Writing with kids is murder

So I've just bashed a man across the head with his 1920's Gibson guitar, there's blood spurting everywhere, bits of his brain are bubbling out through his skull. We're in a dark Berlin apartment, I'm spouting Italian and he's looking very confused as he takes his final gasping breath. He'd just given me a lift from Riomaggiore, he'd thought I was a good guy, so why ... why ...?

"Muuuum! Can you come here?"

Huh? What? Who?

Damn it, there goes that thread again. Writing with kids in the house can lead to murderous thoughts, but not a lot of actual crime writing. I'm two-thirds of the way through my fifth Ghostwriter Mystery and now that the summer holidays have hit, it's all starting to go AWOL. Sort of like attempting to drive a manual vehicle when you've only ever driven automatic, it's a case of spits and spurts, bunny hops and splutters and you occaisonally make ground but you never really get anywhere. Not in a hurry, anyway.

"Mum, Felix can't find his money."

There he goes again. Except that's the other one. There's two of them, you see, so it's twice the battle and half the luck.

"It's your fault for having us," he says now, reading over my shoulder as I write this. That's the older one again, the cheekier one, the one who should know better. "It sounds like you absolutely hate us," he adds.

"Muuum, I can't find my money," says the younger one now, wandering into my office. "What are you writing?"
"Mum hates us."
"No I do not."
"Yes you do, says so right there on your blog."
"I'm just explaining to my readers why it's so HARD to finish novels with you guys on holidays. Now, if you'll let me get on with it, I'll stop writing about you."
"But what about my money?" demands the younger one.
I sigh, stop typing and turn to face him. "Why do you need your money, sweetie?"
"Because I want you to take me shopping to buy Ratchet & Clank. It's on special at EB Games."
"Shopping? Really? I was hoping to finish a few chapters today."
"But Mum, I'm really bored."
"And then we'll have something to do and we'll leave you aloooooone!" adds the other one, the older one. Did I mention he was cheekier?

At some point, this point actually, I start screaming like a hapless murder victim and they rush out of the room knowing they've pushed me too far, and I'm left alone for a blissful paragraph or two before ...

"Muuum, I can't find my socks!"
I try breathing deeply. "Why do you need your socks?"
"Because I have to put my shoes on if we're going to go shopping."
I growl quietly to myself, I save the pathetic three pars I've managed that day, I push away from my desk and I search for the money, the socks and my car keys.

It looks like we're going shopping.

xo Christina

Nothing routine about it

Want to be an artistic success? Smoke and drink like an undergrad, take a daily walk/swim/nap, and have someone on hand to feed your every whim while keeping noisy children/guests/neighbours at bay. These are just some of the 'rituals' that are common amongst many great writers, composers, philosophers and artists, according to Mason Curry in his book Daily Rituals: How Artists Work (AAKnoff; 2013).

A recent gift from my thespian brother, James, it's been a fascinating insight into the way some of the past century's 'Greats' create. It's also been a welcome wake-up call to give myself a break while writing the follow-up to my last Ghostwriter Mystery. Not only do some artists only work a few hours a day (Gertrude Stein thought 30 minutes was more than enough!), many sat, frustrated for hours in front of their typewriters, pianos, etc, achieving bugger all.

Of course many others were terrifyingly prolific, and Henri Matisse says he loved his work so much he rarely took a break, working all day every day, including Sundays, much to his models' great annoyance.

Everybody had a different body clock, some getting up at the crack of dawn, others only picking up their pencils at midnight, and almost all seemed to rely on my drug of choice, coffee, to see them through (although absinthe, cigars and amphetamines get a regular mention).

The one common factor for all, though, was ritual or, as the author points out, really just boring old ROUTINE. No matter when they start or what gets them cracking, most of the great artists had a routine that worked for them and that they stuck to, and it clearly brought results.

It got me thinking: what's my writing routine? Seems, I, too, have one, and it rarely varies, at least while I've got a book on the hop. I get up with the kids at 7:00 a.m. and get them off to school (something none of the artists had to worry about, I might note) then I have a little breakfast and coffee with my husband before he heads to his recording studio at the top of our property, and I take to my sunroom/office to answer emails, check the online news and generally faff about. By 10:00 a.m. I am into my latest novel, reading through yesterday's words, correcting a few things, then continuing on.

I break regularly for cups of coffee and tea, down a (DIY) sandwich at some point, and then wind it all up by school pick-up time at 3:00 p.m. After that, I steal the odd half hour when the boys are being calm (read: rarely), then I do a walk and some yoga, watch the TV news and enjoy dinner at the table with my family. I don't write again at night unless I'm at the end of a book and so engrossed, I simply can NOT let it go. Generally, though, too much plotting close to bedtime keeps me awake all night, so I have to release it by 5:00 p.m. to allow my brain time to chill out.

It's a routine, it seems to do the job, and it's not a bad life when I think about it. But, gee, it'd be nice if someone brought me breakfast in bed so I could loll in the sheets and dream the day away as Descartes did ...

I'd love to hear about your daily rituals or routines. Get in touch below, or drop me an email: christina.larmer@gmail.com.

And happy creating, everyone!
xo Christina

Plotting my way out of writer's block

I've never really experienced 'writer's block' but have to admit, while working on my fifth Ghostwriter mystery recently, I struggled to get the story out, labouring over every sentence, feeling bored, floundering, wondering why I bother and was there a less talented writer anywhere on this dark earth.

Then I picked up a book I bought at the last Byron Bay Writers Festival that I'd neglected to read. An anthology of Australia's leading crime writers with the disappointingly cliché title If I Tell You ... I'll Have to Kill You (edited by Michael Robotham) and relief flooded through me like a cold shower in the middle of a Melbourne heat wave.

Forget about just 'Australia' and 'crime', 20 of the world's top writers have revealed that they, too, stumble and fall, flounder and feel like frauds from time to time. Experts like Gabrielle Lord and Kerry Greenwood, Peter Corris and Shane Maloney. Gee I'm in good company!

These wonderful, candid writers offer excellent advice on getting started, on keeping going, on plotting or not plotting (to each their own), on flow, character development and how to handle the ugly ego that sits on each of our shoulders laughing regularly at our 'ineptitude'. Every writer struggles occasionally. No writer thinks it's a breeze. Not even the best of them.

Of course, deep down I know all this, I've heard it all before, but to see it at this time, as I struggle with a series that, just between you and me, has been a breeze, was a welcome buoy in what's been a turbulent and unproductive month. (Well, if you don't count the spotless kitchen and one very tidy desk.)

Just promise yourself you'll write 500 words a day, suggests Katherine Howell (writer of pacy ambo thrillers). If that doesn't work, make it 250. Before you know it, you'll be on a roll. Others advised I just put the pen down (keyboard, iPad...) and go for a stroll. Thinking, or not thinking, is just as pivotal to plotting as getting letters onto a page. (Sadly, most of us see this as a waste of time, but oh no it's not!) Almost everyone stressed the importance of character and I wondered whether I'd not developed mine enough. Was that my stumbling block?

Then I read that perhaps it's not me that's struggling. It's the plot. Yes, I thought, yes! Let's blame the blasted plot!

I put my keyboard aside and I sat out on my veranda, watching the wallabies mow the backyard as the catbirds screeched like manic babies in the poinciana above, and I looked again at my plot. Of course. That was it. My plot was all wrong. It just wasn't doing its job. There were not enough suspects. There were certainly not enough dead bodies. It was all a bit of a yawnfest. No wonder I was bored senseless, it was a senselessly boring plot. So I grabbed pen and paper and reworked the entire novel. Then I returned to my keyboard and the story began to flow.

I haven't stopped writing since.

Thanks, fellow writers, for your candour and your encouragment, but most of all, thank you for your failings, because without them, I'd still be scrubbing every square inch of my office.

Happy reading (and writing) everyone.
xo Christina

Man or monster?

Most of my books contain strong, capable women like Roxy Parker and the Finlay sisters, but a recent radio interview got me wondering: If they were marooned on a desert island with a bunch of strangers, how would they react? Not very well, according to the Aussie co-author of a new book called No Mercy: True Stories of Disaster, Survival and Brutality, Eleanor Learmonth (with Jenny Tabakoff; 2013).

After studying dozens of real-life Robinson Crusoe-style scenararios, they came to the horrific conculsion that most of us turn into immoral, vicious monsters when the chips are down a la Lord of the Flies. And that freaks me out.

I don't know about Roxy and Alicia, but I like to picture myself as the Goddess of Calm in a crisis. I was voted School Captain back when I actually thought that mattered. I have long stood up to bullies and am rarely afraid of authority or taking a risk (within reason). I am fairly pragmatic, an articulate negotiator and have more than a dose of common sense. With that in mind, I like to think I could help lead the troops through days and days of food rationing, stress and emotional despair to ensure we all get back home healthy, happy and alive, and preferably in one piece.

In your dreams, suggests Learmonth. In a recent ABC Radio National interview with the peerless Richard Fidler (do interviewers get any better?), Learmonth explained how research proves that humans are more likely than not to discard all of our humanity, destroying the weak (gobbling them up for good measure), battling for power and generally turning into beasts. Forget 'women and children first', it's 'every man for himself'. It's not a pretty picture but there is some hope.

Learmonth did cite one inspiring group who managed to survive a ship wreck with good, elected leadership and the power of purpose (keep everyone busy and there's less chance of misbehaviour, apparently). She goes on to suggest other survival tips if you do find yourself stuck with salivating strangers, and they make such good sense. I'm thinking I should print them out and keep them with my passport, just in case.

This sounds like a fascinating read, more chilling than your average thriller, and I'm adding it to my Christmas Book Gift List this year. You might want to check it out yourself. But in the meantime, just hope you never have to put your mettle to the test. You may well be disappointed.

Happy reading!
xo Christina

Why switching off switches you back on

I've been travelling through Europe for the past five weeks and put myself on a deliberate cyber diet. No blogging about my latest books, no trawling through Facebook or posting tweets (#CALarmer), I didn't even take my Kindle (shock, horror). For 34 glorious days, I got back to the real world. Family close by, I strolled, marvelling, through the cobbled streets of Paris. I delighted in the buzz of Barcelona and the snow dipped alps of Mt Pilatus in Switzerland. I swam in the Mediterranean and ogled the Mona Lisa, my disappointed children beside me ("But, Mum, it's soooo small!"). I ate fresh Greek squid and drank cherry beer in Brugge, and I had little more than my journal and a few well-thumbed paperbacks for company (Harlan Coben and Kate Moran if you must know).

And it was clearly just what I needed because, one night, around day 28, I had an epiphany.

I was lying in bed listening to the wind howling outside our cosy villa in Santorini when it came to me, in a whoosh—the key to a book I had been struggling with for many years. Dubbed Greek Expectations, this is the story of a woman's journey back to a small Greek island in search of something she left there many years earlier. Problem was, I could not decide what it was she was actually searching for. Well, I had an idea, of course, it was the whole reason I'd started the story a decade ago, but it was clearly a crap idea because I could never get very far with the story before I laid down my proverbial pen and moved on to other projects.

And then, that night in the Greek Isles, it all made sense. Of course! That's what she's looking for. Suddenly, miraculously, I had the whole novel crystal clear in my mind, and it was invigorating. It still is. I can't wait to throw out my old, muddled draft, and start anew.

I struggled to sleep after that—plotting novels is never good for insomniacs—and promptly jotted the plot down in my travel journal over an icy frappe at Perissa Beach the next day. And then a calmness descended. That night I slept like a baby.

I don't know, now, whether this tantalising plot line came to me because I was travelling to fresh and enthralling lands or because I had taken a much needed break from computers and the internet. I assume it was a little of both, but I know for a fact that there's nothing more enriching for the mind and soul. Whether we're creative types or not, but especially if we are, we all need time out from our ordinary, busy, noisy lives. We all need time to enrich the mind, nourish the imagination and be still, even if we're doing it trudging through the Louvre or towards the Acropolis. Or simply sitting in our back yard and doing nothing at all.

Sometimes you just need to stop staring into a screen to see things more clearly.

I can't wait to get started on Greek Expectations (#2). In the meantime, happy reading ... (and thanks, Santorini, I owe you one).

xo Christina

My first murder

A friend asked me a few months ago, one eyebrow raised a little cynically, why I was so fixated with crime and why I've spent the past 15 years writing about murder and mayhem (see my crime ebooks at Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/C.A.-Larmer/e/B006S9LC86/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1376891328&sr=1-2-ent).

I can't remember what I told her, but I do remember giving it considerable thought soon after.

Why AM I so fixated with crime, death, mysteries and puzzles? Why did I seek out The Three Investigators when all my friends were immersed in pony stories and The Lion, The Witch & The Wardrobe?

I think I have pinpointed why, or at least when my curiosity for crime began. I can't recall my age, but I must have been six or so, I was living in Brisbane, and had heard (either directly or via gossip) that a young child had been kidnapped off a Brisbane street in broad daylight and found days later chopped into a million pieces. (Allow a little poetic license here for a child's overactive imagination if you will.) That wasn't the worst bit for me, or at least the bit that stuck in my mind and haunted my dreams for years to come. What freaked me out was the 'broad daylight' bit. The poor kid, according to my hazy memory, was picked up and carried away in a public place, and despite wailing and flailing, onlookers allowed it to happen.

Why?! Why would they do that?!

I don't know if I worked it out for myself or if my mother explained it in a warning lesson, but it soon became obvious. The poor love had not made it clear this was a stranger. He/she (I'm sorry, I don't recall their gender) had screamed and cried, and onlookers had assumed it was just a very naughty child having a very disruptive tantrum. "The poor dad," they probably thought, glancing away and minding their own business.

I learnt then—and I have taught my own children since—that you must always let people know what's really going on. I learnt that if a stranger dared to scoop me up and try to haul me away, that I MUST scream out words to the effect of: "I don't know you! Let me go! Help, I don't know this man!"

It was an eerie story for a young child to hear and I can't even verify if it ever really happened. No Google back then to check it out now, just a horrible, lingering memory. Maybe it was a storyline from a dodgy TV show I had sneakily watched without my parents knowing. Perhaps it was a scenerio someone simply mentioned to me. I simply don't know. But it stuck with me and rather than being appalled and shrinking from crime, I feel, now, that it was the seed that began to grow into a lifelong passion for the dasterdly deeds of others.

What made that horrendous man steal that child in the middle of the day? What made him then chop that poor soul up? How did those onlookers feel afterwards, knowing they had allowed the kidnapping to happen? Who was that child? Who were the parents? The siblings? The murderer? How did the world settle down again after that?

How could it, ever again?

And so, perhaps, lacking answers and wanting some vestige of control, I began to read about crime and immerse myself in it. Because it seemed so damn important. This wasn't Black Beauty, this wasn't fantastical wardrobes that opened into fictitious worlds. This was life and death stuff.

And it was in each of our hands, whether we liked it or not.

I'd love to hear about YOUR first murder, your first whiff of the darker world outside. Share your stories, real or imagined, via comment below or drop me an email.

In the meantime, happy reading, (if you can!)

xo Christina

More sales, beloved readers

Hi guys,
I can't seem to help myself, but I'm lopping the top off a few prices—just because I can. From Friday, you can get the third in the Ghostwriter Mystery Series, Last Writes, for JUST 99c! Pretty damn good for such a riveting read, even if I do say so myself.

But that's not all! I'm also taking my newest Ghostwriter Mystery, Dying Words (the fourth in the series), down from $4.99 to $2.99.

Get in quick because I'm not sure how long my generosity will last ;-)

Happy reading,
xo Christina