An Update on Flat Rectangular Things by Molly MacRae

Nudibranch (otherwise known as a sea slug) 
photo by Arhnue Tan from Pixabay

 

In February 2021, in my first post as a new member of Writers Who Kill, I wrote about the trouble I have when I start a new writing (or knitting) project. You can read that post, “Writing and Knitting: A Comparison from Psychedelic Batwing Sea Slugs to Pointed Sticks,” here. Now that I’ve been part of the blog for almost five years, it seems like a good time to give a progress report.

Have I overcome the page paralysis problem in my writing? How about the knit-one, purl-two paralysis of knitting? The simple answers are nope and nope. The page paralysis is particularly bad after I finish a project, especially if that project is a novel. I’m left feeling flattened and deflated and have trouble even imagining how to start again.

It doesn’t help to remind myself that my track record is good, that I can and will pick myself back up. I’ve had eight books published since that 2021 post and another is with the publisher and coming out in 2026. But, until I pick myself back up, I’m flattened and feel even flatter because I feel flattened, and I end up moping around and fussing at myself for slacking.

That is, I did mope and fuss. Then I wised-up. Last year I started giving myself permission to feel okay about being flattened—as long as I used that flat time to do other things. Other things. So exciting!

What other things have I done? Well, as I said in that 2021 post, I’m good at creating flat rectangular things. Books are flat and rectangular and so are most of the few things I’ve ever knit. Working within that skill set, I’ve spread my creative wings and made the following flat rectangular things: 

Paper!

Small blank books!

Felt fabric!

Monotypes (one-of-a-kind prints)!

 Seen up close and in person, none of these things are spectacular, but I'm learning and enjoying myself. I'm pretty good at making various kinds of flatbread, too, but they're round. Flat round things can be a discussion for another day.

Do you ever go through periods of feeling deflated? Does your creativity ebb or crater? How do you regain your footing? 

Molly MacRae writes the Haunted Shell Shop Mysteries, the Highland Bookshop Mysteries, and the award-winning, national bestselling Haunted Yarn Shop Mysteries. Visit Molly on Facebook and Pinterest, connect with her on Instagram, Threads, and Bluesky. 

 

Space/Time Continuum

by Kait Carson

Way back when in the Stone Age, before YouTube or even MTV, there was a TV show named The Twilight Zone. It was hosted by Rod Serling, who had one of those fantastic announcer’s voices that made you see his words. That was the first time I heard the phrase space/time continuum. I didn’t understand it until I became a writer. 

Because we write on deadlines, our backs are always to the wall. Add in day jobs, family commitments, general life, and it becomes apparent that twenty-four hours in a day are simply not enough. Honestly, neither is thirty-six. Maybe seventy-two would be adequate. Every writer handles the time drain differently. Some carry notebooks or keyboards to all of their appointments. Using the waiting time to outline, write, polish, draw characterizations, study people and take notes (makes ‘em nervous I can tell you). Others set aside a sacred writing time and warn their families that if it ain’t bleeding, broken, or on fire, don’t interrupt. That doesn’t work at my house. As soon as I hang out the “do not disturb” sign, my family beats a path to my door. It's frustrating, but there's nothing to be done about it short of murder. That won't work, it's my family, and I love them. Besides, my research suggests there isn’t much writing time in prison either. 

How do I solve the problem? Dark of night. I’ve always been a night owl. I can do fine with six hours of sleep and get by with four. And something about the dark sparks my creativity. It may be the absence of outside stimulation. We live in the country, so night is…night. Few cars pass, no party noise, no street lights. Just deep, buttery darkness that is broken by the occasional moon or meteor shower. Images flow across my imagination in the night. I can turn myself inward and watch the movie of my book unreel in my mind. Characters speak, scenes unfold, situations deepen—every move or word draws on all the senses, and the book almost writes itself.

Bring on the dark.

What about you? Do you have a favorite time to work? If you could, would you rearrange your life schedule to accommodate your preferred schedule?

Kait Carson writes the Hayden Kent Mysteries, set in the Fabulous Florida Keys, and is at work on a new mystery series set in her adopted state of Maine. Her short fiction has been nationally published in the True Confessions magazines and in Woman’s World. Kait’s short story, “Gutted, Filleted, and Fried”, appeared in the Silver Falchion Award Finalist Guppy Anthology Hook, Line, and Sinker. Her nonfiction essay was included in the Agatha Award-winning book Writing the Cozy Mystery. She is a former President of the Guppy Chapter of Sisters in Crime, a member of Sisters in Crime, and Guppies.

Creativity Beyond Writing

 Creativity Beyond Writing

Artistic types, like writers, often don’t limit their talents to one form of art. We thought it would be interesting to tell you how else we let your creativity play or simply let off steam.

K.M. Rockwood - I’m afraid I’m not particularly creative. When my fingers were more nimble, I liked to design & stick embroidery projects, but I don’t any more. I let off steam with aquatics exercise classes and walks on wooded trails near where I live.

E.B. Davis - I cook, imagining the end result and then creating dishes from scratch.

Kait Carson - Crochet, throw pottery, and one of these days, I’ll get back to drawing.

Martha Reed - I’ve tried my hand at painting. To let off steam I go for an hour walk every day while I listen to disco music on my earbuds. I’ve been seen busting some moves down the sidewalk but the neighbors know I’m a writer so they cut me some slack. 

Lisa Malice - I am a virtuoso whistler. Sometimes, while in the shower, I whistle up my own tunes, melodies with a style that seem to reflect my love of movie musicals. 

Nancy Eady - I like to knit, cross-stitch, draw and paint when I can.  A lot of days I decompress by playing match-3 games on the computer like Candy Crush.  Probably I do that too much. 

Shari Randall - I spend a lot of time wishing I was as talented as many of my friends in the fiber arts (looking at Linda Rodriguez and Ellen Byron) but my hands just won't cooperate! My main hobby right now is Pilates and yoga, which are also great for letting off steam. I adore dance, but my hubby's too busy for ballroom dance classes right now. Maybe someday I'll get to take that tango class I've dreamed of.

James M. Jackson - I'm a decent wildlife photographer (particularly birds), and I've composed choral music.

Connie Berry - I love intricate craft projects like sewing and knitting. Wish I had time to indulge. I let off steam by reading (spending time in another time and place).

Sarah Burr - I loved designing digital art, which has come in super handy as an author. I design all my promotional materials; nothing is more therapeutic than diving into Canva and creating images for my books. It helps me unwind, but it also helps me think about my characters and the world they inhabit. I also love to play video games to turn off my mind completely.

Molly MacRae - Cooking and making handmade books, but never cooking my or anyone else’s books.

Grace Topping - Like my home staging character, I enjoy home decorating and helping friends stage their homes. To let off steam, I listen to audiobooks, especially at night when I can’t sleep. 

Debra H. Goldstein – Reading always. Seeing Broadway musicals whenever I can.

Lori Roberts Herbst - Cross stitch is a favorite hobby of mine. I also enjoy passive forms art, such as attending plays, musicals, and movies. Letting off steam involves a long walk or immersing myself in my reading.

Annette Dashofy - I used to quilt, but I can’t see well enough up close anymore to make those little stitches. For letting off steam and for cardio, I like to dance. I’m really bad at it, but I only do it when no one else is home.

Heather Weidner - I used to be a rapid scrapbooker, but times and technologies have changed. I create most of my photo albums online now and have them printed. I do like to try different craft projects. I love making holiday ornaments. I dabble mostly. I don’t really have a go-to medium. But I do have a craft room full of all kinds of supplies for whatever project is next. During the Pandemic, book blogger Kristopher Zgorski turned me onto diamond dot painting. It was so much fun, and it reminded me of the old paint-by-numbers with tiny beads. 

Korina Moss - I like word games, logic puzzles, and jigsaw puzzles. It’s satisfying to solve any kind of riddle. 

Marilyn Levinson - I knit, often creating my own patterns; I'm a good cook. I relax by doing Sudoku puzzles.

Margaret Hamilton - I find creativity in garden photography. I do my best plotting walking the dogs, weeding, and swimming laps.

 

The Ebb and Flow of Creativity

The Ebb and Flow of Creativity by Debra H. Goldstein

I’m drained. Exhausted. Worn-out. Tired. And yet, I feel pretty good. This week alone, I’ve knocked out three blogs, wrote one 5000-word story that I like, am toying with revising another short story that hasn’t quite come together yet, and thought of a different way to approach the one more piece of writing I have a commitment to turn in by the end of October.

For me, when my writing is working, I get into the zone. Time flies. I don’t stop for food, e-mails, or anything else until I’m forced to come up for air. It’s wild how different being in the zone is from being frustrated when the right words won’t come. During those times, I willingly allow myself to be distracted. Surely, I won’t lose much time doing another jigsaw puzzle, word game, or cleaning out the closet that hasn’t been touched in three years.

These latter times are also when I ask myself why I write. I question if I have it in me to come up with something that should be read by other people. Am I a fraud or has-been? 

My mood lightens up when the words begin flowing again. Even if they come hesitantly before rushing out, my confidence returns. 

That is, until the next time.

Do you ever experience these feelings? 

It’s a Wabi-Sabi Life

 

by Linda Rodriguez

When I was a child, I learned a number of traditional Cherokee ways of looking at life from my grandmother. It has not always been easy to live in accordance with all of those beliefs, ingrained in my heart though they are, as I have made my way through modern American society and built a career, first as an academic and then as a writer.

 

The older I get, the more I fall back on those traditional ways of looking at life, however. Right now, we are moving into a new house in a new city in a new state for a new job for my husband. I have decided that this is the time to change my life and make it more authentic and integrated and creative. At night, after my day’s work and all of the extra work of moving and settling in, I have been doing some reading before bed. Oddly enough, I have encountered two philosophies of life which echo and resonate with the traditional perspectives of my ancestors. And even more oddly, those two philosophies of life have come from a Japanese writer and aesthetic philosopher and America’s first Black, nationally competitive tennis champion.

 

Osami Nishimura is the author of Wabi Sabi: The Art of Imperfection: Discover the traditional Japanese Aesthetics and Learn How to Enjoy the Beauty of Imperfection and Live a Wabi Sabi Lifestyle. Wabi Sabi is a way of living and looking at the world and creating that grew out of the great Japanese tradition of the tea ceremony, cha-no-yu. It is one of the two Japanese art traditions (along with boro) that led to the Western art form of the crazy quilt. Wabi Sabi does not have a direct translation. In traditional Japanese life and aesthetics, however, it could be described as preferring a life of simplicity, modesty, and appreciation, of finding beauty in that which is imperfect or marred. According to Nishimura, “Wabi-sabi nurtures all that is authentic by acknowledging three simple realities: nothing lasts, nothing is finished, and nothing is perfect.”

 

Arthur Ashe was the first Black tennis player selected to the United States Davis Cup team, and the only Black man ever to win the singles title at Wimbledon, the US Open, and the Australian Open and to be ranked number one in the world (in 1975). He retired in 1980. After acquiring HIV/AIDS from a blood transfusion for surgery, he became an outspoken advocate for AIDS research and patient care and established a foundation for those purposes. It was during his activism for civil rights and for AIDS research and the removal of stereotypes and bias against AIDS patients that he said, “We want to be able to look back and say to all concerned that we did what we had to do, when we had to do it, and with all the resources required.” When a heckler called out that there wasn’t enough money and expertise for what he was asking, he famously said, “Start where you are, use what you have, do what you can.”

 

I could hear Ashe’s words in my grandmother’s voice; they were so much like something she might well have said to me in my childhood. And Nishimura’s description of Wabi-sabi resonates heavily with the core value of “balance” within Cherokee spirituality. Unlike the settler culture which dominates America today and demands that we all seek perfection and to become winners, my ancestral teachings were that we seek balance and harmony within ourselves, within our relationships, and within our world, that Creation is harmed by our neglect of balance and harmony, and we must work to right this imbalance in the world.

 

If you ask this old crazy quilter and upcycled-fabric-collage artist, Nothing lasts, nothing is finished, and nothing is perfect and Start where you are, use what you have, do what you can both fit right in with that traditional perspective on how to live. As a writer, though, it becomes hard to opt out of that American value of seeking perfection and the win, but I’m trying to bring that part of my creative self in line with the other half of me. It isn’t easy, by a long shot, because our teachers, our mentors, and we ourselves have told our writer selves that we must seek excellence and perfection and win the agent, the publisher, the bestseller list, and the awards. Still, I feel confident that I can do it. I’ll just follow the words of a wise man who said, “Start where you are, use what you have, do what you can,” remembering that “nothing lasts, nothing is finished, and nothing is perfect.”

 

 

 Linda Rodriguez's Skeet Bannion mystery novels—Every Hidden Fear, Every Broken Trust, Every Last Secret—and books of poetry—Skin Hunger, Heart's Migration, Dark Sister—received critical recognition and awards, such as St. Martin's Press/Malice Domestic Best First Novel, International Latino Book Award, Latina Book Club Best Book of 2014, Midwest Voices & Visions, Elvira Cordero Cisneros Award, Eric Hoffer Poetry Prize and Oklahoma Book Award finalists, Thorpe Menn Award, and Ragdale and Macondo fellowships. She also published Plotting the Character-Driven Novel, based on her popular workshop.  Her short story, “The Good Neighbor,” published in Kansas City Noir, was optioned for film.

Her 13^th book, Unpapered: Writers Consider Native American Identity and Cultural Belonging, was published by University of Nebraska Press in May 2023. She also edited Woven Voices: 3 Generations of Puertorriqueña Poets Look at Their American Lives, The World Is One Place: Native American Poets Visit the Middle East, The Fish That Got Away: The Sixth Guppy Anthology, Fishy Business: The Fifth Guppy Anthology, and other anthologies.

Rodriguez is past chair of the AWP Indigenous Writer’s Caucus, past president of Border Crimes chapter of Sisters in Crime, founding board member of Latino Writers Collective and The Writers Place, and a member of International Thriller Writers, Native Writers Circle of the Americas, Wordcraft Circle of Native American Writers and Storytellers, and Kansas City Cherokee Community. Learn more about her at http://lindarodriguezwrites.blogspot.com or follow her on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/LindaRodriguezWrites, on Twitter at https://twitter.com/rodriguez_linda  or on Threads at https://threads.com/lindarodriguezwrites. 

The Voices in My Head by Nancy L. Eady

             For an author to say she hears voices in her head may not be startling, but the voices I’m discussing are not the voices of my characters as I work on my novel. The voices I’m describing show up when I’m writing or working on submitting a manuscript to an agent or publisher or reviewing something I’ve already written.

            I’ve gotten so familiar with some of these voices that I’ve given them personalities. The one I encounter the most is the one I call “IC”, for the Inner Critic. I picture her sitting in an armchair, wearing a circa 1980s suit complete with a shoulder pad jacket and a white blouse with a fluffy full bow and spectacles small enough that the lifting of her brows is obvious. She watches me write and makes continuous comments such as, “This is the worst thing you’ve ever written,” “Why would anyone ever read this?” or “That’s terrible.”  The other voices and I continuously work on squelching her. Occasionally, Creativity, Hope, and even The Voice of Reason tackle her for me and lock her in the closet until it is time to edit. When we release her from the closet to help with editing, IC behaves herself more, and offers helpful suggestions instead of critical comments.

            Hope expresses herself in gentle whispers (unless she is irate with IC). She has a hard time sitting still, so she wanders around the study in my mind, touching this, moving that, then scooting over to my side to whisper things in my ear like, “This query is the one that will get you an agent,” or “Just wait until this gets published!”  She likes to wear bright colored sundresses and sandals and doesn’t need glasses. I like her much better than IC, unless she gets carried away and tries to inflate my expectations unrealistically. Being a gentle soul, however, she accepts corrections from the Voice of Reason. IC’s the only person who knows how to get under her skin.

            Creativity communicates in ways beyond words, most of the time. (She yells at IC and I’m not entirely sure she is aware that the Voice of Reason is giving specific directions as opposed to general guidelines.)  She wears jeans and colorful tie-dyed shirts and needs glasses, but doesn’t wear them. Usually, she is too busy to be bothered with them. When she does get a pair, she loses them. Her favorite expressions, when she does talk while we’re writing, begin with “What if?” 

            You remember the college professor or high school teacher who left an indelible impression on your life?  The one that convinced you  physics, or law, or history, or whatever else you ended up following as a vocation was worth exploring, but who also was not afraid to tell you when you were straying in the wrong direction?  That’s my Voice of Reason. She and I get along very well, unless she gets an urgent message from Conscience (Conscience is not a member of the study where we write; she’s in a different department) to remind me that something important needs to be done before I write any more. I get grumpy with VOR then. But I do so appreciate the way she keeps the other three, especially IC, in check and the way she gets Creativity and Hope to work together with her without squelching either. She dresses professionally and gave up glasses for contacts a long time ago. I envy her; the idea of sticking something in my eye terrifies me. And now that I’m close to turning the corner from my mid-50’s to my mid-50’s plus one, I doubt I’ll lose that terror soon.

            So those are the voices in my head. As long as I don’t start seeing them out in the real world, I’m not going to worry about hearing them too much—except for IC. She’s due for another timeout in the closet soon.  

Note:  No psychiatrists were harmed or consulted in the course of writing this message!  😊

Change and Creativity by Kait Carson

One of my favorite books and movies when I was a child was Auntie Mame. My Aunt Annie, a denizen of Greenwich Village and a contemporary of Marion Tanner, the real Auntie Mame, shared the same zest and philosophy of life. Aunt Annie also taught me that life is meant to be lived, and change is a good thing. Even unexpected change. Maybe especially unexpected change. Most of the family found her an embarrassment. I thought she was wonderful.

In this time of COVID-19, my husband and I had been living in Southwest Florida. I was crafting mysteries (not so often as I would have liked) and working more than full-time as a probate paralegal. With COVID numbers climbing in our county, and my entire office working remotely, hubs and I decided it was time to fly the coop. We have a home in Maine and becoming COVID refugees seemed ideal. So, I took three weeks’ vacation, we packed the house, rented an RV, and set off in our hotel on wheels for the Crown of Maine with our three cats and six conures.

I’d forgotten how much I missed Maine. It’s too far away to come for a long weekend, so we hadn’t visited in nine years. As soon as my feet hit terrafirma I raced up the hill to visit my woods. We have 167 acres of which 142 are wooded. The trail was overgrown, and mosquitos were gnawing at my ankles and I didn’t care. On the way back to the house I felt my creative well filling, a feeling that had been absent for eight of the past nine years.

It occurred to me on that walk that all of my short stories but one and all of my books but two had been written in Maine. They were polished and sold in Florida, but Maine had birthed them. Now ideas were bubbling so fast that I didn’t have time to commit them to paper. Instead, I fingered the audio recorder on my phone and started dictating. It was a delirious time.

The other shoe dropped when I got home and found a message from my office telling me that by moving to Maine, I had resigned. There was a brief moment of shock followed by a feeling of joy. I channeled my internal Auntie Mame/Annie and rejoiced in the opportunity. I could follow my dream and live my life as a full-time writer. None of those newly hatched ideas would go to waste because I didn’t have the time. Now was the time.

I’m excited by the possibilities. For the first time in my life I’m able to wake up and not only smell the coffee, but be part of the delicious mix of caffeine and richness. The first book of my new series has three more chapters to edit before it goes to beta readers. I’m writing a blog post earlier than the week before it’s due, and I’m surfing an embarrassment of story ideas for magazines.

Yep, life is a banquet – and I’m filling my plate.

Back to the Cave

When I was ten years old, I was attacked by baboons. Spoiler alert: I survived. But it’s one of those stories I tell when people ask me to share something interesting about myself. There are others. I once saw a UFO. I own two chickens, Onomatopoeia and Chicken Whittle. I know all the words to Edgar Allan Poe's "The Raven" and Eminem's "Lose Yourself" and have recited both to my freshman comp classes. I box—very badly—but enjoy it very much. And I once prepared to fight a grizzly bear with my bare hands.

In isolation, each of these facts will tell you very little about me, but when they are placed together into a context, they create a narrative. A story. A report of connected events, real or imaginary, presented in a sequence. Your brain loves a narrative, loves it better than a list, loves it like bees love honey, with an instinctual affinity. This is why stories have been one of the sturdiest building blocks of our civilization, outlasting even castles and temples.

Storymaking is one of our oldest skills, going back over thirty-five thousand years ago to the Upper Paleolithic Age. One prime example of it can be seen in the cave paintings at Chauvet Pont d'Arc in France (you can read about them HERE).

During the dawning of our species, our ancestors eventually discovered that cave living was a fine idea. The world was a dazzling and dangerous place, and a cave kept out the larger hazards. Back then, every single day began with the same to-do list: survive until the next morning. Find food, avoid becoming something else’s food, don’t fall off a cliff, don’t step on a snake, don’t let the fire go out, don’t mess with that other tribe across the river because they will club you, don’t don’t don’t.

And yet, in those dark smoky caves, after what must have been grueling, back-breaking days of non-stop work and intermittent terror, we human beings made art. We daubed red clay on the wall and recreated what we saw out in that world: horses, mammoths, rhinos, lions. To our contemporary eye, these pictures may look primitive, childish even. The images blur into each other. The rhinos have six or seven horns, and the horses’ haunches overlap, as if someone were trying to draw a herd and just didn't have the skill to pull it off.

This would be an incorrect interpretation, however, a deception brought about by our modern eyes having grown accustomed to steady illumination. In the dark of the cave, lit by only the flickering glow of a fire, the images begin to move. In the dance of light and shadow, tails twitch, muscles ripple, and manes toss. The herd gallops across the plain, hooves and dust. The predator cat follows, fangs bared. These paintings were the world’s first virtual reality, and our prehistoric ancestors created them out of mud and memory.

Not just a collection of drawings. A series of connected events. A narrative. A story.

When you write or read, you’re participating in a human activity older even than writing or reading itself—storymaking. Stephen King called it an act of telepathy—two humans connected by neither time nor place, nonetheless together. A meeting of the minds, he says. Magic.

Consider this next time you pick up a book. Even if it’s too hot for a fire in the fireplace, imagine one anyway. Imagine that dance of light and shadow on the page. Invite your inner caveperson to move closer so that you can share the story together.

*     *     *

Tina Whittle writes the Tai Randolph mysteries for Poisoned Pen Press. The fifth book in this Atlanta-based series—Reckoning and Ruin—was released in April. Tina is a proud member of Sisters in Crime and serves as both a chapter officer and national board member. Visit her website to follow her on social media, sign up for her newsletter, or read additional scenes and short stories: www.tinawhittle.com.