Margaritas and Mysteries

You've invited an author (living or dead - fantasy okay) to dinner and you're nervous. What will you serve that you think will make her or him your greatest admirer?

by Paul D. Marks

Hmm. Well, I haven’t had too many dinners with stratospherically famous authors, but judging from what I’ve read about them, I’d serve a long list of various booze, including absinthe – even though today’s absinthe isn’t what they might have been used to on the Left Bank in the 1920s. I also say this because I have had meals with various film and rock stars and you definitely gotta have the booze flowing, but add some dope too.

And depending on what time of my life it would be someone different than it might be today. So as of this day, 5/18/18, who would I want to have dinner with? The choices range from Somerset Maugham (Gin Pahit) to Alexandre Dumas, père (wine, French, of course), John Fante (wine), David Goodis (whiskey). The one-name, a la Cher, recognizables: Hemingway (mojitos and absinthe), Fitzgerald (gin). Kerouac (margarita). Also Raymond Chandler (gimlet), Ross MacDonald (Scotch) and Jim Thompson (whiskey) to contemporaries like James Ellroy, Walter Mosely, Carol O’Connell, Michael Connelly, Robert Crais, Kem Nunn, Dino Buzzati Tim O’Brien and Anne Tyler, to many more, though I wouldn’t want to guess what these more contemporary writers drink.

And, of course, mint juleps with Walker Percy.

The problem with famous people is, to paraphrase from the Jose Ferrer/John Huston version of the movie Moulin Rouge: “One should never meet a person whom they admire. What they do is always so much better than what they are.” This may or may not be true in any specific case, but I know from the famous people that I have met and dealt with on one level or another that it’s true as often as not. So I wouldn’t want to be disappointed by an author whose writing I admire, but who I don’t already know personally.

So, I’d bet on a sure thing. I’d have dinner with someone I know and admire and like. Someone I know I wouldn’t be disappointed by. I’d have dinner with Art Taylor. Yes, our own Art, previously of this blog. Well-known short story writer and novelist. Winner of multiple awards. Someone I know and like and can talk to and listen to. We could have our own little mini Algonquin Round Table or our very own My Dinner with Andre, er, My Dinner with Art. And if he was to come out to the West Coast, I’d serve West Coasty food. Margaritas and Mexican food. Albondigas soup and enchiladas with molé. Chili rellenos and tamales. Plenty of hot sauce and guacamole. Nothing weird or nouveau. Just stuff I like and would hope that he would, too. And cerveza.

This would be our feast (minus the sour cream)

 And then we’d retire to the salon with our after dinner drinks.

We would talk about the relative merits of Dashiell Hammett and Raymond Chandler. Which is better, the book or film version of In a Lonely Place? Is the Robert Altman version of Chandler’s The Long Goodbye a good flick? Maybe we’d talk about the state of the publishing biz, and along with that bookstores (I hear Barnes and Noble is on the verge of bankruptcy – that would make “good” dinner conversation), NYC vs. LA vs DC, over those drinks, while we watched the sun set over yon mountains. And, of course, we’d gossip about other writers and dish on everything under the sun.

I’d wish him luck on his Anthony nomination. And then we’d put our tipsy heads together and come up with a plan for world peace.

It would definitely be a fun and stimulating evening.

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And now for the usual BSP:

I thrilled to announce that Coast to Coast: Private Eyes from Sea to Shining Sea, edited by Andy McAleer and me, is nominated for an Anthony for Best Anthology. And Art Taylor's story "A Necessary Ingredient" from that anthology is also nominated for Best Short Story!

~.~.~

Only three days till White Heat launches! My Shamus Award-Winning novel is being reissued on May 21st by Down & Out Books. It’s available now for pre-order on Amazon.

Publishers Weekly calls White Heat a "...taut crime yarn."

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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.

***

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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