Q.      Charlie Miner struggles throughout this story to keep his body and soul together until his deed is done. I love that his character is not another vampire, ghost, or fantasy character, but he comes across credible in the need to be responsible to those he loves, and the fear of completely letting go.
Can you tell us how you came up with your protagonist and his motives?
 
I once read a dark and brilliant novel by Brian Moore called Cold Heaven. The main character’s husband dies in a boating accident but seems to continue existing as if not dead—no supernatural, paranormal, Steven-King sort of thing; suspension of disbelief did not require heavy lifting. I was (dare I say it?) haunted by this. Years later, the opening lines for Down Solo occurred to me—“They say once a junkie, always a junkie, but this is ridiculous. I haven’t been dead more than a few hours and I already need a fix”—and I realized that I could borrow the device from Moore’s literary novel and employ it in a noir/hard-boiled setting.
 
As for motives, if you wake up with a bullet in your head, you probably want to know how it got there. Of course, if you’re a drug addict, you might have a more-immediate motivation.
 
Q.      Drug use is a major theme. Addiction, itself, creates a division of reality vs. non-reality. Is this also the reasoning for Charlie’s body/soul struggle?

Charlie thinks he’s different from the average junkie because he’s an accidental addict. He got there as a consequence of physical pain, where traditionally addiction has been the end result of so-called recreational experimentation. Once you’re in the trap, though, the similarities outweigh the differences—you are exiled from your natural self, and the way back may require a radical realignment.

Q.     Could a reader then parallel a Freudian linkage? The Id and the Ego?

Addiction can be explicated in Freudian terms: the ego is torn between the id’s pleasure-seeking and the superego’s condemnation; the resulting friction causes anxiety, requiring sedation by drugs and/or alcohol; the continuing sedation causes life problems that exacerbate the cycle, etc. Charlie seeks help from a Mexican detox that uses an ibogaine ceremony, which leads to his first experience of decoupling his mind and body. The theory behind the treatment is that the hallucinogen can reshuffle the psyche’s deck, so to speak, with all the cards somehow landing in an optimized order.

Q.     Serious subject, theme-driven character, intriguing plot—dark, adventurous yet also full of humor—how do you go about making sure these all held in a good balance in the storytelling?

I have loved books since I was a child, and I believe that if you read enough good material, you will internalize the basics of good storytelling—character, plot, structure, dialogue, setting, etc. Combine that with an active interest in writing—practice and a willingness to study it as a craft—and you have a foundation. Now, as to the odd mix you give me credit for, I have to guess at something else that probably comes into play. As a member of what I’ll generically refer to as “the recovery community,” I have heard thousands of stories, many of them deeply moving. Their common elements are honesty, tragedy, determination, failure, hopelessness, and then renewal and redemption. And humor is essential—we call laughter the music of the heart—and we find it in the most cringe-worthy moments, even though they were awful and pathetic when they occurred.

Q.     What do you see as your major goal when creating a novel—other than just entertainment, of course?
 
It’s not a conscious intent in the moment of creating, but the goal is to immerse a reader in my made-up world—to involve you in my character’s plight, thoughts, and emotions to the point where you have a stake in the outcome. That’s what gets me to the last page when I’m reading good work.
 
Q.     Will you disclose your writing process?  Outline first? Start with character and idea and begin writing? How do you get your magic accomplished?

               As I mentioned, the first two lines popped into my head out of the Great Nowhere, and motive was built in (who killed Charlie Miner?—he has to find out!). From there, I bumbled along until I had a narrative arc in mind that was supposed to unspool backwards along the lines of the film Memento: Charlie’s memory is impaired by the damage from the bullet, so he has to find clues to recreate the events leading up to his death. He picks up just enough clues to get himself in a brand new set of problems. Unfortunately, I got to my original ending at around page 100; that stumped me for about a year until I realized that I could go deeper, add levels to the plot, and get to novel-length without simply adding fat. I wrote an article on my process, which is here: http://www.authorsfirst.com/storyboarding-for-depth-and-clarity/.
 
Q.     What are you working on now, and when can readers expect to find it on Amazon?
​
        After Down Solo, my publisher (The Story Plant) put out Trust Me, which is a more-conventional psychological thriller involving a predator in the Los Angeles recovery community. Now I’m looking over the final draft—post-proofreading—of the sequel to Down Solo. Charlie Miner is called upon by his friend Detective Dave Putnam to look into the claims of a self-professed clairvoyant who has seemingly helped solve several murder cases for the LAPD. Down to No Good was a lot of fun to write and will be available in October.
        I hope people will visit me at www.earljavorsky.com.

​

• 
  Q.     Serious subject, theme-driven character, intriguing plot—dark, adventurous yet also full of humor—how do you go about making sure these all held in a good balance in the storytelling?
  
  A. I have loved books since I was a child, and I believe that if you read enough good material, you will internalize the basics of good storytelling—character, plot, structure, dialogue, setting, etc. Combine that with an active interest in writing—practice and a willingness to study it as a craft—and you have a foundation. Now, as to the odd mix you give me credit for, I have to guess at something else that probably comes into play. As a member of what I’ll generically refer to as “the recovery community,” I have heard thousands of stories, many of them deeply moving. Their common elements are honesty, tragedy, determination, failure, hopelessness, and then renewal and redemption. And humor is essential—we call laughter the music of the heart—and we find it in the most cringe-worthy moments, even though they were awful and pathetic when they occurred.
  
  Q.     What do you see as your major goal when creating a novel—other than just entertainment, of course?
   
  A.   It’s not a conscious intent in the moment of creating, but the goal is to immerse a reader in my made-up world—to involve you in my character’s plight, thoughts, and emotions to the point where you have a stake in the outcome. That’s what gets me to the last page when I’m reading good work.
   
  Q.  Will you disclose your writing process?  Outline first? Start with character and idea and begin writing? How do you get your magic accomplished?
  
  A.  As I mentioned, the first two lines popped into my head out of the Great Nowhere, and motive was built in (who killed Charlie Miner?—he has to find out!). From there, I bumbled along until I had a narrative arc in mind that was supposed to unspool backwards along the lines of the film Memento: Charlie’s memory is impaired by the damage from the bullet, so he has to find clues to recreate the events leading up to his death. He picks up just enough clues to get himself in a brand new set of problems. Unfortunately, I got to my original ending at around page 100; that stumped me for about a year until I realized that I could go deeper, add levels to the plot, and get to novel-length without simply adding fat. I wrote an article on my process, which is here: http://www.authorsfirst.com/storyboarding-for-depth-and-clarity/.
   
  Q.     What are you working on now, and when can readers expect to find it on Amazon?
  ​
  A.  After Down Solo, my publisher (The Story Plant) put out Trust Me, which is a more-conventional psychological thriller involving a predator in the Los Angeles recovery community. Now I’m looking over the final draft—post-proofreading—of the sequel to Down Solo. Charlie Miner is called upon by his friend Detective Dave Putnam to look into the claims of a self-professed clairvoyant who has seemingly helped solve several murder cases for the LAPD. Down to No Good was a lot of fun to write and will be available in October. I hope people will visit me at www.earljavorsky.com.
         

I read a lot of mysteries, naturally, because friends write books and there are always new and exciting mysteries to dive into. But sometimes I take a break from these and read other books: non-mystery novels, biographies, and nonfiction in general. I also belong to a book club, and the choices of the members are often different from the books I read on my own. Since I’ve become a writer, I’ve become much more aware when I’m reading a book of the skill of the author in taking me into a place or time so fully that I feel as if I am actually there.
I recently read a book by Sigrid Nunez called THE LAST OF HER KIND, which takes place in New York at the end of the sixties and into the seventies. This was a book that plunged me back to that time. It was a time of civil unrest: the 1968 Democratic convention in Chicago, riots and takeovers of buildings by university students, the assassinations of Bobby Kennedy and Dr. King, among other events.  There is an evocation of an LSD trip by the woman experiencing it that made me remember how assiduously I had avoided trying the drug. The book made me uncomfortable in the same way that I remember being uncomfortable then, as though I had been dropped back almost fifty years and somehow entered a strange planet full of people who were entirely different from those I thought I knew.  
            Some books bring me such a sense of actually being in the setting among the characters that a return to the mundanity of life is almost painful, returning to earth from a fantasy trip and being forced to pick up my bookmark to mark my place and go back to work or to whatever task faces me.  I was like that as a child, always lost in the world of a book, reluctant to face the monotony of long division or algebra.
James Lee Burke’s Louisiana mysteries bring me into the oppressive heat of New Orleans; Tony Hillerman’s description of the Navajo world makes it come alive; I don’t remember the settings of Agatha Christies’ book because I was always too immersed in the puzzle; but Ellis Peters’ medieval tales evoked the monastic setting and the period; and Elizabeth George created a fascinating English world including an entire Oxford college in one of her mysteries.
Recently I visited my friend in Florida where I have set my two mysteries: A REASON TO KILL and SO MANY REASONS TO DIE. We made a trip to Vero Beach, a city north of where my friend lives and where I had never been. It’s quite a well-to-do area, and I immediately began to set some scenes from the book I’m currently working on in that town: more expensive  than Burgess Beach where Andi and Greg, my two detectives live and work, with houses set both on the Indian River and on an island facing the Atlantic Ocean. I find myself absorbing details of new places, trying to remember my feelings when I’m there, in an attempt to recreate new settings in my writing.
Do you enjoy new settings in your reading or writing? I’d love to hear about books that evoked memories from you or made you want to travel there.    
​

We used this statement as the headline for a press release a few years ago where it received a lot of attention and several call backs.
Yes, we are a husband and wife team who write together, three books now, and we are still married.
When we started writing in 2000, we were doing our own things – I wrote a romantic comedy and Janet produced a couple of contemporary, and cozy mysteries. We routinely edited each other’s work, but Janet had a secret. She wanted to write a ‘50s hard-boiled detective novel but couldn’t figure out how to get into a man’s head and make her detective sound real. I would consistently change the dialogue for her male characters telling her, “A guy wouldn’t think that.”
One day she revealed how she’d love to write a hard-boiled murder mystery. Surprised and delighted, I turned to her and said, “So let’s do it together.” She almost broke into tears.
When our family and writer friends learned what we were up to, they warned that this arrangement could spell out the demise of our 43 year-old marriage. They insisted it would never work. Concerned with these dire predictions of doom, we decided to take a business approach. The first rule was to check our egos at the door. We set rules of professionalism, overall respect and patience. A deadline schedule was established and we met every two weeks to discuss character development, subplots and fight scenes. We discussed what was working and what wasn’t.
Contrary to the warnings, our writing journey has turned out to be a lot of fun. We took research field trips to old Los Angeles and Hollywood. Touring the neighborhoods, historic hotels, restaurants, and night clubs gave us the feel for the 1950s. The headlines from period newspapers provided us with insight into the lives and scandals of period actors, actresses, and studio executives. Mobsters were big thing in 1950s L.A. with amazing personal lives. Since Will is a member of ASIFA-Hollywood, we have opportunities attend screenings at many of the historic motion picture studios and see where our PI, Skylar Drake would have worked as a part time movie stuntman. We interviewed retired police officers about LAPD procedures and equipment in that era.
The result has been three novels so far and a wonderful partnering experience for both of us. There are, however, still some curious skeptics who wonder about us. At a recent public appearance, we were part of a panel of mystery authors discussing the writing process. When the time came for questions, a hand shot up from the audience. The elderly man stood, pointed at the two of us and asked, “How exactly does that work?”  Janet smiled and asked, “How does what work?”  The person answered, “This writing together. Why haven’t you killed each other? I could never dream of writing with my spouse.”
websites: www.janetlynnauthor.com and www.willzeilingerauthor.com
​

 I’ve had great success getting published online and in print with Flash Fiction. For those who don’t know what it is, it’s any story less than 1,000 words.
Like all stories it needs a beginning, middle and end. For me, writing flash fiction is very similar to writing jokes. I did stand-up comedy and worked on sitcom scripts for many years and I think that helped hone the craft of getting to the meat of the story in as few as words possible.
In flash fiction, there is no room for subplots, multiple characters and full descriptions. Your goal is to establish your main character, the predicament she might be in and then come to a satisfying ending. It’s the same for a regular short story or novel but highly condensed.
Establish your main character. One of the best ways is to start in the middle of a conflict. For flash fiction the old saying, “Action speaks louder than words” is true. If your character is standing in a line at the bank, don’t have her walk to the bank, notice it’s a clear day, enter the bank, say hello to the guard and get in line. Start with a man saying, “Hands up, this is a robbery.” How does she react? Put her hands up like everyone else, tries to dial 911, hide her purse or pull out a gun to join the bank robbers. Each action and reaction gives us a quick read of who that character is.
The predicament. Right away throw your character into the lions’ den. Create more conflict. This is the bulk of story. How does the antagonist maneuver through the action? Throw in a couple twists or turns.
A satisfying ending. For me, this is usually a big twist much like a punchline at the end of a joke. You’ve been leading the reader down one path and suddenly you switch paths. Boom! It’s over. This is the hardest part of writing flash fiction. Sometimes when walking my dog Seymour, just the twists come to me and I don’t even know the story. And sometimes the ending changes and it’s even a better one than what I thought of because of how the beginning and middle turned out.
You may be saying to yourself, I know all that but how do you do it under 100 words or 750 words. My suggestion is, first write your story in three sentences. Don’t cheat and use long run on sentences. For instance: A street magician sees a man attack a woman and flee into the night. Later he sees the same man, they scuffle and the magician kills the killer. The magician finds out he’s killed the wrong man and is now arrested himself. The full story is called John’s Spot. It’s told with 742 words. I’ve even written 100 word stories and believe it or not, 6 word stories. The six word stories are based on what Hemingway claimed was the best story he had ever written: For sale, baby shoes. Never used. Wow, there’s a whole sad tale right there. Here are more examples of 6 and 100 word stories.
It’s a good way to get published and make a name for yourself in the writing world. I’m not great at multitasking but I’ve found that I can use writing flash fiction as a break from writing a novel.
The markets are out there. Some of my online publishers have been Akashicbooks and Spelk Fiction. A great source for all publishers seeking short stories is: Sandra Seaman’s blog.
Keep writing and keep it short!  www.stephenbuehler.com
Stephen Buehler’s latest short story, Seth’s Big Move appears in the new LAST RESORT anthology.
 
BIO
Stephen Buehler’s latest short story, Seth’s Big Move appears in the LAST RESORT anthology. His short fiction has been published in numerous on-line publications including, Akashic Books. The Derringer Nominated short story, Not My Day appeared in the Last Exit to Murder anthology. He has just finished revising his novella, The Mindreading Murders, into novel length. He is also currently seeking a home for his mystery/comedy P.I. novel, Detective Rules. By day he is a script/story consultant, magician and lives with a dog named Seymour.  www.stephenbuehler.com
​

 
As a psychotherapist who specializes in working with creative people, I’m often asked to speak at writing conferences. At one such recent event, an audience member stood up and asked a question.
“When I write,” he said, “I feel like I don’t always know what I’m doing. I go over stuff, then I cross stuff out, then I try something else…I feel like I’m losing it sometimes. What does that mean?”
I shrugged. “It means you’re a writer.”
“But I spend a lot of time worrying, never sure whether or not the damned thing is working.”
“Sounds like writing to me.”
This did nothing to erase the perplexed look on his face.
“I don’t know about that.” He glanced around the crowded room. “I mean, I heard the other day on the radio that we’re all crazy.”
“Who’s crazy?”
“Us. Writers. Artists in general. This shrink was on some talk show on NPR, and he said it’s been proven that we’re all bipolar.”
“I’m confused. Do you mean that because you’re a writer you’re bipolar, or does being bipolar cause you to be a writer?”
“He said it could be one or the other, but it could be both. What do you think?”
“I think I’m gonna skip the next NPR pledge drive.”
Apparently, it’s in fashion again: the notion that the creative impulse, with its occasional emotional difficulties, is merely the product of a psychological disorder. It must be, the argument goes, given how much psychic turmoil, stress and disordered mood is often associated with it.
The current favorite clinical diagnosis for artists, particularly writers, is bipolar disorder---a condition that used to be called manic-depression.
In fact, there’s a movie currently playing---based on Kay Jamison’s influential book, Touched with Fire---that reinforces this very concept. But the idea that writers are of a single and highly neurotic personality type goes all the way back to---who else?---Freud. Later, in the 1950’s, a fellow named Edmund Bergler (credited, by the way, with inventing the term writer’s block) wrote a number of books on the subject. His explanation for the reason that writers write? “Psychic masochism.”
Of course, the idea that the artistic impulse is inevitably the product of a psychological condition is not new. After all, history is filled with examples of the tormented artist stricken by melancholy, going on drunken binges, cutting off an ear, and generally behaving---as we therapists like to say---inappropriately. But to infer that some kind of “craziness” underlies creative endeavor, or, even worse, that the impulse to create is itself an indicator of some condition is just plain wrong.
First, to whatever extent a therapist believes in the validity of diagnostic labels like “bipolar,” one thing is clear: Labels exist for the convenience of the labeler. How helpful they are to the artistic person is debatable.
Second, claiming that the creative impulse comes from any one source---whether mania, psychosis or the moon---is both ludicrous and potentially harmful. Ludicrous because it’s oversimplified and inconsistent with the lived experience of countless artists. Potentially harmful because it undervalues the mysterious, indefinable aspects of the creative act.
I’m reminded of a quote by H.L. Menken, who said, “There is always an easy solution to every human problem---neat, plausible and wrong.” The tendency to see a writer’s creative struggles solely in terms of evidencing a psychological problem betrays a profound narrowness in scope, imagination, and appreciation for the hidden ways of the artistic heart.
The point is, yes, perhaps Van Gogh did suffer from symptoms that we might label bipolar. But what is also true---and certainly more important---is that he was supremely talented. Both facts can co-exist, without one necessarily causing the other.
Which brings me back to that worried audience member. Because the truth is, he’s not alone in his concern about what his creative struggles mean. Many writer patients in my therapy practice wonder about the same thing, given the level of anxiety, creative self-doubt, and fear of shameful self-exposure that accompanies most scripts, plays or novels.
“If I’m plagued with anxiety,” he or she laments, “doesn’t that say something about the quality of what I’m writing? Let’s face it: If I was any good, I wouldn’t be going through this agony. If this story really worked, I wouldn’t be bumping up against so many technical problems, narrative glitches, inconsistencies in some of the characters.”
Wrong. You’re bumping up against technical problems, narrative glitches and issues with some of your characters for a very simple reason. WRITING IS HARD.
That’s not to say that writing isn’t often co-existent with anxiety, manifesting in a dozen different ways, from sleepless nights to procrastination to substance abuse. And these psychological aspects ought to be addressed. But these symptoms---and the self-recriminating meanings we give them---are not the reason that writing, as a craft, is difficult. Because whether or not a writer suffers from these symptoms, in small measure or to a crippling extent, the reality remains that telling a good story with intelligence, emotional truth and narrative complexity is hard. Really, really hard.
Let me put it another way: what I sometimes tell my writer patients, and what I’m trying to address here, is that an artist’s job is to create. When you create anything---whether a script or a novel, whether painting a landscape or writing a song—you’re bound to run into problems. Problems inherent in the process of doing that task. So your real, pragmatic, fundamental job is to work the problem. Solve the difficulties. Answer the nagging questions.
In other words, I believe you should, as a creative person, work the problem---don’t make yourself the problem. You and your psychological struggles aside, problems with your art are inherent in doing that art. Case in point: one of my friends is a Buddhist monk, whose composure and emotional equilibrium is, in my experience of him, a model of psychological well-being. He’s also a poet. The last time I spoke with him, he complained about this long poem he was laboring over. “Man,” he said, “poetry’s a bitch.”
Note that he didn’t say anything self-recriminating about his talent, his character, his work ethic, his puny place in the pantheon of poets. He didn’t see his struggles and artistic frustration as evidence of a failure in himself. Or a reflection of his neurotic insecurity. He merely stated that writing poetry is hard.
So, once again: when you come up against difficulties in your writing, work the problem. Don’t make yourself the problem. You may have issues to be addressed, but the difficulties of writing are inherent in the task, not a reflection of your failings either as a person or a writer.
Remember, writing is hard. Writing anything is hard. Especially if you’re doing your best.
Which reminds me of an old Hollywood story. Years ago, back in the days of the studio system, a roomful of contract writers were going crazy trying to solve an Act Two problem in a script they were doing. After almost a week of teeth-gnashing and garment-rending, a new young writer was brought into the room. In a matter of minutes, he hit upon the solution. To which one of the exhausted old veterans grumbled, “Sure he beat it. He didn’t know how hard it was.”
 
                                                                                      
 
 
BIO
 
Formerly a Hollywood screenwriter (My Favorite Year; Welcome Back, Kotter, etc.), Dennis Palumbo is now a licensed psychotherapist and author. His mystery fiction has appeared in Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine, The Strand and elsewhere, and is collected in From Crime to Crime (Tallfellow Press). His acclaimed series of crime novels (Mirror Image, Fever Dream, Night Terrors and the latest, Phantom Limb) feature psychologist Daniel Rinaldi, a trauma expert who consults with the Pittsburgh Police.  All are from Poisoned Pen Press.
For more info, please visit www.dennispalumbo.com

Newspaper reporters often find themselves with unexpected assignments especially here in the United States and being a Brit some editors assume I am brilliant at anything I tackle. It’s the accent, of course. Wonderfully misleading.
            I’ve never refused an assignment because it can become grist for the mill when turning to write crime novels. The following story provided me with the idea for a minor character, and will take my amateur sleuth to the Indianapolis 500 race in a later book in my Tosca Trevant crime series.
            I never, ever aspired to be a race car driver although most journalists who cover auto racing itch to get behind the wheel at a race track, even if it's only while the car is in the pits.  As a novice automotive reporter (the only job on a newspaper I could get when I first arrived in the States) the closest I came to anything to do with cars was the time my plane to the West coast flew over Indianapolis just four days before the running of the Indy 500.
            All that changed when the editor sent me to cover a Can-Am Grand Prix during a steamy October weekend at Watkins Glen, New York. Volkswagen Worldwide Corporation was staging its Stingy Driving race, whereby each participating member of the press was provided with a VW Rabbit fueled by a precisely-measured 32 ounces of petrol and let loose on the track. The winner would be the driver who squeezed the most mileage from this meager ration of liquid gold. 
            Assigned identically set-up cars, 22 journalists stood dutifully at the starting line. Taped to the passenger side window of each Rabbit was a glass vial containing the precious petrol.  A narrow plastic tube ran from the vial, across the bonnet, and into the engine much like an I.V. line dripping life-saving fluids into a heart patient.
            The start was a Le Mans start whereby drivers queued up very neatly on the tarmac across from one’s car like Brits waiting for a bus. When the signal is given it’s a maniacal dash to the cars. There were supposed to be three of us females competing along with 21 men. One lady was disqualified for reasons unknown to me. The second never showed up. Thus I found myself unwittingly representing the whole world of women drivers in the Bunny Hop VW Rabbit Press Race.
            When I realized the honor that had been bestowed upon me, I decided I really wasn't worthy.  I've never been much of a women's libber and I dreaded the thought of what might happen if I let my side down.  Would I be chased through the streets by angry women waving signs reading: "Jill's a Dumb Bunny?"
            I offered to step down. I pleaded to step down. But by this time genial Chris Economaki, the iconic, gravelly-voiced ABC-TV race commentator, had already pushed a microphone under my nose as we waited for the starter pistol.
            "How will you handle the chicane?" he asked me.
            I'd never, ever, heard of a chicane. What the heck was it? How did one spell it?
            "Oh," I replied airily, "That's going to be a surprise. It's my secret weapon!"
            Chris peered at me, a pitying look on his face, and moved on down the line, interviewing other journalists. Next to me was Ahmad Sadiq, art director for Penthouse magazine. He'd brought along a stable of voluptuous models who draped most of their bare flesh all over the hood of his fire-engine red Rabbit.
            Nearby stood a car-less driver, Junius Chambers, who wrote for the New York Amsterdam News. He was unable to participate because the Rabbit he'd been given the night before was stolen from in front of his apartment in Manhattan. Was he going to sprint towards my entry and try to beat me to the door? Or was he here simply to drool at the models?
            Time for the race to start.
            The popgun popped and we all ran madly towards our cars. We jumped in (no one got in the wrong car; I knew mine was white) and fastened our belts. Or at least I tried to. I got my elbow caught in the shoulder strap and ended up starting the car with the harness doing a great job of hanging my left arm uselessly in the air as I clumsily changed gears and steered with one hand.
            No matter. I was on my way around the track for the first lap. The only problem was, we were supposed to drive as slowly as possible to preserve the fuel and achieve high mileage.  Here we were on one of America's most famous race tracks and to win we were to dawdle all the way. Well, women never like to follow the crowd, just ask any husband, so I must admit I gave in to temptation and led the rest of the field at first, all 21 of the men behind me.
            The circuit is 3.377 miles and goes up hill and down dale in a zig-zaggy fashion, twisting and looping most of the time. Thousands of spectators -- most of them still bleary-eyed from a night camping in the track’s infamous Snake Pit swamp -- were on the hillsides, a veritable tent city spread out behind them.
            These fans were obviously not too keen on watching 22 silly Rabbits hopping along at a snail's pace. They'd traveled here from far and wide to watch Grand Prix champions tear up the track at better than 180 m.p.h.. But they were good sports.
            Halfway around, my car coughed, choked, bucked a couple of times, then sputtered to an ignominious stop. Nonplussed, I wondered if the Rabbit was going to roll over on its back and expire. What's happening? Was I a victim of the dreaded chicane?
            "Hey, lady,"shouted one of the rather rude spectators, "step on the gas!"
            I looked at the transparent hose. Aha! An air bubble was blocking the flow from the bottle to the engine. What to do? My Rabbit needed an emergency transfusion. I was soon surrounded by a gaggle of hung-over hippies who'd jumped over the guard rail and were offering to push the car home.
            Dodging my competitors who drove past sedately shaking their heads, a track mechanic ran over.  "Get a move on, lady! You can't stop there!" he yelled.  Did he think I'd stopped to do some sightseeing?
            Oh," he said brightly. "You've got an air bubble.  Here, I'll blow it out".
            This expert put the plastic tube between his lips and took an almighty breath. Instantly, the air bubble disappeared. It had been sucked into his mouth along with half my bottle of petrol.    
            "Hey! You've swallowed my ration!"
            His face turned green as he spat out some of the liquid he'd stolen from me. "I knew it was a mistake to let women on this track," he muttered, stalking off.
            With what was left of my 32 ounces I restarted the Rabbit and continued around the track, accompanied by hoots of derision from the fans.  I decided to enjoy the scenery, waving to my fellow drivers and trying to eke out as many miles as possible from my seriously-denuded petrol supply.
              The Watkins Glen circuit is a sweet grid and if you're not in a hurry, as I certainly wasn't, there's a lot to see. The first curve is a ninety-degree turn which gets you all psyched up for that infamous chicane, and after all my fears it turned out to be merely a banked segment to slow the field down and ideally allows only one car at a time to pass through it. So what was the big deal? The chicane is followed by a very nice straightaway from which one may observe the lovely foliage on the surrounding hillsides. Then the track sends you along a tortuously twisting loop that can be hazardous if you're not paying attention and sets you up for the wiggling corners that wind up to the finish. It was a pleasant way to spend a Saturday afternoon in upstate New York, I must say, and I was pleased the editor had given me the assignment.
              Halfway back to the finish line, my Rabbit slowed to crawl and, with a lurch, again stopped dead in its tracks. It had expired from lack of gas. I had to be towed back to the start/finish line. At the same internationally famous race track where Niki Lauda steered his Ferrari to victory, I had completed two and a half laps in the most sensational car race of my rather short racing career. Very short. I never took to the track again.
             The winner of our Bunny Hop was Bill Turney of the Hartford Courant who feather-footed his Rabbit gently enough to get 72.8 miles per gallon.  Second was Jim Patterson of the Long Island Press, at 64 miles per gallon. My mileage? A paltry36. I knew Volkswagen wouldn’t be too happy. The two winners were awarded all-expense paid trips to the Bahamas.  Neither invited me along. 
            I don't know if the guy who selfishly swallowed my petrol perished or (sorry, God) or merely suffered several extremely painful spasms. I never wanted to be a race driver anyway although I continued to cover motorsports for Gannett Newspapers. But one of my fictional characters is a racer. So there.
​

There’s no question that YA is the genre du jour. Literary agents and editors all seem to be seeking the next big thing in young adult, especially the “crossover” novel that can hit both the teenage and adult markets.
So when I started writing my novel “Skin of Tattoos,” it seemed to me a no-brainer to make it a YA book. The book is a thriller pivoting on the rivalry between two street gang members in Los Angeles. Since gangs are primarily composed of young men, many of them teenagers, it seemed to be a natural fit for YA. Great, I thought, I can jump on the YA bandwagon. But it wasn’t as easy as I thought it would be, either writing the book or selling it.
 First, in writing YA, authors must keep in mind the limitations on a teenager’s life, namely they generally live with their families and have to answer to parents. The author must account for these family characters in some way and establish their relationships with the main teen character. Specifically, the author must invent excuses for the parents not noticing the behavior of the teen that generally makes the conflict of the plot.
I notice a lot of YA books have the teen (girl, more often than not) alone with a divorced or widowed parent, which makes the mom or dad conveniently more distracted or absent-minded, leaving the teenager to get on with the plot. A lot of teen protagonists are also only children, another handy mechanism that eliminates the need for the author to deal with sibling relationships. Although these scenarios certainly occur in real life, it’s probably not quite as often as in YA fiction. Authors must also keep in mind that friends are hugely important in adolescence so friends must play a major role and those relationships must be established. Likewise, teens are not adults. They are subject to school rules and a different set of laws, which may affect the plot.  
Elements such as profanity, obscenity, drug use and sex must be considered. The author can include those things but she must consider her goals for the book. If she wants to sell into school libraries and cast a wide net for readers, which would include adults who buy books to give to teens, she may not want to include the racy stuff.  On the other hand, teens themselves may actually be drawn by the edgier, grittier and more realistic content.
YA books also have a more uniform style. They are overwhelmingly told in first person, mostly present tense, in a day-to-day fashion so the reader feels a part of the protagonist’s life. The voice must also be right. A certain tone of snarkiness in interior monologue and side comments seems to be what agents and editors like although in reality teens don’t talk like that as often as books stipulate.
YA is overwhelming a girls’ genre. Visit a bookstore’s YA section, you’ll see most titles are romance-oriented or otherwise female oriented with girls on the cover. I didn’t initially view this as a hindrance. After all, my teenage son had often complained to me that he didn’t like reading books because he couldn’t find any action/adventure books more suited to boys. I figured there must be a market for boy YA.
But the truth is not really. Agents and editors are looking for what sells, and that’s by and large girl YA. Nevertheless, when I sent out my manuscript, I got nibbles and a few bites, and eventually I landed an agent. (That’s the subject of another blog post.) The book, however, didn’t move. To make a long story short, I parted ways with that agent and then I saw what I needed to do: make “Skin of Tattoos” an adult novel. I upped the age of my protagonist, Mags, by a couple years, to twenty, and suddenly he was freed of the constraints and limited world view of a minor, yet still young enough to have issues with his family and make the boneheaded mistakes that youths make as they enter adulthood. As a writer, it was like shedding shackles.
Mags instantly became old enough to have a level of awareness about himself and the world. He could come to terms with his family problems with the emotional depth that a teen likely wouldn’t have. It made his character, the main plot and the family-issue subplot that much richer.
After much revision, I got a deal with a small publisher, and “Skin of Tattoos” was finally released to the world last August, earning praise from Kirkus Reviews as “a well crafted debut” from a “a talented writer.” Reading that made the exceptionally long journey and the heartache that accompanied it all worth it.
Christina Hoag won a prize for writing interesting stories when she was six years old and that’s what she’s been doing ever since as a journalist and novelist.  She’s a former reporter for the Miami Herald and Associated Press and reported from Latin America for nearly a decade for major media outlets including Time, Business Week, Financial Times, the Houston Chronicle and The New York Times. She is the author of novels "Girl on the Brink," a YA romantic thriller (Fire and Ice YA/Melange Books, 2016), named by Suspense Magazine as one of the best YA books of 2016, and "Skin of Tattoos," a gangland thriller. She is also the co-author of "Peace in the Hood: Working with Gang Members to End the Violence "(Turner Publishing, 2014), a book on gang intervention that is being used in several universities. For more information, see www.christinahoag.com.
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​For most of my working life, I wrote nonfiction. I started out as a free-lance writer and, later, wrote articles, newsletters and speeches as a communications specialist for a large corporation. Now that I write fiction, I find it a completely different experience.
 
I’ll say up front that fiction writing is more fun. On the other hand, at least until the recent past, nonfiction has been more profitable. As a freelancer, I would be given an assignment, usually after submitting an idea to the editor. I would be told how much I’d be paid, how long the article should be, and when it was due. When I worked as a writer and editor for a corporation, I was rewarded for my efforts with a salary.
 
A work of fiction is, at least for all but a few lucky authors, a leap of faith. From the start, a novelist has to believe that, after months or years of work, she’ll be able to get her work published. Even then, there is no guarantee she’ll ever realize a profit or even minimum wage for the hours she’s put in. The worst that can (and often does) happen is for a novelist to have her work fail to find its way into print, instead ending up in a drawer, never finding an audience. In recent years, however, would-be authors do have another option. They can self publish through a service like CreateSpace and have their book available on Amazon. This arrangement does effectively preclude sale in bookstores or to libraries. It also presents the enormous challenge of publicizing the book and attracting readers.
 
About the process of writing itself: One huge difference between non-fiction and fiction involves research. Nonfiction always begins with fact gathering. Take, for example, an article my husband and I wrote a number of years ago for the Los Angeles Times Sunday Magazine. The article was about water: How does Los Angeles get its water? Where does it come from? Is it safe to drink?
 
I did a lot of the research. As a free-lancer, I had more time to spend on it, while my husband was working full-time. At the start, all I knew about the city’s water was that most everyone seemed to prefer bottled water. They complained that tap water tasted bad. Some questioned whether the water was safe to drink. I started by interviewing people in the agency that delivers water to most of the city and other water experts in the area. We went to Lake Havasu, a major reservoir in Arizona, that delivers water to L.A. We visited the Owens Valley, another source of our water. We took a look at the California aqueduct. I learned that our water is perfectly safe to drink and continue to drink it to this day. The assignment gave me the chance to find out things I never would have learned, and I enjoyed our out-of-town trips. But the actual writing was a grind. It took the better part of a month to boil down all that information to manageable size and organize it into a coherent and readable form.
 
When I write fiction, the process is completely different. I don’t start out with research. I write down the basic elements of my story; usually it’s an idea I’ve been kicking around in my head for a while. I invent a main character who will solve the crime, a murder victim, the circumstances of murder, the murderer, the motive, and the timing of the crime. I also set up my support characters: suspects, witnesses, and people close to the main character who may or may not play a role in the mystery.
 
This part is challenging and fun, like putting together the pieces of a puzzle. Some authors start with a complete outline of the book. I don’t find that helpful. Instead, I simply sit down and start writing. So far my books (I’m on my third) begin in an airport. I can’t say why that is; perhaps I think of the story as a journey I’m about to take. As I go along, research comes into play when I need to look up facts about a topic or place I’m unfamiliar with. For example, when would the coroner’s office need to have a body officially identified? (I was surprised to learn that this usually isn’t necessary.) Then: how would the coroner’s office go about showing the deceased to a relative, friend or workmate? In real life, it’s not like the body viewing on TV. To find out about such things, I go onto my browser and look up the topic. I also call on people who know the subject I’m struggling with. For example, my brother-in-law is a criminal defense attorney; I have a friend who is a private detective; and my husband has had a long career in journalism and on paparazzi, which play an important role in my second book, The Bequest, due out next summer.
 
There are, of course, points where the action gets stuck and I can’t think of a way to move the story forward. That’s tough to get through, but I’ve always managed. Once the book is complete, I go back to the beginning and start rewriting. I love this part. I get to put in more character development, plot twists, and other details. I usually will go through the book yet another time, just for good measure. Each time I put new material in, take out extraneous passages, and polish my writing.
 
Finally, the book is done, and here comes the hardest part. Sending it out into the world of agents and publishers who will determine its fate. This is not fun. I can’t count the number of times I received the manuscript for The Swap back on my doorstep after mailing it out. The most discouraging was when it was returned within a few days, well before anyone in the publishing world would have had time to look at it.
 
It took years before The Swap found its home at Light Message Publishing. At one point, after many rejections, I gave up and put the manuscript away. I found myself unable to start a new book when I knew I’d have to face the nightmare of marketing it when it was done. Then, a while ago, I got The Swap out again to reread it. I thought passage of time would have given me enough distance to see the flaws in my mystery, the reason it was rejected.
 
That wasn’t the case. The book was terrific—fast moving and suspenseful. There was a twist at the end that surprised even me. I’d forgotten I’d put it in. Once more I began looking for a way to get The Swap into print and out to readers.  This time I succeeded.

​I’ve been addicted to murder mysteries since the age of six when I discovered the Nancy Drew series was far more intriguing than the adventures of Dick and Jane. My first manuscript, “Cindy Parker and the Haunted Mansion,” was written when I turned my third-grade spelling words into a sixteen-page novella. If my mother hadn’t made me go to bed at 8:30, who knows what kind of masterpiece I could have created. The teacher gave me an A plus and I was hooked. I knew I wanted to be a mystery author.           
My personal anti-depressant has always been to read a mystery by one of my favorite authors, a group of writers who not only devised a puzzle for me to solve, but also kept me laughing. They could turn the gloomiest day into pure sunshine. When I sat down to write my first novel, I had one goal in mind. To write an intriguing murder mystery that also provided plenty of giggles. Seems simple, right? NOT!
I discovered that it wasn’t that easy to mesh the suspense of a murder investigation with laugh-out-loud moments. The heroine can’t be blithely tripping over dead bodies right and left. While the premise of mid-life dating itself can provide laughs (ah, the true stories I could share) there is still a definite fear factor involved.
 What if you don’t meet Mr. Right and instead meet Mr. Wrong?
How do authors keep their audience glued to their chairs and pages, wondering how the protagonist will elude the killer’s clutches? After ramping up the drama, will a funny remark give them an opportunity to smile and relax, or stop them cold?
It’s critical that readers identify with and root for the protagonist as she searches for the killer. She may be forced to do so to save her reputation or stay out of jail. It definitely helps if your protagonist is relatable to her readers. In Dying for a Date, when Laurel McKay is faced with a gun, she states, “I didn’t want to flee, I just wanted to pee.” I know I’m not the only member of the “hot flash” set who can relate to that.
            There’s also the romance factor. How do you maintain conflict and tension between your protagonist and the investigating detective? Especially when he can’t decide if he should arrest the adorable soccer mom, or kiss her? The author needs to keep the audience engaged in the mystery yet still provide those moments that sizzle and sparkle with laughter.
My favorite use of situational humor are my chase scenes. Anyone can write a fast-paced chase, but I guarantee I’m the first author to write a scene with dueling backhoes. In Dying for a Dude, I crafted what one author termed as the funniest chase scene she’d ever read. You can’t go wrong with a scenario that includes a stagecoach, a runaway carriage, a motorcycle, and a horse that can jump over Mini-Coopers.
In my new release, Dying for a Diamond, Laurel embarks on a kayak trip that offers a few comic moments. Most detectives attempt to turn over clues. Only Laurel could turn over a suspect!
            I would love to hear from both mystery readers and authors. Does anyone else enjoy a dose of humor with their homicide?     

​            Handling my muse has never been easy. Aggie Mundeen showed up unexpectedly in a class. Meredith Laughlin, the twenty-three-year-old protagonist in my suspense novel, Nine Days to Evil, was taking her first liberal arts class in graduate school, waiting for the professor to delve into Shakespeare’s Othello, when Aggie Mundeen drew her attention:
 
            “One woman in Meredith’s row near the window didn’t match the others. Meredith guessed she was in her late thirties. Her blackish hair, parted in the middle, puffed downward and covered her ears, immobile, like a Brillo pad. Her turquoise crocodile eyes, heavy-lidded, darted stealthily around the room. A diminutive nose contrasted with her classic features. Her lips, outlined larger than their natural curve, were a garish red that matched her long, manicured nails. Meredith imagined her with a softer hairstyle and less lipstick, wearing a perfectly tailored Chanel suit. But she wore a nylon turquoise warm-up trimmed with wine-colored piping that screamed at her lips and nails. She sat, her hands resting on the desk and a sneaker-clad foot crossed over her opposite knee. She evaluated the professor as he fumbled with books and papers on his cluttered desk. “Okay,” her body language said, “show me something.”
 
            Aggie’s actions and words, usually amusing, somewhat cynical, caught my attention. She became permanently stuck in my brain. I found myself waiting to see what she would do or say and chuckling at her antics. She eventually shared her background, not an easy one, and demanded that I write a book about her. Or maybe a series.
 
            I thought about it. She was older and wiser than Meredith, with a varied background and a wry view of life. She was serious but humorous, smart, dangerously curious and determined. I thought the many facets of her personality could sustain a series. I would enjoy watching her infiltrate Detective Sam’s investigations and come close to driving him crazy. I liked her fearlessness, humor and dogged determination. I was hooked.
           
            Aggie has been showing me something ever since. Single, approaching forty and terrified of middle age, she wrote a column advising people how to stay young. Having recently moved from Chicago to San Antonio, she found it necessary to shape up before anyone discovered she was “Dear Aggie” who wrote the column. So she signed up at Fit and Firm Health Club. Unfortunately, a murder occurred there. Fortunately, Detective Sam showed up to solve the crime. Naturally, Aggie dove in to help him. (Fit to Be Dead)
 
            The summer after Aggie survived the health club fiasco, Meredith received discounts to vacation at the BVSBar Dude Ranch in exchange for writing articles about the place. She asked Aggie to go, and they talked Sam into accompanying them incognito, which was fortunate. When an expert rider was tossed from a horse, they suspected foul play. Against Sam’s insistence that she butt out, Aggie managed to stir up a hornet’s nest of cowboys. Who knew Home on the Range meant murder?
 (Dang Near Dead)
 
               Having survived outdoor living, Aggie, appalled by the prospect of a precipitous descent into middle-age decrepitude, poured her heart into writing “Staying Young with Aggie.” When she heard a professor would teach a course linking genes to aging, she blasted off to the local university to study genetics and DNA. Unfortunately, she discovered a dead body. Detective Sam reminded her not to help with the investigation. But dangerously curious and programmed to prod, she raced to solve the crime, wound up the prime suspect and was on target to become next campus corpse. When she barely survived, and Detective Sam got over being apoplectic, her close call made him realize he loved her. He wasn’t sure he could trust her to stay out of trouble. (Smart, but Dead)
 
              In River City Dead, Aggie and SAPD Detective Sam Vanderhoven plan their first rendezvous at a San Antonio River Walk hotel during Fiesta Week…a vacation from crime and reset for their tumultuous relationship.
 
With Aggie, nothing goes as planned. Murder descends on Casa Prima Hotel. Disturbing revelations surface about the Fabulous Femmes, Aggie’s new friends holding their convention, and calamity plagues Aggie’s debut dance performance at Arneson River Theater.
Even in idyllic River City, crime complicates relationships.                       
 
           
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            Is your muse as troublesome as mine? Does she get you into trouble? How do you handle her/him?