Murder She Writes

I just read a really good book. Loved it. I’m thinking about the book a great deal because it totally grabbed me. One of the things I’m thinking about is this:

Can a wife live with her husband for months or years and not realize he’s a villain?

In the book I read, the heroine and her father own a publishing company. The heroine marries a man she works with (an employee) and for two years has no idea he’s a manipulative, cold, calculating, driven man with a very dark side. Even though she lives and works with him.

Plausible?

All throughout the book, I kept trying to decide if I believe it. I’ve decided I do, IF the heroine is lying to herself. And come on, our ability for self deception is what makes people so interesting.

I’m a classic example. I lie to myself about losing weight every single day. I just bought an outfit that I am afraid to try on again because I believe I may have lied to myself about how it looks on me. I lie to myself about stuff every day. These are small little self delusions that keep me going. Stuff like, I’m going to work faster and more efficiently during the week and take the entire weekend off.

Mwhahahaha!!! Okay, sorry, after putting in long hours on both Saturday and Sunday, I’m a little punchy.

Okay, little aside here, my husband just walked through my office, stopped and asked me, “Why are you working again?”

“I’m not, I’m just writing a blog. It’s not really work.” Self lie! Blogs are promotion and it’s all part of my job as a published author.

He shook his head and went back outside where apparently the sane people reside. Yet I keep telling myself I’m going to take weekends off.

Anyway, self lies can make for interesting hero/heroines: A really smart strong woman whose self lies keep her from acknowledging her mistake in her choice of husband until forced to face it though a series of events. After all it’s how she faces the crises that makes her heroic right? If she refuses to acknowledge her own foolish self lies as her life comes apart and people are hurt, then she’s not a hero at all.

In fact, if she gets drawn into her husband’s web, her lies no long just self deceptions but growing bigger and more dangerous, then she becomes the villain. She begins hurting OTHERS with her lies on order to protect herself.

In fact, those are, in my opinion, the most interesting villains. Not born dark and evil, but crossing that line one self-lie at a time. Like the employee who decides, “I’ll just take a thousand dollars from the company to pay the mortgage and pay it back next month. No one will ever know.” And five years later, they are killing to cover up their thefts. One self lie at a time.

Of course in the book I read, the heroine came to the same conclusion I did. She was lying to herself all along. She missed clues, she wanted to believe in her husband. But once she did realize, she fought back.

So what do you think? Can you buy the premise in books, movies, or real life that wife can live with her husband for months or years and not realize he’s a villain?

And I want you all to know that I valiantly resisted even ONE Tiger Woods analogy here! And, oh, there were so many…

Last week I did the Author’s Tea at the Huntington Beach Library. It was a blast! I always enjoy talking to other people who love books. As it happens, I also knew the other two authors, Susan Squires and DeAnna Cameron. All in all it was a good day.

Except for one thing—I didn’t do as well as I’d like with my speech. DeAnna and Susan were great! Seriously, they each played to their strengths and were very good.

Me? Not so much. I am irritated beyond belief by this. I know I can do better. But here’s the part that is totally cracking me up. All my friends and my sister asked how’d it go, the conversation goes something like this:

Them: “How was the tea?”

Me: “Very cool! They had lovely little sandwiches, delicious tea and an assortment of cookies and scones. Two of my author-friends were speaking so it was great to see them too!”

Them: “What about your speech?”

Me: “I didn’t do very well. Just wasn’t on my game.”

Them: “You always say that. I’m sure you did fine.”

Me: “No really, I never loved the speech I wrote, and then I lost my place, skipped around, just couldn’t the rhythm until the last third of the talk. Not my best day.”

Them: “Jen! I’ve seen you speak, you’re always too hard on yourself.”

Me: “No really, I…”

And this is where I realized I AM INSANE. Who else tries to convince their friends that they did a bad job at something? I’m going to blame it on stress, burnout, insecurity and three weeks of insomnia (that has now cleared up, yay!).

It’s clearly time for something different (especially since I just wasted two hours trying to come up with a blog and failed).

Instead, let’s play a game. I’ve been in the business for almost a decade and have had a few experiences. For a chance to win a $15.00 Barnes and Noble Gift Card, your challenge is to fine the experience that DIDN’t happen to me.

Got that? Which experience DID NOT happen to me?

1) Turned down an anthology contract with a New York Times Bestseller.
2) Ever have a “fan” start a conversation with, “I killed a guy when I was eleven.”
3) Have a (almost) Janet Jackson Wardrobe Malfunction.
4) Had one of my books optioned for a movie.
5) While giving a workshop on Sex Intimacy and Character development, have Stephen J. Cannell walk in while just as I was talking about alpha men and sex.

Take a shot—ALL comments are in the drawing, whether you’re wrong or right. I’ll announce the winner over the weekend.

Join me in welcoming my good friend, Kate Carlisle to Murder She Writes! Kate’s first book, HOMICIDE IN HARDCOVER, featuring the bookbinder Brooklyn Wainwright, hit the New York Times extended list, catapulting Kate into the ranks of National Bestselling Author. And you know what? She still has coffee or lunch with me! Kate rocks, and she tolerates my petty jealousy with amazing good humor! Kate’s highly anticipated second book, IF BOOKS COULD KILL is hitting the stores tomorrow. You don’t want to miss this second book in this dynamite cozy mystery series! Be sure to leave a comment for Kate today and you’ll be entered in the drawing to win a copy of IF BOOKS COULD KILL!

When I first saw the cover art for If Books Could Kill, the second book of my Bibliophile Mysteries series, I was thrilled to see a cat on the cover. Isn’t he handsome? Let’s call him Sean Cattery. Can you tell that he meows with a Scottish accent and feasts on haggis? If Books Could Kill is set in Edinburgh, Scotland, my favorite city in the world, and this cat plays a small but pivotal role. Mostly I was excited because I know that many mystery readers love cats.

I started to wonder why so many cats are featured in mysteries. I have a theory about one reason: Most cats are pathologically sociopathic, and we mystery lovers find that fascinating. (Let us pause for a moment so I can congratulate myself on using the phrase “pathologically sociopathic” in a sentence!)

Sociopathic cats have an utter disregard for humans, except as we relate to feeding and massaging them. There’s none of that canine eagerness to please. When I think of cats, I always think of a cartoon where the dog is panting and excited to see his humans come home while the cat is thinking, “Day seven hundred and fifty-two of captivity…” Dogs live to serve humans; cats live to be served. No wonder the ancient Egyptians worshipped them – cats demanded it!

We’re entranced by cats because they don’t need us.

(Whoa! Major flashback to high school!!! I had such a crush on the cutest boy in school, who never even looked at me until he needed help with his homework. And by “help,” I mean he needed someone to do it for him. He was too lazy even to copy. He wanted me to fake his handwriting. I think it says a lot about my moral fortitude that I…did it for him. Yep. Whatever he wanted, as long as he kept looking at me with those smoldering eyes. I bowed to his every wish. Seriously, who has moral fortitude under those circumstances?!)

Cats are sexy. When’s the last time you heard of a woman dressing up like a dog for Halloween? Not me! I don’t want to go to parties and have guys pointing at me from across the room saying, “That dog over there.” But slap some little pointy ears on my head and draw attention to my cute little button nose with some strategically placed whiskers, and I feel like – dare I say it? – a sex kitten! I might even change my name to Kitty if a certain old-timey actress/singer hadn’t already claimed the name Kitty Carlisle for all eternity.

The term “cat burglar” has a certain romantic allure, doesn’t it? The naughty rogue, the gentleman criminal. He’s not a bad guy, he’s someone to be admired and envied. A sophisticated sociopath. Cats often try to get away with something…and usually succeed.

Unlike dogs, cats travel alone. Somehow, their solitary nature adds to the mystery of a cat. Few cats can be trained to come when you call. Oh, they’ll come sometimes, but it’s a coincidence. They don’t come because a human has called; they come only because they feel like it.

Why do you think cats are so popular in mysteries? Have you ever encountered a sociopathic cat? Tell me about it! Or have you known cats who disprove my theory? (I’ll let you in on a little secret – the cat in If Books Could Kill is very cuddly.)

Don’t forget to leave a comment to be entered into the drawing to win a copy of IF BOOKS COULD KILL!

One year and one month ago, my husband said, “You’ll never believe what I just read in the paper.”

I saw the smirk and knew I wasn’t going to guess. “What?”

“The gym burned down last night.”

“It wasn’t me! I was home asleep!” Was the first thing I said. Then tears of joy welled in my eyes and a huge boulder rolled off my chest. THE GYM BURNED DOWN! No more trudging back there at night or first thing in the morning, trying to make myself believe that I can look thinner, more toned, younger…better! You know those seductive commercials with toned hardbodies whispering that if you join their gym, you too can look like a Barbie Babe?

Liars! I am living proof they are liars! I’ve worked out most of my adult life, and I’ve never looked like a commercial. Liars. And now that I’m free I will never fall into that trap again. Never sweat and pound and torture my body into that false image again!

I can stop the madness, and—bonus!—I’ll have more time to read books. I’ll even buy jeans with elastic waist bands. I mean come on, if the gym burning down wasn’t a message from God, then I don’t know what is.

Freedom! Goodbye Guilt! Hello chocolate! I am a New Woman, no longer a slave to The Big Lie!

It started small. In spite of my best intentions, I began to cringe every time I reached for something and felt a disgusting wiggle on my arms. Looking down while writing? I detected a lot of thigh and butt action going on. Little curls of shame snaked through the roll on my stomach.

Then I started to notice my old gym clothes sitting in my closet, abandoned and dusty. Nostalgia tightened my chest. I began to remember the feeling of euphoria after a workout. The fun of classes. The camaraderie of the long-term members as we watched the new folks pour in each year and picked out the one, two or maybe three if it was a good year, that would stick it out more than six weeks.

At odd moments, I caught myself fantasizing…what if I took off a couple pounds? Toned up my arms, did a few sit ups, walked nowhere on the treadmill…maybe cut back on the chocolate? And wine?

Wait NOT THE WINE! I mean come on, that’s just crazy talk. But I could get into a little better shape, you know, just sort of be the best I can be?

It hit me then, OMG I miss working out! I miss the gym!

There I said it. And then, last week, I did it. Just like all the people we made fun of for well over a decade at my old gym (I swear, I don’t know how it burned down!) I joined the throngs of people with delusions of hardbodies…I mean with the goal of better health and fitness, and joined a new gym.

I know it’s A Big Fat Lie, that I won’t get thin, toned and ready for my close up. I know it, and yet…

That darned lie is just so seductive. Besides, I believe in romance novels, I actually believe in happily ever after. Why can’t I believe I might wake up young, thin and toned?

The gym—it’s My Big Lie. I’ve always known it and yet I can’t let it go. Not even a fire (I swear, I wasn’t there!) can destroy my willingness to ignore reality and believe.

What about you guys? What’s your big lie?

Happy New Year! MurderSheWrites is back with new blogs and some new faces! Stay tuned to meet our new MSW gals!

I got a bit worn down at the end of last year, but I took some time over Christmas to rest up. My husband and I cooked, went to the movies, did some shopping, just spent time together.

The best movie we saw (in my opinion) was IT’S COMPLICATED. I laughed so hard, I doubled over as tears rolled down my face. Although I’ve never been divorced, I could relate to that movie! But as a writer, I also loved the way the plot kept moving, the characters were well defined, the humor was organic not forced, and so was the emotion.

While there was a great ensemble cast, the story belonged to Meryl Streep’s character. The story stayed focused.

I expected good things from the movie, but it still surprised me. If you haven’t seen it, I recommend you do.

Now for a few other things that surprised me 2009:

–JR Ward’s book LOVER AVENGED. Because I have a short attention span, I thought I had moved on from this series. But that book hooked me and I’m not sure why. It was a good surprise.

–I fell in absolute love with a small dog, Bailey. He’s not mine, but my son’s dog. I’ve always been a big dog person, but this little guy stole my heart.

–Losing the brilliant, fiery, outspoken, with-a-heart-as-big-as-Texas editor Kate Duffy. I still find it hard to believe a woman with her dynamic personality and character can be gone.

–Jaycee Dugard, the woman who was kidnapped and held captive for 18 years, then found and rescued. Once again, proof that the truth is often stranger than fiction, and proof that hope is real.

–That I actually said yes to giving a speech on world-building when I meant no. Then I had to do it. I enjoy chatting and hanging with writers. I love Ask An Author type things. But a structured workshop always end up taking an insane amount of preparation for me. It ended up being fun!

What about you all? What surprised you in 2009? I’m going to randomly draw two names from the comments to win a copy of my book SOUL MAGIC. I’ll announce the two winners over the weekend.

For the next two weeks, Murder She Writes will be bringing you our favorite blogs from the past. Then on Monday, January 4th, 2010, we’ll begin a new year with new blogs! This blog below was one of my favorites probably because it was just so much fun to write.

Oh and although the blogs are repeats, we will try to be around for comments. Let’s face it, we have to check in or we’d miss you all too much!

Dear Friends and Family.

What a year it’s been! I can’t believe the holidays are here again. Right away, you’ll notice my return address has changed to Folsom Correctional Institution for Women. I can explain.

It all started because I wanted to write a romance novel. Doesn’t that sound lovely? So I told my husband and kids. My husband said, “Does that mean I’ll get more?” He waggled his eyebrows in the universal male symbol for Me-Want-Sex. Then said, “What’s for dinner?”

My kids looked at me blankly, then suddenly remembered the school projects that were due TOMORROW! They needed poster board, glue, magazines, glitter and they need it all right now!

So I figured I’d start writing my book tomorrow, after I cooked dinner, bought poster board and cleaned up the awful mess from above mentioned glue and glitter.

The next day I got hubby off to work and the kids off to school. I poured some coffee and sat down to write my book. Then my mother called and wanted to have lunch. “Mom, I’m busy. I’m going to write a romance.”

A tirade unfolded in my ear, “I had a wonderful career as a dancer until I got knocked up with you. Then it was four months of morning sickness, four days of horrendous labor, colicky screaming day and night so that I couldn’t keep a sitter to work…my career was ruined! And all I want in return is to go to lunch with my daughter!”

So I’ll start writing my book tomorrow.

The next day, I got hubby off to work, kids off to school, and barely turned on my computer when my husband called and said, “Guess what! Mr. Big is in town and I invited him to dinner tonight. I told him you make the best homemade lasagna. We’ll be there for drinks at 6:00 pm. Uh, and honey, this time can you straighten up the house before we get there? And tell the kids to be good?”

Later that night, while Mr. Big was draining glass after glass of wine, he asked me what I do (uh, hello? See the home cooked lasagna?), I told him I was working on a romance novel. He waggled his eyebrows, although he was so drunk only one eyebrow lifted and said, “So you write that sex stuff bored housewives like.” I knew then that we didn’t have enough wine for me to get through the night.

The next morning, I snarled everyone out of the house, straightened up and THIS TIME, I got my laptop and went to Starbucks to write. I ordered myself a nice latte and sat down to work.

The gym-moms schlepped in. You all know about the gym-moms right? They drop their kids off at school and go to an actual gym. These women run around with words like “Juicy” on their toned rear ends. I could write the entire states of Massachusetts and Mississippi across my rear end and have room for the state capitals too. One of them asked me what I was doing. I told her writing a romance novel. She looked down her nose, “Oh I don’t read that trash.”

“Honey, you have “You Wish” on your ass! You ARE that trash. Just saying…” I pointed out nicely and tried, again, to work on my romance. I even managed to tune out the gym-moms chatter about their diets (what the freaking hell is tofu?). But alas, I only got a half page written when the school called on my cell.

Both kids had the stomach flu. Desperately wishing I could have a sick day, I picked up the kids and took them home to spend two days in a House of Horrors. Two sick kids and a husband who still thought he should go to poker night. I set him straight! “No way, dude! I’ve tried all week to work on my book. All I want is two hours to myself.”

My husband got a sudden call from his boss saying he had to come into work right away and he took off like the hounds of hell were chasing him. The selfish weasel.

So I guess I’d work on the book over the weekend.

At the kids’ soccer game, I had my laptop going, trying to write my romance. One person after another asked what I was doing. All the men cracked the same joke. “Need any help with the research?” Then they waggled their eyebrows in case I was too stupid to get that they were talking about sex.

I didn’t get one page written. Not one. And the team mom yelled at me because I brought fruit roll ups and juice boxes for snacks, and “They Are Not On The Approve Snack List.”

Just then my husband had the audacity to show up. Think he ever got his sorry hide out of bed and took the kids to the games? Not unless it was snowing at Satan’s house, you hear what I’m saying? No, true to form, he arrived at the very end of the game, acting like he’s the best father ever for making the effort. And to top it off, Ms. “You Wish” Ass tittered around, flirting with him. My husband puffed up like a overstuffed peacock. Ms. “You Wish” Ass, in the long held tradition of trashy women, decided to make fun of me and said, “She’s so involved in her trashy book, she didn’t even bring the right snacks today.”

My peacock husband said importantly, “I have to help her with the research on all the sexy parts.” Then he waggled his eyebrows at Ms. “You Wish” Ass.

In that instant, I saw the light. I didn’t want to write a romance! I wanted, no I needed to write a book about murder!

My husband was my first research subject.

Now I have lots of time to write here in the Folsom Correctional Institution for Women. Oh, and I’ve lost all of Massachusetts and a good portion of Mississippi off my ass.

Merry Christmas!
Just A. Joke

I’ve debated for a few days on blogging about this, but what the heck. It’s not like I’m known for holding back my opinions.

Alan Elsner wrote an article about reading a bunch of romance novels, and his ultimate opinion of the genre:

But I simply don’t find these books romantic.

Okay, that’s fine. It’s what he believes, and frankly I don’t really care. Some people like romance novels, others don’t.

Some people like mysteries, others don’t.

Some people like horror…

See where I’m going with this? I have even heard that some people don’t care for chocolate. While I find that baffling and strange, I don’t take offense.

I wouldn’t take offense to Mr. Elsner’s opinion if he had stuck with:

But I simply don’t find these books romantic.

I would probably be interested in the article to learn what his idea of romance was, however I would not be upset that it didn’t match my idea of romance. But no, he has to take a nasty swipe are romance readers:

I have nothing against such escapist fiction in principle. And I guess that women have as much right to enjoy pornography packaged to their liking as men.

Okay, now I am pissed off. This is an inflammatory comment, meant to induce outrage and to insult women who read romance. It is intended to belittle their choices as unworthy and embarrassing.

You see, we know that it is mostly women who read romance novels. And I infer from Mr. Elsner’s article that women are not making good choices based on comments like:

The true disservice that the “romance” genre does is that it sucks all the oxygen out of the room. It sets up expectations and lays down rules of what “romance” should be and what great sex is like.

Oh, well, yeah, let’s not set up expectations like that! Seriously folks, let’s stop telling women that:

–They deserve a man who will love and respect them.
–Who will consider their sexual needs and desires as well as his own.
–And make them feel lovable even with disabilities or baggage or whatever issues they may have.

I could go on and on. Women get IDEAS from these books, you know?

Mr. Elsner, I am an example of the Ugly Duckling Romance Novel. That’s the plot line where the woman feels unattractive, unworthy and possibly unlovable. The attractive man comes along, and she blossoms into a strong woman who feels attractive, worthy and entirely lovable.

Please notice that my actual looks are not relevant. This is all about feelings, very much like this comment you made in discussing how “Pride and Prejudice” is a true romance:

The real romance takes place in their heads as they change and grow and shape themselves for each other.

I began to change and grow in my head as my relationship developed with this man. I then married him, and over the years grew into a very strong, confident woman. Strong enough to raise three successful sons with my husband and go after my tightly held, secret dream of writing books, with my beloved husband’s full support.

And why did I give this love that has shaped my life so profoundly a chance?

It all started with a romance novel my older, married sister gave me when I was fourteen years old. It opened a world to me wherein a girl can dream, then grow into a woman who fulfills those dreams.

What saddens me is that Mr. Elsner views an entire genre of powerful, uplifting, hopeful books as porn.

I’m writing a novella for my old publisher, Kensington. I finished my first draft last week, printed it and read through it.

The first 32 pages had to be thrown out, re-plotted and rewritten. Right now I am on a really tight schedule and I can’t afford the time. On top of that, I’m having Thanksgiving at my house and people are expecting food.

I’m told that Granola bars on paper plates are unacceptable…whatever.

So the last few days I’ve been alternating between cleaning, plotting, tormenting my awesome friends for help, and writing, writing, writing.
The thing that aggravates me the most is that I made an amateur mistake. In those 32 pages, most of it is back story and set up. I KNOW better than this. I’ve written a lot of books and I know better. My friend, Laura Wright, who was the first to work with me on this book TOLD me in a very nice and professional way.

Yet I still screwed up. I still didn’t “get it” until I finished the novella and read it through.

In addition to this, I have a 480 page manuscript for the third Wing Slayer Hunter book sitting on my desk that needs a pretty significant revision. My editor and I talked it over, and she had some fantastic input, including removing a significant plot thread.

I also need to revise a synopsis for the following book then write that book.

In spite of all that work, in spite of pressure, I can’t send off work that’s unacceptable to me. I. Just. Can’t. So I’m taking the time, and you know what? Now that I’ve changed the beginning, the whole novella is much clearer to me and I can’t type fast enough to get it all down. It’s working much better, moving faster and I’m confident I’ll get it fixed and in acceptable shape.

What’s my point? I have a couple actually:

1) Even though I strive to be professional and treat my work as business, writing is still a creative endeavor. The story takes as long as it takes to develop into a book. It’s frustrating and irritating, but it just is. So I will deal with it.

2) I still make amateur mistakes.

3) I should listen to my critique partners!

4) I don’t know how I’d survive this business without my friends.

But I’m still ticked off at myself for not doing this right the first time through. My sister swears it’s because I’m a perfectionist but that’s obviously not true. If I was a perfectionist, I’d have gotten it right the first time…right??? Come on, you know you want to agree with me that I’m right and my sister is wrong!

Hope all of you have a great Thanksgiving!