ERIC'S BIT or CAPTAIN AT THE SWITCHBOARD
In his later years my grandfather worked as a custodian at the local
phone company. I'd pass the big brick building every day on my way
home from grade school. He used to let me in after closing time. I
followed him down the deserted hallways to the closet by the dark
stairwell where he put away his mop and bucket. I felt like an
adventurer journeying through forbidden regions.
We'd stop by the echoing cafeteria for a soda from the machine, and
then visit Mabel, the switchboard operator. This black, light-studded
panel wasn't the switchboard for the building, but for the whole town.
How many local dialers had been privileged to glimpse the jolly gray-
haired lady who sat at the secret heart of their every phone
conversation, calmly plugging and unplugging connections as green and
yellow cats-eyes flashed amid the crossed cords?
More amazing still, Mabel allowed me to sit in her big soft leather
swivel chair, don the headset, take plugs in hand, and assume her
duties for a few minutes. It was like sitting in front of the control
panel of a spaceship.
And just as if I really were a spaceship captain, I could perform
futuristic feats, like placing three-way calls. They were unheard of
back then, at least by me and my friends. Imagine their shock and
delight when they realized the three of us really were speaking to
each other, all at once, from different places. Telephones just
couldn't do that, any more than they could transmit pictures or send
you backwards in time, at least not twentieth century phones. It was
incredible, impossible, downright science fictional!
But before I did anything, my grandfather always pointed out a large
red light that glowed steadily beside a socket near the bottom of the
board. "Just make sure you don't put the plug in there. That goes
straight to the owner. If you ring up the owner at home, we'll be in a
powerful lot of trouble."
Of course, there's nothing like a hint of danger to make a task more
exciting. I worked around that red light pretty carefully.
Years later, after my grandfather was gone, when I realized he'd had a
dry sense of humor, I figured he must have been kidding. But I never
plugged in there so I'll never know.
NECESSARY EVIL or THE BSP TICKER
This time around the ticker is taking a bit of a rest while undergoing
maintenance, but it has still produced an item to print out on its
paper tape...and here it is.
How are plot ideas inspired? On July 3rd we revealed what sparked five
of our works in an essay for Lois Winston's Anastasia Pollock blog.
https://anastasiapollack.blogspot.com/2019/07/mary-reed-and-eric-mayer-dig-into-past.html
Our thanks to Lois for the opportunity to do something we don't do
often: talking about the
mechanics of writing.
MARY'S BIT or CREATING ILLUSIONS WITHOUT TURTLES
It has been said much of what the unlearned regard as magical involves
secrets of art and nature. Of late we've been watching Penn and
Teller's Fool Us series, in which magician guests attempt hoodwink the
duo. Being among the unlearned, we marvel at the prestidigitation thus
presented, turning to each other in amazement, exclaiming how did they
*do* that?
Just as fascinating are Penn's coded comments, conveying to guests the
methods by which their tricks were accomplished. Occasionally they are
indeed fooled and a trophy is awarded. To the layperson these comments
are as mysterious as the tricks, so we also routinely ask each other a
second question: what does he *mean* by that?
We assume this speaking in code is to keep the secret of the execution
of the trick as a professional courtesy to a fellow illusionist. A
prime example of this technical jargon cropped up a couple of evenings
ago and nagged me for an explanation ever since: Penn mentioned
turtles more than once. So I've consulted that universal know-it-all
Mr Google for the answer.
Before revealing what I learned, I shall proceed to astonish
subscribers by reading their minds, using my own newly invented magic
trick. And yes, I really did just think it up.
Ready? Think of a turtle, a nice
little turtle. Focus your thoughts hard on your turtle. Handsome
little devil, isn't he, as he crawls along carrying his abode on his
back? And what is your turtle
doing now? Think your reply but say nothing for I shall tell you: your
turtle is drawing its head inside its shell!
If I was wrong and subscribers feel they have reason to express
dissatisfaction, please direct all grievances to Mr Maywrite,
currently wearing the Orphan Scrivener Complaints Manager hat.
Back to the magical turtles. They're hollow coins, which is to say the
shells of same, and thus a most useful accessory for performing any
number of tricks.
If we may be so bold, as writers we're akin to our diminutive Egyptian
magician Dedi who played a major role in Six For Gold and Ten For
Dying inasmuch as we're in the business of creating illusions -- only
we employ words instead of turtles.
AND FINALLY
As usual we close by reminding subscribers that, courtesy of the
seemingly magical system we know as the intertubez, we shall reappear
in subscribers' in-boxes on October 15th.
See you then!
Mary R & 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://reedmayermysteries.000webhostapp.com/ 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. It also
hosts the Orphan Scrivener archive, so don't say you weren't warned!
Meantime, our joint blog, largely devoted to reviews of Golden Age of
Mystery fiction, lurks about at http://ericreedmysteries.blogspot.com/
Intrepid subscribers may also wish to know our noms des Twitter are
@marymaywrite and @groggytales. Drop in some time.
