tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51662588763507676312024-02-19T08:50:23.257-08:00ClaireMJohnsonWritesClaire M. Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01714407719530073304noreply@blogger.comBlogger268125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5166258876350767631.post-4377732368613857512023-03-06T19:16:00.003-08:002023-03-06T19:16:21.238-08:00Deep Dive into Mary, Queen of Scots<p> I go on tears. Ex-pat Kenya. Ex-pat Paris. F. Scott Fitzgerald. Zelda. Hemingway. Martha Gellhorn. My tears veer between the literary and the historical. I was a history major at Berkeley, and there isn't a whole lot about 16th-century England that I don't have a fair grasp of. The latest deep dive is into the guilt of Mary, Queen of Scots. You can't really be interested in Elizabeth I's reign without treading on the well-worn toes of Mary Stuart. Her status first as Dauphine then Queen of France (briefly) and then her return to Scotland colored Elizabethan foreign policy until the day she was beheaded. Not that voodoo dolls were part of William Cecil's effects, but if it were possible, he'd have had one and would stick that doll every single night. Many times.</p><p>Anyway, the big question is, of course, did she know that her husband, Henry Stuart, Lord Darnley, was going to be murdered? Naturally, the tome of all tomes when mentioning Mary Stuart is Lady Antonia Fraser's biography, which even among her critics (who feel that Mary was as guilty as hell!) acknowledge that it is the most thoroughly researched treatment as a whole. Lady Antonia comes down on the side of, gee, she might have had an inkling, but surely not. Bollocks, I say.</p><p>I base this not on the actual events (bizarre as they are), but on the aftermath of the murder at Kirk O'Field. Mary couldn't even feign any sort of pretense, not even play-acting that she was mourning his death. This is a woman who was still wearing her white veil of mourning two years after her first husband's death! Yet she couldn't be arsed to curtain any of her activities upon Darnley's death, despite numerous missives from abroad castigating her for her lack of political acumen (notwithstanding her complete lack of grief). Not that I think that Darnley shouldn't have been dealt with. His death unleashed far more of a political nightmare than incarcerating him in a dingy cell would have done. And Mary's fears that throwing him in jail would compromise her son's legitimacy really doesn't hold much water. After all, less than a hundred miles away, a woman, whose legitimacy was an even bigger question, was managing her country just fine. Darnley was conspiring with foreign powers to dethrone her and place himself on the throne. He actually had a decent claim to it, and it seems a case of who murdered who first. Anyway, he's murdered, and she acts like it's just another day in Scotland. No forty days of mourning for her this go around. There were weddings and parties to attend!</p><p>But her lack of any (even if false) sympathy isn't what ultimately swayed me to land firmly in the, oh yeah, she knew camp. It was when she was once incarcerated in England and her never-ceasing conspiracies with foreign powers to bump Elizabeth I from her throne. It wasn't even a case of her "looking through her fingers" as she did with her husband's murder. It was outright, "I'm the rightful heir. That bastard is on my throne and if you invade and she just happens to be killed, London is worth it!" It was that blatant.</p><p>This was a bloodthirsty age. Elizabeth agonized over finally charging Mary with treason (after several uncovered plots), and based on Mary's letters to various conspirators, she wouldn't lose one moment of sleep if her "dear sister" had been dethroned and killed. I'm not basing this opinion on the Casket Letters. I really don't care about them, because the endless arguments are, in my opinion, pointless. And it was certainly in Mary's brother James's interest to blacken Mary to the point where Elizabeth couldn't possibly release her. The perpetrators of Darnley's murder (and what a worthless sod HE was) all had tragic ends. Darnley was strangled to death. Bothwell died insane in a Danish prison. Mary was beheaded. James Stuart, Mary's half brother, was assassinated. Darnley's father, the Earl of Lennox, was also assassinated. What's the saying? Men make plans, and God laughs. Elizabeth and Cecil died in their beds. </p>Claire M. Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01714407719530073304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5166258876350767631.post-61643948794569504002023-02-19T16:21:00.001-08:002023-02-19T16:21:09.416-08:00Lives of the Wives: Five Literary Marriages<p>This is a pretty interesting book if rather predictable because I've read this story a million times before--allow me the hyperbole--only the names are different. The author, Carmela Ciuraru, delves into a brief biographical recap of five literary giants, and then how their wives suffered under the weight of all that "genius." All of these writers are basically monsters who can write. I mean that sincerely. These are assholes with a capital "A." They are cruel, arrogant, vicious, and petty, people I would avoid at parties no matter how scintillating the conversation.</p><p>Having spent several years doing a deep dive into the Hemingway/Pfeiffer marriage with more than a layperson's grasp of his marriages to Hadley, Martha, Gellhorn, and Mary, I found myself just nodding in weariness at the shenanigans and utter ridiculousness of these relationships. I asked myself over and over again, why are you staying with this man? And even though I find Martha Gellhorn to be made in much the same mold as Hemingway (a narcissistic bully), I also was applauding her from the sidelines for her just saying, buster, I'm done, and dusting her hands off on her trousers as she exited that toxic relationship (as all his relationship with EVERYONE became toxic after a certain point). All of these vignettes felt very familiar and, frankly, tired.</p><p>The five marriages analyzed are as follows: Una Troubridge and Raddclyffe Hall, Elsa Morante and Alberto Moravia, Elaine Dundy and Kenneth Tynan, Elizabeth Jane Howard and Kingsley Amis, and Patricia Neal and Roald Dahl. I don't think it's surprising that the male authors in this house of literary horrors are English. The post-war years in Britain ushered in a type of unruly, arrogant, angry type of writer that glorified repudiating the values of pre-WWII Britain, and glorified the brutality of that rejection. Did they need rejecting/ Sure, but because women are often the scapegoats of any social or political movement, misogynistic is far too mild a word to describe these men. They are vile and angry for the sake of being vile and angry. This is what sold in post-WWII Britain. Even though they needed women to bed and run the mundane aspects of their lives because they couldn't be arsed to hire people, they also loathed them, exactly like Hemingway.</p><p>Tynan, Amis, and Dahl used their wives, who let themselves be used because either one walked or one cooked and cleaned and kept one's mouth shut. In between all that washing up, if you managed to create your own art, well, you'd better not get more accolades than your husband. These weren't partnerships. It wasn't, oh, Patricia, my darling, you won an academy award, and just received a whopping big paycheck, now we can spend six months in France. It wasn't like that. Nope. Tantrums, pouts, and general all-around nastiness followed because how dare you be AS talented as me. And that's the kicker to these stories. You couldn't even be equal. You were always a lesser light. You couldn't be even a candle to a spotlight, You could be the flame a match. Some days. Between the three of them, Tynan, Amis, and Dahl, it's almost impossible to choose a more horrible husband. They were all lauded, all lionized, and all of them were absolute bastards to their wives and mistresses.</p><p>The relationships of Troubridge and Hall and Morante and Moravia are less fraught with these competitive dynamics. Troubridge, allegedly gifted in her own right as an artist, just gave it all up for John Raddclyffe Hall, and was perfectly satisfied in being bathed secondhand glory. The case of Morante and Moravia wasn't so much about two authors competing against each other as it was that Morante was an absolutely impossible person, and their relationship seemed more cerebral than anything else. They respected each other's writing.</p><p>The question that kept arising when I was writing my historical fiction on the Hemingway/Pfeiffer marriage was as a reader, do you accept the genius along with the cruelty? I was never much of a Hemingway fan (although at sixteen there were passages in <i>For Whom the Bell Tolls </i>that had me weeping) precisely because he only writes about men and how fucked it all is and how there is no honor anymore and how we should all put a gun to our heads because if you can't die with honor, what's the point? That said, I cannot deny his genius. I just don't have to read it. Same here with these authors. I don't want to read them. They might be amazing writers, but I cannot separate the man from the page. I think about the woman banging out meals and making beds, and tiptoeing out of bed at two in the morning to write a page or two or read a script. That is the person who has my admiration (but also my scorn because why did you put up with that nonsense for so many years?) That might be a character flaw, but so be it. </p>Claire M. Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01714407719530073304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5166258876350767631.post-43731429423330422522022-12-04T15:52:00.007-08:002022-12-04T21:12:57.756-08:00NaNoWriMo Recap<p>Well, I didn't quite make my 50,000 words, but I did pretty well. This was my first time doing NaNoWriMo (say that fast five times!). I've never quite understood the hype. You write 50,000 in the month of November. This would have been impossible had I still been working (oh, retirement, how I love thee), but in order to write that much every day, you have to speed through your chapters, and I don't really write like that. I tend to go back and try to grab inspiration or a potential plot point from what I've written before. But I decided to give it a whirl. My thoughts:</p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>I think it's possible to do IF you have a good idea of what you want to write. I'm a seat-of-my-pants writer and this worked against me. I think that NaNoWriMo works best if you use the month of October to craft a brief outline for each chapter. By brief I mean, Maggie and Tommy have a boxing match. Nothing more than that. I started to do that by the middle of the month (of November, sigh), and my output increased.</li><li>Words of wisdom to live by: If you are committed to hitting that 50,000 words/month goal, don't go back and massage previous chapters. I did this and I lost words. Having said that, I also feel that the tweaking I did helped me figure out what in the hell I was doing with the middle of the current book I'm writing.</li><li>If you're writing a historical novel like I am, think about what you might like to include beforehand. The month of October is your friend. I didn't do this (partly because I didn't know what in the hell I was going to need in that stupid middle part of the book), and I lost time. But I also learned some cool stuff (like the Cow Hollow neighborhood in San Francisco is named that because the majority of the city's dairies were located there).</li><li>For me, the most important aspect of NaNoWriMo is that writing every day and trying to reach a goal makes you feel like a writer. I mean this seriously. You are committed. You have goals, You're not fooling around. You are sitting your butt in that chair and the laundry can wait. You are focused on your writing and it's no excuses time. Even if you aren't working on a novel or a short story or anything, it's about working with words. I don't think you even need an end goal like I did, which was to finish the novel I was working on. I did finish it. YAY! But more importantly, I felt absurdly writerly as I was writing it. </li></ul><p></p><p>And this might be the most important lesson of NaNoWriMo that you take away from this exercise. Not that these words are brilliant or wonderful or a potential contender for the Nobel Prize in literature, but it says to your psyche, you are a writer. Now write.</p>Claire M. Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01714407719530073304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5166258876350767631.post-81248060249372037372022-07-30T11:21:00.051-07:002022-07-30T22:41:15.007-07:00We Return<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">After successfully avoiding COVID for over two years, I got COVID. It wasn't horrible. There were some complications that weren't life-threatening but very annoying, like fainting on the toilet and messing up my elbow and hip, but hey. I wasn't in the ICU fighting for breath or on a ventilator for weeks. It was like the flu.</div><p></p><p>In an effort to STOP with the computer so much, I have returned to reading up a storm. Like three hours a day. Hello, retirement, I do love thee. I usually go into a deep dive once I start something, and my current obsession is with the Durrells. I just finished a biographer of Nancy Myers, Lawrence Durrell's first wife, and another woman who suffered at the hands of a narcissistic writer who was lauded and feted. I'm on more of a non-fiction kick these days, but I did read one novel that knocked my reading socks off. My readings for the past month, note, it's top-heavy on biographies.</p><p><i></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcyAIGZrgkN_H1KjUXgI0RayPIu0UuH-yb25OuT7a3RZPytrCuvfFBpELvtOt06PmBFJvDlbBy-siWVQ4S0F3L1k-TjBAuQIJ__CAfWmsTuzohhiJ5iPePOYqID3GRxoYzn3Yto8pjmCtfWBdUMNUvGfeQmbUESLLMmdCYFMNSt63uLT97HimuH6i6sg/s293/FiveDecembers.webp" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="293" data-original-width="184" height="151" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcyAIGZrgkN_H1KjUXgI0RayPIu0UuH-yb25OuT7a3RZPytrCuvfFBpELvtOt06PmBFJvDlbBy-siWVQ4S0F3L1k-TjBAuQIJ__CAfWmsTuzohhiJ5iPePOYqID3GRxoYzn3Yto8pjmCtfWBdUMNUvGfeQmbUESLLMmdCYFMNSt63uLT97HimuH6i6sg/w95-h151/FiveDecembers.webp" width="95" /></a></i></div><i>Five Decembers</i> by James Kestrel (which won the Edgar this year). This was a little (okay, a lot) more violent than I usually read, but the writing was excellent. Don't be put off by the cheesy cover. The first few chapters are grim but the history and the storytelling outweigh the gore factor. Skip over the murder scene. What I find so fascinating about this book is that (SPOILER ALERT) the murder plot arc disappears halfway through the book and then doesn't pick up again until the end, and yet the entire book works beautifully. Kudos, Mr. Kestrel.<p></p><p><i><br /></i></p><p><i></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5wtVztGEVTN5THEyB87enOgBk56IWNuQgjqTbBXelhxDjR_bWQHPJ-o57cp-SFNwdthNPUi8Q9X6WK8zN_bPifxuLFokXGk-kDMewuOSwVOmYlC_zALn2gRzQWmqWrkfoEb7KUi3WWjwgx0FVfuFFL-1bb0aLgqeL5MkS3_lBDrsDxjl3vbEfibl07w/s499/Maughan.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="329" height="134" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5wtVztGEVTN5THEyB87enOgBk56IWNuQgjqTbBXelhxDjR_bWQHPJ-o57cp-SFNwdthNPUi8Q9X6WK8zN_bPifxuLFokXGk-kDMewuOSwVOmYlC_zALn2gRzQWmqWrkfoEb7KUi3WWjwgx0FVfuFFL-1bb0aLgqeL5MkS3_lBDrsDxjl3vbEfibl07w/w88-h134/Maughan.jpg" width="88" /></a></i></div><i>The Secret Lives of Somerset Maugham: A Biography</i> by Selina Hasting. One interesting fact that I gleaned from this book is that Maugham was considered a brilliant playwright, and I would venture to say that he was more lauded as a playwright than a novelist. I'd never known that about him. Self-exiled to Capri for most of his life because he was homosexual and was terrified that he'd be arrested if he set foot in Britain, he led a life of letters and lust. <p></p><p><i><br /></i></p><p><i></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5r8T13b0v2QDRlm77GyfxtavRC16TCvbTju8cNqIpGJPKSQ2538NER2T4NjfZ7VryUXq9dEJ8lb5A6e6RiRE3_bxbpjVItcJGFtbpBiPW1j837nc7-Jdlg0tPS2nhJ5mxq1ZAlLCfySMBLgrZ-h8s8nwf0opNVIukkNjWW9idZ1HoBPYaVeh9GbdZ6A/s499/Dickens.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="329" height="137" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5r8T13b0v2QDRlm77GyfxtavRC16TCvbTju8cNqIpGJPKSQ2538NER2T4NjfZ7VryUXq9dEJ8lb5A6e6RiRE3_bxbpjVItcJGFtbpBiPW1j837nc7-Jdlg0tPS2nhJ5mxq1ZAlLCfySMBLgrZ-h8s8nwf0opNVIukkNjWW9idZ1HoBPYaVeh9GbdZ6A/w90-h137/Dickens.jpg" width="90" /></a></i></div><i><br />Charles Dickens: A Life</i> by Claire Tomalin. Well, that biography ruined for me one of my favorite novels, A Christmas Carol. Yet ANOTHER genius male writer who stomped through life with his bros (how Hemingway of him) and abused his wife. After siring ten children, he decided to abandon his wife (his twenty-year younger mistress probably had a lot to do with it), demanded that their children cut off all contact with her (only one son defied his father's dictate), and tried to have her committed so that he wouldn't have to pay for her maintenance. So now I think of ALL THOSE CHRISTMASES that Mrs. Dickens spent alone without her family while he frolicked with his mistress. <p></p><p><i></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2KTWaZMfvX7hiyXUdkiVIzgrWDOsXlDzGrlezpou3DnMaAwdCUaYr9nVznWDQbZ7UtXO1p5SBvBNnpFEbFceseVeASfsQotJl0ONIbgqlR64O2F49MXqom7gSXFsEQlwr_4Scqj_gjjlNzxYEfUayIYE83pe7U8klgqBrP2eJovuOKBvSNlFyspZ_yw/s499/Field.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="328" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2KTWaZMfvX7hiyXUdkiVIzgrWDOsXlDzGrlezpou3DnMaAwdCUaYr9nVznWDQbZ7UtXO1p5SBvBNnpFEbFceseVeASfsQotJl0ONIbgqlR64O2F49MXqom7gSXFsEQlwr_4Scqj_gjjlNzxYEfUayIYE83pe7U8klgqBrP2eJovuOKBvSNlFyspZ_yw/w87-h132/Field.jpg" width="87" /></a></i></div><i>In Pieces </i>by Sally Field. Interesting biography. Very personal, little insight into the movie industry. Decently written. Family dysfunction up the wazoo. Worth a read, not a re-read.<p></p><p><i><br /></i></p><p><i><br /></i></p><p><i></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw7KDJ8JRHiJG7cMzAE-0fvhbytDsSGrAjvJzSmECi5mY_7zuHZmoL-Mx1QjjMl2qKsbz6fZpiLb5g49hNsGCeETU3It192_2j60x7vi_VBeh8VWWz3_jni1IdV8WNKy5B_A-y7tJFaRKk5VxDRVZuUp8oZferlkej6Y4DsA22z5mYJdwqQnY4HfRMqQ/s346/Nancy.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="346" data-original-width="221" height="137" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw7KDJ8JRHiJG7cMzAE-0fvhbytDsSGrAjvJzSmECi5mY_7zuHZmoL-Mx1QjjMl2qKsbz6fZpiLb5g49hNsGCeETU3It192_2j60x7vi_VBeh8VWWz3_jni1IdV8WNKy5B_A-y7tJFaRKk5VxDRVZuUp8oZferlkej6Y4DsA22z5mYJdwqQnY4HfRMqQ/w87-h137/Nancy.jpg" width="87" /></a></i></div><i><br />Amateurs in Eden: The Story of a Bohemian Marriage: Nancy and Lawrence Durrell </i>by Joanna Hodgkin. Yet ANOTHER genius male writer who stomped through life with his bros (how Hemingway of him) and abused his wife(ves). What is so bizarre about Lawrence Durrell is his fascination/devotion/obsession with Henry Miller of <i>Tropic of Cancer</i> fame. I mean, really?<p></p><p><i><br /></i></p><p><i></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBMTOb_yXoVe-jBnno55G728HlHombl-N4LK5XmfkOLREa1ZRE2DhtB8hqQv0T-UDkgevb9Bb1xPIBgQnokyICg0dR8Pxi-hLVJRF3_KjLy57ouXDQfsYGoNXOLD0nBPkicNIRBKkiC7SSBC5vdgRDwWoS7iWvLNjxORWXxND7pcBpviAyC24Pr-GDYQ/s499/Greene.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="326" height="137" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBMTOb_yXoVe-jBnno55G728HlHombl-N4LK5XmfkOLREa1ZRE2DhtB8hqQv0T-UDkgevb9Bb1xPIBgQnokyICg0dR8Pxi-hLVJRF3_KjLy57ouXDQfsYGoNXOLD0nBPkicNIRBKkiC7SSBC5vdgRDwWoS7iWvLNjxORWXxND7pcBpviAyC24Pr-GDYQ/w89-h137/Greene.jpg" width="89" /></a></i></div><i>The Unquiet Englishman: A Life of Graham Greene</i> by Richard Greene. Okay, I love Greene's novels. Of all the post-WWII English writers, he is miles above anyone else as far as I am concerned. He is one of those English people of letters who converted to Catholicism (like Waugh and Muriel Spark). This biography makes a point of not harping on Greene's sex life, with the argument that the man was a phenomenal writer, can we please stop talking about all the women he bedded? Well, no, we can't, because so much of his writing was about faith and the loss of it, and it seems to me that Greene converted to Catholicism precisely because he could repent his sins and then move on to the next woman. Anyway, decent biography. He's still one of my favorite writers, although his championing of the traitors in the MI trade is, IMO, inexcusable.<p></p><p><i></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjobGM5nT7AvT6RYJnTI0ihYf9oAU5LqzrjIW2z2Fdb6wv614r5BxslWFNdtKzywOZvvc05yQAIq8gPUJfaoeGFEkwVl52yFb9XFW2sttUCIIOOoFyu5z9roSkDtktwbpF3ZmG0sfm-Xb3SEwAkIfD2HZssmQTdnNiSUyOnA1oWf7WAofv6yBf0NtdGg/s142/215KWFR5TDL._BO1,204,203,200_.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="142" data-original-width="96" height="142" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjobGM5nT7AvT6RYJnTI0ihYf9oAU5LqzrjIW2z2Fdb6wv614r5BxslWFNdtKzywOZvvc05yQAIq8gPUJfaoeGFEkwVl52yFb9XFW2sttUCIIOOoFyu5z9roSkDtktwbpF3ZmG0sfm-Xb3SEwAkIfD2HZssmQTdnNiSUyOnA1oWf7WAofv6yBf0NtdGg/s1600/215KWFR5TDL._BO1,204,203,200_.jpg" width="96" /></a></i></div><i><br />Evelyn Waugh: A Biography</i> by Selina Hastings. Oh, what a nasty man. Well-written biography of possibly the most bitter men on this planet. A convert to Catholicism, he basically lost his "faith," if you could call it that, because of Vatican II. It seemed to me that he only latched onto Catholicism because it was probably the one institution that he could count on NOT to change in his lifetime. Joke is on you, pal. I've only read <i>Brideshead Revisited</i>, which I loved and which seems basically autobiographical. I haven't read any of his other novels, and now I won't. Like Lawrence Durrell, he was a man of much brilliant nasty wit.<p></p><p>As they say, that's it, folks. Now on to reading Gerald Durrell's book, <i>My Family and Other Animals</i>.</p><p><br /></p><h2 class="a-size-mini a-spacing-none a-color-base s-line-clamp-2" style="-webkit-box-orient: vertical; -webkit-line-clamp: 2; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111; display: -webkit-box; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px; margin-bottom: 0px !important; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; margin: 0px; max-height: 86.4px; overflow: hidden; padding: 0px; text-overflow: ellipsis; text-rendering: optimizelegibility;"><br /></h2><p><br /></p><h2 class="a-size-mini a-spacing-none a-color-base s-line-clamp-2" style="-webkit-box-orient: vertical; -webkit-line-clamp: 2; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111; display: -webkit-box; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px; margin-bottom: 0px !important; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; margin: 0px; max-height: 86.4px; overflow: hidden; padding: 0px; text-overflow: ellipsis; text-rendering: optimizelegibility;"><br /></h2><p><br /></p>Claire M. Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01714407719530073304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5166258876350767631.post-17381362824450236152022-05-06T10:42:00.000-07:002022-05-06T10:42:25.477-07:00Elizabeth the Movie and a Cold<p> I am recovering from the most hellish cold I have had in years. It’s not Covid, but aside from the not-insignificant infection factor, it might as well be. I am well stocked with *quils of every sort, and I still feel lousy. Despite this, I continue to ruminate on the movie I saw on the plane coming back from the Edgars. Yes, I went to the Edgars and had a fabulous time, with the exception that I couldn’t get my shoes to fit properly and teetered on unstable feet for four hours. It was nice to see that younger people were getting awards and that the nominations and awards were handed out to a diverse group of writers. I thank Laurie R. King for inviting me to sit at her table, and only after the event did I realize that I was sitting with a host of publishing giants. Anyway, my stay in New York was brief, my four days with my daughter and her husband was less brief, and I connected with one of my dearest friends. How do these people have the nerve to live on an opposite coast from me?</p><p>What is the point here? The flight from NYC to San Francisco is always long. I watched three movies, the most irritating of which was Elizabeth with Cate Blanchett. Really, you say. Yes, the acting was great. The production values wonderful. So why the large frown? Let me count the ways! They SO bastardized the history that I wanted to leap out of my seat and scream, NO, THAT IS NOT WHAT HAPPENED! But as I had my seat belt tightened to the point of it almost being a tourniquet—I am a very nervous flyer—I stayed put and merely screamed in silence. Not sure one can do that but bear with me.</p><p>First of all, you don’t need to mess with this history. It is filled with drama enough. The strongest aspect of this film is that you see Elizabeth move from a girl to a woman. Of course, in the real history, she is tested again and again over time. She is a seasoned political warrior by the time she ascends the throne, but, regardless, I think that it was a compelling aspect of the film.</p><p>What wasn’t compelling was the jettisoning of William Cecil as a doddering old man put out to pasture by the far more conniving Francis Walsingham. Nonsense. Cecil was KEY to Elizabeth’s success. He and Walsingham were a formidable duo—not to mention fervent Protestants, which Elizabeth never was. Walsingham was, yes, her spymaster, but Cecile was her right hand for decades, and bears all the responsibility in the subsequent trial and execution of Mary, Queen of Scots.</p><p>Second, Mary of Guise wasn’t fighting with the English. She had enough on her hands with the Scottish lords who were trying to usurp her authority and stamp out Catholicism, which is the reason why French troops were garrisoned in Scotland. Far more of a threat was her daughter’s, Mary, Queen of Scots, claim to the English throne. This was a big deal. A few scenes with the Walsingham and the Guise brothers would have had as much an impact politically as did the scenes with Mary of Guise, although it would be hard to combat Fanny Ardent’s beauty. By the way, Mary of Guise died of congestive heart failure, not by poison. If one wanted to hype the beauty factor, why not include a few scenes with Mary, Queen of Scots, who was a reputed stunner, and who’d been brought up to be purely ornamental as opposed to Elizabeth, whose sense of queenship and rule were evident by even the age of 25. By having a few scenes in France, it would have signaled that this was a global conflict. We have a smidgen of that with the scenes with the pope and Elizabeth’s eventual excommunication, but Mary, Queen of Scots’ claim to the throne was legitimate in the eyes of many (like everyone) except the English.</p><p>Last but not least and perhaps the most egregious was the trashing of Robert Dudley. I hated how they tagged on storyboard at the end, masquerading as “fact” that she was never alone with him again. Total nonsense. In FACT, Robert Dudley was another mainstay in Elizabeth’s life until his death. He was her general at Tilbury when she made her famous speech. He died like four days after the rout of the Spanish Armanda. She was devastated by his death. What destroyed their relationship was the death of his wife, Amy Robsart. He was never able to climb out from under the suspicion that he had her murdered so he could marry Elizabeth. I think that’s dramatic enough, isn’t it?</p><p>So perhaps I know too much about English Tudor history. Fair enough. But it took me out of the story and the rationale for the jettisoning of the real history didn’t make sense to me. Like I said. You don’t need to make up stuff about this period of history. It’s overflowing with intrigue enough. Also, no one goes about murdering ambassadors. Even in this bloodthirsty age, you kicked them out of the country. </p><p>First </p>Claire M. Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01714407719530073304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5166258876350767631.post-77295062252631945822022-01-28T11:05:00.002-08:002022-01-28T11:05:44.131-08:00Mary Queen of Scots' Downfall: The Life and Murder of Henry, Lord Darnley by Robert Stedall<p>I am giving this book five stars because it very much clarified for me that many of the choices that Mary made that weren't so much out of passion but naiveite. Her Guise uncles never envisioned her as a real political force, merely a pawn in their machinations, and her upbringing and fawning by her father-in-law left her with an arrogance and innocence that rendered her incapable of ruling in the shark tank comprising the Scottish government. The Scottish lords, especially Moray, envisioned her as a similar puppet, but then her marriage to Darnley and his, frankly, sociopathic personality tipped the scales, and she was forced to work against Moray's best interests, which sealed her downfall.</p><p>I've read numerous books on this subject including Fraser's masterpiece, John Guy's excellent book, and Wormald's commentary on her governance (or lack thereof), and Stedall's book sealed all these differing opinions together in a satisfying conclusion. Part of the problem with trying to get a hold on this period is the sheer number of players in this saga and their shifting loyalties. This book also made clear what exactly was motivating the people around her regarding the Bothwell marriage, and how this was a long game on the part of Moray that certainly ended up turning trumps in the end. It is difficult to see Mary continuing as a monarch under ANY circumstances. England needed to break the back of the French hold on Scotland to keep its borders secure in light of potential invasion by Catholic powers, and, as long as Mary was queen, the auld alliance was still intact to a certain degree. England also needed a strong Protestant government, which, again, as a determined Catholic, made Mary a huge liability despite her many attempts to placate the Protestant lords. Plus, she was just so clueless and Cecil was just so ruthless, as was Moray. She was outgunned on every level. I very much enjoyed this book.</p><div><br /></div>Claire M. Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01714407719530073304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5166258876350767631.post-58378561174297837482022-01-16T10:52:00.003-08:002022-01-16T10:52:30.079-08:00Retirement Begins<p> I've now officially retired. My husband isn't quite sure, because even though I formally retired last month, I was still going into the office a couple of times a week to clean it out. We're looking at over thirty years of paper, a dead mouse that had actually mummified, and a collection of old computer equipment that could populate a small planet. It was daunting, not to mention terrifying, because my thoughts immediately went to contracting hanta virus when I saw that critter, stiff behind a server that had been sitting in the same spot for twenty years. Fortunately, I always wear a mask these days.</p><p>As I worked my way through ALL THAT PAPER, checks I'd written for conferences I'd put on, government contracts, and bank statements for the last twenty years, my initial thought was, goddamn, why did I do this for all these years? It felt trivial, not to mention very grimy, and, oh, I don't know, sad that I could have, should have, been doing something else. But I had kids to raise and parents to eventually take care of, and I had unparalleled freedom to come and go when I needed to. Like when my son smacked his head against pipe in middle school and cut his forehead open, or when my mother couldn't turn off her bathtub tap and the water was filling her tub, and she couldn't bail fast enough and the water was threatening to flood her bathroom. Those sorts of things happen, and when they did, I could shut my door and walk out. The convenience and ability to come and go as I pleased (and benefits!) outweighed any other considerations. I wrote in my spare time so that my brain wouldn't atrophy, and I worked with some cool people. Not cool in the sense, wow, they should have a podcast type of cool, but people who make the difference in our general lives without people noticing the difference.</p><p>I worked as a technical editor and general dogs body for a number of professors at U.C. Berkeley. I worked with a guy who you can blame or applaud for not being able to smoke on airline seats, and others who probably will, due to their research, make it very likely that when the Hayward fault erupts, you will walk out of the building you work in, shaken but not crushed to death. And I worked for another guy who's working on creating green concrete. Did you know that concrete production is a major factor in global warming? Think about that the next time you walk down the sidewalk.</p><p>One day I was grumbling about my job and my upcoming retirement to a friend, and how I felt I'd skated through most of my life, while others racked up the applause, and that I thought my window for success as a writer had passed because I was filing and typing in between the kid duties and parental obligations. And, although I do think my window for success as a writer HAS passed, she pointed out to me that the achievements of these guys (yes, they were all men) hadn't been done in a vacuum. She was right. I was an important cog in that general wheel. And while all of these achievements would have happened more or less, maybe one research project wouldn't have become funded because I didn't edit it before it went to contracts, and that research spawned other research that spawned... Science and research builds on its self. It's a series of stepping stones, moving forward for the greater good.</p><p>As I was sweeping up the debris from hours and hours of shredding (those little squares get everywhere), I wondered about all those admin people like myself, who aided those researchers in coming up with vaccines to save people's lives in the time of COVID. People like myself, behind the scenes, probably not paid very well, and whose name will never appear in newspapers.</p><p>I closed the door to my office for the last time and put my keys in an envelope for a fellow admin, who I think is invaluable to the organization. Someone who is/was like me, not newspaper worthy, but who can also claim some secret glory for making this planet a better place to live.</p>Claire M. Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01714407719530073304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5166258876350767631.post-38264743587286308582021-12-29T09:37:00.003-08:002021-12-29T18:56:06.424-08:00John Madden: 1936-2021<p> I am not a football fan. At all, as in I pretty much loathe professional sports (with the exception of tennis—yes, I am a total sports snob). And yet I listened to John Madden every day on my drive to work when he had his morning show on the local radio channel. Why, you ask? Because this was a man who loved what he did. He was honest, blunt, funny as hell, and had a turn of phrase that was impossible to mimic or even mock. He LOVED football. That came through on every single show. He was that unbelievable combination of being the everyday guy and being unique. His analysis wasn’t fussy or hyperbolic, it was said in plain language that you might hear in someone’s living room on a Sunday afternoon, except you wouldn’t because your brother-in-law isn’t John Madden. I so enjoyed listening to someone who’s take on a game and life was completely bereft of any cynicism. It was about the game. Pure and simple. I can’t say I understand football any better, but I can also say that to start the day with John Madden’s humor and all around bad ass-ish-ness is nothing to sneeze at. John, God’s put together your team. Now get out on that field.</p>Claire M. Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01714407719530073304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5166258876350767631.post-58043937075474309982021-12-15T18:01:00.002-08:002022-04-16T10:18:42.218-07:00Movie Review: Spencer<p> I haven’t been here in a while. Life. People dying. Enough said.</p><p>I went to the movies last week and saw Spencer, which isn’t quite a dramatization or a biography or whatever you may call it. If you know even the smallest tidbit about Diana, Princess of Wales, then you will find yourself stretched between trying to match her history and this “fable,” which is what I believe the director called it. Unfortunately, he choose to include enough about Diana’s history that fit in with his narrative and jettison huge hunks of that which don’t, and we have a jumble of fact and fantasy, and therefore it doesn’t hold together as either fact OR fantasy.</p><p>The acting is superb, which makes it even more maddening. Stewart pulls it off, regardless of the disconnect. She does exactly what the director intends, which means that she has down pat many of Diana’s mannerisms, which also means that we are, again, leaping back and forth between the “real” Diana and the Diana of the fable. </p><p>Aside from the acting (the entire ensemble is great, no gripes there), there is the issue of HOW this victim of both fantasy and/or fact is betrayed. I didn’t come away feeling sorry for her at all. I thought, wow, you are petulant, petty, whiny, and a royal pain in the ass. We are meant to feel pity for this character. We are meant to believe she is on the verge of a nervous breakdown, and all these meanie royals just don’t care. Pout pout pout. As my sister said, Gee, she’s in tears 75% of the movie. We are meant to believe that a history of Anne Boleyn is going to push her into some sort of psychosis, and it’s not even a subtle hint that the royal family will, five years later, orchestrate her demise, akin to Henry murdering Anne because he wanted a son to carry on his line. Historically speaking, had Anne Boleyn had sons, Henry never would have had her executed. </p><p>It takes the ghostly specter of Anne Boleyn to prompt Diana to have her “Come to Jesus” moment where she tugs on the pearls (a symbol of her husband’s affair with Camilla Parker-Bowles) and lets them cascade onto the floor. Of course, she could have told Charles when she opened the pearls that she had no intention of wearing them. And this is what is missing. Diana has no anger. </p><p>Why didn’t she tell that factotum that she refuses to be weighed because it’s silly and demeaning, and then just walk away? She’s a goddamn princess and he’s a secretary! And the fact is that most of us have traditions around the holidays. I do. How hard would it be to show up on time for dinner? The director makes this seems like the most unholy of demands when you have to show up for dinner on time at my house. </p><p>It’s difficult to believe that this character is a woman of thirty-one. She acts like she’s sixteen. She is cowed by everyone. She gets advice from the head chef (oh, please, why did you go there? AS IF) and her maid confesses her love for Diana (AS IF SQUARED), and these two actions plus the ghost (can’t forget the frigging ghost), prompt her to finally find her spine. </p><p>I truly hate this word, hate, hate, hate it, but this woman has NO agency. Instead of appearing late for dinner in some outfit selected for her, what if she appeared on time in jeans and a tee-shirt. And let’s make it even more interesting: no bra. Instead of mooning around the grounds in the dead of winter trying to gain entrance to her old house, why not start talking through dinner about land mines and AIDS patients. THESE were the causes that made Diana so brave. It wasn’t that she turned her back on royalty that made her such an interesting woman; it’s that she humanized it. This movie gets it all wrong. WRONG! Driving away in a Porsche, singing to a CD at the top of her lungs, and thinking this is freedom, only confirms in the British Royal Family’s eyes and mine, that she’s a superficial airhead.</p><p>Finally, near the end of this movie, there is a dance montage with her in a series of her iconic outfits, which not only emphasizes that she was nothing more than a mannequin for the British Royal Family, but also for the director.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Claire M. Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01714407719530073304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5166258876350767631.post-17749394036665084642021-04-04T17:10:00.004-07:002022-04-16T11:20:55.505-07:00And now for this...<p>This has been an unsettling few weeks. My aunt, my namesake, died. She was ninety-five, and was in congestive heart failure and, boy, was she ready. Imagine trying to breathe night and day. Just breathing was exhausting. So while her death is sad, I'm glad she's at rest.</p><p>My aunt was a force of nature. And if I'm accused of refusing to suffer fools gladly, that woman put a patent on it. She was a woman born before her time. Had she been born a couple of generations later, she's have been the CEO of apple. But history isn't very kind to women like that, trapped in their history because of their DNA. Conversely, I could see her being a chatelaine of a castle, managing all and sundry with a deft hand while her lord was off trying to conquer the French. Believe me, that castle would have run like <i>clockwork</i>.</p><p>Both my mother and my aunt emigrated to the U.S. in the 1950s. Both were educated by the British government for free because they needed nurses. I've known scores of Irish women their age who became nurses under this program and who fled Ireland or Britain for the warmer climes of California. I will say that although my mother had lived here for sixty years, Ireland was still "home" on her lips. I would venture that my aunt was the same.</p><p>I know my aunt's kitchen as well as my own. That's how close the families were. There were some rocky years when the sisters didn't speak--and I will say that my mother was completely justified in cutting off my aunt--but they reconciled for several years before my mother died, and I'm glad they did. I think it must have been very lonely for my aunt (who was older than my mother) when my mother died a couple of years ago, and not for the reasons you may think. My aunt had two children and a gaggle of grandchildren and an ever-increasing brood of great-grands. I just mean that her history couldn't be shared anymore with someone who'd been there. Who could finish her sentences when she said, "Marth, do you remember..." And my mother would finish her sentences for her. </p><p>And because of their relationship and our proximity to her house (I can only think of once when we didn't live within twenty minutes of my aunt's house) and just all that history, in some ways, it's like reliving my mother's death again. Because I could say to my aunt, "Remember when Mom..." And now there's one less person I can revisit to bring my mother alive for just a few seconds.</p><gdiv id="ginger-floatingG-container" style="left: 0px; position: absolute; top: 0px;"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG ginger-floatingG-closed" style="display: none;"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-disabled-main"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Enable Ginger</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-offline-main"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip"><em>Cannot connect to Ginger</em> Check your internet connection<br /> or reload the browser</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-enabled-main"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-disable"><ga></ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Disable in this text field</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-rephrase ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-rephrase_big-circle"><ga class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-rephrase__btn" id="ginger__floatingG-bar-tool-rephrase__btn">Rephrase</ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip_rephrase">Rephrase current sentence</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-mistakes"><ga><span class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-mistakes-count"></span></ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Edit in Ginger</gdiv></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup-wrap"><ga class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup-close">×</ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup-frame"><iframe scrolling="no"></iframe></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv>Claire M. Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01714407719530073304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5166258876350767631.post-83958820418516848512021-03-16T19:25:00.009-07:002022-04-16T11:22:35.210-07:00And a Little Controversy, Please<p> So, I am slightly drunk but that only makes me much braver and possibly unwise in what I’m going to type.</p><p>I believe Dylan Farrow. I believed her when she was seven years old. I believed her in 2014 when her op-ed was posted in the New York Times, and I believe her in the recent documentary that just aired on HBO. I have been on Team Dylan from the very beginning.</p><p>Clearly , this is more than just he said, she said, but the larger meta (and I’m always about the larger meta) is how do you separate art from the artist? I find I can't.</p><p>I have endured scorn from my own family members and friends for my vocal condemnation of people like Polanski and Allen. I did have a private moment of gratification when my son, who initially thought I was being hysterical about these sexual abusers early on in the PR game, had the stones to say to me at some point when MeToo was at its height, Yeah, Mom, you nailed it. Yeah, I did. </p><p>I cannot disenfranchise the artists from the art. I can’t. Plain and simple. You watch a veritable bouquet of Woody Allen films and a theme emerges: the nebbish nerd as the object of desire by a young woman. Not all his films, but enough to give you a sense that this is a troubled individual. I remember seeing Husband’s and Wives and remarking to my husband, Wow, he must hate Mia Farrow. Did you see how he filmed her? </p><p>Anyway, I cannot distinguish an artist and their art. I was never a Picasso fan, so his legendary behavior as a beater of women didn’t cause much cause and effect with me. Yes, I have seen Guernica, and it’s a masterpiece. Do I see the bruised faces of the women he routinely beat? You’re damn straight I do. Same with Roman Polanski, He’s a rapist. People who have defended him, yes, Johnny Depp, I’m looking at you, asshole, is now part of my list. I adored Johnny Depp for many years, Now? Persona non grata. And all those actresses gushing about Allen as they waved their Oscars in the air. Say goodbye to any money from me.</p><p>I won’t die if I never see another Woody Allen film in my life. Or a Polanski film. Or a Depp film. I won’t. It’s a line that I have drawn for myself. If your line is different, well, it’s different. But don’t try to change my mind or defend them, because I will rip you to effing shreds.</p><gdiv id="ginger-floatingG-container" style="left: 0px; position: absolute; top: 0px;"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG ginger-floatingG-closed" style="display: none;"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-disabled-main"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Enable Ginger</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-offline-main"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip"><em>Cannot connect to Ginger</em> Check your internet connection<br /> or reload the browser</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-enabled-main"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-disable"><ga></ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Disable in this text field</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool"><ga class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-edit">Edit</ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Edit in Ginger</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-mistakes"><ga><span class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-mistakes-count"></span></ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Edit in Ginger</gdiv></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup-wrap"><ga class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup-close">×</ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup-frame"><iframe scrolling="no"></iframe></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv><gdiv id="ginger-floatingG-container" style="left: 0px; position: absolute; top: 0px;"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG ginger-floatingG-closed" style="display: none;"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-disabled-main"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Enable Ginger</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-offline-main"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip"><em>Cannot connect to Ginger</em> Check your internet connection<br /> or reload the browser</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-enabled-main"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-disable"><ga></ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Disable in this text field</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool"><ga class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-edit">Edit</ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Edit in Ginger</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-mistakes"><ga><span class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-mistakes-count"></span></ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Edit in Ginger</gdiv></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup-wrap"><ga class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup-close">×</ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup-frame"><iframe scrolling="no"></iframe></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv><gdiv id="ginger-floatingG-container" style="left: 0px; position: absolute; top: 0px;"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG ginger-floatingG-closed" style="display: none;"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-disabled-main"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Enable Ginger</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-offline-main"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip"><em>Cannot connect to Ginger</em> Check your internet connection<br /> or reload the browser</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-enabled-main"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-disable"><ga></ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Disable in this text field</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool"><ga class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-edit">Edit</ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Edit in Ginger</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-mistakes"><ga><span class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-mistakes-count"></span></ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Edit in Ginger</gdiv></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup-wrap"><ga class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup-close">×</ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup-frame"><iframe scrolling="no"></iframe></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv>Claire M. Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01714407719530073304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5166258876350767631.post-7159261706522011032021-03-06T19:13:00.002-08:002022-04-16T11:23:01.820-07:00Mystery Writing Tip #6<p><b> T</b><b style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">his brings us to—insert organ music
of doom—The Stakes.</span></b><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; text-indent: -0.25in;">
Every book must have stakes. Something to gain and something to lose. Something
to prove, something to disprove. Rehabilitation at the cost of humiliation.
Donald Maas, the guru of books about the craft of writing, stresses this over
and over again. I would strongly recommend checking out his books. What are “stakes?”
These can be large stakes on a national level, like a Senate majority leader
is a total hypocrite in terms of rushing through a judicial appointment that
only four years earlier he repudiated on record because he’s a lying dirtbag, but he is desperate to get a conservative on the Supreme Court. Said Senate
Majority Leader is willing to sacrifice his integrity for that judicial
appointment. Or stakes on a very personal level, where the abused wife who
turned her husband into the police is abandoned by her children because her
husband is now serving his sentence on Death Row. Make sure that the outcome matters to someone important in the book. I firmly believe that there is no free lunch. Like the woman who lost her children because she fingered her husband. Morals are emotionally expensive. They are hard. That is why the struggle to do the right thing is so fraught with tension. Or it should be.</span></p><p class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><gdiv id="ginger-floatingG-container" style="left: 0px; position: absolute; top: 0px;"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG ginger-floatingG-closed" style="display: none;"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-disabled-main"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Enable Ginger</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-offline-main"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip"><em>Cannot connect to Ginger</em> Check your internet connection<br /> or reload the browser</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-enabled-main"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-disable"><ga></ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Disable in this text field</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool"><ga class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-edit">Edit</ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Edit in Ginger</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-mistakes"><ga><span class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-mistakes-count"></span></ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Edit in Ginger</gdiv></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup-wrap"><ga class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup-close">×</ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup-frame"><iframe scrolling="no"></iframe></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv>Claire M. Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01714407719530073304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5166258876350767631.post-48970255412711942672021-03-01T17:32:00.001-08:002021-03-01T17:32:25.845-08:00Mystery Writing Tip Number 5<p><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><b style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">If you find your novel bogging down,
make them move. </span></b><span style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: -0.25in;">I am
serious. Make them walk, run, vacuum the house, or climb a tree to look into a
window. In the movie, <i>Sex, Lies, and Videotapes</i>, the protagonist
discovers her husband is have an affair with her sister when she vacuums up an
earring. That’s some VERY angry vacuuming. These mundane tasks that affect a
story’s trajectory are simple events that can have a profound effect on the
storyline and yet one that we can all relate to. Most of us own vacuums. Can
you relate to the anger in finding evidence of your husband’s affair in YOUR
bedroom with your SISTER as YOU vacuum? I sure can.</span></p><p><span style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: -0.25in;">Physical action will
immediately pick up the pace. Different scenario. What about the physically
abused wife who runs around the block because the thought that her husband
might be a murderer is creating such mental chaos, she needs to outrun those
thoughts. Or our protagonist nearly falls out of a tree because he’s spying on
his neighbor who he thinks killed his wife, and, bob’s your uncle, tension on a
platter. Of course, this movement should pertain to either the plot or
character development; see earring above. Remember our star-crossed lovers,
Romeo and Juliet? Shakespeare throws in some awesome sword fights, and the
death of Mercutio at sword-point seals our lovers’ fates. The tragedy of that
play hinges on a sword fight. Another example is the Harry Potter series. Every
book in the series spans a school year. The strength of this series is in the
world-building. We don’t really have a ton of plot movement over the breadth of
the series—Voldemort is trying to kill Harry—and yet we have those AWESOME
Quidditch matches where several supporting plot points to the main plot arc are
introduced.</span></p><p><span style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: -0.25in;">Brooms flying through the air!!! Is there anything more exciting?</span></p><p class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><gdiv id="ginger-floatingG-container" style="left: 0px; position: absolute; top: 0px;"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG ginger-floatingG-closed" style="display: none;"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-disabled-main"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Enable Ginger</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-offline-main"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip"><em>Cannot connect to Ginger</em> Check your internet connection<br /> or reload the browser</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-enabled-main"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-disable"><ga></ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Disable in this text field</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool"><ga class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-edit">Edit</ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Edit in Ginger</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-mistakes"><ga><span class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-mistakes-count"></span></ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Edit in Ginger</gdiv></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup-wrap"><ga class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup-close">×</ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup-frame"><iframe scrolling="no"></iframe></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv>Claire M. Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01714407719530073304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5166258876350767631.post-41041149919078182302021-02-22T12:13:00.000-08:002021-02-22T12:13:37.017-08:00Mystery Writing Tip Number 4<p>So, we fell off the wagon here for a bit. Husband got COVID. He's fine, although he has some residual crap that keeps holding on. Naps nearly every day, taste bugs shot all to hell. But we are grateful. We have been so good in terms of isolation, mask wearing, sanitizing hands, etc. And I didn't get it. Go figure. Anyway, onward, or is that onword?</p><p><b style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">What’s the problem needing to be
solved? </span></b><span style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: -0.25in;">There should
be two problems. The problem of the whodunnit and the internal demon facing
your protagonist. Demon might be too strong a word for, say, a cozy mystery,
but your protagonist should have an internal life that either hinders or helps him/her
solve the mystery.</span></p><p><span style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: -0.25in;">In Miss Marple’s case, she is an elderly woman whose biggest
physical feat of the day is planting primroses, even though gardening is
allegedly prohibited by her doctor due to her many mysterious illnesses. This
is an example of a character issue that plays into the Christie plots. To get
around this impediment, Miss Marple has minions to move the story forward even
though she’s the one who always solves the mystery. Christie’s a plot-based
writer (her characters tend to be moribund but she fools us by having ingenious
plots), while I’m a character-driven writer (whose plots are ho-hum but I fool
you with character studies and a judicious helping of tension).</span></p><p><span style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: -0.25in;">The best
writers are those who have a seamless interface between these two elements. Use
your plot mercilessly to move your character development forward. It can be
something as simple as your character being afraid of spiders and then having
to go into a spider-infested attic to find a clue. Think of Indiana Jones and his thing about snakes. Or a woman in an abusive
marriage who is completely downtrodden but does incredibly brave things to
prove her fist-wielding husband is guilty of murdering his mistress. </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Use your
plot to make your character face their demons. Remember our Dave Robicheaux?
His internal demon is that he’s an alcoholic. Robicheaux’s alcoholism is a
major character in all of Burke’s novel.</span></p><p><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">In cozy mysteries, the demon aspect
can be replaced by how the reader relates to your protagonist. Like they’re
afraid of the dentist. Or they have a stupid case of eczema on their forehead
that no amount of steroids will address so that it looks like you’re walking
around with an ever-present case of forehead leprosy. These are issues I face,
and if I saw these in a mystery novel, I would identify with the protagonist
right off the bat. You should create vulnerability in your villains as well,
otherwise they become cliché and cardboard. Vulnerability, relatability, or
demons, your characters need depth.</span></p><p><br /></p><gdiv id="ginger-floatingG-container" style="left: 0px; position: absolute; top: 0px;"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG ginger-floatingG-closed" style="display: none;"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-disabled-main"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Enable Ginger</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-offline-main"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip"><em>Cannot connect to Ginger</em> Check your internet connection<br /> or reload the browser</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-enabled-main"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-disable"><ga></ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Disable in this text field</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool"><ga class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-edit">Edit</ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Edit in Ginger</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-mistakes"><ga><span class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-mistakes-count"></span></ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Edit in Ginger</gdiv></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup-wrap"><ga class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup-close">×</ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup-frame"><iframe scrolling="no"></iframe></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv><gdiv id="ginger-floatingG-container" style="left: 0px; position: absolute; top: 0px;"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG ginger-floatingG-closed" style="display: none;"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-disabled-main"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Enable Ginger</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-offline-main"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip"><em>Cannot connect to Ginger</em> Check your internet connection<br /> or reload the browser</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-enabled-main"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-disable"><ga></ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Disable in this text field</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool"><ga class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-edit">Edit</ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Edit in Ginger</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-mistakes"><ga><span class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-mistakes-count"></span></ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Edit in Ginger</gdiv></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup-wrap"><ga class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup-close">×</ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup-frame"><iframe scrolling="no"></iframe></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-extension-definitionpopup" style="display: none; left: 480.379px; top: 94px; z-index: 2147483646;"><gdiv class="ginger-dp">
<gdiv class="ginger-dp-content">
<gdiv class="ginger-dp-title"><gspan id="dp-title">you’re</gspan></gdiv>
<gdiv class="ginger-dp-description" id="dp-description">second person pronoun; the person addressed</gdiv>
<gdiv class="ginger-dp-more">More <gspan>(Definitions, Synonyms, Translation)</gspan></gdiv>
</gdiv>
</gdiv></gdiv>Claire M. Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01714407719530073304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5166258876350767631.post-31640159128976482232021-01-24T09:53:00.006-08:002021-01-24T09:55:41.261-08:00Mystery Writing Tips Number 3<p><b style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Do you want to write a series, i.e.,
several books that span time with the same protagonists?</span></b><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; text-indent: -0.25in;"> A perfect example is the Dorothy L.
Sayers mystery series feature Lord Peter Whimsey or Chandler’s Philip Marlowe.
A standalone is a single story that is complete, say, <i>Gone Girl</i>.
Although I would put that book more in the thriller category, it’s an example
of a book whose story does not move forward beyond one book. I would start off
small with a standalone that could be extended into a series. If you’re
thinking of writing a series, note that there is a continuity issue with writing
a series that you need to consider. Don’t write out a character you may need in
book three. Choose your dead bodies carefully.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; text-indent: -0.25in;">I'm adding to the original post with a tip that if you are seriously considering self-publishing, that you write a series. This is an excellent way to get into the marketplace fast. I would, in fact, write three books. And by that I mean you write three really good books that have been polished and edited, with a good cover that reflects the overall theme of your book--don't write a cozy and then have a man with a knife on the cover or a thriller with a woman wearing an oven mitt standing in front of a stove. Then you enter the market by releasing a book every four months. This will wet the marketplace's appetite for your books. Then use that year to write another three books. I couldn't do this, frankly, but then I'm still working. This juggernaut approach will create a fanbase for you that can only build with each successive book. I think you'd have to be a frigging genius to write three standalone books, but you CAN do this with a series that builds off of each successive book. </span></p><p class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><gdiv id="ginger-floatingG-container" style="left: 0px; position: absolute; top: 0px;"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG ginger-floatingG-closed" style="display: none;"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-disabled-main"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Enable Ginger</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-offline-main"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip"><em>Cannot connect to Ginger</em> Check your internet connection<br /> or reload the browser</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-enabled-main"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-disable"><ga></ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Disable in this text field</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool"><ga class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-edit">Edit</ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Edit in Ginger</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-mistakes"><ga><span class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-mistakes-count"></span></ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Edit in Ginger</gdiv></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup-wrap"><ga class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup-close">×</ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup-frame"><iframe scrolling="no"></iframe></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv>Claire M. Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01714407719530073304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5166258876350767631.post-21949638553161485512021-01-11T18:47:00.001-08:002021-01-11T18:47:27.871-08:00Mystery Writing Tips Number 2<p><b style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Think about what you want to say.</span></b><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; text-indent: -0.25in;"> Pick an idea, a theme, something
that has brought you joy or has enraged you. One of my favorite mystery writers
is James Lee Burke. He has two main themes that carry through all his Dave
Robicheaux books. The corruption endemic in Louisiana and the legacy of the
Civil War. Another author worth checking out is Michael Connolly. He writes the
ultimate police procedural. The Harry Bosch books are about a man for whom
justice is all, mostly because he’s seen little justice in his own life. Pick
something that means something to you, because the page written with enthusiasm
will carry you a lot farther than the page written to satisfy what you think
the market wants. Also, and this part gets lost in the shuffle, writing is supposed
to be fun.</span></p><p class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><gdiv id="ginger-floatingG-container" style="left: 0px; position: absolute; top: 0px;"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG ginger-floatingG-closed" style="display: none;"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-disabled-main"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Enable Ginger</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-offline-main"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip"><em>Cannot connect to Ginger</em> Check your internet connection<br /> or reload the browser</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-enabled-main"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-disable"><ga></ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Disable in this text field</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool"><ga class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-edit">Edit</ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Edit in Ginger</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-mistakes"><ga><span class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-mistakes-count"></span></ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Edit in Ginger</gdiv></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup-wrap"><ga class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup-close">×</ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup-frame"><iframe scrolling="no"></iframe></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv>Claire M. Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01714407719530073304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5166258876350767631.post-42956076937513897332021-01-08T10:09:00.004-08:002021-01-08T10:11:23.478-08:00New Website!!!!!!!!!<p>Courtesy of my fabulous son-in-law, I am finally moving into the 21st century website-wise. Behold!</p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.clairemjohnsonwrites.com/">Claire M. Johnson Writes</a></p><p style="text-align: left;">Isn't it beauteous?</p><gdiv id="ginger-floatingG-container" style="left: 0px; position: absolute; top: 0px;"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG ginger-floatingG-closed" style="display: none;"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-disabled-main"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Enable Ginger</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-offline-main"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip"><em>Cannot connect to Ginger</em> Check your internet connection<br /> or reload the browser</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-enabled-main"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-disable"><ga></ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Disable in this text field</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool"><ga class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-edit">Edit</ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Edit in Ginger</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-mistakes"><ga><span class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-mistakes-count"></span></ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Edit in Ginger</gdiv></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup-wrap"><ga class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup-close">×</ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup-frame"><iframe scrolling="no"></iframe></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv><gdiv id="ginger-floatingG-container" style="left: 0px; position: absolute; top: 0px;"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG ginger-floatingG-closed" style="display: none;"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-disabled-main"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Enable Ginger</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-offline-main"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip"><em>Cannot connect to Ginger</em> Check your internet connection<br /> or reload the browser</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-enabled-main"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-disable"><ga></ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Disable in this text field</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool"><ga class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-edit">Edit</ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Edit in Ginger</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-mistakes"><ga><span class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-mistakes-count"></span></ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Edit in Ginger</gdiv></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup-wrap"><ga class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup-close">×</ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup-frame"><iframe scrolling="no"></iframe></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv>Claire M. Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01714407719530073304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5166258876350767631.post-5406531035083320732021-01-03T22:04:00.001-08:002021-01-03T22:05:40.193-08:00Shaking It Up<p><span style="font-family: times;">So, we're doing a little housecleaning here. First, I'm the new president of Mystery Writer's of America Norcal for 2021. I have big shoes to fill. Laurie King has done a superb job of keeping the home fires of MWA Norcal burning brightly. I'm not really sure how I'll even remotely measure up, but hope springs eternal.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: times;">And I'm not really writing culinary mysteries anymore, so I think a change in the title of this blog is way past its due date. New title. With the help of my lovely son-in-law, I'm working on a new website, also WAY OVER DUE. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: times;">Ta da! First blog of the New Year. I hope to have new content every Sunday. I made this presentation on FaceBook Live a couple of months ago. It was a mess because I'm pants at social media and pushed one button, but it wasn't the RIGHT button. It's up on the MWA YouTube channel if you're interested, but I'm going to post little snippets of it here.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: times;">I grew up on
Dorothy L. Sayers, Agatha Christie, Raymond Chandler, and Dashiell Hammett. And
Jane Austen. Odd bedfellows, I admit. I’m going to start posting a brief Primer
on the ABC’s of mystery writing that I hope will help you begin that mystery novel
you want to write or you’ve written already but you’re struggling with it.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: -24px;"><span style="font-family: times;">First things first, </span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: times;">I think that ALL books are mysteries
in one way or another. Do Romeo and Juliet ride off into the sunset?
Shakespeare keeps us guessing for a while. Does Jane Eyre marry her Mr.
Rochester? Yes, but not until God punishes him for the chutzpah in thinking he
can marry Jane while his crazy wife stomps around the attic playing with
matches. Spoiler alert. So, yes, I think that all books should keep you
guessing. For the mystery, there should a LOT of guessing and a lot of
suspense. Emphasis on suspense. That's what turns the page. The worst thing that can happen to a writer is when someone doesn't want to turn the page anymore. So, yes, suspense, keep it coming. </span></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">S</span></p><gdiv id="ginger-floatingG-container" style="left: 0px; position: absolute; top: 0px;"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG ginger-floatingG-closed" style="display: none;"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-disabled-main"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Enable Ginger</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-offline-main"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip"><em>Cannot connect to Ginger</em> Check your internet connection<br /> or reload the browser</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-enabled-main"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-disable"><ga></ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Disable in this text field</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool"><ga class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-edit">Edit</ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Edit in Ginger</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-mistakes"><ga><span class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-mistakes-count"></span></ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Edit in Ginger</gdiv></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup-wrap"><ga class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup-close">×</ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup-frame"><iframe scrolling="no"></iframe></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv><gdiv id="ginger-floatingG-container" style="left: 0px; position: absolute; top: 0px;"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG ginger-floatingG-closed" style="display: none;"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-disabled-main"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Enable Ginger</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-offline-main"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip"><em>Cannot connect to Ginger</em> Check your internet connection<br /> or reload the browser</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-enabled-main"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-disable"><ga></ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Disable in this text field</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool"><ga class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-edit">Edit</ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Edit in Ginger</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-mistakes"><ga><span class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-mistakes-count"></span></ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Edit in Ginger</gdiv></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup-wrap"><ga class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup-close">×</ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup-frame"><iframe scrolling="no"></iframe></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv>Claire M. Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01714407719530073304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5166258876350767631.post-41254742812217210952020-12-30T15:36:00.002-08:002020-12-30T15:36:10.483-08:00When People We Admire Grow Clay Hooves<p>In addition to being a world-class novelist (insert snort here), I have a whole secret life as a huge Harry Potter fan. Of course, it started with the children, reading them chapters every night before they went to bed, and then it segued into meeting some very lovely women who were also enthralled by this universe and have become my dearest friends. We are spread across the country but have bonds that have now extended beyond Harry and his pals. Anyway, there have always been issues with the Potter 'Verse, but as so often with people you admire, you tend to ignore that stuff and focus on what enthralled you. To be clear, I didn't love her writing. I'm not going to go into why I wasn't thrilled by it, because it doesn't really matter aside from my usual cry of: Where's the frigging editor! I'm digressing. What I loved was that I had found a fun world that I could play in--something that people who scorn fandom really do not get at all, which is that ability to still be able to play even though your hair is going gray. Most importantly, I found my tribe, ma soeurs, that I have yet to find in my suburb, even though I've lived here over twenty-five years.</p><p>As the Potter 'Verse began to wind up, it became harder and harder to ignore all those, shall we say, issues that were sort of hidden by the fantastic world building. The latest revelation--boy, I bet she regrets being on social media--is the final straw for me. Your mileage may differ. I got some wonderful friendships out of my experience with her world so I'm not left with any regrets. But now that the floods have come and she has no choice but to hike up her writing pants and reveal her clay hooves, I can sigh and mourn a world that I used to love, but one I can now walk away from without a backward glance.</p><p>This article spells out the trajectory of her fall from my grace. This is behind a pay wall, but I think you get to read three articles/month free: <span style="color: #0000ee;"><u>https://www.thecut.com/article/who-did-j-k-rowling-become.html.</u></span></p><p><br /></p><gdiv id="ginger-floatingG-container" style="left: 0px; position: absolute; top: 0px;"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG ginger-floatingG-closed" style="display: none;"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-disabled-main"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Enable Ginger</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-offline-main"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip"><em>Cannot connect to Ginger</em> Check your internet connection<br /> or reload the browser</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-enabled-main"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-disable"><ga></ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Disable in this text field</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool"><ga class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-edit">Edit</ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Edit in Ginger</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-mistakes"><ga><span class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-mistakes-count"></span></ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Edit in Ginger</gdiv></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup-wrap"><ga class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup-close">×</ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup-frame"><iframe scrolling="no"></iframe></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv>Claire M. Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01714407719530073304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5166258876350767631.post-49484113353373206442020-09-19T12:10:00.000-07:002020-09-19T12:10:17.920-07:00A Comment on Privilege<p>So, I live in an upper middle-class suburb of California. In the 1930s, my town used to be fairly rural, dotted with small ranches and orchards. In the 1950s, developers bought up a lot of the ranch land, clear-cut the orchards, and made a killing building crappy little ranchettes with no architectural features whatsoever. But they were cheap and a haven for white flight. When we first moved here, most of my neighbors were in the trades, plumbers, painters., etc. My house is only 1500 square feet and that is AFTER the previous owner added a bedroom and an additional bathroom. And then the money came and more ranch land was sold and the mcmansions took over. Much of the population of this town is white--probably at least 90% because you have to have money to live here. We bought our ranchette before housing prices went crazy. Even though I live in a tiny house, it's worth over $1,000,000. Welcome to California.</p><p>So, this morning's experience.</p><p>I'm not going to call this white privilege because if your local population is white then your argument falls apart. But this is about how privilege manifests itself in my tiny suburban enclave.</p><p>There is a trail in my town that is very popular. My husband and I try to walk as much as possible, for both our health and that of our Golden (of course we own a Golden). This path is paved and not much wider than a car. You nearly trip over all the signs recently put up regarding the mandate to wear masks if there is not six feet between you and others. Honestly? The path is narrow enough that you should be wearing a mask period because passing other people puts you in a ditch if you're trying to maintain any sort of distance between you and others passing you.</p><p>This beautiful fall morning, we walked this trail for the first time in over a month because of the smoke restrictions. Three women, probably in their early to mid-50s, passed us, gossiping among themselves. They had their masks pushed down around their necklines. They didn't bother to hike up their masks when they passed us, and after they passed us they walked three abreast, hogging the entire width of the trail so that anyone they encountered in the passing direction would have had to immediately scurry off into a ditch to eke out any distance between them and this group of women. I didn't mention that this path is rather curvy. So in addition to possibly infecting me and my husband, they were in danger of infecting anyone who came around the corner as they HOGGED THE ENTIRE TRAIL. THIS is privilege. Selfish, disgusting privilege.</p><p>When people show you who they are, believe them.</p><gdiv id="ginger-floatingG-container" style="left: 0px; position: absolute; top: 0px;"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG ginger-floatingG-closed" style="display: none;"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-disabled-main"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Enable Ginger</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-offline-main"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip"><em>Cannot connect to Ginger</em> Check your internet connection<br /> or reload the browser</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-enabled-main"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-disable"><ga></ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Disable in this text field</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool"><ga class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-edit">Edit</ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Edit in Ginger</gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-mistakes"><ga><span class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-mistakes-count"></span></ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-bar-tool-tooltip">Edit in Ginger</gdiv></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup"><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup-wrap"><ga class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup-close">×</ga><gdiv class="ginger-floatingG-contentPopup-frame"><iframe scrolling="no"></iframe></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv></gdiv>Claire M. Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01714407719530073304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5166258876350767631.post-88923416099215128482020-06-28T12:54:00.001-07:002020-06-29T11:46:51.179-07:00The Inner and Outer BookI'm involved in a couple of critique groups, composed of writers whose work I admire and with whom I've been working with for years. We are writing completely disparate books from each other, which I think is good. Sometimes you can become so immersed in a genre that you assume things you shouldn't. And the one thing I always say when I've read something that doesn't feel complete to me or isn't compelling me to inhale the next paragraph is, "More, I want more."<br />
<br />
What I mean by that is the play between the inner and outer book. The outer book is, nominally, the plot, the setting, the cast of characters, the general, all-purpose construct of a book. What I mean about the "inner" book is that emotion, plot, drama, sorrow, joy, history, and all around emotional temperature of a book between the dialogue, world-building, and plot points. IMO, books that rely on too much world-building satisfy a certain cadre of readers, but for those of us who are character-driven readers, it starts to fall flat when we are bombarded with visuals and not a whole lot else. Same with plot-driven narratives, where the characters start to become paper dolls to be moved around a series of events.<br />
<br />
For me, the most satisfying read is one that uses plot to flesh out character and character to flesh out the plot. It's a marriage of sorts, and with most books this works nicely. But a richer book, a book that you keep and not recycle is a book with an "inner" life.<br />
<br />
There are as many different ways to "deepen" a narrative than there are blades of grass. Frankly, it's the difference between a standard romance novel and Jane Austen. Both consider women getting married. And that is about the only comparison you can make between a beach read and one of the greatest word smiths of literature ever born. Or to be more personal about this, the difference between one of my mysteries and, say, Raymond Chandler. Yes, I do consider Chandler to be literature.<br />
<br />
None of us are Jane Austen or Raymond Chandler. So where to we go from here? We try to be them, that's what we do. That's when you strive to create an inner life to your book. What distinguishes you from any other writer is how you manage the inner book. This where the "you" in writer comes in. I have heard it said there are no new plots in this world, and I believe that is true. Shakespeare apparently hogged them all to himself. But to say that there are no new writers is complete nonsense.<br />
<br />
Let's delve into this with a little example.<br />
<br />
<i>Mary said, "Bob, I've got to tell the police what happened."</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Bob replied, "If you do that, the serial killer will carve you open with a knife cutter and hang your innards from a meat hook like he did everyone else. Don't say anything, Mary. I'm so worried about you."</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Her brother. Such a kind man. He'd been her protector for years, shielding her from her mother's criticism as best he could, acting like an older brother even though he was four years younger. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>She clamped her legs together tightly to make sure that Bob didn't see the steak knife hidden in her lap.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>When he stood up, she wasn't sure what he was going to do, Would he keep trying to convince her? Did he know she knew? She waited.</i><br />
<br />
Wow, there is plenty of drama in this little snippet, possibly enough to stand on its own. But what if we add some "inner-ness" to this scene. And you could certainly say that the above is nothing more than a first draft. Fair enough, but isn't that the point of a second, third, and possibly fourth draft. You have the bones, now search for that "inner" searchlight that illuminates everything around it and beyond. You're looking for words that hint at another story lurking around the first story.<br />
<br />
************************<br />
<br />
Mary said, "Bob, I've got to tell the police what happened."<br />
<br />
She'd been so afraid all her life that this bold statement shocked her a little. Like it wasn't actually coming from her mouth, but from someone braver, from a confident woman who'd own any room she'd walked into without any effort. Someone who'd never had any problem meeting people's gazes or confronting bullies; someone who wasn't deathly afraid of spiders, heights, dentists, flying, bees, and thunder (but not the lightning, odd that). But this was bigger than she was, and maybe that was the point. She stuck out her chin in a defiant gesture willing Bob to contradict her.<br />
<br />
Which he did. As she knew he would.<br />
<br />
First, he smiled. It wasn't condescending, comforting more than anything else, and he put a warm hand on her shoulder, as if to add to a physical gesture to the smile meant to comfort. He'd been her protector for years, shielding her from the worst of her mother's criticism as best he could, acting like an older brother even though he was four years younger. He'd spent their entire lives trying to protect her, her ever-willing spider killer, holding her hand when they flew on planes, waiting for her at the dentist so that he could drive her home because he knew she'd be too emotionally shattered by the drilling to drive herself home safely. He didn't even kill the spiders she asked him to get rid of. He'd search for a glass and a notepad to slide under the glass and then free the frantic spider outside somewhere, even watching it scurry away to make sure that it was still alive. Such a kind man.<br />
<br />
Bob replied, "If you do that, the serial killer will carve you open with a knife cutter and hang your innards from a meat hook like he did everyone else. Don't say anything, Mary. I'm so worried about you."<br />
<br />
She winced at that visual reminder of all those other women who'd been tortured and terrified for hours and days on end. True victims.The cool of the metal against her thighs was so foreign to the usual softness of her skin. Still, she clamped her legs together tightly to make sure that Bob didn't see the steak knife hidden in her lap, the folds of her skirt bunched around the blade.<br />
<br />
When he stood up, she wasn't sure what he was going to do, Would he keep trying to convince her to stay silent? Did he know she knew? She waited and moved her hand closer to the knife handle.<br />
<br />
<br />Claire M. Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01714407719530073304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5166258876350767631.post-4043715539836491072020-05-25T12:21:00.000-07:002020-05-25T12:21:53.828-07:00Memorial Day and Lemon Meringue PieToday, I honor my stepfather, Ken Horne, who was a radio operator in the RAF and was captured on Java in 1940. He spent five years in a Japanese prison camp and survived. He was a decent man, who stepped in and provided me and my sister with the father that we didn’t have. He was there for our triumphs and our failures, which is more than I can say for my “real” father.<br />
<br />
And lemon meringue pie. This is one of those desserts that I alway associate with my mother, that and angel food cake. I can never make angel food cake without feeling guilty about wasting all those yolks. Of course you can freeze them, but I tried that and I always end up NOT using the frozen yolks and then discover them in the freezer six months later, all shriveled and sad from freezer burn.<br />
<br />
My mother was of the “looks like shit” but “tastes like heaven” sort of baker. My little pastry chef heart could not bear to watch her slice into a pie or a cake without wincing because she’d shove the knife in and cut large pieces, which were all different sizes. But they all tasted great. So I’m thinking today of Ken and my mother, and hope they are together on that beach in heaven, reading good books and drinking their treasured tais.<br />
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Claire M. Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01714407719530073304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5166258876350767631.post-53071497136886429652020-04-11T11:14:00.000-07:002020-04-11T11:14:16.548-07:00April in QurantineI am a homebody. This enforced quarantine isn't making me itch with boredom. My neighbor across the street is going berserko-frantic dealing with this isolation. To tell the truth, this appeals to the latent or not-so-latent sloth in me, plus I'm working from home and dealing with enormous projects that have identical deadlines. Boredom would be a blessing.<br />
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But what has happened is that I'm suddenly aware of how much stuff I have. Every single room in my house has a bookcase (or five) with the exception of the bathrooms. I'm a book lover as my friends well know, and although I purge now and then, I apparently don't purge enough because books are shoved into odd corners with a randomness that suggests a scattered mind or a woman who has run out of space in her bookshelves.<br />
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Also, lots of clothes. Yes, I purge my clothes closets with more diligence than my bookcases, but there is at least thirty years of fashion ephemera, and some dresses, blouses, etc., that I can't bear to get rid of because I still love them. A blouse that I picked up in the U.K. when I was twenty. A ton of sweaters knit by my mother that I will never wear because even at the present weight of, shall we say, too much, she assumed I have the dimensions of a polar bear and these sweaters hang off me, even now.<br />
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The point is (I always get there) thus: this reevaluation of my stuff isn't to embrace Marie Kondo, but to just stop buying things. I have enough for one lifetime going forward. More than enough. I'm not at the point of cutting up my credit cards, but I'm getting there. Shoes seem to be something I will always need as my feet keep on growing. Weird. I used to wear a respectable size 8 shoe. Had the kids and my feet grew an entire size. Got rid of a bunch of Italian-made shoes that I adored (and could afford at the time, sigh). Now I'm at least a 9-1/2 and a 10 in some brands. WTF!<br />
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When God closes a door, he opens a window. The payoff is that my boobs seem to be growing as well. Having been a woman with an, ahem, what I would call a modest-size rack for my entire life, I am now, well, much bigger. Enter another WTF! Will my breasts follow suit? When I go to that great beyond at some point, will I enter heaven with size 20 feet and 38F tits?<br />
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The musings on a gloomy Saturday.Claire M. Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01714407719530073304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5166258876350767631.post-39408173024269104442020-02-29T10:39:00.001-08:002020-02-29T10:39:13.677-08:00Ode to Walter Satterthwait<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="332ir" data-offset-key="5jrjg-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
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<span data-offset-key="5jrjg-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">Another good writer has received his angel wings: Walter Satterthwait. He was one of those writers who, IMO, never really got his due. His book, <i>Lizzie</i>, is one of the best character studies ever written. Brilliant book. It goes in and out of print as the market dictates, but if you can find a copy (bookfinder.com is your friend if you can't find it other places), I highly recommend it. Those who love historical mysteries will appreciate his writing. He was a master at capturing a historical period and has written several mysteries with historical characters as protagonists: Houdini and Oscar Wilde come to mind.</span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="1srgg-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">I met him at Bouchercon when I was a new writer. My first book had been accepted but wasn't published yet, and I was trying to establish some sort of presence before publication. I was nervous and a little awed, sitting in some outdoor cafe trying not to sound too desperate. Those of you who attended that particular Bouchercon (I had a Sharp's container in my hotel room, and I don't think it's because there was a diabetes convention in town. WHAT a shit show!) will remember that there was no place really to sit and have a drink. The hotel wanted you at the tables. But mystery writers will ALWAYS find a bar or make something into a bar.</span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="fu2as-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">Anyway, I was sitting next to Lee Child (here's a gigantic shout out to Lee--what a nice guy, didn't know me from Adam--and bought me several rounds of drinks while we trashed George Bush; what innocent days those were) and Walter Satterthwait and his partner (who I want to say is named Caroline). I had just read<i> Lizzie</i> and was awed by the writing, just bowled over. I gushed to him over what a marvelous read that book was and did he have anything else coming out? He told me that he did, but he was back to tending bar in the mean time to make ends meet. That was roughly twenty years ago, and the publishing market was robust enough that a no-name like me could get a publishing contract. Of course, I was working full-time, but I wasn't an established writer. The publishing climate is a million times worse now, and I see that Satterthwait's last book was published by Mysterious Press, another mystery publisher who's gone under.</span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="aj5pm-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">But my point is not to whine, but to honor someone I think was a great writer, whose way with words lives on in his books. Isn't that part of the lure of writing? You never really die. Your voice always has a place on the page.</span></div>
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Claire M. Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01714407719530073304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5166258876350767631.post-77716475781620600722020-02-16T19:58:00.006-08:002020-02-16T19:58:49.445-08:00February is hereI know that we Californians live in a strange land. Many of you are shoveling snow and packing in the supplies for the big freeze that's about to hit. I am watching my magnolia tree begin to blossom, and literally hearing the roses growing. I drove up to my sister's house in Sacramento this weekend for some bonding time and the drive up was a visual extravaganza. The cherry trees were in full flower and the almost trees were beginning to strut their stuff. Although housing has been the driving financial engine up there for many years, I am now seeing vineyard after vineyard hugging both sides of Highway 80. I surmise from this that it's much more profitable to grow grapes or almond trees that it is to build housing. The economic smash hit Sacramento very hard, there were parts of Sacramento where a huge percentage of the housing stock was underwater. It's obviously much more profitable to grow grapes or almond trees than it is to build housing.<br />
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I am working like a fiend on my new Y.A. novel. It's very much coming together, the narrative no longer filled with those annoying holes that you know you have to solve before you can create a satisfying ending. I always have a beginning, a middle, and an end that is set in stone. This helps me not wander too far off from what I'm trying to say. The middle can be squishy, moving earlier or later, and the beginning? Sigh. I always write that at least ten times. I don't change that much, but I am constantly fishing for that beginning that will keep the reader reading. And I never change the ending. Never. Because that is the heart of what I want to say.Claire M. Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01714407719530073304noreply@blogger.com0