The End of the World As We Know It

By Beth Terrell

Last night, our critique group drifted into a discussion of the volcanic disaster that is supposed to end the world in 2012. Imagine my surprise when I logged onto Murderous Musings today and discovered that Mark had blogged about that very thing. We were talking about the big Yellowstone Park eruption, while Mark's is half a world away, but the results are apparently the same. I shudder to think of the consequences should both of these seismological events occur at or near the same time. I'm not a brave person, as we've discussed in past posts, so all this apocalyptic talk has me a little on edge. I've always wanted to go to Yellowstone, but maybe I'll put off my travel plans until 2013!

Of course, people who know about these things assure me that the 2012 date is a misinterpretation of the Mayan calendar. Our own Pat Browning directed me to some Mayan calendar articles by Ivan Van Laningham at http://www.pauahtun.org. They're interesting reading, if you can keep your head from exploding. For those who write fantasy, there's some good fodder here.

I got the sense that Mark's tone was somewhat less than 100% serious, but his article reminded me of Isaac Asimov, who, when asked what he would do if he knew he had only six months to live, said, "Type Faster."

So, how about you? If you knew the world really was about to end, what would you do? Kiss your spouse, cuddle your puppy, call your mother, eat a whole hot fudge cake all by yourself? Type faster? Maybe, for some of us, all of the above. (Well, okay, maybe I'd share the hot fudge cake.)

One member of our critique group suggested that the Mormons might come out of it all right, because they're supposed to keep at least two years worth of canned goods and water on hand at all times, which would give the ash time to blow off (or whatever volcanic ash does) and for things to start growing again. I started to think of all the other things you might need, such as vegetable seeds, potting soil, full-spectrum light bulbs, generators, air purifiers to circulate the air inside whatever bunker or safehouse you might end up in. That reminded me of the Brendan Frazer movie, Blast From the Past, which is about a couple in the 1950's who believe there's been a nuclear attack (because a plane crashes in their yard) and go down into their underground bunker to live for the next 30 years. The woman is pregnant with our hero, who forays out into the real world as an adult to re-stock their supplies and, naturally, runs into a woman with whom he fals in love at first sight. (It's a fun little movie, one of my guilty pleasures.)

Anyway, that made me wonder what would happen if the bunker were buried under a thick layer of volcanic ash. What would happen then? Would they be able to open the hatch when their two years was up? What would they find when they got there? Would it be as bleak as Carmac McCarthy's The Road? And what about life in the bunker itself? What kind of people might end up in the same bunker, and what kinds of social dynamics might develop? What if the group woke up one morning to find that one of their own had been murdered? Why did it happen? Who did it? How would they deal with the discovery that they are trapped underground with a killer?

You see the way my mind works. One minute, I'm worrying about the impending end of the world, and the next, I have a new story idea, which is aheck of a lot more fun. And that, my friends, is why we should all take a tip from the master: just type faster.

Write Like There's No Tomorrow!

By Mark W. Danielson

Recently, my wife and I watched a disaster show on volcanoes. It seems disaster themes are quite popular these days. Heck, I even wrote a story about a disaster on San Francisco Bay's Hayward Fault, but I’m withholding that one for a future release. Actually, this TV show we saw was interesting because it spoke of an unthinkable volcanic eruption of Indonesia's Anak Krakatau that as a minimum would wipe out most of Indonesia’s population within seconds, followed by the rest of the world over a couple of years. You see, the ash cloud from this eruption will engulf the Earth in darkness for 18 months, during which time, all vegetation will die, famine, war, and cannibalism will break out, and if that doesn’t kill you, the plague will. Cool.

Now, I must admit that this TV prediction has merit. After all, the 1883 Krakatau eruption was so enormous, the sound was heard 3000 miles away and was labeled the loudest noise ever recorded on Earth. But that wasn't the first time Krakatau blew. In fact, they say its first eruption actually split Indonesia in two. With that in mind, I’ll refer to the prophecy behind Anak Krakatau’s impending eruption as the "Big Bang Theory". What? That one’s taken, you say? Well, how about "Armageddon"? No? Okay, forget the labels, but be prepared to repent, for The End is Near! In fact, this TV show we watched even gave us a date. That’s right; 2012 marks the official beginning of the end of the world as we know it. When Krakatau blows again, all that will survive is cockroaches and sharks. (Okay, throw in a few FedEx pilots because we seem to survive every disaster, too.) What I find interesting is this TV program didn’t mention that one of the world’s largest magma deposits resides right in my own back yard—Yellowstone National Park. Then again, there's a separate disaster show that covers that one. (I’ve watched it.)

So, with all of these impending disasters, it’s clear that we authors must write like there’s no tomorrow, for clearly, we only have three years left. (Perhaps less, depending upon when, in 2012, disaster strikes.) The good thing is that we no longer have to worry about getting our books into bookstores or Amazon.com’s ranking. We can also forget about saying the wrong thing on a blog, for it will soon be forgotten—except to those fortunate souls who may be orbiting above the ash cloud. (And I’m not referring to astronauts.) Another bright side is future space explorers will spend years inspecting the infrastructure we left behind, trying to determine what happened to our civilization. (Consider all the years that we’ve spent trying to comprehend the fall of the Roman Empire.) Then again, maybe these explorers will find a transcribed version of what I’m writing now and it will all make sense to them.

With our time so short, I believe every writer has a responsibility to crank out as much writing as possible between now and 2012. If you’re a celebrity, then hire a ghost writer, slap your name on it, and flood the bookstore shelves while you can. For all of you cookbook authors, toss out your recipes for road kill, for we’ll need it in the near future. And for those of you who are concerned about global warming, consider investing in cold weather gear, for the "Big Chill" is yet to come. Yes, prepare yourselves, for it must be true. After all, it’s the Word of the Prophets as well as the National Geographic Channel's. Three years from now, you’ll thank me for having given you this warning.

(Top photo of Chile volcano. Bottom photo is Anak Krakatau's November 2007 eruption)

A Look Back at SleuthFest 2009

By Chester Campbell

I attended the SleuthFest mystery conference at Deerfield Beach, FL the past weekend. It was the eighth Sarah and I have enjoyed, skipping only the 2007 event at Miami Beach (which was too costly). Around 250 people were there, mostly published and waiting-to-be-published writers. As usual, it was an excellent conference.

I participated on two panels–“Research” and “Private Eyes”–and sat through several others on various subjects. After you’ve attended twenty or thirty writers’ conferences, you hear a lot of the same stuff over and over. Now and then you get a new slant on a subject, but what I find most valuable is that I’m reminded of things I already know but have neglected to do.

So now I need to sit down and go over the ideas that have been refreshed in my mind and make sure I put them to use.

Guests of Honor are always interesting and inspirational. This year's headliners were Brad Meltzer and John Hart. Both told how they got their start in mystery writing and the paths they followed to the bestseller lists. Meltzer repeated a line I've heard from other bestselling authors: "Write what you're really passionate about. If you don't, it will show in your writing."

The other major thing I get out of conferences is the making of new friends and renewal of old friendships. The young unpublished author who moderated one of my panels bought two of my books and told me I was his new favorite mentor. I was quite flattered and hope I was of some help to him.

I met several other emerging authors at meal functions and answered their questions as best I could. I recall the jumpstart I got from attending my first SleuthFest before Secret of the Scroll came out. We sat next to Patricia Sprinkle at lunch one day, and she gave me several pieces of valuable advice. I also attended a panel where Nancy Cohen distributed a handout that contained an article she had written about things to do before your book is published. I still use those tips.

Among old friends we chatted with was Randy Rawls, this year’s SleuthFest chairman. We became friends at one of my earliest conferences and have served on panels together and attended many of the same events. Randy has experienced some of the same publisher problems I have, so we often commiserate with one another.

I don’t expect to sell many, if any, books at a conference. And with the current state of the economy, with gasoline prices and hotel stays on the increase, I’m cutting back on my travels, attending fewer conferences and more book fairs and similar events where selling books is the whole idea.

This Saturday, a writing colleague and I will have a booth at Goodpasture Christian School’s Marketplace. It is not far from where we live in Madison and where our grandson goes to school. I love to attend conferences, but finding a venue to potentially sell lots of books is a great opportunity not to be missed.

Check out Mystery Mania.

Pistol Packing Perp...

by Ben Small



When my editor read my “polished” draft of Alibi On Ice, my first entry into the mystery/thriller market, he phoned me, outraged, fit to be tied. I imagined foam spewing from his mouth, a geyser at Yellowstone.

What had I done so wrong?

“Snub-nose revolvers don’t have a safety,” he said, so loudly I tilted the receiver away. “Anybody who knows anything about guns knows that.”

Well, I didn’t. But then I didn’t know anything about guns. I thought every modern gun had a safety.

“Look,” he said, “if you’re gonna write mysteries and thrillers, you gotta understand that there’s a huge gun culture audience reading the genre. And there’s nothing they’ll spot quicker than a gun error.”

I must have sounded a bit doubtful. More likely I was just embarrassed.

“Do you have any idea how many NRA members there are?" he said.

“Nope.”

“Neither do I. But look it up. You’ll be shocked.”

I was. The numbers were enormous.

So my editor suggested I purchase some guns and get to know them. He suggested I obtain a concealed carry permit, not just for personal protection, although more and more that alone seems a good enough justification ― especially when one has white hair. No. He wanted realism, not boring page-after-page Clancy-style engineering detail, but pixie dust particulars that fit the character, his knowledge, his planning and his execution. For instance, a pistol-packer will walk, sit and act differently from an unarmed person. Cops know this. They look for people not walking normally, maybe not swinging one arm as much as the other. They’ll look for the reassuring pat, the yup-it’s-still-there touch to the cargo pants pocket, the upper chest-armpit junction or the belt. Or if it’s an ankle holster, the packing leg’s stride will be just a bit shorter than the free leg. Or they’ll look for the print, the telltale lump, sag or barrel outline.

Cops can spot these things from a distance. And so can you if you know what to look for. Adding some of these considerations to your perp’s conduct will make him or her more real. (Note: I’m addressing the perp here. While the same considerations apply to protagonists, I prefer messing with bad guys.)

It’s a simple fact that carrying a pistol is not comfortable. Pistols are heavy and mostly made of metal. No matter where you put the thing, you’re gonna be aware of its presence.

Most Inside the Waistband holsters (“IWB”) are placed on the side, either strong side or cross-draw. This means an added two inches to your belt and waist. Think about that after a large meal. And what about material? Your IWB holster most likely will be made of leather (cowhide or horsehide) or Kydex, a hard plastic mold. Expect chafing; there’s a direct correlation between your girth and how much skin you lose. And of course, the larger the pistol, the greater your skin lotion outlay. Add in hot weather, and you’d better line up a dermatologist.

Obviously, an Outside the Waistband holster (“OWB”) presents more concealment challenges than the IWB. The thing is hanging off your belt, for Chrissakes. An untucked shirt may adequately conceal an IWB packed with a Baby Glock (a G26 or 27), but good luck concealing a bazooka tugging at your belt. You’ll need a long winter overcoat.

A pistol-packer will find sitting no joy, especially in a car. Imagine the fun of managing the seat belt/carry position alternatives. Move your holster to your back? Then you’ve got metal resting against your backbone. Take those speed bumps slowly, and pray no one rear-ends you.

Shoulder harnesses aren’t comfortable either. They need support, which means the carry side is offset by straps around the non-carry shoulder and maybe a tie-down on the belt. Need a loose shirt or a jacket to conceal that arrangement. And get used to feeling constrained, as both shoulders and maybe your belt are all tugged together by hanging pistol weight. A man will quickly learn why a large breasted woman hates her brassiere.

What about an ankle holster? Truth be told, they’re not practical. Cops only use them as backups. And for good reason: extraction and re-holstering are not easy or fast. Ankle holsters are tight; they have to be. Lots of wrestling with taut elastic or leather and snaps. Driving is difficult with an ankle holster, and you’ve got hard metal close to your very sensitive ankle bone.

Ouch.

Of course, many of these considerations apply only to men, if women are smart and use a purse holster. A fanny pack is about as close to this option as a man can get. A man wearing a purse might as well be wearing neon shoes. People will stare.

Some pistol-packers worry that a fanny pack screams GUN, but that’s nonsense. Athletes wear them; hikers wear them, and tourists wear them. Coupled with the right clothing, a fanny pack may well go unnoticed.

Regardless, however, what concealment option your perp chooses, he or she will remain very conscious of what they’re carrying.

And that’s the biggest tell of all.

Drop some of these considerations in your character’s conduct like pixie dust. Don’t overdo it, be subtle. You’ll draw your reader deeper into your character and your story.

"Geronimo!"

Top photo: Geronimo, legendary Apache warrior of the late 19th century; bottom photo: Geronimo's grave near Lawton, Oklahoma.)

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By Pat Browning

"Geronimo!"

That cry dates back to World War 2. To this day it remains the motto of the 501st Parachute Infantry Regiment. Their ceremonial chief is still “Chief Geronimo.” For the record, Geronimo was never a chief but he might as well have been. He was a legendary figure in his lifetime, and he’s still making news.

I never met Geronimo. I’m old, just not that old. But once upon a lifetime I knew a feisty little newspaper reporter who had shared a meal with him.

Her name was May Case. She was almost 90 when I met her, and still working for The Clovis (California) Independent, a newspaper she and her husband founded in 1918. In her small way, she was as legendary as Geronimo.

The 100th anniversary of Geronimo’s death on Feb. 17 generated newspaper and TV stories about the old warrior. As a prisoner at the Fort Sill military base near Lawton, Oklahoma, Geronimo had his own little cabin. He farmed, raised cattle, and even enlisted as a soldier in Troop L, 7th U.S. Cavalry. This was the same regiment that was almost demolished at The Little Big Horn in 1876. Fortunately for tales of the wild, wild west, Geronimo was on the San Carlos reservation in Arizona Territory at the time.

Time and again between 1876 and 1886, Geronimo and his Apache followers left San Carlos, raiding ranches and wagon trains from mountain hideouts. At one point 5,000 U.S. troops (a quarter of all American military forces) were hunting Geronimo and his small band. Late in 1886 Geronimo and Chief Naiche, son of Cochise, surrendered. By 1894 they were settled at Fort Sill.

It’s been said that Geronimo was part P.T. Barnum. During his time at Fort Sill, Geronimo charged for his autograph and sold the buttons on his coats. He made a public appearance at the St. Louis World’s Fair (1904), appeared in President Theodore Roosevelt’s inaugural parade (1905) and met with Roosevelt to plead for returning his people to their native Arizona Territory.

Roosevelt denied the request, but Geronimo was getting too old just to head for the hills, as he had done so often. He died in 1909. It was not a spectacular ending to a spectacular life. He was drunk and fell off his horse, spent the night lying in a puddle of water, and developed pneumonia.

He’s as controversial in death as in life. His grave at Fort Sill is a popular tourist attraction, but all of Geronimo may or may not be buried there. Geronimo’s great-grandson Harlyn Geronimo and other descendants filed a federal lawsuit last Tuesday against the secretive Skull and Bones society, Yale University and the U.S. government in a quest to return their ancestor’s remains to his purported birthplace in New Mexico's Gila Wilderness.

There’s an old, old rumor that members of the Yale secret society, Skull and Bones, stole Geronimo’s skull from his grave at Fort Still. One of the culprits was said to be Prescott Bush, father of the 41st President of the United States, George H.W. Bush, and grandfather of George W. Bush.

The lawsuit is not Harlyn G.’s only problem at the moment. The chairman of the Fort Sill Apache Tribe of Oklahoma reportedly said moving the remains would be desecration of a grave. Somewhere, Geronimo must be smiling at all the publicity generated 100 years after his ignominious death.

I hadn’t thought about May Case in a long time. My one newspaper clipping about her probably disappeared into a California dumpster. I typed her name into the search box at Dogpile and up popped an article from the Independent’s 2008 retrospective on its 103 years as the Clovis newspaper. The article describes May this way:

“She had a love for adventure and a natural curiosity. She had dined with Apache Chief Geronimo, was the confidant of outlaws, peace officers and gamblers, and fought her way into the work against her husband's great objections. But her determination and addiction to local news kept Case working for The Independent until three months prior to her death in 1967. She was 93 years old, the oldest working newspaper reporter in the nation.To this day, many still remember May Case walking about town with her straw press hat on and notepad in hand asking people about the news.”

That’s just how I remember May – wearing that straw boater-style hat with a press card stuck in the band. And I remember the twinkle in her eyes.

I also remember the night we hitched a ride with a couple of other reporters to a Los Angeles meeting of California Press Women. May liked to read palms, so while we killed time in the back seat, she read my palm. She studied my lifeline and love line, and predicted my future. Time has proved she was right on the money.
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(Note: Most of the information about Geronimo came from a front-page feature in the Oklahoman [which cited numerous sources], bolstered by Internet research. Photos are from Wikipedia.)

Advice from Hemingway

by Jean Henry Mead

I recently came across a forgotten book in my library, titled On Being a Writer by Will Blythe. Thumbing through, I noticed a chapter about Ernest Hemingway. Hemingway is a favorite author, not only because he changed the face of literature, but because I was born on his birthday, July 21. Leather bound copies of his work are among my most prized possessions.

Elmore Leonard reveres Hemingway so much that a portrait of him hangs in his writing den, and he claims that rereading For Whom the Bell Tolls taught him to write western novels. Thousands of writers have followed “Papa” Hemingway‘s lead and learned to write succinctly rather than imitate writers of the past such as Washington Irving, whose flowery phrases give me a headache.

Hemingway was no saint but his candor and truth in writing are traits to be admired. Questioned about his drinking habits, he said the only writer he knew who drank while he wrote was Faulkner, and that he could tell from reading his work when his drinking began during the writing process.

He wrote from 7 a.m. until noon and stressed the fact that writers should write every day, no matter where they were. During the afternoons he would swim or go fishing, explaining that “the best way is always to stop when you are doing good. If you do that, you’ll never be stuck. And don’t think or worry about it until you start the next day. That way your subconscious will be working on it all the time. But if you worry about it, your brain will get tired before you start again. You have to work every day. No matter what has happened the day or night before, get up and bite the nail.”

When writing about something monumental like a current war, he said at first it’s too fresh and you’re too close to what has happened. When you have sorted out your feelings about your subject, it’s time to write before the freshness wears off.

“When you write, your objective is to convey every sensation, sight, feeling, and emotion to the reader." He stressed rewriting and keeping your work fluid so that you can always improve upon it. Calling writing the hardest trade in the world when writing about fellow human beings, he said that wordsmiths can train themselves by recalling memories of walking into a room and experiencing the sights, smells and emotions present there.

“Then write it down, making it clear so the reader will see it too, and have the same feelings you had.” Hemingway also stressed watching people and attempting to insert yourself in someone else’s head, and above all, never take sides in an argument. See the problem from all sides and allow the reader to determine who’s right and wrong.

“As a writer you should not judge, you should understand.”

Hemingway encouraged writers to talk to one another about their craft, but not about the stories they were writing. If you tell it, you won’t write it. Writers should work alone, then talk about their work. He also discouraged writers from imitating what others have written unless they know they can do a better job. It’s important to keep a journal if you’re writing about actual historical events because you have to write "an exact, detailed and specific account" of the story. And above all, you have to be serious about your subject as well as your craft.

Mysterious Disappearance at Men of Mystery

By Mark W. Danielson

For the past six years, I’ve been privileged to participate in Irvine, California’s, Men of Mystery event. Each year, fifty authors gather to dine with five hundred wonderful mystery fans. The highlight is hearing two famous authors, such as Dean Koontz, James Patterson, Michael Connelly, Vince Flynn, and Martin Cruz Smith, speak about the business of writing. This spectacular event is the brainchild of Raven Award recipient, Joan Hansen, but would not be possible without her many devoted volunteers. Open to the public, it is normally sold out months before its November date. I am fortunate to be attending again this year.

My latest book, Diablo’s Shadow, was released just two months before the 2008 event. The week before, my book received a five star review from Mysterious Reviews, so we made an information sheet to help promote it at Mysterious Galaxy Books’ event book store. My wife and I checked with the book store that morning to make sure our acrylic-covered information sheet was properly displayed with my books. It was, and looked great.

The MOM event began with the authors introducing themselves, followed by a break where its attendees could wander through the book store and chat with the authors. This was followed by lunch and the featured authors’ presentations. At its conclusion, the book store remained open for a brief period before the authors checked out. This is where the mystery began . . .

When we went to gather my display items, our acrylic Diablo’s Shadow information sheet was nowhere to be found. Since the book store had relocated my books from their original location, we thought that perhaps my display sheet may have been at the previous site, but alas, this was not the case. We looked under the tables, but there was nothing there. We scoured the trash bins. Not there, either. Not even in any empty boxes. Nope, the trail was cold. Now, as one might imagine, the competition among authors is fierce, but I can’t imagine any of them sabotaging my display. Then again, we are talking about murderous people who possess unlimited imaginations . . . How about an obsessed fan? Highly unlikely, considering their polished etiquette and the fact I’m hardly a household name. Besides, these attendees are some of the nicest people I’ve met. So, what about the book store folks? Get serious; they had plenty to pack, and my display is of no value to them. The hotel staff? Oh, please. Why would any of them risk their jobs to take a silly information sheet home? And so the mystery lingers . . .

Months have passed since this mysterious disappearance, so I must let it go. But I vow to return next year with a new and more stunning display! Perhaps I’ll taint it with dye so that anyone caught moving it would have purple hands. Or maybe I shall connect it to an electric current . . . Yeah, that would work if I framed it in metal. Okay, I won’t do either of those things. After all, displays are easily replaced. But beware—whoever you are. I will be watching, and if I find you, you may find yourself written into one of my future novels. Ah, a mysterious mind never stops plotting . . .