Who Are You?

WINNERS, WINNERS!

Amy S. won the pizza cutter and Mary M. won the free book and goodies.

Amy has already contacted me, but Mary M., please send me your snail mail address at christie (@) christie-craig . com.

Thank you everyone for posting and visiting Killer Fiction.

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I just wanted to remind everyone to make sure you come back to see who wins tomorrow. Also...for those of you who like entering contests, pop over to http://www.dorchesterpub.com/ and check out my contest there that could win you a $20 gift certificate to amazon.com.


It finally happened. Slap one of those tight little white jackets on my butt and call me insane. I know some of you, those who have read my books or my blogs and even a few who know me, are thinking that I lost it a long time ago. Probably when the elephant felt me up in the zoo, or maybe when I tried to sneak out of the operating room because I was certain the doctors had misdiagnosed a bout of broccoli-induced gas with an appendicitis. I mean any writer who creates a whole character around the art of throwing up, has to have crossed the insane line a long time ago, right?

Okay, you guys may have a point, but hear me out.

You see, I was having a mundane lunch with a friend. We were chatting about my husband’s refusal to eat corn on the cob. Or rather, his refusal to eat “corn off the cob”. He loves fresh corn, but the idea of eating the vegetable off the cob is too much for him. I mean, who doesn’t like to sink their teeth into a corn cob? That’s part of the fun of eating the sweet buttered vegetable, right? Like I said, mundane stuff. But then it happened. I hear this voice in my head.

Some people, non-writers, would think just hearing a voice in their heads is a good enough reason to check into the local Looney-Toon retreat for an extended vacation. Ah, but you writers understand it completely. Right?

I mean, writers love it when our characters talk to us. We invite them to come on in. Oh, and please tell us how the night went with the hunk you met when they discovered the dead body in the back alley. We want the juicy details. You non-writers may be rolling your eyes about now, but don’t judge us too harshly, you love reading those juicy details, too.

Nevertheless, it’s not the voice’s appearance that bothered me. It was that I recognized the voice—I knew without a doubt that the voice was one of my heroines, someone I’d created, but I couldn’t put a face or name on the voice.

It’s sort of like seeing someone at the grocery store and recognizing them, but not being able to place them. Like the time I saw the man trying to decide between chicken noodle and chicken rice soup. I knew him, but couldn’t remember from where. With the two soups in his hands, he smiled. I mentally tried to place him sitting in one of my writer’s workshop. But I wasn’t so sure that was it. I tried to picture him as teaching a class I’d taken at one of my writing conferences. I wasn’t so sure that was it either. Maybe he’d worked with my husband and tried to see him at a Christmas party drinking too many margaritas. But still, I wasn’t sure.

That’s when it hit me that I was wearing my old workout clothes, no makeup, and a layer or two of sweat. The mystery man smiles, “I almost didn’t recognize you.”

Now, I’m not only embarrassed that I look like something that crawled out of the gutter and should have crawled into a shower, but that he recognizes me and I don’t remember him. I manage to smile and wave at my clothes. “Yeah, I guess you saw the better side of me last time, huh?”

I was hoping he’d give me a clue to where we knew each other, instead he looks surprised and says, “I guess.” Clinging to both cans of soup, he said good bye and walked away.

It wasn’t until hours later that I realized the last time I’d seen the guy, he’d had his head between my thighs . . . doing my pap smear. Yep, he was my gynecologist. (Was being an important word.) My point is that the whole not recognizing someone is frustrating. Even when it’s just a voice in your head.

All the voice said was, “Hey, remember that one scene? I figured out why I didn’t like it, and you were wrong.”

Now, I don’t like to be told I was wrong by a character. I mean, I created her and got her hitched up with a hot looking hero, the least she can do is go along with the plot. But, as so often happens, characters think they have a say in their roles. I’ll even admit their insights often have merit. But that’s beside the point.

The point is that I can’t figure out who she is or what scene she’s referring to. So I start asking questions. (Yes, we do talk back to our characters.) “Are you Lacy, the character who used the singing fish to clobber the man who later handcuffed you to the bed, and then you allowed him to eat a cat-food sandwich, but later you married him?” Divorced, Desperate and Delicious – December 2007

Nothing.

“Katie? Are you the nervous puker who met the sympathetic puker who was a PI, and whom you later ended up playing strip tease with while doing the dishes, all the while you hid from a serial killer?” Weddings Can Be Murder—June 2008

Nothing.

“Hey, Sue? Are you the one who received a dead rat from a stalker and when you tossed it up in the air it landed on your mom’s boobs and she tossed it back up and then your mom’s dog and your cat ate the evidence. And the drop-dead gorgeous detective who shows up at your house is the same man who kissed you senseless a few months back and didn’t even call you?” Divorced, Desperate and Dating – November 25, 2008

Nothing.

“Macy? Are you the pizza delivery girl one who ran into the casket, complete with corpse, on the highway while trying to outrun an escaped convict? Gotcha – May 25, 2009

Nothing.

“Kathy? Are you the third divorced friend, in my Divorced and Desperate Series, who fell for the plumber? Only to discover that your plumber isn’t really a plumber. Divorced, Desperate and Deceived – Nov. 2009

Nothing.

“Wait? Are you the photographer, whom I haven’t named yet, who accidentally takes a picture of . . .”

The problem is that I’m getting to the stage in my career (a good stage, so I’m not whining, I’m just trying to learn to deal with it) that I’m having to promote the books that I’ve published that are still on the bookshelves, work on promoting the books that have sold but have yet to be published, finish the books that are sold, but not yet submitted, and come up with ideas to pitch for future books. So I have all these quirky characters running around my head. When one speaks up, it’s not easy to figure out who they are, who they’re sleeping with, and who wants whom dead.

So . . . any suggestions on keeping myself sane during this very busy time in my career? Any of you want to share your experiences with the voices in your head? Or maybe share with me an experience of running into someone at the grocery store? Or does anyone else have an aversion to eating corn off the cob?

Hey, I’m open to discussing just about anything. I’m crazy remember?

Today I’m giving away a pack of Christie Craig note cards, a silly pen (to remind you to keep laughing) one book, either one of my previously published books, (or if you have both of them I’ll off you a friend’s book) and a pizza cutter with my logo. Why a pizza cutter? Well, the answer can be found in this blog, and I’ll give a pizza cutter to the first person who can answer that question too.

Crime Scene Christie