Role Reversal

Julie and I have an untraditional relationship. Julie is my hunter gatherer going out to work everyday whereas I spend half the week at home tapping away at the keyboard, doing the washing and making myself pretty for when she comes home. All this is totally fine with me, even if Julie and her chums call me her “man bitch.”

Our untraditionality (new word—look out for it in conversations near you) took on a different phase the other week. Julie was out of town on business leaving me at home to fend for myself with only Royston and the cats for company. This should have been celebration time. I could be me again. I could do what I liked, when I liked. We have hardwood floors, so I could reenact the scene from Risky Business where Tom Cruise bounces about in his underpants with Bob Seger blasting. I could even get involved in some Risky Business style high jinx involving a hooker and Porsche I didn’t own. Anything could happen when Julie wasn’t around. My underpants and I are unstoppable!

But it didn’t go down like that.

The house was eerily quiet and foreboding without Julie. I lived alone for a number of years before Julie invaded my life, but I felt very vulnerable being on my own at nights.

The animals didn’t help the situation. The cats kept going outside, activating the security lights and when I told them to come in, they were nowhere to be seen. Royston’s ears would prick up at the slightest sound and I’d think—intruder. In the end I got the feeling Royston was messing with me. At any moment, someone (not Julie) was going to burst in and ravage me. It was all very scary. Who wants to be ravaged on a Tuesday night?

It wasn’t long before every clichéd horror movie churned away at the back of my head. I expected a series of threatening phones from a woman with a husky voice telling me to check on the kittens. The cops would trace the call and tell me it was coming from inside the house!!! Eeeeeeeeeeeekkkkkkkkk!!!!!!!!!!!

I have no idea why I was so jittery. Why the frady cat thing now? I’ll admit I’ve had a lot on my mind, which has left me agitated. Was it that—or something more systemic and more frightening?

Am I losing my manliness?

I’ll be first to admit that I’m not the big, rough, tough type. I’m a bleeder not a fighter. One of the things I look for in a woman is a slower runner. I want to be the one sprinting away from trouble, calling out over my shoulder, “I’ll never forget you, my first wife. Put up a fight for me, my love. Taxi!”

Now that Julie’s back to protect me, I’m taking a philosophical look at our relationship. Have our non-traditional roles changed us? Is she becoming the tough guy in the relationship? Am I getting in touch with my feminine side? I don’t think so. Julie still shrieks at the sight of ants and I still can’t do that towel turban thing that all women seem have genetically programmed. We are still ourselves. Now I must get back to my needlepoint and Julie has to sharpen her chainsaw—that redwood isn’t going to cut itself down.

Yours with soft edges,
Simon Wood
PS: I’m not here. I’m in Toronto for World Horror.

Good Tonic

NAOMI HIRAHARA

Carl Hiassen did it. Walter Mosley did it. Susan McBride is doing it, and so are Lauren Henderson, Sherman Alexie, and Nick Hornby.

Certain critics and publishing players disparage it, and haven’t been shy about expressing their views. What am I talking about? The world of juvenile and YA literature, a universe that I’m entering myself.

Yes, after expressing my fears about leaving my Mas Arai mystery series for an indefinite period of time, I was able to sell my novel for adolescents at the beginning of 2007. My novel was supposed to fall in the category of women’s literature, but as what often happens when I start a project with new characters, the story tugs and pulls me in the direction where it needs to go. The ease of the process depends on if I can surrender and extinguish my personal expectations. So, here, based on the recommendation of my agent after reading my initial three chapters, I’ve followed the voice of my 13-year-old protagonist.

I used to think that my work-in-progress fell in the category of YA (young adult) lit, but apparently it’s MG lit, or middle-grade literature. I’m writing for tweens, 10 to 14 year olds. This is a good age, I think. Teenagers any older may slowly be making their way into grownup literature. At least that’s what I was doing at that age.

I’m the first to tell you that I never expected to write for young people. First of all, I’m totally old school. Many of you know that I recently switched over from Windows 98 to Windows 2003. I don’t own an IPod. I don’t IM or text message. When I worked at my community newspaper, our then high-school intern presented me with her Dope Dictionary (circa 1996) because it was obvious that I was so out of it at the time that I thought dope meant Mary Jane. (In 1996, dope meant cool.)

I’m not whimsical or fantasy oriented. I don’t have children yet. I am playful, however. I’ll be the first to jump onto a swing at the beach, take a whack at the plastic moles at an arcade, go ice skating in the middle of downtown, and bounce around on a trampoline.

There are certainly some social, literary, and economic advantages in appealing to this MG and YA market. While many of us have noticed the graying of our core mystery audience, these readers are the future. They are adolescents and teenagers. Books for young people are powerful; the best have enormous staying power. Certainly all of us have that close connections to early books, whether it be ARE YOU THERE, GOD? IT’S ME, MARGARET; FROM THE MIXED UP FILES OF BASIL E. FRANKWEILER; A WRINKLE IN TIME; THE PHANTOM TOLLBOOTH; the ALL-OF-A-KIND-OF-FAMILY series, etc. It’s no surprise that many of these formidable works are still being sold to young people today.

And aside from the Harry Potter novels and other fantasy books, MG books can be quite short. Forty thousand words, to be exact. In fact, that’s the length that stipulated in my contract, which was received only recently. At the time, I was planning to write a 60,000-word book, but now certain chapters have been compressed and now the manuscript is looking to be 45,000 to 50,000 words.

But more than these factors, I’ve discovered another benefit in entering this genre. Carl Hiassen’s quote on his website captures my sentiments: “Writing for young readers is a tonic for me.”

For me, 2006 was a tough year. We were still recovering from a death in the family at the end of the previous year, and then, as it often happens, we were socked in the stomach with more loss. The pain was tremendous and almost crippling to me personally. Anyone who has met me knows that on the surface I’m a cheery, optimistic person. I like to laugh. I don’t have frown lines. But 2006 hit me hard. I cried frequently—not a few pretty tears, but gut-wrenching sobs. The messy kind that produces red-swollen eyes and plenty of sticky, runny snot.

Angela, my 13-year-old protagonist in my middle school novel, is also experiencing trauma. In the book, 1001 CRANES, her parents are breaking up. She must spend a summer away from her home in Northern California in a working-class suburb called Gardena. She must negotiate certain unfamiliar cultural practices, like the folding of origami cranes for weddings, in midst of the dissolution of her own family unit.

Beginning to explore Angela’s loss wasn’t necessarily cathartic—I don’t believe that writing for pay should come from that place—but I understood her despair in a new way. I respected it.

In 2006 I also wrote three noir stories, darker ones than I’ve ever attempted. My mood certainly helped to develop the tone of these tales. One in particular spilled out quickly; it was one of these stories that wrote itself. I’m considering taking one of those stories and expanding the time period and characters into a standalone novel. It won’t stay at quite the same level of darkness as the short story, however. It will be hard for me to be in that place for a year or longer.

My MG novel is not about silliness and light, but I must admit that it’s been nice to reenter Angela’s world after writing these string of noir stories. It has been good tonic. Despite whatever obstacles are in her way, time is on her side.

YA and MG Lit Resources

One of the wonderful things about writing in a different genre is learning new things, both creatively and business-wise.

The MWA equivalent to this world is the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators (SCBWI). There are some fundamental differences in the setup of these organizations.While SCBWI is for-profit association devoted to the development of children’s book writers and illustrators, MWA is a nonprofit charitable organization devoted to promotion of mysteries.

The SCBWI holds conferences on the East and West coasts, featuring lectures by editors, agents, and experienced authors. I’m hoping to check out the one in August. They also have these monthly regional informal get-togethers in people’s homes.

MWA has its Edgars Award each year, and the American Library Association offers its slew of awards, most notably the Caldecott and Newbery. These are definitely the Oscars for writing for young readers.

You can imagine that there would be a wide range of offerings in terms of blogs and other Internet resources in this genre.

A writer who I will happily meet in person at the inaugural Asian Pacific American Book Festival, Pooja Makhijani, has compiled a great list of blogs, and I can personally attest to the usefulness of A Fuse #8.

A most helpful yahoo group is middle school lit. This is aimed for librarians and teachers, first, and writers, a distant second.

One thing I’ve observed with mystery listservs is many of them degenerate into BSP. Hey, BSP is a necessary evil, but there needs to be a sacred place where readers can post their honest opinions and observations. Here in this yahoo groups, librarians and educators are the primary posters and I appreciate reading their challenges while on the frontlines with our readers.

There are similar yahoo groups for YA writers, but in the interest of time, I haven’t joined them, so I’m unfamiliar with their postings.

And finally, I’m gradually letting go of my skepticism regarding book trailers. In fact, I love the Random House submissions for the inaugural Teen Book Video competition last year. I don’t know if the competition will continued this year, but check out last year’s three finalists.

The Long Goodbye

There’s a long goodbye
And it happens every day
When some passerby
Invites your eye
To come her way

Even as she smiles
A quick hello
You let her go
You let the moment fly
Too late you turn head
You know you’ve said
The long goodbye

Windy branches sigh
Can you recognize the theme
Down some autumn street
Two people meet
As in a dream
Running for a plane
Through the rain
With the heart it’s quicker
Than the eye
They might be lovers
Until they die

It’s too late to try
When a missed hello
Becomes the long goodbye

/Guyot

Motive for Murder

by Pari Noskin Taichert

In the summertime, during New Mexico’s highest fire risk, I have dark fantasies. Most often, they’re sparked by some young woman who throws her still smoldering cigarette butt out of a car window. In spite of my fury, I’ve never imagined murder — not in real life — not with the kids in the car.

I do think about murder when I’m writing, though. The method and the why of it are part of the big puzzle, the challenge in coming up with a "compelling" novel.

And yet, in day-to-day life, most motives are dreadfully mundane, cliche.

There’s greed, revenge, betrayal and perversion. That’s about it. (Please set me straight in the comments section, if I’m missing a category.)

Each one of these can be fleshed out:

Greed
for money, security, property, human "property" (custody battles, loverships), desire for recognition/fame, downfall or defense of business, religious/cultural domination

Betrayal/Perceived betrayal
jealousy, crimes of passion, distrust, childhood scarring, drug deals gone bad, domestic violence

Perversion
personal satisfaction (here’s where we meet the psychos and sociopaths — the stars of many serial killer novels)

Revenge/Vengeance
alot of gang-related stuff would go here, road rage, religious conflict

I wasn’t quite sure where to put WAR. IMHO, this phenomenon usually has to do with one of the motives above such as greed (territory), revenge (religious conflict).

If my categories are generally true, I think they show that people aren’t that creative when it comes to rationalizing reasons to off each other. At least, that’s how it looks to me.

So why do I feel obligated to come up with new motives, to be inventive? To dress up reality?

That’s the strange thing. The majority of real-life crimes — though horrid in their aftermath — are boring in their moment. I’m thinking of the prison guard in southern New Mexico who hired a hitman to kill his wife. He paid the guy $250 because he was "tired" of her. Nothing big. Nothing fancy.

No editor would EVER accept that as a motive. There would have to be more. But, folks, there wasn’t.

Most crime is like that. When I pick up the local newspaper, I find small stories — crimes committed by unremarkable people who become interesting because of a single act.

We writers embellish and weave marvelous stories from the smallest ember. But why does fiction have to be larger than life?

Or, does it?

The Fall of Rome

By Mike MacLean

My heart is heavy.

The last episode of Rome airs tonight. It was a fantastic show, unparalleled in its depictions of bloodshed, sex, and political intrigue. It out-Sopranoed the Sopranos and gave us a history lesson in the bargain. Rome will be missed.

I know, I know; it was only a TV show. There are plenty more out there, some great ones even. But Rome was something special, and its passing has me feeling five shades of blue.

Only one thing can lift my spirits. A list. God help me, how I love the lists.

TOP TEN CURRENT TV SHOWS

(In no particular order.)

1. Rome

2. Heroes

3. 30 Rock (Alec Baldwin is insanely funny. And has anyone noticed that SNL sucks this year? ("D!%K in a Box" notwithstanding) Could it be the show has gone downhill as a result of Tina Fey’s departure, one of their top writers? So wait…writing actually makes a difference in quality? Who knew?)

4. My Name is Earl

5. The Office

6. Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip (I pray to the heathen television gods to give this show another chance.)

7. The Daily Show

8. Veronica Mars (Mars is proof that TV is as good as it’s ever been. The fact that it might be on the chopping block, to be replaced by The Pussy Cat Dolls, is proof that TV is also as bad as it has ever been.)

9. BattleStar Galactica

10. Lost (I’m still hooked, but I have fears that all the plot twists will lead absolutely nowhere. Ultimately the show may be…"Full of Sound and Fury signifying nothing.")

So let’s hear it Murder fans. What are your picks?

Why so dark?

by Alex

We’ve talked about what our literary influences have been, and JT talked yesterday about how we collect characters from around us (that is, so I hear – I wasn’t able to get on for some reason).

But I spent a couple hours yesterday in an interview talking about how to write horror and that got me to wondering about the life incidents that led us to choose this dark genre of ours (some of us darker than others….).

For instance, I realized after seeing the movie ZODIAC this week that the Zodiac killer was a huge early – influence? Inspiration? Impression? What I mean is, I grew up in California and even years after this guy had dropped off the map, we kids were scaring ourselves senseless by telling ourselves Zodiac stories around the fire at Girl Scout camp. He was our Boogey Man.

My dad grew up in Mexico and he had a passel of ghost stories that he’d pull out around the campfire to scare us with.

Also, since Dad is a scientist and Russian, and attended a lot of scientific conferences that got turned into family road trips, I have early memories of us in the family station wagon being followed by the CIA because, you know, Russians were out to destroy the world at the time. All that ever happened was that they followed us around but naturally I’d spice the whole thing up in my imagination – my first attempts at thrillers.

It’s only recently occurred to me that perhaps I write ghosts because I went to a haunted high school – specifically, the grand and decrepit old auditorium where I spent most of my high school, rehearsing choir programs and plays, was supposedly haunted by a girl named Vicki who died the night of her prom back in the 20’s. Yes, yes, I know that’s a classic urban legend, but we all believed in Vicki, and there were parts of that auditorium where you just didn’t want to go, alone or with others. Cold spots. Strange noises. Disappearing props.

(But somehow it never once crossed my mind while I was writing THE HARROWING that I was writing about a haunted school because I went to a haunted school).

I also had some pretty scary experiences early on in life that made me realize that there was evil out there. A child molester who’d been trolling the streets around my elementary school tried to grab me one afternoon when I was walking home from school. He was a small and creepy man, and even though I didn’t have any sense of what child molesting was at the time, I knew there was something just wrong with him and I ran. That was my first full-on experience of what evil looks and feels like, and it’s not something you forget or let go.

And I had friends, as we all do, who were not so lucky about escaping predators, and the anger about that has fueled a lot of my writing.

There’s more, of course, and once you start thinking of influences, it’s pretty fascinating how much you uncover about your motivations.

So I wondered what kinds of experiences from real life have made you all the dark, twisted writers you are…. and what in their own lives would make our ‘Rati readers seek out this genre?

The Great Character Co-opt

JT Ellison — coming to you from a beachside tavern in sunny central Florida…

I’m away this week, celebrating a most blessed event. My parents have been married fifty years today. FIFTY years! Can you imagine being with the same person for the vast majority of your life? (I can, but I’m lucky.) What an amazing example they’ve been to me, both in life and in love. Thanks, guys!

I love creating characters. They come from within and without. Today I’d like to talk about the characters that are inspired by people you may meet — the ones with personalities, looks, language abilities (or lack thereof), even smells — the strangers who flit through our lives. How many have you come across who are so striking you feel compelled to co-opt them directly into your manuscript?

Simon had a great post a while back about people’s hidden superpowers. I said at the time that I had none. Since I’ve had time to think more about it, I realize that my secret superpower is to be in situations where strangers feel it necessary to share their innermost secrets with me. I also seem to attract people very different from myself. I’ve always seen that as a blessing. Now that I’m writing full time, it’s a bit deeper than that.

I’ve had two of these run-ins this week alone. It got me thinking about the effect these chance meetings have on my writing, and the simple fact is I co-opt these people, fictionalize them and slap them into my books or shorts.

The first was a woman, late forties, bleached blond hair in a Farrah flip, lots of make-up. That was my first impression. I watched her stand in front of a mirror, a large make-up bag at the ready, reapplying another layer of foundation. She moved on to her lips, then refreshed her eyeshadow and mascara. She turned to me and I thought she looked a bit like a Kewpie doll, all dressed up and nowhere to go.

I was getting a pedi, in preparation for this trip. She came and sat next to me, shoulders slumped. She dunked her feet into the water and I noticed her wedding band, on her third finger. I saw the veins running under her nearly translucent skin, blue and sluggish, and realized she was terribly thin. And pale. She spoke in a whisper, telling the tech that she’d just left the hospital. There was a problem with her heart. They didn’t know what it was. She talked about the tests, the uncertainty, how very alone she felt.

She was in the shop the entire time I was there, and I overheard most of her story. Her husband was cheating on her and had just filed for divorce. A sister was dumping problems on her which seemed like minutiae compared with possible congestive heart failure. She felt taken advantage of by everyone in her life, was complaining bitterly about how bad things were. I started to wonder if perhaps she just had a broken heart, a real live broken heart.

Snip. She went directly into the mental tertiary database.

The second was as disturbing, but in a different way. Hubby and I went out to breakfast on Sunday. Our usual spot had a long line, so we went to a different place, a same name chain store two exits up the highway. We took a seat at the counter, ordered our cheesy eggs, and I started looking around. The non-smoking section was made up of an amalgamation of typical middle Tennessee — a middle aged woman in capris, with a Coach bag and fine highlights; an interior designer meeting with a client; two young couples: one with two adorable little boys dressed in madras pants and polo shirts with the collar up, the other childless, faces pinched at the noise.

The smoking section was more ethnically oriented, with several Hispanics and African-Americans sitting along a low counter. Smack dab in the middle of the line-up was a skinhead and his woman. And I’m not talking about some wanna-be young kid trying to look cool, this guy was the real deal — Aryan Nation, prison tats all over him, two giant swastikas on his neck, and a "White Power" T-shirt. And he was yapping. Loudly. Rudely. Enough that the poor African-American waitress behind the counter burned four waffles in a row because she was blinded by tears at the outrageous goings-on. The rest of the folks gamely ignored him, and left quickly. There was one man, with a doo-rag and tattoos so thick on each arm that no flesh showed, sitting with his son, who engaged in a friendly battle of intellectualism with this asshole, but the rest of us sat stiffly, not knowing what to do. To be perfectly honest, I wanted to go tell the skinhead what a jerk he was, but I was afraid. My God, this guy could snap my neck with a single hand. And isn’t that where the problem lies? They can have power, and control, through intimidation alone. What kind of power is that?

But when I put him in the book, and create a scenario around him, my tough as nails cop can engage him. Physically. I’m looking forward to meting out some fictional justice in honor of the innocent people sharing my brunch. Maybe I’ll dissect what made him who he is, how he came to be on that path, search for a reason. Maybe I’ll let him be a stereotype; that’s certainly how I reacted to him in person. Hmm. Maybe I’ll be the one with the power in the end.

I can’t help but steal these strange souls for my tertiary characters. I don’t know who influenced me, but I’ve always felt that it’s vital to a story to make every character count. If they are going to exist in my pages, they need to have worth, big or small. Characters can be drawn with simple strokes or complex explanations. I do a little of both depending on what the scenario calls for.

Do you have a favorite ripped from real life character? And if you’re a reader, what makes these sometimes nameless characters sing for you?

Wine of the Week: Layer Cake Shiraz

From the back of the bottle, a sentiment so fitting for this post — "My old grandfather made and enjoyed wine for 80 years. He told me the soil in which the vines lived were a layer cake. He said the wine, if properly made, was like a great layer cake, fruit, mocha and chocolate, hints of spice and rich, always rich…" A. Orlando

May all your stories and characters be layer cake! And please join me in congratulating New York Times bestselling author Laura Lippman on her first NYT slot (whoot! whoot! whoot!) and fellow debut author Kristy Kiernan, whose brilliant first novel CATCHING GENIUS just went into a second printing, a mere two weeks after its release! (Triple whoots to you too!) Seems I remember predicting people might like that one…

When It All Gets Too Much

Writing is sometimes easy and sometimes a right pain in the arse. When it’s the latter, it can get real intense. There I am trying to make words fit into sentences and sentences fit into paragraphs and none of it wants to hang together. It feels like I’m playing Jenga with sticks of TNT. After days of banging my head against the problem, the whole thing loses meaning. Verbs become mystical creatures that gallop lavender meadows. I don’t know a period from hole in the ground. In the end it feels like I’ve been staring into the sun for a week and it hurts when I look away.

When I’ve gotten to this stage, it’s time for a break (psychotic or otherwise). There’s no point sitting at the keyboard any longer. I have to put some distance between me and the problem by doing something else much less difficult—like creating cold fusion or solving world hunger. Actually, I find something really mundane helps. It’s like a palate cleanser. It clears all my preconceptions and allows a clear flow of thoughts. Before long, I have the answers to my problems.

So what things do I do to clear my mental logjam? I usually take Royston for a walk. This has sort of lost its effectiveness. Royston used to be a Great Dane and I’ve worn him down to a dachshund. I say, “Royston, it’s time for a walk.” He looks at me with that “another bloody walk” look and runs away. As soon as he hears me swearing at the computer screen, he sneaks off to hide the leash.

To give Ro-Ro a rest, I do other things—mainly chores. I work in the garden. I have an unstoppable wall of ivy in the backyard and I get out the hedge trimmer and whittle it down to size while moaning, “Character development, my arse!” Or I get on hands and knees yanking the weed grass out of the lawn while muttering, “So how do you garrote someone when you only have one arm?”

Another of my decompression exercises is to do the laundry or iron our clothes. I find it very therapeutic to separate my heavy cottons from my delicates.

Julie quite likes this little trait of mine. Chores around the house get done. I get the feeling that when she edits my work she’s not being entirely honest. I believe she has an ulterior motive. Just listen to this recent, yet telling remark. “Simon, I don’t think this scene is quite right. I’m not sure your character would act this way. Now, here’s a paint brush. The bathroom needs going over.”

Now I know I could be misreading the situation, but my next book project is going to be a tough one and Julie suggested I should go for it—but lately, she’s been outlining her needs for the kitchen remodel…

Well, that’s how I decompress—how do you get away from it all when you can’t go anywhere?

Yours back from the brink,
Simon Wood
PS: Remember the phrase "Novice Hero." Don’t ask why. Just remember where you heard it first and be prepared to be called as a witness.

ON THE BUBBLE WITH…ME

If you were expecting a Q & A with Evil E – I’m sorry to disappoint you – because it ain’t gonna happen. What? Do you think I’m crazy? Besides – who was gonna add my usual pithy comments? But what the hell – I put my photo up anyway.

But – I am ‘On The Bubble’ today. To say goodbye.

I’m not a cliché person, however, ‘All good things must come to an end’ seems appropriate. Other commitments require my full attention now, and the time constraints of weekly contributions to On The Bubble can no longer be offered with my usual brilliance and alacrity.

It’s been a marvelous year here at Murderati, and I’ve had great fun with all of you – and of course – with some of the best and brightest writers and reviewers around. Brave souls all – and great sports who braved the danger in the basement as they descended those dark stairs and never once turned on the light as they willingly played with me at On The Bubble.

So (and in alpha order) may I offer my thanks again to:

Raymond Benson, Cara Black, Stephen Booth, Jim Born, Robin Burcell, Barry Eisler, J.T. Ellison, Robert Fate, Julia Spencer-Fleming, Tess Gerritson, Chris Grabenstein, Paul Guyot, Denise Hamilton, John Hart, Gregg Hurwitz, Alex Kava, Bob Levinson, Laura Lippman, Gayle Lynds, David Montgomery, Donna Moore, P.J. Parrish, Ian Rankin, Linda Richards, Gillian Roberts, Jim Rollins, M.J. Rose, Dylan Schaffer, Alexandra Sokoloff, Pari Noskin-Taichert, Louise Ure, James Lincoln Warren and Chassie West.

My thanks also to Gar Haywood for his wonderful guest blog last week. Oh, to be so gifted…

And to those wonderful writers and friends who had been waiting in the wings – my apologies for not staying around long enough to give you grief. So – Heather Graham, Lee Child, David Morrell, Val McDermid, Steve Brewer, David Corbett, Dominic Stansbury, Dan Hale, Shaz Wheeler, Ali Karim, Ken Bruen and Lee Goldberg – drinks are on me at ThrillerFest! Uh, just the first round.

Many, many thanks for stopping by each week. YOU – and my wonderful guests – have made the trip loads of fun – and so very worthwhile.

Elaine

Music To My Ears

By Louise

I was born without a music gene. More specifically, the tiny, misshapen music gene I did have included a lot of the same DNA molecules found in white bread and low-fat cottage cheese.

But I’m learning, with the help of three superb teachers. A Seattle-based R&B drummer. My favorite crime fiction authors. And Pandora.

But let’s start at the beginning.

While the rest of America was grooving to Elvis, I was crooning Pat Boone’s “Love Letters in the Sand.” When my classmates discovered Ray Charles, I was busy singing along to “Teen Angel.”

Hell, I thought “The White Album” was by some guy named White.

All that began to change when I got married. My husband grew up in center city Seattle, and was distinctly in the white minority at Garfield High School. He started playing drums in an R&B band at fifteen, often having to get smuggled into the adult-only after-hours bars for his gigs.

So, while I was swooning to Gerry and the Pacemakers, Bruce was getting paid to play Coltrane, Bobby Bland and James Brown. And he wasn’t about to marry a musical illiterate. You know the old good luck wedding ritual of gathering “something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue?” I got the blue. Blues, that is. And Jazz. And Rock ‘n Roll.

Hendrix. Miles Davis. The Rolling Stones. Laura Nyro. Lena Horne, Art Blakey. Thelonius Monk. Dinah Washington and Grant Green. Wes Montgomery and Bill Evans.

They put my Beach Boys to shame.

These days my musical education is continuing with crime fiction. What’s that you say? Have you never noticed how many mystery protagonists have an obsession with jazz?

John Harvey’s Resnick is a jazz fan.

As is J.A. Jance’s J.P. Beaumont.

Michael Connelly even assembled as CD of Harry Bosch’s favorite jazz artists from DARK SACRED NIGHT, including Art Pepper and Sonny Rollins. Louis Armstrong sings “What A Wonderful World.”

A number of other crime fiction protagonists love the blues.

Ace Atkins’ series features sometime blues history teacher, Nick Travers, in New Orleans.

In Lee Child’s KILLING FLOOR, Jack Reacher travels to Margrave, Georgia because famed blues guitarist Blind Blake died there.

Blues and R&B were so important to George Pelecanos in his Derek Strange novel, HARD REVOLUTION, that he too, released a CD with music to accompany the book. Wilson Pickett’s “Don’t Fight It” sets the stage for the novel. Solomon Burke, Sam & Dave, Percy Sledge and Otis Redding tell the rest of the tale.

There are also detectives and sleuths who favor classical music.

S.J. Rozan’s Bill Smith plays classical piano.

Peter Robinson’s Inspector Banks listens to classical music as well as rock, and his son is in a band.

Then there’s Irene Adler, the opera diva of Carol Nelson Douglas’s series.

And Colin Dexter’s Morse likes Mozart, Schubert and Wagner. (An interesting lagniappe about Morse’s music, found by Cornelia Read: The theme music for the Morse series was written by Barrington Pheloung and uses a motif based on the Morse code for M-O-R-S-E. Pheloung occasionally spelled out the name of the killer in Morse code in the music for the television series, as well.)

Rock ‘n Roll has its fans, too, as any reader of Robert Crais’s Elvis Cole series can tell you.

And some crime writers have put music at the heart of their story.

Paul Charles, himself a noted British rock promoter, peppered I LOVE THE SOUND OF BREAKING GLASS with the words and sounds of Paul Simon, Nick Lowe and ABBA.

David Hiltbrand’s series character, Jim McNamara (DYING TO BE FAMOUS and DEADER THAN DISCO), is a private eye who hunts killers in the world of rock ‘n roll.

Hal Glatzer’s series features Katy Green and an all-girl swing band in the 1940’s.

And Charlotte Carter’s Nanette Hayes is a jazz saxophonist.

Other writers are a little more eclectic in their music choices.

Eileen Dreyer’s nurse characters seem to spend their time in pubs listening to Irish music.

Cornelia Read’s heroine, Madeline Dare, likes The Dead Kennedys and the Allman Brothers, but listens to Joni Mitchell and Joan Baez when her husband is out of town.

And Ken Bruen’s more-evil-than-evil villain, Dade, in AMERICAN SKIN, has an obsession with Tammy Wynette.

Clearly, my musical repertoire has increased with my reading. I may not even be classified as musically-challenged anymore.

But now a third teacher has entered the room. Pandora.com Oh, how I urge you to try Pandora! This is free internet radio the way it was meant to be. You type in any song or artist that catches your fancy. They match it – in instrumentation, key tonality, chord progression, tempo, genre, voice quality, regional influences, extent of vamping and vocal harmony, and a hundred other variables based on the Music Genome Project – and create a radio station based solely around that music.

You get an unending, perfectly mixed concert based on music you know you like. And you discover artist after artist that you’ve never heard of before.

Go ahead. Try it. I’ll wait. (My apologies to our international blog visitors. I understand that Pandora only works for US based internet users right now.)

So my questions for you today are:

Who have I left off this list of music lovers in crime fiction?

And who (or what song) did you type in as your first Pandora radio station?

(Special thanks today to Rae Helmsworth, Cornelia Read, Sharon Wheeler and Andi Shechter for helping with the list of music lovers in crime fiction. Their memories are clearly sharper than mine.)