John, 1st Baron Tweedmuir Redux

Annamaria on Monday
I have been trying to pull myself away from Vera and Tolliver 5.  Every once in while I have to stop to look up something to keep my portrayal of British East Africa resonable accurate.  Today that meant I came across a name that seemed vaguely familiar.  "Didn't write a blog about this guy?"  I actually found said post, and thought some of you might never have seen this. So here it is.  If you've seen it before, I hope you find this reminder worth a look.

John Buchan keeps showing up in my life.  I would say he was stalking me, but he has been dead since before I was born.

Here are the facts of our relationship, if you can call it that.

I knew one of John’s stories long before I knew his name.  That story is The Thirty-Nine Steps, made famous because Alfred Hitchcock turned it into a movie.  What I remembered was the name of Buchan's main character: Richard Hannay, who was also featured in a BBC miniseries based on The Thirty-Nine Steps and in a hilarious spoof of the story produced by my beloved and brilliant Hudson Valley Shakespeare Festival.

I was minding my own business, researching the Protectorate of British East Africa, when I came across a word I did not know: “greenmantlish.”  It was used in a book published in 1929 to describe an event in the life of the author, a Brit who had been a policeman in Nairobi in 1908. 

 

When I looked up the word, I found that Google had never heard of it—a fact amazing in itself since most of the terms I google get hundreds of the thousands of hits in a few seconds.  “Greemantle,” without the “ish” yielded about 216,000 hits in .34 seconds.  The first was a Wikipedia entry that featured the name of my old pal Richard Hannay.  I recognized that moniker right away.  “Greenmantle” it turns out was the sequel to The Thirty-Nine Steps and second in a series of five novels with Hannay as the main character.  By then, I knew John Buchan's name too.

Then John Buchan took another step into my life.  In the midst of further research into British East Africa, I came upon the old chap again, this time in relation to books he had written about World War I in Africa.  (My Africa series will take me into the World War One years once I get to 1915.)

Having encountered  John Buchan for the third time, I figured I’d better find out more about him.  Here’s a précis of what I have learned:

John Buchan, 1^st Baron of Tweedsmuir PC GCMG GCVO CH was born in 1875, the son of Scots clergyman.  He studied at Brasenose College Oxford, took a degree in law, but never practiced at the bar.  He became instead a novelist, historian, Member of Parliament, and eventually became Governor General of Canada.  He began his diplomatic service in Southern Africa.  During his long political career he supported free trade, women’s suffrage, national insurance, and curtailing the powers of the House of Lords.  Between 1896 and 1940 (the year he died), he wrote thirty-five novels (mostly adventure stories, mysteries, and thrillers) and fifty-two works of non-fiction, averaging two books a year while keeping his day job!

I have already lived longer than he and having just finished only my eleventh book, his output makes me feel like a piker. 

I've Been Everywhere, Man

 

Sara E. Johnson, 1^st Sunday

"I've Been Everywhere” is a quirky tune written by Australian country singer Geoff Mack in 1959. It’s comprised mostly of place names. Johnny Cash nails the North American version. (“I’ve been to Chaska, Nebraska, Alaska, Opelika, Baraboo, Waterloo, Kalamazoo, Kansas City, Sioux City, Cedar City, Dodge City, what a pity.”) The New Zealand rendition came out in 1966 and starts: “Well I was hitching a ride on a winding Hokitika road, when along came a lorry....

                                                

The narrator gets a ride. The lorry drivers asks if he’s ever seen such a dusty road. The response: "Look, listen mate, I've been everywhere in this here land. I've been to

    Kaparoa Whangaroa Akaroa Motueka
    Taramoa Benmore Pongaroa Horoeka
    Rimutaka Te Karaka Whangarei
    Nuhaka Waimahaka Motuhura Waikaka
    Motonui Hokonui Papanui Wainui
    Matawai Rongotai Pikowai. I've been everywhere, man.”

That’s how I feel about crime conferences. I’ve been everywhere, man.

Bouchercon Malice Domestic Left Coast Crime

Sleuthfest CrimeScene Killer Nashville Clam Bake

Suffolk Mystery Festival CrimeCon

Writers Police Academy ThrillerFest…

I exaggerate a little but you get the idea. This year I sought a different experience – one in which I could hone my work-in-progress and attend sessions on craft. I just returned from Writers in Paradise, a week-long, competitive conference held annually in St. Peterburg, Florida. Dennis Lehane and Sterling Watson cofounded it in 2005. Its mission is to provide talented and hardworking writers of all levels and genres the opportunity to learn from and work with other writers under the guidance of masterful authors.

This years ‘masterful’ authors included guest of honor Michael Connelly and instructors Laura Lippman (crime), Ann Hood (novel), Stuart O’Nan (novel), Michael Koryta (supernatural, horror, suspense), Andre Dubus (short story), Madeleine Blais (nonfiction), and Luis Alberto Urrea (memoir).

I submitted 25 pages and a synopsis of my work-in-progress. I was thrilled to be accepted into Laura Lippman’s crime fiction class.

                                            

                                                                   

At the opening night barbecue, WIP alumni Jemimah Wei (The Original Daughter) and Nancy Johnson (People of Means) gave tantalizing readings from their books while we sipped beverages.

                                                             

The next evening Michael Connelly was the keynote speaker. He was kind and modest. He writes tirelessly and with urgency. He gets joy out of creating a good turn of phrase. He writes one book at a time, front to back, and starts each day by revising what he wrote the day before. (Me too!) Michael Connelly tips:

• Keep your speed up. Momentum in writing is momentum in reading.

• Always look for the pivot.

• Character, character, character.

                                                    

Michael had started a new Bosch book just the day before. He shared the opening chapter with us. The first sentence is “Bosch walked between the headstones checking names as he passed.”

                                                 

Madeleine Blais, who as a staff writer with the Miami Herald won a Pulitzer Prize for feature writing, enthralled me with her craft session on research. She’s written many nonfiction books. Her latest is Queen of the Court: The Many Lives of Tennis Legend Alice Marble. Madeleine tidbits:

• Research is genre agnostic.

• Go there.

• Have authority when you use research. It pleases the reader.

At the panel The Writing Life, Michael Koryta challenged me to write lean and emphasized that a person can never have too many headlamps. (Okay. That’s not writerly advice except perhaps, metaphorically. It was funny, but maybe you had to be there.)

                                                  

                                           Laura Lippman and Sara

My group met three hours daily with Laura Lippman, who was just named a Grandmaster by Mystery Writers of America. My manuscript was workshopped first on the first day – gulp! The experience was nerve-wracking and helpful. In chapter three, Sophie the dog drops a frozen human hand at her owner Reba’s feet. Reba, who is 81, thinks Hugh is not here to tell me what to do. Then she flashes back to Hugh’s stroke two years earlier.

My fellow crime writers helped me understand that no one flashbacks when they are staring at a severed hand! Laura Lippman emailed additional comments: The thing I can never control/predict (and hence my love for WIP) is the class response. I don’t think I have ever seen a workshop more united in its love for a character (Reba).

I happy dance. Then -

Does it make sense if I say I loved Reba’s scenes, but I don’t love the hand/dismemberment? This is an extremely subjective opinion, but I feel the more our killers mess with their victims’ bodies, the more desensitized our readers become. Murder is bad enough, it doesn’t have to be heightened.

I am considering Laura’s point, because – well – she’s published twenty-five books, but she also said, “Only you know the book you’re trying to write.”

I learned as much about writing from the other writers in our group and their manuscripts. Do we look like the killers that we are?

                                             

Something happened at Writers in Paradise that has been lacking for me at other conferences: I made new friends: Cheryl from NC and Autumn and Christine from CA among others. Perhaps it’s because of the length of the conference: eight days or perhaps it was because of the small groups. It enhanced my experience and we plan to stay in touch and prod each other on.

                                                     

                  Andre Dubus III (House of Sand and Fog) objects.
   

Writer Idol, held two afternoons, is modeled after reality show American Idol. Brave participants, including me, anonymously submit the first page of their manuscript to be read aloud. A panel of three faculty members decide whether it passes muster. (Two raised hands and the piece gets gonged.) I sat on the edge of the seat, but mine was never fished from the pile. What stopped the panel on other first pages were:

• green eyes – overdone!

• starting with a dream

• taking too long to get to the point

• overwriting

I’m back in icy North Carolina now, digesting at least a portion of what I have learned. Excuse me while I delete a flashback from an opening chapter. The severed hand? Please buy my book when its published to see if it’s a goner. 

What conferences have you attended as a reader or writer? Do you have a favorite? 

Until next month, friends,

Sara Johnson, 1^st Sundays

YIPPIE, My Brand New Series Debuts This Week!!!

         

Jeff–Saturday 

It’s been a long time in coming, but three days from now on February 3^rd, the New York City-based novel I’ve been working on for close to a dozen years will be published by Severn House in the UK and US. I couldn’t be happier with how things have turned out for A Study in Secrets, the debut novel in my brand new “The Redacted Man Series.

It is a very different sort of book from any of my fourteen Chief Inspector Andreas Kaldis novels, because it’s driven far more by the nuances of its characters and the intensity of their individual backstories than the sort of grandiose settings and unique cultural ways at play in my Greece-based Kaldis stories. 

 

 

In the opening scenes of A Study in Secrets my protagonist, Michael A, subtly offers his perspective on modern life and why he prefers a lifestyle reminiscent of elegant late 19^th Century living. That dichotomy provides a firm framework for moving the storyline forward at an ever increasing, more complicated pace. As for why I chose New York City over several other cosmopolitan international settings I’d been considering, I settled upon NYC because of how well I know the city and its secrets.

 

So, allow me to introduce you to Michael A, a Sherlock Holmes-worthy amateur sleuth possessing a complicated George Smiley secret-agent past. Michael is a true gentleman who lives a quiet, comfortable life since retiring from the intelligence services. Practically a recluse and partially handicapped, he spends his days imagining the lives of the anonymous people he watches in the park beneath the windows of his elegant New York City townhouse—number 221–his every need tended to by his housekeeper, Mrs. Baker. 

Never does he interact with the souls he watches from above, until one day he realizes he must abandon his solitude to help a girl facing terrible danger.   That decision plunges Michael into the New York underworld and back to using all the tricks of his former trade if he’s to keep himself and the girl alive.

As for reviews, the ones that have come out so far are terrific. And press interest has kept me writing essays and responding to Q&A interviews for weeks.

Now, all I need is for wonderful folk out there to buy a copy and bring great joy to both reader and writer. Here’s where to click to make all that happen. 

Thanks.

–Jeff

 

 2026

All Live Events

Saturday, February 7, 3:00 p.m. CT
Murder By The Book
Author Speaking and Signing
Houston, TX

Wednesday, February 11, 6:00 p.m. ET
Mysterious Bookshop
Author Speaking and Signing
New York, NY

Thursday, March 26, 7:00 p.m. MT
The Poisoned Pen Bookstore
Author Speaking and Signing
Scottsdale, AZ

Friday, April 10, 6:30 p.m.
Mystery Lovers Bookshop
Author Speaking and Signing
Pittsburgh, PA

Do authors collaborate?

 Michael – Alternate Thursdays

Stanley and I have written multiple times about our collaboration together that has led to nine books with the tenth in the pipeline. Last week, Karen told us about her book A Trace of Deceit and how, in a different way, she collaborated on that work. (By the way, I’m greatly enjoying the book, and ebooks are only $2.29 right now.) Her collaboration involved working with two friends who are artists and she credits them with helping her develop her protagonist into a living, breathing painter.

She finished her piece by asking writers if they collaborate. That made me think that almost all authors do so in multiple ways, and, I believe, their books are better for it. I suppose Karen might have called her collaboration “research” – which, of course, it also was – but I understand that it was deeper than that. It wasn’t just facts but the way painters feel. What is embedded in their characters. What they might think, what they might say.

Stan and I once had a wonderful afternoon driving around Gaborone with the director of the CID. He was a great character who arrived to meet us in cowboy boots and hat. We learned facts a plenty but we also obtained an insight into how the CID in Botswana operates. And that their offices were raided by baboons who came down from neighboring Kgale Hill.

We became friends with the head master of the wonderful Maru a Pula school. He seemed to know everyone and introduced us to the police commissioner and several amazing women. All of them became collaborators in our work. Without them we might have had the facts right (thanks to the internet and our own travels), but we wouldn’t have had the people right at all.

Another collaboration is the one an author has with an editor (or certainly should have) and may have with an agent. We are fortunate to have had editors who operate at multiple levels. One is the broad sweep. On reading our second book, our editor at Harper Collins scrawled in the margin: “What are these two characters doing in the book?” We tried to draft a reply, indignantly defending them … and realized that the characters weren’t doing anything important at all. However, they occurred throughout the book, so we had to rewrite the whole novel. Without that collaboration, the book would have been longer and not as good. At another level, the copy editor corrects wording and catches mistakes. The translator of our books into German caught an important error in the description of a boat between pretty much the first chapter and pretty much the last chapter. (By the time it was translated, the English version of the book had been through two editors and two copy editors, to say nothing of multiple rereads by the two authors.)

We are also fortunate to work with a writing group in Minneapolis. We read each other’s latest work and comment and then discuss the material. Those outside perspectives help steer the book, catch badly drawn scenes, add momentum to the writing. I always recommend groups like this to new writers. In addition to the collaboration, they add enthusiasm and create some sort of timelines to work to. And they’re fun.

Then, like Karen, we have friends who are readers of mystery fiction who will read the work and give us valuable insights into the full book. These readers are invaluable, but you need to be sure they’ll really give you honest, critical comments. One recently did so, causing us to make quite extensive changes to our current book.

Of course, eventually the author calls the shots. There are some who won’t allow anyone to read any of their material until the book is in final form. South African Nobel Prize winner Nadine Gordimer was one. I guess if you’re that good, maybe you don’t need any help.

The rest of us collaborate.

Snowed In!

Sujata Massey

I secretly anticipated a really big storm would hit the East Coast in 2026. 

It's not that I have psychic powers. I simply enjoy almanacs and folk wisdom about nature--and I keep my eyes out.One of these American folk legends is that when the acorns abound, snow is going to be profuse. And Baltimore was certainly overwhelmed by acorns a few months ago. The explanation is that this is something called a “mast year”—an abundant seed/nut production every 2-5 years resulting in more acorns than animals can consume: meaning, more trees for all of us. Yet this mast year, we had three winter’s worth of snow in one day. And isn't a lot of snow great for baby trees?

We had a small snow a week ago as a test; light enough to shovel easily and sprinkle down the pretty bright blue crystals of pet-safe snow-melting material. Oh, for those halcyon days of having my feet on the pavement—and not mincing over snow with my abdomen braced to keep my balance! With this particular storm, I find my legs are fatigued from all the subtle adjustments and shifts from slick ice to falling into unexpected depths of snow.

Ice seems to be bad everywhere in America this winter. I saw a picture in the Atlantic's online edition of woman who looks like a younger version of me captured by ICE agents titled  Welcome To The American Winter. Freezing weather, terrible bounty hunters, a woman fallen to the ground. Images of death and abuse of power and hard weather--as well as a national uprising like we've never seen.

Minnesotans are standing up against masked men prowling the icy streets, who incidentally can’t seem to keep their balance on snow banks. Yet a huge swath of the United States, from south to the northeast, is blesedly not under mass deportation evasion, but is nonetheless flummoxed by deep layers of ice and snow ranging from eight to thirty inches. In Baltimore, I think the snowfall was as high as 18 inches, depending on how the winds blew. I plunged thigh-deep on my walk today seeking out a bank machine from which to retrieve cash to pay for a snow plow service that never showed up.

Winter Storm Fern is not my first East Coast snowstorm. I've lived here over thirty years and usually have excitement about snow forecasts. I find the groaning sound of salt trucks dumping material on the streets comforting—it goes back to my childhood in Minnesota. I also love the scraping sounds of sleds and snow shovels on the street.I gaze in admiration at Baltimore neighborhoods transforming like film sets back into the 1800s, because nothing looks more charming than an old house set in snow. 

This storm, though, has thrown my age--and weaknesses--at me. The snow is so high and so hard that I can’t shovel as I usually enjoy doing—even a week earlier, during a two-inch storm. Yes, we salted before this particular blizzard with Pet-Melt, and I did a bit of shoveling during the storm, but it wasn't enough. Tony and I decided to make life simpler and hire professionals with machinery. So far the first two snow removal companies we made advance arrangements haven’t been able to come. We are waiting on a third, fingers crossed. You really need to take are of snow yourself.

The tradition in our house is to make a pot of chilli on a snow day. I started this when our children were small. I usually threw together a vegetarian chili made from canned red beans  and tomatoes, plus lots of fresh onion, garlic and spices. I’d also bake cornbread and cookies. We’d invite one or two families who could walk over to eat and chat with us, while the snow fell. The party felt like we were getting away with something!

Now that Tony is usually works from home, he’s taken on chilli-cooking with great professionalism. He mines the internet to find the exact out-of-print Fine Cooking recipe that he knows. He appreciates chilli so much that he initially proposed making two variations—one white and one red—but I talked him into choosing his favorite and letting me make a vegetarian alternative. At this point, we both knew we had limited hours before the snow hit, and we were cooking for a crowd. He agreed to my point—as long as he could also bake a carrot cake.

Who would argue with that?

On the final non-snow day, he shopped. It meant driving thirty minutes to a John Brown, a butcher in the Baltimore County who sells especially delicious grassfed beef. Here he picked up 7 pounds of sirloin tip. Then it was returning to the city and Mom’s Organic Market for canned beans in short supply, cream cheese, carrots and currants. Then he made a short walk to Eddie’s Market in our neighborhood for the black beans that were completely sold out at Mom’s. The man was exhausted, and then he had to unpack it all and start chopping, because the chilli would be served the next day. While he played at “The Bear” in our kitchen, I made invitations on paper to all the neighbors on the block. I decided, why not ask everyone—including the folks living in apartments, who we saw coming and going but just didn’t know?

The chilli recipe was extravagant, rising to the rim of the 16-quart stockpot. And after bubbling for a few hours, it needed to chill overnight. The pot was too tall for the fridge—but one perk of bad winter weather is the outdoor refrigerator every Minnesotan knows. My twist was sliding the stockpot underneath the dining table on the deck. I then laid a tablecloth on that table so the snow didn’t fall through it and bury our highly anticipated dish.

Snow day dawned on Sunday with flakes falling fast on the diagonal. I kept on sweeping snow from the porch and shoveling the front walk and out to the street, so our guests would be able to arrive at 12:30 onward. In between I made corn muffins and laid the table for the party. We weren’t sure how many people would come, so we put out mugs to fill with the chilli, which would stay hot in a slow cooker.  My second dish was a vegetarian shepherd’s pie made on Saturday. It was simple, a layer of richly seasoned tepary beans underneath mashed potatoes. Yes we could have made a green salad, but why? It wasn’t a normal, polite sit-down lunch with china. It was a snowstorm chili party, which meant you could eat casually in any room holding your food in one hand and a spoon in the other. 

We didn’t know who or how many would come—but the result was just right. About fifteen people, many of them not known to us. Three of these millennial households brought batches of fantastic home baked cookies. There was plenty of wine and water and kombucha. 

What a party it was! Our youngest guest was ten months, and our oldest in the neighborhood of eighty. I met 10 new people, right in my own house. I realized the beauty of living in a neighborhood that mixed homeowners and renters; students, retirees and workers. It makes for a great party mix. 

We have a lot of snow, but we are so lucky not to have lost power. And luckier still to have had new friends in our house—bringing a sense of not being alone, even when marooned.

Sophia's lessons on Writing, Walking and how Wonderful life is

Ovidia--every other Tuesday

This is Sophia

And our carpet is rolled up because Sophia's not toilet trained (yet).

She's around six years old, but as a rescued 'breeder', she's lived most of her life in a cage having puppies. She's only now learning what grass feels like your paws and that it's safe to be in a harness.

Another big lesson was that she's allowed to move around in the house and doesn't have to stay in a box to feel safe.

Best of all, she's learning to play--three days after she arrived, she woke up frisky and bouncy and eager for her walk for the first time and it was the best moment I've had in a long time!

I knew we were getting a dog who would need a lot of care and patience. I'd not realised it would reorganise our entire life or that it would be so rewarding.

Because of a ear infection, Sophia needs her ears cleaned and medicated ear drops twice a day.
She needs dental work (when she's in better health because it'll be done under general anaesthetic).

Poor Sophia getting her ears treated. She put up a valiant fight but was outnumbered.

She'll also need to be sterilised (ditto).

She needs careful feeding and constant, gentle reassurance that this is home now and she is safe here.

What surprised me is learning that she doesn't need me to make up for her past.
I'd thought that would be the biggest part of the job--making up to her for all that humans had put her through up till now. But dogs, apparently, don't hold on to the past like people do--all Sophia needs to know is that she's safe right now, her tummy is full and her bladder empty and there will be food and exploratory walks tomorrow.

And maybe that could be enough for me too.

Since she arrived last week, my step count has gone up dramatically because of our walks. My days have acquired a new structure that feels effortless: early morning walk before my morning writing. Breakfast after ear cleaning and medication, Food prep and breakfasts all round. Sophia follows me on my rounds of watering and spraying plants, feeding and checking on the fish and Turtle Boy and because of her, I remember to take stretch and step breaks in between writing pomos instead of working right through them.

Which actually works out very well--because even with everything going on, like vet visits and pet store trips and grocery shopping, I've been keeping up with my writing quota with what feels like less effort than usual!
And I've been reading more too, maybe because I occasionally read passages out loud to her to see if she'll react (mostly she doesn't. Sometimes she yawns. But it's good for me because I'm hearing words again!)

I'm still in the rough draft phase so that's not saying much, but I feel like I'm writing like a real grown up professional writer now--I'm writing on a long leash, exploring and sniffing and scratching, but still connected to the main plotline.

That's something that's improtant for stories as well as dogs!

But it hasn't been nothing but a dog's life--a couple of days ago I got to meet up with Cathy Ace and Geoffrey for Singapore Slings at the Raffles Long Bar!

I had a wonderful time and saw with my own eyes Cathy's 'magic connection' when a research connection she'd been thinking about just walked up and presented itself... but I'll leave her to tell the story herself when the book comes out!

I could talk to Cathy for hours and normally I would have made an afternoon/ evening/ night of it. But I had to leave because I wanted to get home to Sophia. Not that I had to--she had someone with her and I'd got photos of her having her tea and going on her walk... but I wanted to get back to her.

The same way it feels when a new story starts to come to life and you want to get back to it even if you don't yet know where it's going. Or even more because you want to find out where it's going!

Sophia doesn't know any of this of course.
She just knows she is safe and part of a pack where important things (food, walks, cleaning, naps) happen on a routine in between adventures and new experiences. That creates a safe space for her to grow in.

And maybe I can approach writing that way too--not worrying about what went wrong previously or trying to get back to the dead rat on the side of the path (we're both still working on that one), but just walking on and exploring and trusting the leash for now.

Right now all is well.

And I find it nice to remember that even the Queen of Crime had a faithful writing companion who cared more about walks than deadlines.

Elizabeth Hadley's life size bronze sculpture of Agatha Christie and Peter in Torquay.

Angelico's Angels

Annamaria on Monday

 

As usual, I am writing this blog on Sunday, and it is the closing day of one of the most popular exhibitions staged in Florence in the past several years.  Who would've thunk, as a died-in-the wool New Yorker might say.  Yes, certainly, I would have expected fans of Medieval and Renaissance art would have been expected to show up in goodly numbers, but the turn out was huge compared to what the organizers most likely anticipated. I first learned about it from a glowing review last fall in the New York Times.

Beato Angelico was one of the first artists I learned about in my college art history class.  (He was Fra Angelico in those days before his beatification by Pope John Paul II in 1982.)  He never became a household word.  His fame was overwhelmed by the widespread admiration for his fellow early 15th century artists, like Michelangelo, Leonardo, etc. etc. If you click on his name above to learn more about him, you will quickly learn that he was a Dominican friar. Unlike his fellow Renaissance painters, all of his works are of religious subjects.

Today is the last day of the exhibition, and I'm so grateful that I have had the opportunity to view the works on display, here both in the Monastery of San Marco and in the galleries of Palazzo Strozzi.

Rather than a wholesale vision of the exhibition, I am giving you a particular viewpoint of the paintings. Some of the followers of this blog may recall that I am enamored of idea of angels. I am fond of quoting Kurt Vonnegut: "If there are such things as angels, I hope that they are organized along the lines of the Mafia."  Considering the state of the world these days, we need all the angels we can summon. So here they are for you today. Angels as Beato Angelico pictured them (with a few other images thrown in for good luck).

In the Monastery of San Marco 

 

 

Palazzo Strozzi 

(If my images seem a little out of whack, please forgive me. The exhibition was crowded, mostly by folks 6 to 14 inches taller than I :( )