Magic

by Leighton Gage

Yo no creo en las brujas,

pero que las hay, las hay

That’s a Spanish proverb that doesn’t translate well into either English or Portuguese. A close approximation of the meaning is “I don’t believe in witches, but they really do exist”.

I quote it here because I can think of no more succinct way to sum up the attitude of most Brazilians about the power of magic to intervene in their daily lives.

  

The intervention can come in the form of “white magic”, in which spirits are enlisted to do good, or it can come in the form of “black magic”, where spirits are enlisted to do evil. Either way, it’s not the kind of magic practiced by people like David Copperfield or Houdini. It’s the real stuff, the magic of primitive peoples, the magic of five hundred, a thousand, ten-thousand years ago. It came here as  part of the cultural baggage of over three million Africans, imported into Brazil as slaves, and it's a magic as old as man.

Nobody in this country believes that a trabalho (ritual) carried out by a Pai do Santo (think of him as  someone who intercedes with the spirits)...

...or a Mãe do Santo (his female equivalent) can bring love, cement a relationship, give success in business, punish an enemy or cure a disease.

Except that almost everybody really does.

And everyone has a story to tell.

We have a friend, a well-educated woman, who is convinced that her brother was cured of a serious eye disease by spiritual intervention. She had a trabalho performed in Salvador, Bahia, on a day when her brother was in the city of São Paulo, almost fifteen hundred kilometers away. She told the Mãe do Santo only that her brother had a problem with his eye. She didn’t say which one. The woman “received the spirits” bent over and began shrieking in pain, her hand over her right eye. (The same one in which our friend’s brother was afflicted.) After about fifteen minutes she quieted down, sat up straight and pronounced him cured. Our friend went home, called him, and he was. 

Just like that.

As a young teenager, my wife knew a girl in her neighborhood who paid a Pai do Santo to have a boy fall in love with her and then, when she tired of him, paid again to have him fall out-of-love with her. My wife accompanied the business at first hand. Each event happened from one day to the next.

Just like that.

Coincidences?

Of course they are.

Or maybe not.

The one thing I can tell you for sure is that the casting of spells in this country is big business. Every town and village has at least one person adept in the black arts. Every big city has many hundreds, sometimes thousands.

And, these days, if you’re in an isolated spot, it’s even possible to enlist help via the internet.

Consultation with your local practitioner often begins with the casting of the buzios.

You have questions about your life or your future? You ask, and the practitioner throws the shells. The spirits direct the way they fall. You can’t read the answer directly, of course. You need the practitioner for that.

Sometimes, the spirits advise that your problem, whatever it is, has to do with a spell cast against you. You’re advised to react, to protect yourself. Sometimes, the spirits know exactly what you need, but they want you to fess up, to ask for it, to obtain their intervention.

Protection often requires procedures like bathing in foul-smelling mixtures of herbs and oils.

More proactive trabalhos, like achieving success in business, or getting someone to fall in love with you, might require a more complicated procedure. Either way, some stuff is going to be required to perform the ritual (or series of rituals).

 

Shops like this one stock everything necessary. They’re to be found all over the country.

And, as you'll note if you carefully inspect the photo above, they even accept credit cards.

Of course I know, Dear Reader, that you don’t believe in any of this silly business.

And never will.

But, just on a lark, if you come to Brazil,

I'd be delighted to refer you to the lady who throws the buziosfor me.

Thanksgiving Thoughts from New Orleans

By Jaden Terrell

I'm writing this post from a quaint little New Orleans hotel called The Prytania Park Hotel. Lace curtains over the window, pineapple-colored walls, antique green armoire, desk, and dresser, wrought-iron chairs and tables in a courtyard draped in ivy. Mike and I just had got back from dinner at The Irish House, where we shared a bowl of the most delicious lobster bisque I've ever had, followed by a fig-and-brie-stuffed duck breast. It doesn't get much better than this. I can even enjoy it without guilt because I wrote a chapter of the third Jared McKean novel on the way down. (Fortunately, Mike was driving.)

Tomorrow, we explore New Orleans, and on Saturday, we embark on a cruise to the Caribbean, a 25th anniversary gift from both our mothers. It's a first for both of us--we'll visit the falls in Jamaica, swim with wild stingrays and go to the turtle sanctuary in Grand Cayman, and tour the Mayan ruins in Cozumel. I don't know if Jared will be traveling to any of those places, but I'll be taking notes in our cabin afterward, just in case.

This month of Thanksgiving reminds me to be conscious of the things that bring happiness and not to take them for granted. Sitting here in this charming hotel room, I'm reminded not just to be grateful, but to express that gratitude.I'm grateful for this opportunity to experience new things, have time to write on the ship, and spend a week alone with someone I love. I'm grateful for my mom and his, not only for giving us this incredible gift, but for all the love and support they give us every day.

What else am I grateful for? Family, friends (old and new, real-world and online), my publisher, Martin Shepard, my agent, Jill Marr. I'm grateful for our dogs, who love us unconditionally, and for our jobs, which help us pay the bills--at least until that six million dollar (after taxes!) movie deal comes through. I'm grateful for the Quill and Dagger critique group and for Clay Stafford and Killer Nashville.

I'm grateful for all of you who read and write this blog. You're the best.

Above all, I'm grateful for this great adventure that is life, especially the writing life. The cruise doesn't end when we return to the dock. In a metaphorical sense, it begins the day we're born and ends...well, does it ever end? Or do we just disembark at another port?

What are your thoughts? And what are you grateful for?

Bon voyage!

I kid you not

by Carola Dunn

Last week, I gave a talk at Willamette University in Salem (Oregon), part of a community education series for seniors. One interesting question that came up afterwards was about kids in mysteries.

The woman posing the question had read several of my Daisy Dalrymple mysteries. She really liked Belinda, Daisy's stepdaughter, and wondered why she doesn't appear in more of the books. She said she prefers mysteries with a protagonist who has children. They seem more realistic, the characters more real.

The US hardcover of Fall of a Philanderer is the only cover in which Belinda is shown, in the distant background.

These two covers for Gunpowder Plot (US hardcover and paperback) show respectively:

<--- a bunch of children who have nothing to do with either Daisy or the plot (apart from their mere presence);
and a presage of future half-siblings for Belinda!                             ---->






Out of twenty books in the series, Belinda appears in seven, usually playing quite an important part in the story. Apart from the audience member cited above, and entirely coincidentally, I've just heard from several people on an email list that the best of the Daisy books are the ones with Belinda.

So why didn't I put her in all of them? Why do so many mystery writers avoid giving their protagonists children?

Writers--do you have children in your books?

Readers--do you like mysteries with children?

Let me know what you think and I'll tell you my thoughts next time.





 

RIP Evans Erikson

by Ben Small


It's not everyday one receives a telephone call from an Undersecretary of Treasury. Even rarer when he tells you that if you persist in your notified defiance of a Treasury Department Iranian assets seizure order, he'll tell the New York Times you're endangering the lives of U.S. hostages held in Iran.

Jimmy Carter's administration had just upped the ante.

My former employer made aircraft parts and components, lots of different ones, used in many different aircraft systems, some of them integrated to system-level; parts, components and systems critical to aircraft manufacture, flight and repair. Indeed, at the time, we owned the only technology capable of converting the variable power of an aircraft engine into electrical power required for all other flight systems.

In other words, we had a lock on the market in aircraft electric power generation. But since it was a technological monopoly, protected by patent rights, the exclusivity was legal. If you flew a jet, you had our equipment on board. You couldn't fly without it.

And Iran Air, an Iranian government-owned commercial airline, owned jets, lots of them. Repairs and spare parts came from us, from our French subsidiary. And, turns out, Iran Air had lots of repaired or purchased product on hand, already paid for, in France, ready for shipment.

Iran Air needed its parts. They were grounding aircraft without them.

Trust me: Instructing our French sub not to ship did not make me popular in France. Each morning, I stared at my Gillette wondering the origin of its inventor.

Our French sub was mad, hopping so. The French government had decreed it would not honor Carter's seizure order, and they'd reminded our French management that under French law, refusal to honor a contract is a criminal offense. Our employees were in a pickle.

And I'd tried to avoid this problem. Consulting with my boss and our CEO, Evans Erikson, I'd written the Secretary of Treasury, explaining our French problem and asking for a window -- just ten days -- in which to ship our product. I explained that Treasury had issued its order with no advance warning. I'd warned that our French employees were subject to prosecution if we honored Treasury's seizure.

The phone call, some weeks later, was Treasury's response.

I beat a path to our CEO's office. Evans Erikson, the inventor of many of our products. A tall, handsome, commanding man, with an intellect that could astound, Evans Erikson was Chair of the Aerospace Industries Association and on the board of the Machinery and Allied Products Institute, both leading international industry groups. A man of substance.

Together, we called the Undersecretary back. It was a long conversation. Summary: They'd put us in a spot, with no window and no way out, and if they didn't rectify this, we'd do so ourselves. We gave them ten days notice of our intent to ship, and I followed the ultimatum up with a confirming letter.

The clock ticked...

On the morning of the tenth day, as I arrived for work, ready to tell our French sub to ship, the Treasury Department amended its regs and provided a ten day window for those with Iranian property on hand, paid for and required by contract to ship.

We shipped and never heard another word.

Evans Erikson died last week. I admired him greatly. He will reign long in my memories.

Giving Thanks

Giving Thanks

by June Shaw

During this time, I am thankful for my faith, family, and friends. And for all readers who care about the work I love to do.

I remember and give thanks for my mom, who moved on to celebrate with others in heaven two years ago. She danced till the end. And I am fortunate enough to have written a book about her that just came out called NORA 102 1/2: A Lesson on Aging Well. While not a mystery in the usual sense, the way she lived her life, mainly during her senior years, had almost everyone who met her say, "You're my mentor. I want to be just like you."

An ordinary woman in most ways, Mom lived to be over 102--and never had a headache. Ever. She didn't have pains and started dating after she was seventy. Her mother waited up for her to come in the house and wouldn't give her a house key.

Mom took one pill a day. When she was in her mid-nineties, a man asked what it was for. She said, "Birth control."

So I was extremely lucky. I was the daughter. In the book about her, I tried to unravel clues as to how she became such a vibrant woman.

I hope you and yours have cause to celebrate and also give thanks this season.

PUMPED FOR THE TOUR
by Earl Staggs

I’m excited to be part of the Mystery We Write Blog Tour set to kickoff on November 25. Apparently, the other authors involved decided they needed a wrinkled, weathered, worn-out writer in the mix and invited me to join them.

Run down this list of the other fourteen authors involved in the round robin tour and you’ll see why I felt honored to be asked.

Anne K. Albert

Beth Anderson

Ron Benrey

Pat Browning

John M. Daniel

Alice Duncan

Wendy Gager

M. M. Gornell

Timothy Hallinan

Jackie King

Jean Henry Mead

Marilyn Meredith

Mike Orenduff

Jinx Schwartz

Here’s how it will work. Each day for fourteen days, I’ll host one of the authors on my blogsite and on each day, I’ll be a guest on the blog site of one of the other writers. It’s going to be a monumental, whirlwind tour. Each day, each writer will discuss something different on a different site until it wraps up on December 8.

On my site each day, the guest author will answer the question, “What’s the best thing you’ve ever written?” I’m anxious to see their responses.

And there’s more. The authors are giving away books. All told, some sixty books will be given away during the tour. All you have to do to win books is visit the sites and leave a comment. The more sites you visit, the more books you’ll have a chance to win.

For my part, I’ll draw two names on December 9 from those who leave a comment on my site. The first name drawn will receive a signed print copy of MEMORY OF A MURDER, my first mystery novel. The second name drawn will have a choice of an ebook or print copy of SHORT STORIES OF EARL STAGGS, a collection of sixteen of my best short stories.

To find out who’s appearing where during the tour, watch for announcements on your favorite elist group and other popular sites. You can also stop by my website at http://earlwstaggs.wordpress.com and see the schedule.

While you're there, you can read Chapter One of MEMORY OF A MURDER.

Also while you’re there, you can read “The Day I Almost Became a Great Writer,” which some say is the funniest story I’ve ever written. There’s also one called “White Hats and Happy Trails,” about the day I spent with a boyhood idol, Roy Rogers.

So for now, we wait until November 25, the kickoff date for the Biggest, Bestest, Boldest Blog Tour ever and the largest book giveaway ever. I hope you’ll join us.

Earl Staggs

http://earlwstaggs.wordpress.com

Virtual Resources

By Mark W. Danielson

These days, the availability of instant information has made fiction writing simple. However, it also means there is no excuse for inaccurate subject matter. Authors cannot be experts on every topic. However, unless they are writing fantasy, they must have enough knowledge on the subject to create accurate and plausible stories.

Recently, I was disheartened to read a book by a big-name author who wrote countless inaccurate and unrealistic situations that involved flying. While it would have been easy for him to contact someone in the field to review these scenes for accuracy, he apparently believed he could fool his audience. Since I fly for a living and have over forty-five years of experience in that field, I sent him an e-mail offering to proof any flying scenes on his future books, gratis. I never received a reply, but the offer still stands.

Although the Internet has its limitations, it is a priceless tool for authors. Knowing my limitations, I frequently use the Internet to link up with experts. In my last story, I contacted a federal DNA expert. In my current story, a paranormal expert and physicists have given me sufficient knowledge to write my story with confidence. I also find Google Earth’s bird’s eye and street level views significantly aid in scene description. In this regard, the Internet makes accurate writing a breeze.

But there is a significant difference between expert information and Internet articles. The down-side to the Internet is there are no filters. As such, there is no way to guarantee an article’s accuracy. Any credible fiction writer can craft a believable bogus document. My goal is to always create fictional stories plausible enough to make the reader wonder whether it actually happened. Using real events, names, and locations adds authenticity and makes it easy for my readers to identify with my story just as movie audiences do when seeing familiar landmarks.

Since I know my limitations, I write expert characters into the scene rather than have my protagonist appear all-knowing. Doing this allows professional information be presented in a manner similar to how it was obtained by me. My protagonist, Homicide Detective Maxx Watts, is an average guy with good instincts, but has his weaknesses and isn’t always right. As such, most readers can relate to Watts, and by following his thought process, can understand how he reached his conclusions. For me, this works better than a shootout at high noon where everyone conveniently gathers on Main Street.

The Internet is a tremendous asset, but must be used with discretion. While researching topics, carefully consider their sources and read as many articles from as many authors as you can find before believing the information to be valid. My experience is experts are nearly always available and willing to assist authors. Without accuracy, the author loses credibility, and loss of credibility is not only distracting to a reader, it can lead to loss of readership. Research is only as good as the effort you put into it. Getting it right means no side effects.