Out with the Old?

As 2024 draws to a close, I've been throwing out paper. Tax records are easy (only required for seven years), as is most medical material (which can be accessed online now).

What about writing ideas? I have a drawer of them. (Well, half of one. Other files are for books I'm working on or contain research materials.)

A few years ago, I scanned the contents of some folders, but that was using an older computer. I doubt I could put my hands on the digital files. Should I start over? What are the chances I will write those pieces? 

Of course, I've convinced myself that if I toss any of the material I will later decide I should have kept it. 

I've developed some "keep or toss" criteria, though I won't commit to applying them. Ask yourself:

1) If finding the material in a file does not make you remember when (or why) you wrote it, will you really use it?

2) When is the last time you added even a paragraph to the sample chapter or proposal?

3) If the ideas were jotted on napkins, is the paper still intact?

4) Do you want anyone else going through the folders after you die? (This is a more relevant question for older writers but, heck, that bell can toll anytime.)

Answers will vary, but my guess is the process will get easier when you run out of filing space or you trip over a pile that's too big to put in a drawer.

Happy New Year!

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Sometimes a Phrase Strikes You

My husband always has a book of poetry in the bathroom. He would probably not like that I mention that, but he doesn't read my blog, so it's safe.

A poem (in the book Good Poems for Hard Times, edited by Garrison Keillor) by Ted Berrigan closes with, "Let none regret my end who called me friend." 

It implies so much. The poet (if he's writing from his own point of view) had friends. He chose to comfort them by making clear he would be at peace when he passed. Though that would be hard to predict with total accuracy, the chances increase because he expects to be at peace.

Having had successful cancer surgery this year, I have no thoughts of my own demise. A phrase has not felt so perfect to me since one from Robert Louis Stevenson's The Swing. 

Up in the air and over the wall,

Till I can see so wide,

Rivers and trees and cattle and all

Over the countryside—

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Thinking about Ancillary Characters

In my current WIP (Fired Up and Feisty), suspicion swirls around a group of seniors in town for the annual alumni weekend at Ocean Alley High School. My mystery series books always introduce new characters or "pull to the forefront" people who were incidental in prior books. But they don't usually have a group of outsiders coming into town.

I'm thinking through what to reveal about each of them -- appearance, high school experience (good or bad?), attitude (snooty or friendly?), type of humor (endless possibilities there), and more. If I spend more time on one character than others, readers may think I'm establishing that person as the villain or future victim. If I say an even amount of fairly little about each person, they'll all be flat.

I decided to say or show one distinctive thing about each one the first time they appear. Sometimes it takes few words, sometimes more. For example:

Madge walked toward them. “Did anyone see Catherine? And what about Sandy Cotton? They were both on the third floor.”

The woman with red curls said, “Someone in an SUV came to get them. Sandy told a policeman where they were going.”

“Ah. Good,” Madge said.

“Too good to stay with us?” a man asked.

Two or three people said, “Shut up, Harvey.”

That tells you Harvey is a smart-aleck and others don't hesitate to let him know that.

As guests who had to leave the hotel because of a fire sit in city hall, they show their impatience. Who wouldn't?

The woman with iron-gray hair asked, “Can we get this show on the road?”

A grumpy looking man asked, “You wanna drive the bus?”

“I could do it better…”

“Hey, folks.” The man had an air of authority about him. “Doesn’t help to grouse.”

Madge remembered him as the man dressed as a college professor at last night’s diner gathering. She didn’t recall that he’d introduced himself. He had at least managed to wear shoes, slacks, and a collared shirt, albeit wrinkled.

The grumpy man said, “Put a cork in it, Redford.”

What you most learn from this brief banter is that Redford is not popular. And is perhaps precise.

I've slowed down a bit to develop better back stories for the B&B guests, all of whom are new to the series. I don't think I want the level of detail as for continuing characters, but I may surprise myself.

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