Tuesday, December 15, 2015

THE ORPHAN SCRIVENER -- ISSUE # NINETY-SIX -- 15 DECEMBER 2015

In a striking case of a curious concatenation of coincidences, three weeks hence two of our novels will have appeared in four months. Murder In Megara, our protagonist John's eleventh adventure taking place in Greece, came out in October and The Guardian Stones, set in WWII rural Shropshire, will be published in January. The settings, eras, and protagonists in the two books are about as different as can be imagined, but as Disraeli observed, variety is the mother of enjoyment. Let's hope readers agree.

Meantime, here follows the variety of content forming this latest issue of Orphan Scrivener...


ERIC'S BIT or PSEUDONYM SECRETS

You might be puzzled to see that our new novel, The Guardian Stones, is by some guy named Eric Reed. He, of course, is us but you may well be asking yourself why did we adopt a pen name?

It certainly isn't because we're cranking books out so fast we don't want to glut the market with Reed and Mayer titles. The publishing industry is different than it was in the old days (i.e. a couple decades ago). Modern publishers don't offer much opportunity for writers to hack out enormous numbers of books under pseudonyms, at least not in the mystery field. They are not concerned with filling up generic lines guaranteed to sell overall a certain, modest number of copies no matter what. Rather they are looking for authors who can write individual books or series that will sell a lot and right now! There are a few work-for-hire cozy lines of the old style from large publishers where writers mass produce titles from templates and might use different names for different series.

Nevertheless writers still have good reasons for sporting nom de plumes. One is the aforementioned requirement that books need to sell well immediately. For the first-time author it's a case of three strikes and you're out at best, and more often one or two strikes and you're out. Mary and I know a fellow whose supposed three book contract from Dell *** was canceled after his initial title failed to sell enough during its first two weeks of release. One advantage of having a smaller publisher is that, not being part of huge corporate conglomerates, they are not so obsessively sales driven. Such "failed" writers are poison to agents and publishers. Often the only way to get a second chance is to change one's name. Ever notice how many debut novels are out there, and how often how remarkably accomplished reviewers find them? That's partly because a huge number of those are only "debuts" of an experienced author's pseudonym.

Authors also change names to escape another kiss of death -- less than stellar sales figures under their original names recorded by services like Book Scan. If a book doesn't sell well bookstores won't order many copies of the next book, pretty much insuring it will sell even less.

Mary and I decided to employ a different name because the new WWII era book is so unlike our Byzantine series As a reader I enjoy being surprised but most book purchasers do not. They want to know exactly what they are getting for their money and anyone who buys The Guardian Stones expecting it to be similar to our previous mysteries will be disappointed. Conversely, some people who wouldn't be inclined to try anything by authors who write about that boring old Byzantine Empire might not be inclined to give our new effort a chance. However, we don't make any secret of our authorship.

It's common for authors to differentiate amongst their work this way. Agatha Christie produced six romances as Mary Westmacott. When he wrote about the private detective firm, Cool and Lam, rather than defense lawyer Perry Mason, Erle Stanley Gardner used the name A. A. Fair. Ruth Rendell, well known for her Inspector Wexford police procedurals, published psychological crime novels as Barbara Vine.

Perhaps Mary and I should have used a pen name right from the start for our Byzantine series. Mary Mayer? After all, a joint effort really is the work of an author quite different from either singly. Thus, Ellery Queen was actually cousins Frederic Dannay and Manfred Lee, except when he was Dannay and Theodore Sturgeon, Avram Davidson, or Robert Sheckley. The mother-and-son historical mystery writing team of Caroline and Charles Todd goes by the name Charles Todd.

Besides, Mary and I are private and retiring sorts. We're happy to shove Eric Reed out into public while staying home ourselves.


NECESSARY EVIL or THE BSP TICKER

We'll keep this section as brief as possible, given subscribers will doubtless be busy with holiday preparations of one kind or another. And so away we go...

INSIDIOUS DEMONS or NOT A COSY

We'll adopt telegraphic style to provide the essential details. Title: The Guardian Stones. Location: rural Shropshire. Time: the Second World War. Publication date: January 2016. Description: A dark mystery set in a village Kirkus Reviews declares is "beset by wartime demons even more insidious than the Third Reich". Author: Eric Reed. More info: The Guardian Stones page on the Poisoned Pen Press website:

http://www.poisonedpenpress.com/guardian-stones/

SPEAKING OF DEMONS or TRY TELLING THAT TO YOUR INSURANCE COMPANY!

Are demons to blame for certain distressing events in Murder In Megara? Certainly! Sounds unlikely, we admit, but at least one person claims so in this extract from Murder In Megara over on the Historical Fiction Excerpts blog:

http://historicalfictionexcerpts.blogspot.co.uk/2015/10/guest-blog-mary-reed-and-eric-mayer.html

LATEST BLOG-O-RAMA or GEESE, GLASS MANNA, AND THE GOURD

Geese and Graves and Other Writerly Concerns at TypeM4Murder blog October 17th

http://typem4murder.blogspot.com/2015/10/geese-and-graves-and-other-writerly.html

Food For Thought appeared on Marilyn Meredith's Musings blog on 9th November and deals with comestibles in our mysteries: the miracle of the melons and glass manna in Seven For A Secret, Theodora's ghastly outdoor banquet in Five For Silver, and The Gourd's only slightly less grim social gathering in Four For A Boy. CHECK CORRECT TITLES

http://marilynmeredith.blogspot.com/2015/11/food-for-thought-by-mary-reed.html

COULD IT REALLY HAPPEN? or FLYING LORD CHAMBERLAINS

Then there was a guest essay for Patti Nunn's Bookbrowsing blog on 19th November, dealing with a vexing problem for historical mystery writers: could certain events in their books have taken place in the time period in which they are set?

https://bookbrowsing.wordpress.com/2015/11/19/cat-mummies-and-flying-lord-chamberlains-by-mary-reed/

MORE GOLDEN AGE REVIEWS or THE RUBY, THE CANDLE, AND THE CAT'S EYE

Several reviews of Golden Age novel have been uploaded to our blog since last we met in cyber space, among them Charles E. Walk's The Paternoster Ruby, The Clue of the Twisted Candle by Edgar Wallace, and R. Austin Freeman's The Cat's Eye. The most dealt with The Brigand, another Edgar Wallace. Sounds sinister, doesn't it? Here's the blog page giving links to a number of other reviews:

http://ericreedmysteries.blogspot.com/

While you're over there, be sure to read Eric's memories of Frank Sinatra!

LATEST PPP BLOGS or PHLOX AND COUGHS

On October 18th Eric recalled one of his grandparents' favourite flowers, thus releasing phlox of memories including four-legged ghosts rustling amid a sweet scented fog:

http://www.poisonedpenpress.com/phlox/

We're getting into sneezin' season and November 18th saw Mary advising readers to First Catch Your Cold, featuring Mrs Beeton's advice on dealing with the common cold. Hare over here for the skinny:

http://www.poisonedpenpress.com/first-catch-cold/

Subscribers might also care to read news about, and blogs by, other Poisoned Pen Press authors via the links on this page:

http://www.poisonedpenpress.com/category/news-and-blog/news/


MARY'S BIT or WAXING ENTHUSIASTIC

There are two locations I would never pass without investigation: older churchyards, especially in rural areas, and waxworks exhibitions. In the former case, my interest is in the statuary and inscriptions, in particular those of Victorian vintage, and in the latter, well, there is something so uncannily gripping about those suggestively lifeless figures they draw many to them. I am among those who find them to be so, and thus can truthfully say I'll wax enthusiastic about them at the drop of a glass eyeball.

Speaking of which, none has ever winked at me, thank goodness, although I did fall into the common trap of many visitors by attempting to converse with an attendant at Madam Tussauds' London waxworks. He was not flesh and blood, but certainly lifelike! And a right nana I felt, I can tell you.

Not surprisingly, fiction involving a waxworks tends to be connected with the supernatural. However, one of the best stories featuring such an exhibition, Edith Nesbit's The Power of Darkness, does not belong to that type although the inhabitants of the setting is appropriately disturbing. As she puts it, the figures in the Musée Grévin, a Parisian waxworks, are "so convincing, so very nearly alive. Given the right angle, their glass eyes met one's own, and seemed to exchange with one meaning glances". Her story is a nasty little biter-bit yarn in which a man challenges a friend he knows is terrified of the dark to hide overnight in the Musée, intending to give him a good scare. Its ending can be interpreted in more than one way.

To date I've only read one mystery novel in which a waxworks exhibition plays an important role in the plot. It was penned by Ethel Lina White, a favourite author of mine. In Wax, the Riverpool Waxwork Gallery, has a gained a sinister reputation after a chain of deaths there, starting with the builder who erected it hanging himself in the Hall of Horrors. The gallery has now declined even further to become, as the author puts it, "a place of assignation—of stolen meetings and illicit love". However, as the reader learns in due course the premises are also being put to another sordid use which ultimately ties in nicely with a spate of local crimes in a really inventive way. I'm planning on reviewing Wax for our blog's 27th December Golden Age of Mystery feature, so won't say more about it here except to reveal I reckon it's a cracking good yarn.

Having reached this point subscribers may be asking themselves if we will ever feature a waxworks in our own fiction. Well, as it happens we do have an unsold novel in which just such an exhibition makes an appearance, so it may be at some time hence readers will find themselves looking over the shoulders of our protagonists at the various tableau in Simkin's Celebrated Gallery of Wax (adults a penny, children half price).


AND FINALLY

In a couple of weeks we shall step through the gateway of the year and into 2016. May it be a better one in all ways than the one now passing into history! As Johann von Schiller remarked, the future cannot be known and any omen or dream predicting what will happen is false. Even so, we'll declare one possibility will be, while nothing is graven in stone and the power goes out now and then, the appearance of the next issue of Orphan Scrivener in our subscribers' in-boxes on February 15th.

See you then!
Mary R and Eric

who invite you to visit their home page, to be found hanging out on the virtual washing line that is the Web at http://home.earthlink.net/~maywrite/ There you'll discover the usual suspects, including more personal essays, our bibliography, and our growing libraries of links to free e-texts of classic and Golden Age mysteries, ghost stories, and tales of the supernatural. There's also the Orphan Scrivener archive, so don't say you weren't warned! Our joint blog is at http://ericreedmysteries.blogspot.com/ Intrepid subscribers may also wish to know our noms des Twitter are @marymaywrite and @groggytales Drop in some time!


Thursday, October 15, 2015

THE ORPHAN SCRIVENER -- ISSUE # NINETY-FIVE -- 15 OCTOBER 2015

Subscribers will doubtless notice our scribbles are briefer than usual this time round, matching the contraction in daylight hours now in full swing. The change in essay length is in order to keep this latest issue Orphan Scrivener to a manageable size, given it's one of the most news-laden in recent years. In keeping with this aim, we'll cut this introduction short right now....


MARY'S BIT or THE FETE OF THE CAKE

Graham Greene's The Ministry of Fear has one of my favourite opening chapters. During World War Two its protagonist visits a somewhat sinister fete in a London square and, with the advice of the fete's fortune teller, wins a cake by "guessing" its weight. Certainly a desirable prize given the rationing in force at the time, and it kicks off a tale featuring the most stunning deus ex machina it has been my pleasure to read.

There's something so charming about British fetes. I always liked to visit them whether in town or country. They're often connected with church fundraisers. The one I enjoyed the most was held in a Cambridgeshire village, and it sported that wonderful, if uncommon, feature where one could pay a fee and throw a wet sponge at the vicar. I refrained from respect for the cloth, but it was all done in good fun and how could you not like a minister who would go along with it?

Other traditional features of such fetes? Well, not only estimating the weight of a cake but also geussing how many beans there are in a bottle. I've noticed home-grown fruit, vegetables, and flowers always find many buyers and book stalls are well patronised. I once bought a hardback copy of Ivanhoe for a few pennies, a lovely old edition with tissue paper protecting its frontispiece and no apparent date of publication. Was it a first edition? Alas, I cannot say since I no longer have it.

It's true an egg and spoon race would not work in wartime given at one point the egg ration was down to one a week, but have observed both it and the sack race seem to be enjoyed by many smaller fry, with pony rides well patronised by older children. Then there's the fancy dress contests. In one instance the only entry in a certain category was a toddler dressed as a mouse, so she was a shoe-in, or should that be paw-in. Although I think the little one enjoyed the applause as she was led around by her mother just as much if not more as the prize.

Let us not forget the white elephant, baked goods, and handicraft stalls. At a fete in the grounds of a Banbury hospital I bought a small stuffed toy horse whose leather horseshoes needed more attention by the sewer standing in for a blacksmith as they badly needed trimming, but if you want to talk about sinister, the stall holder who sold the horse to me greeted me by name -- yet to this day I have no idea who she was or where we could have met.

Sadly, I've never been fortunate enough to visit a fete offering readings by a fortune teller although I gather they are well patronised even when cakes are not involved. Our closest approach to featuring such a character was in Five For Silver, wherein a shipper named Nereus has a house and garden filled with various animal and other oracles, the better to conduct his hazardous business. But not as hazardous as correctly guessing the weight of a cake at a fete.


NECESSARY EVIL or THE BSP TICKER

And now here's the latest budget of news...

MORE REVIEWS or GREECE IS STILL THE WORD

It wasn't as lengthy as the journey from Greenland's icy coast to India's coral strand to which Reginald Heber's hymn refers, but John sailed for Greece a book ago and doubtless his time aboard ship felt just as long, given his fear of deep water.

His first post-voyage adventure was formally launched just over a week ago and reviews continue to hove into view, most recently from the Library Journal: "Meticulous research makes this historical series set in the Byzantine empire a joy to read. Admirers of Steven Saylor and Lindsey Davis will enjoy exploring this ancient world."

Care to sample a short extract? Point your clickers to the Historical Fiction Excerpts blog

http://historicalfictionexcerpts.blogspot.co.uk/2015/10/guest-blog-mary-reed-and-eric-mayer.html

MYSTERIOUS MUTTERINGS or A BURST O' BLOGS

Publication of Murder In Megara means his biographers emerge from the shadows to pop up hither and yon. Here's a report of sightings so far:

On 11th September thoughts on the vexed question of how to present the violence inherent in mysteries were offered to readers of Lance Wright's Omnimystery News site

http://www.omnimysterynews.com/2015/09/please-welcome-mystery-author-mary-reed-1509110800.html

There was visit on 30th September to Maryann Miller's blog with Perchance We Meet, concerning unexpected meetings. And speaking of unexpected, we had nothing to do with Maryann's choice of illustration, but the teapot in the photo is identical to ours!

http://maryannwrites.com/itsnotallgravy/2015/09/30/perchance-we-meet/

Then on October 5th Lois Winston kindly hosted some thoughts on her blog, this time concerning the role of mosaics in the Lord Chamberlain series

http://anastasiapollack.blogspot.com/2015/10/crafts-with-anastasia-guest-authors.html

Next day we dropped in again on Lance Wright to chat about such diverse topics as what we look for when selecting a book to read for pleasure and how we would complete the sentence "I am a mystery author and thus I am also..."

http://www.omnimysterynews.com/2015/10/a-conversation-with-mystery-authors-mary-reed-and-eric-mayer-1510060800.html

Looking ahead, we'll be calling in at the Type M For Murder blog to present Geese, Graves, and other Writerly Concerns, which describes our method of checking for anachronisms. Go to

http://typem4murder.blogspot.com/

on 17th October, scroll to "Saturday's post", et voila!

A BIT OF NOSTALGIA or GOLDEN AGE MYSTERIES AGAIN

We continue to offer reviews of Golden Age of Mystery novels on our blog on Sundays. Titles scrutinised so far include Mary Roberts Rinehart's The Man In Lower Ten, The Bittermeads Mystery by E. R. Punshon, and Herbert Jenkins' collection of short stories titled Malcolm Sage, Detective. There's even book jacket illustrations! This coming Sunday another collection, Average Jones by Samuel Hopkins Adams, gets its turn under the microscope. Check it out at:

http://ericreedmysteries.blogspot.com/

THE GUARDIAN STONES or KIRKUS LEADS!

Given our 1941 mystery The Guardian Stones is a January 2016 title, we were surprised to see Kirkus Reviews has commented on it already. But so they did: "A fascinating look at a small town mired in the past and confronting the future—with a bombshell ending."

https://www.kirkusreviews.com/book-reviews/eric-reed/the-guardian-stones/

NOT TO MENTION or STILL MORE TO READ

A couple more contributions to the Poisoned Pen Press multi-author blog to report.

On 18th August George Bernard Shaw's observation no question is so difficult to answer as that to which the answer is obvious introduced All The News That's Fit To Be Emailed

http://www.poisonedpenpress.com/news-thats-fit-emailed/

Edwin Whipple it was who described books as lighthouses in time’s great sea, leading into Coquetting With Starvation, which appeared on 18th September

http://www.poisonedpenpress.com/coquetting-starvation/

Since it's not yet written, the topic of the blog appearing on 18th October is as yet unknown, but subscribers could always pop over there on that date to find out. Meantime, they might care to read news and blogs about and by our fellow Poisoned Pen Press authors via this links page

http://www.poisonedpenpress.com/category/news-and-blog/news/


ERIC'S BIT or HUMMING WHILE YOU WORK

On my way through the kitchen I often notice our refrigerator humming to itself, always the same tune, monotonous to my ear, maybe something from Eno's Here Come the Warm Jets album or a snatch of Kraftwerk. The fridge (if I may be so familiar, but after all we've known each other for fifteen years now) may be old enough to recall that music. It's over thirty at least. We know because more than five years ago, Mary called Whirlpool hoping to find a replacement for the cracked freezer compartment door and was told by a perplexed and skeptical representative that our model hadn't been manufactured for at least twenty-five years.

In the past refrigerators enjoyed lifetimes as improbable as those of the Biblical patriarchs. Today they are designed to break down in six to eight years according to one repairman, annoyed that half the refrigerators he's is called out to fix are in fact beyond repair and need replacing. Thirty or forty years is certainly a ripe old age for a refrigerator of any vintage. Maybe its longevity is partly due to its smallish size. Short and slim enough to fit into the alcove under the stairs, its compressor hasn't been taxed as much as that of a heftier model.

Then too, this house used to be a seasonal home. During much of the year, with the plumbing drained and the electricity shut off, the fridge rested, watching the ever changing oblongs of shadow moving through the chilly, silent room, a succession of Edward Hopper paintings. I suppose a refrigerator doesn't mind the cold, but rather luxuriates in icy temperatures it doesn't need to produce itself.

As is usually the case, our fridge was here when we arrived. How unsettling it must be for refrigerators to change owners. One day filled with ice pops for young children, the next stuffed with Ensure. What unfamiliar items have those shelves held? Given the age, they might once have been populated by extinct beverages, such as Ma's Cream Soda and white-labeled bottles of Generic Beer.

And how exactly was the freezer compartment door so badly cracked? Oh, the stories our old fridge could tell. But all it does is hum to itself.


AND FINALLY

George Bernard Shaw would probably advance the theory our fridge hums because it doesn't know the words. Meantime, subscribers' blood may well be chilled when we remind them the next issue of Orphan Scrivener will skate into their in-boxes on December 15th.

See you then!
Mary R and Eric

who invite you to visit their home page, to be found hanging out on the virtual washing line that is the Web at http://home.earthlink.net/~maywrite/ There you'll discover the usual suspects, including more personal essays, our bibliography, and our growing libraries of links to free e-texts of classic and Golden Age mysteries, ghost stories, and tales of the supernatural. There's also the Orphan Scrivener archive, so don't say you weren't warned! There's also our joint blog at http://ericreedmysteries.blogspot.com/ Intrepid subscribers may also wish to know our noms des Twitter are @marymaywrite and @groggytales Drop in some time!


Saturday, August 15, 2015

THE ORPHAN SCRIVENER -- ISSUE # NINETY-FOUR -- 15 AUGUST 2015

Summer is starting to fade a bit around the edges, as sunlight slants ever more thinly and shadows creep in earlier each day. As Tennyson said, the seasons flower and fade, and there is no doubt that, despite pleasant evenings and cooler mornings, the year is in decline. On the other hand, we trust subscribers will not decline to glance over this latest issue of Orphan Scrivener and that being so, here it is...


ERIC'S BIT or THOSE THREE FIENDISH WORDS

John Greenleaf Whittier famously wrote, "Of all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these, 'It might have been.'" I guess the old poet never heard, on a sunny August day, the chilling phrase "back to school."

Today sportswriter Kelly Dwyer, writing about a "back to school" charity game, remarked parenthetically that "even in my mid-30s I still cringe every time I write, see, say or read those three words." I'm three decades older than Kelly and I still feel that way. It was a shock being unexpectedly reminded during the very time of year when the words resounded like doom -- or a school bell -- over my vacation.

I always felt chagrined (oh, yes, as a boy I was chagrined most of the time, being a reader of Word Power in Readers' Digest) that my vacation should be, in effect, cut short -- the final weeks of freedom practically ruined -- by the bitter reminder of coming imprisonment.

Usually the reminder would rear its ugly head in a radio or newspaper advertisement for school necessities. Walking into the store last week and seeing the special displays of notebooks and lunchboxes made me queasy just as it did more than a half century ago. At least notebooks and pencils had some pleasant connotations. I doodled cartoons during arithmetic.

School clothes were another matter. My mother yanked me out of summer paradise to drag me into the broiling city and a "Boys Department" which felt like a school annex since I never visited there except as a prelude to classes.

In those days, there were tailors in the world, although they were getting on in years. When the tailor bent, stiffly, to chalk my cuffs (yes, back then they even hemmed cuffs...you youngsters can look it up.) I was horribly reminded of black boards covered with indecipherable long division or fractions. When he took my inseam it felt like I was being measured for a shroud. I am pretty sure that in the anteroom to hell you are met not by fiery eyed, pitchfork wielding demons but a wizened little man with a tape measure looped over his shoulders.

And then, the dismay, after a summer spent barefoot in clover, (forgetting the occasional bee underfoot) to feel my toes being pinched into the cruel confinement of leather shoes which not only hurt but demanded I slavishly polish them.

What made me hate school so much? Was it the regimentation, or the fact that in the post Sputnik era kids lacking engineering aptitude were pushed aside? Maybe I dreaded the endless tests, each one presenting a new possibility for failure. Or was it just that I preferred laying on the porch drawing with crayons or wallowing around a creek in pursuit of frogs to sitting in a classroom? Well, who wouldn't?

Fortunately I am beyond the fiendish clutches of the education system now. August brings a ghostly frisson, but in September I watch the yellow buses roll past and am happy not to be on one. I don't like getting old. My back hurts, my hair is falling out and it takes me twice as long as it once did to mow the lawn. But at least I don't have to go back to school.


NECESSARY EVIL or THE BSP TICKER

We've a fair budget of news this time round, so let's get to it...

MURDER IN MEGARA or AN UPDATE ON JOHN'S LATEST ADVENTURE

After ARCs become available comes that difficult time of waiting, akin to contemplating an approaching visit to the dentist. An anxious time for authors to be sure, but once the first review is out, even if it's a slash and burn horror, we proceed serenely thereafter. We are now in the latter stage since the first notices of Murder In Megara aka Elevenfer have appeared.

Publishers Weekly: "Solid...one of the more distinctive series entries."

Kirkus Reviews: "John’s 11th case combines historical detail with a cerebral mystery full of surprises."

A SHROPSHIRE LASS or THE GUARDIAN STONES

It's too early for reviews to have appeared for our January 2016 title, not to be wondered at given ARCs have just become available, but as promised last time here's a bit more information about this new venture.

In 1941 residents of the remote Shropshire village Noddweir must suddenly contend with missing children, murdered neighbors, and an ominous sense of evil radiating from the prehistoric stone circle on their mountaintop. Who is responsible? Some villagers see the hand of German infiltrators bent on terror. The superstitious, mindful of the stone circle gazing down on Noddweir, are convinced malevolent supernatural powers are at work.

Edwin Carpenter, a retired American professor visiting to study the ancient stones, joins Grace, daughter of the former village constable, to investigate the mysterious crimes that have driven the village to the edge. They lack the skills of the police, but demonstrate hardiness and determination in pursuing their investigation.

ANNOUNCING A NEW BLOG or A REED BY ANOTHER NAME

Since the last Orphan Scrivener darkened your in-box we've begun a joint blog under the name of Eric Reed. Its content includes a regular feature devoted to Golden Age of Mystery reviews, a new one appearing each Sunday. To date these titles include Malcolm Sage, Detective by Herbert Jenkins, Mary Roberts Rinehart's The Confession, and The Bittermeads Mystery by E. R. Punshon. Tomorrow's review will focus on Sapper's collection of Ronald Standish stories. Otherwise, who knows what mischief we'll get up to next? Here's our latest location:

http://ericreedmysteries.blogspot.com/

THE STRUGGLE TO BE BRIEF or FIVE FAVOURITE MYSTERIES

Mary contributed five titles and brief comments thereon to Martin Hill Ortiz's Mystery Writers Choose Their Favorite Mysteries feature on 20th June. Limited to a quintet, it was quite a struggle and indeed those cited might well change today and tomorrow. It must be said however the first mentioned, The Spiral Staircase, also published as Some Must Watch, and written by Ethel Lina White is such a favourite it would remain entrenched in any new list. As Mary observed, its slow build-up of tension is enough to make readers of a nervous disposition swoon. Novels by John Dickson Carr, a couple of Agatha Christies, and a John Buchan round out the list. However, there was, despite the natural progression this list might suggest, no mention of a partridge in a pear tree, easily established by consulting Martin's blog at

http://martinhillortiz.blogspot.com/2015/06/mystery-writers-choose-their-favorite_20.html

AND SPEAKING OF LIMITS or A LATE ARRIVAL

In the last issue of Orphan Scrivener we provided a number of authors' comments on what they consider a pleasant afternoon. The catch was their descriptions had to be in twelve words or less. Now John McEvoy gallops up to contribute his entry, a most fitting one for this month: My Pleasant Afternoon would be with family watching Saratoga Races in August. John's most recent book is High Stakes.

HOW WE WRITE or REVELATIONS IN VERSE

We were honoured when the San Joaquin Sisters in Crime July newsletter reprinted part of our explanation of our method of co-writing. With apologies to Gilbert and Sullivan, the first verse runs in this wise:

We're co-authors of ratiocinative fiction
Inventing plots full of character friction
Scattering clues for the villain's conviction
Co-writers of mysteries!

The full version may be read on the Poisoned Pen Press blog by pointing your clicker at

http://www.poisonedpenpress.com/partners-in-crime/

OH, THOSE HANDSOME DEVILS! or A LOOK OF PECULIAR ENERGY

Speaking of the Poisoned Pen Press blog, on 18th July Mary wound up her recent sequence of contributions on contemporary ideas of attractive looks in both genders as evidenced by older novels, a fascinating topic that due to space limitations could only be touched upon lightly. A Conception of Some Old Nordic God and A Look of Peculiar Energy provides a handful of women writers' thoughts on the subject, and may be viewed at

http://www.poisonedpenpress.com/conception-old-nordic-god-look-peculiar-energy/

The topic for 18th August is, appropriately enough, All The News That's Fit To Be Emailed at

http://www.poisonedpenpress.com/?p=25487

Meantime, subscribers might care to read news and blogs by other Poisoned Pen Press authors via the links on this page

http://www.poisonedpenpress.com/category/news-and-blog/news/


MARY'S BIT or LET US NOW PRAISE FAMOUS MEANIES' ENDS

Some time ago I began an as-yet uncompleted project to read all the Dickens novels I'd not yet perused, and as a result have come to admire his creation of such a wonderful rogue's gallery of villains it's difficult to choose a handful of representative mug shots.

Which won't stop me from having a go, as Wilfred Pickles' old radio programme was wont to invite participants. So, as Wilfred would ask his good lady Mabel at a certain point in the proceedings, what's on the table?

A trio of truly nasty meanies would be my spritely response, two of 'em from Oliver Twist and the third from The Old Curiosity Shop. Happily for the moral balance of the universe and Victorian sensibilities Dickens saw to it that in due course they came to grief in what I for one consider particularly appropriate ways.

Mr Bumble, overseer of the workhouse where Oliver Twist was born, punishes the latter for his famous request for more gruel, made on behalf of all the half-famished boys. Oliver is not only advertised as available to anyone needing an apprentice, but in the interim is kept locked up, emerging every other day to be flogged in front of the boys in the dining hall as a warning and when washing under the outdoor pump despite the cold weather is repeatedly thrashed with a cane by Mr Bumble. Time passes and the Bumbles become pauper residents in the same workhouse. Dickens did not disclose whether or not they enjoyed their gruel, but choking on it might well have been the fondest hope of enraged readers.

Bill Sikes gets my vote as Dickens' most monstrous creation. He was born to hang, an old saying applied to Oliver by a certain gentleman in a white waistcoat if you please. Bill is a burglar and a vicious brute with a hair-trigger temper, prone to violent outbursts. Nancy, the prostitute who loves him, meets a terrible end, for Sikes beats her to death. In subsequently seeking to escape the mob he accidently hangs himself in an attempt to get away via the roof, whereupon Bull's-eye, his vicious and ill-treated but loyal dog, attempts to leap to safety but fails, dashing out his brains. I suspect most readers feel sorrier for the dog than its owner, for it only behaves as it has been trained to behave.

Malignant dwarf Daniel Quilp is, among other things, a slum landlord and money lender. Happiest when tormenting others, he is a domestic tyrant, physically and mentally abusive towards his timid and downtrodden wife Betsy, who is terrified of him. Much is subtly revealed by his sneering description of her as well-trained. Having preyed on those who were drowning in debt, it seems only right he comes to a watery end in the Thames one foggy night. His death ruled a suicide, his body is buried with a stake through it at a crossroads, although some whisper his mistreated dogsbody Tom Scott received the body -- or exhumed it -- and it's buried elsewhere. How Quilp would have gnashed his teeth had he known his widow would remarry happily and she and her new spouse lead a merry life on Quilp's money!


AND FINALLY

It's said October's child, like Wednesday's, is born to woe. However, it'll be only a single dose of misery when the next Orphan Scrivener trundles into subscribers' in-boxes, given its arrival will take place on October 15th, a Thursday.

See you then!
Mary R and Eric

who invite you to visit their home page, to be found hanging out on the virtual washing line that is the Web at http://home.earthlink.net/~maywrite/ There you'll discover the usual suspects, including more personal essays, our bibliography, and our growing libraries of links to free e-texts of classic and Golden Age mysteries, ghost stories, and tales of the supernatural. There's also the Orphan Scrivener archive, so don't say you weren't warned! Intrepid subscribers may also wish to know our noms des Twitter are @marymaywrite and @groggytales Drop in some time!


Monday, June 15, 2015

THE ORPHAN SCRIVENER -- ISSUE # NINETY-THREE -- 15 JUNE 2015

Sticky summer heat has settled honey-like over much of the country and we've been as busy as the proverbial bees organising this latest issue of our newsletter. What's the buzz from Casa Maywrite? Read on....


MARY'S BIT or DEFINE IN TWELVE WORDS OR LESS, AFTER THE FASHION OF THIS TITLE

And now a question for subscribers: how would you define a pleasant afternoon in twelve words or less? Today at least my answer would be fresh coffee and a good book, preferably of Golden Age vintage.

A couple of lines do not an essay make, so I threw the question open to our fellow Poisoned Pen and Poisoned Pencil authors. Their responses are certainly a varied and interesting selection and here they are, listed in no particular order along with a note of their most recent or next to be published titles.

Priscilla Royal [Satan's Lullaby]
Singing birds, cuddling cats, cheese and fruit, a good book.

Mike Kahn [The Sirena Quest]
Mike's contribution is St Louis specific:
A stroll through Forest Park ending with a picnic on Art Hill.

Jeanne Matthews [Where The Bones Are Buried]
Quaffing kir and people watching in a Parisian sidewalk café with Sid.
Editorial note: Sid is Jeanne's husband.

Catherine Winn [Beyond Suspicion]
Enjoying iced tea and hilarious antics of birds at the full feeder.

Warren Easley [Never Look Down]
Coming across a shady fern-choked glade while hiking in the Northwest

Donis Casey [All Men Fear Me: An Alafair Tucker Mystery]
Defining a pleasant June afternoon in Arizona:
Floating in the pool, big hat, lots of sunscreen, a Mai Tai.

Triss Stein [Brooklyn Secrets]
Spring day, flowers blooming, walking around my neighborhood with my toddler granddaughter.

Frederick Ramsay [The Vulture]
Rain on the roof, fire in the fireplace, and a good book.

Charlotte Hinger [Fractured Families]
Sunday. Early communion. Dinner with family. Dozing in the sun with NYT.

M. Evonne Dobson [Chaos Theory]
Water condensation on cold drink glasses, children's laughter, lilac scented summer day.

Tammy Kaehler [Avoidable Contact]
Warm breeze, sparkling water, good book--with the day's writing done.

Dennis Palumbo [Phantom Limb]
A lounge chair under a shade tree, lemonade and a new book.

Gin Price [On Edge]
Animals depicted in clouds, wind petting sun-kissed skin, water rhythmically slapping aft.

B. K. Stevens [Fighting Chance]
Humming along to Billy Joel while rolling out cookie dough.

J. M. Hayes [The Spirit and the Skull]
Playing with the dogs as I plot my next crime.

The contribution from Jeff Siger [Sons of Sparta] refers specifically to June 15th, not only the date of this newsletter but also commemorating another notable event:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME
HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEAR JEFFREY

Being as it's his natal anniversary we'll finish the song for him, celebrating the gladsome day in a fashion I shall now announce in twelve words or less:

I'll play the accordion and everyone sing along ... aone annatwo annathree ....


NECESSARY EVIL or THE BSP TICKER

It's been a busy couple of months since we last graced your in-box and the ticker is clickety-clicking quite fast as we compose this section.

ONCE AGAIN, MURDER IN MEGARA or NEWS OF E-ARCS

In the last Orphan Scrivener we mentioned electronic ARCs would be forthcoming for Murder In Megara. We've just heard these are now available at Net Galley for those who wish to review John's latest adventure and prefer that type of advance copy. Look here for the e-ARC relating how John, living on his estate in Greece, extricates himself from accusation of murder. It is a task he must accomplish alone far from Constantinople. Will exile turn into execution?

https://s2.netgalley.com/catalog/book/66105

WHO IS ERIC REED? or THE GUARDIAN STONES

May we introduce Eric Reed? No mystery as to which pair of inkstained wretches lurk behind the nom, although a mystery in the written sense is involved. The Guardian Stones, slated for publication by Poisoned Pen Press in January 2016, is set in a Shropshire village during the Second World War. It's a dark book, quite different from anything we've written hitherto. The titular stone circle broods above the village of Noddweir, where distressing events begin to unfold just before the arrival of Edwin Carpenter, a retired American professor and widower with a great interest in folklore and ancient remains such as the Guardians...more about this venture into new territory for both Edwin and ourselves in the next Orphan Scrivener.

ERIC AS LITERARY CRITIC or IT'S AMAZING!

The spotlight now swings around to shine on Eric M, whose blast from the past -- a review of sf writer Robert Silverberg's 1953 fanzine Space Ship -- was featured in Graeme Cameron's Club House column in the 5th June issue of Amazing Stories. Here's the skinny

http://amazingstoriesmag.com/2015/06/clubhouse-fanzine-reviews-not-sure-hates-not/

ANOTHER GAD REVIEW or WHAT HAPPENED IN NUMBER SEVENTEEN?

Well may subscribers ask. They can find out by glancing over M. E. Mayer's latest review, this time of Louis Tracy's Number Seventeen. Featuring Winter and Furneaux, a favourite pair of squabbling detectives, the plot includes numerous twists and turns involving, among other things, an American tourist, a motorcycle chase, kidnappings, shots through windows, pea-sized ivory skulls, and a grey limousine. Not to mention MEM provides a link to an etext of the novel. Can't beat that for being helpful!

http://memayer.blogspot.com/2015/06/review-number-seventeen-by-louis-tracy.html

A MEMORY OF SUNBEAMS or DAZZLING BEAUTY

Deep-Set Eyes and a Perfectly Shaped Head was the title of Mary's 18th April contribution to the Poisoned Pen Press blog. Its focus was notions of feminine beauty as revealed by male writers in older novels. Read it here

http://www.poisonedpenpress.com/deep-set-eyes-perfectly-shaped-head/

A Compound of Cherries and Cream and A Memory of Sunbeams suggest copy for an advertisement promoting holidays in Devonshire, although if any fortunate subscribers happen to visit the county they should be sure to try the famous Devon toffees and cream teas! It was in fact the title for Mary's 18th May follow-up to her April blog. On that occasion she glanced at female writers' descriptions of beautiful characters in books published some while since. Point your clicker here

http://www.poisonedpenpress.com/compound-cherries-cream-memory-sunbeams/

HANDSOME IS AS HANDSOME WRITES or A LONG INTELLECTUAL FACE AND A GOOD NATURED BULL

Once again older books will provide material for Mary's June 18th blog, which continues on the previous theme with a look at male writers and what they considered constituted handsome fellows, or at least in their fiction. Subscribers may read that blog by following the link appearing on that date at

http://www.poisonedpenpress.com/category/news-and-blog/

As always, if the topic is not their cup of tea, cream or otherwise, subscribers may care to glance over musings from numerous Poisoned Pen authors on a wide range of topics. Reach those that appeal via blog links provided on the page just mentioned.


ERIC'S BIT or BEHIND (WHAT WILL BECOME) THE SEENS

We don't often talk about our publisher Poisoned Pen Press (PPP as we refer to them). I know that when I read a book I don't care who put it out. However, if it weren't for the efforts of the good folks in Scottsdale, Arizona, I wouldn't be talking to you right now since you probably would never have seen the mystery novels Mary and I write.

I mention this because self-publishing is all the rage. At least amongst writers. We hear about wild successes like Amanda Hocking and E. L. James. Who needs a publisher when you can do it yourself?

Well...in the first place how many runaway self-published bestsellers are there from authors who are not young and Internet savvy? Building a social media presence seems more important than writing ability. The former certainly not our forte.

One of the most important things PPP does for us is alert readers and booksellers to our work, by sending out review copies for example. Next the press makes sure those who might be interested can get hold of the books. A complicated task. PPP books are distributed by Ingram Publisher Services, and are available through wholesalers including Ingram, Baker & Taylor, and Brodart. Different wholesalers can reach different markets. Baker & Taylor, for example, is responsible for our books being in hundreds of libraries.

A publisher takes care of all the details, from buying that ISBN number you see on all commercially released books, to formatting our novels for Kindle, Nook and all the other electronic flavors I can't even keep track of. PPP has the books printed, and digitized, and even recorded. They appear in hardcover, trade paperback, large print, numerous e-versions and, for the last few, in audio.

PPP also edits our work rather than sending us out into public with dirt on our chins. Even after Mary and I assiduously rewrote and copy- edited the newest novel our editor, Annette, found a number of, shall we say, infelicities. You simply cannot edit your own words. They are too familiar.

Then there are the covers...PPP's production guy, Pete, discussed what we wanted, suggested an artist, whose work we loved, then sketched out a design based mostly on the title, a big trend today, but one I wasn't aware of until he pointed it out. Sure, we could have done our own cover. And as cover designers...well, we're good writers.

If you're with a publisher, professionals do everything but the writing for you. If you self-publish you either have to pay professionals or do things which are outside your expertise -- and probably do them poorly.

There's a lot more PPP does, for instance publicizing its books in various ways, such as attending trade shows and offering writers advice and support on promotional efforts. No doubt there are plenty of services I've forgotten or don't even know about.

Sure, there are novels and circumstances where self-publishing is appropriate but despite what you might read on the Internet lately, with rare exceptions, publishers remain as important to writers as writers are to publishers.


AND FINALLY

James Thurber once characterised the past as an armchair located in an attic. The present he represented as an ominous ticking. As for the future? Anyone's guess, according to Thurber. However, for subscribers there need be no guessing on one coming event at least, since the issue of Orphan Scrivener is slated to arrive in subscribers' in-boxes on August 15th.

See you then!
Mary R and Eric

who invite you to visit their home page, to be found hanging out on the virtual washing line that is the Web at http://home.earthlink.net/~maywrite/ There you'll discover the usual suspects, including more personal essays, our bibliography, the Doom Cat interactive game written by Eric, and our growing libraries of links to free e-texts of classic and Golden Age mysteries, ghost stories, and tales of the supernatural. There's also the Orphan Scrivener archive, so don't say you weren't warned! Intrepid subscribers may also wish to visit Eric's blog at http://www.journalscape.com/ericmayer/ or pop over to our shadow identity M. E. Mayer's blog (largely devoted to reviews of Golden Age and classic mysteries) at http://memayer.blogspot.com/ And just for the heck of it, we'll also mention our noms des Twitter are @marymaywrite and @groggytales Drop in some time!


Thursday, April 16, 2015

THE ORPHAN SCRIVENER -- ISSUE # NINETY-EIGHT -- 15 APRIL 2016

Due to public holidays in certain states, the deadline for filing tax returns this month has it seems been extended a couple of days. Hopefully this latest issue of Orphan Scrivener offers lighter reading than that dense mystery with a cast of dozens and an immense amount of obfuscation, or in other words the Form 1040 Instruction Booklet.

ERIC'S BIT or A DIRTY STORY

Our neighbors had a truckload of dirt delivered this morning. They've been filling in low spots in the yard. Their two preschoolers were on top of the pile immediately. They looked giddy with delight and indecision. Should we shovel, or climb or kick the stuff around, or just sit in it?

Dirt's a kid magnet. No one's ever invented a better toy.

By my parents' house there used to be a spot shaded by big maples, behind the leafy bushes edging the lawn, where the grass wouldn't grow. There was nothing back there but beautiful, untouched earth, ready to be dug and scraped and shaped.

My friends and I bought bags of plastic vehicles at the Five & Dime. The assorted cars and trucks in each bag were barely distinguishable as such. They were hollow, just shells really, an inch long and didn't even have working wheels. One of them would have been useless. But 120 in one bag were a marvel.

That kind of traffic required roads and roads are made of dirt. Our wide, straight turnpike stretched from stonewall to hollyhocks. Small roads curved and branched off to assorted rocks and clumps of weeds and narrower tracks twisted their way into the interior of the bushes. All these routes were jammed with vehicles.

Eventually a summer thunderstorm would wash our work away and allow us to start over again.

I'm glad I didn't grow up in a city where that sort of play would probably have been confined to short visits to a nearby park. I was lucky to grow up with dirt.

NECESSARY EVIL or THE BSP TICKER

History tells us Noel Coward once referred to destiny's relentless lamp. Since we'd rather not have it glaring in our eyes while a shadowy figure forcefully asks us for our news, it's as well that this time round the ticker is pretty quiet and our updates quickly told...

MAKING-DO FOR MAKE-UP or CAN YOU BEET IT?

Subscribers may care to consult Lois Winston's blog for March 31st for Mary's contribution on the inventive ways British women got around a severe shortage of cosmetics during the Second World War. One clever makeshift was applying beetroot juice for lip colour. Did you know there was at least one prosecution for the illegal manufacture and sale of face powder during that war? All is revealed at

http://www.anastasiapollack.blogspot.com/2016/03/beauty-with-guest-author-mary-reed.html

A DIFFERENT SORT OF WRITING or SHORT, DARK, AND HEINOUS

Just for the heck of it Mary challenged Poisoned Pen Press and Poisoned Pencil authors to try a different sort of writing, or in other words — no pun intended — take a bash at writing a haiku or clerihew about one of their books. M. Evonne Dobson, Jane Finnis, Judy Clemens, and Bill Cameron took up the gauntlet and the results appeared in March on the PPP blog at

http://www.poisonedpenpress.com/haiku-challenge/

Eric will be in the spotlight over there on April 18th, when he contributes thoughts on The Problem with Self Promotion. For shy authors who prefer to remain in the shadows, it's no wonder he laments if only Eric Reed were a real person who loved being a salesman.... No link yet but his blog will be reachable on that date via Poisoned Pen's page at

http://www.poisonedpenpress.com/category/news-and-blog/news/

Meantime, subscribers may also care to check the same URL now and then to read news and blogs about and by our fellow Poisoned Pen and Poisoned Pencil authors.

MORE GAD REVIEWS UPLOADED or A FITTING PAIR

Since last we lurked in your in-box more reviews of Golden Age mysteries have appeared on our Eric Reed website. It is perhaps only fitting now spring is at least thinking of arriving that they included thoughts on Edgar Wallace's The Daffodil Mystery and The Greene Murder Case by S. S. Van Dine. John Buchan's Greenmantle is next to be considered. Some, nay many, will argue it isn't a mystery as such -- but there's certainly a mystery in it, including an urgent need to solve three terse clues to certain information. That review will go live this Sunday at

http://ericreedmysteries.blogspot.com/

MARY'S BIT or NICE GIRLS DON'T SHOW THEIR ANKLES

It's no mystery how much I enjoy detective stories written in the Golden Age. They're not only entertaining but on occasion can also be quite instructive.

What have I learnt from them?

Well, characters with grey eyes are usually not villains, and protagonists often have a tendency to marry their second cousins. Eton, Harrow, Oxford, and Cambridge have educated more characters than readers can shake a shooting stick at, while lower class characters can be expected not to possess an haitch between them, and if they do, it was probably stolen.

Sleuths' love interests are often orphans, by the end of the book if not at the beginning. Putting aside the Baker Street resident, bachelor detectives frequently occupy rooms at the Albany or chambers in the Inns of Court, with occasional outposts at Jerymn Street, Half Moon Street, and Victoria Street -- though one at least is known to reside in Clarges Street.

Gentlemen carry handguns as a matter of course and have no problem getting them through the British customs. Such men belong to at least one London club and to be blackballed by members means social ruin. So does being caught cheating at cards. And men who talk about women while visiting their clubs are cads of the first order.

Parma violets are popular decorative wear for ladies and are usually worn at the waist, while women who dare to show their ankles should not be trusted. Any lady on the stage is almost automatically morally suspect, but this does not stop scions of noble families eloping with them.

Blackmailers get no quarter, and I say it serves them jolly well right. Cleanliness or otherwise is a sure indication of social class, unless the sleuth is in disguise.

AND FINALLY

From dirt to cleanliness is a natural progression, but as Havelock Ellis observed, what is called progress consists of exchanging one nuisance for another. Speaking of which, we'll close with a reminder the next issue of Orphan Scrivener will make itself a nuisance by its stately progress into subscribers' in-boxes on June 15th.

See you then!
Mary R and Eric

who invite you to visit their home page, to be found hanging out on the virtual washing line that is the Web at http://home.earthlink.net/~maywrite/ There you'll discover the usual suspects, including more personal essays, a bibliography, and our growing libraries of links to free e-texts of classic and Golden Age mysteries, ghost stories, and tales of the supernatural. There's also the Orphan Scrivener archive, so don't say you weren't warned! Our joint blog is at http://ericreedmysteries.blogspot.com/ Intrepid subscribers may also wish to know our noms des Twitter are @marymaywrite and @groggytales Drop in some time!

Wednesday, April 15, 2015

THE ORPHAN SCRIVENER -- ISSUE # NINETY-TWO -- 15 APRIL 2015

In common with numerous others, we spent most of the last two months trundling along from day to day hoping no new fresh weather hell would erupt. As this latest issue was composed, the grip of bitter cold suddenly began to dissolve on a foggy, drizzly day with the occasional honk as returning geese passed unseen overhead in low clouds. With winter more or less gone, Orphan Scrivener now takes up its task of chilling subscribers' blood. Read on!


ERIC'S BIT OR LITERATURE FOR THE LITTLE GRAY CELLS

Although Mary and I co-write mysteries, I grew up on science fiction. As soon as I could decipher something more complicated than a picture book I rocketed straight from The Cat in the Hat to Tom Swift Junior. During my school years I explored the galaxies, traveled in time, and tried to save the earth from alien invasions. Maybe I should have been studying my algebra instead. I entered college as a liberal arts major (presumably both astronauts and mad scientists need to have passed high school algebra) and my literary tastes broadened to include genres beyond science fiction, such as mysteries. These days I rarely read science fiction and when I do it is usually of mid-twentieth century vintage.

But has my taste in reading really evolved? The exotic creatures and locales of Dr Seuss are certainly science fictional. The world on a dust mote in Horton Hears a Who -- one of my favorites -- is reminiscent of the microscopic worlds encountered by the dwindling protagonist of Henry Hasse's He Who Shrank. Mystery is not so far removed from science fiction. Both are intellectual genres, focusing on the exercise of the little grey cells, as Agatha Christie's Hercule Poirot was wont to say, rather than on character study. Mysteries require the protagonist to work out a murder puzzle. Science fiction often involves the puzzles posed by technological advances or alien planets and races. What's more mind bending and ingenious, a time travel paradox or a locked room mystery?

Not surprisingly a lot of authors have moved between genres. Fredric Brown is well known for both. John D MacDonald wrote sf novels early in his career. Wilson Tucker started out with mysteries before moving to science fiction. Isaac Asimov produced traditional mystery puzzle stories (the Black Widowers Club) as well as novels featuring a robot detective. Just recently China Mieville won the Hugo award for best sf novel for his mystery The City and the City, which developed an idea I encountered originally in a Jack Vance's short story Ulan Dhor from The Dying Earth collection.

What got me thinking about this connection was reading back to back And On The Eighth Day (1964) by Ellery Queen and The Chain of Chance (1975) by Stanislaw Lem.

The latter is straight science fiction. In the near future a former astronaut is hired by a detective agency to help in an investigation of a case of mysterious deaths. Several victims became mad and committed suicide during their vacation in various Naples spas, apparently without reason. Due to certain similarities in the circumstances of the deaths the case is assumed to be a serial murder by poisoning, however it is never certain what (if any) real connection exists between the victims.

The novel follows all the conventions of a detective story. The protagonist interviews people, examines physical and circumstantial evidence, and uncovers the movements and backgrounds of the victims. Nevertheless, what Lem seems primarily interested in is not murder but rather an examination of probability theory and how it affects our perception of the world. And the solution, which is perfectly fairly clued, is based firmly on a knowledge of science.

Fascinating, but not for those looking for breath-taking suspense or heart breaking emotion.

And On The Eighth Day is, on the other hand, a traditional mystery, of sorts. What else would one expect? Starting back in the twenties Ellery Queen helped shape the genre's Golden Age and also founded Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine to which Mary, by herself, and the two of us in collaboration, have sold several stories over the years. Ellery Queen was the pseudonym of two cousins, Frederic Dannay and Manfred B. Lee. Dannay largely plotted the Queen novels, and most of the writing was done by Lee.

For a time, perhaps because Lee had writer's block, Dannay depended on ghost writers to flesh out his plots. Among them were sf authors Theodore Sturgeon, Jack Vance, and Avram Davidson. And On The Eighth Day was written by Avram Davidson from a 66 page long Dannay outline. As the book cover reveals:

"It was the last thing that Ellery Queen ever expected to encounter. He was on his way from Los Angeles to New York. He took a wrong turn.

Suddenly there it was, a figure standing on the cliff above him. It was a man -- an old man dressed in a hooded brown robe. In one hand he carried a crooked staff, in the other a curiously shaped instrument, something like a trumpet. As Ellery got out of the Duesenberg and walked toward him, the old man turned his gaunt profile and jutting beard.

'The Word be with you.'

And thus began one of the most curious adventures that has ever befallen Ellery Queen."

To say the story is "curious" as compared to traditional early Ellery Queen efforts like The Roman Hat Mystery is putting it mildly. Set in a secret religious community in a lost valley in the southwestern desert, the book can be read as a religious allegory, or a social or utopian novel. Dannay stated that he conceived it after reading about the Dead Sea Scrolls and noting their parallels to the Gospels.

Although the book works as a detective novel with an interesting puzzle to be solved, it's little wonder that Dannay engaged a science fiction writer for the writing.

Since I've been contemplating literary genres that primarily engage the little grey cells I should probably try to tie things together and reach some conclusions. But the only conclusion that occurs is that despite everyone today clamoring for "character driven fiction" there remains such a thing as "idea driven fiction", and as often as not that's the sort I prefer.


NECESSARY EVIL or THE BSP TICKER

A mixed budget of news this time around and here it is!

REVEALING A COVER or TRUNDLING ALONG THE ROAD TO PUBLICATION

Every Friday Poisoned Pen Press posts cover reveals on its blog, and the one for Murder In Megara appeared there on 3rd April. Point your clickers here for that and further details of our protagonist's eleventh adventure:

http://www.poisonedpenpress.com/poisoned-pen-press-cover-reveal-friday-april-3rd-2015/

Printed ARCs are now going out for review. Those who prefer a digital ARC will not be overlooked, being as it will also be uploaded to Net Galley in due course. Stay tuned!

BEAUTY IN THE EYE OF THE WRITER or DEEP-SET EYES AND A PERFECTLY SHAPED HEAD

And speaking of the Poisoned Pen Press blog, Mary's next contribution chunters on with a few thoughts on how older novels unconsciously record contemporary ideas about feminine beauty. Here's the URL, which will leap into life on 18th March at:

http://www.poisonedpenpress.com/deep-set-eyes-perfectly-shaped-head/

Before then, and indeed afterwards, subscribers may care to check the PPP blog for musings on all manner of topics by numerous Poisoned Pen authors, linked from PPP's news page at:

http://www.poisonedpenpress.com/category/news-and-blog/

STILL RABBITING ON ABOUT BLOGS or THE SHADOW REVIEWS

Our shadow identity M. E. Mayer also has a blog, largely devoted to reviews of Golden Age and classic mysteries. Its most recent post concerns The Paternoster Ruby by Charles E. Walk, in which Inspector Knowles Smith remarks he believes "the reader will unhesitatingly admit, by this time, that the Page affair presented many remarkable aspects". As indeed it does. MEM's thoughts may be perused at:

http://memayer.blogspot.com/2015/04/review-paternoster-ruby-charles-e-walk.html

FREE ETEXTS AHOY! or RECENT ADDITIONS TO OUR GOLDEN AGE LIBRARY

At the beginning of April we added another six novels to our Golden Age library, which offers links to free collections and mysteries of that ilk, as well as to classic mysteries and the occasional thriller. This latest batch included three Ashton Kirk titles and another Dr Thorndyke novel, making over 600 available via this page:

http://www.home.earthlink.net/~maywrite/golden.htm


MARY'S BIT or A PEBBLE IN THE WELL

As a city gal living in the country it took me a while to come to grips with the dark mysteries of septic tanks and personal wells.

In fact, the first time I heard the noise of the water pressure being adjusted -- the pressure tank lives behind the fridge, itself tucked under the stairs -- I was startled, but now its regular cycle has faded into general background noise. Except during bitter cold spells when lack of its sharp click on and off means the water line has frozen. We only had one episode of that this past winter, but it meant Mr Maywrite had to be in the crawl space with his heat gun, unfreezing the line at two in the morning and a wind chill in the minus low 20*s.

Living in a city, the only time I recall the Reed household losing water was in childhood, a problem solved by fetching water in a bucket from a standpipe situated in a courtyard in the next street. However, a few years ago we had no water on tap for two days and it was not the result of the occasional loss of power when the well pump cannot work.

Thoreau declared water is the only drink for a wise man and I say that's all very well, but first the wise man has to have access to a source of Adam's ale.

So we called in a wise man, which is to say a well wallah, who established the well pump had just up and died. Normally restoring our water would have been a one day job but he arrived in a vehicle with superstructure so tall it could not pass under our power line, so he had to return the following day with a smaller lorry. Even then it only just cleared the line. Indeed, when it left it took a few branches away with it, caught from trees grown sufficiently over the years to overshadow the well head.

For the benefit of British subscribers I should mention such wells are nothing like the traditional type featuring a wall around the mouth and a hand-turned windlass to raise and lower the bucket, reminding me of the much larger and therefore donkey-powered well in that rattling good yarn Moonfleet. No, local well heads are discreet, being a length of capped pipe sticking up a foot or so, with their electrical doings lurking out of sight in their watery depths. In some ways a bucket and windlass would be a better arrangement as it would continue to provide water when the electricity went off since it wouldn't have a pump to conk out or indeed a line into the house to freeze, but there it is.

At one point during operations our wallah dropped a tiny pebble into the well and then, by listening for how long it took for a small splash to be heard, told us he estimated its depth to be about a hundred or so feet. And once the old pump was hauled up he was able to reveal by consulting the coding on it was approximately thirty years old. They certainly built them to last in those days!

Let's hope the new pump lasts as long.


AND FINALLY

Speaking of dark mysteries, the next issue of Orphan Scrivener will cast a shadow on subscribers' in-boxes on June 15th, by which time we shall probably be complaining about the terrible heat.

See you then!
Mary R and Eric

who invite you to visit their home page, to be found hanging out on the virtual washing line that is the Web at http://home.earthlink.net/~maywrite/ There you'll discover the usual suspects, including more personal essays, our bibliography, the Doom Cat interactive game written by Eric, and our growing libraries of links to free e-texts of classic and Golden Age mysteries, ghost stories, and tales of the supernatural. There's also the Orphan Scrivener archive, so don't say you weren't warned! Intrepid subscribers may also wish to visit Eric's blog at http://www.journalscape.com/ericmayer/ or pop over to our shadow identity M. E. Mayer's blog (largely devoted to reviews of Golden Age and classic mysteries) at http://memayer.blogspot.com/ And just for the heck of it, we'll also mention our noms des Twitter are @marymaywrite and @groggytales Drop in some time!


Sunday, February 15, 2015

THE ORPHAN SCRIVENER -- ISSUE # NINETY-ONE -- 15 FEBRUARY 2015

Some have claimed if you wait long enough whatever it is that's bothering you will go away. Well, popular wisdom has definitely fallen down on the ice on this one, since like the rest of the east coast and New England we're still waiting for the snow and record cold to depart. Shakespeare was right to declare when the storm is up all's on the hazard! Fortunately for mailmen none must hazard storms or terrible cold to deliver this newsletter...


MARY'S BIT or OIL DROPS KEPT FALLING ON THEIR HEADS

Subscribers will recall that as the Narnia books begin a permanent winter shrouds that land, so it is always snowing and never Christmas. And many will sigh and say alas, it's the same hereabouts, just as it has been at Casa Maywrite for past few weeks.

The advent of built-in closets has robbed many youngsters of attempts to seek Narnia by looking in their wardrobes. I surely cannot be the only young reader who occasionally undertook the quest and a favourite place to seek the forest where the lamp-post stood involved a particular Reed wardrobe. It was fitted with a drawer across the bottom and a mirrored door in the middle of the upper part, in all a heavy piece of furniture constructed of a dark wood, possibly mahogany. Many a time leaning the upper part of my body in and twisting awkwardly I could have sworn if I was only able to reach just a little further to one side or the other my hand would be brushed by branches and the light touch of snowflakes and I'd see lamplight filtering through the clothing hanging on the rail.

Narnia's lamp-post was familiar to us because they were still on the streets and functioning in our childhood. One was located not that far from our front door in Newcastle, of the type with a ladder arm extending from one side of the post. Our utilisation of this bar in tandem with a skippy rope pointed up a difference between genders. For girls generally threw the rope over the bar and knotted the ends together to form a swing, while boys would tend to use it to swing round the lamp-post, ululating in imitation of Tarzan.

At the time our maisonette, as with others in this street of Victorian terraced houses, had no electricity. It was eventually wired, but even afterward there remained a working gas light in our attic bedroom for which the filmy mantles, so fragile they more or less disintegrated if you so much as looked at them cross-eyed, were sold in the corner shop.

We weren't old enough to remember lamplighters as memorialised in Stevenson's wistful poem about a sick child's plan, when he grew stronger, to accompany local lamplighter Leerie on his rounds. But lamplighting was an occupation inevitably overtaken by advancing technology, and it was the same for the previous band of lamplighters whose public charges ran on oil. Theirs must have been a tedious job, what with daytime tasks of shinning up their ladder to trim wicks, clean and polish the lamp, and see to its fuel, and then come back again at dusk to light it. By our time street gas-lamps were self-igniting.

With the newfangled gas lamps, however, there was an advantage for the public: lamplighters no longer had any opportunity to dribble oil on the bonnets and hats of passing pedestrians, as mentioned in a short piece by Dickens. The arrival of gas-lamps outraged his naughty oil dribbling lamplighter, who protested any low fellow could light a gas-lamp. Their introduction was a death-blow to the country, he declared, not to mention a plot by radicals bent on destroying the oil and cotton trades, presumably referring to the cotton waste he used to clean the lamps. Ultimately he was so affected by the change-over he became deranged and hanged himself on a lamp iron, one of those projections from which some lamps were hung and which were used as makeshift gallows as described in A Tale of Two Cities by the same author.

However, lamplighters lived on in popular culture for a time at least via references to their proverbial swiftness of foot. I deduced this to be so (you know my methods, Watson) from nods to this talent in a couple of older novels. The first was in R. Austin Freeman's The Moabite Cipher, a Doctor Thorndyke story in which an inspector asks a reporter if a third character departing the scene seemed to hurry: "Rather," replied the reporter. "As soon as you were inside he went off like a lamplighter. You won't catch him now."

Then there was Sheridan Le Fanu's Mr Justice Harbottle, in which a character strikes someone on the head with a heavy instrument and "...leaving him bleeding and senseless in the gutter, ran like a lamp-lighter down a lane to the right, and was gone."

Our modern slang expression lighting out, meaning a swift departure, is doubtless the phrase's descendant, although sadly, with the demolition of our street decades ago, the light of our friendly gas-lamp has been out for a long time.


NECESSARY EVIL or THE BSP TICKER

It has been a quiet period since we last darkened subscribers' in-boxes, but there's a little news and here it is.

A NOTABLE ANNIVERSARY or FIVE FOR JOY (WE HOPE)

This issue marks the 15th year to the day since the publication of the debut issue of Orphan Scrivener. Returning to 2000 and consulting the dusty archive shelves, we see at the time we were writing Two For Joy. Therefore to mark today's auspicious date and by kind permission of the press we're giving away a copy of Twofer or any other of the Lord Chamberlain novels chosen by the first five subscribers who request one. It'll be sent as a pdf via email, so you won't need an e-reader. No strings stream out behind it -- review your chosen title or not, we'll leave that up to you.

SAILING AWAY or NEWS OF MURDER IN MEGARA

We recently received word Murder In Megara has entered the production process, meaning it's trundled safely down the slipway and is on its voyage downriver to sail out into the world. Publication date is October 2015 and a description of John's latest adventure, in which he must investigate alone while under suspicion of murder, can be found in the official blurb at http://www.poisonedpenpress.com/murder-megara/ The cover illustration has also been chosen and by coincidence one of its components is an animal whose name is the surname of one of the authors, spelt backwards. Can conspiracy theories be far behind?

THE PPP BLOG-O-RAMA or JUST A REMINDER

Subscribers may care to check the Poisoned Pen Press multi-author blog for musings on all manner of topics by numerous PPP authors. Contributions, including Mary's on each 18th of the month, are linked from PPP's news page at http://www.poisonedpenpress.com/category/news-and-blog/ Why not give it a whirl?


ERIC'S BIT or UPDIKE AND ME

It's been many years since I tried my hand at writing any sort of fiction except mysteries, but my reading remains eclectic as ever.

Even in my teens, when I gorged on science fiction and fantasy, I found time to read the likes of Arthur Conan Doyle, John Steinbeck, and John Updike. Not much of the latter, to be honest. The collection Pigeon Feathers defeated me immediately.

Decades later, no longer a teenager, I've been reading Updike again: his first novel, The Poorhouse Fair; Self-Consciousness: Memoirs; his early short stories set in a fictional town in Pennsylvania, the state I'm from. My reaction has been much more positive.

It may be his perfect descriptions of familiar landscapes that appeal to my sympathies and make me see similarities -- probably erroneously -- between the two of us, the bestselling author and the author who is...well, let's be kind...not bestselling. He describes the brown Pennsylvania countryside (and it is brown for much more of the year than it is green) of empty fields and weathered barns with the detailed exactitude of fellow Pennsylvanian Andrew Wyeth. I grew up with that stark and subdued image of my environment. My attempts at watercolor were all burnt umber and burnt sienna beneath skies awash in Payne's gray. Until I left home I insisted on somber clothes, dull earthen colors, gray, nothing brighter than dark blue. My tastes reflected my state of mind and perhaps too a subliminal desire to blend in with my surroundings, to avoid drawing attention.

I was shy, awkward, obsessed with books and writing, all characteristics I shared with the young Updike, to hear him tell it in his memoirs. Both our fathers taught school so we both knew the borderline poverty, as it seemed in that affluent era, that accompanied the teaching profession up until the late sixties. There is, in The Centaur, a chapter recounting a winter-morning drive that captures so perfectly the tribulations of navigating hilly, snow-covered Pennsylvania secondary highways in an old and unreliable vehicle, it might have been downloaded straight from my own brain. Presuming that my brain had actually stored the detailed memories Updike's had.

Unfortunately I am no John Updike. Despite our similar disabilities he was writing for the New Yorker by his early twenties, whereas by my early twenties -- years later -- I was reading essays by his Talk of the Town predecessor E.B.White (who hired Updike) and writing a column for the local weekly newspaper.

After that the gap between Updike and me widened.

It did occur to me, as it must have to him, that a fine crop of writing could be grown in the compost of one's childhood. But inspired by the great New Yorker essayists, I used that material for essays of the kind you see here in the Orphan Scrivener. Had I possessed Updike's talent and insight I might have transmuted my experiences into fiction instead.

What irks me about my teenaged obtuseness is that it deprived me of following Updike's output, year by year, story by story, book by book. He's gone now and his oeuvre is finished. There will be nothing new to look forward to or be surprised (or disappointed) by.

I haven't reached his mid-sixties writing yet, when his settings and themes took a major turn. Maybe I will continue on with my reading or maybe I will just leave him back when we were both young.


AND FINALLY

Bertrand Russell advised people not to feel certain of anything. One thing we may be certain about, however, is there won't be much revelry on April 15th. For it's not only Income Tax Return Day in the US but also Return of Orphan Scrivener Day, when the next issue will swoop in at lamplighter speed to darken your email in-box.

See you then!
Mary R and Eric

who invite you to visit their home page, to be found hanging out on the virtual washing line that is the Web at http://home.earthlink.net/~maywrite/ There you'll discover the usual suspects, including more personal essays, our bibliography, the Doom Cat interactive game written by Eric, and our growing libraries of links to free e-texts of classic and Golden Age mysteries, ghost stories, and tales of the supernatural. There's also the Orphan Scrivener archive, so don't say you weren't warned! Intrepid subscribers may also wish to visit Eric's blog at http://www.journalscape.com/ericmayer/ or perhaps pop over to our shadow identity M. E. Mayer's blog (largely devoted to reviews of Golden Age mysteries) at http://memayer.blogspot.com/ And just for the heck of it, we'll also mention our noms des Twitter are @marymaywrite and @groggytales Drop in some time!


THE ORPHAN SCRIVENER - ISSUE # ONE HUNDRED AND FORTY SIX - 15 APRIL 2024

We understand Virginia Woolf described letter-writing as the child of the penny post. How then to describe the parentage of emails? Whatever...