Hurrah!

Can you read my message in pictures?

(Hint --that's not a sweet potato above.)

l
Due to a delay and a subsequent missed flight, I didn't  get home till midnight so I'll ask you to forgive this slightly silly post. 

San Francisco - Day 3

I'm heading home today, taking with me lots of memories of this beautiful city and all the wonderful fans and writers I've met and chatted with... 

As you can see, I'm fascinated by the abstract beauty of tall buildings...

It's a change of pace for my mostly rural blog ...

 And here's a little slide show --  more of the city and some shots from the conversation between Rhys Bowen, Deborah Crombie, and Louise Penny. Plus a photo of the amazing cioppino Karen Buys, Vicki Van Valkenburgh, and I enjoyed at San Francisco's oldest restaurant. Oh, and a pair of cheerful window cleaners.


 

San Francisco - Day 2

Well, I've had the much-anticipated meeting with Herself and, once again, she's nudging me in a slightly different direction. She remains reasonably enthusiastic about my writing but is not sure if They, the dread They who evidently have the final say, are going to think that the Elizabeth series is profitable enough to be worth continuing.

Things could change, I imagine, if next year's UNDER THE SKIN does exceptionally well. But in the meantime she's urging me to try something a little different -- something I've had in mind for a while. Still the same setting, of course, but less of a mystery (not that THE DAY OF SMALL THINGS is much of a mystery.)

And that's all I can really say about that at the moment. I will keep you apprised of the situation, as my grandfather used to say.

Meanwhile, I've enjoyed a little walking about and taking city pictures. But oh! how spoiled I am by the Nikon and the long lens! I keep trying to zoom and there is only a little wienie zoom on the Lumix.

And what a nice city it is! A wonderful diversity of population, mirrored in the amazing array of restaurants on every hand.And people zooming along the sidewalks on bikes, scooters, skateboards, bicycle rickshaws . . . all at top speed so it behooves one not to stop or change directions without looking behind one.

And I've been to some interesting panels and seen some old friends and will do more of the same today. 

San Francisco

I'm here and falling asleep. I got up  at 3 am this morning in order to get to the airport for my 5:45 flight. My watch says it's seven thirty but I know it's really 10.30. I'll have more energy to post tomorrow -- until then, here are some pictures I took with John's little Lumix -- my beloved Nikon was just too much to carry in addition to the suitcase and laptop. It does a respectable job though.

And thank you for all the neat comments yesterday. I'll carry them in my heart when I meet with Herself for breakfast -- at 6:30 tomorrow.(Markin/Mario's is particularly interesting...)

California, Here I Come . . .

Right back where I started from...

Really. I was born in California, as the result of a military accident.  It was WWII  and my father was stationed out there. My mother had followed him from base to base during his training. (I guess that makes her a camp follower.)  But he was sent overseas (Burma) not long after my arrival and my mother and I returned to Florida.  

I've never been back -- never been farther west than east Texas, as a matter of fact.

Bouchercon, the big mystery convention, is being held in San Francisco this year so that's where I'm headed. I'll meet with Herself, my esteemed editor, and we'll discuss whether she wants more Elizabeth books. I'll be on a panel with four other mystery writers, talking about what influences show up in our books. I'll attend a Random House cocktail party and go to as many other panels as I can.  With any luck, I'll get a look at the world beyond the hotel.

And very early Sunday morning I'll head back home.  I'll have my laptop with me and try to post while I'm there. Failing that, look for me on Monday or Tuesday.

FAQ - Names

Q: How do authors decide on names for characters?  For example, in OLD WOUNDS, where did the names "Bib"  and “Moon”  come from?  Are names meant to symbolize the character and if so how?

 A: Basically, for me the name just needs to be believable. It may or may not carry symbolic weight. (I'm not writing Literature - just popular fiction.) 

I chose my protag's name rather quickly (when I took the one and only class that got me into writing mysteries) since I've always liked Elizabeth as a woman's name because of its many permutations. My Elizabeth is also called Liz, Lizzy, Lizzie Beth, 'Lizbeth, etc, depending on who's talking to her. 

 Goodweather was chosen partly to denote Elizabeth's generally optimistic attitude and partly because I liked the sound of it. (I considered Merriweather but that seemed a little too sweety-sweet.) But in general I don't use names that are symbolic for fear of sounding ridiculous. Phillip Hawkins sounds strong to me (Phillip of Macedonia, Hawkins, the Elizabethan privateer come to mind) but no way would I have given him a name like Manly Armstrong or Peter Steele.

Bib -- this is funny. I was going to call the guy Big Something or other and the first time I typed it, I hit b instead of g. Liked the looks of it and that's where Bib came from. If I had to defend it as a believable choice, I could spin a tale about it being a childhood nickname and having something to do with bib overalls. There’s a guy living near us who’s known as Slab, I think from a nickname.

The book OLD WOUNDS grew out of my seeing the name Maythorn somewhere and immediately wanting a character named Maythorn.  One could make an English-major kind of argument for the name Maythorn containing both a gentle (May) and harsh (thorn) element, but this one won't; I just liked the name. 

The idea of pairing the lovely name Maythorn with a kind of pedestrian-sounding name like Mullins also appealed to me. Then Mr. Mullins needed a first name. Many of you are undoubtedly far too young to remember this but there was once a comic strip called "Moon Mullins." It seemed reasonable to me that this fella might have picked up Moon as a nickname when he was very young. No symbolism intended.

Back to Maythorn: A student once pointed out the Rosemary Maythorn connection (rose thorn) which is a good call on her part – even though it was inadvertent on my part. Someone else pointed out a thing I did do on purpose. Maythorn’s real name is Mary Thorn: hence Rosemary/ Mary Thorn which strengthens the girls’ blood sister bond in that they share a name.

But many of my names, probably most of them -- Asheley, Krystalle, Jared, for example -- are just representative of what seem to be popular names at a particular time, in a particular place. I have spent time in the Records office of our county, writing down names from various time periods that caught my fancy. I also pay attention to obituaries and note down interesting names.

And some names are there because their owners won a raffle or something where I promised to use the name they asked me to. Ronnie Winemiller, James Suttles, Lee Palatt are three that come to mind.

The Yarkin Pearl

The folks at The Orchard told me to pick out a bag of apples to take with me and after browsing through the various varieties -- Jonathan, Stayman, Delicious -- I chose York.

It's a tasty, crisp eating apple and tart enough to be good for cooking too.  But, to tell the truth, I chose it for reasons of nostalgia.

Our first fall in the mountains, Clifford, our neighbor down the hill, gave me an apple to try, saying that it was an old time variety and a good keeping apple.  

I tasted it and was impressed. We were planning to plant apple trees come spring and I already had a tentative list of varieties.

"What's the name of this apple?" I asked, and was told that it was a Yarkin Pearl. 

Interesting, I thought, Yarkin could be the name of the discoverer or breeder of the apple and Pearl could be because it was so good -- or maybe the name of his daughter. Nice.

This was 1975 - pre-Internet -- and I began to hunt through my nursery catalogues and Rodale gardening books for more information on this pearl of a fruit -- but alas! I could find no Yarkin Pearls.

I intensified my search, checking various orchard-related books out of the library and leafing  through back issues of Mother Earth News and Organic Gardening.

1975 was also before I learned the language of my adopted home.

Finally I came across the name York Imperial.

York Imperial . . . Yarkin Pearl.

Yep.

The Glamor of a Book Signing

On Sunday I traveled along the Blue Ridge Parkway to the historic Orchard at Altapass where I'd been invited to do a book signing.

Normally, I avoid events where I just sit at a table and hope someone will stop by and purchase a book. But I'd never been to the Orchard -- a 102 year old apple orchard high in the Blue Ridge Mountains -- and this is a great time of year to take a drive on the Parkway.  The leaves, though not at their peak, are nonetheless really pretty.

The old orchard is quite lovely.

  I snapped a few pictures before proceeding to the building where a table was waiting for me.

Like any bower bird, I arranged my wares in as tempting a way as I could manage and settled down to wait. And wait. And wait. People would walk by my table, scowl at the books as if they hated reading or carefully look away.  

At last a lady came toward me. I straightened up and prepared to be charming. 

'Are you the one that made the butterfly boxes?' she asked, then glanced at the table. 'Oh, those aren't butterfly boxes.' Her mouth turned down.

"No, those are books,' I said to her retreating back.

And then -- a miracle! 'Are you Vicki Lane?' squealed a young woman. She'd read my first book and was anxious to buy more. Hurrah! (Thanks, Kim!)

Next I had a pleasant chat with a fellow who said he liked police procedurals -- which my books most definitely are not. He was followed by someone who wanted to know how to get published and another someone who said, 'You're a celebrity! Can I shake your hand?'

A few people came and chatted and left; some actually bought books. I was asked if the apples for sale came in smaller bags (I didn't know) and where the bathroom was (I pointed.) And I chatted with another aspiring author.

A sweet-looking lady lingered in front of my table and I did the standard thing of asking if she read mysteries. She looked at me in some confusion and then said that she was reading her Bible for the third time.

A brisk woman came  up to the table. 'So, Vicki, tell me about your books.' I did and she asked, 'Are they for sale today?' when I assured her that they were, she nodded and left, never to return.

But there were quite a few who come and chatted and bought, enough to make me feel good about the day.  And the nice folks at the Orchard sent me home with a big bag of apples.

And I had the pleasure of the drive home, with the late afternoon sun illuminating the leaves.

Ah, the glamorous life of the author!

10-10-10

Today is being called Singularity Sunday. There are those who think that, due to the date, Something is likely to happen. 

I am charmed by the fact that 10 10 10 in binary code equals 42 in base 10. (No, I didn't know this on my own -- I learned it HERE.)

So what's the big deal about that, I hear you asking. Well, as all true fans of Douglas Adams' magnificent The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Universe  know, 42 is the answer to The Meaning of Life, the Universe, and Everything.

So perhaps as the day unfolds, the meaning of the question will emerge.  Or not.

Till then, I'm pretty excited with the picture I caught at the river yesterday of what I think must be an osprey. 

And yes, we're beginning to get that fall color.

Do let me know if the day brings any auspicious events or revelations your way.

Where'd It Go?

Look what I found on the floor by my laptop!

Miss Susie Hutchins is not amused.

"I left it right here," she mutters. "But that's not it . . .

The Seeds of a Nightmare

YesterdayI traveled to Little Switzerland, a charming community where I spoke to the Homemakers' Club. But first I paused in Burnsville, long enough to traumatize a child.

Here's what happened.

Judy, who had invited me to speak, had offered to meet me in Burnsvillle and drive me to Little Switzerland as the shortest way was apt to be confusing. 


"I'll be in a black Four-Runner," she said. "And I'll meet you in the mall parking lot."


So I arrive a little before the appointed time and park where I can keep an eye on cars turninng into the mall. After a while I notice a shiny black Four-Runner parked over by the Burger Kingand I figure that Judy was early too. As I'm getting ready to drive over there, the car backs out and moves to the nearby drug store -- also in the mall.

"Okay," I think and drive over to park beside the black Four Runner. I get out but, to my surprise, there's no one in the car. 

"No worries," I tell myself, "It's still early; Judy's probably slipped into the drug store to pick up something or other."

Then I notice in the back seat,  a head moving behind the dark-tinted windows. Judy mentioned she'd be bringing a neighbor, so I tap  on the window and say, "I'm looking for Judy."

The person doesn't respond and I reach to open the door so as to make myself heard. 


It's locked.


I try the front door -- also locked. Then I put my face to the dark glass and see that it's not a neighbor but a small child strapped into a car seat. 


"Funny," I think. "Why would Judy be bringing a small child to this meeting?" 


Just then, from the corner of my eye I see another black Four-Runner turning into the area where I had originally parked.


And I realize what this poor wide-eyed child must be thinking.


As I hurry into my car, back out and head for the other black Four-Runner, I wonder how good this child's communication skills are. 


Will he startle his mother with a tale of a witch, her wispy white hair blowing around her face as she tapped at his window and tried to get in the car with him?


Or will I figure in his nightmares for years to come?  I hope not.

The meeting was, thank goodness, pleasant and uneventful.