Getting Out of the Kitchen

By Chester Campbell

I've always been a big fan of Robbie Burns (his family was a sept of the Campbell Clan) and often quote snippets from his poems. One I particularly like and even put in a book (don't ask which one) is the famous line from "To a Mouse":

The best-laid schemes o’ mice an’ men
Gang aft agley

You probably don't need Bill Kirton to translate that into "the best-laid plans of mice and men often go astray."

Which is by way of introduction to the fact that I had planned to write something quite scintillating today, but it's simply too danged hot to scintillate. I don't want to be guilty of throwing off sparks and starting a forest conflagration. So I'll confine myself to something more subdued, like a little history lesson. Maybe not as fascinating as Leighton Gage's explanation of why Brazilians speak Portuguese, but historical nonetheless.

Early in the summer of 2008, I thought it would be neat to join this blogging business that had begun to ramp up among mystery writers. I approached my colleague Ben Small, and he agreed it would be a cool thing to do. We needed a lineup of writers to cover the week days. Ben recruited a fellow former Durban House author, Mark Danielson, and I brought in fellow writers group member Beth (now Jaden) Terrell. Scouting around, we found Jean Henry Mead was also interested.

On July 15, 2008, Murderous Musings kicked off with Ben's lighthearted look at why we are so fascinated with murder. He has contributed many humorous pieces over the years. The following month, we added Pat Browning for a Saturday blog, and the six of us (with an occasional guest) kept contributing weekly articles for the next couple of years.

About the time last year's summer began to cool, some of us decided it would be nice to expand our roster to the point we would only need to blog twice a month instead of weekly. So we scouted about and began to pick up an interesting lineup of writers. You can see the shining faces of those we added in the photo montage above and at right. In the process, we became international with Bill Kirton in Scotland and Leighton Gage in Brazil. Carola Dunn is from England but now lives in Oregon. For awhile we also had Yrsa Sigurdartter from Iceland, but she found it too burdensome with everything else on her plate. We also lost Pat Browning along the way.

Our readership has grown steadily over time. So far this month, we have averaged 121 unique visitors a day. Several days brought more than 200. As you can see from the Statcounter figure on the blog, more than 105,775 people have visited Murderous Musings over the past three years. Thanks for coming, and please join us again.

Incidentally, if you're wondering about the title of this piece, it's from the old Harry Trumanism,"if you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen." And it's getting warmer in my office, so I'm outta here.

Also visit me at Mystery Mania

Freedom

by Ben Small

So my wife is gone, hooray, hooray. Nobody to tell me what to do, where and when. Oh, what to do today, today?

Two full weeks, I'm on my own. Fourteen days for the Honey Do list, which of course, I'll put off for thirteen of them. The garbage? It'll wait for two weeks. Yes, it'll smell, but my neighbor's a bitch and the winds blow her way. The laundry, the dishes? I'll do them when I run out.

No Nancy Grace, no hour-by-hour reports on Casey Anthony. No HGTV. I can watch sports to my heart's content, or look on DirecTV for shoot-em-ups and boobs. Two weeks of clicker freedom, if I can just find the damn thing. What to watch; oh, what to watch? Lemme see. No football or basketball. Golf? I'd rather watch a saguaro grow. Baseball? You gotta be kidding. I haven't forgiven baseball for 1994. So I plug in "Boobs" in DirecTV's search function. Nothing comes up. Maybe I'll rent 9 1/2 Weeks; that's always good. But where's that clicker? Haven't seen it in months. It's always in her hands, and I can never find anything she's hidden.

She stocked the fridge will all sorts of meals. Hah, me cook? Right. Where's the pizza man? Do I have enough beer?

Maybe I'll call my buddies, watch old NFL games on the NFL channel. Chips, pretzels, pizza and beer -- lots of beer. Oh wait, my pals are all married. They can't get out of the house for a beer and boobs party. Damn!

Gotta clean the pool, avoid the green. But that can wait. Overload it with chlorine the night before. She gets home and she'll never know.

Maybe I'll tour gun shops, pick up another one. Oh wait, she'll see the credit card record, and she knows my inventory and the combo to my safe. And I have no Kevlar vest for when she gets back.

I could go shooting, hang out at the range. But it's 105 outside. Who'll call 911 when I pass out tonight?

Maybe I'll lay out at the pool, take a dip when I melt. Get brown like an almond. But who'll wake me up when I'm nap, frying the Colonel Sanders way?

Yard work? C'mon. Who does yard work when their wife is gone?

There's always Tombstone... Play dress-up, look like Doc Holiday. But again, it's 105 today. That long coat and pink vest, a tie, the wool pants... I don't think so. And I certainly don't want Big Nose Kate following me home.

What about the rabbits eating my yard. Sight in my pellet gun, pick off a few. Nobody to call PETA; nobody to wail if I shoot Bugs. But where's my ammo; she's hidden it again.

I'd wash my car, but we're in a drought. Well, that's a good excuse. So I gotta think of some more for the rest of my chores. Two weeks. Heck, I'm creative and write fiction; plenty of time to fashion some lies.

Maybe I'll write, add a chapter or two. But my wife's my muse, my editor-in-chief. Beer and a computer, not a good mix. My characters will do stuff that nobody can fix.

So here I sit, feeling like...uh...poop. Fourteen days and here's the scoop. Malaise, yeah that's my mood. How oh how, will I survive this faze.

If it weren't for my toe, I'd be on the go. With my wife, with a life.

She's been gone an hour, and yes, I'm dour. Please, honey, please, please come back. Fourteen long days; one hour in, and I'm in the slack.

Co-dependency, yes siree. And proud of it, you plainly see.

Please, honey, please, please come back...

   

The Book Biz Is Busy On Cape Cod

by Susan Santangelo

Greetings to all from Cape Cod MA. Yep, summer is here at last, and along with the glorious weather, summer in this particular piece of paradise means craft fairs, town festivals, parades, sandcastle building, walks on the beach, and a dizzying array of opportunities for authors to meet readers and sell books. Here's a snapshot of what I'm up to. Thursday, July 7, at 7 p.m., 5 members of Sisters in Crime New England celebrated the 25th anniversary of this wonderful organization before a standing-room-only crowd at the Cultural Center of Cape Cod. A fabulous event. The next afternoon, we all packed up our books and moved over to the West Dennis Library, where we joined 10 other Cape Cod authors,including the wonderful Leslie Meier, for the first (but not the last) library Writers' Workshop. Big crowd. Lots of fun. The next two days -- that would be last Saturday and Sunday -- were spent at Brooks Park in Harwich for the annual crafts festival. Twelve authors under 3 tents. Wonderful folks -- very supportive and they bought books, too! And yesterday, two events: the annual Sandwich Festival (that would be for the town, not the food), with more than a thousand people in attendance in the morning alone. The Cape Cod Writers Center sponsored tables for member writers, and a good time was had by all. The day was capped by Dream Days on Cape Cod, a fundraiser for this worthy cause which grants wishes for terminally ill children. The fundraiser was held at the Cape Cod Museum of Art, and 8 authors were in attendance -- including Mary Higgins Clark and her daughter, Carol -- to sign books. A portion of all our sales went to support Dream Days. Needless to say, the lines of fans at their table were much longer than mine!
Next on the agenda is a two-day festival at Drummers Boy Park in Brewster (next Thursday and Friday), followed by a book signing at an independent bookstore, Market Street Books, in Mashpee. One of the cooks whose recipe is in my second Baby Boomer mystery, Sharon Thompson, will be there with me, and we're going to celebrate her birthday.
Meanwhile, I'm going to try and get some writing done on Book 3, Marriage Can Be Murder. The important word in that sentence is "try."

Why Brazilians Speak Portuguese

by Leighton Gage

Brazilians speak Portuguese.

But the rest of South America speaks Spanish.

Ever wondered how that came about? Read on.

In the last decade of the fifteenth century, the two great maritime powers of the age, Spain and Portugal, were engaged in a struggle for the riches of the Orient. The key to unlocking those riches was a sea route to the East. Since the time of Prince Henry the Navigator, dead by then for over thirty years, the Portuguese had been working the hypothesis that the discovery of The Route lay to the South, around the tip of Africa. They weren’t even sure there was a tip ofAfrica, but that was their theory and they were clinging to it.

Bartolomeu Dias - First Navigator to round the Cape of Good Hope

Then, in 1488, they hit the jackpot. Bartolmeu Dias rounded the Cape of Good Hope – the “good hope” being an expectation that they’d found their way at last. 

Vasco de Gama

But before another Portuguese navigator, Vasco de Gama, was able to convert the hope to a proven reality, and sail from Portugal all the way to India, Columbus was back from his first voyage. 

Old Chris started spreading the word that he’d found The Route by sailing West, not South.

The Portuguese didn’t believe it for a minute. They thought (and time would prove them right) that Columbus had grossly underestimated the circumference of the earth. They weren’t, however, about to share their conviction with their rival, Spain.

But now, all of a sudden, the Spanish were laying claims left and right.

And those claims were supported by the Spanish-born Pope, Alexander VI, who  issued bulls giving dominion over the newly-discovered territories to Spain.

Concerned, King John II of Portugal opened negotiations with theSpanish Court.

Those negotiations culminated in the Treaty of Tordesillas (a small town near Valladolid, in Spain) in which it was agreed that a line of demarcation would be drawn 370 leagues (a league was about 4.2 kilometers) west of theCape Verde Islands. It's the westernmost meridian (the one on the left) on this map:

 Any newly-discovered lands to the east of that line would be recognized as Portuguese territory, anything to the west as Spanish.

The Spanish figured they’d negotiated a good deal, because they now had the right to “the Indies”. And the Portuguese were pleased because they were quite convinced that the Spanish were barking up the wrong tree.

The treaty was signed and ratified in 1494.

In 1498, de Gama landed in India.

 Two years later, the fleet of Pedro Àlvares Cabral embarked on a follow-up voyage, carrying colonists and supplies to the new Portuguese colonies on the Indian subcontinent.

On board was de Gama’s pilot, who’d discovered doldrums off the coast of Africa on his previous voyage. He advised Cabral to try to pick up wind by sailing west before turning south.

Cabral did – and bumped into Brazil.

Look at the map.

See the way Brazil sticks out from the rest of the continent? And how close it is to Africa?

One of the first things the Portuguese did after setting foot on shore was to carry out some astronomical observations.

They quickly determined that the spot they’d landed upon was to the east of the line of demarcation. That made it Portuguese territory.

And that’s why today, more than five hundred years later, Brazilians speak Portuguese.

A Little Marketing Music Please

A guest blog by Pat Browning

I didn’t have to reinvent the wheel. Just when I was ready to write a few words on marketing, Vickie Britton’s new mini-ebook, Writing and Selling a Mystery Novel: A Simple Step-by-Step Plan, fell into my hands.

She also writes fiction. Vickie and her sister, Loretta Jackson, have co-authored more than 30 novels, most of them mysteries, mystery-romances, and westerns. Besides print editions, many are available on Kindle.

Vickie’s new mini e-book is a blueprint for writing a mystery from start to finish. Her segment on marketing sums up in three rules: Get it finished; get it out there, get it to the right market. Please note: The first rule is

GET IT FINISHED!

Here’s an excerpt from the marketing segment, reprinted with Vickie Britton’s permission:

Why Most Books Don’t Sell

Yes, being a writer is tough, and it is a competitive market. But there are three rules that will greatly increase your odds of success.

■ Get it Finished

Most people don’t sell their novel for one simple reason: they never get it finished. They attend writer’s conferences and critique groups, talk about their project incessantly, and maybe even jot down a few ideas or chapters. But when it comes down to the wire, they don’t have a finished product to offer.

Half a book will never sell. True, when you get established you may be able to sell on the basis of a synopsis and three sample chapters, but at some point in time the editor is going to ask for the completed manuscript. You had better be ready and able to produce one. Usually, editors want completed manuscripts from new authors so that they know the writer can finish what he started. Once you’ve written a completed manuscript you've already eliminated over half of the competition.

■ Get it Out There

No manuscript has ever sold sitting in the bottom of a filing cabinet. Once you feel you've written the book to the best of your ability, get it circulating – by either querying an agent or sending it directly to a publisher.

■ Get it to the Right Market

Not only do you have to get your manuscript out there, but targeting the right market greatly increases your chances of a sale. If you have a mystery, don’t send it to a romance market. If you've written a police procedural, don’t send it to a tea cozy market. You'll get nothing but rejection. Study the publisher’s book list. You'll find that all publishers have a certain image they project to target a certain type of reader. They can vary greatly. Even if you have written the great American novel, the publisher won't change his publishing list for you.

■ Finding an Agent

This is the question authors get asked the most. No, it isn't necessary to have an agent in order to sell a book. An agent can help you reach larger publishing houses that don't accept unsolicited material, and they can help you get a better book deal once you have reached the stage where you want to sign multiple contracts. They can handle foreign rights for you and do all the bookwork.

On the downside, they charge up to 15 percent. So yes, you should try to get an agent if you want one. There are plenty of legitimate agents listed in the Writer’s Market. Another way to find a good agent is through word of mouth. Never pay a reading fee. Agents who ask for money up front make their living by charging fees, not by selling books.

■ Going Solo

If you either can’t get an agent to take you on because you're a new author or you simply don’t want one, you can query the editors at publishing houses yourself. Read their submission guidelines carefully and don’t try to change rules.

Guidelines can be found in the Writer’s Market, or by sending a self-addressed, stamped envelope to a specific publisher. Most editors want to see a synopsis and three sample chapters. The synopsis shouldn't be more than three pages. People disagree whether the outcome of a mystery should be revealed in the synopsis. I believe when selling a book you should tell how the story unfolds so the editor can get an idea of the plot’s plausibility. The sample chapters should be the first three chapters and not picked randomly from the book. If a publisher will accept a completed manuscript, then send the entire book.

***

Writing and Selling Your Mystery Novel: A Simple Step-by-Step Plan by Vickie Britton is available for purchase at Smashwords: http://tinyurl.com/4y75bt9 . It’s available in ten e-book formats.

About the Author:

A veteran traveler, Pat Browning's.globetrotting of the 1970s led to her work as a travel agent and correspondent for TravelAge West, a trade journal published in San Francisco. During the
1990s, she served as a newspaper reporter and columnist. Her mystery novel, Full Circle, first of her Penny McKenzie mystery series, was later republished as Absinthe of Malice. She's currently hard at work on the second novel in the series.

Don't Tread On Me!

By Mark W. Danielson

In a previous blog, I featured Benjamin Franklin’s segmented rattlesnake from his famous Join, or Die political cartoon. Franklin’s snake was most likely the basis behind the coiled rattlesnake on Colonel Christopher Gadsden’s yellow Don’t Tread On Me flag (pictured), which he presented to the Second Continental Congress in 1775. Gadsden intended this flag to be used by the Commander in Chief of the American Navy to represent its readiness to strike at any time. Gadsden’s Don’t Tread on Me phrase became so popular that it also appeared on the First Navy Jack and the Flag of the Culpeper Minutemen. Believing the rattlesnake is the perfect embodiment of the early American view of independence, Franklin wrote this passage in the Pennsylvania Journal in 1775:

“I recollected that her eye excelled in brightness, that of any other animal, and that she has no eye-lids. She may therefore be esteemed an emblem of vigilance. She never begins an attack, nor, when once engaged, ever surrenders. She is therefore an emblem of magnanimity and true courage. As if anxious to prevent all pretensions of quarreling with her, the weapons with which nature has furnished her, she conceals in the roof of her mouth, so that, to those who are unacquainted with her, she appears to be a most defenseless animal; and even when those weapons are shown and extended for her defense, they appear weak and contemptible; but their wounds however small, are decisive and fatal. Conscious of this, she never wounds till she has generously given notice, even to her enemy, and cautioned him against the danger of treading on her. Was I wrong, Sir, in thinking this a strong picture of the temper and conduct of America?”

The rattlesnake, specifically the Timber Rattlesnake, is particularly symbolic to the American Revolution because its rattle contains thirteen layers, coincident to America’s original Thirteen Colonies. Credit is given to Commodore Hopkins in 1775 for adding an uncoiled rattlesnake and Don’t Tread on Me phrase to the thirteen-striped red and white “jack” that was commonly used on early American merchant ships to create the First Navy Jack (pictured). Clearly, Commodore Hopkins borrowed elements from Benjamin Franklin and Colonel Gadsden to create this Jack. Debate remains over whether Commodore Hopkins flew the First Navy Jack or the plain striped jack on the Alfred, flagship of the Continental Fleet in January 1776. However, historians do agree the rattlesnake-clad First Navy Jack was flown as the Navy Ensign during the Revolutionary War. Coiled or uncoiled, the rattlesnake is intended as a warning that America will strike whenever provoked.

Soon after the adoption of the June 14, 1777, First Stars and Stripes Law, the U.S. Navy replaced the First Navy Jack with the Union Jack. (The Stars and Stripes Union Jack, also known as the Jack of the United States, should not be confused with Britain’s Union Jack, which bears its country’s colors.) The First Stars and Stripes Law stated that this flag be 13 alternating red and white stripes and that its union be 13 white stars in a blue field representing a new constellation. Although the date of introduction of the Union Jack is not precisely known, a 1785 engraving of the frigate USS Philadelphia clearly depicts the Union Jack flying from her jackstaff—the vertical spar (pole) in the bow of a ship, on which a “jack” is flown.

To this day, flags remain a distinct form of communication between ships, thus seafarers must know the difference between a jack and an ensign. Jacks are additional national flags flown by warships at the head of the ship when the ship is not under way, and when dressed for special occasions. Ensigns are flown at the ship’s stern or island when entering or leaving a harbor, when sailing through foreign waters, and whenever the ship is signaled to do so by a warship. Warships usually fly their ensigns between the morning colors ceremony and sunset when moored or at anchor, and at all times when underway or engaged in battle. Because tradition dictates that if a ship lowers its ensign it is deemed to have surrendered, second and subsequent ensigns may be flown from different locations to ensure the opponent understands the battle will continue.

In some instances, the traditional First Navy Jack has been used in lieu of the Stars and Stripes Union Jack. In other words, the Jack becomes the Ensign. In 1975, the Secretary of the Navy directed that the First Navy Jack be flown in 1975 and 1976 during the United States Bicentennial Year as a colorful and historic reminder of the nation's and the Navy's origin. In August 1977, the Secretary of the Navy then specified that the ship with the longest total period of active service display the First Navy Jack until decommissioned or transferred to inactive service, at which time the flag shall be passed to the next ship in line with appropriate honors. Most recently, on May 22, 2002, the U.S. Navy ordered that all ships display the First Navy Jack during its War on Terrorism as a temporary substitution for the fifty-star Jack of the United States. Most vessels made the switch on September 11, 2002, the first anniversary of the terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center and Pentagon.

Whether you agree or disagree with our current foreign policies, it is noteworthy to realize that the Don’t Tread on Me flags pre-date our existence as a nation, and that the United States still stands ready to strike against those who dare tread on us.

Defined by a cake

I’ve never understood why people get upset about ‘landmark’ birthdays – you know, 40, 50, 60 – but a couple of years back I had the first one of mine with a zero on the end that could have seemed significant, if only because, according to the Bible, I should now be dead. Yes, I’ve had my allotted three score years and ten (plus 18 months now, too). I celebrated it in Plymouth with my 3 sisters, 2 brothers (all younger than me) and our spouses. And we had a wonderful time. So much so that I was forced to replace my habitual mantra of ‘Hell is other people’  with (gulp) ‘Heaven is other people’. I am Darwinned (my version of ‘blessed’) with a great family – ‘celebrate’ seems to be the default mode for them and they really should take out a patent on the mechanics of having a good time.

There was wonderful food, excellent wine, amazingly creative presents, a specially written and performed song and, most of all, a cake. I say ‘most of all’ because my youngest sister, who made it, managed to crowd onto it objects and images which featured most of my main interests. It would be tedious to list them but, from the obvious ones, such as the crests of my school, university and the city where I’ve lived most of my life and my interest in horse racing and sailing, they ranged to a bicycle and a wee duck (because I ride a bike and confit de canard is probably my favourite meal).

Around the feet of the little, kilted, icing figure who sat carving wood (another hobby of mine) lay tiny wood shavings of icing. A golfer prepared to putt to a flag (in the 70^th hole) beside which curly green icing formed the rough which he’d managed to avoid (for a change). Around three sides of the cake were the titles of all my plays and books. But the pièce de résistance lay underneath it all. The cake was propped up on five wee glasses acting as pillars and forming a sort of basement. I peered at it, saw tiny figures beside the pillars and was baffled. My sister said ‘Well, where is it?’ ‘Under the cake,’ I said. Then she patiently teased out of me the realisation that they were in a cellar. It was a scene she’d recreated of the main theme of my book, The Darkness – 5 guys chained to pillars in a cellar.

So why am I bothering to bore you with this? Well, when someone not only knows you so well that they can sum you up in a series of cake decorations but also takes that much trouble on your behalf, it almost suggests (if only briefly) that there may be some truths in life after all – no purpose, no structure, but joyous reminders to confirm that life is definitely worth living.