Peg Herring, Mystery Author

Today's writer is supposed to know computer stuff. If I run an ad, they'll ask for photos with so many DPIs. It's expected that I will know how to convert the ones I have into the size they want. When I send a manuscript to someone, it has to be in a certain format: PDF for some, .mobi for others, etc. Again, it's expected I'll know how to provide those files. My websites/blogs have domains, at least in theory. I have no idea how to control them or even who's in charge of them. So while I'm a writer, toiling away to create stories people will want to read, I had to learn the basics of computer use beyond word processing, and now I have to keep up with new developments as things change. IT I'm not. Things go wrong, and when they do, I'm likely to be helpless to correct them. What would be great is to have a person who'll show up at my house at a moment's notice and solve the problem I'm having right then. I don't want to haul my co

My home town in Michigan's northern Lower Peninsula is so tiny it's easy to ignore it as you drive through--if you even do that. Since it's not on the road to anywhere important, most people never see it as they whiz by on I-75, miles away. Residents often field questions like, "Where's your Wal-Mart?" or "Why can't I find your McDonalds?" Answer: There isn't one. I don't even live in the "city." Our home is a few miles out, on a side road that has no name, only a number. The house is surrounded on three sides by trees, mostly big maples, that screen us from wind and sun except what comes from the south. People who don't know ask, "What do you DO up here?" They comment on living so far from cultural events, hospitals, and shopping. I've listed some things I do, though others could name more activities, maybe better ones to illustrate why we live in our chosen location. I enjoy the land. Any time of ye

In the minds of many, a book tour is a glamorous thing, but like most everything else, reality is more prosaic than poetic. There are authors who draw crowds of adoring fans, like Rick Castle always does on the TV show. (BTW, I wish I had a quarter for every time someone asked me if I think Nathan Fillion really writes those books. PulEEZE!) Most of us don't draw crowds; in fact, we're happy for every person that shows up. A speaker at Sleuthfest, the conference I attended in Florida last week, described arriving at a bookstore to find every audience chair filled, only to have them empty when it was announced over the loudspeaker that his presentation was about to start. He learned the homeless of the area were allowed to come in out of the cold and sit in the chairs, but they knew they had to leave when his talk began. Not only did he have an audience of only one person, he was responsible for the rest being tossed out into the cold! People also imagine that publishers arr

Looking way too serious before the panel If you're not a writer, don't ever get caught in a group of them. The discussions are never-ending, and we love them, even if we've heard them a thousand times before. I sat on a panel Saturday that discussed writers' dilemmas and how to solve them. After sharing a few of our own problem areas, we asked the audience to share theirs. We could have stayed all day. The funny thing is that in the final analysis, they're the same. How to overcome a stalled story (I recommend a break, even if it takes a week or two). How to cut to a reasonable word count (I listen to the MS read by my computer. Others read it aloud to themselves or to others). How to beef up a MS that's too short (I added a subplot; others add a secondary character). How to recognize your "personal errors," those things we all do that irritate readers (I use SmartEdit, which points out how many times I used the word just or how many sentences

Yes, I do. I'm not Alexander McCall Smith, who writes a book every two months, but I do okay. Some people get all huffy if an author publishes more than one book a year, but there are some reasons why that's possible, even desirable. First, we might have written a lot before we got published. While a lot of early work is practice and  should never be seen by the eyes of the public, other bits are worthwhile. Maybe a good book idea got shifted to one side because of deadlines and never got finished or re-worked or ended (It's taken me years to figure out how the sequel to MACBETH'S NIECE is supposed to go. I think we're close.) Maybe an author's worked on it a bit at a time for years and it's finally ready to go into the queue. Second, some of us haven't got much else going. We're retired, so work isn't distracting us. We're past the age where a night of bowling or even a day of shopping tugs us away from the work.  We don't have a lo

That was yesterday: if I opened my eyes, the world spun at merry-go-round speed. My head felt like it was splitting open. And a bucket was my closest friend. Today is better, though I'm babying my stomach lest it grow nasty again. Experiences like that makes me wonder about people who have real problems. Not just a 24 hour bug, but serious pain, serious issues. When he was diagnosed with cancer, my dad said he was lucky to have lived a good life. My mother said she hoped doctors could learn something from her experience so they could save the next person. And my daughter often pointed out there were people worse off than she was, though I couldn't imagine who that would be. I hope I can continue the family tradition of bravely facing death when my time comes, but after yesterday I'm afraid I'll just beg them to open those pearly gates and let me in.

Long years ago when I was teaching, I used to coach students on how to ask questions correctly. I would tell them: "Several times over the course of the school year, I will come here with visibly shorter hair. Try not to say something like,  "Did you get a haircut?", which is questioning the obvious, or worse, "What did you do to your hair?" which is vaguely insulting. Some of the kids had never considered how to phrase a question so it doesn't sound like an accusation, and some concluded I had deep-seated feelings of shame connected with my hair. They were hilariously careful about commenting on my haircuts every six weeks, but it was a good lesson in thinking before we speak. The world would run smoother if we learned to ask questions only when necessary and then considered how to ask for information without sounding nosy, judgmental, and insulting. Around the world, Americans are known for being intrusive, possibly because we have such an open cultu