Teacher's Pet

by Paul D. Marks

It's hardest to impress those who know us best. What unexpected acknowledgment have you experienced from folks who knew you way back when? (Bonus points if it ties into a wedding, class reunion, or holiday gathering.)

Before I get to this week’s question, I’d like to share some terrific news:

Derringer Nominations are out. And I’m blown away by all the nominations and recognition for several of the stories in Coast to Coast: Private Eyes from Sea to Shining Sea, edited by Andrew McAleer and me. I want to thank the judges and the Short Mystery Fiction Society! I also want to congratulate all the finalists.

I’m thrilled that my story Windward has been nominated for a Derringer in the Best Novelette category.

I also especially want to congratulate the other nominees from Coast to Coast: Private Eyes: Matt Coyle for The #2 Pencil (Best Long Story category); Robert Randisi for Kill My Wife, Please (Best Novelette), Andrew McAleer for King’s Quarter (Best Novelette).  ---  And also from this anthology: Art Taylor’s A Necessary Ingredient is nominated for an Agatha. John Floyd’s Gun Work and my story Windward have both been chosen by Louise Penny and Otto Penzler for inclusion in The Best American Mysteries of 2018. – And I want to thank all of the authors who contributed stories to Coast to Coast.

I’m truly amazed and honored for such a great showing from a terrific book:

Amazon

So, like I said, mind blowing. And I’m thrilled to be part of it on various levels. And it’s very gratifying to see all the hard work of both the writers and editors paying off. Take my breath away!

Click here to see all Derringers Finalists.

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And now to this week’s question:

A friend once said to me you’re never a prophet in your own land, referencing the biblical quote. I think he was referring to certain members of my family who, no matter what I did or achieved, never seemed happy for me. Even when I had early writing successes, exciting and happy moments for me, they were not impressed and just wanted to focus the attention back on themselves instead of congratulating me. I think boiled down to its basic element my friend was saying familiarity breeds contempt.

One of the people I would have most wanted to impress, an uncle, died too F-ing soon—before I had much visible success. So F him for dying before I could shove it in his face. At least I’m not bitter. Nope, I have many fond memories of this guy.

Outside of certain family members, that uncle and some others (long story), I think most people in my early life thought reasonably well of me and expected me to make something of myself more than becoming a serial killer, though of course I guess I serially kill people in my writing. But there’s less blood that way and you don’t have to spend all that money on Rubbermaid containers, bleach and the always-necessary duct tape.

I did have one interesting experience, though it may not quite fit the parameters of the question, but close. So I’ll tell it as a little story:

She stood, towering over me, the paragon of wisdom, imparter of knowledge, my kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Morrison (name changed to protect the sanctity of student-teacher confidentiality). She knew everything there was to know, especially how to finger-paint and build with blocks. And she knew where the milk and cookies were, where the sleepy-time mats were and when it was nap time. One of the things that happened in that early-on class is I met the guy—we’ll call him Buster—who many years later became my writing partner in Hollywood for a time.

As my first teacher, Mrs. Morrison made a lasting impression. However, after accomplishing the consummate feat of graduating from kindergarten and moving upward (in grade) and outward (into the main building from the kindergarten corner), I didn't see her much anymore.

Many years later, after losing touch with both Buster and Mrs. Morrison, I ran into Buster again and we decided to become writing partners. Since Mrs. Morrison was the first major thing we had in common we even borrowed her last name for our pseudonyms when we needed them. Well, Buster and I eventually broke up for a variety of reasons and, man, it was like a nasty divorce. We had to have a lawyer divide the babies, but that’s another tawdry story. Anyway:

Flash forward: I'm taking a novel writing class at UCLA Extension (many years ago at this point). One of the women in the class asks me if I'd like to join her writers' group. Sounds interesting, I say, and check it out a few nights later. There are several women “of a certain age” in the room and me. One of them stands out. She has a vaguely familiar look about her. When I'm introduced to her as Emily Morrison I'm astonished to find myself sitting across the room from my kindergarten teacher—Mrs. Morrison. I stare and stare at her throughout the group's session. What must she think of my staring? Do I have eyes for her? Am I some kind of swain waiting for the right moment to make my move? When it's over I go up to her and ask if she taught kindergarten at XYZ Elementary School, where all the teachers are strong, the principal’s good-looking, and all the children are above average. Natch! When she says "yes," I know I'd better watch my "Ps" and "Qs," literally.  And I wait for milk and cookie time.

She didn't remember me, but she did remember my writing partner, Buster, whose family lived across the street from the school. So, of course, she asked me a lot about him, as well as myself. And at the next class I brought my kindergarten class pic and showed her me—that sort of jogged her memory and she sort of remembered. And she did admit to me that she wondered why I had been staring at her that first session. She did think I was interested. It was pretty funny really.

As I got to know her, I learned about all kinds of “backstage” machinations at the elementary school back in the day, things I never would have guessed and some of which are pretty sordid.

But the high point of my connecting again with Mrs. Morrison is when she made me a collage with photos of our kindergarten class and a note saying I was her favorite student of all time. So I guess I went from being unremembered to fave student ;-) . Now that’s somethin’!

Here’s a pic of me from my kindergarten class picture. And also of Mrs. “Morrison.” I’m sorry about the quality. My external hard drive crashed and I can’t access most of my photos so I had to cop this from something else and, unfortunately, it’s the best I can do right now.

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A Hard Day's Write

How do you set real life aside and connect with the imaginary worlds you create? And how long do you write each day/week?

by Paul D. Marks

I’ll answer the second question first: Not enough. Especially these days. And I have no idea where the time goes, but it does. I have the luxury of not having a day job and working at home and I still don’t know where the time goes. I’m pretty disciplined, but life happens and keeps me from doing as much writing as I might like to do or have done in the past. I spend a fair amount of time with the dogs, both hanging with them and walking them. Sometimes I find them more interesting than humans and they often have some pretty good ideas for the stories I’m working on, so at least I can count it as productive time 😊.

Now to the first question: Sometimes it is hard not to let real life intrude. But you have to find a way to get into that headspace – the Zone – for writing. There’s so many temptations to keep you from getting there, listening to music, reading, researching, the dogs. Watching movies. Facebooking. Friends. On the other hand, these things – real life – while, distracting me, also often give me ideas for stories so it’s a 50-50 proposition. Sometimes it’s hard to get in the Zone, but listening to music can get me into the mood for a certain type of story. For example, if I’m writing something set in the 1940s I’ll listen to swing. If I just want background music I often listen to baroque. Something dark, the Doors or Leonard Cohen. And sometimes silence is the best. I used to always (try to) write in silence. But sometimes you need something to block out the world. Music does that, and so much the better if it helps with the mood of the story.

And while researching can be a distraction ’cause I enjoy it so much I also get a lot of information for my stories. I recently finished a mystery set on the homefront during World War II. I love history, I love American history and I love World War II history. So I was a pig in you-know-what doing the research for that novel (for which I would very much like to get an agent…). I spent a lot of hours on various aspects of the research. I used the internet, books, maps. But my best go-to source for how Los Angeles was in the forties was my mom and her friends. They could tell me things that weren’t in books. So back to the point, the research kept me away from the writing, away from the Zone. But it also gave me things to put in the story when I did finally get back to the Zone. There are a lot of distractions, but some of them pay dividends.

I usually work in my home office where I have a nice view. But the office itself is a nightmare-mess. My desk is a mess – but you know what Einstein said about a messy desk: “If a cluttered desk is a sign of a cluttered mind, of what, then, is an empty desk a sign?” There’s also lots of stuff all around, posters and lobby cards from everything from In a Lonely Place to Pulp Fiction to album covers of the Beatles and a poster of Siouxsie and the Banshees. My picture of Dennis Hopper flipping the bird. Boxes of things, books, papers, the kitchen sink. So I have be able to put on blinders, get tunnel vision and just see the computer screen. Sometimes that’s easier than other times. And the way for me to do it is just to sit in the chair and stare at the screen and start typing away.

When that doesn’t work, I can just stare at Edward Hopper prints for inspiration. If anyone can be considered a “noir” painter he’s the one. In the pilot movie for the old TV show Night Gallery, if I remember it correctly, someone would look at a picture and be transported into that scene and a story would develop from there. That’s how I feel about Hopper paintings. They just bring so many stories to mind.

I’ve probably said this before, but when I was younger I had these romantic visions of being a writer on the Left Bank sipping absinthe or drinking Tom Collinses at Joe Allen’s, and when I lived in West LA I would go there. But when I would drink I wouldn’t want to write, I wanted to play, to party – I never got in the Zone that way. So that phase didn’t last long.

There’s so many distractions these days, TV, internet, radio, streaming, walking the dogs. The net. Envy the bucolic writer of the 19th century who had peace and quiet, but also no running water or toilets. So you just have to shut it all out as best you can. Clear your head. Sometimes I’m better at it than other times. But always the key is just to sit down and do it, sooner or later you’re in the Zone without even knowing you crossed the line.

Changing the subject ever so slightly: Earlier in the week, RM gave a nod to the Beatles and their song Paperback Writer. And since today is the anniversary of their first appearance on Ed Sullivan (February 9, 1964), I thought I’d give them a nod too, apropos of nothing:

VIDEO REMOVED

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And now we turn you over to our usual BSP section:

Mind Blowing News: My story “Windward” from Coast to Coast: Privates Eyes from Sea to Shining Sea (edited by Andrew McAleer and Me, published by Down & Out Books) has been selected for The Best American Mystery Stories 2018 edited by Louise Penny & Otto Penzler. It will be out in the fall. To say I’m blown away is an understatement. – Also selected for Best American Mysteries from this collection is John Floyd’s “Gun Work,” and Art Taylor’s “A Necessary Ingredient” has been nominated for an Agatha. Not a bad batting average for one book 😁 .

Check out my website: www.PaulDMarks.com

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