Nancy Drew - Memories, Fantasies and Libraries

by Janis Patterson

I’ll admit it – I loved Nancy Drew. Didn’t like Trixie Belden, couldn’t stand the other one whose name I can’t remember right now, was never allowed to read Cherry Ames (she was a nurse, and my mother hated that) but I simply loved Nancy Drew. Our own Kathleen Kaska recently blogged on Nancy Drew, which brought up a plethora of memories I thought amusing enough to share with you.

I learned to read early – around three, we think, but no one knows for sure – and by five was gleefully working my way through my parents’ library before they really knew what I was reading, not that in those antique days there was anything ‘risque’ in there. I had gotten about half-way through their small collection of Ellery Queens, which I pretty much understood, and some history books which I pretty much didn’t. I remember especially remember Boswell’s London Journal, mainly for how much it horrified my parents to find me reading it.

Anyway, in their search to find more age-appropriate reading matter for me, Mother took me to the local library where a kindly librarian took us to the children’s department. I was allowed to pick out six books, and I remember being very distressed at how thin they were. Mother was very distressed that I had them all read before we could drive home. After several equally unproductive visits, we went over to the grown-up section (‘adult’ has such an unfortunate connotation these days) and I found several books I would like to read. The kindly librarian suddenly turned into a martinet; children, she said in pointy tones, could not check out books from the adult section because they would only tear them up and they couldn’t really read them anyway. When I realized I was being insulted I reacted with a spirited rebuttal, which resulted in the librarian regarding me much as she would a talking dog or other freak of nature. I was summarily ejected from the library and banished for a week. Although I now do speaking engagements at libraries I have looked at them askance ever since.

Then salvation came in the unlikely form of Sears and Roebuck. In my youth that was our main shopping outlet. On Thursday nights, when they stayed open until the dizzying hour of 9 pm, we would go after supper just for the fun of riding the new escalators. Those were indeed simpler times. Anyway, one night we walked past a sale display of Nancy Drew books. They looked fascinating and while Mother’s and Daddy's attention was occupied elsewhere, I inspected them and lost my heart. At 99 cents each they were still a fair amount, for our family at least, but the memory of my humiliation in the library was still fresh, so somehow my parents scraped up the required amount and I was the proud possessor of my first Nancy Drew. I don’t remember which one it was, but I do know I still own it – I still have every one I ever owned. Whichever one it was, I must have read it fifteen or twenty times in the next week. After that, even though we were very far from well-to-do, once a month I got a new Nancy Drew, even after the price went back to the regular $1.99 – a goodly sum in those days.

I would have gone back to the library and even apologized to the librarian for being so abnormal as to be able to read adult books if I could have checked out Nancy Drews. Unfortunately in those days libraries did not find Nancy and her friends ‘worthwhile’ reading and refused to stock them. More fool them.

Anyway, I was ecstatically happy no matter where the books came from. A mystery I could actually understand! A girl sleuth I could identify with! Of course, to my young mind there was no difference between a fictional, perfect teenager and my own much younger and rather lumpy self, but that made no difference. When I was reading, I was Nancy. Nancy drove a car (though I had to look up what a roadster was), she had seemingly unlimited funds, she was allowed to go where and when she wanted, all the while delicious mysteries seemed to leap into her path.

Now from the vantage point of my unfortunately advanced years, I realize no one could possibly be as perfect in mind, body, family, and life in general as Nancy Drew. Also that Carson Drew was the most lax of parents, perhaps even to the criminal point, but to my young self, as the product of two ridiculously overprotective parents, that was a situation to be envied.

As I grew a little older (though still in lower elementary school) I entered a very analytical phase and decided that just with a little application I could be just the same as Nancy. Of course, I had no money, no car, and two very hover-prone parents, but if I could just find a mystery to solve I was certain I could overcome those hurdles. I thought if I re-read every Nancy Drew I had and made a chart of how she got involved with each mystery, I could do the same thing and have a mystery of my own – only thing was, I found the mysteries all seemed to come to Nancy with no effort on her part. Drat!

The years have passed and my tastes have (hopefully!) become much more sophisticated. It’s been a couple of decades since I read a Nancy Drew, and perhaps that’s good. The province of our memory is often kinder than present perception, and I treasure my memories of Nancy Drew too much to put them at risk.

  

Guess What? I'm on Vacation!

When this appears I'll be in Murrieta CA visiting my eldest daughter and son-in-law with the added treat of spending time with two of my grandchildren, their spouses and five great grandchildren. Nothing better!

Me and daughter Dana on vacation another time.

Coming along with me will be my hubby and middle daughter who is kind enough to do the driving chores. (To get to where we're going we have to travel through too much Southern California traffic, something neither hubby nor I are willing to do any more.)

When ever we go there, daughter plans our days--and I know we'll be visiting interesting places, perhaps Old Town Temecula, going to a couple of movies, eating out, swimming, and best of all, lots of family time.

To tie this into mystery, for those of you who don't know, Temecula is where Erle Stanley Gardner had a ranch and wrote many books--usually four at a time. He had four secretaries he dictated them too--one he was romantically involved with. I read a lot of his mysteries, especially those with Perry Mason and Della Street. (Also loved the TV series.)

Will I be doing any work? A little probably. I always check email wherever I am and will respond to what is needed. I'll promote this blog and another I'm on. Because I'm just beginning a new Rocky Bluff P.D., I'll probably talk to Dana and her daughter Genie (who are both fans of the series), about what they might like see happen to the characters this time around. And since I'm making up a religious sect, I'll get some ideas for that from them.

And for any culprits who might read this--even though we're goine, my son and his wife aren't, and they live on our property.  Anyone who has seen my son and his dogs won't foolishly come around for any of the wrong reasons.

Son Matthew, his dog redwood, and some friends.

When I get back, I'll let you know how much fun I had. We don't go on many vacations--mostly when we leave it's to go to some book event.

Summer is coming, time to plan on reading some of the great mysteries that the authors on this blog have written.

You might want to try the latest in my Rocky Bluff P.D. series, Violent Departures--available on Amazon.

Marilyn aka F. M. Meredith

My Morning on Radio

I knew I was going to get lost as soon as I heard the directions to the Stony Brook University Radio Station. I’d been to the Stony Brook campus many times to attend concerts and films, but this was behind the Staller Center. And indeed, it took me third turns around the road circling the university before I stopped a helpful person who directed me to the parking lot I was supposed to enter.

Getting to the right parking lot required another series of turns, but I mastered those easily. The program I was participating in is called The Writers’ Corner. Bruce, also known as BAM, is its moderator.  I was sharing the spotlight with two other writers—Sue Habanero and Don Allen--both of whom had appeared previously on The Writers’ Corner and had even acted as moderators in the past. The studio's small and the equipment very basic. My mic didn’t have a permanent stand. Our readings and discussions would start after ten and possibly go until one o’clock. Free and loose, but fine with me.

Habanero, as Sue likes to be called, was the first to read from the book she and her husband had written called Two Sailboats, One Moon, Journals From a Year Spent Oceans Apart. Bob had gone on a year-long sailing trip in the southern ocean. Except for three visits to see him, she stayed home on LI. Habanero and Bobanero, as he likes to be called, self-published their book and sell it at various     meetings and locales where people involved with sailing convene. Both Don and I were shocked to learn their book wasn’t on Amazon. But Hananero, the apt project manager that she is, quickly remedied that situation and thanked me via email for urging her to do so.

I was up next. I read from Murder a la Christie, which I explained is the first mystery in my Golden Age of Mystery Book Club series and happens to be free on Amazon today and tomorrow. Bruce, Habanero and Don praised my writing style. They liked how I seamlessly moved the story along while giving vital bits of information, which pleased me no end. As we approached noon, Bruce announced that we didn’t have until one o’clock as we’d thought, so I never got to read excerpts from my two Young Adult novels that will be coming out in a few months. And Don only had a few minutes to read two of his historical poems, both of which I liked very much.

Bruce asked us to return as guests on the next session of the Writers’ Corner the last Friday morning in June, and I said I’d be there. He talked about the Long Island chapter of Sisters in Crime, which I’d co-founded, and mentioned that our meeting was the following afternoon at the Emma Clark Library. I was pleasantly surprised when a listener, her sister, and her mother attended our meeting on Saturday. Somehow I feared my boyfriend David was the only person who had listened to the program. As both David and Habanero pointed out to me, next time I have to speak directly into the mic so listeners can hear me clearly. And I will. I will!

A Very Private High School

I wish I felt more enthusiasm for the launch of my new Dave Mason mystery. For me, once I’m finished a book, that is, the revised revised final final version, I’m really done with it. And by then I’m onto to the next book and all its problems and challenges.

I want to leave behind the elitist world of private education, car theft, and hit-and-run tragedy.

A Very Private High School, coming soon, is the fourth in the Detective Dave Mason series. Dave Mason, my fictional homicide detective with the Santa Monica Police Department, has been living inside my head for fifteen years and we know each other well.

I want to see him make a splash and get some attention but oh, the work that lies ahead. The only reason I wish I were 25 again is all the energy I had then. I marvel at Marilyn Meredith and her pace of accomplishment.

Coupled with a natural shyness is the realization that I can’t do it all anymore, and need to portion out my energies in a sensible fashion. I wish I could also say that writing is the only thing I do and I beaver away at it eight productive hours a day. But life is interesting.

I’m working in a small group spearheading the startup of a community radio station in the area where I live. I’m on the board of the LA chapter of Sisters-in-Crime, and meeting next week to discuss the startup of a chapter of Sisters-in-Crime in Bakersfield. And next week is the California Crime Writers Conference in Los Angeles where I’m heading a panel on blogging.

I love Dave Mason, and A Very Private High School is a good book, but I’m daunted I must admit. Any other mystery writers who have felt this way?

Where do you draw your energies from at this point in the launch of a new book?

The Art of (Racing) Pacing

Kathleen Kaska

It’s that time of year when thoroughbreds have been running the big races: the Dubai World Cup, the Arkansas Derby, and, or course, the Triple Crown races. I love watching the horses run. The jockeys make it look so easy—load the horse in the gate, take off, run fast and finish—all in about two minutes. I usually pick a longshot, hoping to watch it blow past the favorite. That rarely happens, but it’s exciting when it does. What amazes me the most is when one of the favorites breaks from the gate and the jockey pulls back the reins, instead of immediately taking the lead. After hanging back, a power-hungry machine of horse and jockey gain momentum, steadily weaving through the throng. One by one it passes all the other horses and finishes first right at the finish line.

            Over the years, I’ve realized that winning horse races is not so much the art of racing as it is the art of pacing. This concept applies to my writing as well. With writing blog posts, newsletters, social-media promo bites, articles, and books, sometimes I feel as if I’m racing through my writing life. When that happens, I remind myself to slow down and set goals, prioritize my projects, give myself a pat on the back, and like the sharp jockey, hang back a while and ready myself for the final push. True, I don’t beat other writers to a finish line, since this race is run by only me. I don’t get a blanket of poses draped over my shoulders. I don’t get a silver cup for my trophy shelf. And, as of yet, I haven’t been awarded a gigantic purse. But by pacing, I get the job done. Afterwards I feel like a winner because I’ve accomplished something I’m proud of. 

Me and my hero, Secretariat

The Mystery of the Unknown Soldiers

As I attended the annual Memorial Day ceremony today and listened to the reading of the names of area soldiers who died this past year, I couldn't help thinking of mysteries solved and unsolved. Many paid the ultimate sacrifice, yet their identities are still unknown.

http://www.arlingtoncemetery.mil/Explore-the-Cemetery/Tomb-of-the-Unknown-Soldier

It's a shame these Unknown Soldiers can't be individually recognized for their gift to us.

Without them, we would not enjoy the precious freedoms we enjoy today.

Find Morgan Mandel's mysteries & romances at:
http://www.amazon.com/author/morganmandel

Excerpts: http://morgansbooklinks.blogspot.com

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/morgan.mandel

Twitter: @MorganMandel

The Worry List

I don’t remember where I read about this, but it’s a brilliant idea. It’s saved me lot of worry, several anxiety pills, and probably an ulcer.

All writers seem to have a pervasive sense of overwhelming, ill-defined anxiety. At times it verges on panic and even despair. We’re universally puzzled as to why we’re doing this. We often say because it makes us happy. And it does. It keeps us sane and gives us moments of elation and joy. But those are only moments. The rest of the time, we’re worried.

We worry that we can’t write a book. We worry that we can’t finish it. We worry that we’ve done a horrible job. We’re worried we won’t ever get published. When we’re published we worry that our books won’t sell, that we’ll get horrible reviews, that the world will discover what shams we are. Then we worry that we’ll never be able to write another book. After that, the wonderful merry-go-round starts again!

I found a great help for all of this! The Worry List. I typed up a list of everything I was worried about. I included deadlines and sales, forgetting blogs, but also, since my first list was in the fall, Christmas presents and birthday presents. (Our family, me included, tends to have children during the fall and during winter holidays.) I also added some personal health, family, and money-related things. They totaled to 21.

Then, with all my worries solidified, defined, and recorded, I closed the file and went about my way, worrying only about the specific project I was working on at the time. Whenever I began to feel anxious, I would open the file and there would be all my worries, still safe and sound.

Some people advocate setting aside a regular period of time to spend worrying about the list items, but I found I only needed to check on them and give them a moment, as needed.

Two months after I made the list, I went over each item and discovered that I could remove 3 of them. Just lately, I removed 5 more. They are still “things” but they are things that I’m not going to worry about anymore (except the birthday and Christmas gifts—those will be added back). There are still 13 items on the list, so it is alive and well. I imagine I’ll add to it someday, but haven’t had to yet.

Why does looking at my Worry List make me feel secure? Doesn’t everyone know that writers are different? What can I say?