A SHAKEN, HOT AUTHOR

The northeast Pleasant Hills Chimney

In Maryland, the earthquake of August 23, followed almost immediately by Hurricane Irene, left behind a number of devastated historical homes. Many of Maryland's Prince Georges County landmarks were hard hit: Pleasant Hills, Tulip Hill, Weston, Mount Calvert, Bellefields, Bowling Heights and others. The ground rocked wildly, building a force that cracked the mortar joints of old brick walls and whiplashed the tall chimneys above. 




At several locations two, or even three, chimneys broke and fell, tearing huge holes in the roofs. Within days, Hurricane Irene dumped torrents of water inside these historical treasures.


At Pleasant Hills, we were very lucky to have the chimneys stay up. Still, we have to take two of them them down brick-by-brick, cover the resulting hole, and then rebuild each structure. If we don’t, another production by Mother Nature may bring them down and break open our roof. 

When the earthquake hit, Mr. Duval, a local religious man, was in the graveyard at St. Thomas Church in Croom. The belfry and tombstones shook so hard he thought  Doomsday had finally arrived. Had I been there, I’d have kept a sharp lookout for Buffy-the-Vampire-Slayer. 


As an author, I  see no use for the earthquake other than to write it into a novel.

In the meantime, former Baltimore Sun writer Ross Peddicord, who is now head of the Maryland Horse Industry Board, invited me to do a FULL MORTALITY book signing at the Maryland Department of Agriculture’s exhibit at the Maryland State Fair in conjunction with the Timonium’s horse races. I said yes!


In the 91 Degree heat of September 4, I arrived at the fairground’s Farm and Garden building, a block structure without air conditioning. The Department of Agriculture provided me with a hand-held paper-fan, but waving it only made me hotter. It was a sweatbox in there. 

Any jockey who wanted to make racing weight that day, could simply walk across the midway, past the Ferris wheel, and into in the Farm and Garden Building. We even had an Equicizer in our booth, except it was supposed to be for the children.  

In a daring display of bravery, I rode the fake exercise horse.  A dangerous sport, as I was laughing so hard, I almost fell off.  


After losing two pounds of water weight, selling a dozen books, and eating several fresh peaches, I took home a load of ripe red tomatoes, and first-blush farm apples. 

When I got home, the chimneys were still standing and I decided life is pretty sweet.

SHOW DOWN EXPECTED AT ST. LOUIS CORRAL

A gang of hard-shooting authors will gallop into St. Louis for the Anthony Boucher Mystery Convention in September. Pandemonium, panels, and podiums will take over the town. Writers, outfitted in shiny new badges, will draw pens and pencils and start firing. May the best gun win.

This is what happens when I learn the Bouchercon Committee has assigned me two panels at the convention. I get excited, words break loose, run wild, and fingers on the keyboard race out of control. If you will be at Bouchercon, come see me and the other authors on these two panels.

Let me give you the restrained version on my two performances.

Thursday, September 15
1:00PM-2:00PM
“SCRATCHES: Adding Depth to Character.”
Hotel room location: Landmark 1,2,3
Panelists: Mysti Berry (Moderator), Sparkle Abbey, Sasscer Hill, Joy Laughter, Victoria Laurie, Sandra Parshall

Saturday, September 17 8:30AM-9:30AM
“RELEASE ME: Finish Your Research and Write Your Book.”
Hotel room location: Majestic A,B,C
Panelists: Sasscer Hill (Moderator), Dan Johnson, Frances McNamara, Judy Moresi, Roberta Rogow, Nancy Means Wright.

Okay, I admit it. I have never moderated a panel before. Will I flub it? You won't know if you're not there.  When I mentioned the word "flub" to Tim Hallinan, author of  Macavity Best Novel Nominee, THE QUEEN OF PATPONG, he sent me the kindest tweet on Twitter:

Only 2 ways to moderate badly: do all the talking and not have questions. I know you won't do either. Direct message sent by Timothy Hallinan (@TimHallinan) to you (@SasscerHill) on Aug 10, 11:33 AM.

TimHallinan Timothy Hallinan

I can do that, I am sure. I have to end this blog now, drink more coffee, and study my panelists’ books. More later.
Sasscer

BOUCHERCON BOUND, WITH A MACAVITY LURKING IN THE WINGS

My mystery novel, FULL MORTALITY, was nominated for an Agatha Best First Award last winter. Though one of five finalists, the book did not win. Several of us “also rans” were moved to tears.

 But with a mental head slap, and the support of fellow writers, I moved on.

Next thing I know it’s summer and FULL MORTALITY is nominated for a Macavity Best First Mystery Award. I receive Twitter congrats from author Lawrence Block and New York Times writer, Joe Drape.

joedrape Joe Drape 

@ 

Congrats to @SasscerHill for high honors for her debut mystery novel Full Mortality. Must read, and look forward to more. 23 Jul

Oh boy, here we go again. I had so much fun at Boucherdon 2010. I saw author friends and idols

met Lee Child,

fought Jack Reacher,

and spoke on the “Off-beat Protagonists” Panel on Thursday, and on Friday a “30 on the 30" session they titled “Racing from Death: Mysteries at the Racetrack.”

I wasn’t under the extra pressure of an award nomination last year, didn’t know enough about the Macavity, and realized I’d better get educated right quick. 

After learning the basics (“Macavity's a mystery cat. He's called the Hidden Paw;
 For he's a master criminal who can defy the law . . .”) I emailed Janet Rudolph, founder of  the Mystery Readers Journal – whose members vote on the Macavity Awards.

“Is there a ceremony?” I asked. “Do we finalists know anything before hand, or do we sweat it out like I did at the Agathas, only knowing the results when the announcement is made?”

She replied, “The Macavity Awards will be given out during opening ceremonies. Sadly, you won't know if you won until 'the moment'...”

I thanked Janet for the reply and noticed my eye teeth are already watching my fingernails in preparation for the nail biting Bouchercon blast. 

“I must,” I thought, “be sure to pack a crutch supply of bourbon to help protect my nails in St. Louis.”

In the great event the gods bestow a Macavity Best First upon Full Mortality, I promise not to brandish my bottle of bourbon before the Bouchercon attendees. 

FULL MORTALITY NOMINATED FOR A MACAVITY BEST FIRST AWARD!

Ever ignorant Sasscer Hill; her book’s a nominee?
A Macavity Cat award she asks herself, whatever could that be?


Quickly, so my ignorance could not be truly seen,
I looked it up on the internet, then asked Jon L. Breen
Macavity's a Mystery Cat, Jon said, he's called the Hidden Paw 
By not knowing who he is you’ve broken every mystery law!


In shame I read the poem by T S Eliot
And was not surprised to find I liked it quite a lot! 

Here is my favorite stanza from Eliot’s poem:


“Macavity's a ginger cat, he's very tall and thin;
You would know him if you saw him, for his eyes are sunken in.
His brow is deeply lined with thought, his head is highly doomed;
His coat is dusty from neglect, his whiskers are uncombed.
He sways his head from side to side, with movements like a snake;
And when you think he's half asleep, he's always wide awake.”


For more on this award follow this link: http://www.mysteryreaders.org/macavity.html


Please stop by the Lipstick Chronicles on Sunday, July 3 and read how riding a steeplechase race is like writing a novel. Check it out. It’s not as ridiculous as it sounds.
 http://thelipstickchronicles.typepad.com/  

An educated mystery cat

Rough Sailing in the Kindle Sea, or Death By E-Publicide

“Other people do it, so why can’t I?” And with this brave premise I launched into the Kindle self-pub sea.

My short story, “Steamroller,” was written as an entry for the MWA Anthology previously called “Dark Justice.” They are calling it something else now, and since only ten stories out of hundreds of submissions were accepted, “Steamroller” didn’t get in. 

Okay, I thought.  I’ll sell in on Amazon.

My first problem: I am a Corel Word Perfect user and have never learned anything but the basics on Microsoft Word. And I have a bad attitude – I hate the way Microsoft keeps changing, forcing users to upgrade, face yet another learning curve, and spend their money. And what really amuses me is Kindle says they cannot take a Word 2010 file!

Rant finished.  I converted the story from Word Perfect to Microsoft Word and made sure I put manual Word page breaks where needed (after title page, reviews page, etc.) Still it took all day to get the text file up on Kindle.

The file I submitted on Tuesday was up on Amazon Wednesday morning. The Kindle "preview" looked fine Tuesday. But I ordered the book and opened it on my computer’s Kindle application to make sure it looked professional. The cover and front matter were fine. Actual story was a disaster. Some grafs had no indent, some had indents, still others were in block form. Shoot me. In the meantime people were buying the story. It went to #28K in sales rank. I had sold multiple copies of a story in a lousy format. Shoot me again.

I wrote Kindle, then “unpublished” the book as soon as my Kindle bookshelf page dropped the limbo "publishing" status listed next to the book. When your book is “publishing” you can’t unpublish or make any edits. The good thing about Kindle is that any time the drop down arrow next to the word “action” on your bookshelf page is working, you can click on edit, then reload a different copy of the book’s text. Happily, Kindle writes over what was there. 

Magically, I heard back from Kindle! Whoever wrote me even said they saw that I had most recently uploaded a PDF file, and kindly told me why that hadn’t worked either. Believe me, I feel like I have tried everything other than paying someone money I don’t have to do this for me.

Mr./Ms Responder said that I needed to take my word file and justify the text. I did. Mr./Ms. Responder said to save it as a “web page, Filtered (*.htm, *html).” This direction confused me because my Word offers save as “web page, Filtered” – nothing at all about “*.htm, *html.”   

Not knowing what else to do this morning, Friday, June 24, I saved the text as a “web page, Filtered,” reloaded it onto Kindle and looked at the preview, which, of course, looked fine. I republished. Now I wait to see what it really looks like when it comes out tomorrow and I spend another $0.99 to buy it again.

For what it’s worth all the rest of the stuff you fill out, title, rights, price, was easy to do. I was very lucky with the cover because the pro-photographer Rick Samuels let me have a picture he took of a horse named Stay Thirsty. The horse was ridden by an exercise girl that could surely be Nikki Latrelle. Sisters in Crime member Beth Hinshaw took the photo and made a terrific cover. All I had to do was give her the pixel size that Kindle asked for, none of which means anything to me, and she sent me a JPEG that looked great on the Amazon page when the story was up on Wednesday.

And now while I wait on Kindle, I am holding my nose and jumping into deep Nook waters. Wish me luck.

BLACK-EYED SUSANS DAY AT PIMLICO

Royal Delta winner of the Black-Eyed Susans going to post.

Thanks to the enthusiasm and endless promotion by Karin De Francis and the Maryland Jockey Club, the Black-Eyed Susans (BES) Day program at Pimlico matches any racing event I’ve attended in the country.  


BES day is also Lady-Legends Day, and I couldn’t wait, rushing out early to meet the gal that was giving me a ride, Christy Clagett. Christy was also taking the ninety-year-old lady-legend, Jane Toal. Jane was a cancer research scientist at NIH for many years and always an avid foxhunter.  When I climbed into the back seat of Christy’s SUV, Jane sat up front wearing a thickly knit wool hat, a leather sun visor, amber racing goggles and a winter coat.

I wondered if we were really going to Pimlico.

Jane Toal

Jane cranked her head around slowly and said, “I wear this to protect my head and eyes.” Then she talked for a while, sharp as a knife and totally with it. I had no doubt she was one tough bird.


Christy was cruising on the Baltimore beltway, when Jane asked me to check through her large, wheeled-bag for her BES ticket. Fifteen minutes later, I still hadn’t found it. I found a lot of interesting stuff, but not the ticket. 


When we arrived at the entrance to the Pimlico parking lots, Christy suddenly had other business to take care of. She hopped out of her SUV and handed me the keys, leaving me with Jane. Christy has long legs, and I couldn’t figure out how to adjust her car seat. Driving with my feet straining toward the pedals, I was waved past numerous parking attendants and finally directed to a designated space. 


I looked over at ninety-year old Jane and her large wheeled bag, then at the Grandstand over half-mile away.  


Jane, not a lady-legend for nothing, insisted on rolling her bag herself. “I’m slow,” she said, “but I’ll get there.” 


We headed off across the broken gravel lot toward the grandstand that loomed like a mirage in the distance. “This isn’t working work for me,” I thought, and jogged ahead to an attendant holding a track radio. I pointed to the old lady creeping toward us with her bag on wheels. 


“We need a golf cart,” I said. “That’s one of the lady-legends.” It was like saying “open sesame.”


Pimlico staff had a golf cart magically appear and ferry us to the entrance, lickety split. Only Jane still didn’t have a ticket. 


Fortunately, Crystal Kimball, owner of the Equiery and another force behind Lady- Legends Day, was near the entrance with a gaggle of staff and other “retired” lady-legends. I stashed Jane with them and rushed over to Will Call to get my ticket, then hot-footed into the ticket office to straighten out Jane’s problem. After zipping back to Jane to ask a few pertinent questions, and a two-minute-lick back to the ticket office, I returned to the group of ladies, proudly bearing a ticket for Jane.


Leaving the gaggle behind, I headed for the entrance gate. Rain had threatened that morning, so I carried an umbrella, only a guard warned me that umbrellas were not allowed inside. I turned toward the distant parking lot, and stuck the top half of my walking-stick-styled umbrella under my coat, and the bottom half into my bag. 


I was busted at the gate. Schlepping back to Christy’s car to unload the dangerous umbrella, it’s possible I said a bad word. Maybe two. At last, I got inside the grandstand, past the paddock and over the tram – a covered walk across the dirt racetrack. Inside the Turfside Terrace tent, I collapsed in a chair.

The Turfside Terrace Tent before the day got started.

Kitsi Christmas and my nephew Bartholt Clagett handicapping.

Me and Karin De Francis

The best act of the day! The Lunabells. Roll over Dixie Chicks.

Pink and hats were everywhere!

Even pink hair!

Alidia Clagett, Crystal Kimball, Kitsi Christmas and Bartholt Clagett

Alidia and Bartholt's other aunt, Christy Clagett with a Budweiser  horse.

Me with a different Budweiser Horse. His head is as big as me!

Me and Kitsi

  
Immediately after the Black-Eyed Susans ran, the entire entourage of retired lady-legends either walked or golf-carted to Pimlico’s stake’s barn for a tour. All the horses running in the Preakness were in that barn! Except when we arrived, we weren’t allowed inside. 


But I’d seen something really interesting before we’d turned the last corner. A man in dark glasses with a handsome shock of long white hair. Had to be top trainer and mega racing personality Bob Baffert. I hopped off my golf cart and double-timed it back, pulling my camera out as unashamedly as any paparazzi. I admit it – I had someone snap a picture of me with Baffert.


It didn’t take long for the others to catch on, and within moments the golfcart brigade was rolling toward Baffert. A photo session ensued, with cameras popping out of bags, cases, and pockets. But Baffert just rolled with it. No wonder he is loved by the press and the entire racing industry.  


Since I know he has a zany sense of humor, and everyone else was too star struck to say anything, I said, “Bob, you and I were friends on FaceBook . . . for about three minutes.” 


“Yeah,” he said, “it was really fun  . . . I don’t know . . . .” He allowed a look of regret to cross his face. “My wife made me get off. She thought there were too many flirtatious emails.”


I said, “You mean your beautiful blond wife, who provided you with a gorgeous child?”


“That was mostly me,” he said. “I was the sire.”

When you have an opportunity, you keep going, so I said, “Do you remember when Informed Decision was in your barn at Santa Anita for the Breeder’s Cup in 2009?  And Barry Wiseman was leading her around your shedrow and you tried to throw both of them out?” 


Informed Decision is the huge, beautiful,  grey mare who won the Breeder’s Cup Sprint a few days later, and Baffert is so quick and so cool, he grabbed the story and ran with it.


“I do remember that,” he said. “I thought it was some raggedy assed European outfit that wasn’t supposed to be there.”


“Yes,” I said. “You told Barry Wiseman he had to get that horse out of your barn.” 


Baffert was nodding, so I kept going. “And Barry looked at you and said, ‘I have to get THIS horse out of your barn?’” 


For any reader who knows Barry, you know this was probably said with the kind of quiet intensity that makes you want to watch your back. But Baffert was grinning now and continued with the story.


“So one of my people comes up to me and says, ‘Bob, they’re with Jonathan Sheppard!’” 


Baffert put his hand over his mouth as if the memory was painful. A word I won’t repeat here escaped him. 


“Barry was so steamed at you,” I said, “and from that day forward he has called you ‘Bob Baffled.’” 


Hard to see behind those dark-glasses, but I think Baffert took the hit really well.

Me and Bob Baffled, I mean Baffert.

VULTURES AND VAMPIRES

What kind of parents raise there young in a place like this? Vultures do. Reminds me of vampires that sleep in a coffin, werewolves that roam through hell, and zombies who are undead.

On a lighter note, these little birds, about two weeks old when picture was taken, stood up for this picture, spread their wings, and hissed mightily at the photographer. Love the junior chick who is hiding under his sibling's wing.  "If I can't see them, they can't see me."

 Their mom flew the coop, but came back as soon as the photographer left. These chicks are in an abandoned barn in Maryland, and the people who live there say they are getting bigger every day.  Soon, they will be rising on a thermal. Wish I could.