Val & Kit: A Peek at Their Past (Circa 1975)

“Are you sure this is safe?” I asked Kit.

“Of course; it’s totally safe. Good grief, Valley Girl, it’s not gonna kill you or anything.”

I smiled at her use of the nickname she’d suddenly given me. Valley Girl. It sounded so cool.

“Well, if you’re sure, Kitty Kat,” I replied. If I had a nickname, then she should have one, too, although Kitty Kat didn’t sound nearly as fab as Valley Girl. I picked up the box of hair dye and read the instructions, for the third time. “It says here you should try a test on a patch of skin by your elbow. For allergies and stuff.”

“Oh, they always say that. They have to; it’s the law. But don’t pay any attention. And stop worrying. It’s gonna be fine. When you’re done, you’ll be a gorgeous redhead, like Ann Margaret.”

“Ann Margaret! She’s a million years old. Think of someone younger.”

“Okay, how about me?”

Kit did indeed have gorgeous reddish-brown hair that was admired by everyone in school. And since I wanted so much to be like her, I had agreed to her suggestion that I dye my dark-blond hair the same color. I picked up the box again. “Says here we should rinse it out no more than thirty minutes later. It’s been thirty-five.”

“Oh, Val, they say thirty minutes because they have to. It’s the law. But everyone knows you have to keep it on at least ten minutes more.”

“I think it’s starting to burn my scalp.”

“Good, that’s good. That means it’s penetrating the hair shafts.”

I was getting nervous, particularly at Kit’s sudden knowledge of the law, not to mention hair follicles. But I was wishing now I had just stuck with the hair color God had given me.

At the thought of God, I suddenly heard the front door slam. Had to be my mother, as close to God as you could get. I heard her footsteps coming down the hall to the bathroom and watched the locked door handle jiggle as she tried to open it.

“Valerie, what in the dickens are you doing in there?” she called from the other side. “Open this door at once.”

That was Kit’s cue to climb on the back of the commode and squeeze through the small window that led out to my backyard.

“Nothing, Mom. I’m taking a shower; I’ll be done in a few minutes.”

“Shower?  At three in the afternoon?  Is that Katherine in there with you?”

“No, of course not.” It wasn’t a lie. I glanced out the window and saw Kit raise two fingers, giving me the peace sign. She was so cool.

“That girl is such a nuisance,” my mother said from the other side of the door.

“She’s not even here,” I said, raising my voice.

“You’re not having any problems, are you?” Her voice had softened a little. “Female stuff?”

“No,” I said. Just you, I thought.

“Okay; then finish your shower or whatever it is you’re doing. I bought a new rug I want you to see.”

Twenty minutes later, after rinsing and scrubbing and then re-rinsing my hair, I emerged from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around my head. I wasn’t close to Kit’s gorgeous auburn, or even Ann Margaret. More like Lucille Ball at the height of her zaniness.

The next day my mother took me to LaVonda’s House of Beauty, a place she visited every five weeks to restore her own honey-blond locks to their natural shade. LaVonda herself did several things to my tresses, apparently all legal, and was somehow able to return my hair close to its usual drab color.

On the drive home my mother instructed me to never try anything so foolish again, and more importantly, I was to have no contact whatsoever with that girl Katherine. She and I were forbidden to be friends, and that was the end of that.

Yeah, right.

 

What Happens in June, Stays in June (Just Ask Roz)

Is it really June? Did we skip any months? I can clearly remember eating a lot of chocolate in February around the 14th, and I definitely got a basket filled with more chocolate in March. But are we really halfway through the year already?

Well, before June rushes by completely, like the preceding months, let’s see what happened and what’s in store.

June 1

The month starts with local TV stations gently reminding us that this is the beginning of hurricane season along the Texas coast. So from now until November 30, I keep one ear on the meteorologists, hoping not to hear words like disturbance or rotation or the dreaded landfall. And I have good intentions. On the first of the month I start adding hurricane supplies to my grocery list. Usually, however, by the middle of July I have eaten and drunk most of my supplies.

June 6

I really want everyone to know that this day, D-Day, changed the course of history. Our world might be very different if Allied troops had not crossed the English Channel into France sixty-nine years ago and thereby brought about the beginning of the end of Hitler’s grip on the world.

June 14

This is Flag Day. But in my house, every day is Flag Day.

June 16

Father’s Day. My father passed away when I was in my thirties. He was from Scotland and was funny, kind and handsome. He loved Mickey Spillane novels and Frank Sinatra and watching boxing on the television. When I was little, he would take me to The Tower of London on Sunday mornings, where we mingled with tourists. When I think of him, I remember what a great dad he was. I was very lucky.

June 20

Betty Obermeier, Patty’s mother, celebrates her 92^nd birthday. I am honored to say she thinks of me as the second daughter she never had among all those boys. She is not only one of the biggest fans of The Val & Kit Mystery Series, but also one of its best proofreaders. And her computer skills and Facebook savvy make me envious. She is a remarkable and inspiring lady, and I am blessed to have her in my life.

Roz and Betty

June 21

My calendar tells me that this is when summer officially begins. But did anyone tell Texas? Our temperatures reached the mid-nineties way ahead of this date, and let’s face it, any degree past that doesn’t really matter. Hot is hot.

June 1 – 30

June is traditionally a month for weddings. But I actually went to a wedding in May. My friend who is 67 and has been single for over 30 years married her 72-year-old boyfriend. It was as romantic as any twentysomething wedding I’ve ever attended.

Okay, July, bring it on. We’re ready. And this reminds me, I’ve got to get batteries.

Like It Or Not (And Patty Doesn’t) . . .

If there’s an evolution going on in the English language, on both sides of the pond (see Roz’s recent post), there’s a revolution going on when it comes to what my English teachers called mechanics.

Or so it seems to me. Maybe it’s just that my greatest strength and favorite pastime has been remembering rules most people deem pesky and contemplating styles that many think (and were taught) are rules. It’s hard to be a boomer, not only because we think we need to restore our hair color and protect our joints with glucosamine, but because the use of e-mails, texts, and tweets has obliterated many of the punctuation rules we so painstakingly learned.

Question: When no one knows or cares that something is wrong, is it still wrong? Maybe it doesn’t matter, for many, as long as they communicate their intended meaning. But for professional writers, yeah, methinks wrong is, well, wrong.

The advent of touch screens, voice commands, and texts has rendered my second-greatest strength—fast typing—even more worthless. Yes, I do send texts without commas and semicolons (but only rarely, when I’m really in a rush), and I do it very s-l-o-w-l-y and inaccurately. What I was good at has been replaced by something I’m bad at. I shouldn’t complain, though, since that comes with the blessing of living longer, just as surely as good knees are replaced by achy ones.

Of course the way we use language, grammar rules, and punctuation isn't the only thing that has changed through the years. Roz and I happily traded our manual typewriters for electrics, which we later replaced with word processors and then computers. And we rejoiced when we could use faxes and then e-mails instead of snail-mail to send each other our chapters. So we’ll (almost) graciously accept other changes too.

Roz and Patty (with Patty’s daughter Melissa of Mel’s Green Garden) when they still wrote with typewriters.

Roz and Patty graduated to computers and faxes about the time Patty sported this hideous hairdo.

By the time they enjoyed this photo op, Roz and Patty were sending chapters via e-mails but had no idea Twitter, blogging, Skype, and Amazon would soon change their writing world.

I still recommend knowing the rules before changing (aka breaking) them. So go ahead and omit punctuation in favor of another letter or word in order to keep your tweets at 140 characters, but know that if you write your novel like that, you’ll probably lose your reader before the end of the first chapter, if not the first page.

And so I continue to learn the latest, often when I go to an online dictionary or reference site for confirmation when I’m teaching grandchildren or others whom I’m editing the error of their ways—only to find there’s been another rule change, or a rule that’s been relegated to a style choice, or a style choice that’s become obsolete.

I’m thinking of the two spaces after every period that my fingers have automatically typed—and then keyed in—since I was fifteen years old. I’ve learned to put only one space now. This practice changed when typewriters, with their same-size letters, gave way to computers and the fonts that allowed an I, for example, to occupy less space than a W. The eye no longer needs extra space between sentences.

The biggest change I notice, and the grayest area I see when perusing different grammar books and style manuals, is in the two tiny marks that take up the biggest part of my editing time: commas and hyphens. (And yes the Internal Revenue Code has some real competition when it comes to black-and-white vs. gray-and-murky.) Commas and hyphens seem to be required in fewer instances than back when I learned to conjugate verbs and diagram sentences, although both remain crucial to the meaning a writer wants to convey (didn’t the comma single-handedly propel the book Eats, Shoots & Leaves to the bestseller list?). Two quick examples of their importance from the latest in our Val & Kit Mystery Series, Death in Door County:  

She wore blue pencil pants and had a soft-pink wool cardigan. The hyphen makes it clear the color of the cardigan was a soft shade of pink, not a bright pink or dark pink. Without the hyphen, we would have been telling the reader the sweater felt soft, not rough.

As we ate, the three of them talked about Doris. With or without the comma, the meaning would be clear for most readers once they finished the sentence. But without the comma, some might pause—and gag—at the thought of Val and Kit eating the three other women at their table.

Granted, many unnecessary uses have been eliminated, making even me happy. What was once to morrow became to-morrow and is now the far-superior tomorrow. Then again, it was already tomorrow when I first laid eyes on it, so I didn’t experience any growing pains. Perhaps remembering this example will help me embrace change.

But because punctuation is so important and because of the ever-changing rules and acceptable styles, there are two writing habits I’m not going to change:

1. Staying abreast of current rules so that if I break them, it’s for good reason (for effect, perhaps, especially in dialogue or first person).
2. Being consistent. Many “rules” are just style choices, but pick and stick to give the reader a more seamless reading experience. Follow the MLA Style Manual, for example, and put a comma before the adverb too at the end of a sentence. Or abide by The Chicago Manual of Style and omit such a comma. Just be consistent.

Be consistent, that is, until things change. And they will. That will never change.

On Another Note . . . Roz Muses on Music Magic

On my visit to Door County last year, Patty’s beautiful then-thirteen-year-old granddaughter Ella showed me a picture of her future husband. Turns out he’s a member of the boy band One Direction. No surprise there, since Ella’s a singer herself. In Ella’s bedroom I marveled at the poster of the boys adorning the wall, as she pointed out—among other things—that they all had good teeth even though they were British. I congratulated her on her good taste. At the time I was only vaguely aware of One Direction, but I have since become a fan and look forward to the wedding (although I know thirteen-year-old girls can be fickle, and Ella might, by now, have another husband in her sights).

Ella, right, with cousin and manager Emma—and One Direction!

I was lucky enough to have been a teenager in the sixties, in London—at that time the center of the universe—and therefore familiar from the beginning with the ultimate boy band. Yep, the Beatles. Okay, they were not the first boy band; in fact, they weren’t even called a boy band. But sorry, as far as most of the English are concerned, it all started with John, Paul, George, and Ringo.

When I was Ella’s age, I was going to marry George. Paul was too pretty, John too smart, and Ringo . . . well, Ringo was just the drummer and sat in the back. But George was perfect. A lot has changed since then, and at some point I gave up my obsession with George, and we both moved on.

But my conversation with Ella got me thinking about the power and necessity of the boy bands and their ilk. And even more important, how music defines our generations and a good tune can bring back heart-stopping memories. I love a lot of today’s music, but I can get carried away by a good Journey song or The Four Seasons just as easily as I can with Maroon 5, The Black Eyed Peas, or . . . well, One Direction. Baby Love sung by Diana Ross and the Supremes takes me back to my teenage years and Monday nights at the local dance hall. When I listen to a Tina Turner song, I can see my sister dancing on a table at a Saturday night party. And the crooning of Frank Sinatra recalls my parents slow-dancing in our living room. Even though, at the time, it was a huge yuck, the memory of it is still sweet.

The first time I sang The Star-Spangled Banner as a new American citizen, my heart was full. Baseball games in Houston and singing Deep in the Heart of Texas is a proud and joyous experience. When I hear the hymn Jerusalem, I am moved with love for England, my country of birth.

But my most recent memory of the power of music came just last week. Neil Diamond at Fenway Park leading the crowd in the chorus of Sweet Caroline in honor of the victims of the Boston Marathon bombing. Boy, good times never seemed so good.

Emma and Ella Makin’ Music Magic

The Sunshine Award

We’ve been tagged with The Sunshine Award!  First, we’ll link back to Sharon Jones. Next, Roz will answer some questions, and then we’ll tag 10 other bloggers.

Thank you, Sharon Jones, for thinking of us!

1. What is your favorite Christmas/festive movie?

The Bishop’s Wife, starring Loretta Young and Cary Grant. It was made in 1947, and it’s timeless. Cary is so handsome, and Loretta is gorgeous. It’s romantic, funny, and magical. Love it.

 2. What is your favorite flower?

Tulips. No contest. They are the Coco Chanel of flowers. The simple LBD of blooms. Never any need to dress them up with ferns or baby’s breath. Elegant and classy all on their own. Also, you’ll never prick your finger on a tulip.

 3. What is your favorite non-alcoholic beverage?

I was a Diet Coke fiend for several decades. Then someone offered me a Diet Dr Pepper, and I was like, where have you been all my life, Doc? 

4. What is your passion?

I’m generally too lazy or tired for passion these days, except for writing.  Especially when it’s going well; and the words fall into place; and I share it with my partner. When we find something that didn’t come out quite right, and we laugh our heads off, I remember how lucky I am to be doing this. That’s passion.

5. What is your favorite time of year?

My favorite time begins with Halloween. Picking something silly and fun to wear and preparing to be amazed at the creativity of others. 

Roz, dressed as a desperate housewife for Halloween

Then there’s the certainty that Thanksgiving is right around the corner, a uniquely American holiday. I give thanks for loved ones and for living where I do. And the best part is, we are not done yet. Along comes Christmas. Glorious Christmas. Just being in a mall at Christmastime or listening to Frank Sinatra sing a Christmas song makes me happy. And finally, just when you think it can’t get any better than this, the January sales begin.

 6. What is your favorite time of day?

When I get home from a busy day and can slide into my big fluffy slippers, pour a Diet Dr Pepper, and read my e-mail.

 7. What is your favorite physical activity?

Wearing my fluffy slippers, sipping my Dr. Pepper, and reading my e-mail.

8. What is your favorite vacation?

Anywhere with people I love. Could be on a cruise to the Bahamas, a road trip across America, or sharing one end of a couch with someone I love and watching an old movie.

Now we want to tag some of our favorite bloggers:

Chloe Carstairs

Jeff Joseph

Susan Buchanan

Onisha Ellis

Rachel Thompson

Alan McDermott

J. Thorn

Greg Mischio

J M Leitch

Ella Quinn

Keep it going if you have time; no worries if you don’t!

Why Our English Language Must, Like, Change—Roz’s Take

Many years ago, when I was a schoolgirl in England, my beloved English teacher pulled me to the front of the class to chastise me for using the word okay. I was mortified as she explained to me and the rest of the class that okay was American slang, definitely not proper English, and certainly not okay.

I, on the other hand, thought it was the epitome of cool. I had picked it up from one of the many American TV shows and movies we were, and still are, bombarded with. Now, many, many years later, after living in the U.S. for more than half my life, I am amused at how specific words, once used only in England, have almost vanished and been replaced by Americanisms. I return to my native England at least once a year, and I never fail to notice how English English is evolving. It’s, like, so totally cool.

The list is endless. A flat is now an apartment. A lift is an elevator. Women carry purses, not handbags. A television advert has been replaced by a commercial. And the word guys is commonly used to refer to a group of people, regardless of gender (I think we can blame the highly popular TV show Friends for that one). English people, like their American cousins, are, like, constantly using the word like inappropriately, to the extent that it will eventually be, like, proper.

And it’s not just across the Atlantic Ocean that language is evolving. I moved to Texas from Minnesota thirty years ago. When I first arrived in The Lone Star State, I was charmed by the Texas accent and unique language. Texans were often fixin’ to do something, and y’all was the preferred second-person pronoun. Sadly, with so many Yankees moving to our state, the Texas idioms and unique way of speaking are growing rare. The exception is y’all (that’s staying right here, thank you, ma’am).

When Patty and I first started writing together, she would sometimes graciously point out a specific word I had used, questioning if it was British. And she was always right. But I think she would agree that those British words creep into my narrative less and less. It’s not so much that I have become Americanized; it’s that the English language (as spoken in England) has done so.

Of course, we all know that English has to evolve (as Patty, my wordsmith, pointed out). If not, we would all be speaking like characters in a Jane Austen novel, or even worse, a Shakespearean play. And that’s just, like, totally okay! NOT!

Coming Out of the Closet

by Roz

I’m referring to the closet where books are written. Admitting to friends and loved ones that I am a co-novelist, now published, has taken many years. My writing partner, who is much braver than I am, has always been out and loving it. So, a big thank you to Patty.

Of course, having two novels available on Kindle, with a third (Death in Door County) on the way, has made it easier. These days, when the subject of my writing does come up and I am asked the inevitable question by non-writing people (and I am always asked), I have a darn good response.

Before Kindle, it went something like this:

Non-Writing Person: “Oh, you are a writer?”

Me: “Yes.”

NWP: “Have you ever been published?”

Me: “The food here is very good . . . ” or “I think it might rain later . . . ” or “Do you think Daniel Craig is tall enough to play James Bond?”

Basically, I’d grab any response that would change the subject before the glazed-over look appeared in NWP’s eyes. And it always did. It used to be that the worst thing you could say to any writer was are you published? These days, almost anyone can be published. But it’s not easy. It takes hard work, editing and formatting knowledge, and definitely some technical skill. And I’m not even talking about the actual writing part. That’s why I leave all the publishing stuff to Patty. In fact, without her, I would still be so far back in the closet, I’d be eating dust bunnies for breakfast.

The reason for my continuing hesitation was all the attention and fuss I was sure would be heaped upon me. I’m just not comfortable with that. Nevertheless, when our second book was published, I decided I would tell people, but only if the subject came up.

So, the very next day at work, my boss just happened to mention how much her mother loved her Kindle and was always looking for new writers. I could feel Patty kick my Texas shins all the way from Wisconsin, urging me to take advantage of this opportunity. So, I did it. I announced to the office of six people that I would be going to lunch at noon, and oh, by the way, I have co-authored not one but two murder mysteries and they are available on Kindle.

I had been expecting champagne corks to start popping and the paparazzi to camp outside my office. But it wasn’t quite that way. In fact, apart from a few raised eyebrows and several looks of suspicion, the only comment was from the twenty-two-year-old girl who asked if she could pose for the next cover. Seriously, where was all the attention and fuss that I had been dreading?  And shouldn’t I now be happy that no one was fussing?

Mike, my one true love (for the past thirteen years), has always been so encouraging and was excited when the first book went live on Kindle. So excited, in fact, that he’s read almost half of it. I should mention that although Mike is a voracious reader, the current book on his nightstand is a tome on the the Punic Wars. So, he’s not exactly our target audience.

But here’s the reward for coming out. Even though my writing wasn’t mentioned again at my place of work for several days, my boss came in one morning and announced that her sister had bought our second book, The Murder of Susan Reed, and she actually enjoyed it. Phew!!!!

Okay, so it’s not really the attention I fear, it’s the bad attention. The good stuff is worth leaving the closet for.