Susan Crandall

2014 SIBA Award for Fiction Winner: Whistling Past the Graveyard

July 7, 2014 By Susan Crandall 1 Comment

With great excitement and gratitude I announce that Whistling Past the Graveyard was awarded the 2014 SIBA Award for Fiction. I can’t thank the Southern Independent Booksellers Alliance enough for this honor, and for all of the support they’ve collectively given this book. When I learned that WPTG had been selected as a finalist, I was over the moon. The other five finalists were truly amazing books, written by wonderfully talented authors. I didn’t dare hope. But dreams apparently do come true!

Target Book Pick!!

February 1, 2014 By Susan Crandall Leave a Comment

WHISTLING PAST THE GRAVEYARD is Target’s February Book Pick!

November 22, 1963

November 20, 2013 By Susan Crandall Leave a Comment

Every American knows that horrible date. For me, sitting in Mrs. Purvis’s 2^nd grade classroom in a building built in the 1880s, the news was baffling. I don’t recall many of the details of that afternoon, except for the stunned and saddened adults, those people who were counted on to understand everything, now didn’t seem understand at all.

My life consisted of learning cursive, wondering why girls couldn’t wear pants to school on cold days, riding my bicycle, dealing with my little sister, adoring my older brother and playing with my friends. I probably wouldn’t have been aware of the President as a person, rather than just the idea of the office, if he hadn’t had little kids. Their pictures were always on the news and in LIFE magazine. Those kids made him real. A dad. And suddenly he was dead.

I think we never truly empathize with others until something makes them understandable and relatable in our own personal world. A dad was dead. That I could comprehend. That I could imagine. What if my dad went to work one day and never came home? I think in some small way, that day, that dawning understanding of others’ loss contributed to my ability to create believable fictional characters. That was the first time I crawled under another person’s skin…Caroline Kennedy. A girl whose daddy won’t come home.

The television, normally off during the daytime hours in our house, stayed on. kennedy-casket My mother made me sit and watch it all. The Sunday procession from the White House to the Capitol, Caroline and her mother kneeling beside that flag draped casket, Monday’s long slow procession from the Capitol to the cathedral and then again after the service to Arlington cemetery. Whenever I got restless, she reminded me, this was history being played out right in front of me. History she hoped would never be repeated. It was important I watch the entire thing.

The thing that struck me was the silence. How could a street filled with chest-to-back, shoulder-to-shoulder people be so quiet? Nothing but drum beats and horse hooves. The other thing, of course, was the image of two children whose lives would never be the same.

Goodreads Best Books of 2013 Nominee: Whistling Past the Graveyard

November 7, 2013 By Susan Crandall Leave a Comment

Goodreads Choice Award Nominee It’s an honor to be nominated! Cliche, yes, but also true. Whistling Past the Graveyard has been nominated in the Historical Fiction category long with Amy Tan, Colum McCann, Philipp Meyer, Kate Atkinson and more. Big names, to be sure, so Whistling Past the Graveyard is sure to be a long shot.

But if you loved Starla and want her to move to the next round, Vote for Whistling Past the Graveyard in the 2013 Goodreads Choice Awards!

An honor to be nominated, indeed!

First round ends November 9, so vote soon!

The Nittie Club–or Every Writer Needs a Friend with a Whip and a Muse with a Gun

November 6, 2013 By Susan Crandall Leave a Comment

No, it’s not naughty…although our motto is “Show me your nitties.” It has nothing to do with a hobby, or craft. It’s not like Costco—although it is exclusive and has limited membership. No photo ID required.

It began on a dark and stormy night…oh, no, not that. But it did begin years and years ago, when three unknown and unpublished writers were honing their craft in isolation. And then [hallelujah chorus here] they found one another on the Internet…back in the day when only the oddly-fascinated-with-technology had Internet friends. Actually, only two of us, Karen White and I, met in an Internet writers’ group. Karen and Wendy Wax met through a writer’s organization in the real world, so I guess you could say Wendy and Karen’s origins were more normal for the times—oh those long years ago.

Karen and I critiqued via the Internet for a year before we actually met in person and dispelled our families worries that we were each talking to some strange dude in his mother’s basement and not a bonafide lady writer. Actually, I figured that if it was some odd dude in his mother’s basement, he was a heck of a writer and I was sticking with him as a critique partner.

Karen was the bridge that brought the three of us together.

We go on retreat. We brainstorm. We share insight. We vent. We offer suggestions. We talk one another off the literary ledge.

It was a kinder and gentler process in the beginning, centered entirely around the compliment sandwich. “I really liked ABC, but I felt you could have expanded on DEF, gone deeper in GHI, and I loved what you did with JKL.” It really took a lot of typing. As time progressed, and the published books accumulated, this was streamlined. “Where’s the motivation?” “I just can’t see this character doing this—like ever.” “Shouldn’t we see this in action?” “Not so fast, Norma! Did you really think I wouldn’t notice you glossed over this?” Yes, we still compliment the gems…but with an emoticon smilie face. No need to waste words.

And then there are the nitties. Not major character issues. Not plot problems. Not the big things that need to be discussed in an email and worked out. But all of those little things we note in “track changes.” The tiny things that must be addressed: typos, grammar, incoherent sentences, wrong character name—yeah, it happens. The phrase “nitties on the pages” usually concludes every email.

And so, The Nittie Club.

Although I feel we’ve enhanced one another’s work, the most valuable thing we share is a great bond of friendship. No nitties on those pages.

Oh, yeah, there’s a secondary function of the Nittie Club. Writing a novel is a long, emotional haul. Sometimes we need a cheerleader. Sometimes we need a gentle nudge. And sometimes we need a muse with a gun (as depicted on the back of our club t-shirts).

Yeah, we’re all that and more.

Knifed in New Orleans — vol. III in the Vanishing Tableware Series

October 3, 2013 By Susan Crandall Leave a Comment

I should have known it would happen—well, I did know it would happen, eventually. I just thought I’d been careful enough not to have had it happen so soon. For those of you who’ve missed the previous two volumes of the Vanishing Tableware Series, you really must read Forked in Nashville and Spooned in Atlanta to get the full story, but here’s a brief skinny. I have a writer friend, Karen White, who is prone to the practical joke. She’s even corrupted my innocent little granddaughter, aka Olivia Grabbyhands, with her schemes. I have now found a full setting of tableware in my purse, one utensil at a time, after dining with Karen in three different cities.

Karen and I were both honored to be invited to attend the SIBA (Southern Independent Booksellers Alliance) trade show in New Orleans. This organization has been phenomenal in their support of Whistling Past the Graveyard. To be able to sit on a panel at their trade show was a wonderful experience. Can you imagine, all of those book lovers concentrated in one spot? What great conversations we had!

There was also a wonderful evening game of Trivia (for Cheaters—which suited Karen and I fine) as a fund raiser for Binc (Book Industry Charitable Foundation). This evening deserves its own blog, so I’ll just tempt you with this tid-bit: Karen and I “bought” John Densmore of The Doors (he’s an author, too) to help us cheat in the trivia round dedicated to The Doors. There was no tableware at this event, so I felt safe in taking my eyes off my purse long enough to full out the answer sheet for our team.

There were lunches and dinners with authors and booksellers and I believe it was at one of these meals that the travesty occurred. I was no doubt engaged in a deep conversation on books, or distracted by an amazing New Orleans dessert, when Karen must have slipped the knife in my purse. It probably has her DNA on it, because it had been used. I’m considering taking it to the forensics lab in Indianapolis to be analyzed. Not that there could be any doubt about who is responsible. The only time I ever end up with silverware in my purse is after a meal in a restaurant with Karen.

Now that I have a full set, let’s hope this practical joke has seen its end and I won’t be an inadvertent thief any more. I’m pretty sure any restaurateur that reads this blog will have photos of Karen and I posted at the doors with orders not to admit us to the premises.

If this continues, maybe I can create a cool piece of art from my booty.

Even if I never find another spoon in my purse, there is a problem to address. Karen and I are tit for tat. So you know that means I now need to come up with some clever practical joke of my own to play. I’m considering kidnapping her dog (whom I adore and he adores me, so it’s really like eloping not kidnapping)…but that might be a bridge too far.

No?

And By This I Mean Excuses for Not Writing

September 11, 2013 By Susan Crandall 2 Comments

Today I awakened with one thing on my to do list: write. But then I remember I have a dentist appointment this morning. Which calls for real clothes and a comb through my hair, and at least enough make up not to frighten small children. Tick-tock.

Well then, as soon as I’m finished at the dentist, I’ll have the rest of the day.

Dental appointment ends with news that my mom has lost her cell phone (she’s on my family plan). This presents two problems. First and most obvious, my writing is going to be delayed. The second stems from the fact that her 87th birthday is right around the corner and she has macular degeneration (still able to see pretty well though). But a new phone is going to be an issue, relearning and all that. So my sister has an old phone (we need basic with a capital B) that we can use. Then pick up my laptop at home and drive to my mother’s house (only 2 miles away, thank goodness). Once I get the phone activated on-line, I can go home and write. Still half a day left!

The webpage of my wireless service is “unavailable.” I visit with Mom and Sister, then try again. No go. I decide to take the phone with me, activate it later, and return it to Mom after I have several brilliant pages turned out. Pack up phone and computer and head out the door. Still nearly half a day of writing time.

Then my son calls to see if I want to meet for lunch. Well, I am kinda hungry. And I have to eat anyway. Plus things are pretty slim in the pantry at home. Good idea. I’ll be home by 1:30—which is about the time my creativity really kicks in anyway.

The lunch place is just down the way from the Verizon store. Might as well pop in and have Mom’s phone changed over. Son is due for an upgrade, so he goes too. Battery in Mom’s replacement phone is dead, but voila! they had an accessory battery. Son makes decisions. Leave the Verizon store before 2. Not bad.

Get in the car and point it toward my home office. Well, Meijer is on my way home. Might as well get a few things for that empty pantry. Shouldn’t take but a few minutes, save me getting out tomorrow.

I gather up my half-cartful and head to the checkout … along with every other person in my town. I’m a real control freak do-it-yourselfer, so naturally I like to U-Scan, which has shorter lines anyway. Get in line behind a couple; brilliant because one is scanning and the other is bagging, twice as fast. I’ll be home writing in no time.

I’m a patient person in checkout lines when there are tabloids and magazines to read. Make it through all of them and the couple is still scanning, apparently the scanner half of the couple isn’t a natural do-it-yourselfer and was having issues. Then the scanner got sassy. Tick-tock.

My turn! I scan and bag and pay. I even remember to stop by the freezer on my way out and pick up the ice I’d paid for — not always the case (mine, unfortunately, did not have a penguin on it). 3 o’clock, but plenty of time to crank out some quality work.

Home, unload, doggies out to take care of business. Crack my knuckles and take my laptop to my office. I usually write on the screened porch, but the temp is near 100, so upstairs I go. Clearly for the first time in eons, because I can’t even find my desk. Boxes of books had arrived. My mulit-function printer had died; its carcass plopped in the middle of the floor when its replacement arrived. Schedules for book tours had been scattered about; advanced reading copies of books requesting endorsements piled on top. Bills to be paid (uh-oh, look at those due dates!), bank statements, a million scribbled research notes for my current WIP I’d planned on organizing—oh my, there are also quite a few from WHISTLING PAST THE GRAVEYARD that was released in July. Lookie here, a royalty check for an essay I’d contributed to a book on writing—I could get an ice cream with that one.

Well, I’m all for having everything at my fingertips, but there is no way I can work in this mess. Sort. Stack. Shred. Recycle. File.

Nearly 5 o’clock. No problem, hubby won’t be home from work until late this evening. Three-and-a-half uninterrupted hours of writing!

Oh yeah, I need to scan a document and send the pdf to my sister. How did I do that? Remember it’s a new machine. Whew! Done.

Now to work.

The phone rings. Caller ID says it’s one of my kids…the one with the grandbaby. They’re feeling sorry for me all alone at dinner time. Did I want to eat with them? Remember, they have the grandbaby. Yes! I’ll still be back in time to get a couple of hours in before hubby arrives home.

Food. Fun. A lap full of applesauce. Back home.

Look at that tree we planted this year! It looks about to die (we’re having a drought and I don’t have an irrigation system.) I drag out the hose and put it on to drip water the poor thing.

Now!

Dogs need fed.

Done.

Finally sit down at my desk at 7:20 p.m. Tick-tock.

You know what? Today would make a great blog, one that all procrastinators can identify with.

8:15 p.m. Blog finished and I feel less irritated at myself because I turned an unproductive day into something worthwhile.

Now, let’s open that file for the proposal that is due in two weeks.

Oh, dear. Did I just hear the garage door go up?

Well, tomorrow I’ll have the whole day to write. I’m not even going to get dressed or shower so I won’t be tempted to leave the house.

But then…?