I love movies, and I’m sure there are plenty of difficulties for actors to keep the emotions required of a scene fresh from take to take and working out of the order the story. But it’s live theater that hold a magical universe for me, beginning with the fact that the actor on stage doesn’t have the benefit of do-overs. If he/she makes a mistake, he/she must cover it and incorporate it into the story or the dance.
I have just seen the world premiere of Ballet Austin’s Poe. A ballet on the life and madness of Edgar Allen Poe. This ballet explores the mind of one of America’s most brilliant writers. But, like all live theater productions, in every discipline, from Ballet to Opera, to Musical Theater to Drama, all the magic is not on the stage and visible to the audience’s eye. The sets, props, and special effects add imagination and intensity to the developing story and require an army of talented and dedicated stagecraft experts responsible for different aspects of the production the audience never sees.
Scenery is designed by set designers and then built by carpenters and stagehands, sometimes while the production is on stage before a live audience. Want to see this in action? Watch one of the Metropolitan Opera companies’ performances on TV. Often, during the intermissions, there will be interviews with the performers, and in the background, you will see the carpenters breaking down, moving out or up the sets and backdrops no longer needed, and pulling in and doing last-minute construction on the next sets to be used.
Lighting ranges from simple to very complicated and requires the technicians to operate multiple fixtures at different locations, like on a light bridge, the suspended platform above the stage. It’s located behind the proscenium arch above the performers’ heads. The technicians use those lights as spots to illuminate the performers on stage. Like the artists performing, their only break is during intermissions when the light bridge is lowered.
The Prop Master places the props where the performers can easily access them while the show is on stage. Usually in the side wings – AND THEY ARE SACROSANCT! Performers rehearse with their props, and the location and position of the props on the table must be the same at all times, for sometimes the performer will reach for something in the dark. Wouldn’t it be terrible if in a drama, the performer reaches for a gun and returns to the bright lights of the stage with a rolling pin?
Sound in theaters is very important, and the sound technicians must lock in the microphone locations and settings. They are on duty in the sound booth throughout rehearsals and performances.
Two of my favorite and most exciting jobs in the backstage world of magic are the wardrobe masters’and the prompters’ jobs. An enlightening report on the challenges and responsibilities of a wardrobe supervisor in the world of opera can be read in the New York Times 2012, feature on the character of The Opera Wardrobe Diva. A look into the role of Suzi Gomez-Pizzo, the wardrobe supervisor for female leads, at the Metropolitan Opera in New York City.
They aren’t ever on stage, but their importance to the performers cannot be underestimated. Often, they remain in the wings and give the performers an extra boost of confidence, especially when rapid changes while the show continues are required.
Then there are the prompters. Some say it is a dying art, but the prompter is still vital in many cases, especially in opera. The prompters are hidden in a stuffy box below the stage. Only their heads are above the stage floor, with a cover making them invisible to the audience. Actors and singers rely on them for support, assistance, and reminders of upcoming lines. In opera, the prompter must be a skilled musician who can even sing the role but doesn’t. He or she provides support for the singers. A revealing description of the work and the importance of the prompter in opera can be read at:
To all of this, add the theatre superstitions, another layer of backstage mystery. These superstitions impact everyone from custodians to stars, and their power cannot, nor should ever be ignored. Ranging from never whistling backstage to leaving a ghost light on when the stage is empty, these beliefs are a constant part of theater life.
This is the world in which Mrs. B. and Father Melvyn find themselves in book two of the Housekeeper Mystery Series, Catwalk Dead: Murder in the Rue de L’Histoire Theatre. They must help find the reasons for mysterious accidents and solve a murder before anyone else dies. They, too, wonder if the strange incidents are part of the Macbeth curse or the evil in some human hearts.
Copyright 2024, Francine Paino, All rights reserved.
In November 2019, a Texas woman was sentenced to 10 years in federal prison for mailing explosive devices to President Barak Obama and Governor Greg Abbot. The crime had occurred in October 2016. The break: Investigators found a cat hair under the address label on one of the packages and matched it to one of the suspect’s cats. The following post, reprinted from the blog Telling the Truth, Mainly, includes facts not released to the news media at the time–the rest of the story.
*
Three cats suspected of helping owner Julia Poff mail explosive devices to former President Barak Obama and Texas Governor Greg Abbott were released from custody Thursday afternoon following questioning by federal law enforcement officers.
FBI crime lab investigators had found a cat hair under the address label on the package containing the explosives and traced it to the Poff cats. It is alleged that Ms. Poff sent the potentially deadly devices to former President Obama and Governor Greg Abbott because she was mad at them.
Muffy, Puffy, and Sybil-Margaret “Pud-Pud” Poff were taken from the Poff home in Brookshire, Texas, 34 miles west of Houston, Thursday around 9:00 a.m.
Muffy
FBI Agent Arnold Specie, chief of the Houston Bureau, announced in a press conference late Thursday that after intense grilling, officials were satisfied the cats had no connection to any nefarious activities.
“The only thing they’re guilty of is shedding on paper their owner later used to wrap the explosive devices. You can’t fault cats for shedding.”
He said there’s no doubt these are the right cats. “The fur of all three exhibits white hair. That’s true even of Puffy Poff, who is mostly orange but has a couple of white spots on her underside.” He assured the press that DNA testing will confirm the hair belongs to one of the Poff cats.
A reliable source, speaking on condition of anonymity, however, said he’s not so sure. “They know more than they’re telling,” he said. “It’s impossible to get anything out of suspects that keep falling asleep in the middle of questioning. And every time Muffy rolled over, Specie gave her a belly rub. Specie’s always been soft on cats.”
The early morning raid, which involved a number of federal agents as well as a Houston PD Swat team on stand-by, rocked this usually quiet community to its very core.
“I could tell something was going down,” said neighbor Esther Bolliver. “I was outside watering my rose bushes when I saw these men wearing dark suits and ties crouching behind Julia’s privet hedge. One of them was holding out what looked to be a can of sardines, and saying, ‘Kitty kitty kitty,’ in a high-pitched voice, you know, like you use whenever you call cats. I thought it was Animal Control.”
Mrs. Bolliver ran inside and told her husband. “I said, ‘Bert, come outside and look,’” she said.
“I knew they was G-Men first thing,” said Bert Bolliver. “It was the fedoras give ’em away. Animal Control don’t wear fedoras.”
Puffy
Ten-year-old Jason Bolliver, who had been kept home from school with a sore throat, added that the raid was exciting. “It’s the best thing that’s happened here since my teacher had her appendix out.”
Agent Garrison Fowle (pronounced Fole), who led the raid, said capturing the cats proved remarkably easy. “The sardines did the trick. Those cats ran right over and we grabbed them and wrapped them in big terry cloth bath sheets and stuffed them into carriers. It was a snap.”
Neighbors, however, contradict Agent Fowle’s account, pointing out that the Brookshire Fire Department had to be summoned to get Sybil-Margaret “Pud-Pud” out of a live oak near the corner of the Poff property. It is believed she bolted because she realized the sardines were bait instead of snacks.
Sybil-Margaret “Pud-Pud”
While at the Poff residence, BFD EMTs bandaged second-degree scratches on Agent Fowle’s face. They also administered Benadryl to Agent Morley Banks, who had broken out in hives.
Agent Delbert Smits was airlifted to Ben Taub Hospital in Houston. Information about his condition has not been released, but Mrs. Bolliver observed Ben Taub has a first-class psychiatric emergency room, and she thinks that’s why Smits was taken all the way into Houston.
“By the time they got Pud-Pud down from that tree, the poor man was staggering around like he had a serious case of the fantods.”
After their release, Muffy, Puffy, and Sybil-Margaret “Pud-Pud” were relocated to an unspecified location.
Special Agent Fowle said the initial plan was to fly them to Washington, D. C., in the care of Agent Banks, for further debriefing, but Agent Banks put the kibosh on that, saying there was no way in hell he was going to spend one more minute in the company of “those [expletive deleted] cats.” Fowle said Agent Banks has been granted sick leave until he stops scratching.
When the commotion has died down a bit, Muffy, Puffy, and Sybil-Margaret “Pud-Pud” will be honored for their part in the capture of their owner at a joint session of the Texas Legislature at the State Capitol in Austin and a reception hosted by Governor Greg Abbott at the Governor’s Mansion.
Former President Barak Obama announced that on their next swing through Texas, he and Michelle want to take the cats out for a catfish dinner.
“Let me be clear,” President Obama said. “Although totally and completely innocent of any crime, these cats surely had a positive influence on the perp. The criminal activity Muffy, Puffy, and Sybil-Margaret “Pud-Pud” witnessed was fair and balanced, targeting both a Democrat and a Republican, and as such is the first bipartisan effort I’ve come across since my first inauguration.”
After law enforcement officers left, neighbors expressed concern about the cats’ future welfare. The Bolliver family, noting the three felines spend most of the day sleeping on the hood of their Buick anyway, wanted to take them, but their offer was rejected.
Instead, Muffy, Puffy, and Sybil-Margaret “Pud-Pud” will make their home in Houston with Special Agent Specie.
As I have written in other blog posts, I am fortunate in that I have access to a great deal of my family history, thanks mostly to my father, the family genealogist. I am lucky that relatives collected stories, wrote them down, and then passed them down. And because of long life spans and long generations, I can reach back to the 1860s via only a few people on multiple lines in my family tree.
This brings me to a show I enjoy, Finding Your Roots on PBS. In the show, various celebrity guests sit down with the host to learn about their genealogy and family history.
If I sat down in front of the host of the show, Henry Louis Gates, Jr., he’d have to dig deep into my family tree to surprise me. After telling some crazy family story, Gates always asks his guests, “Have you ever heard that story?” In most of the episodes of the show, the answer is “no.” Stories from family history get lost and forgotten all the time. People fail to pass them down.
This brings me to my story entitled “The Ghostly Lady’s Curse.”
The main character in “The Ghostly Lady’s Curse” is a homicide detective named Tina Jones, who didn’t know her father’s family history because her father never discussed it. Tina never heard anything about the small Texas town where her great-grandparents lived. Until a series of events drew her father back to that town, Tina didn’t know that her great-grandparents’ house was considered to be cursed by a ghost because so many family members died suddenly over the decades. Like most of the people interviewed by Henry Louis Gates on PBS, Tina is surprised by the stories that no one bothered to tell her.
“The Ghostly Lady’s Curse” is set in a fictional Hill Country Texas town somewhere near Enchanted Rock State Natural Area. The Hill Country in central Texas is a beautiful, but sometimes forbidding area of the state. At Enchanted Rock Natural Area, an uprising of igneous rock from the earth’s crust forms a pink granite batholith that has been smoothed into domes, weathered by the elements over time. Like my character Tina Jones, I’ve enjoyed many hikes at Enchanted Rock over the years. It’s a beautiful and popular park for hiking and camping, especially in the spring and fall when the temperature isn’t dangerously hot.
“The Ghostly Lady’s Curse” is coming out this year in an anthology from Inkd Publishing edited by A. Balsamo called Detectives, Sleuths, and Nosy Neighbors. Right now, the story is on pre-order via a Kickstarter until March 8, 2024. If you’d like to support the production of the book and pre-order an e-book, print book, or audio book, check out the Kickstarter.
*****
N. M. Cedeño is a short story writer and novelist living in Texas. She is active in Sisters in Crime- Heart of Texas Chapter and is a member of the Short Mystery Fiction Society. Find out more at nmcedeno.com
The three burros who live with Alice MacDonald Greer, lawyer/amateur sleuth protagonist of my Texas Hill Country legal thrillers, bear a strong resemblance to the three burros who rule our patch of the Hill Country.
We manage our small piece of the planet for native grasses and birds under the county Wildlife Management Program. Today I received our spring box of blue grama and buffalo grass seed, for re-seeding bare patches with native grass. (More below on bare patches.)
The burro idea sprang full-blown into life at a wedding on the banks of the Blanco River years ago, when we were enchanted to see docile and well-behaved burros with panniers on their backs full of cold bottles of water and beer, being led to the guests by docile and well-behaved teenagers. Immediately I envisioned myself trekking up and down our fields leading a burro bearing panniers of grass seed which can be (believe it or not) heavy. As a bonus we knew the burros could help keep down tall dry grass–a concern during fire season.
So just before Christmas we bought two smallish burros from the wedding venue, with certificates attesting to their conformation, heritage, and names (Amanda and Caroline, mother and daughter). Both were elegant, with classically lovely faces, straight legs, and dainty hooves.
This is the youngest, Caroline.
Per Random House Unabridged, “burro” is “a small donkey, especially one used as a pack animal in the Southwestern U.S.” (We use donkey interchangeably.) Let me say for the record that the “pack animal” concept went nowhere with Amanda and Caroline–they were deeply insulted at the idea of any burden on their backs. They made it crystal clear that they had not signed on to work. Still–they were decorative, and they ate down the grass.
Sebastian (left) and Amanda
But on Christmas morning when we looked across the pasture, my spouse asked, his voice disturbed: “How many donkeys do you see?” …Three.
The newcomer was shorter, pudgier, and male–well, an “altered” boy. Knock-kneed, chipmunk-cheeked, he seemed to keep a chewable cud in each cheek. He’d climbed through a fence to visit. We found his owner and bought him. Given his appearance (and the snootiness of Amanda and Caroline) we gave him a new and more dignified name: Sebastian.
While Amanda and Caroline are ladies of leisure, Sebastian has taken on two jobs. First, he’s our designated greeter. He brays a loud greeting as you drive through the gate. He brays again to salute the dawn (or pre-dawn).
Second, Sebastian has declared himself the official guard-donkey. In particular, he’s hell on canines. Pre-donkeys there were cows on the property–and coyotes. But no coyote dares invade Sebastian’s turf. He’d be happy to kick a coyote into the next county. Donkeys are shockingly fast on their feet and could easily catch a coyote. Earlier this year I found Sebastian standing triumphant and motionless in the middle of the dirt road, ears back, head up, posture stubborn, hooves planted–a picture of victory. Visible in the dirt? Tracks of a mama coyote with one pup, who’d erroneously strayed into forbidden territory. The tracks indicated a frantic exit. As he stood in the road, surveying his domaine, Sebastian was announcing, “I’m walkin’ here.”
Random House Unabridged includes a definition of “donkey” as “a stupid, silly or obstinate person.” Donkeys are not stupid. They are curious, persistent, intelligent, and acute of hearing. Are they silly? Well…Amanda and Caroline are aloof and standoffish, but Sebastian wants to play. With a bucket between his teeth, he’ll run over and whop Amanda on the hindquarters with it, then stand there. He so wants her to join in his favorite game, which is apparently called “I’ve got the bucket, now you come bite the bucket and yank it away, then you can hit me with it, then I will chase you, and then…?!?!?” So far, the girls steadfastly refuse to cooperate. When whopped with the bucket, Amanda chooses to bite Sebastian instead of biting the bucket. Maybe that’s a different game?
Obstinate? Oh, yes. They are persistent in searching for ways to get past the gate into the yard and eat the roses. They’re also very hard to stop when they want to go somewhere, and very hard to move when they intend to stay put.
Re-seeding bare patches? These three donkeys pick a spot, then take turns rolling on their backs until the grass gives up and a circular bare spot remains. Then, after rain, they race to the soggy bare spot and roll on their backs until they’re thoroughly muddy. Hence my constant race to re-seed bare patches.
Donkeys model companionship. Indeed, they need it. Despite their occasional spats, Sebastian, Amanda and Caroline spend their days and nights together, never more than about 100 feet apart.
Writers have to take breaks, or go nuts. https://www.masterclass.com/articles/taking-a-break-from-writing. I’m in that boat right now, because I’m almost but not quite finished with Book 9 in the Alice MacDonald Greer Mystery series. As is well known, writers in such circumstances can be subject to breakdowns–small rages, or tears, or snappishness, or overdosing on Cheezits.
I can recommend burro therapy. As I stand next to Sebastian, stroking his neck, and he leans back against me, I feel my heartrate slow and my breathing relax. Maybe that’s how burros feel too? Maybe this is their secret advantage, a resource that helps explain their long presence on the planet? Here’s how Alice puts it in Ghost Cat:
“Donkey hugs meant leaning into their sides, stroking their necks. The donkeys instantly settled, leaning back against her. The weird thing, Alice thought, was how the donkeys settled her. They weren’t dogs, loyal and needy, or cats, neutral and non-needy. Donkeys were ancient residents of the planet, tough, independent, curious herd animals with their own inner life.”https://amzn.to/431skan
And in Ghosted : “Finding herself needing a little burro therapy, …Alice stood in her driveway surrounded by the three. At the moment she was brushing Big Boy. He leaned against her; the warmth felt good in the late morning chill. Those eyelashes, those soft ears, Alice thought. No wonder Titania fell in love with Bottom.” https://bit.ly/3OXu3rm
Indeed, Queen Titania, seeing Bottom with his head magically changed to an ass’s head, says,
“I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again.
Mine ear is much enamour’d of thy note;
So is mine eye enthralled to thy shape;
And thy fair virtue’s force perforce doth move me
On the first view to say, to sweat, I love thee.”
A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Act III, Scene II.
So if you’re in need of burro therapy, fellow writers, come on out. Bring some carrots!
Copyright 2024, Helen Currie Foster, All rights reserved.
I sat with my cup of café e latte and looked around. The paper with the picture on the kitchen table intrigued me. No, I thought. Gotta clean this place first. I chugged my cup of coffee, grabbed my cleaning supplies, and began. While I twisted and turned, scrubbing granite countertops to a gleam, something whizzed past my eye – a cup of espresso splashed its contents into the air, and then all of it dissolved into nothingness.
My heart sank. Persistence had arrived. No passive muse, this one. She was furious. She’d been prodding me for days to try my hand at baking a gluten-free King Cake. Lent was approaching, and with that came Fat Tuesday. One of the charming Southern traditions is the King Cake, but I’d completely blocked out Persistence.
Again, I refused to budge. “I will finish cleaning this kitchen. I can’t work in a messy environment.” I set the King Cake recipe on the counter, hoping that would mollify her, and moved on to preparing the guest room for my grandson’s weekend stay. Then, I cleaned the bathrooms while Persistence harassed me.
She followed me from room to room, perching on any surface that caught her fancy, reminding me how much she had held back during the trying times of dealing with my mother’s passing, arranging her burial in New York, and taking care of my husband during his major back surgery. But now, things were settling down, and she refused to be silent any longer.
Times up. Hubby is recovering, and you are disgraceful. Wretched imposter, how can you put the elimination of dust bunnies before writing?
“Oh, shut up!” I whispered, not wanting to wake my husband with my side of a conversation with . . . .?
Persistence wasn’t having any of it. Have some backbone. Stop whispering. If he wakes up, you can always say you were talking to Miss Millie.
I laughed despite my annoyance. “Touché,” I answered. After all, Miss Millie is the smartest feline creature we’d ever adopted. Sometimes, her expressions are so human-like that it’s uncanny. But I digress.
“Have another espresso, and chill out,” I grumbled.
I’m tired of waiting; Persistence shot back. And so the conversation, or the argument, went on for another hour. In the lotus position, Persistence sat on the bathroom counter, sipped her coffee, stared at me through the mirror, and then pointed to something on the sink.
You missed that.
I looked down. Sure enough, I’d missed a spot. “I thought you wanted to stop cleaning and get into the kitchen to bake that cake,” I muttered.
The sooner you finish your obsession with domestic tasks, the sooner you can be creative. Now hurry up.
Jump ahead an hour. House chores done, I gathered all the ingredients for the King Cake. Following the directions carefully but substituting gluten-free flour for all-purpose wheat flour, I mixed, stirred, folded, and kneaded everything into a dough, covered it, and allowed it to rise – as best as gluten-free can. While I waited, I scribbled the first part of this essay, which made Persistence happy.
About time. I heard her snarky tone.
An hour later, I rolled the dough into a 16 x 20 sheet. Trust me, if you haven’t done it, rolling gluten-free dough is a challenge. I then spread the cinnamon, sugar, almonds, and raisins over the surface and rolled it into a long loaf. (the recipe says to make it into a ring – gluten-free dough isn’t as malleable, so I didn’t try that). Into the oven, it went.
While it baked, I stuck out my tongue at Persistence and cleaned up my baking mess. “And don’t you dare throw another cup,” I warned while Miss Millie sat at my feet, staring up at me. If she could use words, I’m sure she’d have asked, Who are you talking to?
Forty-five minutes later, I pulled my creation out of the oven. The top was a beautiful golden brown. Once it cooled, I sprinkled the Mardi Gras sugars colored gold (yellow), purple, and green over the top and cut a slice to taste. As my late mother-in-law used to say, “If the ingredients are good, it’s bound to taste good.” And it did, but the texture was too dense.
You see, said Persistence, sitting crossed leg on the countertop with another cup of espresso in her hand. Instead of cleaning, you should have spent more time assessing the necessary changes to accommodate gluten-free flour.
“Listen, Madame Know-it-all, some recipes do not adapt well to gluten-free flour. This is one of them. Eventually, I’ll try again, but this year, I’ll make Anginetti Cookies (Lemon Drops), sprinkle them with the colored sugars, and call them Francesca’s Mardi Gras cookies.”
Persistence smiled for the first time. Nice to see you using your right brain again. I’m sure they’ll be delicious. See ya soon, she said and disappeared.
“And next time, drink decaf espresso. You’re too high-strung for Caffeine.”
The tinkle of her laughter echoed through the house, with her words, Laissez les bon temps rouler.
***
Fat Tuesday and Ash Wednesday open book one in the Housekeeper Mystery Series, I’m Going to Kill that Cat. Lent arrives at St. Francis de Sales Church, and so does a new housekeeper and murder. Before we delve into the crime, we meet two people of deep faith who do not hide from the realities and the dark side of life.
Father Melvyn Kronkey is a devoted priest with a sharp intellect but a bit stuffy and standoffish. That changes with the arrival of Mrs. B., a widow of unwavering faith, a fiery temperament, and a talent for cooking, organization, and problem-solving.
She is outgoing and cares about people to the point of being nosy. Her expansive personality even makes cats respond and trust her—a lesson that Father Melvyn learns in dramatic fashion.
While these two opposites learn to work together, a missing cat drags them into an old feud, which unravels a potential scandal. Can murder be far behind?
I have a couple stories pending publication right now. One of the publishers revealed an author list and book cover this month.
My story “The Ghostly Lady’s Curse” is scheduled to be published in an anthology entitled Detectives, Sleuths, and Nosy Neighbors from Inkd Publishing. The publisher announced the author line-up for the anthology this month. You can see the announcement here.
I am pleased to see “The Ghostly Lady’s Curse” published. It’s one of those pieces that languished on the computer, ignored for years, after I first wrote it in 2013. I rewrote a second version of it in 2017, and I’ve updated it a few times since. This story is an example of how publishing a short story can be a matter of persistence in the search for the right market with the right editor at the right moment. “The Ghostly Lady’s Curse” was submitted to ten other markets before editor A. Balsamo selected it for inclusion in this upcoming anthology. I’ll write more about this story, and it’s inspiration when the publication date approaches. In the meantime, here’s what the cover is going to look like.
A glance through my submission records spreadsheet shows I have two other stories with at least ten previous submissions, still looking for homes. One story has two strikes against it– a word count that is higher than most markets prefer and difficult subject matter– making it very difficult to place. The other is a niche story: part western, part ghost story. I’m keeping my eyes open for markets for them. I could always self-publish them in collections, if I had enough similarly-themed stories to make collections. That can be a future project if the right markets don’t appear…
As I mentioned in previous blogs, my house was bombarded by baseball to softball sized hail last September. The damage was substantial. I had hoped that all the repairs would be completed before the new year started. Of course, we aren’t finished yet. I can see the light at the end of the tunnel though. The final repairs have been scheduled.
I’ve been down the research rabbit hole this week, diving into background material for a new story, so I only wrote a few thousand words. However, I did write the first draft of a 7000 word short story last week. That story needs editing and trimming before I ship it off somewhere.
I hope your January went well.
*****
N. M. Cedeño is a short story writer and novelist living in Texas. She is active in Sisters in Crime- Heart of Texas Chapter and is a member of the Short Mystery Fiction Society. Find out more at nmcedeno.com
“But at my back I always hear time’s wingèd chariot drawing near…” (Andrew Marvell, 1621-1678)
Today in pre-dawn darkness, the house quiet except for the murmuring furnace, my characters were already at me, barking orders: “More! More smells, tastes, experiences! More about me! Tell people what I’m thinking, what I’m experiencing, what I’m worrying about!”
They’re right. Readers want to know their favorite mystery protagonists. Why? Because readers are in league with them, walking in their shoes. Readers know that stepping into a protagonist’s sensory experience—smells, food, experiences, relationships—will springboard them into the setting, help them to be in the picture, ready to seize on every clue.
Resolution 1. Tastes! Flavors! Food! As Rounding the Mark, Book 7 of Andrea Camilleri’s long-running series, begins, Inspector Montalbano of little Vigáta, Sicily, can’t sleep:
“Stinking, treacherous night. Thrashing and turning, twisting and drifting off one minute, jolting awake and then lying back down—and it wasn’t from having scarfed down too much octopus a strascinasali or sardines a beccafino the evening before. No, he didn’t even have that satisfaction.”
Fortunately the recipes are described in the Notes at the book’s end. In Sicily, where seafood reigns supreme, Montalbano refers to small octopi, boiled and dressed in olive oil and lemon juice, and then sardines, stuffed and rolled up with sauteed breadcrumbs, pine nuts, sultana raisins, and anchovies. When Montalbano returns home from the police station he always races to his refrigerator to see what his housekeeper, Adelina, has left for him. In Book 16, Treasure Hunt, Montalbano “howled like a wolf with joy” when he finds “eggplant parmesan, done up just right, enough for four.”
Can’t you just smell this dish? Montalbano consumes the entire panful: “the sauce was a wonder to taste.” (50). We see how he delights in his food, how very particular he is. (And throughout the series Adelina keeps cooking – pasta in squid ink, involtini of small fish, pasta ‘Ncasciata…) https://www.foodandwine.com/pasta-ncasciata-sicilian-baked-pasta-7093847
Here’s Montalbano in Rounding the Mark after discovering a new restaurant:
“The antipasto of salted octopus tasted as though it were made of condensed sea and melted the moment it entered his mouth…And the mixed grill of mullet, sea bass and gilthead had that heavenly taste the inspector feared he had lost forever….After a long and perilous journey of the sea, Odysseus had finally found his long lost Ithaca. “(73)
Camilleri (died 2019) was writing mystery, murder, crime—but he included as major players in the setting Sicilian food, awareness of this ancient Mediterranean island culture, and echoes of classic myth.
We can only imagine Montalbano shaking his head at the food situation of private detective Cormoran Strike, protagonist of The Running Grave, seventh in the series by “Robert Galbraith” (aka J.K. Rowling). To protect his knee, Strike, a military police veteran who lost his lower leg in Afghanistan, must lose weight; he’s now lost “three stone” or about 42 pounds. “Usually he’d have grabbed a takeaway on the way home” but now, “without much enthusiasm,” he’s fixing broccoli and salmon in the tiny flat above his seedy London office.
Does the author need to describe these flavors? Aren’t “broccoli” and “salmon” redolent enough by themselves, especially broccoli? Later, as the plot roars into action, Strike’s off his diet, overcome by “the lure of sweet and sour chicken and fried rice” (767) and demanding that his partner Robin Ellacott stop at a 24-hour McDonald’s on London’s Strand (848) where, as they walk to the office, he’s eating “large mouthfuls of burger” and starting on two bags of fries. He’s back to his usual food habits––pub food, fast food––yet his mind’s on the recent attack, “as though he’d only just felt the heat of the bullet searing his cheek.” At chapter’s end, as they discuss the case, “Strike ate a solitary cold chip lingering at the bottom of a greasy bag.” There’s an urgency to his desperate hunger, to the need for enough energy to stick with an exhausting case—and don’t we all know about that solitary cold french fry in the bottom of the bag? Can’t you see him fishing it out? For Strike, food fills a need, but he’s not immersed in the culinary experience. He’s focused on his case.
What keeps Strike working as a private investigator? Challenge, curiosity, tenacity, terror—but not great cuisine. Food-wise, Montalbano’s habits differ sharply from Strike’s. But for each man, eating habits vividly highlight both personal life and setting.
Resolution 2: Human Scent! Other scents matter to both Strike and Montalbano. In the first chapter of The Ink Black Heart, Cormoran Strike has tried to find a perfect perfume for Robin’s 30th birthday. When she sprays on the new perfume, “he…detected roses and an undertone of musk, which made him think of sun-warmed skin.”
Similarly, in Treasure Hunt, when Montalbano and his compadre, the daring Ingrid, are outside on his veranda, “The night now smelled of brine, mint, whisky, and apricot, which was exactly what Ingrid’s skin smelled like. It was a blend not even a prize parfumeur could have invented.” (175)
Reportedly one writing instructor has suggested that authors “include smell on every page.” These two mystery writers don’t obey that injunction (do you know any who do?). But why is scent so critical for us? Apparently the amygdala (a paired structure, with one in each temporal lobe) “developed from our most primitive sense—the sense of smell.” Joseph Jebelli, How the Mind Changed (Little, Brown, Spark, 2022, at 30). It’s near the olfactory nerve which is why scents connect strongly to emotions and memories. https://my.clevelandclinic.org/health/body/24894-amygdala
What scents spark your own memories? If a book mentions honeysuckle on a summer day, I might remember my grandparents’ front porch in Itasca, Texas, and how we learned as kids to suck nectar from a honeysuckle blossom. What pops up for you when a book mentions lavender? Or clean sheets? Baby powder? Or iodine, rubbing alcohol, band-aids? Marshmallows toasting on a stick? Pine straw underfoot? The first ocean breeze when you hit the beach? Does a book feel richer to you when your own memories are awakened?
What about the scent of January? Today’s the coldest day of 2024 so far, here in the Hill Country. Inside – hot tea: mint, chamomile, green, or maybe ginger slices, with honey and lemon. Outside, cedar burning in a neighbor’s brush pile.
Resolution 3: Character’s thoughts (and feelings)! In Treasure Hunt Camilleri includes a hilarious italicized interchange between Montalbano (called “Montalbano One”) and “Montalbano Two” where Montalbano Two criticizes Montalbano One’s case-handling as showing signs of deterioration, of “losing his cool,” highlighting Montalbano’s own concerns about aging. (18-19)
Camilleri also uses other techniques to put us in Montalbano’s head. Here’s one from Rounding the Mark, where, again, Montalbano’s worrying about getting older:
“As he was shaving, the scenes of the previous evening on the wharf ran through his head again. Little by little, as he reviewed them with a cold eye, he began to feel uneasy…. There was something that didn’t jibe….He stubbornly played the scenes over in his head, trying to bring them more into focus. No dice. He lost heart. This was surely a sign of aging. He used to be able to find the flaw, the jarring note…without fail.” (61)
Camilleri lets his character feel. When a small boy is kidnapped from north Africa by sex traffickers and escapes on the pier in Sicily, Montalbano returns him to his “mother,” not understanding she isn’t his “mother” at all. When the little boy is killed Montalbano visits the morgue:
“He lifted the sheet with one hand…and froze. A chill ran down his spine. It all came back to him at once: the look the little boy had given him as his mother ran up to take him back….he hadn’t understood that look. Now…he did. The little eyes were imploring him. They were telling him for pity’s sake, let me go, let me escape. And now…he felt bitterly guilty…He was slipping. It was hard to admit, but true… “(84)
In contrast, Cormoran Strike is more inscrutable, more unwilling to reveal his emotions, perhaps even to himself. Galbraith describes Strike as a “mentally resilient man” who tries but sometimes fails to control emotion. One of his tools “was a habit of compartmentalization that rarely failed him, but right now, it wasn’t working. Emotions he didn’t want…and memories he generally suppressed were closing in on him…” As a consequence he was “brooding so deeply that he barely registered the passing Tube stations and realized, almost too late, that he was already” at his stop. (105) In one scene after visiting his sister Strike starts home feeling very angry at his dead mother, who died of an overdose when he was nineteen. Galbraith then uses italics for Strike’s mental attack on her: “If you hadn’t been what you were, maybe I wouldn’t be what I am. Maybe I’m reaping what you sowed, so don’t you f*king laugh at the army, or me, you with your paedophile mates and the squatters and the junkies…” (106) These passages show the reader Strike’s painful upbringing and may partially explain his need (and ability) to compartmentalize—both, ironically, key to his later success.
Strike drinks, smokes, has sex, but almost in the same way as he gulps down fast food. Food seems temporarily satisfying, but not a life pleasure. Early on we become aware that the strongest sensation Strike is described as experiencing is the pain of his stump, and the relief he experiences when he removes his prosthetic. In his compartmentalization of his emotions, has he replicated this binary condition? (No spoilers here!)
Resolution Four: The Weather! Camilleri and Galbraith’s characters don’t always focus on weather, but here in the Texas Hill Country we must take notice. It’s too cold (like today), too hot (pretty soon), too wet (spring rain bombs and dangerous low-water crossings), or too dry (like last summer’s dreadful drought). Blessings on March, which will bring bluebonnets and the ethereal prairie celestial, then wine cups, with the pink of redbud and Mexican buckeye to rejoice the eye. But weather’s definitely a factor in upcoming Book 9 of the Alice MacDonald Greer Mystery series. Watch for it—coming soon!
So begins the first verse of John Lennon’s 1971 hit song. His good wishes toward wo/mankind had a political message wrapped in the lines. But politics aside, it was and still is a good message. But the question, What have you done? requires some thought. What have you done to keep the Christmas spirit alive throughout the year? What have you done for your fellow man? For your family? For your neighbor? Hard self-examination is required. Before tackling what we have done throughout the year to keep the spirit of Christmas, let’s dive into how we keep the spirit of Christmas fresh each December.
In the not-so-distant past, the commercial hype, converting the spirit of giving to the spirit of buying, began after Thanksgiving. Now, it fills the airwaves with meaningless noise throughout the year and begins a concentrated assault by mid-October. By December 25, the message is stale and lost if one is not careful about blocking out the frenzied for-profit communications, images, and messages that have little or nothing to do with Christmas. You might ask, how do you do that? There are many ways. It just takes a little effort and prioritizing. Here are a few.
First, before Thanksgiving, never watch movies or TV programs with Christmas themes, and do not indulge in “Christmas” centered shopping, decorating, sending cards, or partying. Does that put more pressure on stuffing everything into the four short weeks of Advent (the time of awaiting the special arrival?) Yes. And that helps prioritize what’s really important.
Then, here are uplifting classic books, movies, and performing arts that address the questions of what you have done or can do.
In books, there are hundreds of Christmas stories. My favorite is Christmas Classics. Twelve stories of Christmas, including The Giftof the Magi by O’Henry and The Little Match Girl by Hans Christian Andersen.
And who can get through December without watching A ChristmasCarol? The Charles Dickens classic story of an unhappy, mean-spirited old gentleman who is taught the real meaning of Christmas and caring for his fellow man was well-received in 1844. It inspired an early theatrical production by C.Z. Barnett at the Surrey Theatre on February 5 of the same year, a few weeks after the first publication of the novella. There are at least 16 movie adaptations, and the list of movies and shows is too long to include, but a short trip to Wikipedia will provide it. My favorites are the 1938 and 1984 versions – (1984 stars George C. Scott.)
Then there are the live performing arts. In Austin, the Austin Symphony Orchestra and Chorus Austin perform Handel’s Messiah every year. The score and excellent musicianship lift the soul. The annual Nutcracker ballet, as much part of the Christmas season as lights and fir trees, is performed by almost every dance company and ballet school in every U.S. city. Ballet Austin’s production runs yearly for most of December. It is accompanied by the Austin Symphony Orchestra.
At this point, you may think, well, not everyone can afford these things, and you’d be right. Books can be reserved at public libraries for those who cannot afford them.
Theater tickets and live concerts can be pricey, it’s true. But many of the movies on TV are free, as are concerts and ballets on public TV stations.
For those who would love to see the Nutcracker ballet but cannot get to a theater, one of the best recorded performances before a live audience is the 2012 Maryinski Ballet and Orchestra under the artistic direction of Valery Gergiev. It can be rented for far less than the cost of a theater seat, and to create the theater atmosphere, put on something nice but comfortable. Don’t watch in pajamas or an old housedress. Turn off all the lights and let the screen be the only focus. Have a cup of tea or coffee with a sweet treat – or a glass of wine. Get into the mood.
Most of these stories, concerts, and ballets are appropriate and recommended for the young, but if something lighter is desired, there are hundreds of adaptations of the classic in TV shows and movies, for children. On the lighter side, Entertainment Weekly published The 30 Best Christmas Movies for Children, by Danny Horn, November 16, 2023, which included Home Alone, Elf, and Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer.
For a more modern take on an old story, Disney’s 2018 reimagining of the Nutcracker, with Pyotr Tchaikovsky’s music, is brilliant. The effects are magical, the storyline is unique, touching, and beautiful, and the outcomes for the Nutcracker characters are unexpected. It’s a story for all ages, and as soon as I’m done with this blog, I shall pour a cup of hot coffee and enjoy it again.
There are abundant enriching and inspiring events, shows, and messages to refresh our hearts during Christmas. And it may help keep the spirit alive and generous throughout the year.
Again, in the words of John Lennon: And so this is Christmas. Hope you have fun. For the old and the young ones- The near and the dear – For the rich and the poor ones, black, white, and yellow, A very merry Christmas And a happy New Year – And let’s hope it’s a goodone – Without any fear.
December again. Time to assess this year’s writing. I’ll start off by saying, the year didn’t go as well as I’d hoped, but not as badly as I’d thought either. A number of issues combined to throw me off my schedule and destroy my focus, but I have learned some new things.
For instance, I learned that x-rays and sonograms successfully diagnose kidney stones about eighty percent of the time. If that path to diagnosis fails, doctors search for other causes. It may take six or eight months of tests to explore other possible diagnoses before the problem can be correctly diagnosed. This second path to diagnosis by eliminating other options is not one that I recommend. It prolongs pain, destroys work productivity, and ruins peace of mind.
I also learned in September that baseball-sized hail falling like rain can strike with no warning. We were extremely lucky no one was outside when the assault from the sky began or someone might have been killed. Repairs are ongoing (roof, deck, gutters, garden shed, light fixtures, A/C, windows, screens, cars, etc.). As of this writing, I am awaiting yet another contractor to complete yet another repair. Dealing with three separate insurance adjustors, talking to contractors, and scheduling repairs consumed all my time for October, then half of my time for November. Trying to get active teenagers to extracurricular events with cars out of commission was another challenge.
But without some strife we wouldn’t appreciate when things are actually going smoothly. Over the years, I’ve learned to take notice and enjoy the times when everything is running like a well-oiled machine. The easy times don’t last, but neither does the strife.
Now that I’ve covered the excuses, I’ll get to the writing numbers:
Stories submitted as of late November: thirty-five.
I plan to reach thirty-six or more before the end of December. I had hoped to submit four stories per month on average, but that was not to be this year. However, submitting an average of three stories per month in a difficult year is a victory in my book.
Acceptances were low this year, too– so far only two. I have twelve submissions still pending, so maybe I’ll see more acceptances in the new year.
For the moment, I have one publication pending, a short story for an anthology coming out in the spring of 2024.
I did receive two invitations to contribute stories to projects this year. One I had to turn down thanks to a short deadline and the ongoing strife. The other offered a deadline far enough in the future that I could easily say yes. Also, a new editor asked me to contribute a story to a project, which I really appreciate. I had intended to reach out to new editors this year, but with the strife, that plan was postponed.
For 2024, I’m looking forward to setting new writing goals and working with more editors. I plan to watch my middle child graduate from high school in the spring and start college (!) in the fall, and see my youngest through driver’s license testing, the end of junior year, and the start of senior year (!) of high school. Also, someone else (Hooray, Pat Kelly!) will be taking over the duties of president for my Sisters in Crime Chapter, leaving me more time for writing. I’ve been on the board in various capacities since 2016 or 2017, and it’s time to bring in fresh blood. Here’s looking forward to a busy, productive 2024!
*****
N. M. Cedeño is a short story writer and novelist living in Texas. She is active in Sisters in Crime- Heart of Texas Chapter and is a member of the Short Mystery Fiction Society. Find out more at nmcedeno.com
Now and then, when I sneak a book off the shelf, glancing around to be sure no one notices it’s a children’s book…or pick up an old LeCarré…I’m grateful for the joy of rereading.
Rather like upcoming Thanksgiving dinners! Think of their literary content! Suspense, of course–is that turkey really done? Imminent peril–are the drippings sufficient for decent gravy? Strong characters–the usual suspects are arriving at the table! Ethical challenges–no comments on the burnt marshmallow topping on the yams. And, hopefully, enough whipped cream for a happy ending!
Of course an invitee may decide to bring Something New. (I refer to an aunt’s “Pumpkin Chiffon” creation, still infamous years later. I mean, it wasn’t pumpkin pie and never would be.) In the face of such unwonted (unwanted) novelty we draw back: we don’t want something new: we want…reassurance.
So many good books are out now, deserving our attention–Lawrence Wright’s Mr. Texas, Paulette Jiles’s Chenneville, Paul Woodruff’s Living Toward Virtue, and my dear friend Dr. Megan Biesele’s amazing memoir about her anthropological adventures in the Kalahari, Once Upon a Time Is Now. https://amzn.to/3MSVL7y
But sometimes I return to the old faves, craving (especially these days)…reassurance.
What sort of reassurance? How about vindication for a beloved character in trouble? See the end of William Faulkner’s Intruder in the Dust (1948), a murder mystery where Lucas Beauchamp with his gold toothpick is saved from lynching with the help of two teens and an old lady. It’s a precursor to Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird (which has a sadder ending).
Children’s books require vindication of the hero. Lucy receives that in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, when her older siblings finally follow her through the back of the wardrobe into Narnia and discover her amazing story is true.
As a Le Carré follower, I remain thrilled by A Legacy of Spies (2017). And yes, like many of his spy thrillers, it’s a murder mystery. Our first-person narrator is “young Peter Guillam” who won our hearts earlier as the man that master spy George Smiley could always count on. White-haired, a bit deaf, and back home on the Breton coast, he’s no longer protected by the now-retired Smiley, and Britain’s foreign service (the “Circus”) has hauled Guillam to England and arrested him. The Circus is plotting an unconscionable rewrite of agency history, with Guillam cast as the villain.
But this old dog still knows old tricks, and, yes, is vindicated! We rejoice, reassured, when Peter Guillam once again is strolling the Breton coast, with a furious Smiley about to descend with a vengeance on the Circus.
Other great rereads for reassurance: Patrick O’Brian’s Aubrey-Maturin sea novels. The last pages of The Commodore (Book 17) provide classic vindication for our surgeon-spy, Stephen Maturin. After many perils, barely surviving yellow fever, and finally encountering his beloved potto https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Potto, Maturin learns of the death of a most vicious but hitherto unnamed enemy, who has plotted Maturin’s downfall, even his murder, for years (through many volumes). Just pages later Maturin experiences the wild joy of an unexpected reunion with his lost Diana. O’Brian’s unsurpassed powerful brevity can create the sudden turns and arouse the fierce emotions that satisfy a happy (re)reader.
My housemate reports that his rereads include The Cruel Sea by Nicholas Monserrat, Cannery Row, Pride and Prejudice, certain sections of Moby Dick, and more.
This Thanksgiving I give thanks for books, new and old. Do you remember learning to read? I do. Early one morning, age five, I opened a new book titled Children’s Book of Knowledge. The long strings of separate curly letters abruptly morphed into words. Like a bolt of lightning! I could read! Words became magnetic: I couldn’t keep my eyes away. I read everything–stray magazines, newspapers, the Cheerios box. I was now independent. No waiting for grown-ups to dispense information: I could simply read for myself! (With a library book stashed inside my desk at East Elementary–unfortunately confiscated by the teacher.)
Reading sets us free, gives us resources, gives us respite, gives us independence..and reassurance. Happy Thanksgiving!
I’m working on the ninth novel in the Alice MacDonald Greer Mystery series set in Coffee Creek, Texas, in the Hill Country. You can be sure the inhabitants insist on cornbread dressing and pumpkin pie with whipped cream. The burros will hope for leftovers.
Her story “Mine Eyes Dazzle” will appear in the eclipse-themed anthology Dark of the Day, to be released on April 1, 2024. She lives in Austin.
Ink-Stained Wretches 