What Do You Write?

           

By Margaret S. Hamilton

"Oh, you’re a writer. What do you write?” I frequently encounter the question at the meat counter, gym, and while I’m walking the dogs.

 I turn the question around. “I write lots of things. What do you enjoy reading?” She (it’s usually a woman) frowns in deep concentration.

 I’ve tried books.” She gives me a wide-eyed look. “But nothing I can sink my teeth into.”

 I'm tempted to say, “You’re too busy watching Netflix and HGTV, re-imagining your life in an open concept house.” Instead, I ease into my pitch. “I write cozy stories—the kind without explicit violence or sex—and recently finished my first amateur sleuth traditional mystery, Curtains for the Corpse. My main character manages both an interior design shop and historic home renovations.”

"Ooh, like tearing down walls to make a glamourous bathroom?” She tiptoes closer, anxious for inside information. “Tell me, is granite really on the way out?”

I don’t respond. If every motel bathroom in America has granite countertops and a waterfall shower faucet, the design world has moved on. “It’s all about your vision. I wouldn’t fret.” Trust me, if they’re desperate to buy your house, thirty-somethings strapped with day care and two car payments aren’t going to quibble about granite instead of quartz countertops.

She smirks. “What mystery shows do you watch on TV?” Gotcha! Book snob, let’s talk about TV.

I inwardly groan, thinking of a long list of British police procedurals I’ve borrowed from the library—Shetland, Vera, Dalziel and Pascoe, Judge John Deed, George Gently, Phryne Fisher, Endeavour, Inspector Lewis, Morse. My husband and I joke that the British TV industry has a designated pool of character actors for police procedurals.

I finally come up with an answer. “I enjoy the mysteries on PBS every summer.”

"Oh, PBS. I don’t watch, other than Downton, of course.”

I smile. “I love Maggie Smith. The dowager countess is my favorite character.”

"You should watch TV. It would give you some great plot ideas.”

I cringe as I remember newbie stories I’ve critiqued with plots based on what I suspect were NCIS or Law and Order episodes, and pull a business card out of my jacket pocket. “Check my website. It has links to my short stories.”

“I haven’t read a short story since high school. Not enough meat on ‘em.” She turns to leave. “I like hunky cowboys. If you ever write a romance about cowboys, I’ll read it.” With a wink, she walks away.

While trapped in his chair, I had an interchange with my dentist. “Mysteries, huh? I read mysteries. Like all the action.”

I grunt in response as he repositions his drill. “Why don’t you write a mystery about a dentist? When I look for one at the airport bookstore, all I find is books about bioweapons and terrorists.”

I close my eyes and inwardly scream as the drill bites down.

Questions at writers’ conferences are different. “What’s your book about? You know, not just what happens.” A perky twenty-something leans on one hip and pushes her owl-like eyeglasses up her nose.

"My book features a female protagonist determined to overcome her traumatic past and make a new life for herself in a small Ohio college town.”

"She’s got PTSD? You do know Janet Reid says that’s not a character flaw.”

I take a deep breath. “Yes, I read the same Query Shark blog. I consider the character flawed if she refuses to seek treatment.”

She eats a glazed donut, one luscious bite at a time, and licks her fingers. “OK, tell me more.”

"My protagonist uncovers a plot to silence two whistleblowers, a college student, who disappears, and an itinerant artist, whom she finds dead.”

"Oh. It’s a psychological thriller?”

"No, first book of a traditional mystery series.”

 "They’re not selling. Why don’t you turn it into domestic suspense? You know, Gone Girl, but different. With an older character, like thirty-five.” She wipes her mouth, smirks, and saunters away.

 Next up, a woman wearing dangling tabby earrings and a striking silk scarf printed with jungle cats. “I collect cat cozies,” she says, bristling with pride. “I’m on a mission to read every cat cozy ever printed.”

"Sounds like a big project. Love your scarf.”

 She preens. “I’ve started a blog and post on Facebook every day.” We exchange business cards.

She whips out cheetah print reading glasses and scrutinizes my card. “You do write cozies, don’t you?”

"Traditional small-town amateur sleuth.”

 "That’s cozy, right? Louise Penny writes about a small town, but she doesn’t include cats in her books.” She shakes her head. “I wrote to her suggesting that she correct that oversight immediately.”

"Mysteries set in small towns aren’t necessarily cozies.”

"Some don’t even feature cats in a secondary role, which is a huge mistake.” She inspects me, head to toe. Nary a hair on my sweater and black slacks. “You’re not a cat person.”

"I like cats well enough, but I write about dogs—specifically, standard poodles.”

 She sniffs and hands back my card. “Regrettably, I can’t mention your book on my blog. Don’t bother asking. I won’t change my mind.” She pulls off her reading glasses and hustles to intercept her next victim.

It’s going to be a long and bumpy road to publication.

Readers, what questions do you ask authors? Writers, what’s the most outrageous question you were asked?