Slammin' Sammy!

Hey guys!  Mark here, subbing for Wendelin because she’s, well… slammed.  (Example of the glamorous writing life: As I write this at 11:00 p.m. she’s sitting five feet away from me in the office, going over credit card bills with our younger son, who – along with his older brother – came home from college last night.  Bringing with them the cliché of all college clichés – TONS of dirty laundry.  Which wasn’t done by them last week at college because they, in turn, were slammed with finals.)  And she’s also catching up on all sorts of other tasks – both important and mundane – because she’s been slammed lately with ‘other stuff’.  Namely…

Two nights ago, Wendelin typed the final sentence in the final chapter of the final installment in the Sammy Keyes series, ‘The Kiss Goodbye’.  It's always a good feeling when you finish the first draft of a book.  Sure, there’s the whole re-write/edit/rinse/repeat process, but when you finally get to the end of the initial draft and it ‘works’, it’s a wonderful feeling.  Well, I think for her this is like that, times ten.  Or times eighteen, to be exact.  Made even sweeter (in my opinion) by the poetic way she’s been able to bring this whole saga full circle, yet not circuitous, clearly going forward to whatever life brings Sammy.  (Or more accurately, to whatever Sammy brings life.  Because here’s a little secret: Wendelin didn’t write Sammy as much as Sammy wrote Sammy.  Wendelin happened to be the one with the magic talent to listen closely and get it all down, quick, before it leaves to that place where dreams go when we wake too quickly and don’t take the time to recollect and capture…)

I can remember sitting in the Orange Julius in the mall in ‘Santa Martina’ way back when, talking about this idea she had for a character who was a kick-butt girl, yet real, and vulnerable.  Who lived with her grandmother due to being semi-abandoned by her mother (with no father anywhere in the picture… not even a name or a face… just an old catcher’s mitt).  Yet who, despite her meager existence (or because of it?), was interested enough in justice and fair play to stick her nose where it didn’t belong when she thought someone was getting a raw deal.  But not some sort of pre-canned ‘child genius junior detective’.  (She already had enough issues in her life – she didn’t go looking for trouble as much as it seemed to seek her out and demand attention.)

And speaking of those issues, to me the core of the books wasn’t the mystery at all.  It was the whole ‘fitting in’ thing.  You know, when you’re twelve or thirteen and suddenly you leave the K-thru-6^th land of ‘children only’ and you’re thrown into this weird menagerie of half-grown semi adult creatures… of several sub-species.  The spoiled rich kids.  The jocks.  The popular ones.  The nerdy outcasts.  And all of those (all of us?) who don’t fit neatly into one of the above boxes, but are somewhere on the continuum between them, just trying to fit in.  Who just want a good friend or two who understands them and makes them feel like they’re not facing the universe alone.

And wouldn’t it be nice if one of those friends was a scrappy tomboy of a girl who was astute enough to figure out who set the fire… who built the meth lab… who was killing the starlets… And yet, who was young enough and impulsive enough that - when faced with a desperate thief – didn’t run and hide, didn’t call her grams or call 911, didn’t duck and cover, but instead… waved?

That’s a friend I want!

Techno Movie Starlet (Or, How I Got A Twitter Account)

I've been saying for years that I'll catch up with technology after I'm done writing (insert book title here). My sons kind of shake their head at me because unless it breaks I keep using it. I don't have to have the latest, fastest computer because I don't need high speed for my job. I process words. That's really about it. And I can only think things up so fast.

Plus, if the tool (computer or software) gets too sophisticated (or I'm not comfortable with it), I get distracted. I don't have time to figure this out! I have a book to finish! And another one to start! And then finish! The reality is that I need to get lost in my story, not lost in the nested wonders of a new digital toy.

So yeah. I have my excuses.

But really, when I finish Sammy Keyes and the Kiss Goodbye, I have plans to give up my old PC and use the MacAir I got for my birthday in January.

Really, I do.

I also have visions of getting a smart phone. I know there are things I could be doing on it. And with it. Things I'm told I should be doing. Like tweeting.

I've avoided tweeting so far because, good grief, how can you get lost in a story when you're a twittering tweeter?

Besides, who cares what I'm doing? Processing words is boring. So is where I'm eating dinner. Or am I supposed to tweet when I'm stowing away in a bus for research? How self conscious and ridiculous would that be? Hiding in a bus! Hope I don't get caught! #research

Well, all that said, guess what?

I have a twitter account.

And the way it happened is...well about as cool as any twitter account making story I've ever heard. (Especially since it's the only one I know of.)

I was in Los Angeles, having a meeting with Bailee Madison and a producer. (She's adorable, by the way, and I really like her mom, too. You can tell a lot about "young talent" by their mom. You just can.)

Anyway, we'd had this really good meeting and at the end of it Bailee's like, I want to tweet a picture of us, and I'm like, Okay, so she's like, Let's take a selfie, and I'm like, Cheese! (We were, like, in LA, okay?) Then she goes to send it out into the tweet-osphere and asks me what my twitter name is and I'm, like, I don't have a twitter account and she's like, CLUNK (jaw on the ground). "Well!" she says, "We have to fix that! Right now!" And since I don't have a smart phone (CLUNK) she gets busy on hers, grabbing pictures of me off the internet, typing in info and building me an account.

@Wendelin was taken, so I'm @WendelinVanD

(Makes me sound like I'm covered in tattoos, but whatever.)

So if you're on twitter, friend me, or add me, or wait, follow me, right? I've got all of 25 people to tweet to now, and half of them are merchants I didn't ask to be stalked by. GAP who? (But Bailee's one of my "followers", so follow her, too.) Who knows? Maybe someday I'll start tweeting with some regularity. Maybe after I finish this book.

Thanks for checking in. See you next week...and in the comments!

It's A Small World After All

The universe is so big. And when I think about it I feel so small and inconsequential, which I actually don't mind. It supports the whole Don't Sweat The Small Stuff philosophy, because it's true--it's all small stuff.

And then something happens and I'm like, Wow. The world is so small. How can this be?

So I will share with you the Small World experience I had this week. Partly because it's mind boggling (How can this be?) and partly because it's so...awesome.

Because I know there's absolutely nobody new here (because, come on, why would there be? I hide out here with you guys. Just us upside down chickens, right?) I will work under the assumption that you know what I'm talking about when I refer back to a post from weeks ago about the Boston Marathon bombings and the Schneider award money that I divvied up among the victims.

This week I received a lot of lovely sympathy cards in the mail (which you all know refers to the event of last week's post). I have a cool little envelope blade that I use to open all my mail. It's not a "letter opener" per se. It's a razor blade on some bank's promotional item, only I can't tell you which bank because the logo's all worn off.

It's a nifty tool. Zip! Zip! Zip! I open all the mail, back side up, then flip the stack over and process. And as I went through the cards expecting one thing, what appeared in the third card was something I had to reread because it took me the whole note to realize that it had nothing whatsoever to do with my mother.

It was from somebody else's mother.

A mother who was also a bookseller.

One whose store I'd visited when I'd been on tour in 2001 for Sammy Keyes and the Hollywood Mummy.

Okay, that was twelve years ago, and even though I mailed a few Christmas cards in the interim,  I hope I'm forgiven for not connecting the last name on the check I made out for a victim who lived in Boston with the last name of a bookseller in Washington state. It was with complete disbelief that I read her note thanking me for the donation for her daughter and reminding me that I'd visited her store all those years ago.

It was one of those wonderful "moments" when the world feels like a neighborhood where the neighbors come together to help each other out.

Just when I'm sure the universe is too big for anything I do to matter I'm reminded how small the world is after all.

In Memory of My Mother

We said our final goodbye to my mom on the 16th. She'd been in memory care for 2 years and her passing was not unexpected. My sister and I were both astounded that she held on for as long as she did, but if you knew my mom, you'd say, of course she did! She was a feisty one, stubborn and smart.

I didn't have the go-shopping relationship that some women have with their moms. She would way rather go out in search of an interesting rock than shop for shoes. English was her second language, but you'd never know it (well, except for her prepositions and accent) because she loved the dictionary and would whip it out to track down the origin of a word (and its meaning). Playing Scrabble was fun to her. Shopping? That was torture.

I loved my mom, but she was never the friend some women have in their mom. I often felt that I was simply her worker bee, and believe me, there was always work to be done. I could look back on things and be resentful, but I refuse to do that. I instead choose to appreciate her quirky uniqueness, and, most importantly, her intentions. I choose to look at the good. Being a worker bee taught me the value of a hard task completed. Being a worker bee gave me persistence. Being a worker bee made me appreciate.

I often attribute my successful writing career to learning the value of hard work and persistence from my parents. The things that seemed rough and unfair when I was in my childhood and twenties equipped me with tools that have served me well through the years that have followed. It's like a Craftsman toolbox. You know, the kind with the shelf you can lift out? And on the top shelf gets stored the small stuff. The damaged stuff. The easy-to-get-to stuff. The stuff you can't quite throw out, even though there's no way to repair it.

Every parent gives their child a shelf like that. Some put more broken stuff in it than others, even though no parent sets out to put anything in it at all. The trick is, that shelf lifts out. And it's our job to pick it up, put it aside, and then dig down into the main compartment and use the good tools that they also gave us to construct our own adult lives.

If you never get past the top shelf, you waste the joys available to you in life.

So in memory of my mother--Sybrichje Marie Agneta van der Meijden Van Draanen-- I will appreciate the love and tools she gave me, and say goodbye to the broken stuff.

The stuff she never meant to put there in the first place.

"Life Actually"

Due to events of last week (which I might get to next Sunday) I'm simply posting my tour stops for the coming week in hopes that some of you are in one of these cities and can attend (and I can meet you in person!).

Oh, and here's a little bribe: there will be some ARCs of Sammy Keyes and the Killer Cruise given away at each stop.

This is a Random House tour called "Life Actually" which features authors of realistic fiction. Those authors will be Lurlene McDaniel, Tom Leveen, Elana Arnold and yours truly in Los Angeles, and Lurlene McDaniel, Dana Reinhardt and me in San Francisco.

LOS ANGELES

MONDAY, 5/20 @ 7:00 PM: Barnes & Noble @ The Grove, LA

TUESDAY, 5/21 @ 7:00 PM: Once Upon a Time, Montrose

SAN FRANCISCO

THURSDAY, 5/23 @ 7:00 PM: A Great Good Place for Books, Oakland

FRIDAY, 5/24 @ 7:30 PM: Kepler’s Books, Menlo Park

If you can make it, I'm happy to sign any books you already own, so don't be shy about bringing your collection.

Hope to see you in person, and if not, I'll meet you back here next Sunday.

As always, thanks for checking in!

The Runner Meets The Road

Happy Mother's Day to the moms among you!

You may recall my post from last year where I shared a previous Mother's Day experience that ranked pretty high in the list of Worst Days Ever (Where Nobody Died).

I told my son that if there was no Lysol sprayed in my eye this year, it would be a great day, regardless if he was late to brunch or...well just about anything else.

And it was.

Except for the way it started out.

As if beginning the day with a 9 mile run (my dopey idea) isn't torture enough, not far from the turnaround point, I caught my foot on an uneven place in an intersection and went flying. My landing became a sort of unorthodox bone-density test of my knee, hands/wrists, elbow, shoulder and hip.

I'm happy to report that I passed the test with flying colors.

Mostly red (and now purple).

Yes, my bones held up fine, but my skin? Not so much. When flesh goes up against asphalt, you know who's going to win.

A woman driving a PT Cruiser advertising art services for the Lord, pulled up curbside after my husband and son had peeled me up and out of the intersection. She very kindly asked if I was all right. I assured her I was, but she came out to lay hands on me and pray for my healing nonetheless. She was about seventy, had just had a pedicure (orange-blossom toes), wore snazzy little sandals, lacy white leggings and a long, flowery tunic, which was very spring-timey in color.

When her prayer was complete, off she went to what was surely a Mother's Day festivity for hot senior mamas.

Or maybe church.

Or maybe her church was hosting a brunch for hot senior mamas.

Anyway! Mark and Colton had helped me to planter beside a flower shanty (something between a stand and a store). There was a hose attached to the building, so I took a little public bath, swabbing away blood and little asphalt rocks, and then (after considering my options and foolishly listening to my pride) I plodded the 4.5 miles home.

Not a great start to the day, but the rest of it was very nice.

And at least there was no Lysol in the eye, right?

So how was your Mother's Day?

My Quick & Dirty Plotting Secret

This week I'm going back to that list of questions from my regulars, and picking one from 'Jessica' about writing. She asked how I weave my "50 plot lines together," which I thought was so funny because it sounded "so Sammy."

In reality, there are usually "only" three plot lines in a Sammy Keyes book. Usually these are the mystery, Sammy's home life, and Sammy's school life. Having multiple threads really helps keep the story chugging along. And it allows time to pass in the other story lines without having to deal with filling in time (which is how stories tend to get bogged down). I've discussed before how I use the story's theme to tie the three plot lines together, so I won't delve into that again now. Instead I'll share a secret.

I learned how to plot by watching Seinfeld.

Now, I didn't watch it thinking, Whoa, this sitcom is teaching me how to plot! I didn't take notes or analyze it. I watched it because it was funny. It was actually the only television show (aside from the news) that I watched. Or, I should say, we watched. Mark and I had "real jobs," and did not have the same days off. Watching Seinfeld on Thursday nights became a standing date and something we both really looked forward to.

As with all shows, some episodes are better than others, and after a while I started recognizing that the best ones were both funny and had several seemingly disparate story lines that somehow tied together at the end. Kramer would be off on one of his goofy jaunts, Jerry would be dealing with (say) his parents, George would be involved  in one of his ill-fated schemes, and Elaine would be having some separate crisis of her own. But in the end, zap, all the threads tied together, and in some of those episodes the conclusions are wonderfully satisfying.

Mind you, I didn't realize I was paying attention to the writing, but after years of watching the show, it must've become something I absorbed. And I didn't actually think about how the show had influenced my writing until well after the Sammy Keyes series was under way and people started asking me, Where'd you learn to plot like that? and (having no formal training) I didn't really have an answer. Uh...I read a lot? Uh...Intuition? Uh...I dunno?

But then one day (with a loud click) I made the connection and now I recognize that the (quick and dirty) answer is...I learned to plot by watching Seinfeld. So if you're an aspiring writer and you're sick to death of reading about plotting, go find yourself some Seinfeld. Consider it research.

Thanks for checking in! Hope to see you next week! And as always, I look forward to seeing you in the comments.