The Boston Marathon tragedy has prompted knee jerk responses as well as thoughtful, nuanced discussions of immigration policy. When confronted with unspeakable evil, rational thought is often the first casualty. It’s tempting and even comforting to cocoon ourselves in familiar things and spout Nativist sentiments—Until we pause, take a breath, and look around us.

 Today’s Boston Globe recounted the events leading up to the capture of the miscreants. (I refuse to say alleged since the survivor has already confessed.) I was stunned by the surnames of first responders, police officers, and others who exhibited exceptional bravery in time of crisis. Irish, Italian, Polish, Hispanic—a veritable league of nations and races that reflects the strength and vitality of our great nation. Ironically, it was an immigrant from China who eluded the terrorists when they hijacked his vehicle, and sounded the final alarm.

 My point: they are the true face of immigration, normal Americans with shared values who seek to help not hurt their community, to build, not to destroy. We have escaped the stagnation and decline faced by other nations in part because of them. The influx of talents, ideas and zeal from other cultures continually revitalizes America. We are better because of them, and our values are a constant rebuke to extremists everywhere.

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All their lives, women are urged to play fair and be “nice”. Often that is code for ‘don’t rock the boat’, or ‘know your place.’ Today with the passing of Margaret Thatcher the world lost a trailblazing feminist who showed us all that while niceness and popularity have their place, they are often irrelevant obstacles for women seeking to make their mark.

Lady Thatcher might well recoil from being labeled a feminist, but in the truest sense of that word, she embodied the triumph of courage and ability over gender stereotypes. She showed class conscious Brits that leadership was not the preserve of the monied elite, and forever laid to rest the belief that women were too timid, and weak to chart their nation’s destiny.

While the debate still rages in America over ‘having it all’, and ‘leaning in’, Mrs. Thatcher showed us how to do both. Wife, Oxford grad, mother of twins, chemist, barrister and awesome competitor, she neither asked for nor expected special consideration. She faced a barrage of fierce sometimes-vicious criticism, and soldiered on.

Women (and men) of all political stripes should identify with and learn from this iconic figure who embodied qualities not often seen on the public stage. How refreshing in an age of plastic politicos who rule by opinion polls and regurgitate meaningless pabulum to find someone willing to state her views and stand by them, despite the blowback. As the current debates over gun control and the budget illustrate, few of our current elected officials display that type of courage.

It is tempting to dismiss Margaret Thatcher as an irrelevant relic of the Cold War best consigned to the dustbin of history. I submit however, that her courage, grit and patriotism transcend time and provide important lessons to us all.

Was the ‘iron lady’ a nice girl? Heavens no! She was a role model in the best sense of the word.

Godspeed, Mrs. Thatcher. RIP

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MIRROR, MIRROR

 Are all observations about appearance off the table in our politically correct society? President Obama recently stepped into a buzz saw by noting what was clear to anyone with eyes: California’s Attorney General is one beautiful woman. Immediately the chorus of protest arose (mostly from women’s groups), about objectifying females and devaluing their professional attainments.

As a card-carrying feminist and author who has fought and won those battles, I have a different view. Appreciating beauty is a gender-neutral trait that is also a fact of life. Gorgeous women and sizzling men raise our thermostats to boiling and make even the monogamous among us sit up and take notice. We experienced that phenomenon in Massachusetts recently with the senatorial candidacy of Scott Brown, a respected attorney, legislator and astoundingly handsome guy who once posed for Cosmo. People noticed and that’s not wrong.

My novels are categorized as romantic suspense and I happily subscribe to the formula that the protagonists will ALWAYS include an attractive woman and an especially hot guy. Naturally, the hero is also brilliant, successful and fabulously wealthy, just like the men one meets every day. In speaking with readers of all ages, I find that my mostly female audience expects and appreciates male beauty. After all, reading transports us into a land where fantasy becomes reality for at least a short while. We all need a chance to dream. Reality pummels you every time you stand in line or use public transportation, and very often it’s not pretty.

To those who lament the tendency of men (and women), to celebrate physical perfection, I say this: Get over it! It’s normal to acknowledge everything a person brings to the table in both form and substance. Let’s keep that in perspective and discuss the things that really count.

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I try not to overreact. Truly, I do. But when I see yet another publication lament about “bereft empty-nesters” (always women, may I add), I go CRAZY! Today’s Boston GLobe waxes on about women, “even those who worked full-time” who feel desolate when in the natural course of events, their children strike out on their own. It implies–hell, it outright states–that these unfortunate females have no more purpose in life now that their maternal duties have waned. I recognize that PARENTS may indeed long for and miss having their children close at hand.That’s a good thing, and not exclusively the domain of a female. But stable families forge bonds between parent and child that will never be eroded. I’ve heard far more grumbling about the “boom-erang” generation that returns to the nest.
Face facts: life has stages. That means change, growth and evolution. Don’t fight it–embrace it. And don’t consign all mothers to the group of aimless souls who bemoan the “Empty nest”. While you’re at it, please pledge never to use that absurd, essentially sexist phrase ever again.

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What makes men of a certain age lose control of their senses and behave like callow youths? Since 60 is the new 40, I’m covering a lot of territory here. At the risk of sounding sexist, I contend that women are far too sensible to engage in pathetic, mirth-inducing attempts to recapture their youthwith a far younger partner. Leering, flirting and fantasizing may be fine in fiction or in private, but when exposed to the merciless light of day it is sad and potentially dangerous. Some not so innocent young women, from the Zumba instructor to the liquor clerk, draw a bead on vulnerable men with everything to lose.What follows may lead to humiliation, ruination, & occasionally, tragedy. Here’s my advice for guys seeking to recapture their lost youth. FORGET IT!

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, February 15, 2013 ByArlene Kay (Cape Cod Massachusetts)   This review is from: Gone Girl: A Novel (Hardcover) I was eager to read GONE GIRL, the fabulously successful novel by Gillian FLynn. Frankly, as a writer myself, I find there is much to learn from most best sellers, even ones outside my own genre. The verdict on GONE GIRL is decidedly mixed. Flynn’s descriptive powers and character building are excellent as is her dialogue. She infused both Nick and Amy (the POV stars) with strong voices and provides enough details about their proclivities and flaws to hook the reader. Initially. Midway through this novel (not really a mystery, folks), I felt restless and wanted it to end already. GONE GIRL is at best a psychological study, an intense and overlong look at the implosion of a marriage. Although neither character was perfect (who is?), my sympathies resided with Amy. Nick is the type of smug bounder who populates both fiction and true crime accounts. There’s a very Scott Peterson-ish tinge to this superficial, essential stupid fellow who has been indulged by women all his life. I also found Amy’s passivity unconvincing in a woman who spent her life on the upper fringes of Manhattan society. Move to MISSOURI? Come on, no man is worth that. Better to do hard time in an east coast prison. For the reader who enjoys wallowing in the mind of a protagonist, GONE GIRL should be a satisfying read. I fail to see how any mystery reader could be satisfied with a plot that is so trite you can see it coming early on in the book.

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Today marks 200 years since one of the truly great literary romances was published. I re-read PRIDE AND PREJUDICE every year, just to remind myself what inspired writing sounds like. N.B.–All your frustrated novelists–several publishers turned Jane Austen down when she submitted this masterpiece. There’s hope for us all!

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This is all about, DIE LAUGHING, a cape cod mystery. 

I’ve been a mystery buff since birth. I cut my teeth on Christie, sashayed through Sayres and worshipped at the well-shod boots of The Great Detective.

Small wonder that I’m a mystery writer! My first published novel (INTRUSION) combined romantic suspense with a medical mystery.

I switched to a third person cozy for my latest, DIE LAUGHING, and back again to first person for my next two. Odd as it may seem, my characters dictate which point of view best fits them.

As a reader, I adore unearthing clues, evaluating motives and finding the murderer. Any author who deprives me of that pleasure is guilty of foul play! Each of my novels allows  astute readers to unmask the culprit. In the process, I want them to enjoy the ride while keeping their tongues firmly in cheek. Droll observations and wry humor are my weaknesses and strength.

In the Christie tradition, I set DIE LAUGHING in a small Cape Cod town. It’s not St. Mary Mead but passion, greed and jealousy still abound. Now picture this:

A Cape Cod village, a grisly murder, and a priceless comic book collection. Mix these ingredients, stir in a side of romance, and serve a cozy mystery that thriller author C.E. Lawrence calls, “a rollicking good story.”

Die Laughing presents a cast of intriguing characters with secrets to hide and motives for murder.

Author Kevin Symmons had this to say about Die Laughing, “Agatha Christie meets Susan Isaacs … on steroids!”

I hope you enjoy it. A visit to Cape Cod is always interesting.

Author web site & blog: http://arlenekay.com

Author blog site: http://www.mysteryminx.com

Author twitter feed: http://twitter.com/AKMysteries

View video  Die Laughing – YouTube
 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kh-YgdzxBW0

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I’m not a complainer–not really. But MUST advertisers fill the airways with pitches for erectile dysfunction (trendily repackaged as ED), female sanitary products, catheters, canes and the like? And must these canny purveyors of merchandise always do so at DINNER time? I’ve learned to accept ads for funerals (final expenses, if you please), even though they typically suggest that the inconsiderate sod (usually a husband) saddled his poor family with disposing of him when the GOVERNMENT should pay. I mourn the demise of propriety and mystique–too much candor may be damaging to my health.

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Did you ever meet someone and wonder if he/she was a potential killer? This morning found me in a Salon, minding my own business, trying to improve myself, and contemplating the homicidal impulses of another patron. She was a mystery fan, this odd stranger, so naturally I flogged my novels to her, despite the fact that the state of her hair (& her conversation) seemed a bit off. The clues added up the more we spoke: no car, no job, compulsive smoker.When she described a bad hair day at a Newbury St. Salon, and said she wanted to attack the stylist & kill her, I glanced at her oversize purse with some alarm. Most of us have experienced an occasional blip in the path to beauty, but homicidal thoughts do seem like an over-reaction. When she finally left, everyone in the place sighed and rolled their eyes. Probably not dangerous but certainly medicated or should be. Not to worry. For a writer EVERYTHING is material. This person’s aberrant behavior will show up in my next novel.

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Fans of the execrable “Rizzoli & Isles” television show go no farther. Tess Gerritsen’s deftly crafted plots and characters bear no resemblance to the cartoonish portrayals and cringe-worthy dialogue on the small screen. She masters the intelligent police procedural and keeps readers turning every page with her. Gerritsen masters the big 3 of mysteries: engaging characters, lively pace and a cracking plot that only the most astute crime buff will solve. (I did).

SILENT GIRL seamlessly blends the raucous streets of Boston with the often unknowable mystique of China town. Maura Isles is a secondary character here, yielding center stage to a resurgent Jane Rizzoli and an intriguing protagonist and Sifu named Iris Fang. In tackling the coldest of cases, Jane probes a heinous mass murder that may be related to the disappearance of young girls. The author does a fine job with strong, flawed female leads whose qualities mesmerize us. The males in the mix are also captivating including her loyal partner Frost, the amorous Korshak, and an intriguing new detective named Johnny Tam.

I enjoyed this novel and recommend it to anyone (regardless of genre preference) who values a quality read.

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This morning I spent 90 minutes chatting with a delightful ‘woman of a certain age’ at our dog training class. This sprightly lady discussed philology, Alexander Hamilton and the impact of Abigail Adams on the American Revolution. When we lamented the defeat of the recent ballot initiative on assisted suicide, she shrugged and said. “it’s easy enough to get what you need when the time comes.”
Imagine my surprise when she told me she was ninety years old, and not as sharp as she used to be!

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Does anyone remember the angst of College mixers? Girls stepped timidly off the bus and walked the gauntlet of gaping, drooling adolescent males with snarky attitudes and lascivious thoughts. The nuns warned us that these dances were ‘occasions of mortal sin’ to which the bolder girls responded: “I hope so, Sister.” We were cautioned to avoid international intrigue–those Roman hands and Russian fingers that led straight to HELL. Most of us tried to pass the evening with minimal humiliation and a brave face. Success was equated to the number of partners one danced with even if they were closer to neanderthals than prince charming. The lucky ones met a decent guy with working brain cells who came calling the next week.

Everyone pitied the poor wallflowers who huddled on the sidelines wearing their cloak of invisibility.
These memories cascaded down on me last week when I faced yet another author book-signing. Despite the lively poster and carefully arrayed books, my worst fears materialized: It was college mixer time again, only this time, I was one of the wallflowers, gazing pitifully at each customer who brushed past me, hoping that my dazzling wit would captivate them and sell books; glancing furtively at my watch.

Now I empathize with those girls too shy to successfully navigate the college mixer. They’ve taken their revenge on me by sweeping down the aisles without even offering me a smile. Now I know what they suffered: I am a literary wallflower!

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Book launch December 1st, Cape Cod Cozy with a side of romance, and a dash of comics.

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‎”Mistress”–semantics or sexism?
I’ve heard all the elaborate explanations and I’m unconvinced. For once, even the Bard’s inspired words (‘a rose by any other name’), leave me cold. The latest tempest in a particularly steamy teapot, has the word “Mistress” bandied about with such abandon that even Madame Pompadour would blush!

Paula Broadwell is most certainly not a ‘kept’ woman as the word mistress implies. Despite claims that it is merely a semantical distinction, I sense sexism and an unhealthy dose of contempt in the use of this term to designate a BAD woman, without a corresponding term for her male counterpart.(dupe or idiot spring to mind). She apparently was the General’s lover, paramour or sex partner. The same is allegedly true for him. As media lackeys (both male and female) trumpet the same tired jargon, the message seeps into the American consciousness. MISTRESS–hussy,strumpet, vixen, the kind of woman society should scorn and revile. Coupled with the strong presumption that the man in question was either duped (fog of war–please?), or beguiled by her charms, the stage is set for a modern replay of the Garden of Eden. This time around, the temptress holds a biography not an apple.

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Can an idol have feet of flesh? Even fine writers occasionally dip a toe into the sea of mediocrity, right? Not so when the name is Nelson DeMille, known for deft dialogue, superior plotting, and characters that just won’t quit!
DeMille’s latest “The Panther” is another master work that thrusts the reader into the familiar world of John Corey, my very favorite series character. True, Corey is snarky, but that quirk is offset by his bravery and devotion to his country and long-suffering FBI wife. Any writer who longs to immortalize his/her creations, must take a lesson from any of DeMille’s many novels. His characters literally leap off the page, confounding us with emotions (often politically incorrect), that we may recognize in ourselves. No one does dialogue better–No One! So grab “the Panther” and while you’re at it, refresh your memory with John Corey’s other exploits (The Lion; The Lion’s Game). You’ll cheer, worry, and obsess about the plot lines and the fate of those involved. Writers will learn something; readers will be glad they found him.

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Jack Reacher is my kind of guy: tough,smart, loyal and courageous. Unfortunately, in his latest appearance (A WANTED MAN), Reacher has yet another attribute: boring. Ouch! Has author Lee Child tired of the big guy, or is this lethargy a temporary blip on the literary landscape?

I’ve read every book in the Reacher saga, and despite some downturns (61 Hours), the series has maintained its vitality and even plowed new ground (The Affair). Part of the problem with the current novel is technique. Child kidnaps the reader taking him/her on a long, monotonous, sleep inducing road trip with 2 killers who couldn’t be more predictable.By the time the action ticks upward, many readers will have taken a permanent detour.

Times are tough for Jack Reacher with a lackluster effort like A WANTED MAN, and the unwelcome news that the elfin Tom Cruise will play him in a forthcoming movie. Let’s give the big fellow a break and stay loyal. He’s the kind of man anyone would want on the team!

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Does murky weather turn your mind to murder? As one who constantly dabbles in the macabre, this thought occurred to me: what better time to commit the ultimate anti-social act? Odds are, in the midst of crushing damage and devastation,local authorities will attribute loss of life to the natural disaster unless of course a murderer dispatches his victim with a bullet, knife or garrote. The proverbial blunt instrument, a tried and true method, will likely go unnoticed in a tumult that accompanies a natural disaster. If this horrifies you, consider the source. There are no accidental deaths to a mystery writer, only novels yet to be written.

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What makes a protagonist misbehave? She/he is your creation after all. Writers have the ultimate life or death power over the characters they create but invoking the nuclear option and casting them into the darkness is hard. After all, you’ve spent time with them: you know their foibles, feelings and fears. King Lear bemoaned that sharp serpent’s tooth that a thankless child presents and so it is with those who populate our novels.

I want my heroines to be smart, sassy and brave (like me), but sometimes they are shy, self-doubting doom-sayers (also like me). Mystery readers hope to escape everyday drudgery, showcase their detective skills, and enjoy the occasional hot guy. Being mired in misery is no one’s idea of fun, especially mine. I’m selling a lively mix of romantic fantasy where justice prevails and evil-doers are punished, not a poor woman’s version of Crime and Punishment. So it’s time to eliminate unruly characters and create the plucky, upbeat heroines that entertain audiences and sell books.
No hesitation this time: It’s the Tiger not the lady.

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Just returned from taping a television interview in DC with host John Lovass and 2 other mystery authors. (Lane Stone and Donna Andrews).
The event was entertaining, amusing and lots of clean wholesome fun. Despite that, I enjoyed myself. In the course of our discussion, the host proved that he had indeed read all 3 novels by pinpointing a misspelled name in one of the books. We looked at each other, shrugged, and strongly hinted that he had ingested some strange substance. Streams of heavy denial flooded the studio as we defended the purity and artistic integrity of our works. I (mentally) combed through INTRUSION and determined that I didn’t even have a character by that name.One of the other authors looked guilty and I strongly suspected her of double-dealing.
After returning home, I did a cursory word search of INTRUSION and low and behold, I found that error nestled in the comely bosom of my very book. For shame!
I feel surprise, chagrin and a great deal of relief that my crime was hidden from the viewing audience. Now no one will ever know …

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Keep your day job (as long as it doesn’t involve writing). Have you ever longed to dispense that advice to a would-be novelist but were too kind or cowardly to do so? The self-publishing phenomenon coupled with the democratic ideal that ANYONE can write a novel present an ethical dilemma to many of us. Technology allows those with tenacity and funding to produce a book whether or not it is worth reading. Skills such as talent, imagination and ability may be cast to the winds without a publishing gatekeeper to provide input. Some writers refuse to accept the mildest suggestions, even ones that can help to point them in the right direction. They regard criticism as a foreign substance whose poison must be immediately expelled from their body. As a result, the literary world is awash with detritus. For every hidden gem one finds a nest of ill conceived, poorly written tomes that should immediately be consigned to the remainder bin. For those who yearn to write, listen to your peers as well as your own inner voice. Good writers are few and far between. So consider this advice: keep your day job.

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Enjoy every day, even your most mundane activities. A friend and former colleague was walking his little dog in DC, when a car jumped the sidewalk and ended his life. Personal tragedies are often a wakeup call to the rest of us, the survivors, to appreciate every gift large and small that we’ve been given. It’s easy to bemoan what we DON”T have, rather than celebrate our blessings. Foremost among them are our friends, those patient souls who commiserate, congratulate, and animate us. I used my late friend as the model for a major character in my novel INTRUSION. It was easy to depict his persona, dialogue, and sense of humor to readers. His character Rand Lohan, was the one most readers truly loved.
Funny, how fiction imitates life.

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How far would you go to promote your book? Would you sacrifice your own (& your family’s ) privacy to guest on “60 minutes”?Arnold did and it worked! Naturally, his life story is far more compelling than my mundane exploits and he is a public figure, but, honesty compels me to admit that book sales being what they are, I’d jump at the chance to appear. I’d have to fabricate torrid affairs with prominent figures (check), embellish my accomplishments(why not?), and endure the prattle of idiots like Leslie Stahl.(ugh!). Despite the hardships, when my quarterly royalty check rolled around, I’d laugh all the way to the ATM. What about you?

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Should writers read the online reviews of their novels that appear on Amazon, Goodreads etc.? I’m ambivalent about it. Like most people, I enjoy reading reviews that praise my books, and I force myself to scan (but not obsess over), less commendatory comments. Reviews are a key ingredient in any writer’s sales strategy. That doesn’t take away the sting of truly snarky, or blatantly unfair statements. Several well known authors have told me that they never read their reviews. Maybe it’s better to delegate that task.

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Must all romance novels have a happy ending? That’s a basic tenet of the genre. The HEA (happily ever after ending), is a prerequisite for getting published and a guarantee for all readers. Ambiguity is never countenanced in Romance fiction, although in reality it is often the rule. Mystery readers, on the other hand, are realists who focus more on unmasking the villain than uncovering the alpha hunk.That divergence explains why writing Romantic Suspense/mystery is a tricky proposition. The author must satisfy the conventions of Romance writing, while still adhering to the needs of mystery readers for a taut, tantalizing crime story. It’s a challenge, but for those with the talent and tenacity the rewards are enormous! …

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Serial blurbing like philandering can become a destructive habit. Not a problem when you honestly like a novel but a tricky proposition when the reverse is true. I hover between flattered and frantic whenever someone asks for a blurb. Credibility not to mention precious time hangs in the balance.

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Do public presentations at bookstores and libraries make a difference? Perhaps it depends on the venue. Big cities draw respectable crowds; small towns–not so much. Does increased author visibility lead to greater book sales? Maybe.
Name recognition feeds the ego but not necessarily the bank balance.

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Some thoughts about critique groups: writers (and other professionals), need reasoned, focused feedback in order to progress. Writing Groups are designed to provide that. They are not coffee klaches, group therapy sessions, or political forums. Participants must understand and accept their responsibilities in order to claim the benefits. Bottom line: if your WG hasn’t made you a more proficient writer, it’s time to reassess your options.

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What purpose is served by writing conferences and other professional gatherings? Admittedly,some knowledge is imparted, talent showcased, and the usual bromides dispensed. As a veteran of too many business and literary confabs, I’ve given this considerable thought. My conclusion is simple: Reinforcement and motivation are the most compelling reasons for and biggest benefit derived from these sessions. If I return from a meeting motivated to write or otherwise excel in my profession, then my time and money was well spent.

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How much does use of social media impact on book sales? I’ve heard many experts extol use of Twitter, FB, etc, but as a
slightly jaundiced manager, I say—where’s the hard data?
(Notice I refrained from using that dreadful cliche “Show me the money”)

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Where do I find inspiration for mysteries? Check out the NYTimes, Wash. Post; Boston Globe or WSJ for daily insights into human depravity. Then think, ‘What if?’ Works every time.

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It hurts to abandon beloved characters who’ve become both friend and fantasy, especially when you MURDER them. Welcome to the world of an inveterate, slightly jaded mystery writer who can make the tough calls. ‘Kill your darlings”–how about slaughtering them!

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How do writers strike a balance between self-confidence and delusion? After constant rejections, a wise person must consider that the book of his heart might be irreparably flawed. (or is a masterpiece far ahead of its time). Either way, prudence dictates a course correction. Write a stand-alone, something entirely different. I did and it worked!

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Hurrah!! Yesterday I put the finishing touches on “MANTRAP”, the sequel to “SWANN DIVE”. (pub. date 2014). It’s so exhilarating when everything comes together just right. Monday I’ll start an outline for my next book as yet untitled. Today I’ll luxuriate in this small triumph.

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MOMMY PORN — Trashy sex or smart marketing?

A Romance Writer’s take on Fifty Shades of Grey

I confess. When a fledgling novelist captures the front page of the New York Times, I get curious. I’d never heard of Fifty Shades of Grey, even though I regularly follow the best seller lists. Moreover, the term “Mommy Porn” inspired me to immediately speed dial Amazon, and order the e-books. After all, what kind of erotic writing captivates an audience of well-educated, comfortably fixed female readers and creates a major sensation? Most modern versions of erotica that I’ve read are unimaginative and sadly boring. Biology texts have never enticed me to do more than yawn.

I paged through the work, telling myself it was research. After all, as an author I have to keep abreast (pardon the ghastly pun) of any book that nets a seven figure deal plus movie buzz for its creator. Approach Fifty Shades of Grey as you would a case study, I told myself.  Analyze everything dispassionately. As if.

I’d allocated 30 minutes to skimming the first few chapters, convinced that they’d confirm my most dire suspicions. Instead, two hours of my precious writing time later I joined the ranks of (mostly) female readers who were entranced by Anastasia Steele and her libidinous lover and billionaire hunk, Christian Grey.

Writing in the intimacy of first person narrative, the clever author introduced me to a protagonist I both liked and identified with. Anastasia is smart, self-deprecating and somewhat naïve. She succumbs to the charms of the devastating Christian as easily as most of us would. Sure he has kinks. Lots of them. But the author also portrays him as brainy, sentimental and curiously vulnerable. How many women could resist that heady cocktail?

“Grey” succeeds in two other key areas—plot and pacing.  I zipped through the pages anxious to learn the fate of this intriguing couple as they followed the rituals of pain, pleasure and mutual affection.

About the sex—it was frank, anatomically challenging but not repugnant. I must admit that the sado-masochistic bits were interesting and sometimes puzzling. Uninitiated readers (like me) probably learned a few things, although I marveled at Ana’s limitless capacity for orgasmic bliss!

Since Ana is our narrator and spirit guide, we experience things through her eyes without the snickers and snobbish asides that an omniscient voice often provides. Somehow it seems right, even though reviewers have denounced Fifty Shades of Grey as everything from sexist drivel to anti-feminist tripe. Get a grip, people!

Most of the women I’ve spoken with say this: 50 S of G appeals because of the love story not the mechanics of sado-masochism. It’s fantasy of course, a latter day Cinderella story, (sans Disney), where true love ultimately triumphs. Silly—maybe; unlikely—probably. Romances typically are.

I read all three volumes and didn’t want their story to end. Like many readers I asked myself this question: Would you have succumbed to this gorgeous young billionaire with peculiar tastes but a capacity for love? My answer — a resounding YES.

And that, dear readers, is the secret to writing a best seller. Create attractive, endearing characters, hook the audience with a unique plot element, and play to the secret fantasies we all nurture.  Be gone, cynics. Love will set you free.

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BIG BOYS DON’T CRY—BUT MAYBE THEY SHOULD

                   Many women admire strong, silent guys who would rather chew nails than express emotion. Chalk it up to our Puritan heritage, or the vestiges of the Wild West. The cult of the Alpha Male dictates that strong arms and minds are perfectly acceptable but strong feelings should be under wraps at all times. I’m discounting an alarming trend among male politicians to blubber like babies over almost anything. When adults, both male and female, are in charge of our destinies a little self-control goes a long way. (That means YOU, Mr. Speaker).

The tension between virile and sensitive heroes is the ying and yang of sexy. Most readers want balance — a guy who can hold his own in a fight but is no Neanderthal; a man with a sizzling intellect who enjoys brainy babes. Naturally great hair and sculptured abs are always a plus as are sizable holdings or a royal title.

A man who’s comfortable with feelings is sexy through and through. He’s self-confident, in touch with the world and loaded with testosterone. Smart too, because sensitivity is the secret to scoring with the opposite sex. Not weeping random buckets but gestures, generosity, tenderness and kindness toward other living beings.  Men who hug their child or pat a puppy are winners. Similarly, kissing a lady’s fingers, stroking her hair, or dancing to Coltrane, fuel an intense emotional connection between lovers.

Writers have always known this. The banter between Rhett and Scarlett, backed up by that incredible staircase scene made feminine hearts flutter then and now. But Alpha Captain Butler also greatly loved and grieved for his daughter Bonnie Blue, adored Melanie and admired Mammy and he wasn’t afraid to show it.

The appeal of Stephenie Meyer’s Twilight saga rests with the romantic relationship between Bella and the other worldly Edward. His physical abilities could easily vanquish her but he wins her heart with a rocking combination of strength and tenderness sans sex. Abstinence never looked so good.

In my novels, I exploit the push/pull of virile men who pursue their dreams with intellect, physical prowess and humor. That’s an intoxicating mix guaranteed to captivate most women of substance.

So gather ‘round all you heroes and listen: big boys don’t (necessarily) cry, but through words, deeds and gestures they must show feeling. Unleashing emotion takes work and attitude adjustment. Change never felt so good. It’s just such sweet surrender.

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HAWKING MY WARES — THE DOWNSIDE OF PUBLICATION

 I’m no salesperson: shameless self-promotion makes my skin crawl. It’s a necessary component of success, however, in the brave new world of publication. Pity the reticent or abashed author standing quietly waiting for her light to shine.  Hope she’s got a flashlight at the ready because wallflowers are box office poison to their editors. The name of the game is sales. It’s a numbers game, nothing malicious, simply business. Successful salespeople regard every individual as a potential target of opportunity. I cringe at the thought. No wonder solicitation is a crime! Like a lady of the evening, I paint a confident smile on my face and mingle with the unsuspecting throngs, proud of my product, shamed by my tactics.

How would my literary heroes have handled it? Jane Austen might have gathered the local gentry for tea, crumpets and conversation. Edgar Allen Poe would have challenged his critics with a ‘publish and be damned’ attitude. Arthur Conan Doyle had the Great Detective available to convince skeptics to purchase his works through the relentless use of logic; James Patterson has piles of money to fund lavish media campaigns. And Jessica Fletcher, that creature of television and now bookshelves — she had it made. Glamorous locations, fawning publishers and the assurance that another body would conveniently pop up once a week. I loved the old gal, but honestly, would you invite her into your home? Meanwhile I sit alone at a bookstore table with a tepid grin and flashy poster for company.

Internet methods are more to my liking. Blogging, tweeting, and facebooking seem more anonymous and less intrusive than corralling the errant bystander or looking pathetic. I’m awed by authors with real talent for shameless self-promotion. Some of them literally tackle passers-by and make their pitch. Others flash a confident grin that inveigles  consumers to take a chance and open their purse.

One thing I’ve gained from the process is compassion. So, if you catch a whiff of desperation when you pass a booksigning, stop and say something. We’ve probably never met before.

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Meet  Candace Ott, from INTRUSION 

I’ve always worried about Betts. Kai’s death destroyed her, almost as if she died too on that mountaintop. She was always way too serious, not like me in any way. We roomed together at Georgetown, shared a townhouse with Tom Yancey. All very platonic mind you. Betts was always shy around men. Study, study, study — that’s all she did. I tried to tell her, tried to make her relax and have fun.  Nope. She wouldn’t hear of it. Said she planned to be a spinster. Old maid, I called it, but she said no. Spinsterhood had an honorable tradition. It was a lifestyle choice; Old maid meant no one wanted you. That all changed once she met Kai.

Kai Buckley — smart, rich and smoking hot. He liked brainy women. Never looked at anyone once he met Betts. They went on to business school — Tommy too. Not me. I’d had enough book learning. This sounds conceited, but I’m the brains behind SWEET NOTHINGS, the fantastically hip on-line makeup empire. Academic stuff bored me but give me a pot of eye shadow and some lip-gloss and I can change your world.  They all helped me of course: Kai, Betts and Tommy did their thing, using all that B school knowhow. Our lives were perfect. Then it all fell apart. First, Kai died in a freak accident. Then Tommy. Murdered.

Betts became a different person — strong, energized. A Valkyrie without the horns and fat. She vowed to find Tommy’s killer and she dragged me into it. I’m no coward but I plan to live a long life. The new Elisabeth Buckley, Esquire, is a daredevil who risks her life and mine too just to prove a point.

I can’t abandon her. Loyalty is as important to me as good grooming. That means I have to help her find the murderer. Even if it kills me.

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Meet Elisabeth Buckley – From Intrusion

Until I met Kai, I never really lived. When he died, when he threw his life away on that mountain, my life ended too. My vital organs just hadn’t gotten the message yet. I drifted through each day, oblivious to anything but an aching sense of loss and my dog Della.

Kai Buckley embodied every superlative in five languages. He transformed my humdrum existence into a fantasy where anything was possible and every dream came true. I’d always been smart, head of my class at Harvard Business School. But with those brains came a painful shyness that crushed any hope of a social life. Until I met him.

His physical perfection was stunning: thick black hair threaded with a hint of grey, lovingly sculpted features and the lean muscular body of a dedicated gym rat. He was a god, straight from Mount Olympus, and he chose me to love. Through law school and the startup of our business we were an unbeatable team focused on our future. Then it ended.

He was a daredevil who couldn’t resist a challenge. Mountain climbing! What kind of man does that for a hobby? I never even dreamed of trying it. My nickname says it all: Giraffe. Kai called me ‘willowy”, but ungainly was more accurate. I could trip on a blade of grass. Maybe it’s a redhead thing. There aren’t too many of us natural redheads around, and I like it that way. My one mark of distinction.

Besides Della, I had two best friends whose loyalty meant everything to me: Candace Ott and Tom Yancey. We’d roomed together at Georgetown, and cooked up the scheme that ultimately became our livelihood: Sweet Nothings, a cosmetic empire. They buoyed my spirits, hectored me and forced me to face the impossible—life without Kai.

Tommy was always there for me, but I betrayed him. I ignored his pleas for help, refused to take his calls. His murder roused me from my self-indulgent cocoon and activated every primitive instinct I possessed.

I vowed to avenge my friend, find his murderer, and reclaim my own life. Nothing could stop me. Kai and Tommy were counting on me.

LEARN MORE ABOUT ELISABETH IN INTRUSION

AVAILABLE NOW FROM MAINLY MURDER PRESS, AMAZON AND BARNES AND NOBLE.

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SULTRY, SENSUAL, NOT SLEAZY

 What puts sizzle in a novel without igniting the book? The popularity of Erotica raises some intriguing issues that each author must consider. Elisabeth Benedict in her classic The Joy of Writing Sex makes a key distinction: a sex scene is not a sex manual.  Moreover, even though a sex scene and a love scene share common elements, emotion carries the day in a true romance. Personally, my feelings about erotica range from mild distaste to utter boredom. Biology was never my favorite subject. I know the names for male and female body parts and they have all the allure of a frat house stag film.

Euphemisms can also be cloying. “Throbbing member” is a term popularized ad nauseaum by early romance writers. While it gains points for subtlety, it fails the reality test big time!

 Most adult women have seen a representative sample of said product, but honestly, how often were they in motion? Moreover the term ‘member’ suggests a man more comfortable with Sam’s Club or the Kwannis than a passion pit.

I’m a strong advocate of sultry, sensual love scenes in which protagonists use each of their five senses to further the experience—a gentle touch on the cheek, a feathery brush of his lips against her neck, the faint hint of a masculine fragrance, (Creed’s Green Irish Tweed is my personal fav), the taste of honey cream on a woman’s skin, and the sweet sound of words that touch the heart. These things coupled with emotion will heat up any page without triggering the ick factor.

Let’s face it: strong, intelligent heroes with great hair and smoldering eyes rightfully claim their place in any love scene. Guys with a sense of humor and skill in martial arts surge right to the head of the line.  Wimps, whiners and bullies can head for the exit sign anytime. In my novels, the most erotic scenes involve two dominant personalities whose hunger for each other overwhelms them. They unite despite their differences and find in each other that ‘missing self’. The experience for both the reader and the characters is heightened when the imagination is engaged. Consider this scene from The Abacus Prize as Grace Quinn and Patrick Fong find each other.

He rose and slowly walked toward me. “It’s not a crime to love something beautiful.” 

I stepped backward. “You charmed your way into my life. You used me. I was a fool.”

 Patrick smiled. “I didn’t hear you complain.”

My hand found the doorknob. I could escape, run away if I chose to.

He took slow, deliberate steps until he reached me. I caught my breath unsure of what would happen next. Patrick unclenched his fists and closed the bedroom door. He took  my hand, gently kissed it, and pulled me to him.

“I never lied to you,” he said, “and I never will.”

He scooped me up and carefully placed me on the bed. 

 Bring out the fans, ladies! That’s my concept of a sexy scene that stimulates the imagination more than a description of body parts ever could. Margaret Mitchell understood the power of suggestion when she penned the famous staircase scene between Rhett and Scarlett. Without using explicit language, that Southern belle ignited passions and inspired sermons that reverberated worldwide.

To my delight, thriller king Lee Child included a tender love scene in his most recent Reacher novel,The Affair. He chronicled the union of his tough guy protagonist with a beautiful ex-marine in understated, exquisite prose that added dimension to his characters and his writing.

Bottom line time: sex, romance and love are interrelated concepts that spice up our reading material and our lives. The “X” factor is emotion, engaging the mind as well as the body of our literary creations. Novels offer a full menu of choices. I’ll take mine ala carte, please.

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The Chantra Rand Show

Tuesday evening at 7:00 PM CST and 8:00 EST I will be interviewed on blogtalkradion on the Chantra Rand Show. Follow the link to listen and participate.

http://www.blogtalkradio.com/chantarand/2011/10/12/the-chanta-rand-show-where-love-meets-romance

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BAD BOYS AND VILLAINS I HAVE LOVED

Bad boys are easy to love and fun to create. Despite their flaws, they flirt and fascinate more than the average Joes we meet, date and marry. Every female with a pulse harbors a missionary’s zeal to reform the beast and find gold beneath those rippling muscles and chiseled abs. After all, smoldering charm and lethal hobbies are a major turn on!

Literature is replete with bad boys who make us tingle. Rhett Butler inflamed even the flinty Scarlett O’Hara, although she lusted after willowy Ashley Wilkes for far too long. Anyone who read Gone With the Wind (or saw the movie) has only one question for Scarlett: Girl, what were you thinking?

Millions of readers adore Jack Reacher, a good guy with bad boy vibes. He’s a big brawny lad who thrills female fans every time he defies convention and does the right thing despite the risks. (Author Lee Child is no slouch either, ladies. British charm at its best.)

Hawk, loyal sidekick to Robert Parker ‘s Spenser, is the ultimate bad boy/villain oozing with sex appeal, menace and the fastest gun in New England. Small wonder he’s besieged by lusty females of every race, color and creed. You might not take him home to Mama, but why bother? Keep him for yourself.

Fans of the Stephanie Plum series know all about hunky bad boys. Women from eighteen to eighty gasp every time RANGER appears on the page. He’s smart, uber-masculine, and a skilled practitioner of the erotic arts. Ranger also protects Stephanie and vanquishes any villain in her path. He’s the type of edgy character who straddles the hero/villain fence quite neatly.

On the small screen, Jack Bauer kept us enthralled for 9 seasons of “24” despite (or because of), his unfortunate tendency to kneecap any really bad guy who got in the way. Actor Chris Noth is the ultimate bad boy in every role he plays. That’s part of his considerable charm as his partners in “Sex and the City”, or “The Good Wife will attest. “

My personal favorite, however, was the pulse pounding Michael Samuel (Roy Dupuis), of La Femme Nikita. Good Lord! Who knew that frigid Quebec could produce such a hot commodity? Even today there are tributes to him all over the Internet.

As writers, we are urged to create characters with depth, ones who embody some of the elements of normal life. When I first described Dr. Patrick Fong (based on the glorious Russell Wong), readers said he was too perfect. I thought hard, and gave him a flaw or two. In subsequent books, Patrick yielded to temptation —frequently—even though he loved only his wife, Grace.

This caused quite a conundrum. Male readers were envious, but many females thought Grace was a wimp, a pathetic dishrag, and worse for not kicking Patrick to the curb. My position remains unchanged: life is a game of tradeoffs, and trust me, no sane woman would arbitrarily discard a sizzling hunk of beauty, brains and bucks without making extraordinary efforts to reform him.

Bottom line, what makes a bad boy/villain an acceptable risk? If we exclude all the absolute taboos (cruelty to animals, violence against women/children), a few bumps in the character road are seldom fatal. Patrick Fong is a wonderful father and tender husband who made a clear distinction in his own mind between the love he felt for his wife and the casual sex he engaged in. He played relationship roulette until he risked losing everything he valued in life. Then he saw the light.

To keep us interested, bad boys must have the capacity and willingness to ultimately reform. Taming one of these rakes is a daunting task. It’s a tough job, but someone’s got to do it!

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Heroes, Hunks and Perfect Men

“Men like that don’t exist in real life.” So say many guys when they flip through a Romance. Duh! Of course they don’t. If I want reality, I’ll stroll around a low-end shopping mall and stare. Writers sell fantasy and readers of Romance expect it. Our female protagonists often resemble an airbrushed version of our better selves. Attractive, smart, professional women populate every corner of the world and they buy and read the many variations of the romance genre. Our heroes, those gasp inducing hotties with great bods, muscular brains and bright futures, represent a female’s fondest dreams.

Take Dr. Patrick Fong, hero of my first mystery series. He’s self-assured, brilliant and breathtaking. (Think Russell Wong in Romeo Must Die). A man like him could have any woman but he adores Grace, a spunky take no prisoners mix of Irish wit and Italian fire who thinks she’s a detective. Patrick’s not without flaws— he’s catnip to any red-blooded she-devil within a fifty mile radius. He’s also a sophisticated hunk who loves a strong, smart woman despite her flaws.

Romance heroes are never threatened by assertive females. They know how to use tenderness , respect and exquisite love-making to make the fiercest lioness purr. SPOILER ALERT: Since poor but proud is the ultimate fiction, my heroes are also financially fixed or on their way to being so.
Lucian Sand the fiery Frenchman in INTRUSION (Mainly MurderPress, 12-11), falls head over heels for Elizabeth, a grieving widow who has absolutely no interest in him. This virile MIT grad knows that patience, fortitude and love can penetrate the hardest heart. He’s headstrong and impossibly stubborn, but a hero to the core.

One of the immutable laws of Romance writing requires a ‘happily ever after ‘ ending. Readers invest a lot of emotion in the lives of the protagonists. They want and deserve a payoff. So do the rest of us.
So here’s to the men of Romance fiction — those heroes, hunks and perfect men. We love you, yes we do!

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The Grey Lady Strikes Again

The Grey Lady strikes again! I know that the NYTimes features “All the News that’s Fit to Print” but this time they went too far. In the March 28th Arts Section, literary critic Janet Maslin revealed the ending of Henning Mankell’s latest book—a book that Amazon just mailed to me. Thanks so much, Janet. Now that I know he obliterated Kurt Wallandar after 13 books, I can save lots of time reading this mystery. All that Swedish doom and gloom is irrelevant since you also blabbed major plot points in the book. So what if it was published in 2009 — I don’t read Swedish. His secrets would have been safe with me.

Perhaps the number 13 is prophetic. After all Colin Dexter axed Inspector Morse in book 13. He had the grace to cushion the blow by entitling “The Remorseful Day”, the final Inspector Morse novel. That’s what we mystery people call a clue.

Eliminating beloved characters is never easy for the author or the reader. Agatha Christie granted a stay of execution to Hercule Poirot until after her death. The appropriately named “Curtain” gave the dapper sleuth a graceful exit and his fans a satisfying climax. Miss Marple was dispatched a bit earlier in “The Sleeping Murder”, but remember she was a very old lady. Happily her faculties were intact even at the very end.

I think Robert Parker had the best solution of all. Spenser never aged, Susan always remained beautiful, and Hawk was still the sexiest man to prowl Beantown, up until Parker’s untimely death in 2010. Hail to you, Mr. P. You let us keep the illusion alive.

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The Ultimate Intellectual Battlefield

I love to read! My particular universe becomes unhinged unless I have a good book at my side. As an author, I glean information from all types of writing—horrendous, mediocre and sublime. Most of my favorite authors write mystery, and romantic suspense, but the literary greats (Shakespeare, Jane Austen etc.) have taught me invaluable lessons about building compelling characters, creating exciting story lines and keeping the reader engaged. As they say, good writing is good writing.

From kindergarten to my second year of college, I went to Catholic schools. (I had to get married to escape to a public University.) One of the values the nuns inculcated into me, besides fear of women in black uniforms, was a reverence for books and a love of reading. Our compulsory summer reading list would send most students today into a fugue state. There were low points, of course. I recall the bleak summer between junior and senior year when I was forced to read every book ever written by Thomas Hardy. Not a fun experience. The man invented the concept of turgid prose, and should be listed right next to water-boarding as an unacceptable form of torture.

But mostly, I remember the excitement of reading Strindberg, the incredible scope of War and Peace (unabridged—1100 pages), and the slugfest our pre-feminist class engaged in after reading Ibsen’s The Doll’s House. The nuns and every male in the class sided with Torvald. (big surprise). The distaff side applauded Nora’s bravery for abandoning a life of comfort in order to save her soul. Needless to say, Terry Southern was not on the approved list. I had to stand in a drug store near the Air Force Base for two hours to read Candy.

Reading provides the ultimate intellectual battlefield — a chance to debate, learn and evaluate the great truths of the world while being entertained. I pity those who rob themselves of this pleasure.

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