Frank McHugh 1932

 

How I Write a book - and, other tales that you thought you wouldn't find of interest. 

As my Daddy used to sing - "Hello Old Paint, It's great to see ya."

I'm not sure where that comes from. Maybe one of those songs he sang with his fellow platoon troops during WW2.  Dunno - it just makes me smile.

I am writing this blog as if it were a private journal since I haven't much to write about.  

I started a new book while waiting on a contract for book one of the Athens, Ga Mystery series. Book two (Murder is a Drag) has been put on hold. I didn't feel the need to keep writing it since it is attached to a series still in limbo. That book needs a lot of research as I know nuthin' bout transgenders and drag queens - yes, you heard me. 

But that's ok. Lots of stories in this head.

My new book will be a YA Paranormal Mystery. Nancy Drew meets Scooby Do, sort of - maybe. I have zeroed in on the 70s as the timestamp. While I haven't settled on an actual title as yet, the wip title will be "My Dad's a Ghost".

I write working off a blurb, then a slapdash synopsis. I wish I could write like Mary Daheim or Carolyn Todd of the Charles Todd team who both are pantsers. No, I have to plot it out. I take my time with every character, give them bios, and even attach a picture so I can describe them better to my readers. 

My next step is to write out the crime. In my first book of the Athens, Ga Mysteries, the crime was a murder. So I wrote out the whole murder from the POV of the murderer. This gives me the trail I need for the murderer to follow as he/she skips through the story.

Then I write out a timeline for each character from the time the murder took place to when the body was found. Sheesh - the time I take to break this all down, well, I could have written the whole book by then. But I love twists and turns. I love red herrings and I love to keep the reader guessing. If I can't take them down to two possible suspects by the end of the book, then I've missed my mark.

To make sure I stay on track, I involve - sometimes willing, sometimes not so much, fellow writers & readers of mysteries, sometimes my family. Who knew writers could run so fast?

Ha ha - as two of my old time favorite actors Ginger Rogers and Frank McHugh used to say in their old films.

So - a month or two in on the preparation for the book comes the research. Now that I have an outline/timeline/synopsis, I make a list of things I absolutely know nothing about. I know, 'they' say write what you know. I say, "what fun is that?" 

In book one, I didn't know anything about rare plants, or music venues in Athens, Ga, or frogs & snakes, and a whole bunch of other things that pop up in that book. I mean, I had to look up the parts of the ear just for one small piece of the story. Do you know what a pinna is? I didn't. 

But I check and double check everything mentioned from locks, to floor plans - are you asleep yet? I mean, if just one reader says - "no, that's not right", then I feel I've let them down.

Research comes naturally to me. As a former tech writer, research was 50% of the job. In those days I had to deal with customers, customer support reps, and computer software writers. It was my job to take the computer language from the comp geeks, turn it into a user language, then run it through the mill to make sure that I made sense. Sorry - zzZZzz.

Now, if I can breach that gap between two groups who have no idea what each are saying, I think I can find out what plant would be a good one to fill the bill for my story. Well, to tell the truth, I am a second guesser so I will run my research down by talking with a few experts to verify my claims.

Back to Gracie Allen. Gracie is the 14 yr old girl in 'My Dad's a Ghost'. When her family moved into a new house in the late sixties a ghost appeared to her and her parents. He didn't do anything but stand in the shadows and look on. No one was afraid of him. Her mom thought it was her guardian angel. Her dad thought he might be the guy in the painting over the sofa. The ghost did show up after Dad brought it home from an estate sale. Gracie wasn't so sure. Then just before Thanksgiving 1970, a friend of her mother's came to dinner. It turns out that this man, called Richard for now, has a sense for spirits. No, he doesn't see the ghost Gracie calls Whatna', Scottish for What Name. But he does offer a reason why the ghost just hangs around. You see Richard believes that this ghost might be an angel sent to escort one of the Allens to heaven. Well this scares Gracie. Just the thought of losing one of her parents, especially her dad upsets her so much that her father asks Richard to leave. You see, Gracie and her father have a very special relationship. 

They love the same music. Which is odd at this time when the generation gap was in full bloom. They also love to read mysteries together while they race to see who can solve the crime first. Another love is old movies, especially those with a mystery flare like The Thin Man and Maltese Falcon. 

Christmas Day, Gracie's father gives her a reel to reel recorder and a Connie Francis record. While playing songs "I Will Wait for You" and "Never on Sunday", they decide to sing along while recording they voices. Gracie doesn't know this at this time, but this will be the last time she and her dad get a chance to sing a duet together.

That evening as things wind down, Gracie and her father decide to watch a old movie together - still working on that one, but having fun researching it.  Where's Mom in all this? Well Mom is not as huggy -lovey dovey as Gracie's Dad, so she prefers to keep house, cook, and bake - I hope to add some of my mother's special cookie recipes in this book. 

During the movie, Gracie's father dies. Gracie is so hurt by his loss that she won't listen to their songs anymore, read any of their books, or watch old movies. She also notices that Whatna is gone. Richard must have been right after all.

Then at the funeral, Gracie hears one of their songs (to be determined) and follows the music outside the church. There she meets a boy her age, Wesley, playing the guitar. Instead of sadness, she feels a sense of love as if her dad was there, too. She and Wesley form a friendship.

Blah blah blah for a few more chapters. Ok - I'll spill - Gracie, her next door neighbor and best friend, Sabrina, and Wesley get involved with a ring that goes missing from Sabrina's mother's jewelry box.

Where's Dad? Hang on - he's coming. One day, Gracie realizes that strange songs keep playing over the radio. She oftens listens to rock stations because she doesn't want to hear the 50s pop music she and her dad liked. But while she is playing with her cat (yes, it's a cozy so a pet must be a part of the story), Connie Francis' song, "I Will Wait for You" comes on with a dedication to Daddy's baby girl. Her dad called her that. What the heck? Well Gracie breaks down and finally cries for the first time since her dad died. While she is crying, she feels a warm arm hold her as if comforting her. She jumps up, the cat saunters (yep, nothing scares this bad boy) away, and Gracie realizes that she can see her father. 

Unlike Whatna (who also has a story to tell in this series), Dad can talk. But he can't stay for long. So he promises her that he will send her messages through music.  As a lover of music, researching this part for the book will be extra fun. I plan to enlist some musicians and fellow 50's pop fans to help me with this selection. 

On and on the story goes with Gracie's Dad helping her and her friends (no, they can't see him) solve the mystery of the missing ring.

Problems with this plot: well, I invoke some messages related to God and Heaven. I know that this may be unwelcomed to some, but I tried to work around it. Death, to me, leads to Heaven (one hopes). Although I wouldn't categorize it as a Christian related theme, it does have over tones. Guess I will need a good agent or editor to help me through that. 

The point of the story is to give a fun mystery to teenaged girls, to offer hope to grieving teens of lost parents, and to add a spice of the variety of music from the 50s through the 70s.

If you've read my post about my own relationship with my father and losing him at a young age, then you will see the comparison's, No, sadly, my dad never materialized as a ghost to guide me through life, but it did plant the seed in my head of a what if. How about Whatna? Oh, here's a fun tale - when my sister were teens we liked to pretend that a ghost did hang out at our house. Whatna was the name I gave him from a favorite Robert Burns poem.

I know you can't respond to this yet, but I would be interested in knowing your thoughts about this story. If and when I get a book published, I plan to open the venue up to promote it and, yes, allow comments. 

Yours in writing land,

Patti

 

This is a dedication to Steve McQueen's sweater worn in The Thomas Crown Affair. I was learning to knit when I saw this movie at a drive through theatre and as soon as I saw it, I wanted one. This movie was shown years after its release as a combo three movie Steve McQueen movie package at the drive-in. I say that so it's clear that I did not watch this movie when I was 12.

I was just 15 or 16, but the scene where he and Faye Dunaway are dune buggying caught my attention for different reasons than my friends. I was with my boyfriend and a another couple. While they were oohing and ahhing the dune buggy, I was trying to catch a glimpse of his sweater. Shows you were my priorities were. If I remember correctly, the sweater was hidden most of the scene. Leave it to me to be the one in my group who kept talking about it. No one else had a clue as to what he was wearing. 

Later, I spent time hunting down a pattern. I wish I still had that pattern as it's nearly impossible to find an exact match for his sweater. My research tells me that it is a Collins Family Irish Aran pattern. Unfortunately, I found that out after I tossed together one of my own. 

The above picture of my sweater in progress is a sloppy version of McQueen's pattern. The worst part is done, though. Front and back - yeah. Two sleeves, collar, and a stitch the whole thing together and hopefully it will fit.

One of the hardest things about guessing a pattern is that the size will be all wrong. Maybe a blog is in the future of the finished product fitting nicely on yours truly. 

Patti

Oh - ps - I may have found the Collins design after I started the sweater, but I was able to convert the sleeves to match McQueen's. I've taken notes, so my next sweater will look more like the one he is wearing. 

 I may have started this cozy mystery a bit late in life, but that doesn't mean that I don't want a lengthy career. It took me this long to figure it and get the courage to bear my soul on paper. I'm not going to stop now just because I received a few rejections.

 

 My father passed away when I was fourteen years old. I still mourn his loss to this day. Daddy was one of those fathers who could see deep into your soul. He told me things about myself that I didn't see. He loved my sense of goofball humor and was the only person in my entire life to this day who would play act my terrible impersonation of Curly from the Three Stooges. We had a thing about who did the best Curly shuffle, which always ended up in stomach cramping laughter. But humor came easy for him. He loved to change the pronunciation of words like Cadillac to cadillyyak or Neil Diamondisagirlsbestfriend. Plus he had his own way of describing menial things like a belch. It became 'excuse the hog, the pig's out walking.' Dad was a writer, director, photographer, and producer for the US Army. Many of the educational films shown to the cadets were done by him as well as the documented funerals of high ranked officers and politicians. His military pictures were published in many books and encyclopedias. Even now when I do a search on WW2, Korean War, and Vietnam, I find pictures from his catalog. The original negatives can be found in the stacks of his pictorial collection kept in my care. He was a close friend to comedians of his era, including Henny Youngman, who would like to joke on the Carson show about 'stealing' one of Dad's jokes. Making up jokes was second nature to him. It is from my father that I inherited a goofy personality as well as the love of music. Dad even named me after his friend and one of his favorite singers, Patti Page. 

But one thing Daddy kept instilling in me during our short time together was to never give up hope on one's dreams. He saw a written talent in me that even my 4th grade teacher did not see. She humiliated me in front of the class claiming that I had plagiarised a story I had written. After consoling me, he stormed into her classroom. Clad in full dress uniform as he had an award ceremony that day, he was quite the picture as he let her know that honesty was the core of our family. He never raised his voice to her, but his deep tone was enough to shake the paint off the walls. In his log book, he showed her the dates where he took me to the library, the park, and several other places I needed to go to research this two page story. Dad taught me about researching my subjects in order to create reality for the reader. I was only nine years old at that time, but I knew the importance of showing, not telling, a story. 

Dad died at the young age of 51. Too sudden for any of us to comprehend. And when he died, my dreams died as well. That is until recently when I finished my first mystery manuscript. You see my father always told me that I would become an author one day. Even as young as six, he would walk me through the library telling me that one day he would see my name up on those shelves.

Because of him, I have written stories all my life. We even wrote a musical together. I found it years ago and cringed at how bad it was. But Daddy loved it. He even taught me the power of dialogue and the proper way to lay out a screen play complete with shot directions. I can't look at a film today without noticing how the director did his camera angles. Daddy showed me how to spot a story in just about anything the eye could see, the nose could smell, the ears could hear, and the mouth could taste. I was to describe all of those sensations as we sat together eating our favorite banana splits with chocolate ice cream and crushed pineapple. I blame my chocolate addiction on him. He loved hot chocolate on a cold night. It's a habit that I never stopped.

When I turned 60, it sucker punched me that I could not leave this plane without completing a manuscript. If not for me, then for him. And, I mean full stop polished, done, and dusted, as he would say. At this point, the only things I had published were newspaper commentaries, three articles in a free local hip paper, and the many auto insurance user manuals that I was responsible for as a technical writer. I don't think any of those would warrant his praise as much as seeing his daughter's name up on a library shelf. 

I gathered several pictures of him together and prayed for guidance. It may sound daft to those who do not believe in muses, but I truly believe that it was his spirit that watched over me as I wrote Croaked: A Ribbiting Murder. Suddenly, I was filled with belief that this book would get finished, unlike the many partials that sit on my computer and/or the shelf in the unused sitting room left unattended since my mother's passing nine years ago

. If you have ever read Toni Morrison's Song of Solomon, you will know that I am not alone in this belief. While I could only hope to learn enough from her work & writing style to attempt a smidgen of her talent, I do know what she meant when she noted how it was her father's spirit who guided her during the writing of that book. 

My book is dedicated to a father whom I hope will see my name on those library shelves, even if it is in spirit only.

Patti

  

 

I always knew that getting a book published would be difficult. It's probably why I have postponed getting into this field. Yes, I could go indie and self-publish. But, I worry that the three years of hard work just getting here would end up only on family and friends' kindles. I have the patience, I just don't know if I have the time to wait this game out. And, even though I am late to this party, I still want a career as a writer to define me.

You see, I have a health condition that can either sit dormant or get aggressive. Oh, I don't expect to fall off the perch anytime soon. I've felt quite well lately and plan to live another two to three decades, God willing. I also plan on completing a full series of The Athens, Ga Mysteries - whatever that means. No fewer than three books, for sure. I will ride the writer horse no matter how slow or fast that clock ticks.

In book one (now sitting on agents desks worldwide) I focused a lot on researching several elements that are key to the story. The book, Croaked: A Ribbiting Murder, started out as just a blurb. Four lines! Not the kind of blurb that would sell it, of course. It was just a form of guidance for me. Hated boss found in frog pond. Protagonist must solve crime while juggling mean, aging Mom no senior home will take. Use of endangered plant found nearby is stuffed up dead man's nose. Music, music, music. 

I admit, it wasn't much to start with, but it was a start. You see I had grown bored with my life. Doctors said I shouldn't work so I was put on disability. While my hands may shake and my balance is even more questionable at times, my mind was just fine. Well, quirky, but mentally fine. My memory likes to trip me up, but that's probably typical of someone who has six decades of life jammed into those brain cells. 

So, I pulled out all the ideas I have had in the past for the book I wanted to write. But those ideas needed researching. The place. Where? I talked to other authors about how they decided on their book settings. I asked about fictional v real. I got positives and negatives on both sides. Then one lovely lady triggered a bell. "If you could live anywhere in the world or outer worlds, where would it be?" She followed that up with, "What interests you? What would your dream life look like? If you can't actually go there, create it." Sage advice. 

Enter Athens, Georgia. It took me a test drive through the town that sits about 50 miles from my home to convince me that this was the place. The streets we drove down were flanked in hundred year old oak trees followed by blocks of sidewalks. The first houses I saw were homes probably built in the 40s or 50s called Craftsman homes. They had the welcoming open front porches that we think of as typically southern. That charm continued with the colorful choices on doors and gables. Colors ranging from deep purple, to brick red, to bright yellow. I loved it. 

Next was checking out the downtown area. No decent cozy leaves out the center of their town. Plus, I had to figure out where my main character would work. We drove up and down Prince Street, then onto Clayton, and curled around where the 40 Watt Club sits. The 40 Watt Club! Here (well maybe not this exact location) is where the roots of the 80s college music all started. I was excited. As a fan of college radio since I was in high school in the 70s, I felt that this was my first welcome to Athens moment. 

I went home and wrote out my outline for the book. More research was needed about Athens and the outer areas to fill in the blank patches in my outline. For years I have had a picture of the Iron Horse on my computer screen. I never really knew why. It was something I came upon just by happenstance. Never been there. Wasn't even sure where 'there' was. I saw a picture of this odd piece of art and fell in love. When I pulled up a search of  'places to see' in Athens, I was surprised to find the Iron Horse on that list. We had to have driven right past it when we came home the back way. Was this an omen? As a person who welcomes 'clues' and 'signs' of guidance, I once again marked this as an augural sign. 

Step by step, things just fell into place. I met the right people at the right time who offered valuable input regarding Athens, the music scene, and the lifestyle. It's those people who drove this book home and I couldn't be more grateful for their assistance. Plus, Athens has an allure that stands out from many southern towns.

Although the draft took several turns during the process of writing, editing, and rewriting, it did eventually end up with characters that were fun, entertaining, ruthless, and ornery (yes, I am talking about that mean mom). Who, by the way, I am told was hated by my beta readers up to the end when she became one of their top favorites. While I would have liked my MC to be the top fav character, it turns out that her assistant, Flo, the ex-cop, steampunk, moonlighting singer of a Concrete Blonde cover band wins hands down. It's the diversity of the town that makes the perfect setting for this series.

Patti

 I have fought getting a blog for eons. Well, maybe not eons, but years. Well, maybe not years... but, here I am just as those agents I've queried have suggested. This is a work in progress - as am I.