Moments In Crime

I HEAR FICTIONAL PEOPLE

In the past two blogs, I’ve covered the animal factor in my life, and since this is my last blog, I wanted to talk a little about why I write.

It’s a strange compulsion, and I’ve done it for a long, long time. When I first started out writing fiction, I wrote only for myself. Of course I’d show my mom, and she was like all good moms—she thought I was a genius.  In that way, I’m among the luckiest people alive. I had parents who honestly, truly believed I was “special.” That has sustained me through some pretty tough times.  My parents were journalists, and I got a foothold in that business as a young kid hanging around the back shop of a weekly newspaper with my dad. I sold my first story to the Mobile Register, a pretty big daily paper, when I was 12. (I had a little help from my parents.) I grew up knowing that I would be a writer, but I thought it would be in the field of journalism.

As a reporter, I thought I could help right the wrongs of this country. I believed if I wrote the truth, people would read it—and change. Can you say the word “idealist?” Justice was, and is, still important to me, which is why I believe I’m drawn into mysteries and crime fiction. In the BONES books, and even FEVER MOON, PENUMBRA and REVENANT, justice is a crucial factor. While the participants, such as in PENUMBRA, may not always receive justice, the reader is aware of what should have happened.

When I was in college I was greatly influenced by Flannery O’Connor. Her language and black humor and twisted characters enthralled me. I knew Eudora Welty’s simple people, who were so complex beneath their skins, in my bones. When I began to write, I wrote short stories for the joy of writing.

That changed over time. And when I set about writing a novel, I knew nothing of the elements of fiction. I am truthfully a self-taught writer. (Some would say that I’m so hard-headed I had to learn it on my own.)

Each book teaches me something new. Every book I read offers a chance to learn. I’m a terribly picky reader now. I don’t have a lot of free time, so I want to read only the writers I love. But I also make it a habit to try new writers, to explore these new voices. Last year, I picked out a book by  Tana Friench, IN THE WOODS.  It's exciting to find a new writer that I love.  As many of you know, I teach fiction writing at the University of South Alabama.   This has helped me clarify my own thoughts on writing. I have to brag on one of my students, Jeannie Holmes, who is in New York right now for Thrillerfest.  Jeannie will complete her graduate work this December. As an undergrad, she started her novel, an urban fantasy called BLACK SWAN. She sold that book and one other this summer—a two-book contract with Random House. The book will be released September 2009.

What a joy to watch a star begin to rise. And an honor to play a role in this process.

I read all kinds of things, and I write in a lot of different areas. The Bones books are called cozies, but sometimes they aren’t quite so cozy. They have a dark little heart, especially when Sarah Booth deals with her past. But I think the thing that draws people into my world is Zinnia is the strong friendship among Sarah Booth, Tinkie, Cece, Millie, and even Jitty. And while I sometimes get in hot water with my readers because Sarah Booth does grow and change and accept challenges outside the normal comfort zone of Zinnia, I believe that as the series continues, folks will look back on events (such as those in HAM BONES) and see how each step along the way was necessary for Sarah Booth to become the person she needs to be. ( I LOVE it that people care so much about these characters that they let me know their feelings. This is so important to me.)

I write both dark and light stories, and often simultaneously. When a book comes in the form of an issue or idea or unexplained image, it’s almost always going to be a dark story. PENUMBRA is a book about the consequences of loving the wrong person. This 2006 book was named one of the top five mysteries by Library Journal. It’s a book I’m really proud of. It’s also a historical thriller. Funny that 1952 is now historical.

FEVER MOON is another book that came from an idea or theme. I wanted to explore the way belief systems control our lives. So I created Adele Hebert, who believes she is possessed by a loup garou, a Cajun werewolf. When the wealthiest man in Iberia Parish is savagely killed, Adele confesses. Raymond Thibodeaux must prove her innocent, because he isn’t a man who fears superstitions. He’s been in WWII and seen the worst that man can do to man.  Some of you have mentioned REVENANT, which came out of character, Carson Lynch.  Carson's pretty damaged, but like Sarah Booth, she has the strength to persist.

These books are very different from the Bones books, and I’m so lucky to have readers who follow me over to the dark side when I feel the urge to write those stories. I think a lot of writers find success in one area and don’t explore any further. For me, I need to try new things. It keeps me fresh and excited as a writer.

If any of you are interested in a few of my thoughts on writing, I was interviewed by www.noveljourney.blogspot.com on July 1. They asked some really great questions about the writing process. You need to find the “previous interviews” on the left side of the blog. I’ll be teaching at the Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings Writing the Region conference in Gainesville July 24-27.

I want to thank all of you for participating in the blog. It’s always fun to be able to “talk” about writing and animals and whatever comes up. I’ll be signing books tonight at Main Street Books in  Hattiesburg, MS (I was born in this town and went to college there) from 6-8 p.m.  Then Saturday I'll be at Murder by the Book in Houston at 4:30 with my fellow writers Dean James and Mary Saums.

I’ll post the rest of my signing schedule on my website at www.carolynhaines.com My email is there, and a sign up for a newsletter. Again, many thanks to those of you who read and participated in the blog and to the St. Martins’ team that made this possible.

 

 

Cesar, where are you?

Yesterday I blogged about the horses that I live with, so I want to give equal time to the cats and dogs.

First I want to tell you about Sweetie Pie, the real one, and how I found her in my barn one day nearly 14 years ago. She was starved to the point that I wondered how she could stand, which was barely. She had no hair, and one back leg was swollen and weeping.

We went straight to the vet, where I learned she was a red tic hound with Cushings Disease, a thyroid condition, and diabetes. In other words, she was an expensive mess.

But over the next six months, I cleaned her up, got her on the right medication, and got her system as balanced as we could. She put on weight. A lot of weight. That no medical expert could seem to help her lose. Her back leg never healed completely, but we were able to control it.

The vet gave Sweetie 2 years to live. I had her for about 10. She was, without a doubt, the sweetest dog I’ve ever met. Never once did her tail stop wagging. Never once, no matter what procedure had to be done, did she do anything except lick the hand of the person working on her. She had a big, big heart. She died about 2 years ago. But she lives on—in good health—in the Sweetie Pie of Zinnia.

Because I live in a dog pack, I have endured a lot of loss. Miss Maybelline, who died at 17 last year, stood in for Sweetie Pie at my booksignings. She’s the beautiful little hound posing with me in sunglasses and a scarf in the convertible.

Maybelline was one of the best dogs I’ve ever known. But she had rules. We used to call her the “fun police” because whenever the other dogs got too rowdy, she’d bark them into line. And once she got into the car, I had to take her for a ride. If I tried to get her out—without a ride—she’d do the “exorcist face” at me. Like I said, she had rules.

But I want to write a little about the dogs I have now. Zelda is also in some of the photos with me. She’s a stray, and whether she’s husky or malamute, I don’t care. She’s the most beautiful dog I’ve ever lived with. And one of the most difficult. While she’s gorgeous and can run like Secretariat, she has enough of the wolf heritage that she doesn’t listen to me. That makes trouble. Sometimes big trouble.

But I have trained her and Buster, what we’re calling a Catahoula cur/blue heeler mix, to pull a dog scooter. Buster is a great dog. He’s the only male in the pack, and he goes out at night with me to check the horses. I have no doubt that he would commit physical damage to anyone who offered to harm me. Yet he’s gentle as a lamb.

Lucille is my hound. I picked her up in a Winn-Dixie parking lot. She had Demadex, but she also had worms and was starving. Once we got her in good shape and treated the Demadex, it has never come back. Stress affects all of us, healthwise, even dogs.

And Leto is a black lab kind of dog. Like Sweetie Pie, she is a gentle soul. Eager to please, she would have been happy to be a lap dog. At 90 pounds, she’s a bit of a lug, but she still gets in my lap.  Buster, Leto, and Lucille all came to live with me immediately after Hurricane Katrina.

But we can’t forget Rosie, a big red dog who needs to be an only dog. She’s a powerhouse, and she is the most loyal creature I’ve ever known. Unfortunately, she and Zelda vie for top dog position. (Where is Cesar Millan?) Rosie was a road dog who dropped 7 puppies at a neighbor’s house and decided motherhood was not for her. The neighbor kept the puppies, and I had Rosie spayed.

Now for a countdown on the cats.

After Katrina, there were so many desperate animals. Merle Haggard and Echo were wild felines that I trapped in the woods behind my house. Spitfire and her son, Squirt (who now weights 12 pounds) came from a drainage pipe behind the Hickory Pit restaurant. Spitfire is a rare female yellow tabby. She’s beautiful, even though she has only three working legs and one eye. My best guess is that she was struck by a car and the leg healed twisted.  Surgery could not fix it, but she gets along fine.

Scooter, a gray and white cat with the longest legs I’ve ever seen, was nearly dead behind an ice machine at a truck stop. These were all Katrina rescues.

Coal Shaft Haines showed up with a leg trapped in his collar. Lucky for me, my vet Lynne Leonard does acupuncture and with hours and hours of physical therapy (one of my creative writing students, Jeannie Holmes, helped with the therapy. And Jeannie just got a very nice two-book contract for urban fantasy books!) Coal’s leg was completely restored. He’s fine, except a bit overweight.
            Chester and Kinky are two of the older cats. Kinky lived at the vet clinic—until she became so territorial that she terrorized the clients. She’s a tuxedo kitty with a kinky tail and maximum attitude. And I found Chester nearly drowned and struck by a car after Hurricane Georges back in 1998, I think. He’s got a little swagger from some pelvic damage, but nothing he can’t handle.

We’re quite a collection of the halt, the lame, the maimed, and the magnificent.

All of the cats and dogs are spayed and neutered. And amazingly, for the most part, we all live in harmony. There are days when the dogs chase the cats around the yard, or the horses around the pasture. Other days a tumble of cats will fly through the house and knock over a table or chair. Sometimes the dogs go down to the creek and come back to shake mud all over me just after I’ve gotten dressed to go out.

But there are other times, when I’m on the sofa, and four cats climb into my lap and purr. Or when a dog sees I’m frustrated at the computer and gives my ankle a quick lick.

Most of my readers are pet lovers. At least the ones who write me are. I think my characters and stories draw people who have an abundance of love for creatures of all kinds, human, feline, canine, equine, and others.

I have stories of wolves and raccoons and deer. Lots of wonderful creatures traipse through my life and enrich it. But these “domestic” animals own my heart. It’s a rare experience to live in an animal pack. Costly, yes. Demanding, yes. Rewarding—oh yes, without a doubt.

  Leto on the floor, Zelda on the sofa, Lucille on top of the sofa arm.  And that's me Scootering with Buster and Zelda. Those dang cats simply refuse to perform any chores at all.

A VIEW OF THE HORSES

            Animals have always played a huge role in my life. My mother told me that the first word that came out of my mouth was “horse.” Then again, she also told me that I was born with wings and that the doctor—in the operating room (I was a C-section baby)—clipped the wings so that I would be like other children. Bad choice. As a writer and animal advocate, I find that I’m often out of step with a lot of people and those wings would surely have been a HUGE asset.

            Nonetheless, I have no wings and at this count, there are 20 animals living with me on my small farm. Seven horses, 8 cats and 5 dogs, most of them rescue critters.

It’s true that I’ve been obsessed with horses from my first conscious thoughts. When my mother was pregnant with my younger brother (who I persist in calling my older brother just to annoy him) I was convinced she would have a horse for me. It was my only hope of attaining the equine of my dreams. I was four, and the birth of a brother was a terrible blow. (Although he has only two legs, he does have a certain charm.)

             When I took a horseback riding adventure to Ireland, I also visited Scotland, where I was told that “each” is the Scottish word for horse. My grandfather was Slater Earl McEachern, and according to my Scottish source, The McEacherns were the horse lords for the Clan Donald. Since I like this story, I’ve incorporated it into the complicated web of my life. Maybe it is genetic resonance that explains my total devotion to all things equine. Perhaps I’m a throwback to those wild Scots who rode horses with hooves of flint across the highlands wielding swords.

             That may be my heritage, but I was never such a bold rider. Mostly, I’ve enjoyed a bit of jumping (even I could hop over the jumps), low-level dressage, a try at team penning (because the cows are not hurt or manhandled), and my favorite, riding in the woods and thinking about my books.

             On the farm today, and I’m very proud to write this, I have Miss Scrapiron, who turned 31 on my birthday. She’s a Thoroughbred who was nearly starved when I pawned my guitar and gathered up my meager savings and bought her. She’s got the biggest heart of any horse I’ve met.

             Mirage is 27, an Arabian cross. Elegant, a fine mover, she carried me through beginning dressage (and I mean beginning) until she retired. She was a birthday gift to me from a friend many years ago.

             Cogar is a result of my trip to Ireland.  He's the son of Miss Scrapiron and a Connemara stallion, Grange. Long, long story of how he was almost NOT conceived due to the airline misplacing the container of, dare I say it here, (certainly Sarah Booth would say it!) horse sperm. He’s 12 this year, and a huge horse. Much, much bigger than either parent, he tops 16 hands and is known around the neighborhood as “the little Prince” because he’s so spoiled. Cogar is also the prototype for Reveler in the Bones books.

            This was my original herd. About six years ago a cowboy friend of mine stopped by to tell me of two pregnant mares, each with foals at their sides. They were all being taken to the auction, likely to be sold for butcher.  My good friend Gloria Howard, who taught me to ride--and has the gray hair to prove it--and I bought the horses and split them between us. I took a short, chunky Quarterhorse mare with some leg issues, her daughter Flicker, and the next spring, Piper was born here on the farm.  Cimarron has crooked legs, and by most non-cretin standards, should never have been bred. But Flicker and Piper are both healthy and, over time, I’ve got both working well under saddle.   Cimarron is 12, Flicker is 6, and Piper is 5.

             Medicine Man, better known as M&M, is a leopard appaloosa that belongs to two friends. He’s a time-share horse, and gets the best of both owners.  The area where I was born is in the Southeastern part of Mississippi, a rural county in a poor state.  It’s a universe away from the Mississippi Delta where the Bones books are set. But when I was a reporter at the Huntsville Times (Alabama) I lived in Toney, then just a rural community that historically grew a good bit of cotton.  It was here I experienced, like Sarah Booth, riding through the miles and miles of cotton fields. My housemate, another horse woman, Deb Edwards Barnhart, and our friend, Bobby DeNeefe, and I would ride almost every morning before we went to our respective jobs.

             That sense of freedom, of thousands of acres without fences or gates, has stayed with me. My rides today are mostly in pine timber woods and state owned forests. The horses and I all enjoy this gentle exercise. My days of building jumps in the woods for my own private cross-country course are over, though Cogar is bred to jump anything in front of him and would willingly do so.

            Today, I prefer to ride and think. To enjoy the sound of the birds and stay on the alert for rogue armadillos. (Horses don’t take kindly to armadillos that jump out of the underbrush and, because they have such poor vision, run into the horses’ legs.)

             Because I’m maxed out on the number of animals I can care for, I’ve volunteered to help rescue organization. This year, I’ve helped remove five horses from terrible circumstances and find better homes for them. When we had to, we bought the horses. Some people who truly couldn’t afford to feed them, willingly gave them up to good homes.

             I also work with dogs and cats, doing what I can with the resources I have. Last year I neutered several dogs and cats and found homes for them.

             Pets are disposable in this society because they’re so numerous. We can stop this, though, by controlling the birth rate. To that end, I urge everyone to spay and neuter all pets and stallions.

             Next thing you know, I’ll be running for public office on the Spay and Neuter Platform. I’d love to hear some of your fun, happy animal stories, or ideas. Just hit the comment button and chime in. I may be a “mature” dog, but I can still learn some new tricks.

            

 

    The Herd

            Obviously I can't learn the trick of putting a picture in a blog. Sorry for this really bad composition on this blog (once upon a time I help lay out newspaper pages). I simply don't have the techno skills to make it do what I want. Maybe, with a magnifying glass, you can see the horses. Sorry.

Living with the Zinnia crowd

With the release of WISHBONES, the eighth in the Sarah Booth Delaney mystery series, I’ve come to some interesting conclusions about my characters, and about my friends.

            This book marks nearly a decade of Sarah Booth, Jitty, Tinkie, Cece, Millie, Coleman, Chablis, Sweetie Pie and the rest of the Zinnia gang. But it also marks a departure for Sarah Booth, because most of the action of the story takes place outside of Zinnia (yes, I know that aggravates some readers, but just hang on!).

            When I started writing the Bones series, it was in a white-hot fever of trying to keep up with the characters. I’d just finished a book called TOUCHED, also set in Mississippi but in 1926. There’s always a terrible sense of loss when I finish a book. Even when I read a book that I’m deeply involved in, I hate to get to the ending. I had an astrologer tell me once that beginnings and endings would always be bumpy for me. So far, that prediction has held up. But TOUCHED was done. The edits were finished. What would I write next?

            My computer is set-up in a sunny room in my house that overlooks one of the horse pastures. At the time, I had only Miss Scrapiron (who is 31 this year!), Mirage (who is also retired at 27) and Cogar. The horses were grazing peacefully. The summer hadn’t turned unbearably hot yet. It was a perfect day for a ride. I’d spent nearly two hours casting about for an idea, a theme, a character—something that sounded interesting enough to spend a year writing about. Nothing had come to me, so I was going for a ride in the woods, where I often do my best thinking.

            As I stood to get ready to go outside, I heard two characters sniping at each other. I sat back down and listened. I had no idea who these people in my head were—or what they wanted. But they were funny. The slings and arrows they were hurling at each other made me smile. I didn’t have a visual yet, but the aural was mighty clear. And as I listened, Jitty and Sarah Booth came into focus.

            Stories come to me in different ways. Sometimes it’s a character, as with Sarah Booth and Jitty (usually it’s visual rather than aural, though) and sometimes it’s a plot point or even, in a book such as FEVER MOON or PENUMBRA, an idea or theme. The way the idea comes to me tells me a lot about the story. Listening to Jitty and Sarah Booth, I knew my characters were Southern—Mississippians to be more exact. And I knew they had a long term relationship. They cared about each other, despite the sassiness of both.

            Gradually, the more I listened, the more clear the setting became. Dahlia House was beautiful but neglected. The parlor, and the horsehair sofa, popped into my head. There was Sarah Booth and Jitty, alternately on the front porch with the cotton fields in the background, or on the sofa. They shifted around a lot, because they weren’t firmly created yet. I had no idea what this story was about, so I just let them show me.

            One of the things I sincerely believe as a writer is that the true gift is the story. I teach fiction writing at the University of South Alabama in Mobile, and I tell my students I can help them with the techniques of writing. What I can’t give them is a voice or a story. That’s the gift that is bestowed--or not. Story is a precious thing, and it requires patience and a willingness to listen. My goal, as a writer, is to honor the story given to me.

           The more Jitty and Sarah Booth talked, the more I knew about them. Their back stories (their history) held me captive. And I started writing.

            Sarah Booth had come home from New York City, where she’d tried unsuccessfully to be an actress. She was about to lose Dahlia House. Jitty, who is the ghost of Sarah Booth’s great-great grandmother, Alice, had a vested interest in seeing that Dahlia House wasn’t lost.

            The dynamics were established. Sarah Booth had to come up with a way to get her hands on some money quickly. Jitty hatched the plot to dognap Chablis, Tinkie Bellcase Richmond’s precious dog. And Sarah Booth’s calling as a private investigator was launched.

            I’d always read and loved mysteries. Now I was writing one.

            Through the decade the characters have grown and changed, just as I have and as my friends have. Like me and my friends, the characters make mistakes and sometimes wrong choices. But life is like that. We learn from our mistakes.

            And for those who worry about Sarah Booth leaving the Mississippi Delta, just let me note that I live 30 miles from the town I grew up in. Like Sarah Booth, my roots go deep. While Sarah Booth and I may explore and travel, we’ll never leave the soil that gave us such a fantastic childhood.

            I’ll be blogging on this site through Thursday, so please drop me a note or comment or question. I’ll do my best to answer. I always love to hear from readers and those who are merely curious about these characters I’ve spent the last ten years following.

Blogging this Week: Carolyn Haines

Blogging this week is CAROLYN HAINES, author of thirteen novels, including seven titles in this cozy series. Born and raised in Mississippi, she now lives in Alabama on a farm with more dogs, cats, and horses than she can possibly keep track of.

In WISHBONES, Southern gal Sarah Booth Delaney packs up her P.I. business and her hound dog Sweetie Pie and sets off for Hollywood to take her shot at stardom. No stranger to acting--she has starred on stages from her hometown of Zinnia, Mississippi, all the way to New York City--she aces the screen test for a racy remake of the movie Body Heat alongside Graf Mileau. The chemistry between them is undeniable, and why not? Not only does Graf have a leading man's good looks and poise but he has already starred in one of Sarah's previous affairs and is well on his way to landing a big part in the sequel.

Thrilled as Sarah is, her dream come true also comes at a price. Filming on location at a stunning villa in Costa Rica forces her to leave behind her family’s ancestral home, her closest friends, and her long-time love, unrequited as it may be. Before long rivalries begin to flare, mysterious accidents occur, and this leading lady turns up in the tabloids without starring in a single frame.
A cozy with some real heat, Wishbones gives readers the charm, romance, and good friends that they have come to expect from Carolyn Haines’s popular Bones series.