Christopher H. Jansmann's Blog

Ah, August!

That can only mean one thing: time for my buddy and I to pack up our Starfleet uniforms and make our annual sojourn to Las Vegas for STLV (formerly know as the Official Star Trek convention). This year, we’re celebrating the 60th anniversary of the show, with actors and writers and anyone else even tangentially connected to the franchise over those decades slated to appear.

I’ve been a fan since my father introduced me to the series as a child; he was the one to bring me to the theater in 1979 to see the Enterprise proudly (and gracefully) sail out into the unknown anew. My love of the optimistic future all iterations of the show depict is a touchstone I find myself reaching for when this reality begins to get a little bit unnerving. Connecting with fellow fans annually has become another way for me to reset and recharge my own fervent belief that at some point the universe will self-correct into a timeline where people live the ideals behind I.D.I.C.

My 1/350 scale model of the Starship Enterprise

As of the date I’m writing this, the schedule for the convention hasn’t been published; oddly, the list of what’s happening always seems to be a closely guarded secret until the absolute last moment. There is a bit of melancholy undergirding this year, though, as it’s the first time in nearly a decade that no new Star Trek series or movie is in production. Our fear that the franchise might have suddenly sputtered to a stop is quite real; then again, for a series that was ignominiously cancelled after just three seasons back in the late 1960s, the fact it ultimately spawned twelve* additional series and thirteen* feature-length movies might give one faith the end is not, in fact, near. Maybe… just maybe… there will be an announcement of something new while we are in Las Vegas; I happened to be there when Patrick Steward announced his return as Captain Picard, so there is precedent.

Hope (and Star Trek) springs eternal.

* in case you were curious as to the series and movies, here they are, courtesy of Wikipedia and startrek.com.

SeriesYearSeasonsThe Original Series19663The Animated Series19732The Next Generation 19877Deep Space Nine19937Voyager19957Enterprise20014Discovery20175Picard20203Lower Decks20205Prodigy20212Strange New Worlds20225Starfleet Academy20262MovieYearStar Trek: The Motion Picture1979Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan1982Star Trek III: The Search for Spock1984Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home1986Star Trek V: The Final Frontier1989Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country1991Star Trek Generations1994Star Trek: First Contact1996Star Trek: Insurrection1998Star Trek: Nemesis2002Star Trek2009Star Trek Into Darkness2013Star Trek Beyond2016

Like most of the world, I’ve been glued to the World Cup this summer. I’ve mentioned before that soccer — or, as Alejandro would patiently point out to me, fútbol — was one of the core sports I messed around with as a kid; that experience learning how to play gave me an appreciation for the game, and an desire to watch the best players in the world any time they are showcased. Admittedly, I don’t pay as much attention to the year-round leagues here in the States or abroad; I keep tabs as best as I can with the various sports new apps I frequent, enough that I can more or less recognize the Big Names when they make an appearance at the World Cup.

Multiple summers playing soccer and at least one high end camp didn’t turn me into the sort of high-demand athlete our community’s age group teams were looking for, though I did enjoy the experience. Swimming was more my thing, anyway, but honestly running up and down the field at full tilt could be pretty exhilarating; I tended to play defensive positions, and was at least passible enough to have spent a fair number of minutes out there. Years later I watched my other two brothers truly excel at the sport, which was an exhilaration of an entirely different kind. One of them was also a goalkeeper, which quite honestly made the experience incredibly nerve wracking. It helped to remind myself that the ball had to get through nine other players, but at the end of the day every goal scored against him hurt worse than pouring peroxide on an open wound.

Yes, seriously.

At least two of my characters have a backstory tied to soccer. Alex, of course, is the first one who comes to mind; Vas has noted multiple times that his partner follows the sport avidly, and might even have a jersey or two from his favorite players hanging in their closet. Tenoch Vasquez is perhaps the more notable one, though, as his backstory discloses how he was destined to be a professional soccer player right out of high school; his dreams get completed derailed when life (and a certain Mesoamerican god) intervenes. That is a touchstone threaded throughout Reflection in the Shadows and the sequel, Midnight at Dawn; his lingering regret at the road not taken colors his outlook on life in ways that haven’t been completely apparent to him. I’ve only begun to scratch away at that turmoil, though what I’ve found already has been intriguing.

I’ve not considered the sort of player Tenoch would have been, ironically. As tempting as it would be to make him a striker, he feels more like he’d have been an attacking midfielder – the sort of position that demands a crafty person who can play through adversity in order to get the ball into a better position for scoring. His personality supports that kind of idea, frankly, but I’ll percolate on the thought for a bit and see if it bears fruit in Midnight. He’s top of mind right now as I delve back into the manuscript, so anything is possible. Especially when there’s magic involved.

One of my favorite poems is the classic The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost. I’ve read it so many times over the years, the words have come to feel like good friends who visit often, friends of the sort you share a hot cup of coffee with while curled up on a couch, chatting endlessly about everything and nothing. As I’ve grown older, I’ve found the poem increasingly poignant, especially when I consider, on balance, how the various forks in my own life have gone. The final lines have always resonated with me:

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

The Road Not Taken, by Robert Frost. Full text: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44272/the-road-not-taken

There’s a lot going on in that poem, of course, but I’ll leave the critical analysis of the deeper meaning to those far better qualified to take on such tasks. For me, the singular observation that going your own way is often more rewarding than following the beaten path feels like validation for many of my own life choices — and the sort of guidance I’ve used when it comes to shaping the lives of my characters. Part of being a good detective (in my view) is that innate desire to poke around in corners of people’s lives that most would ignore; they also have a willingness to look under rocks or wander into the wilderness without so much as a map in search of the truth, something the wider populace would be unlikely to do.

They could play it safe and color inside the lines, of course. I haven’t always myself and, honestly, there can be consequences when you step out of bounds. Younger me didn’t always understand that; older me has adroitly taken those lessons and used them to craft stories that feel relatable and, hopefully, believable.

Sean and Vasily have had their own share of fork-ish decisions; Sean is the most recent, of course. When Sean appears in Orlando driving a midlife crisis-Mustang in Silenced, it’s fairly clear he’s not dispassionately considering his options. That becomes a more detailed thread in the book I just completed writing, Aftermath; Sean has to literally figure out which one of those roads he should take. Does he keep going as an investigator? Does he quit? Or is there a middle path he’d not yet considered? I brought all of that into the novel and wove it into the overarching mystery — for Sean’s life choices are very much tied to his identity as a detective. Like so many of us, he’s not sure where the line is between what he does and who he really is. One can’t be considered in isolation from the other.

Aftermath is a fun read, and I think resolves rather nicely. Sean gets to grow even more, adding more nuance to an already interesting personality. I’m already thinking ahead to his next adventure; work will begin on that in earnest come November. I’m going to take the rest of the summer to wrap up Midnight at Dawn, which I’ve left languishing on my in-progress folder for far too long. Dipping back into the magical realm for a bit will be a nice respite from the reality-based fiction I usually do; I’m looking forward to shifting gears for a bit, though it’s been long enough that I need to go back and re-read the 40k words I have so far just to put me back into the Santa Marcel mindset.

Apropos of something, I am also working on a short mystery set in the Windeport universe. Once complete, it will be a freebie for newsletter subscribers; the hope is to have it ready in early September. Be on the lookout!

As much as I love my characters — and I truly do — it’s been a few books now since I felt so wrapped up in the story, the words just flowed like the proverbial river to the sea. I think the last one to do that was Vengeance; after Suzanne swerved in a direction I never expected, trying to keep up with Sean’s emotional whirlwind while simultaneously tracking down a killer was electrifying for me as a writer in a way that I’d not experienced to that point. Before you think otherwise, let me hasten to add that I’ve never felt like any of the novels were slogs to be gotten through; far from it. I enjoy the experience of carefully crafting the worlds my characters exist in, and revel in discovering new facets each time they are presented with challenges to overcome.

But like any good series, there are ups and downs in the process; I freely admit that one or two of the novels are what I think of as “bridge” stories, ways to connect through lines that don’t always adhere to my usual narrative structures. Both Ditched and Solitude fit into this category, novels that were intended to get either Vasily or Sean from one chapter of their life to another while still attempting to solve my “murder of the week.” These can be especially tricky to do, for by necessity the life issues involved tend to trump the mystery readers tuned in for; Ditched is probably the one that I received the most feedback on in that regard, especially since Vas doesn’t actually solve the case. (Then again, the novel was titled Ditched. Just sayin’.)

Ditched was very much top of mind as I was working on Bliss, the latest Vasily Korsokovach novel, mostly because it features a significant storyline with Rosie Frankenhoffer; her medical crisis — and Vasily’s need to fly back to California to deal with it — forced Vas to face his assault and the decisions he’d made afterwards. It led him back to the life he’d started post-Windeport, and, of course, the man that would ultimately become his soulmate. Ditched is also where we first meet Alejandro Ortega-Cortez, and by the time we see him in Bliss, he’s become a main character in his own right. For a someone originally intended as a one-book relationship, Alex has shifted in ways I’d never anticipated, so much so that I cannot see a Vasily novel without Alex by his side.

That’s a major reason Bliss nearly wrote itself. While it did take me a month longer than usual, that was mostly due to working around other obligations; when I did have time to write, the words simply flowed. The wedding was a joy to write, a watershed moment that took way too many books to get to. There are some marvelous scenes in that section, including this section where Vas is melting down waiting for the ceremony to start:

“Dude, he’ll be here.”

I turned slightly to look at my best friend of many years, who was wearing a shit-eating grin.  “Is my anxiety that obvious?”

“Only to me,” he replied quietly.  “Though if you keep messing with your shirt, everyone else might start to catch on.”

“It feels like it’s shrunk two sizes since I got up here,” I muttered.

“And here I thought you liked showing off your assets,” he chuckled softly.

I glared at Sean Colbeth, late of the Windeport Police Department but current Statewide Commander, Major Crimes for the Maine State Police.  “Under other circumstances, perhaps,” I said as I gave up resisting and adjusted my collar for the umpteenth time.  “Today, not so much.”

“I haven’t seen you this wound up since our 400 IM relay final in Beijing.  Did you even eat anything at breakfast?”

“No,” I shook my head.  “I can barely keep water down at this point.”

Bliss: A Vasily Korsokovach Mystery. Copyright: Christopher H. Jansmann

The mystery was also a bit closer to home, considering I’ve had relatives living in retirement communities, though none that experienced the sort of crime wave I depict in the novel. I had a bit of fun reimagining what it might be like to live there, for I’ve long thought it appeared — at least on the surface — to be a version of college life, one where you don’t always get to choose who your dorm roommate might be.

This will also be the third (?) book with chapter titles, patterned after the initial ones I use when working on the first draft. Not every gem makes the final cut, of course, but they do act as a reflection of Vasily’s personality (and, often, snarky outlook on life).

Temporary chapter titles for Bliss

I’ll have much more to share about Bliss in the coming months; publication is slated for sometime in 2027, but can keep an eye on my website for any changes.

In other news, submissions have opened for the 2027 Tucson Festival of Books Independent Author Experience. I’m leaning toward sending in Aftermath which will be out in November, but if you have a suggestion for something else I’ve published (within two years of March 2027), drop it into comments below and I’ll consider it.

One of my favorite activities when visiting with family back in Maine is feasting on local food that I simply cannot find here in Tucson. I mean, yes, I can get fairly good lobster and shrimp and scallops; at the risk of demeaning some fine local establishments, what they serve is just not the same as the direct-from-the-boat versions so prevalent along that part of the East Coast. But beyond fresh seafood, there are a number of other unique items I generally go out of my way to ensure I’ve noshed on before returning home.

I mentioned a few posts back that many of the fictional locations showcased in Windeport (and Rancho Linda) are amalgams of places I’ve visited in my lifetime; the bakery that inspired some of the offerings at Calista’s is an exceptional example of favorite delights, including the bismark donut I’ve already gushed about. Getting to it wasn’t in the cards this year, sadly, but I was reminded of them when I was presented with an incredibly good whoopie pie that could well have come from their own ovens. (It wasn’t quite the same, of course, but as they say, any port in a storm.)

In their truest form when made in Maine, whoopie pies are essentially two small cakes, generally chocolate, that are put together like a sandwich with a rich creme filling, usually vanilla but often marshmallow. While there are variations with different fillings or types of cake, the chocolate-and-vanilla-creme is the one that both my wife and I are the most familiar with, so that’s what we look for when we’re back East. A few years ago, I tried one that was chocolate with peanut butter filling, and it was pretty good; the vanilla cake with chocolate filling was a bit rich for me (oddly), but not enough I wouldn’t have it again at some point.

As I licked the last of the vanilla creme from my fingers, it occurred to me that my lovely wife had spent years trying to obtain a written version of a family recipe for whoopie pies that had been in her family for generations. It was one of those oral history things, made by touch with a pinch of that and a cup of something else — measurements that only made sense to the person who knew the secret in whole. My German grandmother had many of those in her mental cookbook; whenever asked for specifics, she would often frown, for unless she was in the moment, she had no idea what was needed. I’ve never been that kind of cook; maybe it’s because I’m a tech nerd who grew up on LEGOs, but I need instructions. They don’t have to be good, but they have to be enough; once I get going, I can fill in the blanks. Kind of.

I called my wife later that evening, and to my great delight she reminded me that a cousin had actually come through with a photo of an old handwritten recipe card, one that had the well-used look of a favorite dish served often. My first weekend back in Tucson, we dug out the photo and I tried my hand at it; the photo at the top of this entry was my first result, and if I do say so myself, they turned out pretty well. My only mistake was in making them so large; a single pie (as made) runs eight hundred and fifty calories(!), likely more than the main dish you had to bolt to get to the heavenly dessert awaiting you. My next round will be to halve or even quarter the cakes, making them more hand-sized (and snack friendly).

In the pursuit of advancing human knowledge, I thought I would share this super-secret-not-to-be-divulged recipe on the off chance my readers might be interested in literally tasting a slice of life for my character, Sean Colbeth. While he may not speak of them in the books (at least, so far), you can be sure he sneaks down to Calista’s when he knows a fresh batch is about to be placed into the display cabinets. If you decide to make the recipe, let me know what you think in the comments.

One note: this is an old recipe and as such uses such things as margarine and shortening. If you wish to experience the indulgent delight that is the original, don’t adjust the ingredients; however, if you do decide to make some changes, I can recommend swapping butter for the margarine. Unfortunately, you just can’t get the same texture for the filling without using shortening, but others have had success swapping in whipped cream or marshmallow instead. You might want to make it once by the book, and then adjust after you’ve seen the entire process.

Maine Whoopie PiesIngredientsPies1 cup margarine2 cups sugar2 teaspoons vanilla extract (pure if possible)2 eggs (large)1 cup cocoa (I prefer Hershey’s Dark)2 teaspoons baking soda1 teaspoon baking powder1 teaspoon salt2 cups milk4 cups flourFilling2 cups shortening2 cups sugar1/2 cup flour1/2 teaspoon salt1 cup milk (warm ~170 degrees)4 teaspoons vanilla extract (pure)Process – CakesPreheat oven to 400 degrees.Cream sugar, eggs, vanilla, margarine together using hand or stand mixer.Slowly mix in remaining ingredients.Lightly grease three baking sheets or line with wax paper.Drop dough in 1/4 cup amounts, evenly spaced, on the baking sheets. (Halve this for smaller cakes.)Bake in oven for up to 15 minutes; check at ten. When toothpick comes out clean from center of cake, baking is done.Remove from oven and allow to cool slightly. While still warm, carefully remove from the pan using a spatula and allow to cool completely on wire racks.Process – FillingCream shortening and sugar using hand or stand mixer.Slowly beat in remaining ingredients.Mix until well combined.Final ConstructionGenerously spread filling on the flat side of half of the cakes.Top with remaining cakes, flat side toward the filling. The final pie should have a slightly rounded appearance.If not serving immediately, wrap each pie individually with cellophane and store in the refrigerator.Pies may be frozen for later serving – up to six months. Do not thaw using the microwave; allow to come to room temperature on a kitchen counter or overnight in the fridge.

Makes twelve generous portions at 850 calories each (using base recipe)

After ten days visiting my family back East, I’ve returned to Arizona in the middle of our first triple-digit heatwave of the summer. Talk about whiplash! While the weather in Maine was beautiful, it was a tad more humid than I would have expected for early June; my memories of early summer are nearly three decades old now, so it was probably wise for me to have shifted my vacation window from Fall to Summer last year. I’m not sure Sean will appreciate his version of Maine adjusting to this updated reality; in fact, he’d probably argue that as a fictional character in a fictional version of my home state, the weather can be just as nice as it could be.

But where’s the fun in that?

One other downside to visiting after Memorial Day is experiencing first hand the incredibly busy tourist traffic that seems to descend on coastal communities whenever the sun is out. That meant getting around to some of my favorite locations was something of a challenge. L.L. Bean wasn’t on the itinerary this year, but I did manage to sneak in a trip to Congdon’s Doughnuts in Wells. A fixture since the mid-1950s, their handmade delights usually sell out completely before noon, so getting there while there were still items on the menu is always a win.

Congdon’s Doughnuts in Wells, ME

As is tradition, the next stop was a parking spot at Gooch’s Beach where I could enjoy both the donut and the fresh cup of hot coffee that came with it. The view that morning was extraordinary, and the beach itself rather quiet. I suspect the water temperature hovering in the fifties likely dissuaded anyone from going in, especially without a wetsuit.

Gooch’s Beach in Wells, Maine

Weather moved in shortly after that expedition; Maine is well known for being temperamental in that department, going from sunny skies to dark thunderstorms in the space of just a few minutes. That uncertainty kept me close to my folks for a bit, though it did offer an opportunity to simply sit and enjoy the beauty of a gentle rainfall. We don’t get that very often in Arizona — our rain tends to dump a significant amount on us in mere minutes — so being able to ponder nature at its finest was an incredibly relaxing way to pass the time.

Rain in Maine falls mainly on the railings

Seafood was a must, of course. I am only partially ashamed to say I snarfed down a fair share of shrimp in a few different forms. Truly fresh seafood is hard to get in Tucson; I’m especially picky, having grown up where something you are being served for dinner was likely caught just a few hours earlier. Prices were just as bad as I remembered, though, mostly due to it being firmly in high season.

A traditional Fried Shrimp dinner from Baley’s in Scarborough

All in all, in was a very relaxing visit, one that also included being able to watch my nephew’s graduation from high school. While I had to stream it offsite with other members of my family — space is always at a premium at these things — it was cool to see him transition to his next chapter. It also made me feel very, very, very old, for the ceremony took place in the same gym where I graduated back when dinosaurs roamed the earth. I thought the lighter coat of paint was a nice touch, but my understanding was that the bleachers were just as uncomfortable as always. Afterwards, I looked up the staff at my old high school just to see if any of the teachers I had were still there; unsurprisingly, none of the smiling faces were familiar. About the only thing that is the same from my time there is the building, and even that has tripled in size since I last walked those hallways. Everything changes, I guess.

My time to return came far too soon, and before I knew it, I was sitting in the airport in Portland awaiting departure. Having downtime to reset and regroup turned out to be rather valuable, for the trip home wound up being an adventure in its own right. There are very few options for getting from Arizona to Maine, and the ones that do exist tend to require at least one, if not two layovers; in past years, I’ve paid the premium to keep the stops to a minimum, but this year that was nearly impossible to do. Heading home required me to go first through Chicago, then Denver before arriving in Tucson.

The first leg was uneventful, but the moment I took my phone out of airplane mode after we landed at Midway, I had a stream of texts from the airline warning me that weather in Chicago was, essentially, creating havoc. Havoc in my case resulted in being delayed nearly two and a half hours before finally leaving for Denver; since my layover there had originally been a hair under three hours, I was understandably concerned about missing my connection. Kindly fellow passengers let me bolt from the plane shortly after we landed, and in a wild stroke of luck, the gate for my Tucson flight was literally two down from where I came in. Even then, it was a near thing; I had barely minutes to spare before the door closed. I leaned back into my seat, breathed a sigh of relief and settled in for the short flight home.

A haboob in Phoenix, AZ

The relief was short-lived. Once we reached Tucson, massive thunderstorms over and around the airport forced us to circle for nearly an hour; that, apparently, was the limit of how long we could go before refueling, so the pilot headed for Phoenix to tank up and wait out the storms. Those same storms had stirred up a haboob in Phoenix Metro, but thankfully, didn’t interfere with our ability to land.

Phoenix Sky Harbor Airport – decidedly not Tucson International

And there we sat. For almost three full hours. By the time we finally got back into the air to return to Tucson, my “short” flight from Denver had stretched into six hours, start to finish. That was longer — by quite a bit — from the flight to Hawaii my wife and I took twenty years ago. The final challenge wound up being my luggage; that tight connection in Denver? I made my flight, but the suitcase didn’t. We wound being reunited the following day.

Needless to say, it was an exceptionally long day of travel; I had to work the following day, but was incredibly thankful for the three-day weekend right after so I could recover.

Who knew I’d need time off to recover from my time off?

In unrelated news, I’m happy to announce that digital versions of my books will soon be available through e-lending options at public libraries. I’m in the process now of getting everything arranged and ready to go, and will have more information on my next post (hopefully) on how you can request access through your library.

I’m headed out of town for a few weeks, so the blog will be quiet for a bit. It’s my usual recharge-the-batteries visit with family still living back in Maine, something I always look forward to each year. In an incredible case of coincidental timing, my friends from California are actually there now and leave the day I head in that direction; if we’d had even a scintilla of better planning, I might have been able to act as something of a tour guide. I mean, no one should miss the chocolate moose or best place to get lobster with a view to kill for (not literally, of course). As it is, they finally understand my reluctance to eat seafood anywhere but Maine — at least, if the stream of photos they’ve been texting me is any indicator.

And they thought I was kidding about Lobster Eggs Benedict. Hah!

My own nostalgia for favorite dishes will likely lead me to the usual suspects, many of which have inspired fictional places in Windeport or, oddly, Rancho Linda. The diner Vasily loves is an interesting mash up of one I visited in California and a breakfast place my father and I used to frequent when we commuted together during the early days of my I.T. career in Portland. I still remember the waitress who was capable of deftly pouring my cup of coffee from a carafe held at least three feet above my cup. I also recall how I never seemed to be able to order what I wanted, for no matter what I requested, she always shook her head, frowned, and retrieved “the special” for me that morning. That was quite the way to start each morning, I can assure you.

Sean’s favorite bakery has its roots in one that I used to go to with my parents every so often while growing up; it was a hike to get to it, relatively speaking, but always worth the trip. Their freshly baked pastries never failed to include something called a bismark — an amazing donut generally filled with either a pastry creme or a thick fruit jelly, topped with chocolate icing. My favorite had a strawberry filling made from berries picked at the companion farm next door to the bakery. There were lots of other goodies, too, ranging from bear claws to muffins large enough to have counted as a full meal.

The Italian place that Kate and Tenoch visit had a similar feel to one that I took my wife to shortly after we were married; I think the couple that ran it (the real one, not the fictional one) were from the southern tip of Italy, and their dishes reflected the wide variety of fresh produce available there. I loved the small, intimate dining room they had, complete with flickering candles on each table; it was also the first time I’d ever been served robust sourdough bread with a dipping sauce of olive oil and balsamic vinegar.

I don’t know about you, but suddenly I’m rather hungry!

Anyway, I’m definitely looking forward to the food; there should also be plenty of visiting, and, of course, lots of time to sit back and take in the greenery that is so lacking here in Arizona. Long range weather forecasts tell me that it will likely rain for the first half of my visit; the same thing happened to me last year, and honestly, the hours of slow drizzle kind of helped to slow down everything — something my rather worn out system needs right now.

See you in a few weeks!

I’m about three-quarters of the way through writing Bliss, the next novel in the Vasily Korsokovach Investigates series. It’s been a fun experience so far — the story has moved along at an amazingly good clip, with great combinations of personal moments for Vasily interspersed with an intriguing case that, per usual, keeps him on the move across greater Orange County. About the only thing slowing me down is the restrictive daily word count I am adhering to, my attempt not to blow out my wrist again. On the days when I’ve broken my rule, I’ve paid for it in the aches and pains I endure the following day, a clarion warning that five- and six-thousand word sessions are probably never going to happen again. It’s frustrating, but also a small price to pay in order to continue doing what I love. And if I am ever able to finally retire from my day job, that will eliminate the additional typing that comes along with being an application developer — potentially allowing me to pour those extra keystrokes into my writing instead. Sadly, that day is still quite a way off into the future, so for now, the restrictive word could will have to stay.

Part of the mystery at the heart of Bliss is a strange chemical compound that turns up in the bodies of the victims that land in the Orange County Morgue. At the risk of spoiling key plot points, Vasily finds himself hunting down the source for one component of the chemical. Much like my brilliant detective, I had to dust off my notes from the Geology class I took in high school in order to create a realistic location for said component, one that properly mixes science with the demands of a fictional narrative. Digging into the subject (pun intended) triggered a ton of memories from those classes, including an incredibly gifted teacher who turned rocks into rock stars. Up until that point, I’d never really considered any of the “earthly” substances around me as anything other than the stuff that things grew out of; while I was mildly interested in the sheer variety of non-living materials, honestly, they were… rocks. And soil. And mountains. And clouds. No big deal.

Oh, how they turned out to be a huge deal.

Photo by Nick Wehrli on Pexels.com

I’m almost ashamed to reveal that I didn’t truly appreciate the impressively craggy coastline of Maine until I learned how glaciers worked; my sense of time itself completely reset once I understood the millennia required to create such fantastic natural wonders as the Grand Canyon or the Big Island of Hawaii. Our single human lifetime is so brief relative to the epochs that shaped the world around us that it’s hard to accept the true multitude of changes that took place to create things like San Francisco Bay or, frankly, the shift of the continental plates into the orientation we recognize today. We’re literally brief specks on the timeline of this universe, a reality that, once understood, can truly sneak a bit of impressive perspective into your life. My geology teacher did that, and did it with panache; those lessons went far beyond the science of the world, and instead opened a wider door into more philosophical discussions that we continued a few years later in my Senior Physics class. As I look back on it now, it feels like it was as close as I would ever get to a classical Aristotle-like curriculum. College, for me, wound up being mountains of memorization, mind-numbing term papers and group projects where I felt as though I were shouldering most of the load. Good training for my career, but perhaps not as intellectually stimulating as that Geology class in high school.

There’s too much material from that class to pour into the book, of course, so I’ve had to sketch in the basics for the reader and hint at how much more Vasily might know from his own education. I also didn’t want to turn the book into an episode of NOVA, either. After all, I’m not (quite) yet a Science Fiction author and Vasily is very much a cop, not a scientist. Hopefully, the slight dusting will lend weight to what Vas discovers, and help keep the plot plausible. At least, that’s the plan; we’ll see how it goes when I get to the re-reading stage of the process.

It’s probably not a surprise to learn that I’m something of a perfectionist when it comes to my writing. I’ve got all sorts of rules that I adhere to; most were the result of courses I took in high school or college (i.e. all paragraphs must have a minimum of three sentences), but several developed as I began my journey toward becoming published. The quirkiest of those is my strange obsession with ensuring that the paragraph I am currently writing doesn’t begin with the same word as the one just above it — something that is often hard to spot until I am in the final copyediting stage of my process. Exactly why that particular foible exists is likely the end product of having to read so many technical journals for my day job, most of which are dry statistical rundowns of whatever it is I am currently researching. That sort of monotonous reading tends to have your eyes begin to focus on patterns, and the last thing I want my readers to start to do is note that the last five paragraphs all started with “the” or “as” or “I.”

I’ve been writing long enough now to have watched the tools we use evolve. My early days on WordPerfect saw marathon sessions running the then-new thing called “spellcheck,” a marvelous function that literally reviewed each and every word in a given document, forcing possible errors to be manually reviewed and corrected. Early versions of Microsoft Word did something similar; the next quantum leap came somewhere in the late 1990s when the now omnipresent red squiggly underline began to appear as you typed. This sort of in the moment, inline correction was revolutionary, but also introduced the ability to self-edit while writing. One of the hardest habits for me to break while working on a novel is to let the built-in editor bully me into reworking what I just wrote, for when I give in, I tend to lose the thread of what I was originally trying to do. Folks who grew up on a typewriter probably know where I am going with this — namely, the enemy of creativity is pausing to reach for the virtual white-out to fix something that can be done during the true editing process that supposed to take place later. Getting the thought out should be paramount during the actual writing process; finesse and polish always come later.

Or at least, they should.

For the most part, I’ve held myself to the same process through nearly twenty novels: I write the first draft over the course of six to ten weeks, then let it settle a bit on my virtual desktop before tackling the first major edit. At that stage, I’m generally reviewing the flow of the book while correcting any typos or other grammatical errors the various built-in tools I have overlooked. As good as most of those systems have become, they’re not foolproof — which is why the second stage is handing off the manuscript to my trusted group of beta readers. Not only do they weigh in on the overall plot, they often will catch continuity errors that have crept in (despite how carefully I try to remain consistent) or subtler issues around word choice no automated system is capable of rendering an opinion on. I take all of that feedback to heart and produce the third draft of the manuscript, then re-read it again myself, tweaking further as needed while attempting to squash any other bugs that might have gotten past the two prior reviews. Generally speaking, by the time readers see the book as a preorder on Amazon, I’m pretty comfortable with the final product — but even then, I’ll often do one final top-to-bottom review about a month out from publication just to ensure nothing incredible egregious slipped through.

My process isn’t perfect, of course; I’ve gone back to read earlier novels prior to writing the next one in the series and often find myself facepalming over a typo or a stray comma or some other oddity that, for whatever reason, didn’t register on anyone’s radar until that moment. Those that I rely on for reading and editing my work are incredibly good at what they do, but in the end, we’re all humans working on a deadline. I have corrected — and will continue to correct — any issues I uncover for all of my works in the digital space; those changes magically appear the next time a Kindle reader opens my book. Sadly, I don’t have the same ability to do so with printed versions.

I’m forever grateful for readers who are invested enough in my novels to take the time to let me know when they encounter something awkward in a book. While the correction may not always be easy, it’s necessary work that needs to be done in order for me to continue to mature as an author. Thank you for hanging in there with me on this long, long journey…

Continuing the marketing voyage with my latest book, Silenced, I’ll be making an appearance at Stacks Book Club Oro Valley Friday, May 15, from 4:00pm to 8:00pm. This is the first time I’ve ventured behind the Tucson Festival of Books, so if you happen to be in the greater Tucson area, swing by and pick up a brand new hardcover version of Silenced. I absolutely love getting a chance to talk to readers in person, and this book store is a wonderfully intimate space to do just that; there will be other authors there as well, covering a wide variety of genres. With any luck, I’ll come away with some new titles myself — and maybe a new author friend or two.

Silenced has been doing fairly well so far this year; as part of my work in the next one in the series, I’ve been re-reading portions of it to make sure some of my through lines have remained intact. It also gives me a chance to ensure that where we find Sean at the beginning of Aftermath aligns with how we left him when Vasily departed Orlando. So far, so good on both counts.

This is also a backhanded way of hinting that work is well underway on Bliss; as of this writing, I’m about halfway through the story and things are perking along quite nicely. Which, of course, means there’s a curveball on the way for sure. You just never know when it comes to these characters…