Well, my Goodreads giveaway is over. 2800 people vied for ten copies of my autographed novel. There must have been blood in the streets.
And I thought I'd contact the winners to see if they wanted any particular inscription. The personal touch, you know? And I did contact a couple of them. But then I got this message from the Goodreads gods:
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Well, fair enough. I don't want to spam anybody. But if there's a chance in hell any of the winners read this post and would like a personalized note, contact me sooner than later. Congratulations! I never win these things.
Now I'm a neophyte in this area, and of course I would not even be eligible for consideration until next year (I should be so lucky), so no knots in my stomach this year. But this is award season for mysteries: the king-daddy of them all, the Edgars (named after Edgar Allen Poe, and if I have to tell you who the Agathas are named after, your disinterest in mysteries is profound), has announced their nominees already, and you can find them here.
Here's a little bit about Malice Domestic, the folks who award the Agathas.
"Established in 1989, Malice Domestic is an annual fan convention that takes place each year in Maryland, just outside of Washington, D.C. Malice celebrates the Traditional Mystery, books best typified by the works of Agatha Christie. The genre is loosely defined as mysteries which contain no explicit sex, or excessive gore or violence."
So why should you care? Well, you're always looking for reading recommendations, aren't you? And why should I care? Because James Ziskin, my Seventh Street stable-mate and an all-around mensch has had his Sherlock Holmes pastiche, “The Twenty-Five-Year Engagement,” has been named a finalist for the Agatha for Best Short Story. So I've got someone to root for.
My great-great-nephew Atticus's first book was, of course, an autographed copy of my own novel. I would not be surprised if his taste leans toward Dr. Seuss at this point. He is, after all, barely five days old. But can you ever be too young for Sherlock Holmes?
By the way, if you liked the post on the Indigo Revolt, you might be interested in finding out more about the history of the color blue--which is a fascinating history, believe it or not. And a seminal part of that history is chronicled in my friend Nancy Bilyeau's brilliant novel
The Blue, a tale of 18th century industrial espionage.
"With the heart and spirit of her Huguenot ancestors, Genevieve faces her challenges head on, but how much is she willing to suffer in pursuit and protection of the color blue?"
"This story is filled with many twists and turns, most of which I never saw coming. It was so much fun having all of these familiar characters thrown together in this new story. I felt like Miller’s portrayal of Holmes and Watson was accurate, which is always a key for me in enjoying a new Holmes adventure."
From the interview:
"For me, writing is like blowing up a balloon. I start with a few puffs: beginning, middle, and end, and then expand, and let the breaths mingle and heat up. I just have to keep from spitting too much."
Phil Krampf presses his free bookplate into service as a Covid mask.
Desperate times call for desperate measures. If you'd like a bookplate to press into your copy of the novel, just send me your address in an email on the right.
Neither address will be sold or shared with anyone, may the gods strike me dead.
Did you know that those Levis you're wearing were responsible for a deadly revolt in India? Well, partly, anyway. You see, back in 1777, the British started planting indigo in India, especially Bengal. As a matter of fact, that what indigo means--India. Indigo? That's the dye that makes your blue jeans blue. And the British didn't really grow indigo --they tricked the Indian farmers into growing indigo. Even gave them loans.
But when they came to sell their crops, the farmers didn't make enough to pay back the loans and the exorbitant interest, because the buyers set the price. But it was okay, the buyers just loaned them more money. So the debt mounted. And the growers became, in effect, slaves. Growers were still trying to pay off the debt of their fathers and grandfathers. Men committed suicide rather than endure the torture.
It wasn't a unique situation. Former black slaves in America were effectively still in bondage due to the system of share-cropping. And coal miners were in a similar jam. Remember that that line from Sixteen Tons?
"Saint Peter, don't you call me, 'cuz I can't go. I owe my soul to the company store."
Same strategy. And demand for blue indigo dye just kept growing, especially in America, where a young man named Levi Strauss was selling copper-riveted indigo-dyed denim pants--blue jeans--as the inexpensive uniform of the working man. So when Indian farmers protested their situation, they were put down--violently.
"The Peasants Are Revolting"
In 1859, the peasants did indeed revolt. And so was bred the Indigo Rebellion, which involved the whole of Bengal. Indigo depots were burned to the ground. Some plantation owners were captured, tried, and hung, The rest fled for their lives.British response was swift and merciless. The peasants were slaughtered or hung. And then, in true British fashion, they appointed a commission to investigate the matter, and the truth of the British planters' oppression was laid bare. And then, in true British fashion, they recommended no action be taken.
Germany to the Rescue
There's a line you won't see every day. You see, the Germans were completely boxed out of India and the extremely lucrative indigo trade. So German chemists sought the Holy Grail--synthetic indigo. Time and again, it eluded them. Then, in 1890, Karl Heumann and Eugene Sapper hit on a method that was both practical and economical. By 1897, they brought it to market. And in a very few years, the bottom dropped out of the natural indigo market.
There is still indigo grown in India, but in a very small way. And the farmers got their land back--once the British left. And in 1955 James Dean put on a pair of jeans, and they became cool forever.
By the way, there are two vehicles which figure prominently in The Strange Case of Eliza Doolittle: Morello's Moreau-Lepton, and the Widgeon Seven which Holmes commandeers late in the action. If you are a stickler for historical detail, you might try to get a peek at one of these autos online. Alas, you will find no pictures of either. They never existed. Well, they did exist. But only in literature.
"Ah! I must confess that in rolling over the boulevards that surrounded the old Norman city, in my swift thirty-five horse-power Moreau-Lepton, I experienced a deep feeling of pride, and the motor responded, sympathetically to my desires."
"Well, you may say that sacking, considered in the light of a bed, isn't everybody's money, and in saying so you would be perfectly correct. But after half an hour in the seat of a Widgeon Seven, even sacking begins to look pretty good to you."
Y'see, the Moreau Lepton was the car of famed burglar Arsene Lupin, while the Widgeon Seven was the two-seater so beloved of famed fat-head Bertie Wooster. The two cars existed only in the imaginations of authors Maurice LeBlanc and P.G. Wodehouse, whom I wanted to give a nod to, and so continue the proud tradition of fictional automobiles.
Vincent spent the last 70 days of his life in the little town of Auvers-sur-Oise as a lodger at Auberge Ravoux. During his stay there, he created more than 80 paintings and 64 sketches before dying of a gunshot wound on 29 July 1890.
In this picture, Ravoux and his daughter Adeline are on the left. Madame Ravoux and daughter Germaine stand in the doorway.
Holmes first meets Ravoux in Auvers in The Strange Case of the Dutch Painter
"The worst thing you can do is censor yourself as the pencil hits the paper. You must not edit until you get it all on paper. If you can put everything down, stream-of-consciousness, you'll do yourself a service."
I write in expectation that readers want to participate in a kind of two-sided game: They are trying to guess what I am up to - what the story's up to - and I'm giving them clues and matter to keep them interested without giving everything away at the start. Even the rules, if any, of the game are for the reader to discover.
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"It is neither decent nor safe to take from their resting places the bodies of old kings. The Egyptians knew much more about the occult than we do today. This must have been a peculiar element of an Egyptian curse.
The ancient Egyptians were very anxious to guard the tombs of their Kings, there is reason to believe that they placed elementals on guard, and such may have caused Lord Carnarvon’s death.
An evil elemental may have caused Lord Carnarvon’s fatal illness. One does not know what elementals existed in those days, nor what the form might be.
These elementals are not spirits in the ordinary sense, in that they have no souls.
An elemental is a built-up, artificial thing, an imbued force which may be brought into being by spirit means or by nature."
–Sir Arthur Conan Doyle on the strange death of Lord Carnarvon
“I don't think writers are sacred, but words are. They deserve respect. If you get the right ones in the right order, you might nudge the world a little or make a poem that children will speak for you when you are dead.”― Tom Stoppard, The Real Thing
"Much like the fictional professor of phonetics, who famously lived on the same Marylebone street, the property's original owner, Professor Horace Wilson, was a linguistics expert." --The Daily Mail
Think of your story as a Rubik's Cube (though each story has a different method of solving, so you can't just memorize one), but you've got to keep twisting and turning and observing the results from every angle. There is one correct solution for each story, one which is satisfying, so don't be afraid to scrap your progress and start all over again.
By the way, I'm extremely pleased to announce that Jennifer Do, the artist who did such an amazing job on the cover for The Strange Case of Eliza Doolittle, is on board once again for my second endeavor,
The Strange Case of the Dutch Painter. Can't wait to see what Jennifer has up her sleeve up with this time.
"So I got an idea. I would write a little detective story. (You can see that I still had Holmes on my mind.) That would give me a reason to lard it with prepositions—which I would leave blank. And I’d populate the story with English characters, probably hoping to make up for my American mutt complex and show those Brits. Characters that even an Italian would be familiar with. So I picked them out of the air. Sherlock Holmes. Henry Higgins and Eliza Doolittle. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. I think it was about six pages long, and as I recall Higgins is murdered and Eliza revealed as the culprit, a denouement G.B. Shaw should have thought of. I acted it out for my students and it was a big hit, with them shouting out prepositions right and left."
"I ran up and down the stairs, finding books and quotes to put in my "Fireman" novella. You can imagine how exciting it was to do a book about book burning in the very presence of the hundreds of my beloveds on the shelves. It was the perfect way to be creative; that's what the library does."
"Suspense, resonant period ambience, vivid and memorable characters, masterful writing based loosely on Conan Doyle’s style, a multilayered plot with references to the works of George Bernard Shaw and Robert Louis Stevenson, and, most of all, Holmes and Watson in a story perfectly suited for them make for a gripping, hugely entertaining, and very satisfying read."
6. A penguin walks up to you, right now, wearing a sombrero. What does he say to you and why is he here?
It being London, of course, he would first mention the cold. Then he would ask for directions to 221B Baker St., but I would have to inform him that Holmes no longer resides in London, and indeed no longer involves himself in cases. Then I would then invite him to a pub for a brandy, where he would tell me of his impending peril. Almost certainly of his escape from an Argentinian guano farm and the pursuit of bloodthirsty gauchos. It’s an old story. There’s an office in Special Branch now that looks after penguin emigres.
I couldn't figure out what todowith all these books, till I realized I could give them away. If you'll notice on the right, that's just what I'm doing; giving away ten books on Goodreads! Scoop up your chance now.
The "Sherlockians and Doyleans" say THE STRANGE CASE OF ELIZA DOOLITTLE by Timothy Miller, "is an imaginative mix of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, George Bernard Shaw, and Robert Louis Stevenson in a nicely-written story that offers some dramatic surprises."
"A gripping, hugely entertaining and very satisfying read." — Booklist, Starred Review on Timothy Miller's THE STRANGE CASE OF ELIZA DOOLITTLE. Have you read this one?