Why I Write, Take Two

My book editor, Ashleigh Evans, is a former junior high school friend from the 1950s, who I knew as Betty Smith (this was before her career as a performer, hence the name change). We lost touch for many years until one afternoon in the 1970s I was watching my late husband play tennis and a man walked up to me and asked, “Did you used to be Sue Moore?” He was Bill Smith, a local attorney. But I remembered him as Billy, Betty’s annoying kid brother.

I had an opportunity to see Ashleigh not long after that when she was back east and was in our area to visit Bill and his family (she now lives in the San Francisco Bay area). Bill’s daughter, Kristen, has followed in her aunt’s footsteps and is a talented performer who is now on Broadway, her lifelong dream.

But I digress. Ashleigh read my first novel, How I Grew Up, and contacted me to offer her services as copy editor, looking for errors in spelling, punctuation, and grammar. Over the course of nine books she has become much more. She also catches plot holes and advises me when I veer off track, so she has also become my content editor and in a way, my partner. We exchange ideas. I’m very fortunate because she will take the book as I write, a chapter at a time, something very rarely done.

Recently I sent her what is the climactic chapter for my work in progress, The Case of the Toxic Tenor, a murder mystery. When she returned the manuscript with her corrections/changes/comments she remarked in the email: “When you're writing exciting, fast-paced scenes like this, do you tend to type faster and faster?!”

That made me laugh, because I certainly do exactly that. But I do more. The world around me recedes and I am living right there, in that moment, in that place. This particularly scene takes place in 1964 Cincinnati, in the lobby of the Netherland Hilton Hotel. I was in that lobby a number of times when I lived there, and had a vague memory of its elegance, and of the Palm Court Restaurant just off to one side. But this is an intense scene and I needed more. Internet searches provided some great photographs and helped put me there. My remarkable police procedure consultant, retired Major Crimes Detective Lieutenant Stephen Kramer of the Cincinnati Police Department, included detailed narration to accompany photos he sent. I was right there in that lobby, watching the scene unfold as I wrote.

I had an absolute blast.

When I am writing I have the time of my life. And it’s immensely rewarding when I occasionally hear from someone who has enjoyed one of my books, whether through an Amazon review, an email, a note, or a comment in a parking lot (something like “I borrowed one of your books from my neighbor and I just loved it!”). I started writing in May of 2013 and it has become as essential to me as breathing (I know I’ve said that before, but it’s true). I’m sure I’m not that unusual and many other writers share my passion.

Sometimes people ask me how to write. Just do it. Sit down, use your computer, use a pencil and a pad of paper … just put the words down. It doesn’t have to be perfect. It won’t be perfect. Get the story out of your head. You can go back later and fix things. And you will, many, many, many times. But my advice is this: don’t read a bunch of books on “how to write a book.” Just start writing. Even if it’s slow going at first.

Without my computer, the internet, and some incredible people kind enough to generously share their knowledge and expertise about subjects I know little about (Lt. Kramer is a gold mine), I couldn’t write. I know that. And when I look at the nine books I have in print, I’m kind of stunned.

If you have any desire to write, try it. It’s cathartic, it’s escapist, it’s freeing, it’s gratifying and satisfying and fulfilling. Once you get into it, you’ll feel alive in a way you never have before. You’re creating something. Just think of the implications of that. Using your ability to produce something entirely new. Oh, sure, I know similar stories have been told numerous times. But not this exact story, in these exact words.

That’s why I write.

Oh, just in case you’d like to read any of my books, the quickest and easiest place to go is my Amazon author page. You can check out the reviews while you’re there. And if you do read a book … a review is like gold to us indie authors.  

https://www.amazon.com/Susan-Moore-Jordan/e/B00IBZ731U/ref=dp_byline_cont_ebooks_1

Power Couple: Augusta and Malcolm

Writing about Augusta McKee, former opera singer, professor of music, fashionista, amateur sleuth, known for her independence and her stilettos, has elicited some great responses from readers:

“Professor Augusta McKee, just introduced in Susan Moore Jordan’s mystery The Case of the Slain Soprano, will take her place among the lady detectives you wish you knew in person. She’s a no-nonsense voice teacher in spike heels, tough and tender and smart as all get-out.”

“Augusta McGee, (Jordan’s) heroine, is well-drawn for us and we are soon thoroughly intrigued by this well-dressed and extremely well-shod woman in midlife with many roles - professor of music, voice teacher, stage play director, and supportive mentor to faculty and students.”

When Augusta crosses paths with experienced Homicide Detective Malcolm Mitchell, there has to be much more to what begins as an adversarial encounter.

“Augusta, a strong force to be reckoned with, isn’t the type to take bad news lying down. Instead, she decides to do a bit of snooping on her own, especially when her red stilettos and sassy wit cross paths with the hunky, smart homicide detective, Malcolm Mitchell. Sparks sure do fly!”

“The beautiful, spiked-heel McKee encounters romance with an unlikely match (who turns out to share her love of opera, no surprise there!) in the detective assigned to the case, Malcolm Mitchell. McKee makes a strong protagonist and I liked her instantly as she asserts herself in defiance of the detective, who seems a bit overwhelmed by her, but later regains his composure sufficiently to woo her.”

While that initial encounter may at first appear to be instant dislike, it turns out to be a great deal more. Augusta’s thoughts about the detective evolve, and this scene at Linnea Murphy’s funeral could be the beginning of their romance. (Informational note: the books are set in Cincinnati in the 1960s.)

The Case of the Slain Soprano

Excerpt from Chapter 7

Arriving at the church, Augusta was somewhat taken aback to see a number of police officers on hand, including Detective Malcolm Mitchell and his partner, Jim Edmonds.

“Crowd control, Detective?” she said to Mitchell.

“Something like that,” he replied, rather curtly.

“It appears you’re looking for someone.”

He glanced at her briefly, continuing to scan the crowd as he spoke. “One of our suspects has cut and run. There’s a chance he might show up today.”

Augusta had to catch her breath and realized she was shaking slightly; the emotions she was already experiencing intensified. “I don’t suppose you’ll tell me who it is.”

“You suppose correctly, Professor McKee.” He gazed directly at her and said quietly, “You should take your seat, don’t you think?”

She nodded and walked down the aisle to the soothing strains of the prelude, Mascagni’s haunting “Intermezzo” from Cavalleria Rusticana, to sit with Sisters Norbert and Vincent. As Augusta listened to the angelic Fauré Requiem, she found herself from time to time studying the crowd which filled the church. Who are they looking for?

The sopranos began to sing the lovely “Pie Jesu” and Augusta’s mind took her back to the concert in October when Linnea had performed it flawlessly, and she let the tears flow. The mass concluded; Father Culhane spoke of Linnea with love and compassion, and there were few dry eyes in the congregation.

The casket was wheeled to the front of the church and removed, and the congregation began to exit to the gentle, ethereal strains of Theodore Dubois’ “In Paradisum.” Augusta was jostled slightly from behind, and she glanced back to apologize but the person behind her hurried forward.

Augusta almost stopped still as she stared at the woman who had brushed past her. She was wearing too heavy a coat for this late April day and had a scarf wound around her head. With a shock Augusta realized it wasn’t a woman at all; it was a man. When she reached the steps leading from the church she received a second shock: after a brief scuffle, the “woman” was being arrested by Mitchell and Edmonds. Augusta hurried down the steps and Terry Jenkins locked eyes with her.

Terry’s voice broke as he called out, “Professor McKee, you know I didn’t kill Linnea. I loved her.” Detective Edmonds pressed the fugitive into a police car, which sped away fairly quickly. While Augusta realized the police had managed to avoid too much of an uproar, there was some consternation among the mourners who had witnessed the arrest. Furious, she confronted Mitchell.

“Was that absolutely necessary?” She struggled to keep her voice under control.

“Unfortunately, it was. I’d have preferred to arrest him elsewhere, but if we hadn’t done it here, he would have been on the run again.”

“I simply can’t believe that boy killed Linnea.”

“Well, he sure didn’t help his case by taking off the way he did. Not smart to come to the funeral, either. And he compounded his problems by taking a swing at Detective Edmonds.”

Augusta’s jumbled emotions had been in high gear all morning, and she found herself weeping and unable to speak. To her surprise, Detective Mitchell reacted with sympathy.

“I’m sorry this happened, Augusta.” He handed her his handkerchief. “I know you loved Linnea and this has all been difficult for you.”

She still couldn’t speak. Malcolm Mitchell put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “The Sisters are waiting to take you to the cemetery,” he said quietly, his mouth close to her ear. “You need to be there for the conclusion of the funeral.”

Still clutching the handkerchief, Augusta allowed Sister Vincent to lead her to one of the limousines that had been hired for the day.

The car pulled away slowly as Augusta glanced through the back window at Mitchell. How caring he was with me. I didn’t expect that.

The Case of the Slain Soprano and The Case of the Disappearing Director, Books #1 and #2 in “the Augusta McKee mysteries,” are both available on Amazon, Kindle and paperback:

https://www.amazon.com/Susan-Moore-Jordan/e/B00IBZ731U/ref=dp_byline_cont_ebooks_1

Covers by Taylor Van Kooten

What Century Is This, Anyway?

A couple of days ago I was working through a knotty police procedural plot point in my current w.i.p. I knew what I wanted to do but wasn’t sure it was allowable in 1964 Cincinnati. I’m lucky enough to have access through email to a retired homicide detective from the CPD, who, while he was too young to be a cop in 1964, is also a historian and an archivist. For most of that day my head was in the twentieth century, even though the rest of me had to remember to do things like feed the cat and pay bills in the twenty-first century.

It makes for interesting experiences at times. I like to zip through my local supermarket and grab stuff as I do. Unfortunately, my characters Augusta McKee and Malcolm Mitchell may be having a lively discussion in my head at the same time. It’s distracting and at times I’ve barely avoided colliding with fellow shoppers. I guess people who know me just think of me as the crazy writer lady.

I like spending time in the twentieth century, especially in Cincinnati, a town that owns my heart. I’ve also discovered Google Maps. Have you tried them? I can drive through that entire city and drop to ground level to admire the scenery from time to time. It’s the next best thing to actually being there.

There’s no way I could do any of this without the internet, that marvelous invention that certainly wasn’t part of my world when I actually lived in the twentieth century. Sometimes I pick up my 6S Plus iPhone and just stare at it in wonderment. It’s even better than that gizmo the Star Trek crew used, except I’m not sure it could “beam me up” – but in all honestly, I’ve never tried that.

When I think of everything that’s happened in my long lifetime (I was born in 1938), it’s positively mind-blowing. I like technology, and I’m happy I’ve lived long enough to enjoy all the benefits it offers. On the other hand, escaping into the past has its benefits. The world isn’t spinning so quickly. People take more time to look at each other, and to listen to each other.

One plot point that I had to research with my first Augusta McKee mystery … how did the cops contact each other car to car in 1963? Answer: they couldn’t. Messages had to be relayed through headquarters. No body cams, no way to communicate with each other individually once they left the patrol car. But you know what? They still tracked down the bad guys.

Sometimes I feel I live in “the best of all possible worlds” … all the benefits of twenty-first century life, but with an easy escape into the last century.

I guess I am the “crazy writer lady”!