By Carroll: Agent in Old Lace

The phrase, “It started with a bang,” has been used to describe the beginning of all manner of things, from the universe itself, to movies and, of course, to books. It’s meant as a positive description—except when used in tandem with, “and it ended with a whimper.”

Tristi Pinkston has avoided that pitfall in her new suspense novel, Agent in Old Lace. It starts with a bang as the object of Shannon’s affection, Mark, kidnaps her with the intent of killing her. It has plenty of action and suspense throughout, and it delivers a surprise at the end, which readers always enjoy.

The part of the plot that has Mark bilking many of Shannon’s clients through a Ponzi scheme (think Bernie Madoff) is timely and believable. When Mark escapes, an FBI agent (Rick) is assigned to protect Shannon. He has to show up in drag to do so, hence the title, Agent in Old Lace. While I found this plotline not so believable, it provides many opportunities for humor as well as some sweet exchanges that move Shannon and Rick’s budding romance forward.

I liked Shannon very much. She’s a gutsy character who doesn’t let circumstances take over her life. I only wish I’d had the chance to know her better up front. The downside to a writer jumping headlong into action is that readers haven’t been given the chance to develop empathy for the characters.

If Tristi had started the book with scenes showing Shannon meeting Mark, becoming impressed by his business acumen, and falling in love with his charming side, I would have felt how devastating his betrayal was rather that reading about how devastating it was.

That aside, I found Agent in Old Lace an enjoyable summer read. Congratulations to Tristi, who is known to readers for her historical fiction, for making a successful transition into the suspense genre.

Have Pencil, Will Travel

Ever since my husband died several years ago, I’ve been traveling to all of the countries we’d planned to visit together after his retirement. (He died suddenly the morning after he brought home his retirement papers.) Whenever I tell people I’m going to Ukraine or China or Poland, some of them say, “Oh, you’ll find a lot to write about there.” I smile and nod, but the truth is what I’ll write about will be things I learn and observe from the people I travel with.

One of the great Southern writers -- it may have been Faulkner -- said once that he could spend his entire life writing about a square foot of land in the town where he grew up. I’ve written extensively about my home town, the small farming community of Mink Creek, Idaho. Most of it is fiction, but I get my inspiration from the history and customs of that little village, and especially the people, whom I love dearly, both past and present. And so, when I travel, I watch and listen to my companions. I hear their life stories, the way they speak, their attitudes, their comments about the country we’re in and the towns they came from. I observe their mannerisms and how they relate to other people. I make notes in the little pad I always have with me. They, or something about them, may appear in my next book. Very likely they wouldn’t recognize themselves, because the characters I create are usually a synthesis of several people. Sweetie Farnsworth in my Blue Skye was an amalgamation of a warm-hearted woman I knew back in Mink Creek and a Scottish lady I met on one of my trips. Reanna, in Lake of Secrets,was in reality a flighty young woman I knew in high school with a dash of a girl who was part of my tour group in the Czech Republic.

That’s not to say I don’t use the countries themselves in my books, or rather events that happened in those countries. In the trilogy of books I wrote with co-authors Nancy Anderson and Carroll Morris, we had our three characters vacationing together in Williamsburg, Virginia, at the time the World Trade Center was destroyed. Nancy, Carroll, and I had actually vacationed in Williamsburg, but three years before 9/11. On the actual day, September 11, 2001, I was with a small tour group in St. Petersburg, Russia. We were to fly out the next morning, and we were attending a farewell dinner at one of the Romanoff palaces when we passed a vendor’s table and saw the first plane fly into a tower. The commentary was in Russian, so we didn’t know what was happening. It seemed to be an accident, so we went in to dinner. It wasn’t until afterward that we found out it was no accident. We asked the vendor what happened, and in broken English he told us New York was under attack.

Back at our hotel we flipped through the TV channels, trying to locate one we could understand. Finally we found a broadcast from Germany, with English subtitles. We sat there stunned, watching the horror play and replay. We heard that the United States borders had been closed. What was to happen to us? We were shut out of our own country. We would not get home the next day.

The hotel staff wept with us and put up a sign expressing their sorrow and sympathy. Luiba, our wonderful Russian guide, said she would make sure we’d have a hotel to stay in when we got to Warsaw, which was as far as we could go. She hugged us all the next day when she took us to the airport.

The small hotel near the airport in Warsaw had just opened, and the rooms were beautiful. The staff surrounded us with love and concern. The week that followed would have been a pleasure if there hadn’t been such horror going on back in the U.S. The hotel manager gave us a van and driver to take us around the city free of charge. We saw the triumphant rebuilding of the Warsaw city center, which the Nazis had totally razed in World War II. We saw the U.S. Embassy, surrounded by hundreds of people, many of them weeping, and mountains of flowers they’d brought. And we saw the lovely Latter-day Saint chapel, where several of us went to church on Sunday and found peace of mind and the assurance that we would get home safely. We were charmed and touched that one of the Sunday School classes was in English so that we could understand without the missionaries translating.

In the second book of our trilogy, Three Tickets to Peoria, Nancy, Carroll, and I had our characters going through the same emotions that I’d felt when they are stranded in Williamsburg. They can’t get home. But their solution was easier than mine; they simply changed the destination of their rental car and drove to Florida where one of the characters was living.

One need not travel to find inspiration for characters or ideas for events. To paraphrase Faulkner, or whoever it was, I could find enough to write about the rest of my life right here on my own block. In fact, one of my neighbors made an appearance in my book Shanny on Her Own as independent and crusty old Aunt Adabelle. You can tell her if you want to, but she’d deny it. She doesn’t see herself as I see her, and besides I stirred in a hefty measure of my own Aunt Mahalia.

Writing and Weddings

A look through our garden gate the night of the Tropical Twilight Reception.

Planning an garden wedding reception and a plotting a novel have a surprising amount in common. Theme, pacing, overall arc, and effect. The theme, both in novel writing and in planning this reception, set the boundaries and demanded certain elements be included or excluded in the overall architecture.

The theme for the wedding reception we hosted in our back yard on June 21, was Tropical Twilight. When we heard, we knew instantly that it would include tiki torches marking the paths, glittering lights on trees, fence lines, and the rocks walls of the garden, and splashy plantings of brightly colored flowers in coral, hot pink, reds, yellows, and purples. Even the menu was defined by the theme, sauteed chicken with peanut sauce, fruited rice, strawberry and spinach salad, and those wonderful Polynesian rolls baked in a sauce of sugar and coconut milk.

We structured the set-up to keep the guests flowing from the reception line to the buffet to the dining set-ups in the three teak wood gazeboes in the middle of the yard and then on to clusters of intimate seating to encourage long conversations and relaxation.

Pacing the activities to keep the energy flowing took as much care as planning peaks in a plot. Start the live music before the guests arrived to entice them in from yard (joined by a side gate) to yard. Cut the cake when there is a lull in the receiving line. (There never was.) Have the bride and groom take their dance early so that everyone will feel free to hit the dance floor (in this case the basket ball court).

And finally, make the ending short and sweet and don't drag out the clean up.

The creative process takes place everyday in our lives. Whether it's in more recognizable ways like plotting a novel, planning a painting, and designing a garden, or in more subtle circumstances; solving a problem, adding missing elements to a relationship, or parenting a child, we thank the good God who made us for imagination, the ability to forcast possible outcomes and the reason to make choices.

The Writer's Desk—to Clean or Not to Clean?

That is the question, especially for this writer's desk. 

In the months prior to the completion of Surprise Packages, my U-shaped desk collected many piles of papers. Some had to do with the book, others with parts of my life not directly related to writing: family, home, church, travel, caregiving group, etc. 

 

Now that the book is at the printers, I have no excuse for not tackling those piles. But it's so hard to begin! For years, I've bought books on organization in the hope that if I discovered the perfect system, I could lick the problem of the cluttered desk once and for all. But I haven't found one yet designed for a procrastinator who is also a right-brained visual organizer.

The thing about visual organizers (I'm not the only one) is that out of sight really is out of mind. If I can't see it, it doesn't exist. And in an odd way, my piles do work for me--I almost always know which pile holds the particular information I'm hunting for, even how far down it is.

But since those piles are getting out of hand, I have to take some action short of putting items in a folder and filing them in a drawer, which would be tantamount to tossing them down a black hole. My plan is to sort the piles by project or domain, tossing papers that are no longer useful. The writing projects I'll put in individual totes. Papers having to do with domains will go in their own wire basket. 

Finally, I'll put a calendar and a HOT list of tasks by my computer where I can't avoid seeing them. And I'll spend a few minutes every morning and evening identifying what most needs to be done.

I hope this plan will work! Now I just have to get off my duff and get started.