Authors and Their Characters
Kathleen Kaska

An author has to know their character as well as they know themselves; their likes, dislikes; what they love; what they are afraid of; what their passions are, and what motivates them to do certain things and achieve certain accomplishments. A character, especially, if he/she appears in a series, has to grow and change and it’s the author’s job to make that happen in a realistic way.

When I write, I don’t develop my characters. They simply appear in my life and we get to know one another. It’s always a pleasant surprise when I realize the character has staying power. In my Sydney Lockhart books, Sydney’s cousin Ruth was to appear in a brief scene in the beginning of book one. She made a surprise appearance in chapter two and has evolved into a delightful sidekick that readers expect to see in every book. I couldn’t keep her out if I wanted to. I also planned for Detective Dixon to stay put in Hot Spring, Arkansas, but with book four having been recently released, he is now living and working in Austin, Sydney’s hometown.

There are many difficult aspects to writing fiction, fortunately for me, character development isn’t one of them.

My Other Life
Kathleen Kaska

I’m one of those people who doesn't have natural talents. That used to bother me until I realized that learning something new could be just as rewarding as being born with an innate ability. I’ve learned to do several things during my sixty-something years: write; draw; train in order to run a Marathon; and my most challenging endeavor, teach middle school kids. Oh, and recently, I’ve learned to troubleshoot my way around technical computer and software issues; okay, may not that, but at least I try.

Writers don’t often get to talk about what else they do, so when Karla presented me with her latest blog topic, I was grateful for the opportunity. I think I wanted to be an artist long before I wanted to write, but since every face I drew turned out looking like a wrinkled squash, I decided to give up on right-brain activities and focus on science and teaching. It wasn’t until I retired from the classroom that I signed up for art classes.

For the first year and a half, drawing was a struggle, but my instructor encouraged me to stay with it, assuring me that things would “click” one day.  She was right. I was sketching an old barn from a photo I’d taken. I was having trouble making the sloping roof look like it was actually sloping. I almost gave up, but I’d put so much time into it that I trudged on until the image magically appeared. I did several more landscapes before I tackled animals and most recently birds. Every now and then I try sketching a face. Although my skills have advanced from the wrinkled squash stage, I’m not quite there yet.

I have a few other tasks I’d like to learn: improving my chess game so I can beat people older than nine: fly a plane, but since I’m afraid of heights, I put that one on the back burner. I also thought about hiring a voice coach to teach me how to sing, but I’m smart enough to know my limits.


Bio:
Kathleen Kaska writes the award-winning Sydney Lockhart Mysteries set in the 1950s. Her first two books Murder at the Arlington and Murder at the Luther, were selected as bonus-books for the Pulpwood Queens Book Group, the largest book group in the country. The third book in the series, Murder at the Galvez, was released in 2012. She also writes the Classic Triviography Mystery Series, which includes The Agatha Christie Triviography and Quiz Book, The Alfred Hitchcock Triviography and Quiz Book, and The Sherlock Holmes Triviography and Quiz Book. The Alfred Hitchcock and the Sherlock Holmes trivia books are finalists for the 2013 EPIC award in nonfiction Her nonfiction book, The Man Who Saved the Whooping Crane: The Robert Porter Allen Story. 

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The Last Line.  How to End a Story. 
with Kathleen Kaska

AP: Give a brief explanation of how you know when the end is written? Is it instinct? Is it planned?  Any advice to writers on ending a story?

KK: The murder’s been solved, loose ends have been tied up, but my protagonist, Sydney Lockhart’s life goes on, so I leave my readers with a bit of a cliff hanger for the next installment or a joke for them to contemplate.

It’s usually not planned. I let my characters lead me.

My advice to writers is to do what feels right, whether you’re a planner or a pantser.

AP: Give us the last line from one of your books, don't need to say which one, and a little about how you knew it was the last line?

KK: In my first mystery, Murder at the Arlington, Sydney encounters Ralph Dixon, a detective with the Hot Springs Police Department. There’s an instance attraction between them, but Sydney is determined to stay free and single. Also in the story, Sydney receives several annoying phone calls from her crazy parents. At the conclusion, Sydney is back home, working on her story (she’s a reporter). Here’s the ending.

            The phone rang, jarring me out of my ruminations.

            Mealworm’s [the cat] tail twitched. She shot an irritating look at the phone, then turned her attention back to the feeder. I looked down at Monroe, who was whimpering because of a doggy dream, which caused her to drool on my slipper.

            The clock chimed ten.

            “Who’d be calling at this hour?” I asked Mealworm. She knew the call wasn’t for her, so she ignored my question. It could be my mother calling to thank me for saving her marriage, or Red Newsome, inviting me to return to the Crooked J for an encore, or, maybe . . . Lieutenant Ralph Dixon. I wasn’t willing to take the chance.

            Much to my cat’s annoyance, I just let the phone ring.
 
AP:  Bonus:  Tell us some of your favorite last lines in a book, include the title. And, maybe why it is a favorite.

           
KK:  I’m hooked on Martha Grimes’ Emma Graham series. Here’s the ending of her first book, Cold Flat Junction:

            I said, “I wish the past weren’t dead and gone; I wish things weren’t over.”

            Dwayne smiles. “’The past ain’t dead; it ain’t even the past. Billy Faulkner.”

            I thought for a moment, and then I smiled too. “This is my story, and it’s not over till I say it’s over. Emma Graham.”

            We laughed.

            I watched Dwayne’s real smoke and my pretend twine upward toward the gunmetal poacher’s moon.

It’s one of my favorites because there is something special going on between these two characters, Emma, age twelve and Dwayne, twenty-something. They are friends with future potential. I didn’t want the story to end.

Bio:

Kathleen Kaska writes the award-winning Sydney Lockhart Mysteries set in the 1950s. Her first two books Murder at the Arlington and Murder at the Luther, were selected as bonus-books for the Pulpwood Queens Book Group, the largest book group in the country. The third book in the series, Murder at the Galvez, was released in 2012. She also writes the Classic Triviography Mystery Series, which includes The Agatha Christie Triviography and Quiz Book, The Alfred Hitchcock Triviography and Quiz Book, and The Sherlock Holmes Triviography and Quiz Book. The Alfred Hitchcock and the Sherlock Holmes trivia books are finalists for the 2013 EPIC award in nonfiction Her nonfiction book, The Man Who Saved the Whooping Crane: The Robert Porter Allen Story. 

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Who’s Writing this Story, Anyway?
What Happens When Characters Take Over
by Kathleen Kaska

As writers we’ve been asked the question many times, and have answered with humor, wit, and candor, only to receive that unbelievable stare in response. You know the one that says, “you can’t be serious.” So, a few years ago, when I was asked to write a piece for my writers’ group about how authors develop or invent their characters, I turned my answer into the following short story.


“Seeds”

I met the old woman on a back road in Arkansas. It was a bright, breezy Thanksgiving afternoon. My husband and I were taking in the fall colors north of Hot Springs when we made the wrong turn back to town and had gotten lost. As he fumbled with the map, I lowered the window and I gazed out at an algae-covered pond. The air was heavy with the scent of pine and the ease of the moment seemed to settle in. Then I caught a movement from the corner of my eye. I turned and look. And there she was, standing by the car and smiling at me. 

“Let me do it,” she whispered. “Let me be the one.”

“Do what?” I said.

“Let me be the one to kill the goddamn bastard.”

Introductions were not necessary, I knew who she was, and I was glad to see her. I had been waiting for two months, but I did not expect her to show up here.

Eighty-two-year-old Ida Springfield was the most cantankerous old woman I had ever known. From Two Horse, Montana, Ida was no bigger than a stick. A stiff wind kicked up and I grabbed her hand for fear that she would fly away with the fallen foliage. She stared straight ahead, pulling at her lower lip the way she does when pondering a critical situation. I studied her profile. Pulled tight from her face, her hair formed a long, thick braid, which hung down her back. A few gray strands had come loose around her temples and with small, firm birdlike hands, Ida brushed the errant hair back. 

Everything about her was petite. Her thimble-size nose and slightly pointed chin gave a rather simple face some dimension. Her wrinkles were even tiny, almost as if they had been drawn on her face with a fine-tipped pencil. From a distance, except for the gray hair, she could easily pass for a woman several decades younger. One had to get close to tell Ida’s age. I wondered how close I would have to get to understand what Ida was all about.

“It won’t be easy, you know,” I said.

“Nothing good ever is. I’ll put the body in his car and push it into a pond.” She nodded toward the property across the road. “Like the one you’ve been staring at.” The look on her face frightened me.

“But one murder usually leads to another,” I reminded her.

I glanced at my husband—his nose deep in the Rand McNally, sorting out his own immediate problem, he ignored us.

“I know, sweetie. You let me worry about that,” Ida said. “Do what you do best: take care of the details.”

We returned to the hotel, just as the buffet crowd had begun to thin. This was the fifth consecutive year that my husband and I have celebrated the Thanksgiving holiday at the historic Arlington Hotel. The day’s routine had us hiking across the backbone of Music Mountain in the morning and cruising the back roads for the rest of the afternoon waiting for the families to feed first. We changed out of our grubby shorts and T-shirts, showered, and dressed for dinner in jeans and clean T-shirts and sat down at our favorite table next to the Venetian fountain.

Although the once succulent turkey now competed for dryness with the sage dressing, we preferred the quiet dining room after the masses had left. Over a bottle of Merlot, my husband and I discussed the murder. I told him about Ida and he agreed that she was the best candidate thus far. No one would suspect an old lady of killing her good-for-nothing husband, and sixty-five years later, her hateful son.

Besides, Ida wouldn’t give me a moment’s peace until I gave her the assignment. Despite my reservations about her ability to carry it off, and the fact that she was a pain in the ass, I was growing quite fond of the old gal.

Thanksgiving was the only time of year that I splurged on desserts. A sliver of pecan pie, and this year’s new addition to the dessert ensemble, a mocha-caramel cheesecake sat on my dessert plate. As I sliced a piece of apple torte in half, my eye caught a movement behind the fichus tree at the entrance to the Jockey's Bar. She stood there, head down, lips silently moving. I sat my plate down on the dessert table and rushed over. 

“Ida, what happened? Are you okay?”

She pulled away putting more waxy leaves between us as if she needed protection from me. A throaty crackle behind me made me turn. I did a double take.

“She’s shy until she gets to know you, and then it’s Jenny-bar-the-door. You can’t shut her up,” Ida chortled. “Veda, come out from behind that bush and meet your boss.”

“Veda?”

“My twin—she’s one special lady and she’s your motive, or my motive, that is. You see, Colter beating up on me is one thing, but the day he laid a hand on my retarded sister, I had to draw the line.”

“I get it now.” I licked apple torte crumbs from my thumb.

“Right. You thought I’d kill those two assholes because of my ranch, and you are right. I’d do anything to save it, but the real reason is because Colter comes home drunk and I catch him raping Veda.”

“Oh, Ida . . . I’m so sorry.” I turned around to reach out to Veda, but she had disappeared.

“She dies too, honey.”

“You again?” 

“Pneumonia. With all the shit going on, Veda’s health starts to wear down.”

“I see—it might just work.”

“You gonna eat all that dessert, honey?”

I looked down at my plate, embarrassed by my indulgence and that Ida should know my weakness for sweets. Then she disappeared also, leaving me standing alone at the fichus tree.

This always happens in Hot Springs—the place must be my Muse. One year I met long, tall Sydney Lockhart, the protagonist in my second mystery series. As I was unpacking, she walked out of the bathroom and asked me why there was a dead body lying in the bathtub, the very bathtub where she had been conceived thirty years ago. Before I could think of a reasonable answer, she then asked if I had room for her and her two animals, a cat named Mealworm, and a poodle name Monroe. Regardless of the no pet rule, I welcomed them with open arms, and by the week’s end, we had the plot lined out for the first Sydney Lockhart mystery, Murder at the Arlington.

One of the miracles of writing is when my characters present themselves when I least expect it. What’s even more amazing is they often take over and tell the story for me. It’s almost like a seed had been planted a long time ago, and suddenly the conditions turn ideal, and the seed germinates—and for a moment, writing is simple and a heck of a lot of fun.

Where Do My Mysteries Begin?
Kathleen Kaska

My mysteries always begin first with my infamous list, then a bit of history, followed by an extended visit.

The list has grown over the years and has been added to not just by me, but dozens of folks who have read my books. It has grown so long I would have to live well into the next century to write a book about each item on the list. Here are some of the latest additions: The Shamrock, The Bensen, The Excelsior, The Monticello, The Peabody, The Jefferson, del Coronado, The Biltmore, and the Crescent. If you haven’t already guessed, the list is made up of hotels—historic hotels—the settings of my Sydney Lockhart Mysteries, which takes places in the early 1950s. The hotels I choose have to still be in operation today.

Once I decide on a location, I give Sydney a reason for being there. This is where my research begins. I like to use an actual historic event to build my plot. For example, my latest mystery, Murder at the Galvez, takes place at the Galvez Hotel in Galveston, Texas. Looking through some old newspapers, I discovered a controversial project involving the development of Pelican Island, a small piece of land once used as on unofficial Confederate fort, complete with fake guns to ward off the enemy had a Civil War battle reached the Texas gulf coast. In the 1950s, the island was the depositary for the dredge from the digging of the Houston Ship Channel until the city decided to develop the island and turn it into a resort. The fictional murder that takes place in the book is associated with the project. In Murder at the Arlington I got a lot of mileage out of the illegal gambling that once took place in Hot Springs, Arkansas. And I couldn’t resist using the Driskill Hotel’s colorful ghost history in my upcoming book, Murder at the Driskill (Austin, Texas).

And finally, to give each story the feeling of authenticity, I have to spend several days or weeks at each hotel, soaking up the ambiance. Like the saying goes, “It’s a tough job, but someone’s got to do it.”

www.kahtleenkaska.com

www.kathleenkaskawrites.blogspot.com




Kathleen writes the Sydney Lockhart Mystery series and the Classic Triviography Mystery Series published by LL-Publications. Her Sherlock Holmes and Alfred Hitchcock trivia books were finalists for the 2013 EPIC Award in nonfiction. Her nonfiction book, The Man Who Saved the Whooping Crane: The Robert Porter Allen Story, has been nominated for the George Perkins Marsh Award for environmental history.

It took years of research, interviews and words to complete a story near and dear to the heart of author, Kathleen Kaska.

Her book, The Man Who Saved the Whooping Crane, is making it's rounds, not just with bird lovers, also readers who love a good story.

THE MAN WHO SAVED THE WHOOPING CRANE: The Robert Porter Allen Story is timely and will capture the hearts of anyone who appreciates wildlife conservation and enjoys a true adventure story. The Robert Porter Allen story is best described as Indiana Jones meets John James Audubon.

Nominated for the George Perkins Marsh Award for environmental history.

Nominated for the Washington State Book Award for history/general nonfiction.


Find it on Kathleen Kaska's website...

AP
As you right your first draft you may fumble through it, but when you revise/rewrite your work:

1. Do you have a play-by-play method for revising/polishing your work in order to reach the goal line?
2. Or, do instincts kick in and tell you when you have made a touchdown? In other words, how do you know when it's just right?




Kathleen Kaska

It’s Football Season? Already?

I guess you can tell I’m not a big football fan. But, I’ll give it my best shot in using some football jargon to describe how I complete my mysteries.

In writing my first draft, I can’t say I ever really fumble. As soon as I get my first sentence, I’m off and running. It’s just me and the plot, with my characters running along side. We’re having such fun; it looks as though we’ll take it all the way to the goal line. I see the words “The End” flash on the scoreboard. I’m sprinting like there’s no tomorrow. Then somewhere near the eighty-yard line, I’m I struck from behind. I hit the cold, hard ground; stunned; shocked; not sure of where I am. My characters stand around, shouting for me to get up, but I can’t. I simply stare at the scoreboard; the clock ticks away—seconds, minutes, hours, days—until I realize I have to start over and plan my strategy. I call time out, go back to page one, and start taking notes. I look for characters who shouldn’t be there, loose ends that need tying, plot points that need to be delete or expanded. And when I think I have it all figured out, my protagonist hikes me the ball. During those final twenty yards, I’m usually tackled several more times. Each time, it’s easier to get up and start over. When I’ve checked everything off my fix-it list, I stop on the ninety-nine yard line and turn around. The tacklers are gone; my characters are smiling; I step over the goal line and do a victory dance. And if that event happens during September, as it did with my latest mystery, I treat myself by watching (don’t hate me) as much baseball as possible.

Kathleen Kaska writes the Sydney Lockhart Mystery series and the Classic Triviography Mystery Series published by LL-Publications. Her Sherlock Holmes and Alfred Hitchcock trivia books were finalists for the 2013 EPIC Award in nonfiction. Her nonfiction book, The Man Who Saved the Whooping Crane: The Robert Porter Allen Story, has been nominated for the George Perkins Marsh Award for environmental history.

www.kathleenkaska.com

www.kathleenkaskawrites.blogspot.com

When Magic Happens

by Kathleen Kaska

            Magic in my writing often comes in the form of coincidences; those serendipitous things I believe are much more than happenstance. Some are small affirmations that I’m on the right track, like when I decided to set one of my mysteries in southwest Montana. The story is about a rancher’s attempt to save a herd of wild horses. I later found out this very area is home to one of the largest wild horse population in the country. What an affirmation that was!

            Another time, my husband and I were exploring the back roads around Hot Spring, Arkansas when we made the wrong turn back to town and had gotten lost. The road wound us deep into the woods, and while my husband attempted to get us out, I went into deep contemplation of a murder plot I was having trouble with. Suddenly, I spotted an algae-covered pond and the brain cells began gyrating. By the time we’d reached the end of the road, the entire plot was laid out before me as if I had been watching a movie. I looked up at the road sign as we turned onto the highway. I got chills when I noticed we’d been traveling on a road named Murder’s Row.

            The most recent magical moment happened a few weeks ago. My frustration level over my current Sydney Lockhart mystery had become so high, I felt like deleting the entire 80,000-word manuscript and starting over. Instead, I decided to give my brain a break and relive our 2009 vacation to Maine. It was one of those trips where we had no plans, no reservations, and no schedule. One afternoon we drove into the tiny town of Kingfield, and seeing the old Herbert Grand Hotel, we stopped in. (By the way, historic hotels are where my Lockhart mysteries are set.) It was off-season, and the owner gave us a tour and recommended his best room, a suite with a fireplace and baloney overlooking Main Street and the Carrabassett River. But what caught my eye, was the picture hanging over the bed, it was of a beautiful redheaded girl holding an envelope and smiling (By the way Sydney has red hair, too). I called her "Little Sydney" because I imagined this is what Sydney Lockhart looked like when she was young. I told my husband that the message in the envelope was for me, and one day I would find out what that message was.           

            At the time, I’d set my current story at the historic Excelsior Hotel in Jefferson, Texas because I wanted to include a ghost element in the subplot and the Excelsior is known for its numerous resident ghosts. But, I soon discovered that the Driskill in Austin, Texas (Sydney’s home and mine for twenty-five years) was considered the most haunted hotel in the state. So mystery number four became Murder at the Driskill instead of Murder at the Excelsior. Well, the ghost thing wasn't working out and I was having a difficult time finishing this book. I began to wonder if I’d made the right decision to switch venues. To break the block, I decided to do a little more research into the ghost thing. I found this news story and YouTube video about ghosts at the Driskill, and in watching that video, the message in the little girl’s envelope was revealed.

            The murder in my book takes place on the fifth floor in the Yellow Rose Suite. A portion of the video “coincidently” was shot on the fifth floor. As the camera panned on the Yellow Rose Suite, I noticed hanging on the wall right next to the room was that very same painting that hung over our bed in the Herbert Grand Hotelin Maine.

            The story goes the painting is of the little girl was Samantha Houston who died at the Driskill Hotel in 1887 when she tumbled down the stairs chasing her ball. Her spirit had remained on the fifth floor since that time and she is often seen and heard bouncing her ball and giggling. The message in the envelope?—“don’t ditch the ghost.” I got busy writing and soon the plot problems disappeared and the book’s draft is completed. One big coincidence; I think not.

            Incidentally, the painting is not really that of Samantha Houston, although it makes a great story for the hotel’s promotional literature. The painting is entitled Love Letters by artist Charles Trevor Garland. If you’d like to see the video, here’s the link: http://www.kvue.com/news/Special-Assignment-History-and-hauntings-of-the-Driskill-Hotel-174483061.html

            Look for Murder at the Driskill early next year.

            Thanks, Karla, for having me as a guest on Armchair Publishing. 



Kathleen Kaska
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