Do you try to read the books that are nominated for major awards? Do you second-guess the nominations, or do you usually find you agree?

The short answer is, no, I do not. I’ve never watched a movie based on an Oscar nod either. As a writer, I’m what is called a pantser. The same goes for my reading. Now, I know plenty of readers who pick their book choices with an eye to the list, but a lot of these readers, will also DNF (do not finish) a book with the ruthlessness of a literary agent reading a query letter. I am not that reader. If I start a book, I’m pretty much in. So, it behooves me to make good choices from the outset. How can I trust the recommendation of a rando who has no idea what I like? I mean, I heard Stephen King said he didn’t like his book, Insomnia. It’s still one of my favorites. Absolutely hated the Dome, though, ugh.

That’s not to say I don’t love a great recommendation. Finding a new author to love is like Christmas, and your birthday wrapped together, especially if they have a backlist long enough for you to get lost in. I found Kellye Garrett through the recommendation of a friend, and it opened a whole new world of incredible writers that I knew nothing about. I’ll be forever grateful for that. So, for me a book recommendation is special. When I share my love of a book with someone, it’s because I think there’s something in there that I think will bring you joy. A list can’t do that.

The first book I remember reading was a Harlequin romance by Penny Jordan. I was ten years old. I stole the book from my sister who was four years older than me. I thought that everything she did was cool. Her reading choice at the time, confirmed that opinion for me. That one stolen book was a gateway that introduced me to a world that was only limited by my ability to search through the stacks at my local library.

 Forty-six years later, my favorite place to be is in between the pages of a book. In books I am an explorer of worlds. And though, I may never visit the fantastic world of Xanth, or a little town named Derry, Maine, thank goodness, I’m privileged to know them as intimately as my own bedroom, thanks to the writers who made them real through the beauty of their words and their boundless imaginations. It’s pretty darn magical if you think about it.   

As a child, I spent every waking moment not sucked away by school or chores with my nose in a book. If you asked anyone who knew me then, that’s probably the first thing they would say. I read when I was supposed to be studying at school, by putting a book under or between my schoolbooks. I read when I was supposed to be sleeping, with the old flashlight under the covers trick. I read while walking to school, may have bumped into a few trees, or mailboxes.

There was never enough time to read. I graduated from romances to Greek mythology, to the classics, to fantasy, to science fiction, and then to Stephen King, where I discovered that even better than a good story, was a good story with great characters. Oh, how I wanted to be part of the gang, hanging around the Barrens, fighting an evil clown, and the local bullies.

As a grownup on a bullet train to old age, all-night binges have been replaced with long lines at the grocery store, airport lounges, and waiting rooms. I’ll will run out of time before I come near to running out of books. If I chose to, I could select books to read strictly from my author friend circle and never run out of great reads. In fact, sometimes, I go on a tangent and do exactly that.

Then there are my long-time favorites, Stephen King, Walter Mosely, Harlen Coben, Kevin Obrien, and Danielle Steele, yes, I said Danielle Steele. I miss these authors after not reading them for a while. And finally, there are the list.

Every year around this time, I think you could safely call it the award season for books. List of books nominated for the best of are released. You can always count on the greats making an appearance on these lists. But I’m going to keep on ignoring them for books that speak directly to my bookworm’s heart.

Current read, in case you’re wondering, is a new author for me, that I’m happy to add to my favorite’s list. Magic City Blues, by Bobby Mathew. I can recommend this to you, if you enjoy a fast-paced, page turner, with the throwback feel of a classic PI novel.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cozy writing - by Harini Nagendra

Have you ever pulled punches in a plot? In other words, when it came time to kill someone, you let them live. Or when it came time to find out someone was a villain, you chose someone else? Or if the plot seemed to veer in a dark direction, you pulled back?

There's a reason I write cozies. And read them. I've never watched a horror movie, read a psychological thriller, or wanted to explore the dark side of life in fiction. Life has enough of the dark side, death can be horrific, and bad things happen around us all the time as it is. 

Given the way I feel - why do I write historical mysteries? I don't have the best of answers for you, or for myself - but I do know that I find it satisfying to solve a good puzzle, read a mystery with a twist, and 'see' justice done at the end. 

So yes, in my books I'm careful not to kill off the main protagonists or the really good folks - most of the time, anyway. Unless it's really needed for the plot. I'm happy to choose villains where the plot takes me - that's not been such a problem. But I can't imagine ever wanting to take the plot in a dark direction - at least not unless I can find enough sweetness to counterbalance the harsh flavors.

But as a writer of historical mystery, I can't completely veer away from the dark side of history. Take my 1920s colonial India book Murder Under A Red Moon, the second in the Bangalore Detectives Club series, for instance. In the scene below, I describe an incident that was commonplace in British India - where rats, snakes and other 'vermin' had a price on them, in a vain attempt to keep the city free of plague and other diseases - and young boys hunted them for money.

Kaveri skirted the twigs and the lathi-wielding constable, and started to go in. Then stopped in surprise when she saw a long line of raggedy-looking boys all between the ages of eight and twelve, clad in grimy loincloths, their ribs showing above bellies swollen with hunger. She looked at what they were holding in their hands, and took a couple of steps back. Each urchin held a number of dead rats in his hand. Flies buzzed noisily around the rats and the boys. She put her sari to her mouth, breathing through it heavily. 

‘What on earth?’ Kaveri turned to the constable. She saw Venu dart out from the door. ‘

Kaveri akka, what are you doing here? Come in, fast.’ 

He hurriedly dragged Kaveri inside, taking her to Ismail’s room. ‘The Inspector is not here. But he said I could use his room.’ 

Venu looked very proud of himself as he perched on the edge of a chair in the corner.

‘Why are you here? And what are those boys doing outside?’ Kaveri demanded. 

‘Didn’t you see the notice in the paper, akka? Because of the plague, the government has offered a reward for the extermination of rats. They will pay two annas for every dead rat brought to them. No one was taking it up, though, and I know a couple of friends of mine who are leaders of local groups of boys – they are all hungry – so I fixed it up with Inspector Ismail. They will come here and hand over the rats.’ 

Venu pointed outside. ‘There is a cart parked behind the station. Once each boy drops off his rats there, he gets a chit from the constable in charge, with the number of rats marked. Then he comes to the station and gets his money.’ 

Kaveri winced. ‘It is not safe for those children to be doing this—’ she began. 

 Venu interrupted her, saying fiercely, ‘What do you want them to do, akka? Just look at them. They are so hungry, they would probably eat the rats!’ 

I can't wish away reality - nor do I want to. 1920s India was a difficult place to live in for many Indians, especially the poor and powerless. But as a writer, I can choose what I want my characters to experience - and while they go through hardships, I want them to come out on the other side, with a good shot at a happy life. Even if it's fiction. Especially since it's fiction - and I'm writing it.