. Once you’ve heard him read you can’t help but read his work with the same energy and rhythm. I soon saw that no word was wasted, each and every word was an eighth or half note that emerged from the intricate, never-ending bebop solo in his head.

It’s no surprise that folks like Zoot Simms and Steve Allen liked to jam with Kerouac, trading musical “riffs” with his musical words. I pulled a You Tube clip from the Steve Allen Show to give you a sense of what I’m saying here. Check it out. It’s about a five-minute segment. Listen to it all the way to the end. If this is your first introduction to Kerouac, then let me now say THANK YOU for letting me be your guide.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=QzCF6hgEfto&feature=related

And songwriters can be musical poets with their words, too. I can think of a dozen songs by The Beatles and The Doors that include poetry capable of singing on their own, without instrumental accompaniment.

How about this gem of a lyric from Warren Zevon’s “Werewolves of London”:

“Little old lady got mutilated late last night.”

The alliteration is to die for. Then listen to Zevon singing the line, hear his phrasing, his dragging out of “late last night,” (the dotted-eighth note coming off the upbeat of the first note of the next measure with the word “last”) and you get the full sense of how the sentence works rhythmically. The performance gives the line its true punch, just as Kerouac’s writing comes fully to life through his readings.

It’s interesting how even musical notes on a sheet of staff paper need the musician to complete the picture. I remember my first lesson in jazz performance in college. My instructor put a Charlie Parker solo in front of me and told me to play. Before I got ten bars in, my teacher said, “I can’t believe you’re reading the notes.” I said, “Uh, yeah.” “Don’t read what’s on the page,” he said. “Interpret it.”

It took me a few weeks to get what he was saying. I was reading the notes, but the music required a performance.

Although I always read my work aloud while writing, I never really knew if things were working until I heard Ray Porter read the audio book version of Boulevard. This man, an accomplished actor and veteran audio book reader, performed my work. He took notes on a page and turned them into music.

I stopped studying music because I wanted to communicate in a more direct way. I wanted to deliver cleaner, more thought-provoking messages. Writing seemed to be the answer. So, it’s kind of funny that I’ve come to value the way sound and music have influenced my writing. It’s funny how I needed to hear Jack Kerouac reading his work before I really got the message.

What “musical” writing—from poetry, prose, or song lyric—has captured your eye, and why?

Yeah, I’ve been there…kind of…

By Brett Battles

I’m writing this blog from 35,000 feet, in aisle 9, seat A of a Southwest flight from Chicago to Las Vegas (where I’ll transfer to a flight to Burbank and home). Sleeping in aisle 9, seat B is our own Robert Gregory Browne. No snoring as of yet, thankfully. It’s Tuesday, two days ago.

We are returning from a week long trip back east, first to Columbus, Ohio, to the RT Booklover’s Conference, and then a couple days in Chicago where we visited good friends Tasha Alexander and Andrew Grant, and had lunch with the wonderful Dana Litoff.

I’m wiped, really and truly wiped. Conferences have a way of doing that to me. They are fun, entertaining, educational, etc., etc., etc. But they can also drain every last ounce of strength from me. I know that going in. I expect it, and yet I’m always surprised by just how tired I feel afterward.

This was my first time at RT, and I have to say it will not be my last. It was an excellent conference, and I got a look at a part of the book world I hadn’t been exposed to before.

Like most conferences, I seldom left the event location. And to make things even easier, the Columbus Conference center is connected directly to the conference hotel, so I seldom even stepped outside.

Sorry, Columbus, my only view of you was basically from the window of my taxi to and from the airport. You looked like a nice place to visit, but I really can’t say that I was there. If I did, it wouldn’t be fair to you. You’re conference center is nice, though. Good job!

I guess that might be my problem with a lot of conferences. Change the name on the airport, and the building on the ride to the hotel, but otherwise it’s the same location-wise.

Don’t get me wrong I love conferences. I’ll continue going to them. But as a diehard traveler, I like to get to know the places I go. Usually this means wandering around the city, and soaking it in. Unfortunately, conferences take up most of an attendee’s time, and even if there are a few hours here and there, you want that time to rest up, or, as I was forced to do on this past trip, sneak away to your room to get a few hours in on your revisions.

Yeah, I know. I could come in a day or two early, but, often, that would probably be cutting into my writing schedule. And, like it or not, I have deadlines I have to meet. (I like it.) Staying a few days after is not an option as all I would want to do is stay in my room and sleep. (Yeah, I know I stopped off in Chicago this time on the way home, but you can ask the others…we all did a lot of sitting around talking and watching Firefly…which was about all I could handle and exactly what I needed…FYI, I love Firefly…LOVE. IT.)

I’m not complaining. What I’m actually trying to do is apologize to cities like Columbus and Baltimore and Madison and even Chicago. Wish I knew you better, and maybe someday I will. And to all those future conference cities, a little I’m-sorry-ahead-of-time because chances are I’m not going to get to know you either.

Okay, the flight attendants are bringing out the free drinks, and, believe it or not, I need to put in a little mid-air time on my revisions, so I’ll leave you with this image:

Nighty-night, Rob!

Let’s do a little game of travel ranking:

A) Favorite/least favorite airline.

B) Best/worst trip you’ve ever taken.

C) Dream vacation spot.

I’ll start –

Airline Favorites: Cathay Pacific, Thai Airways, and domestically I’m going to have to give a nod to Southwest strictly on the no fees for check bag thing alone.

Airline Not-so-favorites: Most of the other U.S. domestic airlines

Best Trip: Five months traveling around Europe when I was twenty. Outstanding.

Worst: Hmmm…I tend to find something to enjoy on most of my trips…so I don’t actually know.

Dream vacation spot: Phi Phi Islands in Thailand. No cars, no real motor vehicles at all. Just beach and laid-back hotels and open air bars. Bliss.

The Valley of Despair

by J.D. Rhoades

Right now, I’ve just cracked 45,000 words in my current WIP. Given the length to which I usually write, this means I’m deep into the middle section, or, as I call it, “The Valley of Despair.”

If you ask around, I suspect you’ll find that a lot of unfinished projects died at around the 30-40,000 word mark. That’s the point at which you have your characters, you have your situation set up, you’ve reached your first crucial turning point, so everything should be a gallop, right? Except there are few things happening.

For one thing, unless you write very quickly, you’ve been living day in and day out with these people as houseguests in your head for a month or more. Like most houseguests, you’re not as crazy about them as when they first moved in.

This is also the point where doubt creeps in. Do I really have enough story to make a novel out of this? Am I really a good enough writer to pull this off?

Doubt is followed by certainty: No, there really isn’t enough to make a novel out of this. If the first act is “chase your protagonist up a tree” and the second act is “throw rocks at him,” you see your pile of rocks diminishing, and you start to panic. That’s when the real fear begins: no, I’m not good enough to pull this off. I suck. I’m a fraud. I really should go back to the day job.

Or, there’s the danger of getting distracted by what writer Lynn Cahoon, blogging over at Elizabeth Lynn Casey’s joint, called “The Bright and Shinies”: new ideas that pop into your head for something different. Ideas that make you think “maybe the problem is I’m writing the wrong book. The science-fiction-vampire story is the one I really should be doing right now.”

So how do you get past this? How do you climb out of the Valley of Despair to reach the sweet, pure exhilarating air of the Mountains of Climax?

Well, first, go back to the basics. It’s very easy, in the Valley, to forget your fundamentals. Therefore, I cannot recommend Our Alex’s “Story Elements Checklist” highly enough. Go back and look at it. You don’t have to follow it (or any advice) blindly, but as a springboard for ideas, you can’t beat it. Could the story use a “training sequence?” Maybe some new allies could be picked up? Is there a big reversal coming up and how do we lay the groundwork for it?

Another aspect of going back to basics is to remind yourself that the story is driven by want: the desire of the characters, and how, knowing them as you do, would they go about getting it? Make a list: What does the protagonist still want? What about the antagonist? The secondary characters?

Which leads us to a great idea I picked up from a lecture by top screenwriter Steven J. Cannell: turn around and be the bad guy. “When you get to this place, go around and become the antagonist. You probably haven’t been paying much attention to him or her. Now you get in the antagonist’s head and you’re looking back at the story to date from that point of view.”

Oh, and that story you think maybe you should be writing? Make some notes, maybe write a scene or two to get it out of your system, then put it down. It’ll still be there. And you know darn well, if you drop what you’re doing and start the new, ‘bright and shiny” project, you’ll be right back at this same place with that one in a month.

So, most of all, keep going. And give yourself permission to suck. It’s the first draft. Push your way through the Valley. Walk on through the wind, walk on through the rain, etc.

Anyone else have any tips for slogging through the Valley of Despair? Or does this just never happen to you?

The mystery of humor

I am not a naturally funny person. Try as I might, I’m hopeless at telling jokes or coming up with a brilliant off-the-cuff quip. J.A. Konrath, I ain’t.

But I do know how to laugh, and I certainly laughed when I came across this recent article:

Police: Woman bites man after being called fat

Police say a 24-year-old man is missing a chunk of his right ear that was bitten off by a woman who didn’t like being called “fat.” Police spokeswoman Katie Flood said officers were called to a Lincoln hospital around 3:25 a.m. Wednesday to talk to the injured man.

He told them that he’d been bitten at a party.

Flood said officers later learned that the injured man and two others had been arguing with other people at the birthday party. Flood says the man told 21-year-old Anna Godfrey that she was fat.

Officers said Godfrey then tackled the man (after chasing him for half a block) and took a bite.

Flood said the ear chunk was not found.

Godfrey was arrested on suspicion of felony assault and remained in custody Wednesday. Case records don’t yet list her attorney’s name.

Did you laugh? Why?

If you dissect the incident, the elements of what happened are not particularly funny:

— A drunken man insults a woman and calls her fat. What a jerk.

— A man is attacked and sustains permanent damage to a body part. That’s tragic.

— A woman is arrested and will probably be convicted of felony assault.

Yet add all those elements together, and suddenly you’ve got prime fodder for Dave Letterman. What makes a story about assault and mutilation funny? Is it funny to everyone — or just to a few sick minds (like mine)?

First, let’s consider a definition of humor, and for this I turn to Wikipedia: “Humor: The tendency of particular cognitive experiences to provoke laughter and provide amusement… Though ultimately decided by personal taste, the extent to which an individual will find something humorous depends upon a host of variables, including geographical location, culture, maturity, level of education, intelligence and context.”

What strikes some people as funny will not be funny to others. And I’m betting that there are some people who don’t see any humor at all in the above woman-bites-man story. In fact, some may be outraged that I think it’s funny and they’ll accuse me of a double standard when it comes to violence. “What if this were a man mutilating a woman?” they’d ask me.

No, I would not find that funny.

So am I operating under a double standard where it’s okay for women to abuse men, but it’s not okay for men to abuse women?

I don’t think the explanation is as simple as that. Nor do I think that I’m alone in finding humor in woman-bites-man stories. Think back to Lorena Bobbitt, who lopped off her philandering husband’s you-know-what. Remember how all the comics (most of them male) went to town on that story? Obviously, they saw the humor in a story about spousal mutilation. But if it were a man who lopped off his wife’s breast, no one would be cracking any jokes. Instead, there’d be outraged demands to put the jerk behind bars.

Let’s go back to that Wikipedia article, which tries to explain what makes something humorous. One theory has to do with the “Incongruity Theory,” where an expectation comes to nothing. Another is “the perspective twist,” where there’s an unexpected shift in perspective. Finally, the article mentions a theory proposed by Arthur Koestler, who argues “that humor results when two different frames of reference are set up and a collision is engineered between them.”

Now, back to the woman who bit the guy. Analytically speaking, it’s funny because it’s incongruous as hell. You don’t expect a woman to beat up on a man. You certainly don’t expect her to chase him half a block and tackle him.

But the part that makes it truly hilarious? She’s so angry about him calling her fat that she … eats his ear. Which I suppose would be called a perspective twist: the guy’s hurtful insult turns out to be absolutely accurate. She really will eat anything.

Being alert for the incongruities in humor helps us understand why a big dog attacking a kitten isn’t funny, but a kitten attacking a big dog is. Why an adult spouting profanity isn’t funny, but we’ll laugh when a five year old does it.

Sometimes, though, we’re better off not thinking too hard about why something’s funny and just enjoy the laughter. Because, as E.B. White once warned, “Humor can be dissected as a frog can, but the thing dies in the process.”

Tinkertown: A faith in the small

by Pari

Last weekend, my family piled in the car on one of those gorgeous clear blue-sky days when New Mexico is the only place in the world I could ever want to be. Within ten minutes, we were out of town. Deep green pines and cracked rose-brown boulders flanked us on the winding mountain highway. Our destination was Tinkertown, a place I’d heard of for years but had never visited. Actually, let me be honest. With a name like “Tinkertown,” I thought it would be a dud. After all, “tinker” doesn’t exactly conjure grand images of fascinating locales. It’s a cozy word. Quaint. Cute.

And I’m rarely in the mood for cute.

Prepared, in a condescending way, to be amused, I ended up being floored. Crammed with scenes of miniatures Ross Ward crafted during the too-short five decades of his life, the multi-room and meandering building is an overwhelming visual experience. A cacophony of sights. Crusty musicians greet you. Stick a quarter in the slot and they sing, strum the guitar. Here is a model of a town in the Old West complete with the Chinese laundry, brothel, saloon and so much more. Push this button and a miniature chef with raised cleaver chases an unfortunate chicken, bar doors open and close, the blacksmith bangs on a horseshoe. Go to the circus scene with its hundreds upon hundreds of characters. Push this button and a dog jumps endlessly through a hoop, tigers rear and raise their paws, a trapeze performer swings.

Oh, there is so much to see! The walls made of glass bottles – more than 55,000 – and spotted with inspiring sayings that can’t help but uplift. There’s the yacht (yes, you read that correctly) that circled the world and ended at its final port in the New Mexico mountains . . .

What does any of this have to do with writing?

More than you’d think.

Tinkertown’s emotional and visual richness moved and inspired me incredibly. The small “museum” stands as a testament to one man’s fierce independence, creativity and mad – wonderful – vision. Ross Ward’s compulsion to create, and the cumulative effect of his work, just blew me away. He and his family made this insanely marvelous gem simply to make it.

Tinkertown is unexpected, untraditional, unlike anything I’ve seen before. Every step I took there revealed the museum creator’s spirit though he died in 2002. By the time I wound my way back to the gift shop, I felt I knew him and that he was a friend.

In my own life, I’ve been told that I don’t write “big books,” that my works tend to be too quirky, too out of the norm, not the stuff of blockbusters. But seeing Tinkertown gave me hope that even if my books or stories don’t end up on national bestseller lists, there’s a place for the small – the different – in this life. After all, someone will always be there to enjoy seeing the world’s smallest fleas dressed in wedding attire . . .

For all of his life, Ross Ward marched to his own drummer. He made something fantastic in the process, something we can all enjoy and appreciate. What a wonderful legacy.

If I’m able to do the same with my writing, what a success I will be.

Do you know – or have you known – anyone who was a true original?
Please tell us about that person today and share his/her link if there is one.

(Also, for those attending LCC 2011, Ross Ward’s wife Carla said she’d be glad to open up the museum a few days early — by Sunday, March 27 — if we have a group that would like to go there.)

Buying habits (a Kindle / e-reader review)

by Toni McGee Causey

I own thousands of books. I’ve given away hundreds, probably, but there are books everywhere in this house, and a room doesn’t feel lived in, to me, if there aren’t books lying around. My idea of heaven would be a mountain cabin (in the summer), with a view and hundreds of books at my disposal. All through school, I read, constantly. I’d read through class (while listening, which infuriated the teachers, because I could answer their questions); I’d read in the evenings, and when it was time for bed, I’d read into the wee hours of the night until I heard my dad’s alarm go off. He had to be up at 3:30, sometimes, to get into work for his shift, so I’d turn off the light in my room, wait impatiently for him to get dressed for work and leave, and listen carefully as his truck pulled out of the driveway. I also learned the hard way to wait until his truck made it around the corner because it turned out, he could see the light from my window until he made the turn.

I love the smell of books. The texture. The weight of them in my hands. I love holding them at odd angles, propping them up on pillows, turning pages and blocking out the world. My heart races when I walk into the bookstore–so many possibilities there. The mind boggles. A large library can fill me with awe and I feel more reverence there than I ever have in any church.

So when this whole e-reader thing came along, I wasn’t interested. I saw a friend’s Kindle, and while it seemed convenient, I knew I’d never buy one because I would miss the actual experience of a book.

Last year, my husband wanted to buy me a Kindle for my birthday, and I told him no, thanks, not interested. Then one day, on a flight home, the dreaded event happened: I was stuck in an airport, after all of the kiosks and shops had closed, and I had finished my book already. Nothing to read. Hours stretched ahead. Bored. To. Tears.

I didn’t have a Kindle with me, but I had my iPhone, and the Kindle app was free and easy. I’d already surfed the web and that had grown old. So I downloaded the app, browsed around through the really awful Kindle browser, and picked something to try out. (I never use the browser feature on the Kindle, even now. It’s antiquated and slow.)

And I started reading, fully prepared to hate the experience. Because it wasn’t a book. In my hands. There wasn’t the weight and the texture and the cover and I had to click something to turn the pages and… I actually forgot all of that as I started reading. Because the book was so compelling, I forgot the world out there, all of those things that distract, gone.

This shocked me.

And I felt dirty. Dirty rotten betrayer of all things holy.

But like any sinner with a gateway drug, I was too intrigued to let it go at just one. I tried another… and then realized the iPhone screen was just too small. I need more. Bigger. By Christmas, I had a Kindle, and Kindle apps on all my computers. Last week, I added the Kindle app to my Macs (finally), and it was goooooooood.

I am lusting after the iPad, but I will wait until the second or third generation. It’s hard to justify, just for pleasure when I’ve already got a Kindle and enough computers to have back ups for my back ups, but I want one. Badly. For one thing, the Kindle browsing feature sucks. Did I mention that already? Yeah. That bad. It just does not do the books justice, and doesn’t load quickly, and if you’re browsing, those are very important elements to sales: give the customer what they’re looking for, fast, and make it attractive. Kindle fails at this. I’m sure that since the iPad’s introduction, though, the next wave of Kindles will upgrade to color and will try to compete in that arena.

What I am surprised about, mostly, is how my buying habits have changed. What I used to do is check out the books in the stores in the typical fashion–browse, pick up something that looked interesting (the cover caught my eye), read the back cover copy, then, if still intrigued, read a couple of pages and by that point, choose to buy it or put it back. I have bought many a book based on that scenario and ended up not finishing it because it didn’t live up to the initial pages. I’ve also been very pleasantly surprised by a few that grabbed me from their covers alone, and I love that feeling of chance when stopping in front of something I have never heard of because the image on the cover piqued my interest.

With the Kindle, though, I’ve started buying a lot differently. I still try to support my favorite indie bookstores — such as Seattle Mystery Bookshop, Mystery Lovers Bookshop, and Murder by the Book — just to name a few, because these are the types of places that give personal service and have reams and reams of knowledge in the staffs that cannot be found online. You can have a discussion with someone in any of these places about something that you loved, and come away with a stack of fabulous recommendations that you know you can trust because they’ve read the books–they’re not giving you a recommendation based on some sort of computer algorithm. However… there are times when I know what I want and it’s 2:30 a.m. and I want it right now. I love the Kindle for that aspect. There are other times when I don’t know what I want and I have a vague notion of category and I go search by keywords, and find four or five good possibilities. Those with sample chapters get downloaded. I’ll test run the chapter and if I’m captured by the end of that, I can download the book right then and keep reading.

For a night owl read-a-holic, that’s nirvana.

No more lugging six books in my check-on bag because I’m not quite sure what I’m going to want to read or what mood will strike me. No more buying something that kinda sorta sounded okay but turned out flat after just a few pages.

I’ve relegated the “definite” buys to bookstores where possible. (And anywhere I sign, I always ask for recommendations from the staff and buy several books, because I believe in supporting those stores.) I’ve used the Kindle for the impulse buy, the late-night browsing, and the odd research text. I’ve purchased way more books on Kindle than I thought I would (65 in four months), and I’ve ended up reading real gems that I wouldn’t have given a chance in a bookstore, because either the cover was crappy, or it was so over-hyped, I thought I would hate it. I love the sample-chapter feature, though so many authors’ sites have these… what makes it so wonderful is the “click to buy to continue reading” feature.

The Kindle, as an interface? Is ugly. It feels like a Volkswagon in a Ferrari world. But I am now comfortable with the choices it gives me, and when I’m reading–if the book is good–I completely forget the medium that’s delivering the story. I love the fact that I can enlarge the text, and I hate the fact that it’s not backlit for night reading.

One thing is for sure: it changed how I buy books. And read them.

For someone who is a bookaholic–that’s huge.

I know the debate will rage on about whether or not ereaders will increase readership or simply add another method whereby readers access the material. My gut feeling is that it’s always going to be really great stories that strike a chord that increases readership. Just like Harry Potter opened up the YA market to an entire generation who were deemed “non-readers” by so many, and Twilight continued to feed that group, so we’ve seen that same group branch out and hungrily grab for many other stories, propelling them to bestseller status. And it didn’t matter that these were print books–the computer generation read them. However, that said–it stands to reason that an entire generation who have been born into the iPhone world will expect, as they grow up, to read everything on some device instead of lugging books around. Many schools are going to all-digital texts. The world may not change in the next five years, but five years out is too short-sighted. It’s twenty years out, and thirty years out that publishers should be planning for, and those kids? They’re going to be all digital.

It’s not an “if” but a “when.”

So how about you? Have you tried an e-reader? Would you, if they were cheaper? What about the free apps? Have you tried those? What about the kids around you… what are they reading… texts? or digital? or both?

Please Welcome the Fabulous Laura DiSilverio, AKA Lila Dare

By Cornelia Read, at least the intro…

The coolest thing about having a website is having a “contact” email link–you get to hear from old friends, and even make new ones. I can’t remember how Laura DiSilverio and I first started emailing each other, but the exchanges quickly turned into the kind of wonderful conversations you sometimes get to have with some cool person you end up getting seated next to on an airplane: wide-ranging, honest, funny. And then grew into something beyond that, into a real friendship.

I read an early manuscript of hers, which I think still is pure genius and should be published, and I got to hear updates on how things were going with her writing, her family, her friends, her kids, as she did mine. And finally, at Bouchercon in Indianapolis last fall, we got to meet in person. Can I just say here that Laura is AWESOME? She’s great fun to hang out with, and smart and funny and gorgeous, and a truly gifted writer. I am honored to call her my friend, and so excited to introduce her here to all you wonderful ‘Ratis.

Please welcome Laura DiSilverio, writing as Lila Dare. Her first novel, Tressed to Kill, has just been published by Berkley, and is already getting scads of glowing reviews.

Publishers Weekly gave her a starred review, commenting: “Fans of the themed cozy will rejoice as new talent Dare debuts her Southern Beauty Shop series… Dare turns this off-the-rack concept into a tightly plotted, suspenseful mystery, and readers will love the pretty, plucky, smart, slightly damaged herone and the rest of the charming cast.”

Check out her fabulous website: www.liladare.com

Describe your latest book/project/work.

The first in my Southern Beauty Shop mystery series from Berkley Prime Crime debuts on 4 May. Tressed to Kill features five women who live in fictional St. Elizabeth, Georgia, and work in Violetta’s Salon. I think of it as “Steel Magnolias with dead bodies.” Lots of humor, heart and suspenseful plotting, according to very insightful reviewers and blurbers. Buy it. Please.

What fictional character would you like to date, and why?

I was going to answer this in a humorous way–I’m pretty sure some of the guys I’ve dated have been fictional characters—but then I asked my recently widowed, seventy-five-year-old mom this question. Our exchange went like this:

“You know, that guy I liked in that movie we went to.” Asked to clarify, she said, “The one in the sequel. He had super powers.”

Oh, him.

“His hands turned into knives.”

“Wolverine?” I asked.

“Yes!” said with enthusiasm. “But he’d need to do something with his hair.”

So, the answer is, Wolverine, as portrayed by Hugh Jackman, but only if he combs his hair.

Who’s wilder on tour, rock bands or authors?

If I were a hotel, I’d rather book a room to an author. Consider: Rolling Stones vs Carolyn Hart, Amy Winehouse vs Dave Barry, Guns-n-Roses vs P.D. James. Writers know how to drink with the best of ’em, but it’s just harder to destroy lamps and bedside tables with a laptop than it is with a guitar.

On a clear and cold day, do you typically get outside into the sunshine or stay inside where it’s warm?

I’ve got a dog . . . need I say more? We walk every day–in the cold, the heat, the rain, the snow, the wind, when I’d rather be reading More magazine with a glass of wine . . . you get the picture.

Talk about your vision of the ideal life.

I’m living it. I’m still with my starter hubby (seventeen years in June!) and we appreciate each other more as time goes on. We have two lovely daughters who delight us with their wit and kindness and haven’t yet (they’re only 10 and 12) distressed us with any of the following statements:

– “Come bail me out.”

– “I’m pregnant.”

– “I totaled the car.”

– (Yes, I realize there are even more frightening things they could say, but I’d rather not dwell on those things. Don’t write and tell me about them.)

We have our health (mostly), good friends, and get to live in Colorado. I am blessed to write every day and get paid for it. Life is good and I am thankful.

Dogs, cats, budgies, or turtles?

Companions, shedders, poopers, salmonella.

If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?

What I’d like to hear: “Welcome. You’ve been upgraded to the penthouse suite.”

What I’m more likely to hear: “I’m not seeing your reservation in our system. Do you have a confirmation number? You weren’t paying much attention when I mentioned that your reservation was tied to ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ Let’s review (in no particular order):

– Yes, your brothers count as neighbors, even though they lived in the same house with you for going on seventeen years. Oops.

– The year you turned thirteen and made your mom cry every day with your sulks, anger, and general shittiness stands out. Hormones are not an excuse. Damn. And just when I’m old enough to start blaming them again for my bitchiness.

– Would it have killed you to coach your daughter’s soccer team just one season? Probably.

– And that guy in San Antonio in 1982. What was that all about? Just be grateful that night was pre-AIDS epidemic. Which guy? Can you narrow it down for me?

See what I’m getting at? Maybe we can squeeze you in out back in the parking structure.”

Recommend five or more books on a single subject of personal interest or expertise. Please provide a brief introduction about the list. You’re welcome to describe each book, as well, but that part is optional.

Five Books Given to Me as Gifts that Are Incredibly Meaningful (Mostly Because of Who Gave Them to Me) (Yeah, I know it’s a long title, but it’s my list.)

1. High Tide in Tucson by Barbara Kingsolver

My father gave me this. I think it’s the only gift buying task he didn’t abdicate to my mom.

2. Anne of Green Gables by L.M. Montgomery

From my friends Fred and Ellen, specifically to share with my daughters.

3. Reading Like a Writer by Francine Prose

Given to me by my friend Jill who is so in touch with who I am and what’s important to me.

4. The Cider House Rules by John Irving

From my friend Jamie who died climbing Mont Blanc.

5. Venetia by Georgette Heyer

With this book, my mom introduced me to my life-long favorite comfort books, Heyer’s Regency novels.

Laura and I are both on the road today–she’s touring and I’m driving home to New Hampshire after the Edgars in NYC, but we will both be checking in today as often as possible. Thanks you guys, and please give Laura a very warm welcome!