Month: February 2023

Writing Journal—Saturday writing prompt

While on a vacation, your character runs into the one that got away. The electrifying spark is still there, as strong as ever, only your character is no longer single. Write the scene, from the character’s point of view, as all these old feelings surface and mix with guilt.

One Stop for Writers

Guidance & Tips

Write the scene of discovery (i.e., tell a story), or brainstorm and create a list of related ideas.

Here’s five story elements to consider:

  • Character
  • Setting
  • Plot
  • Conflict
  • Resolution

Never forget, writing is a process. The first draft is always a mess.

The first draft of anything is shit.

Ernest Hemingway

02/24/23 Biking & Listening

Biking is something else I both love and hate. It takes a lot of effort but does provide good exercise and most days over an hour to listen to a good book or podcast. I especially like having ridden.

Here’s my bike, a Rockhopper by Specialized. I purchased it November 2021 from Venture Out in Guntersville; Mike is top notch! So is the bike, and the ‘old’ man seat I salvaged from an old Walmart bike.

Here’s a link to today’s bike ride. This is my pistol ride.

Here’s a few photos taken along my route:

Here’s what I’m currently listening to: The Fourth Deadly Sin, by Lawrence Sanders

Sanders was a tremendously talented writer.

Amazon abstract:

When a Manhattan psychiatrist is murdered, a retired detective returns to the job, in a thriller by the #1 New York Times–bestselling “master of suspense” (The Washington Post).

On a rainy November night, Dr. Simon Ellerbee stares out the window of his Upper East Side psychiatry office, miserably wishing he could seek counseling for the problems in his seemingly perfect life. He hears the door buzzer and goes to answer it, but flinches when he sees his unexpected guest. Minutes later, he’s dead, his skull crushed by repeated blows from a ball-peen hammer. Once the doctor was down, the killer turned over the body and smashed in Ellerbee’s eyes.  With no leads and a case getting colder by the hour, the New York Police Department calls in former chief Edward Delaney. His search for the truth raises more questions than answers: Who had Ellerbee let into his office? Why were there two sets of wet footprints on the carpeting of the doctor’s townhouse? What caused Ellerbee’s odd personality transformation over the past year? And who murdered, then symbolically mutilated, the prominent Manhattan psychiatrist?

A Sample Five Star Review

Errol Mortland

5.0 out of 5 stars The Best Bubble Gum Ever!

Reviewed in the United States on August 6, 2017

If you’re tired of streaming or cleaning for the moment and need to pass some time, you won’t go wrong with the four Deadly Sins series from Lawrence Sanders. I zip through all of them every other year, in sequence. They’re great reads, and I’ve always pictured George C. Scott as Edward X. Delaney (Frank Sinatra in the movie version of the First in pretty insipid, but apparently he owned the rights).

The Fourth is the murder is Dr Simon Ellerbee, you get the usual palette of suspects, and retired Chief of Detectives gets his crew and does his stuff. If Hemingway wrote crime suspense set in NYC, it’d be like this. I love short descriptive sentences. Not sure I recall seeing “ears like slabs of veal” in this one. If you love New York, Mr Sanders captures its essence like a great musical conductor. The “Sins” series is the best, followed by the “Commandments.” The Arch McNally stuff which followed that is okay, even though they kept the series going after Mr Sanders died in 1998. I just find that disrespectful. I only regret there wasn’t a Fifth Deadly Sin.

Mental Meanderings—A Look-Back at Yesterday (Thursday–022323)

It’s early and I’m thinking about Eddie. He’s our Lab look-alike, all black other than a short, thin stretch of white on his neck. I rescued him last May while on a bike ride; then, he was around six or seven months old.

Shortly after his arrival, Jonathan named him Special Edward, Eddie for short, although I often call him the Black Tornado. You see, Eddie is powerfully destructive. Just yesterday, he half-destroyed a deck rug. By the way, the name Special Edward is a take off from Special Education which simply means he often needs extra help, especially with how he learns to cope with learning and living.

Late yesterday afternoon was a good time to take Eddie on a car ride (we’ve done this for a few months now, not every day but at least a couple of times per week). He loves riding in our old Sentra. Maybe because there’s a couple of bed sheets I’ve left in the back seat for him to rip to shreds. I have to say, he’s done quite a good job.

Our destination was Walgreen’s to pick up a prescription for Donna. Per Eddie’s suggestion, we took the back roads. He’s learned that’s where he’ll see the most animals: cows, horses, dogs, and cats. His favorite thing to do is hang out the passenger side window. I lower the hand crank enough for him to slip his head and shoulders outside, into the wind, with his front paws balancing him on the arm rest and the top of the door frame. Eddie is very agile.

When he sees another animal, especially a dog along the side of the road or traversing a lawn, Eddie will stare and maintain eye contact by turning his head as we pass. Unfortunately, if the animal is on my side of the car, Eddie will do his best to maneuver himself into my seat, which is a no-no since his big body blocks my view of the road ahead. Sometimes, he’ll move from the front seat to the rear to extend his time staring at the other creature.

At Walgreen’s I thought about seeing what would happen if I put Eddie on a leash (I keep one in the Sentra) and go inside to the pharmacy. Of course, I wasn’t serious. That scene wouldn’t have been pretty, for anyone. I have mentioned Eddie is also known as the Black Tornado haven’t I?

I chose the drive-through lane instead. There were four cars ahead of us. And, wholly unsurprising, the first car in line either had a complicated prescription, or had a long and thrilling story to share with the pharmacist, since it stayed planted for at least fifteen minutes. Before car one moved, the Tacoma in front of us abandoned his spot. Now we’re down to three.

Eddie was busy in the back seat with the bed sheets so I started listening to a podcast on my iPhone. I guess there was something magnetic about Sam Harris’ voice given Eddie’s reaction. He was in my lap in an instant, licking both my phone and my face. The only car I could see now was the one approaching from the rear.

Finally, something, maybe the voice of one of Sam’s guests, changed Eddie’s mind and he lay in the passenger seat with his head on my right thigh. For a good two minutes, he lay still and looked up at me with those beautiful sparkling deep-golden eyes. It was as though he was thanking me for rescuing him in the first place, providing him a newly constructed two-room dog house (note: the inner room is insulated, and the house is for nights only), and for these special times together, just the two of us where we, most times silently, share our hopes and dreams for the future.

As it was finally ‘our turn’ at the window, the youngish female assistant said, “may I help you?” Well, you may have guessed. Eddie thought she was talking to him. In a flash he was hanging his head out my lowered driver’s side window. The girl laughed and I managed to speak. Now, I wish I’d said, “Eddie needs his Ritalin,” or something to that affect. Instead, I provided the needed information, and encouraged my wonderful companion to slip between the seats and continue his bed sheet ripping.

Again, we took the back roads home. Eddie occupied himself, switching between his back seat activities and looking for four-legged friends while hanging out the passenger side window. I drove and imagined what life would have been like if this rambunctious but sweet puppy hadn’t appeared out of no where and stood beside my parked bike that sunny day last May.

Here’s a few more photos of Special Edward:

Writing Journal—Friday writing prompt

Your character is a substitute teacher for a grade four class and slowly comes to realize something unusual is going on. As impossible as it seems, some of her students are reading her mind. Write the scene. 

One Stop for Writers

Guidance & Tips

Write the scene of discovery (i.e., tell a story), or brainstorm and create a list of related ideas.

Here’s five story elements to consider:

  • Character
  • Setting
  • Plot
  • Conflict
  • Resolution

Never forget, writing is a process. The first draft is always a mess.

The first draft of anything is shit.

Ernest Hemingway

02/23/23 Biking & Listening

Biking is something else I both love and hate. It takes a lot of effort but does provide good exercise and most days over an hour to listen to a good book or podcast. I especially like having ridden.

Here’s my bike, a Rockhopper by Specialized. I purchased it November 2021 from Venture Out in Guntersville; Mike is top notch! So is the bike, and the ‘old’ man seat I salvaged from an old Walmart bike.

Here’s a link to today’s bike ride. This is my pistol ride.

Here’s a few photos taken along my route:

Here’s what I’m currently listening to: The Third Deadly Sin, by Lawrence Sanders

Sanders was a tremendously talented writer.

Amazon abstract:

New York Times Bestseller: A retired cop hunts for a female serial killer no one would suspect in this “first-rate thriller . . . as good as you can get” (The New York Times).

By day, she’s a middle-aged secretary no one would look at twice. But by night, dressed in a midnight-black wig, a skin-tight dress, and spike heels, she’s hard to miss. Inside her leather shoulder bag are keys, cash, mace, and a Swiss Army knife. She prowls smoky hotel bars for prey. The first victim—a convention guest at an upscale Manhattan hotel—is found with multiple stab wounds to the neck and genitals. By the time retired police detective chief Edward Delaney hears about the case from an old colleague, the Hotel Ripper has already struck twice. Unable to resist the puzzle, Delaney follows the clues and soon realizes he’s looking for a woman. As the grisly slayings continue, seizing the city in a chokehold of panic, Delaney must stop the madwoman before she kills again.

A Sample Five Star Review

M. G Watson

VINE VOICE

5.0 out of 5 stars Third Time’s the Charm

Reviewed in the United States on May 15, 2015

Verified Purchase

It is arguable that Lawrence Sanders never rose to greater heights as a prose stylist, suspense-writer or storyteller than he did with THE THIRD DEADLY SIN, the penultimate novel in his “deadly sin” series of books and the fourth of five to feature crusty, sandwich-obsessed Edward X. Delaney as a protagonist. Though once referred to as “Mr. Bestseller” and nearly as prolific in his day as Stephen King, Sanders seems to be forgotten now, except for his “McNally” series which was hardly representative of his best work; but at his best he was both compulsively readable and immensely satisfying, and this novel is both.

Zoe Kohler is the world’s most boring woman. Hailing from a small town somewhere in the Midwest, divorced from a husband who treated her like she was invisible, virtually friendless, and stuck in a mindless, dead-end job in the security office of an old hotel in Manhattan, she worries incessantly about her health and indulges in only one hobby: murder. Sexing herself up every Friday night, Zoe picks up unsuspecting businessmen attending conventions in different hotels around town, and delivers to each the same grisly fate: a Swiss Army knife, first to the throat and then to the jewels. But because nobody ever notices the world’s most boring woman, nobody suspects her, leaving Zoe free to indulge her hobby — over and over and over again.

Edward X. Delaney used to be a cop — and not just any cop, but the NYPD’s Chief of Detectives. Now, of course, he’s just a bored retiree, living in a Manhattan brownstone with this second wife. So when his former “rabbi” in the Department, Deputy Commissioner Ivar Thorsen, asks him to help investigate a series of baffling murders being committed in hotels around the city, Delaney agrees, but has little idea what he’s getting into: a search for a faceless, motiveless “repeater” (1970s slang for serial killer) whose vicious talents with a short-bladed knife are wreaking havoc with New York’s once-thriving convention trade. Acting as an unofficial adviser to the “Hotel Ripper” task force, Delaney begins to suspect that male prejudices, including his own, may be blinding his fellow detectives to the possibility of that the Ripper may not be a man. But he has no suspects, no witnesses, no fingerprints, and no hard evidence. Only instincts. And a growing pile of victims.

THE THIRD DEADLY SIN is a very attractive suspense novel for many reasons. Aside from Sanders prose style, which is beautiful, memorable and incredibly evocative, it works on multiple levels. Firstly, the character of Zoe Kohler. She is at once both a pitiable loser, struggling with health problems and sexist attitudes at work a burgeoning relationship with a sweet and unsuspecting man…and a remorseless, relentless killer, who hunts men for the sheer thrill of it. Second, Edward X. Delaney. This crusty, hard-nosed, sandwich-obsessed detective is neither sexy, flashy, nor gifted with any great deductive genius: he’s simply like a boulder that, starting slowly, gathers investigative momentum until he crushes just about everyone in his path, yet at the same time possesses a sensitivity — largely through his wife’s softening influence — that allows him more nuances than a typical, cigar-chewing, old school detective. And this leads me to the books third major strength, which is its examination of sexual attitudes, gender roles and (unintentionally) police procedure during the period it was written — about 35 years ago. At that time the pathology of serial killers was scarcely understood, forensic science still in its infancy, and the idea of gender equality more of a punchline than a serious idea. Delaney, an aging Irish cop with flat feet, is both brimming with cheauvanistic, patronizing, old-school attitudes and open to the possibility that those attitudes may be wrong.

No novel is perfect, of course, and this one is no exception. Sanders sometimes makes small but basic errors in matters of police procedure, slang and etiquette; the sort of mistakes which are the result of never having been a cop himself. Occasionally he tries too hard to make characters colorful, giving them a contrived rather than a naturalistic feel; and sometimes his dialogue and description betray his overwhelming love of the English language and end up sounding pretentious or, coming out of the mouths of certain characters, simply unrealistic. (This also leads him to over-write scenes with minor characters, such as Zoe’s doctor.) Most of the criticisms I can mount a this book, however, fall in the “nitpicking” category, and even when taken in the aggregate fail to outweigh all of its many pleasures.

THE THIRD DEADLY SIN may or may not have been Sanders’ best book (you could make a case for THE SIXTH COMMANDMENT or THE SECOND DEADLY SIN or THE ANDERSON TAPES or various others). It may not even be his best suspense novel. But for my money it is not merely a good read but equally satisfying upon each subsequent reading, which is about the highest praise I can give to an author’s work. So: buy it, make yourself a sandwich, and sit down to this half-forgotten but deservedly remembered author. Murder and mayhem have never been so fun.

Mental Meanderings—A Look-Back at Yesterday (Wednesday–022223)

It has been very windy the past several days, especially yesterday. This has made my daily biking more difficult. I’ve had to concentrate—to avoid being swept sideways into the other lane and oncoming traffic—and use more energy and strength to pedal and oppose the persistent force. In sum, I’ve been in a battle having to use my mind and body to resist the unrelenting power of the wind.

Resistance is a common word, easily understood. It is a noun, because it is a person, place, or thing. I’ll provide the relevant definition anyway: “the action of opposing something that you disapprove or disagree with.”

I think I could say that resistance is a two-way street. I resisted the wind. The wind resisted me. The two forces, me and the wind, were in a battle. I wanted to safely complete my route. The wind wanted to stop me. Please don’t think I’m giving agency to the wind. I resist that!

The wind isn’t the only thing I resist. In fact, most everywhere I go, everywhere I look, I encounter “something that [I] disapprove or disagree with.” It might be the many and sundry excuses that slither inside my head every time I sit down to work on my novel in progress. These are forces that I try to resist, but I don’t always win.

To some degree, I find something that opposes every thing I want to do. Thankfully, most of these are relatively powerless and can be easily overcome. I just noticed these forces are also present when I need to do something. I was thinking of washing the dishes. I really don’t want to do this. But, I need to. Yet, resistance is present either way. I have to oppose the force (the thing, the thought, the excuse, whatever you call it) that’s trying to stop me from washing the dishes.

Question. Would life be easier if we never encountered “something that [we] disapprove or disagree with”? In a way, it might. Let’s say, you approve of every thing you read, hear, or see. You simply believe the person who wrote what you’re reading, spoke what you’re hearing, or otherwise created what you are seeing.

If I were this person, I suspect I would be a rare and strange person. I suspect I would be a person naked of curiosity. I would be a person who didn’t read very broadly, wasn’t the least bit skeptical. I would be a person who doesn’t care much about reality, how the world really works. I would be something akin to a zombie.

I definitely wouldn’t be the person I am. And, yes, I just looked up zombie in the dictionary. Here’s what I consider the relevant definition: “a dead body that has been brought back to life by a supernatural force.”

Okay, I admit, I misspoke. If I never disapproved or disagreed with anything, I wouldn’t be a zombie because I don’t believe in anything supernatural. Bingo. I oppose belief in that. Why? I’ve never been presented with sufficient, credible evidence such a thing exists (but, I’m still open if presented with such evidence).

My conclusion here is that neither you or I would want to be a non-resisting person. Life would be far less interesting, would have little meaning, and would likely provide a water-slide environment for bad ideas—they’d rapidly flow downward and ultimately make a big splash, maybe one destructive to civilization itself.

I suspect that without resistance our society wouldn’t be as well off as it is. We might still believe epilepsy was caused by demons. But, I digress, which, come to think of it, is fit for Mental Meanderings.

Oh well, maybe the wind will be calm today.

Writing Journal—Thursday writing prompt

Your character is inspecting his recently purchased property when he falls through a rotten well cover. While he’s unhurt save for cuts and scrapes, no one knows he’s there, so he must get out on his own. Write his escape. 

One Stop for Writers

Here’s five story elements to consider:

  • Character
  • Setting
  • Plot
  • Conflict
  • Resolution

Never forget, writing is a process. The first draft is always a mess.

The first draft of anything is shit.

Ernest Hemingway

02/22/23 Biking & Listening

Biking is something else I both love and hate. It takes a lot of effort but does provide good exercise and most days over an hour to listen to a good book or podcast. I especially like having ridden.

Here’s my bike, a Rockhopper by Specialized. I purchased it November 2021 from Venture Out in Guntersville; Mike is top notch! So is the bike, and the ‘old’ man seat I salvaged from an old Walmart bike.

Here’s a link to today’s bike ride. This is my pistol ride.

Here’s a few photos taken along my route:

Here’s what I’m currently listening to: The Third Deadly Sin, by Lawrence Sanders

Sanders was a tremendously talented writer.

Amazon abstract:

New York Times Bestseller: A retired cop hunts for a female serial killer no one would suspect in this “first-rate thriller . . . as good as you can get” (The New York Times).

By day, she’s a middle-aged secretary no one would look at twice. But by night, dressed in a midnight-black wig, a skin-tight dress, and spike heels, she’s hard to miss. Inside her leather shoulder bag are keys, cash, mace, and a Swiss Army knife. She prowls smoky hotel bars for prey. The first victim—a convention guest at an upscale Manhattan hotel—is found with multiple stab wounds to the neck and genitals. By the time retired police detective chief Edward Delaney hears about the case from an old colleague, the Hotel Ripper has already struck twice. Unable to resist the puzzle, Delaney follows the clues and soon realizes he’s looking for a woman. As the grisly slayings continue, seizing the city in a chokehold of panic, Delaney must stop the madwoman before she kills again.

A Sample Five Star Review

M. G Watson

VINE VOICE

5.0 out of 5 stars Third Time’s the Charm

Reviewed in the United States on May 15, 2015

Verified Purchase

It is arguable that Lawrence Sanders never rose to greater heights as a prose stylist, suspense-writer or storyteller than he did with THE THIRD DEADLY SIN, the penultimate novel in his “deadly sin” series of books and the fourth of five to feature crusty, sandwich-obsessed Edward X. Delaney as a protagonist. Though once referred to as “Mr. Bestseller” and nearly as prolific in his day as Stephen King, Sanders seems to be forgotten now, except for his “McNally” series which was hardly representative of his best work; but at his best he was both compulsively readable and immensely satisfying, and this novel is both.

Zoe Kohler is the world’s most boring woman. Hailing from a small town somewhere in the Midwest, divorced from a husband who treated her like she was invisible, virtually friendless, and stuck in a mindless, dead-end job in the security office of an old hotel in Manhattan, she worries incessantly about her health and indulges in only one hobby: murder. Sexing herself up every Friday night, Zoe picks up unsuspecting businessmen attending conventions in different hotels around town, and delivers to each the same grisly fate: a Swiss Army knife, first to the throat and then to the jewels. But because nobody ever notices the world’s most boring woman, nobody suspects her, leaving Zoe free to indulge her hobby — over and over and over again.

Edward X. Delaney used to be a cop — and not just any cop, but the NYPD’s Chief of Detectives. Now, of course, he’s just a bored retiree, living in a Manhattan brownstone with this second wife. So when his former “rabbi” in the Department, Deputy Commissioner Ivar Thorsen, asks him to help investigate a series of baffling murders being committed in hotels around the city, Delaney agrees, but has little idea what he’s getting into: a search for a faceless, motiveless “repeater” (1970s slang for serial killer) whose vicious talents with a short-bladed knife are wreaking havoc with New York’s once-thriving convention trade. Acting as an unofficial adviser to the “Hotel Ripper” task force, Delaney begins to suspect that male prejudices, including his own, may be blinding his fellow detectives to the possibility of that the Ripper may not be a man. But he has no suspects, no witnesses, no fingerprints, and no hard evidence. Only instincts. And a growing pile of victims.

THE THIRD DEADLY SIN is a very attractive suspense novel for many reasons. Aside from Sanders prose style, which is beautiful, memorable and incredibly evocative, it works on multiple levels. Firstly, the character of Zoe Kohler. She is at once both a pitiable loser, struggling with health problems and sexist attitudes at work a burgeoning relationship with a sweet and unsuspecting man…and a remorseless, relentless killer, who hunts men for the sheer thrill of it. Second, Edward X. Delaney. This crusty, hard-nosed, sandwich-obsessed detective is neither sexy, flashy, nor gifted with any great deductive genius: he’s simply like a boulder that, starting slowly, gathers investigative momentum until he crushes just about everyone in his path, yet at the same time possesses a sensitivity — largely through his wife’s softening influence — that allows him more nuances than a typical, cigar-chewing, old school detective. And this leads me to the books third major strength, which is its examination of sexual attitudes, gender roles and (unintentionally) police procedure during the period it was written — about 35 years ago. At that time the pathology of serial killers was scarcely understood, forensic science still in its infancy, and the idea of gender equality more of a punchline than a serious idea. Delaney, an aging Irish cop with flat feet, is both brimming with cheauvanistic, patronizing, old-school attitudes and open to the possibility that those attitudes may be wrong.

No novel is perfect, of course, and this one is no exception. Sanders sometimes makes small but basic errors in matters of police procedure, slang and etiquette; the sort of mistakes which are the result of never having been a cop himself. Occasionally he tries too hard to make characters colorful, giving them a contrived rather than a naturalistic feel; and sometimes his dialogue and description betray his overwhelming love of the English language and end up sounding pretentious or, coming out of the mouths of certain characters, simply unrealistic. (This also leads him to over-write scenes with minor characters, such as Zoe’s doctor.) Most of the criticisms I can mount a this book, however, fall in the “nitpicking” category, and even when taken in the aggregate fail to outweigh all of its many pleasures.

THE THIRD DEADLY SIN may or may not have been Sanders’ best book (you could make a case for THE SIXTH COMMANDMENT or THE SECOND DEADLY SIN or THE ANDERSON TAPES or various others). It may not even be his best suspense novel. But for my money it is not merely a good read but equally satisfying upon each subsequent reading, which is about the highest praise I can give to an author’s work. So: buy it, make yourself a sandwich, and sit down to this half-forgotten but deservedly remembered author. Murder and mayhem have never been so fun.

Drafting–Colton and Sandy abduct Mildred and steal her van

Colton awoke Sunday morning at 3:00 AM in a cold sweat. For a minute the dream or whatever it was didn’t stop. The picture in his head was threatening and foreboding. After Mildred had left last night she’d gone straight to Alice’s house across the street. She’d told her everything. Alice had insisted they call the police. Mildred had agreed but wanted to talk with Sandy first; she knew him and believed she had an obligation to Pop to try and protect his only grandson, plus, Sandy had been kind and nice to her. However, the monster named Colton had treated her with disdain. Anyone could tell he was the devil, mean as hell, and therefore should be locked up.

Still in his underwear, Colton went to the bathroom, then the kitchen to make coffee. He had no doubt they had to act today, as soon as possible. Waiting until tomorrow would give Mildred time to slip a noose around their necks. Hopefully, she hadn’t already.

He drank coffee at the dining room table and pondered a hurried plan before waking Sandy. Colton tip-toed into his friend’s bedroom and with a deep and powerful tone meant to imitate a pro-prosecution judge’s voice, announced, “Sanford Brown, I hereby sentence you to life in prison.”

Sandy’s eyes popped open instantly. He plopped up on his elbows. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Reality check my friend. Get up. No time to waste.”

After peeing and slipping on yesterday’s clothes Sandy joined Colton over coffee at the dining room table. “Man, I’d just fell asleep when you shouted in my ear. The thought of killing Mildred is wrong and I can’t be a part of it.”

Colton was the master at manipulating Sandy. Okay, pack your bags and take Pop’s Buick back home to South Farrell Street. And, don’t forget to be at court tomorrow morning at 10:00 AM. Do you want me to give you a wake-up call? Oh, by the way, tell the DA and the judge I said hi.” Sarcasm seemed to always work.

“Shit man, stop that. You know I don’t want to go to jail, but there’s got to be another way.”

“I’m listening. Take your best shot, naming at least one other, workable, alternative.” Colton knew Sandy had no viable idea.

Sandy walked to the kitchen and returned with the near-empty coffee pot. He poured it into Colton’s cup. “I’ll make some more.”

“Thanks.” Against his better judgment, Colton decided to give Sandy some rope. “I tell you what. Why don’t you go see Mildred and be totally honest with her, don’t hold back. Tell her what we’re planning unless she cooperates.”
Sandy interrupted from the kitchen. “Man, that’s not being honest, you said we were going to kill her.”

It was time for some lying. “Okay, I’ll change my mind if you can convince Mildred to fully cooperate. But, just know, the van is going to get awfully small with her tagging along.”

Sandy poured water into the coffee maker, then leaned against the sink. “You’re not pulling my leg are you?”

“Hell no. I’m trying to do everything I can to save our asses.”

“Money, luggage, Alice. What else does Mildred need to do to cooperate?” Sandy started to ask Colton how he planned on withdrawing money at her bank without being video-recorded, but let it slide.

“Don’t worry, I’ve made a list and will explain it to her if you convince her to cooperate. But, here’s the deal, either way, you do not leave Mildred alone. Just send me a text of her decision and I’ll walk over. Again, don’t let her out of your sight. Agreed?”

“Agreed.” Sandy said, wishing he’d never met Colton Lee Atwood.

At 6:00 AM Sandy knocked on Mildred’s back door. As expected, she was already up, in the kitchen, washing the breakfast dishes.

She walked to the door. Sandy saw her worried face and forced smile. She didn’t unlock and open the door but stared through the glass panels. “Good morning. What you got?” Sandy had brought a frozen Caramel Apple Creme Pie he’d purchased at Walmart.

“Got you a pie. You can share with Alice if you want.” He didn’t know why he’d brought Alice into the conversation. Maybe as a subtle threat but that was more Colton’s style, not his.

For a minute, Mildred, her face expressionless, didn’t move. However, probably unaware, she mumbled, “uhhhhhhh.”

“Mildred, we need to talk. I promise it’s in your best interest.” An icy wind was wearing on Sandy’s patience. As the wrinkled-faced woman continued staring, he wondered what he would do if she turned and walked away. Return to Pop’s? No, Colton said this was life or death. He had the answer, he’d bust the door down. That would show Colton he was serious.

The dead-bolt clicked and the door opened. “Come in. Have you had breakfast?” Mildred couldn’t resist being nice.

Sandy rejected Mildred’s offer, sat her across from him in the den and played good cop to Colton’s bad cop. Surprisingly, after repeating the offer and highlighting Colton’s propensity to violence, Mildred relented. “I’ll do whatever you ask me to do. I may be old but I’m no idiot, and I’m not ready to die.”

Sandy sent Colton a text: “she’s agreed to help.”

Colton immediately responded. “Don’t let her out of your sight. I’ll be there in fifteen to twenty minutes. I’m packing and bringing the van.”

Sandy and Mildred were sitting at the kitchen table when Colton walked in. After removing his jacket, he didn’t waste any time. “We need all your cash. Where is it?”

The old woman stared at the table weighing her options. None were good.
“Damn it, look at me.” The pistol stuck inside Colton’s belt caught her eye. Mildred complied. “That’s your one and only break. From now on, when I ask you something, if you hesitate, I’ll punish you.”

“Come on man, she’s agreed to help.” Sandy stood and faced Colton, but knew better. “Hey man, did you bring my electric toothbrush?”

Colton ignored Sandy’s question and inched forward toward Mildred, removing his Sig Sauer P226. “This is your last chance old lady, where’s your cash?” Colton was confident Mildred would have hidden some amount of legal tender, probably in two or three places.

This time, Mildred stood. “I’ll show you. Follow me.” Colton complied.

Three thousand dollars was in her late husband’s shaving bag hidden behind a dozen pairs of shoes at the bottom of her closet. Sixteen hundred dollars was stuffed inside a Raggedy Ann doll sitting at the center of her chest-of-drawers. A thousand dollars was in a zip-lock bag floating inside the toilet tank in the hall bathroom. The mother load was ten thousand dollars Mildred had ignored until Colton had bored his dark eyes into and asked if she had a safe.

Cash wasn’t the only thing she kept locked in the old Mosler floor safe hidden behind a row of long dresses in the master bedroom’s walk-in-closet. Colton ignored Mildred’s last will and testament, two deeds, and a burial policy. What caught his attention was the folder containing copies of twenty-eight Certificates of Deposit. They were purchased from three local banks: First American Bank, Palatine Bank & Trust, and Ben Franklin Bank of Illinois. Colton used his phone’s calculator to add the face values of the twenty-eight CDs: seven hundred twenty nine thousand dollars. None had the same maturity date. The closest was February 15th, the longest was July 1st, 2024.

“We can go tomorrow and I’ll cash them in. But, there’ll be an early withdrawal penalty on each of them.” Mildred said, standing in the closet doorway. To Colton, the old lady was being too cooperative. She knows if we let her inside a bank she’ll be able to signal for help. Yet, three-quarters of a million dollars was tempting. Colton made a mental note to work on a plan to steal this money.

“Sandy, help Mildred pack two suitcases. I’ll be at the kitchen table writing out a script.” Both men believed it necessary for her to call Alice and tell her she’d had enough of the snow and cold and was going on a trip, probably to Florida.

To Sandy and Colton’s surprise, the old woman was convincing, both on the phone and when Alice came to say goodbye. With the men hiding in the pantry, Mildred had calmly resisted her friend’s attempt to come in for a short visit and a cup of coffee. “Dear, you know I’d like to but Rev. Mahonge has agreed to meet me for confession at 7:00, and I’ve still got a ton of things to do.” Alice would know the reverend since both women were members of St. Colette Parish.

“I understand. Now, you be careful. Call me at least once a week, and know I love postcards.” Colton thought Mildred was bolting when she opened the back door. Instead, she gave the obese, half-bald Alice a long hug. Hopefully, she hadn’t whispered something in her ear.

Mildred did equally well on three short audio recordings. When Alice requested the weekly calls, Sandy had whispered, “use voice memos to record Mildred calling Alice and leaving a message.” Colton had liked the idea, which, to him, meant Sandy assumed Alice wouldn’t be alive to make the calls.

Sandy shut off the lights, locked the back door, and loaded two suitcases in the rear of the van while directing Mildred to buckle-up in one of the two couches.

After stashing the bag of cash in an overhead compartment, Colton steered the van onto Ruskin Drive, wondering how in Hell he’d gotten into such a fucking mess.

Mental Meanderings—A Look-Back at Yesterday (Tuesday–022123)

While biking I normally listen to either a novel or a podcast. Yesterday was the tenth session inside Lawrence Sanders’ book, The Third Deadly Sin. Sanders is a magnificient writer, and puts me to absolute shame. Another thing is clear, listening to a book isn’t nearly as good as reading the book.

Earlier this morning, I opened this book in Kindle and started to reread part of what I’d listened to yesterday. I began in Chapter 10. Here’s the first few paragraphs (all description):

THURSDAY, JUNE 5TH …
“All right,” Sergeant Abner Boone said, flipping through his notebook, “here’s what we’ve got.”
Standing and sitting around the splintered table in Midtown Precinct North. All of them smoking: cigarettes, cigars, and Lieutenant Crane chewing on a pipe. Emptied cardboard coffee cups on the table. The detritus of gulped sandwiches, containers of chop suey, a pizza box, wrappers and bags of junk food.
Air murky with smoke, barely stirred by the air conditioner. Sweat and disinfectant. No one commented or even noticed. They had all smelled worse odors. And battered rooms like this were home, familiar and comfortable.

Sanders, Lawrence. The Third Deadly Sin (The Edward X. Delaney Series) (p. 312). Open Road Media. Kindle Edition.


My thoughts, but first I’ll state my conclusion: You and I may not be a Lawrence Sanders, but that doesn’t mean we cannot write SOMETHING. Here’s the kicker, if we want to, and try, simply “do what you can, with what you have, where you are.” Note, many attribute my quote to Theodore Roosevelt. Whoever said it, it is good, meaningful, always appropriate.

Back to my thoughts on Sanders’ writing. He is detailed (often, I think too detailed).

Boone speaks, “All right, … here’s what we’ve got.” Then, Sanders launches into description. He wants us to form a mental image. Why? To bring us there. For us to sense the very room in which a scene will take place.

Notice, the first sentence of his descriptive paragraph: “Standing and sitting around the splintered table in Midtown Precinct North.” What jumps out at you? For me, this is not a grammatically correct sentence. There’s no subject. The not-present subject is not acting. But, there are verbs, standing and sitting. However, the sentence is good. We can assume there are others present. If not, why would Boone say, “here’s what we’ve got.”

That non-subject sentence makes more sense when we combine it with the next. “Standing and sitting around the splintered table in Midtown Precinct North. All of them smoking: cigarettes, cigars, and Lieutenant Crane chewing on a pipe.”

The last sentence here deals with smoking. Notice, this is a simple sentence. In fact they all are. You and I can write a sentence like this. “Bill, George, and Tommy were seated around the dented table. All except George were smoking cigars. He was chewing on the stem of his pipe.”

Let me say one more thing about the above passage. If you don’t know a word, then look it up. I was familiar with “detritus” but wanted a refresher. Here’s where/how Sanders used it: “The detritus of gulped sandwiches, containers of chop suey, a pizza box, wrappers and bags of junk food.” And, here’s the definition: “Noun–the remains of something that has been destroyed or broken up; loose material (stone fragments and silt etc) that is worn away from rocks.”

Ask yourself, “what is my mind seeing?” One thing’s for sure, the tabletop is messy. And, what is chop suey? “chop suey, noun, a dish prepared chiefly from bean sprouts, bamboo shoots, water chestnuts, onions, mushrooms, and meat or fish and served with rice and soy sauce.” I’m not sure I want a dish of chop suey.

Here’s the last paragraph from above: “Air murky with smoke, barely stirred by the air conditioner. Sweat and disinfectant. No one commented or even noticed. They had all smelled worse odors. And battered rooms like this were home, familiar and comfortable.”

I can see it, sense it with my nose, my eyes, even my ears (the room is silent for now, except for the drone of the A/C). The air is foggy with smoke. One or more of those present has been sweating or is sweating. Maybe this insinuates BO. Maybe someone, Boone (?) has sprayed the room with Lysol.

The room is anything but inviting. Take note of the first sentence. I’d probably have written: “The air was murky with smoke, the air conditioner couldn’t keep up [or, the air conditioner failing to do its job].” Too wordy, not nearly as taut as Sanders’ writing. Notice no “was” in, “Air murky with smoke….”

I like Sanders’ final sentence in this focal passage. “And battered rooms like this were home, familiar and comfortable.” No doubt “battered” is a familiar word, but let’s look closer, just as a reminder.


Definitions for battered: “Adjective” 1. damaged by blows or hard usage; Examples: a battered old car; the beaten-up old Ford; 2. damaged especially by hard usage; Example: his battered old hat.

One final thought/question. Sanders often uses his description of settings to establish mood, and to be a predictor of what’s about to happen. If you haven’t read this book you might not have an opinion, but here, is Sanders implying the murder investigation is tired, the detectives are desperate, and they’ve been battered by all their hard-tiresome work to date? I think the answer is yes.

In sum, I might have been frustrated yesterday. Dang, I was frustrated with my listening while biking, feeling my writing was so poor. However, this morning, looking at the words, contemplating the words, gives me a little hope.

I simply have to, “do what I can, with what I have, where I’m at.”

And, so do you.