THE ORPHAN SCRIVENER -- ISSUE # ELEVEN -- l5 OCTOBER 200l

When our last newsletter winged on Mercury's sandals to your in-box, we were routinely consulting the other sort of mercury, being in the crab-like pincers of what turned into a lengthy heat wave for a fair bit of the nation. Now, however, not only has the temperature dropped but soon the foliage will follow suit. How the ancients must have dreaded these beautiful autumn days when the all-important harvest was brought in. Would there be enough food to last until spring? Would the spirit of vegetation, dying so colourfully all around them, return at the appointed time in the new year? There's something sad about these misty mornings with their thin, golden rays of sunshine slanting through flaring patchworks of orange, red and lemon-lime tinted trees strung across the landscape. Perhaps it's because this season reminds us not only that Time, as Isaac Watts so eloquently put it, bears all its sons away but also that winter is just over the horizon.

And the passage of Time, of course, also inexorably brings with it another issue of Orphan Scrivener, so here it is. Enjoy!

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MARY'S BIT or THE GOTH A-LIST

Research often entices the seeker down some very strange and dark byways, twisty deserted streets or dusty, oddly quiet lanes -- yet often even the most seemingly ordinary path winds at last to literary countryside so fascinating that it takes a really stern effort of will to turn back and retrace one's wandering footsteps. Many's the time when looking up odds and ends I've wanted to keep reading to see what lay around the heavily wooded bend curving so enticingly out of sight, or if you prefer plainer talk, to go on to the next chapter even though I've located the needed information.

Thus it was during the writing of Three For A Letter when the time arrived for the ever-difficult task of the Naming of Names. While it's always a good plan to avoid writing about characters with similar sounding monikers or names beginning with the same initial, this time around there we encountered an added difficulty when naming a pair of royal Goth twins.

Apart from the initial and inevitable thought of Goths as being connected with dark clothing, demon-white faces and An Attitude -- in some ways not a bad description of the twins' forebears -- it turned out that the Goths seemed overly fond of names beginning with A, such as Amalfrida, Agiwulf, Anagastes, Aligern and Aithanarid. Indeed, historical characters needing at least a nod in Threefer included Athalaric and Amalasuntha.

Added to that, many Goth names sound rather odd to present day ears and so, bearing in mind that first impressions are important when meeting new characters, the likes of Giso, Mundo, Gundobad, Patza and Hunila were quickly cast aside. Originally the siblings were to be Amalaric (male) and Amalathea (female) but finally, after much muttering and consulting of lists, they were renamed Gadaric and Sunilda respectively.

However, it's just as well that the twins appear in Three For A Letter. Had they been involved in Two For Joy, since we're reliably informed that Byzantines loved puns we might not have been able to resist the right royal temptation of giving the unfortunate lad the genuine Goth name of Tufa and then slyly dubbing his sister Joy.

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NECESSARY EVIL or THE BSP TICKER

SPEAKING OF JOY

Those who enjoy discussion/reading guides can leap therewith as we've have just completed one for the novels thus far issued. Since it necessarily contains a certain amount of spoilerage -- particularly for the first two books -- at this point we're not posting it to our website. However, if you'd like to glance over it, do jot a line and we'll gladly email a copy.

JOHN VISITS THE COUNTRY PART I

The sixth John story, And All That He Calls Family, is now lurking on those bookstore shelves carrying The Mammoth Book of More Historical Whodunnits, Mike Ashley's latest historical mystery anthology. (UK title: The Mammoth Book of Historical Whodunnits: A New Collection). In this particular outing, John is called upon to solve a strange affair precipitated when a curse tablet is dredged up from a well on a country estate. Did the ill-wisher involved have any connection with the recent death of Damian, co-owner of the estate, whose shade has been seen flitting about the gardens -- and could Damian's posthumous son Solon now also be in danger?

JOHN VISITS THE COUNTRY PART II

The press is now thundering to print Three For A Letter, to be published in December. In Threefer, John finds himself embroiled in murderous goings-on at the seaside estate of Anatolius' Uncle Zeno, that scholarly old gent of eclectic credulity mentioned in Two For Joy (the pb edition of which appeared this month) and in the short story Leap of Faith (EQMM, November 1998). Among other things, John's adventures involve amazing automatons, ladies-in-waiting with agendas, a magical whale and Empress Theodora's favourite mime. Familiar characters such as the excubitor captain Felix, that hasty young man-about-Constantinople Anatolius and Senator Balbinus, last seen in Two For Joy, return. There's also a cast of assorted Goths, none of whom have names beginning with A.

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ERIC'S BIT or AT MY SIGNAL, UNLEASH CONFUSION

Near the beginning of the movie Gladiator, General Maximus, about to lead his legions into battle deep in the forests of Germany, gives the command "At my signal, unleash hell," and before you can shake a pila it's hasta la vista barbarians.

When I first saw the movie that line didn't bother me. Ever since Dirty Harry wanted his day made, quick thinking action heroes have had to come up with memorable phrases prior to inflicting mayhem. It isn't a bad convention, for those of us who take some vicarious pleasure in imagining ourselves as the hero. Even if I were able to engineer the bloody dispatch of an army of ruthless Germans I would probably have emerged from my tent one morning, weeks later, thinking, "The Furies take me. I should've said, 'At my signal, unleash hell,' instead of 'At the count of three, go.'"

However, slow-witted as I am, I have recently wondered about the use of the word "hell." Why would a Roman general exhort his troops to bring down upon the enemy a banned religious cult's idea of what the afterlife holds for those who fail to adhere to their religion's decidedly non-Roman precepts? Certainly the typical Roman did not believe in the Christian idea of hell and if Maximus' men did hold beliefs differing from those of the average pagan of the era, they were likely Mithrans since that was a soldier's religion.

To be fair, historical fiction always presents translation problems so it may be that the word "hell" was meant to be an understandable reference to the Roman's own conception of the eternal wrong side of the tracks reserved for transgressors. After all, "At my signal, release Tartarus," just doesn't have much of a ring to modern ears.

Tartarus, where the judges of the dead sent wrongdoers after the latter had been ferried across the Styx to the underworld, wasn't much like Hell. In fact, most souls sent there wandered as pale shades in meadows of asphodel. It is hard to imagine why Maximus would urge his army to unleash fields of asphodel on the Germans, or what military objective such a tactic might achieve, except perhaps to sow confusion, presuming the Germans were as uncertain as I am about what an asphodel actually is.

I have read that some Roman dead were punished by the Furies, so maybe that was what Maximus had in mind, but if so, why didn't he just order the unleashing of the Furies?

Even if one argues that the reference to hell is anachronistic does it matter? It's a good line. It certainly conjures up the proper images, and probably does so better for a modern movie-goer than some more realistically Roman reference could. I suppose it is a question of the writer's taste in translation.

When Mary and I write our Byzantine mysteries I always feel as if I'm translating our characters' words from the ancient Greek or Latin. We tend to be conservative, literal, translators. So while the adolescent court page, Hektor, might show his contempt and disrespect for John by barging into the Lord Chamberlain's home and issuing impertinent orders, he won't soon be addressing him with "Hey, old Chamberlain dude," although that is probably what he'd be saying if he were living today.

The use of modern, idiomatic expressions might make it a little easier for the present day reader to relate to characters, or at least makes it easier for the writer to present those characters. But I believe that in any historical novel, one of the main characters, perhaps as important as the protagonist, is the setting, and anachronisms in the mouths of other characters makes the setting less believable. It is hard enough to convince readers to imagine they are walking down the Mese in ancient Constantinople without constantly reminding them that this is a book written in the twenty-first century.

We try hard to make sure no anachronisms slip into the John the Eunuch series, but it's hard to avoid and sometimes occasionally tempting. While writing Three For A Letter, we were sorely tempted to play a bit fast and loose with the language. The Byzantines, as Mary mentions above, were very fond of puns. Unfortunately Byzantine puns only make sense in Latin or ancient Greek. I'm not sure how, or if it is possible, to translate a pun. Nevertheless, Anatolius, considering himself a wit, would likely have been prone to puns and in one scene as originally written he got carried away and made one involving goats and Christianity.

On reflection and after a bit more research the chroniclers of the adventures of John and his friends decided that particular bit of word play only worked in English and would've made no sense in ancient Greek, so it was removed. Besides, it was dreadful, not to mention possibly upsetting to people of nervous disposition. Anyway, if you want to hear that pun I guess you'll have to wait for the out-takes on the DVD.

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AND FINALLY

Since we're approaching 2,000 words and try to stay around that figure so as not to overload your e-mail, we'll now scurry about and close down this issue. As usual, we'll be back in two months so look out for the next Orphan Scrivener in mid-December, that time of jolly jamborees across both the ancient and modern worlds.

Best wishes to all.

Mary and Eric

whose home page lurks about at

http://home.epix.net/~maywrite/

Therein you'll find the usual suspects plus more 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 eye-catching scarlet cover. We also now have a work-in-progress, to wit, a page listing mystery- related newsletters (print and email). If you have such a newsletter and would like to be listed, let us know. And finally, for those new to the subscription list there's also the Orphan Scrivener archive, so don't say you weren't warned!

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THE ORPHAN SCRIVENER ISSUE # TEN -- l5 AUGUST 200l

The dog days of August are worrying us like a mongrel with a juicy bone. Indeed, as this latest issue of Orphan Scrivener is being written, crispy yellowed leaves occasionally float by the window as distressed trees begin to shed their dusty summer foliage. This autumnal sight reminds us that in a fortnight or so it will be Labour Day, traditionally marking the end of summer, and soon autumn tints will begin to wash across the hills in glorious bands of colour -- assuming, of course, there are any leaves left on the trees at all by then.

But already the nights are drawing in and the sunshine is noticeably thinner. The quality of light has changed, becoming almost melancholy. Although autumn brings the fruitful harvest along with mists and cooler nights, still and all, it reminds us too that winter will soon be coming down the pike and another year is starting to draw to a close. Just like those seared leaves, time floats by, bringing with it the tenth issue of Orphan Scrivener -- but as to whether you'll find this newsletter fruitful or melancholy, the only way to find out is to read on!

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ERIC'S BIT or A MYSTERY IN THE TITLE

Although Mary and I have written nothing but mysteries together, my own roots are planted in Middle Earth. Well, actually in fantasy in general. They descend deep into the rusty sands of Mars and seek out cracks in the eroded pavements of lost cities. While growing up I read Tolkien's Lord of the Rings, not to mention science fiction and fantasy classics, Tom Swift Jr. and the ghost stories of M.R. James. It was only later I turned to mysteries, so it is not surprising that the John the Eunuch novels I've co-written all contain distinct elements of the fantastic.

One For Sorrow involved the Holy Grail and an ancient soothsayer. Two For Joy featured spontaneously combusting stylites and a miracle-working holy man. Three For A Letter continues the tradition, surrounding John and his companions with such arcana as automatons, a magical whale and a herd of fortune-telling goats.

Not exactly the stuff of gritty police procedurals or legal thrillers, I agree. I doubt I'll ever write those. Perhaps this is an admission I shouldn't make but I've never had much interest in exactly what police do, and thanks to my time in law school, I know entirely too much about how the legal system works. What interests me more than the cold, grinding, machinery of our society are those ethereal possibilities that still float around the edges of matters about which we are all too certain.

Mysteries often deal with the seemingly fantastic, if only to debunk it and deliver the logical solution which, according to some, is the point of the genre. Yet consider The Hound of the Baskervilles with its glowing apparition. For me, the memory of the story has more to do with the aura of the supernatural that permeates it than with its solution.

My fantasy roots probably explain why locked room mysteries, like so many of Ed Hoch's short stories, have always been favorites and, I admit, not really for the clever explanations either. One of Mr. Hoch's Doctor Sam Hawthorne stories began with a missing wagon and wagon tracks in the snow leading onto a covered bridge but not out the other side. When I read it, I started wracking my brain for the explanation. But as interesting as it was to try and solve the puzzle, and as satisfying (or aggravating in a "why-didn't-I-think-of-that way) as the solution was, well, my strongest recollection is still that frisson I had thinking about the wagon's "impossible" disappearance.

Writing about locked room mysteries reminds me of a truly great one from the 1930s -- Obelists Fly High by C. Daly King. A murder occurs during a mid-thirties transcontinental flight and the book is worthwhile just for its description of that alone. But aside from the impossible crime there is another fantastic element to the novel -- the word "Obelist"! I have been unable to find this word in any dictionary or even on the Internet and yet there it sits, in a title no less.

So if anyone has the solution, I'd be happy to hear it and we will of course share it in our next newsletter.

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NECESSARY EVIL or THE BSP TICKER

It's one of the shortest BSP Tickers on record this time around so we'll get right to it.

The lush green and gold cover of Two For Joy will reappear on book shelves in October when the paperback edition is issued, and speaking of covers, while the author of The British Grenadiers made the interesting claim that some folk talked of Alexander and others of Hercules, we'd like to talk about the cover of Three For A Letter. It's been unveiled since the last newsletter came out and the design department of Poisoned Pen Press has Done It Again, for it's another stunner. If you'd care to take a glance, feel free to point your clicker to

http://www.poisonedpenpress.com/html/threeforaletter.html

but, please, no jokes about characters looking sheepish!

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MARY'S BIT or IT CERTAINLY DIDN'T STAND FOR GET WELL SOON

Eric's Bit mentions M. R. James, one of my favourite authors, and I was recently fortunate enough to discover a story of his that was new to me. A School Story relates a tale about G. W. Sampson, who teaches Latin at a boy's school. His watch chain has suspended from it a charm which is an ancient gold Byzantine coin that he'd picked up in Constantinople. Or so he says. For a Latin teacher, he doesn't seem too concerned about defacing this old coin by scratching it with his initials and a date. But then again there is definitely something mysterious, not quite right, about G. W. Sampson. But to return to our muttons, as the French say (it seems we cannot escape sheep this time around). As A School Story unfolded, I spied a small mystery in that the teacher's scratched initials of GWS most certainly were not being used in the usual short-hand fashion for a kind wish that Mr Sampson would quickly recover good health. However, bearing in mind that scholars tell us that the Byzantines loved puns, like Miss Anne Elk of Monty Python fame, I have a theory. Warning: egregious spoiler coming up in next line.

Sure you want to read on?

OK, then. My theory is that the initials are connected in a particularly Jamesian sort of way with the well featured in the story. But then what are we to make of the date also scratched on that old Byzantine coin? Was it of some significance to Mr James, who was only a toddler on 24 July l865? It's a knotty problem over which I'm still puzzling, but in the meantime, Lost Hearts, The Mezzotint, Canon Alberic's Scrapbook and Room l3 are among the stories to be found at

http://easyweb.easynet.co.uk/~fadey/mrjframes.html

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AND FINALLY

It'll be somewhat cooler by the time that the next Orphan Scrivener trundles into your email in-box on October l5, a day or so after Fontinalia, the Roman festival honouring Fontus, god of springs and wells. In an outstanding example of the survival of old customs under different names, Fontinalia lives on in the well-dressing ceremonies still carried out in parts of England at various dates between May and September. For these, "dressing" involves very detailed pictures, often with a religious theme, that are made by villagers using natural materials such as petals, leaves and moss pressed into trays of clay. The trays are displayed next to the wells during the celebrations and more often than not that other good old British institution, the brass band, participates in the jamboree. And, in a link back to the old Roman festival, the highlight of the event is always the blessing of the well by the local vicar.

On which watery note, we'll close by wishing you all well, and see you again in October.

Mary and Eric

whose home page lurks about at

http://home.epix.net/~maywrite/

Therein you'll find the usual suspects plus more 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 eye-catching scarlet cover. We also now have a work-in-progress, to wit, a page listing mystery-related newsletters (print and email). For those new to the subscription list, there's also the Orphan Scrivener archive, so don't say you weren't warned!

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THE ORPHAN SCRIVENER -- ISSUE # NINE -- l5 JUNE 200l

This issue of Orphan Scrivener arrives not so much trailing clouds of glory as dragging along a fog of dust, for summer is a-coming in, and if you had any doubts about it perhaps you might care to glance out of your window and observe the local youngsters celebrating their two months or so of freedom in assorted and sundry (or in some areas, sun-dried) ways.

School's out and so is this newsletter, so we'll leap right into the fray.

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MARY'S BIT or THEY COULD HAVE PLAYED EUPHONIUMS

Occasionally I find myself wondering if those eternal motion machines that are the young ever pause long enough to contemplate the enjoyable sight of the lengthy vista of days -- nay, weeks -- stretching out before them when the summer holidays finally begin.

Why, the time rolling out ahead seemed endless to us when school was at last out, with those menacing back-to-school sales so far away at the other end of the summer as to be easily ignored -- and just as well since once they arrived we would have to get the number 4 bus into town to buy school supplies and new tennis shoes, which in turn meant that the new term was not far off and thus soon it would be time to drag ourselves off to the grey Victorian building in which we laboured, to again wrestle with French verbs, toil over geometry exercises and try to recall the names of all the Hanoverian rulers in the correct order -- all these tasks being carried in that strange chalk-and-old- books atmosphere that seemed to permeate every school in which I ever set foot.

Thinking on it now reminds me that my last school holiday was largely spent sprawled on my bed devouring cookers (cooking apples) so tart my teeth almost shrank from them as I chewed away while reading as many books as I could borrow from the library. It was a particularly hot summer that year and our fashionable frou-frou sponge-skirted petticoats ensured that those of us who considered ourselves trendy suffered mightily for the privilege. But the unaccustomed heat -- for when it's above 72 degrees in England, it's inevitably described in the media as A Scorcher -- made my shady room, the pile of green, shiny-skinned cookers and the even larger stack of books with covers of all colours even more attractive to one who was already a bookworm and fruit-lover. The noise of the neighbours' children playing all over the roadway -- despite living in houses with hanky-sized gardens that were nonetheless large enough to allow games of Traffic Lights or Statues or Tag without any risk of getting run over by the mobile fish and chip shop or a passing coal lorry -- was easily ignored, even though our windows were wide open to whatever breeze might meander in, bringing with it the scent of the two small lilac trees growing by the corner of the house.

Because even if those kids had spent their entire summer practicing playing euphoniums outside our front door, I should have taken no notice at all -- I had flown off on the magic carpet of books and would not be back until teatime. And so those long, golden afternoons unwound to the gentle rustle of pages turning and the piling up of apple gowks (cores) until it was time for tea. And when the washing up was done, the tea-towel hung up to dry and the plates and cups and cutlery put away again, there would still be time for a chapter or two or more to be read as shadows started to advance, shrouding the raspberry canes in the back garden and fingering the windows. Soon there would come that strange hush that creeps in between the time when workers arrive home for their evening meals and when they go out for the evening. Every night that quiet calm fell around the house like a kindly mantle and while it was true that, to the despair of my parents, I would probably be found in the kitchen at midnight frying up bacon and eggs, still I knew that tomorrow would proceed at the same slow pace, and the next day, and the day after that as well.

But it was recalling that this would be my last long summer holiday before I joined the work world that really added to its strange enchantment and, I think, to the sense that time was flying, bearing us all along willy-nilly faster and faster towards adulthood. It all seems dreamlike and far away now.

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NECESSARY EVIL or THE BSP TICKER

Just a couple of short items this time around but hopefully they'll still of some interest.

CURSE YOU, LORD CHAMBERLAIN (PART II)

We've now received publication details for the sixth John story listed in the last Necessary Evil. As we mentioned last time, And All That He Calls Family is set to appear in Mike Ashley's THE MAMMOTH BOOK OF HISTORICAL WHODUNNITS: A NEW COLLECTION. The anthology will be published in August by Robinson in the UK and Carroll and Graf will issue the US edition as THE MAMMOTH BOOK OF MORE HISTORICAL WHODUNNITS in October.

As to our contribution, this time around John arrives at the estate of a recently deceased personage to investigate a curse tablet dredged up from the well-- and discovers that some rather odd goings-on are, well, going on. Admirers of the herbalist Hypatia may be interested to hear that she also appears in this short story, by the way.

TWOFER MARCHES ON IN MAY

Not long after the last Orphan Scrivener went out into the aether, we were delighted to hear that Twofer was a finalist for the 2001 Best Mystery/Thriller/Suspense IPPY (Independent Publisher Book Award). The Ippy for this category went to Tracon (Paul McElroy) and the other finalist was Bleeding Out (Baxter Clare). As historical mysteries do seem to tend to be rather overlooked, we are happy indeed that Twofer was named in such interesting company. A complete listing of winners and finalists in all IPPY categories can be found by pointing your clicker at

http://www.independentpublisher.com/index.lasso?- database=18news.fp3&-layout=iparticle&-response=art.lasso&- recID=37873&-search

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ERIC'S BIT or RETURNING SOME OF THE MAGIC

Since the last newsletter Mary and I sent Three For A Letter to Poisoned Pen Press. We wished to make the third John the eunuch mystery a bit different from the first two and I suppose I'm still too close to the task to tell how well we succeeded.

One thing I am sure of is that the writing was arduous, more so for me, than the writing of One For Sorrow or Two For Joy. It seems every time I learn a bit about an aspect of writing I learn there's something else I should've been thinking about as well but never bothered with before. Transitions? Don't they just kind of...happen?

The increasing difficulty of the job surprises me because I always imagined writing would naturally get easier -- just another of many misconceptions I nurtured, along with my dream of being an author, practically since I could hold a crayon. That's plenty of time to grow a fine crop of misconceptions.

In particular I underestimated how much plain hard work is involved once you begin to write professionally. An aspiring author might take half a lifetime to produce a publishable novel but then, in most cases, he or she (or they) have to do it all over again -- in the space of a year. Then they repeat the process the next year, and the next...if they are fortunate enough to have the opportunity.

Writing is, I think, more like a job than matching the winning numbers on a lottery ticket. Sure, we read in the newspaper about Joe Shmoe who wrote that gripping page- turner "Flaming Pizza of Desire" while scrubbing pans at the Greasy Spoon Diner and then, practically before he had bundled his handwritten manuscript off to a Major New York Literary Agency, was drying his fingers on a contract for more then the gross national product of Paraguay. But we also read on the same page about John Shmoe of Cat's Elbow Corners who just won $25,000,000 on the Lotto.

First-time authors have been known to get mega-bucks deals and, hey, someone's got to win the lottery. But while few would argue that buying lottery tickets is a viable career path, one occasionally sees aspiring authors whose thought is that nothing will do but they will write an instant bestseller. Is a thriller about a lawyer embroiled with middle eastern terrorists while on an expedition to Mount Everest climbing the Bestseller Lists? Then it's time to bone up on crampons and falafel and get writing!

Fortunately, Mary and I never entertained the notion that writing is a lottery. We went about it like any other job, starting small -- or I should say short -- by writing stories for anthologies and magazines. After we had a better idea of what we were doing, we wrote a "practice" mystery novel, to prove we could write at that length, made an effort to sell it in line with our expectations of a sale (small), did not succeed and moved right on to writing One For Sorrow. When it was completed we queried here and there but quickly decided we'd have a better chance of being noticed by an independent publisher.

After Poisoned Pen Press bought the manuscript we reworked it as needed under the guidance of our editor Barbara Peters and in the process learned a lot that an editor at a Big Publisher could never have taken time to try to teach a pair of novice novelists. Then we applied the lessons to Two For Joy, which sold well, had even better reviews than One For Sorrow and has actually won an award!

And now we've just finished Three For A Letter.

Will we ever have a bestseller? With a Byzantine eunuch as a protagonist, only if the general population has the discerning taste of those of you reading this newsletter.

Will we continue to work at our craft and gain a larger audience? We certainly hope so.

Writing isn't really about hitting the jackpot. Rather it is about knowing that readers are enjoying your work. Mary occasionally visits library web pages so we know our books are on library shelves all over the country -- in Schenectady, NY; Stillwater, OK; LaGrange, IL; Osh Kosh, WI. There's a library in Alaska that has Two For Joy and it's currently checked out!

It amazes me, the idea of our book, sitting on the shelf of some distant library in a place I've never seen. When I was a kid, it was visiting the library that hooked me on books, on the magic of the bound pages that would transport me to other worlds and allow me to lead other lives.

It is still magical but now we give back, just a little, to the magic.

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AND FINALLY

As this newsletter grows longer and time gets shorter, may we then conclude by mentioning in passing that this link

http://www.poisonedpenpress.com/html/threeforaletter.html

will take you to Poisoned Pen's Threefer page, and yes, John' s adventure really does feature a herd of fortune-telling goats as well as a whale. Well, we said it would be somewhat different from the first two books!

Speaking of two, we'll see you again in a couple of months as the next Orphan Scrivener will trundle in from the aether. and hang about in your email in-box on August l5th.

Best wishes
Mary and Eric

whose home page lurks about at

http://home.epix.net/~maywrite/

Therein you'll find the usual suspects plus more 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 striking cover. We've also just added a page listing mystery-related newsletters of various kinds, while for those new to the subscription list there's the Orphan Scrivener archive, so don't say you weren't warned!

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