Ghost Writing - Clea Simon

*Editor's Note: I'm always interested in how other writers handle things, so today Clea Simon talks to us about some of the technical aspects of creating a supernatural characters. Welcome, Clea!

Creating characters is a blast. From an initial spark – an overheard bit of dialogue, a peek through a crowd, a dream – you get an idea for who someone might be. From there, you learn about this new person, your fictional creation. A name, some habits. Friends and tastes. The ways that characters come together never ceases to amaze and thrill me. But one thing I’ve learned about characters: In order for them to be interesting, in order for them to be real, they must have limits, weaknesses, and boundaries.
So how do you write a ghost?

This question came up for me while I was working on Shades of Grey, my first Dulcie Schwartz mystery, and again as I was working on the sequel, Grey Matters. The entire Dulcie Schwartz project came out of a simple idea: that a young grad student who was studying Gothic literature would see the ghost of her late, great cat, Mr. Grey. I had an initial scene, in which she would see a cat who looked just like her late cat, and that the cat would try to warn her about entering what she would discover was a murder scene.

That was the seed of the entire series. But after that, well… I was on my own.

As mystery writers venture further into the paranormal, many other ghosts have been launched in the world. But the one that stuck in my mind was an unsuccessful one. I’m a fan of novelist Lisa See. I enjoyed her China-set thriller series and have come to enjoy her more ambitious historical novels as well. But two years ago, when she published Peony in Love, I found myself incredibly disappointed. I understand what she was trying to do in this book – to retell great Chinese dramas from the 16th and 17th century from a woman’s perspective. But the female protagonist, Peony, was a ghost, and in See’s retelling, as a ghost, Peony had no flaws and very few distinctive character traits. She also, basically, had no limitations on what she could do in terms of space or time. The result was disappointing. While the peek inside an ancient world was interesting, there wasn’t anything there to connect to emotionally – no conflict or tension or suspense. So when I started writing Shades of Grey, I kept poor Peony in mind. Mr. Grey, while no longer a flesh-and-blood cat, was not going to be a bloodless specter. No way.

Knowing that I wanted an emotional response to this ghostly feline, I used my own emotions as a guide. The basic idea for Mr. Grey was the strange sense I’d gotten after we’d had to put my much loved cat Cyrus to sleep that Cyrus was still, somewhere, around. I know logically that this was because for the previous 16 years, Cyrus had been my pretty much constant companion. In some way, my mind couldn’t accept that the longhaired grey cat, with a face more Siamese than Persian, was no longer there. So I saw him – felt him – sometimes even heard him everywhere. Talking to other bereaved pet lovers, I found out that this experience was common, and so that’s what I worked with. That feeling that you think you see your pet, unlikely as it seems, but you’re just not quite sure…

As for the question of spectral infallibility, well, that was tougher. A ghost, especially a ghost who is helping solve a mystery, probably knows more than a living creature, right? So how come a caring ghost wouldn’t just explain everything to his human and solve the mystery from the start? I wrestled with this one a bit. Should Dulcie not hear everything Mr. Grey says? Should she misinterpret? Well, yes, a little of both. But what ultimately saved me was the realization that, ghost or no, Mr. Grey is a cat. And what is important to a cat is not always what is important to a human, and even the most loving feline will sometimes lose patience with his person and go take a nap. Making Mr. Grey a ghost, or a possible ghost, presented some problems, but recognizing him as a feline paved the way for many enigmatic and, I hope, mysterious puzzles!

Clea Simon
Clea's blog: http://cleasimon.blogspot.com/
Website: http://www.cleasimon.com/

Reviewing - by Clea Simon

*Editor's note: I'm always open to blog post ideas here at Cozy Murder Mysteries. Clea Simon - she will be blogging here on Monday with a wonderful piece on creating a ghostly character for her cozy murder mysteries - wrote this piece for us on reviewing, and I love it. It's a fascinating look at what a review should be, in an ideal world. Enjoy!

The review says “thumbs up!” It’s positive. Someone I’ve never even met – who isn’t family! - likes my new book. I should be thrilled. And yet…

Yes, I am a persnickety author. I always want more. But I’m also a critic – a professional reviewer – and as silly as that seems, I have standards. Maybe I’m one of a dying breed, but I think a review should act as more than a buyer’s guide. A good review should continue the conversation the author has started.

Maybe it’s a punk thing. Long before I started writing books, I wrote about music – particularly the vibrant DIY scene in the rock clubs of New York and Boston in the late ‘70s and early ‘80s. It was a crazy, fun time, full of experimentation, energy, and joy. Poets were picking up guitars. Bassists were painting. Gigs started in basement clubs and ended in artists’ lofts, usually just in time for most of us to shuffle off to our day jobs. And critics were part of the scene – writing for new music publications, often enough self-produced newsletters or “zines” run off on office copiers on the sly (or mimeographed, remember mimeograph?). Unlike the common conception of critics, we weren’t aloof judges. We were part of the scene – throwing our ideas into the general creative stew, and it was great.

Well, okay, there were drawbacks. Like the time I criticized a band’s second album, only saying I preferred their first, and the band threatened me on air – egged on by an overly enthusiastic DJ. Or the on-again off-again sexism that led some deluded gentlemen to believe that my critical capacity, or, specifically, my opinion of their bands, could be improved by their sexual prowess. But, you know, it was also a time of great openness – more of my women friends were starting bands, booking clubs, managing both bands and clubs than ever before. And writing, always writing.

Reading, too, which has led me to discover the rich history of criticism. Daily paper reviewers, like Virgil Thompson, whose cutting wit enlivened his knowledgable write ups of fellow composers. Prose stylists like Greil Marcus, whose so-called reviews are an art in themselves. Even Aristotle talked about criticism, I discovered, calling it one of the great arts – and a necessity for civilized society. Somewhere along the line, I realized that a review has got to be more than the critic’s opinion. No matter how informed we are, how much we know about the history of what we’re reviewing or the art itself (yes, I used to play bass in bands, and, yes, I write), our opinion alone isn’t worth the reader’s time.

When we undertake a review, even when we’re tackling the latest big bestseller, we owe the reader context and history. Where does this work stand in comparison to its peers and predecessors? We owe a little background. Is the author’s research sound? Are there other takes on this historical event or that famous person? We have to take each work on its own merits and explain the merits or restrictions of a particular genre or author or style. We have to lead the reader to alternatives – better or worse – and point out the differences that a first-timer may not notice. We have to educate. We have to translate one art form, genre, or style into another. And, above all, we have to do it in an entertaining manner.

Back in the days when I would rush into the paper’s newsroom at 10:30, desperate to bang out my 600 words before third edition’s 11:15 deadline, I had a very wise editor. “Clea,” he’d say to me, “keep in mind that maybe 100 people were in that club. Maybe another dozen or so will buy the album. Most of the folks who pick up the paper tomorrow will not know or care about that band. They’re reading in the smallest room in their house, and they just want to be entertained for as long as they have to be in there.”

So I’m grateful for that thumb’s up. Really I am. But somewhere between the bathroom and Aristotle, I like to think there might be a little more.

***

Clea Simon is the author of three nonfiction books and five mysteries, the most recent being Shades of Grey (Severn House). She can be reached at http://www.cleasimon.com and blogs regularly at http://cleasimon.blogspot.com