Name That Country

I’m off to Greece next week and as I was pondering what to write for my last U.S. based piece for quite a while the gods intervened in the form of an email that popped onto my screen from one of my best friends.  His plane had just landed in the United States and he couldn’t wait to tell me what had happened at the airport in his country of embarkation.

Knowing my friend as well as I did I couldn’t help but laugh, because I knew he was never concerned for his safety and most likely playing the other characters in his tale along until the ultimate moment of enlightenment showed them the error of their ways.  But then it hit me: if he hadn’t mentioned the name of the place where it all went down I’d never have known, because it could have happened in any number of countries—and does.  So, my question to you is, what’s your best guess on the scene of the (attempted) crime?

Here’s the story as told in the first person by a tall, fit, fifty-year-old man who looks like the quintessential American businessman, flag in the lapel and all.  The only changes I made were to references that would give away the country…in order to protect the non-innocent and make this piece a mystery (of sorts). 

At the Charlotte airport now.

It was a crazy trip. Going through [the foreign country’s] departure process they checked my briefcase and saw a lot of cash (I won the tournament and a bunch of $$$).

My [foreign language] was about as good as their English so it wasn't easy to communicate.  After going through my briefcase three times I wound up in a back room with five agents. 

They took turns going through my bag another couple of times stopping each time to finger the cash that was in a travelers checks plastic wallet. Then they asked me to count it.  I was then frisked and when they touched my cargo pants front pocket they asked what was in there. 

I told them it was my wallet.  They told me to take it out.  I did and flipped it open.  “Police!” they said [in their language] when they saw my badge.  Then they laughed, gave me back my stuff, had me sign a release that my stuff had been inspected and that I had in no way been intimidated. 

They then escorted me through the VIP line, gave me a big handshake, and wished me a great trip. 

Lucky that I'm a sworn officer of the law or at best I'd be a few dollars lighter today. 

Sent from my iPad.

Perhaps the moral to this story is that we all should make a stop at a toy store before taking off for certain parts of the globe.  But, frankly, the part of the message I found most significant was that my long time PC buddy had gone over to the other side.  Yes, Mr. Microsoft was traveling with an iPad!  Almost makes this long time Mac-man want to get one before leaving for Mykonos.  But then again, I didn’t win the tournament. 

Yiasou, ya’ll.  Catch you next week while I’m in the air.

Jeff—Saturday

How do you write?

I'm a sucker for blogs and articles where an author describes their writing schedule, and outlines the way they gets words down on paper. Even better if they include a picture of the room they write in, which I'm sure they tidy up before the photographer comes, and pin lots of things to the wall to make it appear as if they're teeming with ideas. Very few of them say, 'I just waste time surfing the Internet/reading the paper/watching TV until the point comes when I will hate myself if I don't commit a few words to paper,' which is the schedule quite a few writers I know adhere to.

I also, as I've said before, admire those who claim to write their drafts long hand. I can't sign a cheque anymore without a getting a cramp, so for anyone to scrawl out a whole novel in their own hand earns my undying admiration. I don't say this with any pride. I read the other day that the last manufacturer of typewriters was closing its doors and felt a great deal of sadness. The rather eccentric journalism school I went to required us to bring a typewriter to write our stories with, so I learned to type on one. This is why I'm an index finger basher who goes through about four keyboards a year. I can make floors shake in the course of one sentence, and not with the beauty of my prose. While I find it sad that typewriters have disappeared, I can't imagine ever writing a book on one.

For many years, I struggled with Word as my main writing package. It was there, it was easy enough to use, and it was compatible. But I always loathed it. Not just because of that damn paper clip ('It appears you're writing a suicide note...do you want some help?'), and the dreaded green dotted line and its schoolmarmish way ('Sentence fragment' - yes, and? Wanna make something of it? It's called writing), but also because when you reached a certain point of a book it became so unwieldy, cycling up and down endless text to find the point you wanted, umpteen documents open, hidden behind each other, copying and pasting like a decorator on speed. Invariably text got lost, or deleted accidentally, and it was, to use a phrase from northern England, a right rigmarole. It forced you to write in a linear way: start here, then go on to this bit, and so on, because any other way meant organisational hell. Writing books, in my experience, just isn't like that though.

Standard mode

But then a few years ago I discovered Scrivener, a program designed by writers for writers. It was a revelation. A piece of software that understood how writers and the creative process works. No need to have  a heap of documents open, just a binder at the side which allows you to click and open certain scenes and move them around as you see fit. You can enter a synopsis of each scene which then appears on a virtual corkboard at the click of a button for you to shift them around too, and there are folders where you can put in research notes, pictures even, character biogs, locations, and as many notes and ideas as you desire. All easily accessible. When the time comes it's easy to compile it all into a draft, and export it into a program such as Word to be sent to a publisher.

corkboard

Another great feature is the Full Screen mode. Hit the button and the whole of your screen turns a pristine white. This can be a bit daunting if you're struggling for inspiration, but if the words are coming freely and you don't want the distraction of email, or, if you're a flibbety-gibbet with a short concentration span like me, other icons to click which might grab your attention during a lull, it's a godsend.

The full screen mode

As it's developed over the years, the program has improved. I'm sure I'm only scratching the surface of what it can do. I know it can compile drafts into electronic book formats, there is a template for screenwriting, and I've just learned how to sync it with a storage program called Dropbox, which means I can look through a draft on my laptop or another computer in Word - I write primarily on my desktop - and if I make any changes to the text, the next time I open Scrivener on the desktop it sees that changes have been made and asks if I want to accept them, them makes them automatically if I agree. Which makes rewriting and redrafting on the road so much easier. There's also a pretty disquieting feature which allows you to see which phrases you have used, or over used, the most. It turns out that I use the phrase 'It turns out' a few too many times. I also over use the phrase 'a few too many.'

I really can't recommend this program enough. It encourages creativity rather than working against it. It recognises a book is not one long piece of connected text, at least not when you're writing it, but a jumble of scenes, ideas and notes, that need to be got down, and only later in the piece need it all coalesce. It provides the tools for getting it all down, and the tools for bringing it all together. The best thing about it is that, no matter how you write, whichever method you employ, Scrivener will adapt to it. It is responsive and easy to use. You can outline, and you can write, and you can carry outlining while you write. You can scribble all over the text, make as many notes as you want, chop and change scenes, and still feel in charge. Writing in Scrivener, I've never felt I've lost control of a project, or that the sheer size of it has got too much, which was a common experience writing in Word. If a photographer ever comes to take a picture of my 'writing space', otherwise known as my bedroom, then there would be no notes on the wall, or scraps of paper lying around on the floor, or piles of notebooks. Nearly all of them are in Scrivener (and yes, I back up regularly, both internally and on external drives and sites.)

So if you're struggling at all with your choice of word processor, give it a go. It used to be available only for the Mac, but a Windows version is imminent, and you can try before you buy. Head over to here for some more details.

cheers

Dan - Friday

Edit: By happy coincidence, I just learned today that David Hewson, a crime writer some of you may know, has written a short book about using Scrivener. More info here

Death of the Mantis

This week I am going to indulge in some BSP (blatant self promotion, with ‘self’ in this case referring to two people) and tub thumping.

World launch at Love Books

After a prolonged gestation period, the third Detective Kubu mystery, Death of the Mantis, saw the light of day late yesterday afternoon at a delightful independent bookstore in Johannesburg called Love Books.  As evening fell, wine and snacks appeared, and a large group of well-wishers and fans gathered around to listen to Michael and me in conversation with a well known wine writer, Neil Pendock.  It’s amazing how patient, long-suffering, and supportive friends can be.

Eventually everything ran out – snacks, wine, energy, and even books! 

Michael, Neil Pendock, and Stan at Love Books

Then it was time for the two author to relax, so we joined Neil Pendock and the small group who had made the whole event possible, from Jonathan Ball publishers and Love Books, for a wonderful dinner.  Michael and I both had foie gras.  Michael followed with lamb chops, I with roast duck.  All washed down with a variety of fine wines and eventually grappa – except for me because I was the designated driver and sipped 4 quarter glasses of wine and no grappa.

Michael and Stan at Bay Books

This blog is late (apologies) because I have just returned from the second launch event (it is nearly 1 am), this time in Cape Town at Bay Books, where we were interviewed by the excellent South African mystery writer, Mike Nicol.  Guess what?  Another dinner after the launch.  And tomorrow the scene repeats itself at the lovely Kalk Bay Books, where we will be interviewed by Sarah Lotz, a very funny writer.

Death of the Mantis is set in the southern Kalahari of Botswana, initially in the Kgalagadi Transfrontier Park near Mabuesahube, then slightly further north around the small towns of Tshane and Hukuntsi.  The back story of the book is the plight of the Bushman or San people, who are amongst the oldest groups on the planet.

In 1995, during a severe drought in Botswana, four Bushmen came across an unattended ox.  Desperately hungry they killed it for food.  The next day, another Bushman came along and asked about his ox.  Shortly after, he too was dead.  The four Bushmen were arrested and eventually only Maauwe and Motletwa were charged and found guilty of murder.  They were sentenced to death.  Part of the evidence led against them was their signed confessions.  Unfortunately their court appointed lawyer failed to challenge these in court, which he could easily have done since they were written in Setswana, which the Bushmen barely understood, and certainly couldn’t read since they were illiterate.  The two also claimed that they were beaten by the police and that they never made confessions.

In the run up to an appeal, Maauwe and Motletwa asked some people who routinely visited their prison to write a letter to the court requesting a competent attorney.  The letter was sent but new attorneys were not appointed and the letter never surfaced at the appeal.  The death penalty was approved.

A Botswana human rights organization, Ditshwanelo had followed the case and had tried unsuccessfully to obtain clemency for the two.  By chance, Ditshwanelo heard about the impending execution a mere three days before they were scheduled (January 16, 1999) and were able to obtain a stay of execution based on two constitutional challenges.  As Ditshwanelo dug into the case they complied a large amount of evidence documenting the unfairness of the trial.  And in October 1999 the High Court declared a mistrial.

The High Court, however, gave the prosecution the opportunity to re-open the case.  Five years later, the case had still not been brought to court.  Again Ditshwanelo went to the aid of Maauwe and Motletwa, who had now spent 10 years in prison with being convicted.  The High Court again intervened and granted the two Bushmen immunity from prosecution.

As you can imagine, Bushmen do not have a favourable opinion of the Botswana police or courts – an opinion that has been reinforced by a number of other actions by the Botswana government over the past ten years.

In Death of the Mantis, When a Kalahari ranger is found dead in a dry ravine, his corpse surrounded by three Bushmen, the local police arrest the nomads.  Botswana’s Detective ‘Kubu’ Bengu investigates the case and is reunited with his old school friend Khumanego, a Bushman and advocate for his people.  Khumanego claims the nomads are innocent and the arrests motivated by racist antagonism.  The Bushmen are released, but soon after, another man is murdered in similar circumstances.  Are the Bushmen to blame, or is it a copycat murder?

Then there is a third murder.  Again it points to the Bushmen.  Kubu journeys into the depths of the Kalahari to find the truth.  What he discovers will test all his powers of detection – and his ability to stay alive…

[Stage direction: 7 beats on the timpani; dramatic music]

Michael and I like Death of the Mantis the most of our three books, and we hope the reading public do so too.

Thank you for your indulgence.

Stan- Thursday

Happy, happy Harpa

Tonight marks the opening of a new concert and conference hall in Reykjavík, as of now the official home of the Icelandic Symphony Orchestra and the Icelandic Opera. It has been five years in the making, two and a half good ones and two and half difficult ones as the country had gone semi bankrupt half way through the works. It is not easy to conduct the construction of a 280000 ft2 hall when you have no money and must finance the project by selling bottles for recycling. But where there is a will there is a way.

There are 4 main halls in the building in addition to various meeting rooms and exhibition spaces. The photo shown here above is from the main hall, probably arranged before construction was complete as it is so painfully evident that photoshop or some computer program was used to add the audience to the image. I guess the recycling finance budget did not allow for better graphics. But the real thing is much more impressive, this room seats 1600 people and although it is huge the acoustics are impeccable according to those that attended the sneak peek general practice of the opening concert.

But aside from the glamorous inside what really makes this building something else is the glass artwork facade designed by Ólafur Elíasson, an Icelandic artist renowned worldwide for his large scale installations. The building is beautiful to behold, in particular when the sun is shining and the iridescent surface is awaken and comes out to play. I am 100% certain that if the traffic administration were to gather data regarding accident frequency on the street passing Harpa there will be a marked increase in collisions on the days the sun is out, drivers are sure to be more mesmerized by the electric colors than the bland black pavement in front of their hood.

If you are coming to Iceland anytime soon or even any time later – make sure to check out what is happening at Harpa. Numerous foreign artists are already booked to appear. Pianist Jamie Cullum, tenor Jonas Kaufman, singer Elvis Costello are amongst those expected this summer and surprisingly enough Larry King is also doing a show, albeit his input does not involve not a musical number.

While looking for photographs of Harpa to accompany this text I went onto one of the Icelandic design web sites. There I got sidetracked for a bit as the newest article was about the latest toilet on the market – heralded in the headline as the most cool toilet around. Seeing that I have just installed three new toilets without ever giving it a thought that I should be shooting for cool, I of course took the time to see what I had apparently missed by a hair. I must say that the drug inducing the kind of stupor I would have had to have been in to buy the contraption has yet to be invented.

This toilet appears to have been designed by someone with an attention deficit disorder of the highest magnitude. Sometimes during the initial designing phase he or she got lost, forgot the original intention and the result is a toilet equipped with a remote to control the multiple gadgets and functions installed in this no longer basic item. Seeing is believing. The cost is 6300 USD, I am willing to bet a lot that the producers have a plaque in their boardroom stating: “A fool and his money soon part.”

The integrated bidet function is an accident waiting to happen, if you watch the advertising video you will understand what I am referring to.  

And lastly – I should probably get in touch with the company to see if they sell a sink to go with the toilet. You see, if it is still in the designing phase I can suggest a button for the remote: Puke declogger.

Yrsa - Wednesday

BB and the bulls

Brigitte Bardot, remember her the screen legend? Now she's more well known for her animal rights campaigning. Over the top about animals - a lot of French call her but now she's on her high horse against the French government’s decision to list bullfighting as part of France’s “immaterial heritage” "completely idiotic".

BB the star, who heads the Fondation Brigitte Bardot animal rescue charity, called the Ministry of Culture, which made the decision, the “Ministry of Ignorance”.

United Nations members are required by Unesco to keep lists of important cultural practices, which could potentially in the future be selected as forming part of the World Intangible Heritage. “The French meal” was selected as representing such world heritage last year. Now that one I'd agree with it.

Among other animal rights organisations which have attacked the listing decision is 30 Millions d’Amis who said surveys showed most French people disapproved of Spanish-style bullfighting (in which the bull is killed), which is only allowed by special permission in certain southern towns. I've seen one of these bullfights outside Nimes and must say it was too gory for me and my son, about six at the time. The only bull fights I've stomached are the Portugese ones where the bulls are killed out of the arena and it's more a sport of the bull vs the matador, not the killing.

BB cited a ban proposed last year, supported by 75 members of parliament and the mayor of Fréjus, one of the towns associated with bullfighting, which called a halt to it.

30 Millions d'amis a charity expressed its “deep indignation in the face of a decision that officialises and approves the barbarity of this spectacle.”

Many in France shave expressed surprise that their country should be the first to list such a practice, as opposed to Spain which is much better-known for it. Sorry for the short post but I'm in Pittsburgh - after a red eye flight from the La/LAtimes Book Festival - and up early for NYC
Cara -Tuesday and headed for Boston on Wednesday Beth!

The Trans- Amazonian Highway

In the summer of 1970, the northeast of Brazil was suffering under one of its periodic droughts. Tens of thousands of small farmers were being driven off their land. Hundreds of children were dying of starvation.

General Emílio Garrastazu Médici, military ruler of Brazil, visited the area to study what might be done. “Nothing in my life,” he later wrote, “has ever shocked and upset me so deeply. Never have I faced such a challenge.” Land reform, the obvious solution to the peasants’ plight, was out of the question. The military who ruled the country relied too much on the support of the wealthy fazendeiros. And there was no way to convince those great landowners that they should make presents of even the smallest fraction of their lands to the rural poor.

But the general wanted a solution. And being a general, and in charge of the country, a solution he got. It was the Trans-Amazonian Highway, one of the most ambitious Brazilian government programs ever attempted, and one of the greatest failures.

The idea was to bisect the country with a 5,000 kilometer road, joining the Atlantic coast on the east, to the border with Peru on the west, thereby opening up the rainforest to economic development.

Settlers would be given 250 acre plots of land, six months’ salary, and easy access to agricultural loans, in exchange for settling along the highway and converting the surrounding rainforest into agricultural land.

The project was begun with great enthusiasm. On the 9^th of October, 1970, a bronze plaque, nailed to the trunk of a mighty castaneira tree, cut down on the previous day by Médici himself, was unveiled.

The legend on the plaque read: On these banks of the Xingu, in the midst of the Amazon jungle, the President of the Republic began the construction of the Trans-Amazonian Highway, a historic start to the conquest of this gigantic green world.

But the reality turned out to be something quite different. The soil of the Amazon basin consists mostly of sediments, which make the roadbed unstable and subject to inundation during heavy rains.

It soon became apparent that the road would be unusable during six months out of every year, causing the settlers to be cut off and leaving the products of their labors to rot.

Natural nutrients in the region are few, resulting in low crop yields. New forest had to be cleared for each year’s planting, and after every clearing, rampant erosion occurred. Logging was difficult due to the widespread distribution of commercially valuable trees. Colonists, unfamiliar with banking, and lured by easy credit, went deeply into debt.

Indians, living in the forest, were exposed (many for the first time) to the white man and his diseases. Those diseases killed them by the thousands.

 And then there were the long-term environmental costs. After the construction of the highway, rampant deforestation soared to new heights.

Within five years, the government withdrew their support, leaving the settlers in abject misery.

These days, the road has little traffic. The thin layer of fine gravel that was used in the original construction was unable to withstand the torrential downpours that occur from November to April. A heavy outlay is required, each May, to repair the wooden bridges, fill in the potholes and replace the broken drainage pipes.

At points further west of the little town of Itaituba, and all the way to the Peruvian border, there are stretches where the “highway” is less than two meters wide. 

But all is not yet lost. An effort is now underway to pave the entire length of it. Some estimates are that it will take ten years and cost more than a billion US dollars.

A lot of money, as one Brazilian journalist remarked, for a road that links nothing to nowhere.

Leighton - Monday

The Art of Losing

Well, I didn't win the Edgar for Best Novel of 2010. Steve Hamilton did, for an excellent book, The Lock Artist.

Munyin, me, and Bruce deSilva, about 90 minutes

before Bruce win Best First Novel

There's no point in denying a certain disappointment, even though I never thought I had a chance.  The list of Edgar finalists usually has one Huh? book on it, and I figured that I was that book.  Still, Huh? candidates do occasionally win, and it's impossible not to hope, even if it's only for the five or ten minutes before they read the nominees' names.  I'll admit that my heartbeat sped up a little when they said, "And the Edgar goes to . . ."

I sulked for the rest of the evening, skipping the post-banquet party because I didn't want to walk around smiling while people told me I should have won.  I didn't feel particularly gregarious. My wife, who had the exquisite tact not to say anything sympathetic, was all the company I wanted.

And in retrospect, I had a great time.  The event was beautifully organized.  I got to meet Sara Paretsky and Harlan Coben, and I had the pleasure of telling Steve Hamilton that his book deserved to win about an hour before it actually did.  The food was good, my table-mates were in fine form, the people from Soho were wonderful about their new writer not bringing an Edgar along, and Munyin looked sensational.

I wanted to win because of the validation the award represents, but also for a business reason; to credit HarperCollins for all they did to support the series, and to thank Soho for giving Rose and Poke a new home.  And I wanted to have a T-shirt made up that said EDGAR WINNER on the front and UNRELIABLE NARRATOR on the back.  I suppose I could still do that, actually.

It was fun, it was an honor to be there, Mun and I had a great trip, and both sets of publishers were very sweet.  We even had good weather, if you don't count a 38-block walk in the rain.

They can nominate me again any time.