The Orphan Scrivener: 2000

Friday, December 15, 2000

THE ORPHAN SCRIVENER -- ISSUE # SIX -- l5 DECEMBER 2000

December's cold, grey, early-sunset days are cheered by more than one festival and of the ancient Roman jamborees, Saturnalia (whose revels begin on December l7th) is probably one of the best known -- as well as the jolliest. Commemorating mankind's long gone Golden Age, when peace and harmony prevailed under the rule of the agricultural god Saturn, Saturnalia was a time when social order was turned topsy turvy. Celebrations included gift-giving, feasting, gambling, singing and general carryings-on (sometimes of a most licentious nature). As part of the traditional reversal of roles during the week-long festival, masters waited on household slaves during meals and there's an echo of this custom even today in the British tradition whereby senior officers in the armed forces serve Christmas dinner to the ranks. Similarly, surgeons and consultants appear on the wards on Christmas Day to ceremonially carve festive turkeys (with much humorous patter about blunt scalpels and bird innards) for those patients unfortunate enough to be spending the holiday in hospital.

Although "Golden Age" means something very different to mystery fans, we believe there can never be too many festivals and since this Orphan Scrivener is bigger than usual, we'll delay you no longer -- so with the traditional shout of Io Saturnalia, let the fun begin!

ERIC'S BIT or SOME SEASONAL MUSINGS

Did you believe in Santa Claus?

I did. I can't remember exactly what it felt like to live in a world where a bearded guy in a red suit delivered presents with the help of flying reindeer. I do know that it was a very different world than the one I'm living in now.

It's hard to understand how I could have believed such nonsense, but then I believed in the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy too, and they're even more incredible than Santa.After all, how could the Tooth Fairy get those quarters under my pillow without waking me up? That had to be magic!

Kids aren't out of touch with reality, they just take a more flexible approach to it. Robert Kavanaugh, a professor at Williams College in Massachusetts, explored "magical thinking" in a test involving an assistant, children aged 4 to 6 and an empty box. The assistant showed the children the box, then talked about a fox who lived in the box. When the assistant left the room some of the children, even though they knew the box was empty, began to hear the fox inside it and expected the imaginary creature to pop out momentarily.

My friends and I sometimes made up our own reality, in similar fashion. I remember particularly the Indian who was buried in the mossy mound at the base of the birch tree we could just make out, glimmering in the twilight, at the edge of the small patch of woods behind our homes. It was safe to poke at the grave during daylight but if anyone dared approach at night the Indian's outraged ghost would come flying out, all misty and amorphous and horrible, intent on doing whatever unnamable things ghosts do to the poor, foolish kids they catch.

Or so Johnny and I told Tommy one evening. Unfortunately, by the time the three of us had crept to within a few yards of the tree which glowed spookily in the gathering dark, Johnny and I were more convinced in the reality of our made-up phantom than Tommy was. The phosphorescent fox fire from some rotted limbs near the mound brought our invention to full, horrifying reality and sent us running for our lives.

Adults shape their own realities too but usually more subtly. However, writers and readers still experience some of childhood's outright reality molding. I'm not talking just about creating a bit of fiction or simply reading the words. When I'm contributing my part of the Byzantine mystery novels Mary and I have been writing, I find, to be successful, I have to work with a divided mind. A part of me has to remain outside the story, monitoring the words critically. Will they make sense to the reader, do they actually convey what I want them to? But another part has to be immersed in the tale, has to believe that John and his friends are real, that the ancient streets they walk and the dangers they face exist. If some corner of my brain doesn't believe in the story I'm making up, in the same way as most of my brain believed in Santa Claus when I was a kid, I can't make the writing come to life. Of course, readers also have to be willing to suspend their disbelief, to act as accomplices in the game for a few hours. I guess that's part of the deal writers and readers strike with each other.

Now, if I could only believe in Santa Claus again.

Having already been asked once or twice, yes, we've begun writing the third novel, which will rejoice in the title of Three For A Letter (from the variant counting rhyme with which Mary grew up).It will be set partly on the country estate of Anatolius' Uncle Zeno. Zeno is an elderly scholar but also (as John has observed) a man of eclectic credulity. Alas, he has the misfortune to be involved in a celebration attended by the empress, during which things go very badly wrong -- and so John must undertake another investigation.

MARY'S MISCELLANY or BYZANTINE BITS AND BOBS

Speaking of eclectic credulity, this section is devoted to what interior decorating mavens always term an eclectic mix, or as others might say, it's a cornucopia of creative conceptions.

Ladies first, then. Since Lady Jennie Churchill costumed as Theodora was mentioned last time, it's only fair this time around to see that Justinian gets his due. Tayfun Oner has created a computer-generated portrait of the emperor, based upon the Ravenna mosaics. This is the younger Justinian, looking enigmatic but there's a harder edge to his gaze as well. See if you agree -- it's at: http://www.byzantium1200.org/justinian.html Justinian's portrait is part of the Byzantium l200 website, which is devoted to reconstructions of the architectural bare bones of Byzantine buildings in Istanbul in l200. While this was several centuries after John's time, there are a number of places and edifices he knew, including the Chalke, the Milion and various forums. There are also several photos of a very impressive scale model of the Great Palace at: http://www.byzantium1200.org/greatpalace.html which gives an idea of the crowded landscape through which John, Anatolius, Felix and the others moved.

Constantinople's ever present stylites (some of whom play unfortunate although important parts in Two For Joy) were not of course able to move very far, reminding me that I was recently pointed towards Tennyson's poem about St Simeon Stylites http://home.att.net/~TennysonPoetry/stsa.htm

More than somewhat gritty, it describes Simeon's doubts as to his worthiness and along the way mentions the mortifications of the flesh he practiced before ascending his pillar. It would be interesting to discover why Tennyson wrote a poem about this saintly stylite, so if anyone has a clue, do let us know..

AND FINALLY

200l is not far away now, with the turn of the year hoving ever more rapidly into view. As it happens, we keep up the New Year's Eve custom of first- footing, and so it has been years since my brother has actually seen the new year in indoors, for being a dark-haired man his is the mandatory foot which must be first over the threshold after the new year has been rung in. So he's always thrust outside a minute or so before midnight tolls out the old year, and then (carrying a lump of coal, a coin, and a piece of cake to represent good fortune for the coming twelve months) he's let back inside as soon as January lst has safely arrived.

But it's a good job the First Footer doesn't have to hang about outside until the first Orphan Scrivener of 200l shows up, since it will trundle into your email in-box on February l5th, somewhat late for New Year celebrations. However, February l5th was the date upon which another festival, Lupercalia, was anciently observed by the Romans. The Luperci (male youths dressed only in the skins of recently sacrificed goats) raced through the streets as part of ceremonial purifications carried out during February (februare, to purify or expiate). As they went about, they struck female passersby with strips of goat-skin in a traditional fertility ritual, apparently in connection with, or inspired by, the goat's lecherous reputation.

While this issue of Orphan Scrivener will mercifully arrive sans goats, unfortunately it cannot cross your cyber thresholds clutching coal, coin or cake. Nonetheless, it does carry with it our hopes for a good new year for you all. May it be healthy and happy -- and we'll see you again in February.

Best wishes
Mary and Eric
whose home page lurks about at: http://home.epix.net/~maywrite/

Therein you'll find the usual suspects plus personal essays, an interactive game and an on-line jigsaw puzzle (at least for those who have java-enabled browsers) featuring One For Sorrow's boldly scarlet cover. For those who are new to the subscription list there's also the Orphan Scrivener archive, so don't say you weren't warned!

Sunday, October 15, 2000

THE ORPHAN SCRIVENER -- ISSUE # FIVE l5 OCTOBER 2000

We're writing this as autumn colours leaves deep gold, rich ruby or lemon yellow and maples flare like scarlet beacons on the hills. But the sunshine is watery and the shadows lie long and blue, not only reminding us that winter will soon be here but also that the last Orphan Scrivener was issued in the brazen days of high summer. How quickly the past two months have galloped past.

Speaking of galloping, on October l5th the ancient Romans honoured Mars with the Equus October festival, during which a two-horse chariot race was held. The right-hand equine of the winning team was sacrificed to the god, a left-handed compliment to be sure, but it's been suggested that as the horse was noble, strong and newly victorious it was considered a fitting offering for Mars. In a curious postscript, teams then contested for the sacrificial horse's head, which the winners publicly displayed in their part of town. And now, changing horses in mid-stream, we'll race ahead with this newsletter.

MARY'S BIT or BEWARE OF THEODORA'S HAIR-PIN

What a wonderful sight it must have been when Zenobia,Queen of Palmyra, made her grand entrance. Resplendent in embroidered gold tissue garments sewn with emeralds, diamonds, rubies, and other jewels, set off by a lavishly embroidered green velvet trailing train decorated with more gems in a lotus flower motif -- not to mention a golden crown encrusted with diamonds, festooned with pearls and accented with ostrich plumes -- in a word, or actually three, Zenobia eclipsed Theodora.

A daring move indeed, you may be saying, especially considering new arrivals at Justinian's court were doubtless discreetly advised that it would be unwise for them to (reversing metaphors) outshine the imperial couple -- and especially Theodora, a woman of peppery temperament to say the least. Indeed, Zenobia might have lived long enough to regret her display of expensive finery, but fortunately the outfit just described was in fact donned by the Duchess of Devonshire to merely play the part of Zenobia, and that only for one night.

For the duchess was hostess of a costumed ball held at Devonshire House in London on 2nd July l897. It's fair to say that her gathering of the creme de la creme of society was one that would have competed on an equal footing with any jamboree organised at the Constantinople court -- while being much less nerve-racking for its gilded guests.

One of several hundred blue-blooded attendees at the ball was Winston's mother, Lady Randolph Churchill, née Jennie Jerome (born in Amity Street, New York, next down from Congress Street where Eric lived while attending college). Lady Jennie decided to go as Theodora and her costume was accordingly based upon the Ravenna mosaic portrait of the empress. Thus her beautifully sewn garments were just as heavily embroidered and lavishly ornamented, and look equally uncomfortable to wear, as may be seen by pointing your clicker HERE . These photos of Lady Jennie as Theodora are among images of numerous of the costumed guests, including the redoubtable Duchess of Devonshire herself, forming part of the Lafayette Negative Collection in London's Victoria and Albert Museum.

In an aside, the website mentioned also provides a detailed description of the plot of Victorien Sardou's elaborate play THEODORA, which debuted in Paris in l884 with Sarah Bernhardt in the title role. Scenes are set in and under the Hippodrome as well as at Justinian's court and mystery aficionados will be interested to hear that the play features a novel murder weapon, Theodora's golden hair-pin. Having used the hair-pin to stab a man to death, she tells Justinian she did it because the man had insulted her -- not the real reason at all, needless to say.

Returning to our muttons (as Sardou's fellow countrymen so colourfully say) I must confess that upon reading The Times' detailed description of some of the costumes I found myself wondering why the Duchess of Sutherland attended the event as Charlotte Corday, assassin of Jean-Paul Marat. Hers was a modest get-up indeed, consisting of a plain red gown and a muslin cap adorned with a tricolour rosette.

On a woo woo note, The Times reported that supper for the glittering throng was served in a huge garden tent hung with Louis XIV tapestries depicting Roman scenes. While particulars of these scenes are unfortunately not given, doubtless they were easy to see by the newfangled electric lights attached to garlands of flowers festooned around the tent walls. The gardens, through which guests strolled until the early hours of the following morning, were also illuminated, ensuring none of the distinguished revellers ran the risk of falling into a decorative garden pond -- unlike the barbaric Sir Thomas in ONE FOR SORROW.

NECESSARY EVIL or THE BSP TICKER

We were recently honoured to be listed in Willetta Heising's Mystery Series Week 2000 pocket calendar -- we're lurking about in the entry for October 5. Over three hundred mystery series linked to more than a hundred historical events are mentioned in its eighty pages, and it's stuffed with interesting facts and trivia. And there's more! Title lists are given for every author appearing therein. You'll find the calendar in libraries and bookstores and you can also download it HERE

Willetta tells us that authors, publishers and readers are welcome to suggest a historical event with a mystery series tie-in for the 200l calendar by sending an e-mail to purplemoon@prodigy.net. Next year's Mystery Series Week dates are October 7th to l3th.

The paperback edition of ONE FOR SORROW is available now from Poisoned Pen Press or your favorite bookstore. Its striking scarlet jacket provides a nice contrast to the lush green and gold cover of TWO FOR JOY, which will be out in a week or three.

In Twofer, John and his friends find themselves embroiled in a strange web of events that begin when a stylite spontaneously combusts atop his pillar. John's investigations into the matter are hampered by his old philosophy tutor and a heretical Christian holy man whose ultimatums threaten to topple Justinian and destroy the empire. The cast includes a runaway wife, not to mention servants, soldiers, and mendicants as well as the venomous court page Hektor and a wealthy landowner or two -- plus John's bete noire, Empress Theodora. Old favourites Isis, Felix, Peter, and that headstrong young man Anatolius also play important roles. You can read an excerpt on Amazon.com .

ERIC'S BIT or FLYING UNDER THE RADAR

Most readers and writers would probably agree that the history in a historical mystery should be accurate. If your mystery plot depends, say, upon Oliver Cromwell, Jack the Ripper and Gertrude Stein being contemporaries (heaven forbid!) then you're writing alternative history. Unfortunately the question of accuracy is rarely so simple. The historical record, not to mention common sense, would indicate that Queen Victoria didn't hunt Jack down in her spare time, let alone by posing as a member of a traveling circus, but then again maybe the historians missed that. The trick to writing imaginative historical mysteries is keeping just under the radar of the historians.

There is definitely some flying room there. A little research, especially reading the footnotes, quickly reveals that historians sometimes don't know quite as much as it appears. What looks like a detailed drawing often turns out, on examination, to be a few scattered dots of facts connected into a coherent pattern by the historian based on his general expertise and personal theories. Another historian might connect those same dots into an altogether different picture. In TWO FOR JOY we mention the pagan philosophers who fled to foreign shores when Justinian shut down Plato's Academy. The story is often alluded to, but is actually mentioned only briefly in a handful of sources.

But sources also can be untrustworthy. Consider Procopius who, while in Justinian's service, wrote panegyrics to the emperor but in his posthumously discovered SECRET HISTORY excoriated him as a rapacious demon without a face. As a writer, when faced with such inconsistency, I prefer to choose whatever suits my purpose! That might sound like cheating but, I suspect, historians do much the same thing in a somewhat more sophisticated way.

It must also be remembered that surviving records can be spotty. (Not surprising after l500 years -- I have a hard enough time keeping track of the mailing list for this newsletter for two months). Much of what we know well, we know by chance and what survives is not always what we would expect. During the life of Justinian, Cassiodorus wrote a massive GOTHIC HISTORY. Strangely, those twelve volumes have vanished but a short abridgment, THE GETICA, by Jordanes, probably made during Cassiodorus' lifetime, survives.

I'm not arguing that historical mystery writers have a license to be inaccurate but rather that they should take advantage of the many available opportunities to be creative. To put the matter into legal terms, the fiction writer's burden of proof is the opposite of the historian's. Historians must prove what they say is true while historical writers are allowed to say just about anything that can't be proved false.

AND FINALLY

We'll now run amuck and mix civilizations and eras to close by paraphrasing James V of Scotland's gloomy prophecy concerning the future of the Scottish crown -- we arrived wi' horses and we'll depart wi' horses. That's because the next Orphan Scrivener will trot in on December l5th, the later of two Consualia festivals (the other was observed on August 2lst). Honouring Consus, Roman god of underground grain bins and later of secret counsel, it featured mule races -- although working horses got the day off. So enjoy your days off and we'll thunder into your email box in eight weeks.

Best wishes,
Mary and Eric

Tuesday, August 15, 2000

THE ORPHAN SCRIVENER -- ISSUE # FOUR l5 AUGUST 2000

The nights are beginning to gradually draw in and here we are again, darkening your mailboxes. It's been a busy couple of months and now that Two For Joy has sailed away to the printing press, if not out into the world quite yet, we're turning our thoughts towards Three For A Letter. However, those musings have (obviously) not stopped us scrivening away at our fourth newsletter. And here it is.

WORLD EXCLUSIVE or BACK TO THE BEGINNING

A reader recently observed that the John the Eunuch of the five short stories that preceded One For Sorrow seemed older to him than the character in the novel and wondered why. Thinking about it, it occurred that this might be because we weren't giving as much thought to John as a rounded character. His role was more to work out the mystery puzzle, although we began to give him a personality as the stories progressed. That he appeared in a position of power and authority -- Lord Chamberlain -- would suggest an older man, as might the fact that he was largely confined to intellectual, as opposed to physical, confrontations. Then too, his personal relationships in the stories didn't give any particular clues to his age, save that his friend Anatolius. Justinian's secretary, was younger.

To clarify then. We envision John in One For Sorrow as being about 40 and thus around 37 at the time of the first story, "A Byzantine Mystery". We have a rough timeline of his life strictly for our own use, here revealed, with the caveat that any and all dates are subject to change, at least until alluded to in a story or novel - and maybe even then!

495 John is born in Greece
5ll Attends Plato's Academy
5l2 Leaves the Academy and becomes a mercenary
5l8 Meets Cornelia
520 Purchased for the palace as a slave some time after capture by Persians
532 "A Byzantine Mystery". By the time of the Nika Riots John has been freed and has become Lord Chamberlain
535 One For Sorrow
537 Two For Joy

Eventually we hope to relate stories about John's earlier life, particularly the period between 5l8 and 532, a span that encompassed what were probably both the happiest and unhappiest periods of his life.

ERIC'S BIT or A QUEST ENDS

A few weeks ago I was walking at dusk listening to the sounds of the countryside, the hum of the mile-distant highway, the chirp of crickets, the mournful groaning of cows in an unseen pasture and perhaps the most typical background music of warm evenings in the eastern part of the United States, the trilling of peepers.

It's a sound I've heard since I was a child, coming sometimes from an obvious direction such as a marsh, at other times seemingly from everywhere as if the chorus were emanating from the surrounding air. The tree frogs that produce this magical and mysterious sound are, however, things I've always taken on faith, like Tibet. On a few occasions during the day, I've glimpsed tiny amphibians making their way silently across the forest floor and wondered if these could be those unglimpsed peepers. But at night, whenever I've sought to approach the source of their singing, whatever is making the sound has fallen silent, leaving me to search dark branches in vain.

On this evening the sun had already vanished behind the low rounded mountains. Houses on the hillside opposite my path glowed dimly. The dirt road I was walking still held some light from the sky but deep darkness had puddled along the edges of the fields and under the trees beside the road. As I passed a tree that was little more than a silhouette against the sky I thought I could make out that distinctive trilling, distinguishable from the night blended sounds coming from all around.

I left the road and went a few steps into the knee-high grass in front of the tree. Predictably, the frog ceased abruptly. I took a few more steps toward the tree anyway and stopped to scan the inky confusion of branches, barely discernible against the sky. Maybe I've become more patient than I used to be, because rather than resuming my walk I decided to wait for awhile. To my surprise, after a few minutes the frog resumed its serenade.

Where, I wondered, might a frog perch? I ran my gaze down the tree trunk, checking where each shadowy branch joined it, and finally, not much more than a yard from my face, I saw a movement -- a tiny frog's white neck pulsing in time with its singing. The peeper was no larger than the end of my thumb and I could make out little more than the pale neck but the sight amazed me more than anything I'd seen in a zoo, let alone on any television nature show. For years I had listened to this sound and now, finally and unexpectedly, I was looking at its source.

A lot of things had gone on in the world that day. I'd checked the news on the Internet. Politicians had emitted a lot of words that might have been important if any of them could have been believed. There had been heinous crimes, tragic disasters and horrific accidents that had been of paramount importance to those involved but which, sadly, had not taught me anything I did not already know about human nature and the fragility of life. Glimpsing the tree frog had, for me, been that day's most important event. Usually, it is the non-newsworthy events that are most important to us.

This is why I will always defend fiction against those who claim that it is inferior to nonfiction, because it does not deal with "reality." Fiction, I think, is best when it illuminates those things that are important to us personally in a way that nonfiction, or fact-based fiction, cannot. We don't live in the news headlines or in the lives of people in the news. The fiction writer, in describing the small things that he or she finds important, can shed more light on what readers find similarly important than any network news reader could.

Which is maybe just my excuse for writing about seeing a tree frog.

But maybe not.

NECESSARY EVIL or THE BSP TICKER

We'll be chatting with the Mystery Mavens (and hopefully a few others!) next week, commencing at 9 pm EST on August 23rd. If you'd like to visit, point your clicker at Deadly Ink .

Weather folklore has it that a wet October foretells a windy December, whereas if the month is warm you can expect February to be cold. However, our prognostication is that whatever its weather, the arrival of October heralds not only the publication of Two For Joy but also the paperback edition of One For Sorrow, both of which will hopefully happily while away an hour or two on a rainy day.

MARY'S BIT or SHEDDING NEW LIGHT ON GARDEN GNOMES

As Web surfers know, unsuspected gems sometimes show up in searches for completely different topics. Recently, an URL of that ilk appeared, leading to a virtual mithraeum . It's part of the University of Newcastle's Museum of Antiquities website and shows their recreation of a third century mithraeum excavated at Carrawburgh on the Roman Wall (aka Hadrian's Wall). Alas that we did not know of this site as we wrote Onefer!

But what particularly caught my eye in the Carrawburgh mithraeum were the statues of the torchbearing duo, Cautes and Cautopates. At first glance they look like garden gnomes and this similarity set me to debating whether those short and immensely popular landscaping ornaments might not point to an (appropriately enough) underground survival of Mithraic iconography.

A wild surmise, you may well say, or at best a topic for a doctoral thesis. Perhaps so. But consider their headgear, for a start. Your ordinary or common garden gnome wears a floppy hat that strongly resembles a collapsed or squashed Phrygian hat, the very style worn by Mithra. And what about Snow White's seven gnomic dwarfs? According to the traditional story, they worked underground (a mithraeum is nearly always underground or if not, in a cave or a room made to resemble one). Then the enquiring mind might wonder why not ten or five dwarfs, for seven be the number of Mithraic ranks -- not to mention the seven runged ladder of religious significance to adepts.

Obviously this is a theory that needs much work, but in any event if you're interested in the Roman occupation of north eastern England (with lots of photos) the Museum's main site is also well worth a visit; there's a link to it from the mithraeum page.

On a completely different although equally murkier topic, the excavation was recently announced of what may well have been one of the first British compounds for housing prisoners of war. Built inside the Wall's Vindolanda fort, the rows of beehive shaped huts are thought to have sheltered a total of up to two thousand prisoners -- an interesting speculation, given that the garrison was only around a thousand strong. Another theory, that the six feet diameter circular dwellings housed locals in need of temporary quarters during times of strife, has also been suggested. See the Electronic Telegraph (with a drawing of the huts plus links to articles of similar interest) for a report. Apparently the suggestion that the garrison may have lived in these small huts has been dismissed on the ground that they were far too cramped and therefore would not have been tolerated by the soldiers stationed there, who in fact lived in more spacious oblong barracks equipped with cooking facilities.

Speaking of which, I find myself pondering a strange thought: whence came the provisions to feed all these prisoners?

AND FINALLY

Speaking of strange thoughts, the next Orphan Scrivener will arrive on October l5th, a day or so after Fontinalia (October l3th). Fontinalia's nothing to do with printing, but rather honoured Fontus, the god of wells and springs. Part of the celebration involved decorating water sources such as these with garlands of flowers, a custom still carried on today in the form of well-dressing.

So we'll see you again in two month, and meantime best wishes to all from the not always well dressed

Mary and Eric

Email: maywrite@epix.net

Check out our homepage.. Therein you'll find the usual suspects plus an interactive game as well as an online jigsaw puzzle (at least for those who have java enabled browsers) featuring One For Sorrow's boldly scarlet cover. For those new to the subscription list there's also the Orphan Scrivener archive.

Thursday, June 15, 2000

THE ORPHAN SCRIVENER - ISSUE # THREE - 15 JUNE 2000

This Orphan Scrivener darkens your email box a day early in case anyone wishes to investigate the mystery conference mentioned in the BSP section below. However, it's no mystery that tomorrow is the last day of the old Roman festival of Vestalia, honouring Vesta, goddess of the hearth. It was on June l5th that her priestesses, the Vestal Virgins, cleansed her shrine and threw its dust into the Tiber. Perhaps because of the connection between hearths and baking bread, the day was also a holiday for millers and bakers, who reportedly decorated their millstones (and the animals that worked to turn them) with garlands strung with little loaves and violets.

We rather like the notion, and since this issue is rather long - although it is more letter than news - perhaps it might be a plan to grab a sandwich before settling down to read on. although wearing violets is optional.

ERIC'S BIT or WHEN COTTON WAS KING

I love writing but I don't like trying to sell my writing. Not to to editors and agents when it's a manuscript and not to readers after it's been published. The whole process strikes me as slightly embarrassing. I always feel like I'm being pushy. Besides, I am a retiring sort. When I find myself on display at a table piled with books in the front of a bookstore I feel as lost and panicky as I imagine I would have at a high school dance had I ever dared attend one.

The obvious lesson is that writers are sometimes the kids who spent most of their time in their rooms reading books. Some of us become writers because we are loners. Because we are not salesperson material. And the requirements of today's marketplace, that writers publicize their works, can be onerous, given the kind of people some of us are.

Obvious, except when I was in grade school I wasn't at all shy about trying to make a buck - well, a quarter - off my literary efforts.

My biggest seller, on the playground at recess, was King Cotton. He was a series character, like John the Eunuch. During a fifth grade history lesson my teacher, Mrs. Hughes, had uttered the phrase "Cotton was king in the South" and for many years afterwards all I knew about the American Civil War was that it was something to do with cotton and the North won, because the moment I heard those magic words I was scribbling on my tablet a stick-limbed cotton boll wearing a crown and carrying a sword, naturally.

I used to spend a lot of time in grade school drawing cartoons in my tablet rather than learning long division, which was the sort of thing they taught in grade school back then, rather than trigonometry and calculus, believe it or not. These efforts would be passed around to my friends, to be greeted by muffled snickers or outright guffaws, usually depending on the degree of mayhem the characters were inflicting on each other. When Mrs. Hughes noticed the boisterous reaction to King Cotton and reprimanded us, I knew I had come up with a something of merit. Something that could be sold!

I began turning out King Cotton Comics, penciled on a couple sheets of folded and stapled tablet paper. The stories involved the doughty King and his arch foes, the nefarious six-armed Boll Weevils and the King's evil, bomb slinging brother William who grinned evilly and wore a floppy, evil-looking hat. I was able to draw the simple characters very quickly, and the frequent panels featuring merely a jagged explosion and a big KABOOM went even more quickly.

My friends and I proceeded to sell these masterpieces at recess. I had identified my potential market as those classmates who I figured I could follow about and pester without risking a pummeling. My method was pretty straightforward. "Wanna a comic? Only a dime. C'mon, only a dime. OK five cents. Aw c'mon, only five cents. Eight pages too. I'll even show you the cover before you buy it! C'mon. I'll let go of your swing if you buy one. It's really funny! I'll push your swing if you buy one."

Hard to believe from someone who trembles at the thought of offering a free bookmark at a book signing.

Our methods must have been effective because we were soon moving enough comics to keep us in licorice whips, jawbreakers and Bazooka Joe bubblegum. (Come to think of it, King Cotton was actually better drawn and funnier than Bazooka Joe comics) Success encouraged diversification. Before long Morgan the Talking Dog hit the playground market, followed brilliantly by Elmo the Talking Fish.

Then we came out with a premium line, in glorious Crayola color. Those sold for a quarter. Our final product turned out to be The King Cotton Giant Annual. Drawn on full-sized unfolded paper, it featured a space adventure. Unfortunately the spaceships and spacesuits wore down my scarce silver, gold and copper colored crayons so alarmingly that we decided not to part with the comic but to simply rent it. Which required us to erase the crossword puzzle for each new customer.

Spurred on by visions of pocketfuls of penny candy, several other grade school entrepreneurs rushed to begin their own independent publishing companies. But who would have preferred Colonel Corn over King Cotton? We weren't destined to find out because Mrs. Hughes decided all this rampant free enterprise was not suitable for a playground environment and banned our efforts all the way from the sliding board to the witch's hat. Kind of the Evil Chainstore of her times, was Mrs Hughes.

Since then I have not been so enthusiastic about pushing my writing, but Mary and I make our low-key efforts because the whole point of writing is that someone is going to read it. In a few days I will be at the Deadly Ink Mystery Conference and, to Patti Biringer, who invited me to be on a panel there, honest, I will try not to be shaking like a leaf the whole time! Hmmm, I wonder how many comics I could draw in the three days remaining before the conference?

NOTE: If you want to see what King Cotton looks like check out the King Cotton page. I don't have any of the drawings I did in fifth grade since the whole run sold out. However, I have done my best to recreate him with Windows Paintbox. Personally, I miss those big green pencils which were easier to manipulate than a mouse. Besides which, you can't chew on the end of the mouse until it it turns into a soft, tasty brush.

NECESSARY EVIL or THE BSP TICKER

"Two For Joy" has flapped off to Poisoned Pen Press and will be venturing out into the world in just a few months. Meantime, you may care to point your clicker at: http://www.poisonedpenpress.com/html/twoforjoy.html. TFJ's cover can be seen in glorious green and gold. Who are the two gents on the cover? All Will Be Revealed in October.

Mention of glorious, the Deadly Ink Mystery Conference is roaring up on us. While it's but vicious rumour that Eric will demonstrate lion fighting techniques, as noted above he'll be there to leap into the historical research panel arena, along with April Kihlstrom and Roberta Rogow (who'll also be wearing the moderator's hat). Other announced conference attendees are Jonathan Harrington, Irene Marcuse, Keith Snyder and Parnell Hall. Parnell's giving a luncheon talk entitled "If He Can Do It, Anybody Can", and we gather he's also promised to sing! DIMC will be from 8.30 am to 4.30 pm on June l7th at the Four Points Sheraton Hotel, Mt Arlington, New Jersey. It's not too late to get details - jot organiser Patti Biringer a line at pab@nac.net or give her a jingle at (973) 627 2786.

And speaking of speaking, another interview will appear, hanging out in the aether like the Northern Lights, on June 23rd. If you're interested, pop over to Cybergrrl and take a peek: http://www.cybergrrl.com/explorer.htm.

Finally, fellow Geordie Meg Chittenden wrote yesterday to reveal in her inimitable way that Mary's sandwiched between Ian Rankin and Eric in her Rogue's Gallery: http://www.techline.com/~megc/rogues.htm. Mary was speechless. Thanks, Meg! (Perhaps that thank you could have been better worded...)

MARY'S BIT or FORTUNA SMILES UPON A READER

A very strange story unfolded in April, narration of which will explain the odd header. A gentleman who read One For Sorrow wrote to Poisoned Pen Press and they forwarded his letter to us so we could pass along its request to be put in touch with one of the people listed on OFS' acknowledgement page. This we did. And thus by an almost unbelievable chain of events, two old friends regained contact after losing touch with each other many years before.

And speaking of chains, several folk have asked us if we've seen Gladiator. Alas, thus far we haven't, but in a woo woo coincidence, its director Ridley Scott hails from South Shields, downstream and on the other side of the river from my native Newcastle-on-Tyne.

Perhaps we were fated to become involved with the empire. South Shields boasts the ruins of a Roman fort (Arbeia) dating from the second century and thus more or less contemporary with the villainous Commodus. Meanwhile, most of the Roman Wall (aka Hadrian's Wall) marking that fateful point beyond which there be savages still stands guard across the moorlands beyond Newcastle. Indeed, there's a small and nicely fenced-off chunk of Wall in a western Newcastle cul-de-sac not far from the grammar school I attended. Our school motto was "Nec sorte, nec fato", which we ink-stained second-formers translated as "By neither chance nor fate". (My thanks to freelance Latinist Sally Winchester, who kindly reconstructed my imperfectly recalled Latin). Newcastle was and is a gritty city, but I'm happy to report that the area where I lived lies on the Roman or "civilized" side of the Wall - but only just

As for the "new castle" itself, compared to the Wall it's almost modern. A wooden edifice built in l080, it carried on an honourable tradition of oppressing the locals, for it was erected by Robert Curthose (son of William the Conqueror) on the site of Pons Aelius, yet another Roman fort. The castle was rebuilt in stone in the late ll00s and its keep still stands. I was struck by its really low lintels (literally, for on one occasion I forgot to bend my head as I passed from one room to another), a vivid reminder of how much shorter the average person was in those days. While it would be nice to think that some of Sir Thomas' descendants laboured upon its construction, somehow it seems more likely that they were up to no good, snaffling building supplies when the overseer wasn't looking, or short-changing the gaffer when he purchased ale for the refreshment of workers.

AND FINALLY

Just to refresh your memory, the fourth issue of Orphan Scrivener will come a-tapping at your cyber door on August l5th, a most appropriate date given that it's but two days before the festival of Portunalia. Celebrating Portunes, the old Roman god of harbours, gates and doors, it was customary to throw one's keys into a fire during the festival in order to obtain good fortune..While we can't claim that you'll win the lottery by reading the next issue, we can at least promise no burnt fingers will result from doing so. We'll look forward to seeing you then.

Best wishes Mary and Eric

Saturday, April 15, 2000

THE ORPHAN SCRIVENER -- ISSUE # TWO -- l5 APRIL 2000

Here we are darkening your email box again, although this time around the Orphan Scrivener newsletter will perhaps be more letter than news. Never mind, on with the motley and over to

MARY'S BIT or BIRDS OF A FEATHER FORETELL TOGETHER

Cor, guv, our spies tell us that representatives of the raven family are appearing a lot on TV these days.

Ravens were all over the place in an X-Files episode at the beginning of the month. Their mysterious presence permitted Agent Mulder to reveal his knowledge of miscellaneous corvine strangenesses, including their place in Celtic mythology but alas, in so doing, he breathed nary a word on their connection with the prognostic rhyme. But the oddities continued even after the episode's closing woo woo theme music had dissipated into the aether, for on the same network a week or so later, several characters in That 70s Show were less than thrilled to discover that they had just eaten a meal of crows. The cook had apparently mistaken the birds for pheasants - an error it's safe to say John's servant Peter would never make.

But since it's commonly said that events travel in threes, we can only hope Fox TV isn't planning a sweeps week programme depicting the inevitable shambles that occurs When Good Ravens Turn Bad.

Speaking of shambles and general strangenesses, this Orphan Scrivener will flap in at the peak of tax return season. As Benjamin Franklin famously remarked, death and taxes alike are inevitable, and from there it's only a short leap to their link, ie wills. As it happens, not long ago I was reading selections from Corpus Juris Civilis, the great codification of Roman law assembled at Justinian's command. Published over the six years ending in 535 (the year in which One For Sorrow is set) Corpus Juris Civilis is generally acknowledged as the foundation of civil law today, a rather startling thought to say the least but doubtless one which Justinian would find pleasing.

In any event, one section of the Corpus lists classes barred from witnessing wills. Those named include minors, slaves, women, the mentally afflicted and those who cannot hear or speak. Yet under contemporary civil law, a will was legally valid if the person making it recited it in front of seven witnesses - an excellent scenario for a murder mystery if ever I saw one.

NECESSARY EVIL aka THE BSP TICKER

Lately we've developed a distinct resemblance to kippers, having been grilled more than once since the last Orphan Scrivener. Here are a few URLS at which you may care to point your clickers.

At the beginning of April we did our first interview for a UK website. It's to be found at Bookends.

A few weeks before that, the Sixth Grade Think Quest Team fired up the grill in connection with their Millennium Mystery Madness project .

The Team's website includes a history of the mystery, games and an interesting page describing their anatomy of a mystery. You'll also find several authors' comments and advice on writing mysteries. We were honoured to be included among them. Thanks, Think Quest Gumshoes!

The About.com Mystery Guide's April l0th round table discussion of historical mysteries, moderated by Andi Shechter, was more fun than a trunk full of monkeys. Troy Soos and Miriam Grace Monfredo and we two were guests and there's a transcript.

While you're online, you might also like to cast an eye over Susan McBride's column on "The New Golden Age of Mysteries" at the Charlotte Austin Review for some familiar names.

Mt Arlington, NJ, is the location of the Deadly Ink Mystery Conference which will be held from 8.30 am to 4.30 pm on June l7th at the Four Points Sheraton Hotel. Eric will be chatting on one the panels. Announced attendees include Jonathan Harrington, Irene Marcuse and Keith Snyder. Conference organiser Patti Biringer recently revealed that not only will Parnell Hall be giving a luncheon talk entitled "If He Can Do It, Anybody Can", he's also promised to sing!

In other news, we've almost finished writing Two For Joy. Poisoned Pen Press will publish it in October this year (along with the paperback edition of One For Sorrow). Set in 537, Two For Joy opens with more than one mysterious death. John's investigations are hampered by a pagan philosophy tutor from his youth and a heretical Christian prophet whose ultimatums threaten to topple the empire. Then murder strikes close to home and John has only days to find a solution before he, his friends and the city itself are destroyed. Characters include a runaway wife, servants and soldiers, madams and mendicants, a venomous court page and a wealthy landowner or two--not to mention John's bete noire, Empress Theodora.

STOP PRESS

Due to technical problems, our March chat with AOL's Mystery Mavens had to be rescheduled to May. We'll jot a note as soon as we have the date, in case you'd like to stop by and assist in burnishing up our kipperdom.

ERIC'S BIT or SOMETIMES WE DON'T KNOW HOW IT'LL END EITHER

Something that seems to interest people - for we're often asked about it - is how two writers can work together on the same project. Well, when Mary and I write together we start with some characters (say a Greek eunuch and some other secret followers of Mithra who serve the Christian Emperor Justinian) and an idea that strikes us as interesting (what if a traveler from King Arthur's court arrived in Constantinople in search of the Holy Grail?) Then we begin to extrapolate. What should happen first? O.K., so if they see some bull-leapers at the Hippodrome, then what?

But before even approaching the point of coming to blows, we'll have constructed a rough plot outline divided into scenes - no details to speak of, mainly just who does what and when and where. Enough to get started, but not so much as to take the fun out of "discovering" the story as we write it. We might know that John is going to speak to a beggar woman and discover an important clue, but we don't necessarily know exactly what turns their conversation will take. That's the fun of the writing.

So far as individual methods go, Mary thinks and thinks and then whips through a scene before going back to rewrite. I tend to scribble notes and do my rewriting slowly as I go along (which is possible only because of word processors!) At any rate, once we finish the scenes we've chosen to write, we turn them over to our co-writer for "editing", which can be light or heavy.

The further we progress in the outline the more the projected story tends to change. We add, and subtract, scenes and characters, and we might even find out we've initially tabbed the wrong person for the murder!

Our discussions are almost always about ideas, settings, characters, plot twists, clues. Those are what most readers, including myself, read for - not for individual words. I don't much care if a writer hangs an occasional participle so long as I give a hang about the characters. Which is not to say we don't pay any attention to using good grammar and effective words, but that is just the polish. Flaubert was perfectly entitled to his eternal quest for "le mot juste" but if you ask me he's caused aspiring writers a lot of grief!

AND FINALLY

It's a sad coincidence that April l5th l453 was the day the Ottoman Turks captured Constantinople, thus ending the Byzantine Empire - a melancholy thought that also brings this Orphan Scrivener (almost) to its close. The next issue will arrive around the Ides of June, which fall the day before Greeks celebrated the Birthday of the Muses. Musing about jotting us a line? We'll be glad to hear from you!

Otherwise, we'll see you in a couple of months.

Best wishes to all

Mary and Eric
maywrite@epix.net

Our home page and includes personal essays, links to interesting mystery- themed sites, peeks behind the scenes of our fiction, a downloadable interactive game written by Eric and the Orphan Scrivener archive.

Tuesday, February 15, 2000

THE ORPHAN SCRIVENER # 1 FEBRUARY 15 2000

Hello!

We understand it is traditional for authors to publish a newsletter to keep anyone who is interested informed about upcoming events, appearances, chats, interviews -- even books. Luckily, both of us have a lot of experience publishing small magazines for friends so we've decided to treat our newsletter rather like a "personalzine," as we used to call them, but with an emphasis on our writing activities. Which is not to say we won't be taking side trips into anything else we might find interesting when we sit down to write each issue.

At the moment we're in the midst of writing the second of our "John the Eunuch" mystery novels, TWO FOR JOY, due out in October from Poisoned Pen Press. Those major publishing houses we approached didn't seem inclined to take a chance on a Byzantine eunuch detective but I'll bet they'd be pleased for any of their authors to have the reviews we've received thus far! So we are dedicating this newsletter to the folks at Poisoned Pen, who rescued John from slush pile Hades.

And now we'll get right down to it.

ERIC'S BIT or PORTRAIT OF INSPECTOR DORJ

During the last week of January a nor'easter took a turn inland and we woke to wind-blown snow shrouding the mountains. I calculated I would have time to retrieve the mail from our post office box and return before the storm intensified, as predicted, around midmorning. I was right but just barely. As I drove home, the car began fish-tailing on a long hill and for a few scary minutes I feared the old Chevette was going to spin out into the path of one of the semis creeping downhill in the opposing lane, ending whatever small chance the aging vehicle still had of reaching classic status, not to mention my dreams of finding out the amount of December's 'phone bill.

Fortunately the mail held something more interesting than the 'phone bill, something which made the trek worthwhile - the March issue of ELLERY QUEEN'S MYSTERY MAGAZINE, containing the third story about our Mongolian Inspector Dorj. "Death on the Trans-Mongolian Railway" is a locked-room mystery set during a wintry train ride, fitting perfectly with the weather that particular day.

A long time ago, I loved to admire my own words on those rare occasions when they made it to publication. Something about the printing process transmutes the base phrases of the typewritten manuscript into gold. But any more, when I see one of our stories in print I avoid rereading it, gripped as I am by an irrational fear that the first sentence will contain a dangling participle, a distinct possibility since I am still not quite clear about what exactly those things are, aside from being the writing equivalent of a large chunk of broccoli stuck between one's front teeth at a social engagement. Even more horrible is the realization that ANY egregious error in the piece is now utterly beyond redemption.

Since EQMM began the practice of illustrating stories, however, I again have something to look forward to on publication, the artist's conception of the character. When our second Dorj story, "The Ladyfish Mystery", came out Mary and I were amazed to find lurking in the background of the illustration none other than Inspector Dorj! Not some badly cast Dorj, you understand (John Wayne as Chinggas Khan?) or even some well-cast Dorj, but Dorj himself, just as we would have described him, had we described him in greater detail.

In Allen Davis' illustration accompanying the latest story Dorj is right up front and just as Dorj-like, leading me to wonder how the artist managed to read our minds from the meager hints given in the text. It's remarkable to see a demonstration of how accurately, apparently, a few words can convey a picture.

Mind you, I am not adamant that readers envision our characters precisely the way I see them. We don't usually give long, detailed physical descriptions. I tend not to assimilate minute details myself, especially regarding fashions about which I don't give that portion of a rat's anatomy that doesn't wear shorts. If anything, too many details can interfere with my preferred vision of the character. While reading Tolkien's wonderful LORD OF THE RINGS trilogy, I had to continually force out of my mind the vision of all that silly hair between the Hobbits' toes. What I like are few nudges. John D. MacDonald's Travis McGee is a former linebacker. That's all I really need to know.

It seems I once read that Erle Stanley Gardener never bothered to describe Perry Mason. Of course he didn't have to because everyone knows Perry Mason looks like Raymond Burr. I suppose a picture, especially a moving picture, will usually trump a verbal description. This might be an argument for detailed descriptions. Not that there needs to be any reason for the mind to leap on visual "clues."

I admit to suffering from dust jacket photo of the author as photo of the character syndrome. Right now I'm reading THE CACTUS CLUB KILLINGS and I just can't help it, Joe Portugal looks like author Nathan Walpow and I wish he would puhleeease, not go wandering around his backyard naked, it's kind of embarrassing.

Of course some authors like being their characters. Mickey Spillane appeared in the movies as Mike Hammer and Kinky Freidman is Kinky Freedman. Although in the latter case, can you really believe anyone actually is Kinky Freidman?

Mary and I don't care for having our photos taken, let alone put on dust jackets, but at least we can't be mistaken for John the Eunuch. Well, I hope not. Mary is the wrong sex and I'm not sure John would sport a full beard like me although he grew some facial hair for his first novel.

In the stories written prior to ONE FOR SORROW, we both thought of John as clean-shaven though I can't recall whether we said so or not. However, the sharp-eyed will have noticed that in the Ravenna mosaic that appears on the cover of ONE FOR SORROW, the man pictured standing at the side of Emperor Justinian, exactly where you'd expect the Lord Chamberlain to be, has a small amount of facial hair.

Now you can't very well ignore contemporary evidence of your character's appearance, can you? So we did get a medical opinion on the matter, and it seems that it is indeed possible that a eunuch such as John, who hadn't suffered from that condition until he was a young man, would be capable of growing facial hair. And that is how the eunuch got it.

There is still the question of who might play John in the movies without doing violence to our amended conception of him. Mary's suggested casting Lance Henriksen, formerly of Millennium, even though he's older than John. As for my preference, heck, if the option was enough to let me spend the rest of my life doing nothing but writing fiction, the studio could even consider Don Knotts or Jean-Claude Van Damme. Now there's an idea. Hollywood's next big action hero - a Byzantine eunuch!

NECESSARY EVIL aka THE BSP TICKER

"A Lock of Hair for Proserpine", the fifth short story concerning John and appropriately enough a locked room mystery set in a replica of the Alexandria lighthouse, appeared late last year in Maxim Jakubowski's second Ellis Peters Memorial anthology, CHRONICLES OF CRIME. Maxim's collection was published in the UK by Headline but no news yet of an American edition.

Our publisher Poisoned Pen Press (http://www.poisonedpenpress.com) has announced that the paperback edition of ONE FOR SORROW will appear this October, coinciding with publication of John's next novel length adventure,

TWO FOR JOY. An extract from "Death on the Trans-Mongolian Railway" has just been put up on EQMM's website (http://www.mysterypages.com/reedexec.html) complete with a smaller version of its illustration.

Riddle: What has one keyboard, four hands and thirteen fingers?

Answer: The two of us during our first ever chat at The Mystery Place at Talk City.

We'll be doing another chat with the Mystery Mavens at Oprah's Online Book Cafe on AOL. Our appointment in cyberspace is March 8th. Do drop by if you can. We're a bit more experienced now, but Eric still uses three fingers to type.

MARY'S BIT or PLEASE DO NOT SEND ELEPHANTS

Imagine, if you will (shades of Rocky Horror) the Innocent Scrivener sitting in the basement, steaming mug of coffee in hand, mulling over the next bit of golden prose, when...

... without so much as a by-your-leave or a warning creak, the light fixture falls off the ceiling, swinging in a graceful Pit-amd-Pendulum arc bringing it less than a foot away from Innocent Scrivener's arm in a budget recreation of the famous chandelier scene in "Phantom of the Opera". With liberal amounts of coffee distributed around the domestic scenery, of course.

The light fixture in question is trough-shaped and sports two "light sabre" type bulbs. Fortunately neither exploded. But there it was, swinging gently in the draught from Scrivener’s surprised shrieks, as visions of the entire ceiling coming down began to dance through assorted heads. Swift remedial action was needed. So while one party held the thing up at arm's length out of harm's way, another raced off for the stepladder. Soon the rogue light was precariously propped up on a stack of reference books pile precariously on the stop step of the ladder, thus keeping its not inconsiderable weight off its wiring and terminating its graceful meanderings.

Upon closer examination, the reason the light had fallen was discovered. The thick wooden board to which it was attached had been fixed to the ceiling material, not an actual beam. Much sage nodding of heads and agreement that it was amazing that it stayed up there as long as it had. A handy relative spent an hour or two re-installing the light but unfortunately the necessary measuring and drilling and hammering upset the cat, whose conniption at the rapid descent of the light had caused it to take cover under the sideboard. After a noisy few moments, it took itself off upstairs in a huff, arriving at the upper floor just as the dinner guests arrived. With their young and rather excitable Pomeranian. So the cat fled back downstairs and hid somewhere in the false ceiling, to emerge some hours later looking very disgruntled and not a little dusty.

Not surprisingly after all the excitement, dinner was served a little late, but at least it was available to be eaten, since luckily it was not until the following day that the water supply was lost for several hours. But we could see quite well to look for it, as by then the light fixture was firmly back in place with several extra screws attaching it to the beam for additional security. In fact, said its re-installer, it was now so well attached that we could hang an elephant from it without it falling down again.

But please don't send us elephants to test his hypothesis. The shock might be too much for the cat.

AND FINALLY

As newsletters go, this one hasn't got much beyond the end of the street, which isn’t surprising as we're still in the process of deciding which direction to take when we arrive at the road junction up there. So if you'd like to send a suggestion or two on the sort of topic you’d like to see addressed or perhaps a question about writing or our favourite colours or whatever, please do jot a line and we'll be happy to respond both by email and in the next issue.

Meantime, you might like to glance over our home page, which offers personal essays, links to interesting mystery themed sites, peeks behind the scenes of our fiction and a downloadable interactive game by Eric, among other things. Plus there are links to recent reviews and interviews online, including January Magazine, About.com's Mystery Guide, Talk City, Charlotte Austin Review, Murder On The Internet Express and Fiat Girl. And who knows what all else may have been popped in there by the time this newsletter darkens your email box? You can find out by pointing your clicker at http://home.epix.net/~maywrite.

We'll be back in your email box around the Ides of every second month. Of course if we're going to be on Oprah or something you'll receive a Special Edition! We're a little late with this first issue since the Ides of February is the 13th. Today is Lupercalia, an old Roman holiday of which the Christian Emperor Justinian would not approve although some of the pagans in our books would probably find it to their liking. Among other things, celebrants smeared with goats' blood raced around the Palantine Hill in Rome. Anyway, we'll see you again around the middle of April, a time traditionally celebrated by financial bloodletting here in the USA.

Best wishes to all

Mary and Eric <

Friday, December 15, 2000

ERIC'S BIT or SOME SEASONAL MUSINGS

NECESSARY EVIL or THE BSP TICKER

JOHN SPEAKS

TWO DEGREES FROM ELLIS PETERS

JOHN'S BIOGRAPHERS GET ANOTHER WORD IN

HANGING OUT WITH MR ROGERS

READERS OF THE LOST ARK

WINDING UP NECESSARY EVIL (AND ABOUT TIME TOO)

MARY'S MISCELLANY or BYZANTINE BITS AND BOBS

AND FINALLY

Sunday, October 15, 2000

MARY'S BIT or BEWARE OF THEODORA'S HAIR-PIN

NECESSARY EVIL or THE BSP TICKER

AND FINALLY

Tuesday, August 15, 2000

WORLD EXCLUSIVE or BACK TO THE BEGINNING

ERIC'S BIT or A QUEST ENDS

NECESSARY EVIL or THE BSP TICKER

MARY'S BIT or SHEDDING NEW LIGHT ON GARDEN GNOMES

AND FINALLY

Thursday, June 15, 2000

NECESSARY EVIL or THE BSP TICKER

MARY'S BIT or FORTUNA SMILES UPON A READER

AND FINALLY

Saturday, April 15, 2000

NECESSARY EVIL aka THE BSP TICKER

AND FINALLY

Tuesday, February 15, 2000

ERIC'S BIT or PORTRAIT OF INSPECTOR DORJ

NECESSARY EVIL aka THE BSP TICKER

MARY'S BIT or PLEASE DO NOT SEND ELEPHANTS

AND FINALLY