Monday, February 16, 2009

Limp Wristing

by Ben Small



No, this note is not about a casual evening stroll along the walk on Venice Beach, nor is it about San Francisco culture. And it’s not about a punk rock band either, although I understand there’s one with the name “Limp Wrist.”

No, I’m talking about a shooting phenomenon which affects every shooter, which I’ve yet to see affect any protagonist or antagonist using a gun. The term “Limp Wrist,” in its various versions may even be a verb: "I limp wristed my pistol, the best grip I could manage the circumstances."

Limp wristing is the failure to grip your automatic handgun tightly enough, causing the pistol to fail to extract a spent casing from the chamber.

A semi-automatic pistol fired limp wristing will either not fire at all, or if it does fire, it will not cycle for a second shot. In other words, you either have a weapon that will not fire, or you’ve got a jammed gun.

Oops. That can get your character killed.

In order to fire, semi-autos need a stable base. Wasn’t it Sir Issac Newton who decreed, “Every action has an equal and opposite reaction?”

Well, Newton was right. If you were to suspend a pistol in the air and pull the trigger by string, the bullet would fly, but so would the gun… in the opposite direction. And the semi-auto would fail to cycle because the resistance it needs to move the slide back and eject and feed has been removed. That means a jam that can only be cleared by removing the magazine and racking the slide.

Limp wristing happens to the strongest people; indeed, it happens to everybody. Often when a character is moving or distracted or panicked, he’s more focused on his target and what he’s doing than on how he’s holding his gun. Maybe the protag or perp is leading a victim, or ducking and dodging. A momentary lapse, and the grip on the pistol loosens.

Many modern semi-auto pistols, such as high end 1911s or the new Springfield XD series, have wrist safeties, which will not permit the pistol to fire if it is being held with less than a firm grip. See the picture on the right. The short but distinct separation at the upper end of the grip under the beaver tail, is the grip safety. This safety arm must be depressed before the gun will fire. Look at the structure. The grip safety is at the top of the grip, meaning the upper part of the shooting hand is what depresses the safety. So a firm grip with the bottom part of the hand is irrelevant, at least relating to operation of the grip safety. With pistols containing this safety, limp wristing will mean a failure to fire.

On semi-autos without a grip safety, as for instance with Glock, HK or Sig Sauer Classic or Sig Pro pistols, a soft grip will fire the pistol but cause it to fail to eject, thereby jamming the gun and preventing a second or follow-on shot until the pistol is cleared.

In many of our books, we see characters shooting under stress. And stress is one of the causes of limp wristing, because stress causes the shooter to focus on something other than a firm pistol grip. It’s not about strength, not a gender factor at all; it’s about distraction. If the character has been wrestling with someone for the gun and the gun goes off, odds are the shot was limp wristed, so the gun will be jammed. And of course, if it was one of those guns with a grip safety, the first shot wouldn’t have fired at all.

In most of these situations, the author will have someone (the perp, the protag, or a third character) grab the pistol and struggle to fire, in a hurry, probably with a bad grip.

When, if ever, are we shown the gun jamming in this scenario? Yet, that’s what would likely happen. And the jam is the more critical of these issues because the pistol must be cleared before it will shoot again. With a wrist safety, the gun didn’t fire, so there’s no jam. A firm grip = Bang.

So, beware the dangers of the limp wrist. Or use a limp wristed shot (or non-shot as the case may be) for a little more drama and realism in your story.

Saturday, February 14, 2009

Blogging A Storm: Knock It Off, Zeus!

Oklahoma hail storm, photo by Bill Waugh, AP
-----------------------------------------------------------
By Pat Browning

Tuesday, Feb. 10, 2:19 p.m.
Lovely rainy day here in Oklahoma. Warm spring rain, the best kind. But also thunder and lightning. Imagine that, and just as archeologists announced they have found the probable birthplace of Zeus, god of thunder and lightning. It's on top of Mt. Lykaion. In Greece, naturally. Quoting Yahoo News:

***Excavating a trench on Mount Lykaion, in an area which ancient Greek historians later called "the ash altar of Zeus," archaeologists found more than 50 drinking vessels, fragments of human and animal figurines, as well as burned sheep and goat bones. All of the artifacts are consistent with cult ceremonies of the Mycenaean people, who settled Greece approximately between 3,000 and 4,000 years ago, historians say.
*** The period also coincides with the first historical mentions of the god Zeus in Greek texts, suggesting that the Mount Lykaion ceremonies were to honor the man himself.
***Younger, higher levels of the trench have yielded silver coins, a bronze hand holding a lightning bolt and petrified lightning in past dig seasons. All are clear dedications to Zeus, indicating that the use of the god's altar on Mount Lykaion was likely unbroken for several millennia.

I love it when they talk like that. Anyway, it's a perfect day to make vegetable soup, otherwise known as Clean Out The Fridge-Freezer Soup, and cornbread.

2:51 p.m.
Whoa! What happened to spring? I glanced out the window and it was black outside. Then the tornado siren went off and I turned on TV loud enough so I could hear it all over the apartment. Got my purse and shoes and plodded into my walk-in closet with the TV blaring TAKE SHELTER, STAY LOW etc. etc. etc. and that siren making my ears ring.

Once again, Yukon escaped with only rain, thunder, lightning and softball-size hail. Man, did it thump on my roof. If the people upstairs are home they must have crawled under the bed. It's odd, but those tornado rotations always go down I-40, about 2 miles south of me, past the Xerox plant. Those poor people at Xerox must be half-deaf by now. The tornado rotation has now moved slightly east of Yukon into the OKC area. So I'm safe, for now. Just hail hitting my window. I'd better pull the blinds. Human nature -- I have to resist opening the door to watch.

3:30 p.m.
I remembered to turn off the burner under the soup pot when the first siren went off. When things cleared up it poured rain, melting down the hail before I could venture out to take pictures. Pity. My side yard looked like the weather gods upturned a giant bowl of popcorn.

So I put on the kettle for coffee and I’m dipped if the siren didn't go off again. Storm #2! Meanwhile Storm #1 spawned a tornado north of Oklahoma City. A few pictures already coming in. Schools are in lockdown, with the kids in safe places inside the buildings in the entire metro.

Oklahoma is catching hell this afternoon. The storms seem to be moving in almost a straight line, south to north, so I guess they’re coming up from Texas. Storm #3 just reared its ugly head.

3:40 p.m.
The siren guy’s finger must be stuck on the button. Tornado touched down 10 miles south of here and Storm #3 is hovering. Every time I trudge to my closet I take something else with me. Last time I took my lantern. If this keeps up, everything I own will be in that closet.

4:02 p.m.
Siren just stopped. Ears still ringing.
Some school kids put on buses to go home. Others are still locked down.
Hello, Texas. We’re getting a line of storms forming in Wichita Falls.

Hail is huge. Good picture on TV. Looks like the weather gods got tired of popcorn and are now bouncing tennis balls. Can basketballs be far behind?

5:48 p.m.
OMG. Zeus threw a blockbuster this time. Probably to remind us who’s in charge. Most school kids have been sent home. I had time to finish cooking my vegetable soup, and have cornbread in the oven as we speak.

But we’re still on storm watch for another couple of hours. It will be a long night for police, firemen, EMTs, utility workers …

7 p.m.
Up and down, up and down. Poured rain and hail where I am. Dark, light, dark again as clouds pass over. We’re only on the edge of the danger zone and the local CBS station is actually running NCIS and The Mentalist, so we must be safe for now. My soup and cornbread are delicious.

But things got ugly in a hurry down in southwestern Oklahoma. A humongous tornado is tearing up the place, moving slowly across the state, headed east, to wreak havoc in neighboring states. This is serious business, folks. Even where tornados don’t touch down, fierce winds uproot trees and blow off roofs, blow out walls, and pounding rains cause flooding.

I’ll read about it tomorrow, and watch it on TV. Storm chasers, reporters, photographers, chopper pilots are either brave or nuts, but they are out in force.


Nothing’s ever a complete loss. Sitting in the closet all afternoon gave me time to think about books.

DEAD MAN’S ISLAND by Carolyn Hart: Henrie O, a retired foreign correspondent, answers a call for help from her first love, a famous publishing tycoon. They meet on a remote island off the South Carolina coast – with a hurricane on the way. Hart’s description of the hurricane is terrifying. I had just read it when our own tornados blew through. Shudder, shudder.

More pleasant was the prospect of receiving an ARC of Debby Atkinson’s latest book, PLEASING THE DEAD. Like all of Debby’s books, it’s set in Hawaii. Golden sands, balmy breezes, gorgeous sunsets … ah ... you betcha-boots I want to read it. With storms piling up here, one after the other, I’ll just think of Debby’s book as "Pleasing the Living."

But that’s fiction. In real life, I’m sleeping in my clothes tonight.

Friday, February 13, 2009

Friday the 13th

By Jean Henry Mead

An estimated 20 million people in this country fear Friday the 13th. Some are so paralyzed with fear that they avoid going to work, traveling or even getting out of bed, according to the Stress Management Center and Phobia Institute in Asheville, North Carolina. The fear results in an $800 to $900 million lost in business for the day.

The fear of Friday the 13th is called paraskavedekatriaphobia or friggatriskaidekaphobia. According to folklorists, there is no written evidence of a Friday the 13th superstition in the U.S. before the 19th century. The earliest known documented reference in English occurred in an 1869 biography of Gioachino Rossin, according to the Wikipedia:

[Rossini] was surrounded to the last by admiring and affectionate friends; and if it be true that, like so many other Italians, he regarded Friday as an unlucky day, and thirteen as an unlucky number, it is remarkable that on Friday, the 13th of November, he died.

There is also a myth that having thirteen people seated at a table will result in the death of one of the diners. Were there not thirteen people at The Last Supper?

Friday has been considered an unlucky day since the 14th century when The Canterbury Tales was published. Friday has also been considered an unfortunate day to travel or start new projects. Black Friday has been associated with stock market crashes and other disasters since the 1800s. And Friday has also been known as the day that Jesus was crucified.

Another theory involves the arrest of the legendary Knights Templar. According to one expert the Knights Templar was a monastic military order founded in 1118 C.E. in Jerusalem. Their goal was to protect Christian pilgrims during the Crusades. The Knights Templar was a powerful as well as wealthy group over the next two centuries. King Phillip felt threatened by them and was determined to acquire their wealth. And on Friday, October 13, 1307, he ordered the arrest of all Knights Templar.

Today, although a large number of us are afraid to leave home on Friday the 13th, Dutch insurers report that fewer accidents are reported on this day because people are consciously more careful. However, the British Medical Journal reported in a 1993 study that there was a significant increase in traffic accidents between Friday the 6th and Friday the 13th.

So, whether you consider black cats and walking under ladders unlucky on Friday the 13th, take heart. If you toss salt over your left shoulder, carry a four leaf clover in your lapel and drink a blender full of goat’s milk seasoned with grated frog’s tongue and gnat’s eyelashes, you'll forestall any unfortunate occurrences that may happen on this day, particularly if you stay in bed and read a good book until sundown.

Thursday, February 12, 2009

Deepening Character Through Relationships

By Beth Terrell

At the Murder in the Magic City conference in Birmingham, several of us were chatting over dinner, and the talk turned toward character development. Not surprising, considering I was in a room full of writers. "Relationships," Liz Zevlin said. "There's no better way to show character."

I remembered her words today when a new acquaintance asked me what my book was about. I gave him my tag line, how Jared "has a son with Down Syndrome, a best friend with AIDS, an ex-wife he can't fall out of love with, and a weakness for women in jeopardy--until one frames him for murder." On the face of it, the book is about a man trying to clear himself of a murder he didn't commit, but beneath the surface is a web of relationships that reveal Jared's character and show the reader how much he has to lose. His tenderness toward his son and his ex-wife reveal a deeper dimension of the "tough-guy" P.I. who dipatches street thugs with perfect spin kicks to the head.

Spencer's relationships with Susan and with Hawk play a huge role in the Spencer books. Matthew Scudder's character is deepened by his love for his wife, his uneasy ties to his ex, and his multifaceted relationship with the sons he failed--sons who both love and resent him. "The World's Greatest Dectective" Elvis Cole reveals himself through his love for Lucy and Ben Chenier and his long friendship with Joe Pike. Jonathan Kellerman's psychologist protagonist, Alex Delaware, has complex and enduring relationships with on-again, off-again, on-again girlfriend Robin and gay police detective Milo Sturgis. Even Jack Reacher, the consumate loner, has ties from the past. Who can forget Reacher's loyalty to the tight-knit Army special investigations unit he was once a member of? The one whose motto was, "You do not mess with the special investigators." Reacher's desire for (and resistance to) human connections has never been more poignant.

Mark Billingham enriched his police detective protagonist through an ongoing relationship with his father, who has progressive dementia. The hero's love for his father is mixed with guilt, sorrow, frustration, regret, and a host of other emotions that make him rich and real. I could go on and on, but the number of examples is vast, and it would take a lifetime to exhaust them.

The trick, of course, is to weave the relationships into the book so seamlessly they enhance the story rather than detract from it. In my opinion, the authors mentioned above--Crais and Kellerman, Billingham, Block, and Child--do it beautifully.

What do you think? Who uses relationships well? How do your favorite authors use relationships to reveal character?

How do you?

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

The Character Beneath the Surface


By Mark W. Danielson

This is a photo of the man I trust with my car. Okay—he’s the guy I mostly trust—or at least sometimes trust. Chuck [not his real name] is barely recognizable in this photo because he hasn’t shaved in a while, but I assure you that he’s a gentle giant. Always calm, very personable, patiently waits for his meals to be served . . . Chuck has worked on my car for years, and yet I only know him on the surface level. Still, based upon some other aspects, I’m convinced that he’s a real animal once he’s away from work.

You see, Chuck’s C-5 Corvette offers an interesting insight into his character. Understandably, his car's windshield bears the dragon icon from his business, but its nose bears enough skulls to rival Notre Dame’s catacombs. And the skulls don’t stop there. Somehow they managed to sneak into the engine compartment, reproduce on the back side of the hood, and then migrate to some of the engine parts of his mega-charged 8000 horsepower machine. Well, perhaps 8000 is a slight exaggeration, but it’s still a big honkin’ engine with an honest 1000 ponies.) Did I mention that there are more skulls on the back bumper? Hmmm—this guy is spooky.

Seeing Chuck’s car generates a paradox about the man who drives this monster machine. Who is he really—a gentle giant, a black bear, or an ax murderer? Honestly, I’m not sure how I would define Chuck’s character if I had to testify about him in court. But that’s the beauty of it. Chuck doesn’t fall into the status quo.

In my younger days, I found myself on the receiving end of this paradox by outfitting myself in black leather and driving a motorcycle. On longer drives, I’d also wear my .38 revolver to help ward off tailgaters. The problem came when I removed my helmet because my hair was short and I was polite, just like Chuck, so to some people, Chuck and I were both ax murderers—or at least could be. Ironically, I write about murder, and as far as I know, Chuck just likes skulls on his car.

Good fiction incorporates characters like Chuck because they’ll keep us guessing all the way through the story. It’s quite possible that Chuck’s character may snap and start shooting from the bell tower, or perhaps he murders his family, yet at the same time, he’s a guy from everyday life that we can all relate to. Who knows? Chuck may just turn out to be the hero of the story; a total fake-out from beginning to end. So, the next time you’re out and about thinking about character development, consider all of the people around you. Let your mind wander a bit, and see what kind of scenarios you come up with that involve the little old lady that’s crossing the street, the beggars, the punks, or the soccer mom that fumbles with the keys to her Escalade with seven kids waiting to board. Everything imaginable is directly in front of you. All you have to do is open your eyes.

Monday, February 9, 2009

A Much More Difficult Time

by Ben Small

I paid another visit to my friend John Weber just outside Tombstone. He’s the licensed rattlesnake hunter I mentioned in a prior article. But this time I went not for rattlesnake wallets, although I bought some for family members, but for his outdoor museum. John and I spent a couple hours staring at the implements he’s collected, evidence of the hard life experienced by desert settlers during Tombstone’s boom time. I also spent some time at Wyatt Earp’s house, a small two room house with no kitchen or bathroom. For meals, Wyatt and his live-in mate, had to cross the street to Virgil Earp’s home where family meals were cooked. That house burned down in 1998 and wasn’t rebuilt. It’s a vacant field now.

Here’s a section of Wyatt Earp’s wallpaper.













And here's one of Earp's buggies. Wyatt sold it when the Earps left Tombstone, and the not-for-profit that runs his house was able to track it and buy it back and restore it. Note: no shock absorbers.








Yuk. But Tombstone wasn’t a “feel good” sort of place in the 1880s, unless you were Ed Schieffelin and his partners, who were among the few who actually made money from the mines. They cashed in early for what now would approximate one billion dollars.
For the rest, Tombstone was, indeed, the “Town Too Tough To Die.”

These pictures show various tools used to de-horn and remove testicles from bulls. Evidently, from the number and variety of these in John's collection, this was a regular activity in Tombstone days. Don't know why I took pictures of so many of them. Maybe I identify with the bulls...









Here are some actual Tombstone posters which were nailed to posts throughout the town. These are the real thing, not something printed up post-period.



















Branding was the name of the game for both ranchers and rustlers in those days. Cattle were free-range, so branding was essential. Problem was the rustlers were excellent at making their own brands, which would duplicate an existing brand but add a bar or circle, so the rustlers could claim the cattle were theirs. And cattle farming or stealing was profitable; the miners needed food. So, naturally, John Weber has many brands, some of which are remarkably similar. While I've got pictures after pictures of these different brands, I'll just flash one for you.
















Of course, as shown by one of the posters above, Tombstone was a gun-free town, unless you were a Clanton or McLaurey and you wanted a gunfight over the issue. But outside town, hog-legs and Winchesters were essential tools. Between the Apache, rustlers and mine raiders, this was a very dangerous territory. John has some cartridges from the period.

Everyday existence in Tombstone was a struggle. There was no water; it was carried in from the San Pedro River via wagon and cost 3c/gallon. Ironically, water led to the closing of the mines in 1887, just nine or so years after the town was founded. The Tombstone silver mines were not closed because of the plunge in silver prices, as is commonly stated. The mines were flooded when a massive 1887 earthquake tore open a fault and part of the underground San Pedro flow streamed upward.

When a cattleman, miner or traveler had to spend a night in the desert, there was the issue of what to do with the horses? Unless one was staying along the river where large mesquite or cottonwood trees would provide a tie-up, the traveler had to carry the means for keeping his horse nearby. But the river was an especially dangerous area, because brigands, marauders and predators (mountain lions, rattlesnakes and bears) prowled the river banks. So it was much safer to sleep out in the desert. But how to tie up the horses? Here's an example of how that was done. The traveler would screw these posts into the ground and tie his horse to it.

















If you were a miner or a cattleman who caught a claim jumper or rustler, and you didn't shoot him, you had to have some way to keep the bad guy captive until the town or county marshal could take over. Here's one way this was done.


The miners were afraid to leave their mines, lest claim jumpers settle in, so the miner had to keep nearby all his pots, pans, tents, and mining equipment. So much like the movies, travelers during this period usually trailed a mule laden with all this hardware. Here are some of the things those poor beasts had to carry.











If you happen to travel to Southern Arizona, I highly recommend visiting John Weber's outdoor museum and rattlesnake crafts store. Admission is free, and what you see will leave lasting impressions. Contact John at http://www.rattlesnakecrafts.com/. You may recognize him; he's been on both The Today Show and PBS.

In the meantime, I'll leave you with a picture of the entrance to his museum. It's quite a place, and a reminder that no matter how tough we think times are now, they were much more demanding a hundred twenty-five years ago...



Note: Sorry for the dis-jointed positioning of some of these pictures. This was the best I could do given the limitations of Blogger.

Saturday, February 7, 2009

Which Way To The Lions?







By Pat Browning

Somewhere in that happy throng at this weekend’s Love Is Murder walks the witty and erudite Jonathan E. Quist. By his sport coat – a fine tweed coat with leather elbow pads – you shall know him.

Jonathan is writing his first mystery novel. He prepared for LIM by watching a Monty Python sketch on YouTube, and shopping for a sport coat that would make him look authorial. I persuaded him to let me post his e-mail on the subject, and when I asked for a mini-bio, he sent the following.

*****

Jonathan E. Quist is a lifelong resident of Illinois,
where he learned everything he knows about
government ethics. A graduate of Northwestern
University, he has spent the past twenty years
failing to escape Information Technology for a
less lucrative field.

He wrote his first mystery nearly forty years ago,
to critical acclaim, but similarity to another story
prevented publication. Similarity. That's a laugh.
It was lifted outright from “The Ghost and Mr. Chicken”,
is what it was. But “plagiarism” wasn't in his
fourth-grade vocabulary list, until Mrs. Christensen
explained it.

Mr. Quist's turn-ons include sunny days
and playful kittens. His turn-offs are mean people
and wiggly seats on public toilets.

He currently lives 31.3 miles from the hospital
in which he was born, where by day he works for a
telecommunications equipment manufacturer,
and by night is writing the first novel in a
humorous historical traditional mystery series,
set in the world of small-time Vaudeville.

*****

(In Monty Python's "Vocational Guidance Counsellor" sketch, Mr. Anchovy wants to make a career change away from chartered accountancy. The counselor asks if he has any idea what new career he would like to pursue.)


Anchovy: Yes, yes I have.

Counselor: What?

Anchovy: (boldly) Lion taming.

Counselor: Well yes. Yes. Of course, it's a bit of a jump isn't it? I mean, er, chartered accountancy to lion taming in one go. You don't think it might be better if you worked your way towards lion taming, say, via banking …

Anchovy: No, no, no, no. No. I don't want to wait. At nine o'clock tomorrow I want to be in there, taming.

Counselor: Fine, fine. But do you, do you have any qualifications?

Anchovy: Yes, I've got a hat.

Counselor: A hat?

Anchovy: Yes, a hat. A lion taming hat. A hat with ‘lion tamer’ on it. I got it at Harrods.

( Watch it all at
*****

(Here Jonathan picks up his story … )


In preparation for Love is Murder
I went shopping at the local thrift store. I had an idea that I want to begin presenting a somewhat more professional, or if possible, authorial image at conferences.So I went in search of a tweed sport coat.

Looking through the racks, I began to despair -- nearly all the tags were marked “M”. Then I started looking for the maker's label, and discovered that whoever was tagging the goods was just guessing, “Medium”, and I began trying things on. I found a few genuine Harris Tweeds ( http://www.harristweed.com/what_is.htm ) though they were all in rather medium sizes.

Then I found a coat that fit. I hung it on my cart, and continued to look. The notion of finding a coat with leather elbow pads was out of my mind; I figured I'd have to buy new for that.

But as I compared one of the Harris garments with mine, I picked up the sleeve to compare buttons, and lo and behold -- the elbow had a patch of suede …
http://images3.orvis.com/orvis_assets/prodimg/734Abrwn1.jpg

And the coat was marked down. It was still a bit of a sum, but I got the coat for -- $2.56. Wasn't that the name of a beauty pageant?

So. Now I am a writer. I've got my coat, that says "Writer" on it, in bright neon letters.

Which way to the lions?

*****
Jonathan blogs at
http://jonathanquist.blogspot.com