Notes to Self: My First Author Panel

Last week I had my first author panel.

I survived!

A group of Sisters in Crime authors with stories in the multi-award nominated (I love typing that, even though my story was not a nominee) anthology Chesapeake Crimes: Homicidal Holidays did a panel at my library. Donna Andrews, Barb Goffman, Clyde Linsley, Cathy Wiley, and I met on September 19, AKA Talk Like a Pirate Day, to chat about the anthology, writing short stories, and how we use the holidays in our work.

The other authors, panel veterans all, spoke knowledgeably about their writing processes, shared amusing stories about their research, spoke gracefully about their books without a hard sell, and in Cathy’s case, grabbed the audience by dressing up as one of their characters (in her case, a pirate). Was the audience engaged? The panel went for two hours and several attendees asked for another Sisters in Crime visit, so I would say so.

I actually felt a lot more comfortable on the panel than I had expected. Talking with strangers all day at work, and doing story times and school visits paid off. It was great to be on a panel with such collegial folks who definitely had panelist skills and a great comfort level talking about themselves and their work.

I learned so much that day and had a wonderful time, but I also discovered areas for improvement. Just as a director gives a theater cast notes on what they can do to improve their performance, I have Notes to Self to improve my panel performance.

Panel Notes to Self

1.     Do not forget that you are on a panel. I adore going to author panels to get the inside scoop on the writing process and to spend time listening to my favorite authors. I am embarrassed to admit that I was having such a good time listening to the other panelists that at times I FORGOT that I was on the panel. I blanked out when a lady in the audience asked me the softest of softball questions. Note to self: No matter how much fun you are having listening to the other panelists, remember where you are!

2.     Some people are talkers and some are listeners. I am a listener. You have to talk on a panel. Note to self: Talk.

3.     Not only do you have to talk, you have to talk about yourself. Horrors! To a native New Englander like me, this is like saying you have to chew with your mouth open. Note to self: Get over it.

4.     Not only do you have to talk, you have to talk with other writers. Let’s face it. Writers are verbal people. If you have mastered the verbal judo that lets you slip gracefully into a conversation, please share. Donna Andrews’ right ear was treated to me saying a variety of word bits like “Th-“ and “Ye-“ as I tried to jump in but never quite finished a sentence. Note to self: Observe how other authors find their way into the conversation.

5.     Show people your books. OK, this was a big time fail. I had brought a copy of the book under discussion, but I forgot the anthology with my other story, “Keep It Simple” in Chesapeake Crimes: This Job Is Murder. (See how I did that?) Folks asked about This Job Is Murder and I didn’t have a copy of that anthology to show them. Yikes! Panel 101, right? Visual aids. Note to self: Make sure you have a copy of all books that are pertinent to the panel’s topic.

Any further notes for newbie panelists? Please share in the comments.

My First Author Panel by Shari Randall

In a week, I’ll be appearing on my very first author panel along with accomplished authors of many short stories and novels, award winning and nominated authors, plus one New York Times best selling author.

And me. Two whole published short stories under my belt. It will be, as they say, my first rodeo.

We’ll be discussing the stories we wrote for the anthology Chesapeake Crimes: Homicidal Holidays, the short story in general, and how we use the holidays in our writing. I think I'll be fine talking about my own story and how Halloween inspired it. Check.

But I started having nightmares, er, wondering what would I say if someone asked me  What is a short story? In all the books on writing that I have read, debate continues about what exactly constitutes a short story, or any story really. The conventional wisdom is that you have a story when a character undergoes a change. I thought this was dyed in the wool, rock bottom, boilerplate wisdom. In a story, a character must change.

Aristotle considered three parts to a story: Reversal, suffering, and recognition. Recognition is what we would consider “epiphany” or a culmination, when a character reaches a state of enlightenment about his life and gains some new self-knowledge. A change.

Using Aristotle’s definitions, my story “Disco Donna”, was not a story, short or long. There was definitely no epiphany, just the resolution of a long-ago crime by three teenage girls applying their own understanding of the Teen Girl’s psyche.

Without this element, had I written a short story at all? Was I a fake? I decided to do some research and turned to the thickest, heaviest book on writing I could find.

In The Making of a Story, Alice LaPlante quotes the novelist John L’Heureux in his disagreement with this writing “rule.” He doesn’t believe that all stories must follow the something’s-gotta-change model. Instead, he says, writers must “Capture a moment after which nothing can ever be the same again.”

Now here was a revelation! “This definition” La Plante writes, “drives home the fact that change is not necessary. Change can be offered to a character – and declined. The “crisis” of a piece can be of negative, rather than positive action: something not done, a sin not committed, an act of grace not performed. But a moment of significance has passed, and things cannot be the same again.”

Ah ha! After my detectives endure and triumph through a dangerous “moment of significance,” things for them will not be the same again.  One could argue that this is a kind of change – they’re survivors – but L’Heureux broadened my understanding of what makes a story and opened new possibilities for me.

Maybe I’ll have something to say on the panel, after all.

Any advice for a first time panelist?

Where Do Stories Come From? Urban Legends, the Bunny Man, and Disco Donna

Many thanks to E. B. Davis for inviting me to talk about the genesis of my short story, “Disco Donna,” published this month in the Chesapeake Crimes: Homicidal Holidays anthology.

So, where did Disco Donna come from?

Urban legends fascinate me. Not so much the ones about albino alligators in the sewers of New York City as much as tales of vanishing hitchhikers or haunted Lovers Lanes. These stories often reflect the preoccupations and fears of those living where the events reportedly took place.

One aspect of urban legends that especially intrigues is the associated phenomena of legend tripping. Did your teenage self – on a dare – ever go to a supposedly haunted house or cave where doomed lovers died, or an unholy rite occurred, or a monster lurked? If you did, you, my friend, legend tripped.

Teens in my area go to the Bunny Man Bridge, site of the urban legend of Fairfax County, Virginia, the Bunny Man. Years ago – no one is exactly sure when – an escapee from an asylum (naturally), wearing a bunny suit, menaced parking kids with a machete on the isolated, lonely roads near an abandoned railroad bridge. The usual stew of insanity, fear, death, sex, and a machete for good measure make this an enduring tale, and teens still dare each other to visit the creepy bridge.

At the same time I was mulling over story ideas, some friends and I were talking about reputations. Do teens worry about their reputation anymore? I flashed back to long ago high school days when many girls (sign of the times – it was usually only girls) had a “bad reputation” due to their dating history.

That’s when beautiful, wild Disco Donna Demonte danced—to a Bee Gees tune—onto the page. Fictional Donna is a high school student in the seventies, bad rep, too hot to care, discovered murdered in her bed the morning after Halloween. She had been strangled and is clutching a single, red rose. Rumors swirl about the killer: Could it have been the high school football captain? Devil worshippers? The ever reliable escapee from an insane asylum? As years pass and her murderer is never found, kids from the town dare each other to visit the abandoned house where Disco Donna was murdered.

Flash forward to the present day, to some high school girls in a vintage clothing store trying to decide what to be for Halloween. One girl decides to dress as the town’s most famous citizen—Disco Donna. That innocent decision sets in motion events that finally unmask Disco Donna’s killer.

Hope you enjoy the story. Just remember to put some Donna Summer on the stereo, lock the door, and read with the lights on.

I am grateful to the wonderful editors of the anthology: Barb Goffman, Donna Andrews (not a model for Disco Donna!) and Marcia Talley. These brilliant criminal minds were there when I needed them to fill plot holes, polish prose, and vanquish tense shifts. A million thanks, ladies.

Do you have a favorite urban legend? Did you ever legend trip?

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Galleys!

Last night I had the nicest surprise in my inbox – the galley of the latest anthology by the Chesapeake Chapter of Sisters in Crime. Homicidal Holidays contains my new short story, “Disco Donna.” Happy dance! And I should mention it also has a new story from our own E. B. Davis! Publication is set for this fall.

In “Disco Donna,” three very modern teenage girls stumble upon proof of their town’s most famous urban legend. Disco Donna was the 80’s girl too hot to care about her bad reputation. Donna was murdered on Halloween night, left in her bed clasping a single red rose. Her killer was never found and theories of the murderer’s identity are still whispered in the town’s cafés, shops, and high school hallways.

It was great fun to create my own urban legend and even more fun to work with the talented authors who shared their expertise and time to take my story from rough draft to less-rough draft, sharpening plot twists, highlighting characters, and omitting needless words. We discussed techniques for breaking and entering, ink colors, and the best ways to hide things you don’t want your parents to find. When my drafts came back heavily tattooed with editorial marks, my heart fell, but each suggestion helped me tighten and improve the work.

Now the story is a galley. To sailors, the galley is a kitchen. To lovers of B movies, a galley is a Ben Hur style long boat powered by men chained to oars. In publishing, the galley, or “galley proof” is the mock up of the book, the penultimate step before it goes to be printed. It’s the last chance. The galley is the dress rehearsal of the publishing process. All the writing and rewriting and editing and polishing have taken place and now we’re looking for typos. It’s done. Don’t get any ideas, the editorial coordinator warned me. (OK, Barb!) It’s too late for changes, unless they are huge.

So I am thrilled and a bit afraid to review my story. What if I do find that huge mistake? What if’s make for good story ideas, but also for a bad night’s sleep. But then I remember the great advice and help I have received from my Sisters in Crime editors. Thank you Marcia, Donna, and Barb! Without your help, I wouldn’t have slept as well last night.

How did you feel when you first saw your work in galley form?