Blog posts about the Rabbi Aviva Cohen Mysteries and their author Rabbi Ilene Schneider

Archive for the ‘WRITING’ Category

HOLD THIS DATE: JULY 19, 2012 – VINELAND, NJ

The New Jersey Authors Network  Presents:

Getting Published in the 21st Century Writer’s Society at Vineland Public Library

Come to Vineland Public Library, 1058 E. Landis Avenue, on Thursday, July 19 for a special program at the New Jersey Writer’s Society gathering. The Writer’s Society meets from 5:00 – 6:00 p.m. Then guest authors from The New Jersey Authors Network will talk about Publishing Today and Getting Published in the 21st Century. Guest authors are Kristin Battestella, Rabbi Ilene Schneider, Ed.D., Jeff Markowitz and Jon Gibbs. The program will be held in the Community Event Room located on the first floor of the library. Registration is not necessary. For additional questions call the library’s Information Desk at 794-4244 ext. 4243.

Category:

WRITING

YOU’RE DONE WRITING – NOW WHAT?

Please join Jon Gibbs (moderator), Alice DiNizo, Neal Levin and me – all  three of us published authors and members of the New Jersey Authors Network – this Thursday evening, July 5, 7:00 PM at the Howell Public Library (318 Old Tavern Road, Howell, NJ 07731). The topic isFrom Thoughts to Print: Getting Published in the 21st Century, and we’ll be discussing “different approaches to writing, getting published, and the various options available to writers in today’s market.”

Category:

WRITING

A BIG BALL OF WIBBLY WOBBLY TIME-Y WIMEY STUFF

“People assume that time is a strict progression of cause to effect, but *actually* from a non-linear, non-subjective viewpoint – it’s more like a big ball of wibbly wobbly… time-y wimey… stuff.” – The Doctor (in “Blink,” one of the creepiest episodes ever of Doctor Who)

So, what does time have to do with writing? Looking at blog entries, discussion threads, social media postings, and emails I’ve received the past few weeks, everything.

The writers of these blogs, participants in discussions, posters on social media sites, and senders of emails wonder how authors manage to keep up with their own blogs; post on others’ blogs; edit their about-to-be-published books; market their already-published books, whether through real or virtual interviews, readings, signings, conferences, social media postings; and still produce a book (or more) a year.

I share their puzzlement.

I would love to be able to say that the only ones who can juggle their time so effectively and efficiently are single, child-free, and either independently wealthy or have received seven-figure advances that free them from the necessity of a day job. But I can’t say it, because it’s not true. Many have kids, spouses, day jobs, hobbies, lives, and still manage to accomplish all the tasks described in the second paragraph.

All the advice – get up early, stay up late, always carry a notebook and pen to jot down ideas, keep a time log so you can schedule writing time in between Game of Thrones and reruns of M*A*S*H  – sound great on paper, but . . . ah, yes, the ever-present “but.”

The only butt around here is the one I’m sitting on while watching (and reading) Game of Thrones and reruns of  M*A*S*H.

I have spent almost four weeks on above-mentioned butt, nursing a bum knee following arthroscopic surgery to repair a torn meniscus. On sick leave. No carpool duties. No housework (not that I ever do it anyway). No errands. Plenty of time to catch up on TiVo and DVDs and books and writing. And I did three of the four. What didn’t I do? Write.

I’ve no excuse. My laptop (despite a balky touchpad), fingers, brain, and imagination were all in working order. They didn’t wince every time I took a step. So why didn’t I take advantage of my free time?

Actually, I’ve lots of excuses: brain fog from pain killers, difficulty sleeping, post-op fatigue, it’s hard to concentrate on my writing when I’m at home. But they’re just excuses, and not very good ones. I took pain killers for 3 days. I’m sleeping better, not to mention falling asleep on the couch. The op was a month ago. And I was cleared to drive ten days ago (and, in fact, am currently sitting in Starbucks).

It’s trite to say that if you want something done, give it to the busiest person you know. It’s trite because it’s repeated so often. It’s repeated so often because it’s true. There is something energizing about being busy, and enervating about doing nothing.

So, my self-prescribed solution: get busy. Finish that book about Chanukah trivia. Stop rewriting the opening pages of Yom Killer and start writing the following chapters. Organize all the potential marketing sources for Unleavened Dead. Click the links on all those archived blogs and add comments. Actually develop all those ideas I have for this blog.

And I will do all of those things. After a nap.

 

Category:

WRITING

SOBERING VIEW OF SELF-PUBLISHING

I recently read this article, sent by another member of the New Jersey Author’s Network. It’s a rather sobering view of the realities of self-publishing. I’ve never made any big bucks from my books (although I did get a nice advance from Adams Media for Talk Dirty Yiddish), but I’m still grateful to Swimming Kangaroo and now to Oak Tree Press for taking a chance on me. I’m particularly relieved not to have to try to do the formatting for Kindle and Nook!

Read and discuss!

http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2012/may/24/self-published-author-earnings?CMP=twt_fdhttp://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2012/may/24/self-published-author-earnings?CMP=twt_fd

Category:

WRITING

IT’S OFFICIAL!

I have received a contract from Oak Tree Press to publish the 2nd Rabbi Aviva Cohen Mystery, Unleavened Dead! Publicaton date to be announced. Keep watching this space for further news.

Category:

WRITING

YOUR CHANCE TO “BUY IMMORTALITY”

Do you dream of immortality? I can’t guarantee you’ll live forever, but your name can, or at least as long as people read, in the third Rabbi Aviva Cohen mystery Yom Killer. And it’s tax deductible, too.

As part of Congregation Beth Tikvah’s fundraising auction, I’m offering chances to purchase naming rights to characters. Prices range from $18-$72, depending on how major the character is. I’m also auctioning off the rights to name the villain.

Check out “You Name It” and all the other great goods and services on http://www.32auctions.com/organizations/3415/auctions/3806?page=1

Category:

WRITING

Aviva cleans her fridge for Pesach (and chats with her sister)

In honor of Pesach, beginning at sundown this Friday, I am reposting a part of a chapter from Unleavened Dead, the second Rabbi Aviva Cohen mystery. I wish the description of the leftovers in her fridge were more fictional.

To my Jewish readers, a zissen Pesach, and an easy clean. And to those of you who celebrate Easter or the Vernal Equinox instead, save some chocolate-covered marshmallow Peeps for me until after Pesach.

 

I closed the freezer door, and as I opened the lower one to the refrigerator, I hit the speed dial for Jean’s number. “Hello?” her deceptively sweet voice greeted me.

“Hey, Jean. It’s me, returning your call. What’s new?”

“Why, yes, thank, you, I am feeling fine. So nice of you to deign to call. Do you have any idea how many hours ago I left the message? And why do you call only after I call first?”

“I’m always afraid you’ll collapse from shock if I make the first call. And I called as soon as I could.” I was fibbing again. “I was at a conference in Philadelphia all day and just got home.” This time I crossed my fingers and held my hand behind my back. Somehow, my sister always made me feel like a pesky six-year-old kid again. Which I’m sure was exactly how she still thought of me.

“Hmm, yes, well, be that as it may. I just wanted to let you know I’ve changed my travel plans, so you don’t have to pick me up at the airport.”

I was supposed to pick her up at the airport? Someone forgot to tell me. I bet that was the important, gleeful news Trudy had for me – I was appointed to meet her mother instead of her. No wonder Trudy was going to ply me with food first.

Jean continued, “I was going to fly to Philadelphia, then drive back to Boston with Larry to spend some more time with him and my grandchildren and, of course, Mom, and then fly home from Boston. But now I’ve decided to fly both ways from Boston so I can have a few days there before I come for the Seder and then spend the rest of the week with them. And even with the fee for changing the tickets, it’s still cheaper to travel to and from the same airport. Did you know Mom’s not coming to Trudy’s?”

“Yeah, Mom told me last time I spoke with her that she wasn’t up for the long drive. I feel terrible about it. I haven’t seen her since December and I’m not sure when I’ll get there again.”

“Don’t you get a spring break?”

“No, Jean, I live in a university town, but I don’t work on a school schedule. In fact, I’m busier than ever this week – regular services Friday night and Saturday morning, a wedding Sunday afternoon, Pesach services Tuesday and Wednesday mornings, then Shabbat again the following Friday night and Saturday morning, and Pesach services again Sunday and Monday mornings. Plus the community Seder on Tuesday night. And in the meantime, I’m trying to clear out my fridge before the cleaning service comes on Friday.”

“You complain you can’t afford to visit me, but you have the money for a cleaning service?”

I tried, I really did, not to get exasperated. You’d think I’d be used to her after all these years. “I’ve told you before, it’s not the money, but my schedule. You know my work time is other people’s leisure time.”

“You have the month of July off. Visit me then. Believe me, we have air conditioning.”

“I’ll think about it when they figure out how to air condition the outdoors. Oh, yuck.”

“What?”

“I’m clearing out the fridge and just opened a container. I’m not sure what it was in its former life, but I think I may be brewing a cure for cancer.”

“Why am I not surprised? Your room always was a dump. I’m not sure why the EPA didn’t declare it a toxic waste site.”

“Probably because that was forty-five years ago, before there was an EPA.” I wasn’t sure about my facts, but reasoned that she didn’t know either. I was right, as she didn’t challenge me.

“And I suppose you’re going to spend your money eating out instead of at home the rest of the week. Why are you cleaning so early? You always waited till the last minute. If you bothered at all.”

“I always clean for Pesach. And I told you, the cleaners are coming on Friday. Tomorrow is the closing banquet for the conference, Wednesday night I’m going to Trudy’s for dinner, and Thursday I’m meeting Steve for dinner.” I mentally kicked myself as I said that last bit.

“Steve? Steve Goldfarb? Your ex? Are you seeing each other? It’s been over a year since his wife died, so he’s done mourning. Now’s your chance. I always liked Steve.”

No you didn’t. But I saw no point in reminding her that she thought I was jumping into marriage with Steve too soon after the breakup of a long-term relationship I’d had with a pseudo-hippie/organic gardener who later made a fortune when he sold his flash-frozen organic vegetable company to a mega-corporation and now owned one of the most successful organic Kosher wineries in California. And I especially didn’t want to remind her that her hesitation about our marriage proved to be right.

“No, we’re not seeing each other, as in ‘seeing each other.’ It’s just a friendly meal.”

“I wish you’d stop having boy friends and find a boyfriend.”

“I’m happy by myself. After all, who would put up with me and my schedule? And I didn’t notice you running out to find someone after Harold died.”

“That was different. Do you know the ratio of single women to men in my age bracket down here? It must be ten-to-one. And I was much older than you were when you and Keith divorced. Now that was a good catch. I can’t believe you let him go.”

You didn’t think my second husband Keith Rubenstein was such a good catch when we first married and he worked at a poverty law center; you didn’t like him until he became a big bucks corporate drone. “It wasn’t working, Jean. We wanted different things out of life. He wanted an accessory and I wanted a partner. Oh, double yuck.”

“What now?”

“I don’t know. I think it’s a new life form. It just winked at me. Listen, I’ll see you soon. I really have to concentrate on this refrigerator. I’m not sure, but I think some old pickles just spoke to me.”

“How can pickles go bad? They’re already preserved in vinegar.”

“I don’t know, maybe they hung out in with a rough crowd of slimy lettuce. Give my love to Mom.”

“And to Larry?”

“Of course, to Larry, and to Karen. And to the kids. Are they coming, too?”

I already knew the answer. My nephew’s kids were in college and unlikely to take off from classes on a weekday, especially to travel to South Jersey from New England. “No, they already had spring break. They’re staying at their colleges for the holiday. But they promised to look in on their great grandmother. Such nice boys.” Unspoken were the words, “Unlike Josh,” who, to be fair, was only eight and she’d only gotten to know him for the past year or so. But, to be fair to Jean, something I seldom am, Josh is what is known as a “high maintenance” child.

“Well, give my love to all. See you soon.”

I finally could give all my concentration to the refrigerator. It was even worse than I thought. After dumping all the unidentifiable objects, I kept a couple of containers of yogurt, a jar of peanut butter, and some milk not yet past its sell-by date so I’d be able to eat at least something at home the next few days. By the time I’d emptied tins half-filled with green tuna, bottles of fuzzy tomato sauce, and jars of mutated olives into the garbage disposal, my recycling bin was overflowing with glass and metal. Some of the leftovers got thrown out directly into the trash, along with their storage containers; I was afraid I’d unleash poison gases if I opened them. I turned on the lights in the rooms facing the back of the house and opened the shades so I could find my way through the dark backyard to the composter, where I added the fruits and vegetables that had begun to morph into creatures that any director of horror films would love to use. Everything else went into giant black plastic trash bags, which I dragged to the curb and added to the trashcan. Being green has its limits, and if I hadn’t gotten that stuff out of the house, I would have been turning a very unflattering shade of green.

The non-perishables would take more time, so I’d save them for another day. I’d have to sort out the opened and unopened containers, bringing the former to a food bank and storing the latter in the garage. The peanut butter in the fridge would get mixed with some corn meal and flour and remnants of trail mix and then frozen until I put it out for the birds.

 

Category:

WRITING

A QUERY LETTER IN THE SPIRIT OF PURIM

(TO VIEW THE INSPIRATION FOR THIS “LETTER,” CLICK ON: http://www.cncbooks.com/blog/2012/03/06/an-age-old-dilemma/)

 

Thank you for your interest in the manuscript of my first novel, Starlight Shines on Starlight Manor Nursing Home. You have asked me for a market proposal. I thought it was the publisher’s job to distribute the books. But I tried anyway. I took the nursing home bus when it made its weekly run to the supermarket – my aide usually buys me my supply of Ensure –  and I talked to the manager, but he said they do not sell books.

I promise you that my family, my fellow nursing home residents, and the staff will buy the book. They know I have named all the characters after them.

My great grandson said I need to learn to use a computer. He is the one who “scanned” (he said it was like teletype) the typewritten manuscript (I even used an electric typewriter!) to send to you electronically. He did show me how to turn on the computer, and he even set up an “email account” for me, but until I have my cataract surgery, it is too hard for me to sit in front of the glowing screen. I even find it hard to watch my favorite soap operas most afternoons. I am dictating this letter and he is typing it into the computer for me.

By the time the book is published, I will have had both knees and hips replaced, and will be able to walk by myself to the refrigerator for the food to attach to my feeding tube. I might have to delay the orthopedic surgeries, though, until I recuperate from the heart bypass surgery. I am not sure I will be able to travel by airplane to appear on Oprah or The View, as I doubt oxygen tanks can be taken on airplanes. But, do not worry, I have all my wits and all my own teeth, and, at 97, can play a mean game of whee bowling while seated in my wheel chair.

I always thought it would be fun to write a book. What a wonderful hobby for a retiree!

I look forward to hearing from you again, but you will have to send me a message by regular mail. My great grandson is going back to college, and I am afraid if I try to turn on the “email” by myself, I will “crash the internet.” I don’t know what that means, but I remember when Wall Street crashed back in ’29, so it cannot be good.

Sincerely yours, Mrs. Penelope Snoodle

Proud widow of the late Wilfred Snoodle III

Author of Starlight Shines on Starlight Manor Nursing Home

Category:

WRITING

CLERICAL MYSTERIES: WHAT AND WHY?

And now for something completely (well, somewhat) different. I’ve given my space to author Donna Fletcher Crow. And she’s given her space to me. You can read my thoughts at: http://www.donnafletchercrow.com/articles.php?id=107.

Donna Fletcher Crow among the tombstones, Wales

Donna Fletcher Crow is the author of 38 books, mostly novels dealing with British history. The award-winning Glastonbury, an Arthurian grail search epic covering 15 centuries of English history, is her best-known work. Donna and her husband live in Boise, Idaho. They have 4 adult children and 11 grandchildren. She is an enthusiastic gardener.

Her newest release is A Darkly Hidden Truth, book 2 in her clerical mystery series The Monastery Murders. She also writes the Lord Danvers series of Victorian true-crime novels and the romantic suspense series The Elizabeth & Richard Mysteries. To read more about these books and to see book videos for A Darkly Hidden Truth and for A Very Private Grave, Monastery Murders 1, as well as pictures from Donna’s garden and research trips go to: www.DonnaFletcherCrow.com.

Clerical Mysteries: What and Why?

I’m so delighted to be doing a blog exchange today with Rabbi Ilene Schneider because we both write in the somewhat esoteric subgenre of Clerical Mysteries and I think it’s going to be great fun sharing our perspectives. So, when you finish reading this article, please come on over to “Deeds of Darkness; Deeds of Light” http://www.donnafletchercrow.com/articles.php  and see what Ilene has to say about her Rabbi Aviva Cohen mysteries.

When A Very Private Grave the first of my Monastery Murders was published in 2010 I found myself scrambling to explain just what a clerical mystery is, so I turned to my friends on GoodReads for help. One reader said, “I’d say all that’s required is that the church (or synagogue, monastery or convent) or clergy, rabbi, nuns, or monks should be prominent in the story.”

That seems like a good start, although I think the ecclesiastical setting needs to be more than just background. The religious element actually needs to form the thoughts and actions of the main characters. They need to be more than simply photographed against an interesting Gothic background. Or as the Clerical Detectives website puts it, “characters whose lives really were influenced by their faiths.” Julia Spencer-Fleming’s Clare Ferguson stories are an excellent example of this where everything Clare does and thinks is formed by the fact that she is a priest.

Another reader said, “It seems to me that all the mysteries I think of as [clerical] do more or less have a spiritual theme.” And here it seems that we are getting close to the heart of the matter. Until I begin trying to define more sharply and realize that all mysteries are about the clash of good versus evil and strive for the triumph of right over wrong— What P. D. James calls “bringing order out of chaos.”

Perhaps Phil Rickman, one of my all-time favorites, is wise when he refuses to label his Merrily Watkins books. He says, “I absolutely did not want to go there. Too cosy, too safe, and too… well, too religious, I suppose.”

And perhaps the fluidity of the subgenre is one of the things that appeals to me. I guess it comes down to the fact of novels in this category being as wide— and as endlessly engrossing— as the whole matter of faith itself.

Then, as to the “Why” of going there, that was a question that much perplexed my heroine, too. Felicity, a very modern young American woman, who found she hated teaching Latin and didn’t know what else to do with her classics degree, went off to study theology in a monastery in Yorkshire “in a fit of madness” as she says, and then wonders what she’s gotten herself into:

What was the right term to describe how she was living? Counter-cultural existence? Alternate lifestyle? She pondered for a moment,

A DARKLY HIDDEN TRUTH: Book 2 of the Monastery Murders

then smiled. Parallel universe. That was it. She was definitely living in a parallel universe. The rest of the world was out there, going about its everyday life, with no idea that this world existed alongside of it.

It was a wonderful, cozy, secretive feeling as she thought of bankers and shopkeepers rushing home after a busy day, mothers preparing dinner for hungry school children, farmers milking their cows— all over this little green island the workaday world hummed along to the pace of modern life. And here she was on a verdant hillside in Yorkshire living a life hardly anyone knew even existed. Harry Potter. It was a very Harry Potter experience.

Therein, I think, lies much of answer to why I write what I do: This is a world — parallel universe— I have become acquainted with through my own research of English history, my own spiritual journey, and my daughter’s decision to— yes— study theology in a remote monastery in Yorkshire after finding she really, really hated teaching school in London. (Well, literature follows life.) And I found myself wanting to share this world and some of the amazing adventures I had tromping over ancient holy sites.

Background is always one of the most important factors in a novel for me— perhaps even the most important factor— so my books have to be set in places I love to visit, both for the research and for living there mentally while I write. My Clerical mysteries The Monastery Murders give me the opportunity to do just that.

I realize, of course, that all that still doesn’t answer the question of why I am so drawn to this esoteric world I reflect in my Monastery Murders series. But I wonder how many of us can define the source of our passions? I always tell beginning writers, “Write from your passion.” The most fortunate people are those whose passion has found them. And I do believe that’s the way it works. Does anyone ever get up in the morning and say, “Today I’m going to decide on my passion?” Or when making out new year’s resolutions put “Find passion” on their list? Surely it’s more of a realization, sudden or gradual, that “This is what I love. Here is something worth spending my time on.”

At the end of the day, what could possibly be better than getting paid (at least a little bit) to do the thing I love doing most and still taking time out to drink tea, prune my roses and eat chocolate?

Category:

WRITING

BOOKS VS. READING

I have noticed the monthly circulation figures for my local library have been declining for the past eighteen months or so. I bought a Kindle around eighteen months ago. Coincidence? Hmm . . .

A lot of people tell me they won’t buy an e-reader. They love books – the feel of them, the heft of them, the smell of them, the whole gestalt of them. I love books, too, as the eleven floor-to-ceiling bookshelves in our study, one in each boy’s bedroom, two in the second floor hallway, three in our bedroom, and one in the family room, plus the books piled on the floor on the study, on the bed-side tables in the bedroom, under the boys’ beds, on (and under) the family room table, and in all three bathrooms will attest. But I recently realized something important: it’s not books I love. It’s reading.

I bought the Kindle a few weeks before we left on a two-week trip to LA and Wisconsin (you can read about it further down on this site). I have a pathological fear of being stuck in an airport, or, worse, on a plane, with nothing to read. Needing to pack for what we had expected to be two entirely different weather conditions, our suitcases were just under the weight limit. Even one book would have tipped it over. And putting the dozen or so books I’d have needed for a two-week trip into my carry-on was just not practical, unless I had started pumping iron six months earlier. The Kindle was the answer to a reader’s prayers. Light weight. Easy to put in my purse. Holds the virtual equivalent of tons of books.

My biggest problem with the Kindle is its ease of use. Or, rather, its ease of downloading books. I have to remind myself not to buy a book unless I would buy it in hard copy; if it’s a book I would normally borrow from the library, I should still borrow it from the library. I haven’t listened to myself.

I’ve always loved to read. Anything. Anywhere. Any time. I remember being thoroughly bored on some car trip or other with my parents when I was quite young. I had nothing to read. So I picked up the telephone book (remember those?) on the floor of the back seat of the car (I’ve no idea why it was there) and read it.

I never minded being sent to my room. To me, it wasn’t punishment, because it meant I could read. It’s not that I couldn’t have gone to my room and read without misbehaving first, but chances are I would have been watching TV or talking to my friends on the phone instead. I wonder sometimes if the need to read overcame my common sense when it came to doing things like talking back. I never told my mother the punishments didn’t work.

What is it about reading that I love so much? I could go into a whole psychoanalytic mode and talk about being a lonely only child and finding companionship in books, except I always seemed to understand that being alone did not equal being lonely.

There’s something about a book that transports me, not just into a world of imagination (cue song from “Willy Wonka” – the Gene Wilder version), but into other people’s lives. Call it curiosity, call it escapism, call it laziness. I call it heaven.

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3 Comments

  2. jennymilch said,

  3. January 18, 2012 at 6:59 pm  · Edit

  4. I agree that it’s about reading, it’s about story–but I have to say, I really love the smell, look, weight, and feel of a book :)  I also love the whole bookstore experience. For me they are a part of that heaven you describe. I’m glad for the many readers who find their joy with e readers as well, though. The more people reading, the better, right?

  7. Mary Ellen Jankosky Hill said,

  8. January 20, 2012 at 4:15 pm  · Edit

  9. Ilene, do you ever re-read the books you have at home?

    • Rabbi Ilene Schneider said,

    • January 20, 2012 at 9:09 pm  · Edit

    • Not too often, which is why I really should clear out some of the bookcases before the next “gently read” book sale at the library.

Category:

WRITING