A person could spend one weekend a month for an entire year in New Orleans without ever leaving the French Quarter, and still not patronize all of the hotels, restaurants, bars, clubs, shops, and other activities on offer. Quite frankly, the Quarter is the bomb.

And while nothing says New Orleans like the French Quarter, the city has such a “deep bench” of gastronomic and hedonistic delights, you could skip that venerable historic district on your next trip and not even miss it.

So forget the Quarter and explore the real New Orleans; you’ve got forty-four hours.

FRIDAY

6PM, COCKTAILS: Swizzle Stick Bar 300 Poydras on lobby level of Loews Hotel, 504-595-3300

Want to ease into your NOLA weekend while still jumping in with both feet? Kick things off with a couple of Sidecars at this lively bar that has an upbeat happy hour scene. Run by the Commander’s Palace folks, The Swizzle Stick is a nod to Adelaide Brennan (from the legendary local restaurant family), who wore a gold swizzle stick around her neck, which tells us she might have enjoyed a fine cocktail, now and again. And you can, too, at this grown-up, but fun bar hang.

New Orleans mixologists stand at the forefront of America’s ‘crafted cocktail’ revival and revolution, and only fresh ingredients are used at the Swizzle Stick, with immaculate presentation. Try a Corpse Reviver Number 2 or a Gin Fizz.

8PM, DINNER: Drago’s 2 Poydras at the Hilton 504-584-3911

Feeling braced against the madness of bad food and drink, stroll down Poydras to Drago’s. Two-dozen char-broiled oysters on the half-shell? Oh yes, sir. Grilled in garlic butter and served with lemon and parmesan? Yes, indeed, cap. Cajun Surf and Turf? Well, maybe, but why not just bring another order of oysters? Family owned, clean, friendly, casual, delicious? Absolutely.

10PM, DESERT AND COFFEE: Angelo Brocato’s, 214 N. Carrollton Ave., 504-486-0078.

This is an authentic, old-time (meaning it’s faux-retro?) Sicilian desert parlor still going strong after 106 years. Absolutely essential cannoli, spumoni, Napoleons. Super rich homemade gelatos on par with the best in Milano.

Hair-growing coffee has been expressed here long before the culturally hegemonistic founder of St-rb-cks was even born. Superstar chef John Besh (August, La Provence, Luke) eats desert here, so what does that tell you? They had me at fig cookies.

11PM, CLUBBING: Frenchman Street.

The stretch of Frenchman that starts about two blocks east of the Quarter is simply one of the best street hangs in the world. Fantastic music, tasty chow, cheap liquor, and a communally blissful conviviality that just gets you smiling and dancing.

Don’t be surprised to see a spontaneous street party break out, blocking traffic as people turn the pavement into a dance floor. Street venders hawk burritos and hot links. Music jams erupt on street corners as players show up from gigs they have just finished.

Many Frenchman Street clubs have no cover or a nominal one; be sure to tip the musicians when they pass the hat. Most bars will let you enter with drink in hand, but buy another once inside. This is nothing like Bourbon Street and that’s a good thing.

–d.b.a. There’s a cover and the music can be more arty for an upscale hipster crowd, but the joint swings just fine with the likes of Walter “Wolfman” Washington.

–The Spotted Cat One of the Top Ten live music dives in the world, the electrical wiring in this club wouldn’t pass code in Bangladesh, so grab a broken-down chair by the front door. Popular New Orleans bands jam here: The Phister Sisters, St. Louis Slim, The New Orleans Jazz Vipers, The Rites of Swing, Washboard Chaz, and the New Orleans Moonshiners, to name a few. Unknown up-and-comers as well as legendary players sometimes sit in and the results can be stupendous.

–Snug Harbor Pricey cover, traditional bigger-name jazz acts, an institution.

–Apple Barrel R&B and blues dive featuring acts such as Frenchy Moe, Alabama Slim, Mike Hood, Andre Bouvier, Little Freddie King, and Blue Max. Fall by, because you never know what you might get and it doesn’t get more real than this.

–Cafe Negril Blues or Reggae outfits perform most nights. Jamaican food, Carib drinks.

–Blue Nile A hugely fun club, some terrific local acts perform here, such as Kermit Ruffins, Trombone Shorty, and Big Sam’s Funky Nation.

–Checkpoint Charlie’s Ever-evolving schedule of blues, rock, death-metal.

–Monaghan’s “13″ Tasty late night bar chow.

–Yuki’s Cool, Japanese pub and izakaya-style grub with live DJ’s on weekends. Check out the lotus-root chips and large sake selection.

–Dragon’s Den, Hookah Café, La Maison de la Musique (formerly Ray’s Boom Boom Room) and a number of other haunts round out the street. The most important thing to keep in mind is that no matter what happens, you don’t want to miss breakfast.

SATURDAY

9AM, BREAKFAST: Buttermilk Drop 1781 N Dorgenois St., in the Treme. 504-252-4538

Catfish Breakfast platter, check. Hot sausage breakfast sandwich, grits and hash browns, check. A half dozen Buttermilk Drops, the most heavenly donut-like pastries on the planet, check. But better make that a dozen. Gallon of coffee and three aspirins, check.

11AM, ART GALLERY CRAWL: Warehouse Arts District. Fortified by a frozen granita from PJ’s Coffee House, 644 Camp St., burn off some calories by hitting the bricks (can you find the old cobblestone streets?) in this historic neighborhood full of renovated brick warehouses.

Over 25 galleries line Julia Street alone. The fantastic architectural detail of the large old structures that have been tastefully refurbished blends well with the art within. All of the walking is a nice way to build to what is really important in New Orleans: your next meal.

2PM, LUNCH: Tracey’s, Irish Channel area of the Garden District, 2604 Magazine St. 504-897-5413

Shrimp, oyster, and roast beef poor boys that will rock your world. Make mine dressed, baby! Gourmet Magazine intones: “The best roast beef sandwich, ever.”

Sweet potato fries, cheese fries, gravy fries, gravy and cheese fries, boudin balls… all washed down with Abita amber, the fine local brew, at only $3. Yes, there is a God, and she usually orders a muffaletta, to go.

4PM, TOUR: Old New Orleans Rum Distillery, 2815 Frenchman, 504-945-9400

The mad scientists/artists/party hounds who own ONO have not only crafted gold medal-winning rums, they built a one-of-a-kind distillery and party space that is pretty cool.

The one-hour tour is bargain priced at $10, and includes a complimentary rum drink and a tasting of four different rums. One of their signature drinks is a Partly Cloudy, a cousin, it would seem, to a Dark and Stormy. Either way, cheers matey!

6PM, COCKTAILS: Cure, 4905 Freret, 504-302-2357

Cross an herbalist with a mixologist and you might get one of the bartenders at Cure. Crafting original cocktails like Bees for Pele or Disappearing Ink with the passion and drive of medical researchers, you halfway expect Marie Curie to pop up from behind the bar holding a glowing jigger of infused vodka.

Clean and handsome in a former firehouse, drinks here can push the envelope that has previously sealed the concept of what a cocktail should be… and do. Thinking man’s drinking at its finest.

8PM, DINNER: Pampy’s Creole Kitchen, 2005 North Broad St., 504-949-7970 (As of April, 2012, Pampy’s has possibly closed)

Succulent Southern fried chicken, nicely spiced filet gumbo with tangy sausage, and you have to love the okra. But the Number 9 Special should be on your bucket list.

Lots of politicos hob-knob here, so expect to see guys and gals in suits and skirts from happy hour onwards. It’s a mostly Creole crowd and the owner—a City Hall insider—had a little run-in with the Federal Prosecutor a few years back, somehow making everything taste more authentic.

10PM, DESERT: Sucre, 3025 Magazine St., 504-520-8311

Yes, it’s pricey, but when you’re getting state-of-the-art, who cares? Homemade marshmallows, chocolates and pastries. Coffees and port with your pleasures. Any place that makes Bananas Foster and salted caramel-flavored macaroons should win your heart, and your sweet tooth.

11PM, CLUBBING:

–Bullet’s Sports Bar, 2441 A. P. Tureaud Ave. 504-948-4003

Made famous by the Treme TV show, Bullets features Kermit Ruffins gigging here most Tuesday nights when he’s in town. On Saturdays, live music jams reign and you might hear some legend like Henry Butler. A great hang and highly recommended.

–Sydney’s Saloon, 1200 St. Bernard Ave., 504-947-2379

Like other NOLA bars that were previously patronized mostly by African-Americans, Sydney’s has now been anointed by the hipster set. That’s mostly due to Kermit Ruffins making this bar his new joint. Great jukebox, hot music, and if Kermit is cooking, plenty of turkey necks, corn, shrimp, and gumbo. The neighborhood can be a bit dicey late at night, so stay mindful.

–Chickie Wah Wah, 2828 Canal Street, 504-304-4714

A non-smoking club in New Orleans? Okay, I like it, anyway. Great beer selection, live bluegrass and beyond, funky religious décor and art, and really tasty chow options, all make for a pretty good time.

SUNDAY

11AM, BRUNCH: The Columns, 3811 St. Charles Ave, 504-899-9308

A streetcar trundles past on the neutral ground as a gentle breeze wafts through the drooping boughs of the large oaks. The jazz guitarist playing on the huge porch churns out the perfect soundtrack as a waitress brings out another award-winning Bloody Mary.

Built in 1833, the Southern mansion that became the Columns Hotel is listed in the National Register of Historic Places. Eating or drinking here can transport one backward in time, but since the end of 44 magical hours in New Orleans draws nigh, perhaps it’s best to remain in the present and savor every last detail before the return to a more mundane reality. Still, there is time for one more stop.

2PM, ONE FOR THE ROAD: Surrey’s Cafe, 1418 Magazine Street, 504-524-3828

Yes, your kidneys and liver are in a state of shock, but that’s normal down here. For a healthy, bracing refreshment to send you on your way, have a glass of the organic, fresh-squeezed orange-mango-pineapple juice, or perhaps the watermelon lemonade. Resist the temptation to doctor the fruity concoction with a shot of vodka or rum. Save that for your next visit.

Discussing and signing STORM DAMAGE has not only been a learning experience, but I got to meet a lot of interesting folks along the way. Some terrific book store owners and staff, of course, not to mention the book buying attendees. I really enjoy the store appearances, if not the hurried travel from city to city. I want to spend more time everywhere I go, but there’s always a plane to catch.

STORM DAMAGE continues to get good reviews http://www.reviewingtheevidence.com/review.html?id=9079
and for that and other blessings I am very grateful. San Diego and Thousand Oaks signings coming soon, so if you are in SOCAL, hope to see you.

GOOD JUNK, Cliff St. James #2 comes out in December 2012. Number 3 is being written and will be released in 2013. The world isn’t coming to end this year, just changing. Here’s hoping you can flow with the change and make it work for your life.

Free wi-fi is all over this airport, and I need to find the free local phones so I can call some good friends in Seoul and apologize for not having enough time to jump on a KAL limmo bus and jam in to see them for lunch.

I like this airport because it’s beautiful, user friendly and they provide many free services.

The wi-fi enabled me to post the following review from the Poisoned Pen bookstore in Scottsdale, Arizona, where I’ll be signing copies of STORM DAMAGE on January 11th at 7 PM.

Here’s their review:

Kovacs, Ed. Storm Damage (St Martins $26). New Orleans is well trod ground for crime fiction, historical and contemporary. For our January Surprise Me Pick, Kovacs uses a “Category 5 hurricane”—read Katrina—and its aftermath as the landscape for a case worked by former cop, now dojo owner Cliff St James. Five months into recovery, his dojo pretty much wrecked, St. James gets a client. Why St. James? The night the hurricane struck was his last night after 8 years on the job. And the night he was called to Sam Siu’s bar The Tiki Hut where a body lay dead on the floor. The office safe hung open, empty. And already on the murder scene was the cop, rumored dirty, sleeping with St. James’ former wife. Now Sam’s daughter Twee wants….Oops, no spoilers. Let’s say it gets complicated, lots of players. And if it doesn’t kill St. James, it may transform his life. The Montagnards figure in—and if you don’t know who they are, you should.

And here’s a link to Poisoned Pen: http://poisonedpen.com/event/ed-kovacs-signs-storm-damage-a-debut/

Strange to think I’ll be back in the States after almost a year. We’re in 2012 now, and like someone said, “Let’s hope the Mayans were wrong!”

“A collective pathology of quasi post-traumatic stress hung like a cloud over the delta.”

Set in New Orleans five months after Katrina, Kovacs’ mystery features ex-cop Cliff St. James, nearly homeless in a city known for its surfeit of crime and its attendant vices, all thrown into chaos since the storm, the lack of resources available and the unmet needs of countless people made homeless by the hurricane.

St. James has found shelter in his badly damaged dojo, his martial arts students virtually non-existent, his future looking as bleak as the city. His last act as a detective was the night Katrina hit in full force, the scene of a murder at Sam Sui’s Tiki Hut, any evidence of the crime- and the body- obliterated by the storm. When Sam’s daughter appears at the dojo offering to hire St. James to investigate her father’s death, he is grateful for the opportunity to make some money and solve the murder of his friend.

What St. James cannot anticipate is the convoluted nature of a case that includes a violent Asian gang, heavy-handed politicians, as ex-CIA operative and any number of bad actors with the power to make his life miserable.

Aided by Sgt. Honey Baybee, chronically incapable of resisting a good fight, Cliff finds himself mired in an investigation fraught with treachery, double crosses and the lies. The result is a quick-paced, well-plotted murder mystery peppered with false purposeful distractions, petty crime and drug wars, the CIA, corrupt officials and the myriad bureaucracies working within the city’s “New Normal”, the graft and corruption as firmly entrenched as ever.

Kovacs does a good job of describing the outrageous condition of a city left too long in disrepair and too quickly forgotten as the world moves on to the next crisis. The challenges of solving a murder in the midst of chaos, the oppression of a city left to molder in the despair of its poorest inhabitants, the greed of opportunists and the spirit of a place bred in tradition are juxtaposed against a broken skyline where the final chapter has yet to be written.

Hope to see as many of you as possible during the book tour, and thanks for your support.

Since we’re getting close to the Holiday Season, please visit my “Charities” page and donate generously, if possible.

Have a great one,

Ed

BOOK TOUR SCHEDULE FOR STORM DAMAGE

January 10, 2012   7:00PM                                                                                      Book Soup, 8818 Sunset Blvd., W. Hollywood, Ca 90069                              310.659. 3110

January 11, 2012  7:00PM
The Poisoned Pen, 4014 N. Goldwater Blvd. #101, Scottsdale, AZ, US
http://www.poisonedpen.com/

January 12, 2012  6:00PM
Clues Unlimited, 3146 East Fort Lowell Road , Tucson, AZ, US
http://cluesunlimited.com/ 

January 15, 2012  4:00PM
Left Bank Books, 399 North Euclid Ave., St. Louis, MO, US
http://www.left-bank.com/

January 19, 2012  6:30PM
Murder By The Book, 2342 Bissonnet St., Houston, TX, US
http://www.murderbooks.com/

January 27, 2012  2:00 PM                                                                               Mysteries to Die For, 2940 Thousand Oaks Boulevard
Thousand Oaks, California 91362
(805) 374-0084

January 28, 2012  2:00 PM                                                                            Mysterious Galaxy, 7051 Clairemont Mesa Boulevard  San Diego, CA 92111-1040
(858) 268-4747

PLEASE CHECK BACK AS MORE TOUR DATES ARE ADDED

I spend time writing when I get the chance.  And I just had one of those creative spurts where in a very short period of time, I outlined the plot for a new Cliff St. James novel.  My crime fiction novels STORM DAMAGE and GOOD JUNK will be published by St. Martin’s Minotaur.  This new one, right now untitled, will hopefully be the third in the series.

And that all ties into an online round-table I’m participating in called, “What Moved You to Write Your First Novel?”  There are some interesting thoughts here from some fine writers.  Please check it out:

Novelists on writing the first novel: http://www.thebigthrill.org/2011/10/coming-october-31-november-6-what-moved-you-to-write-your-first-novel/#comment-4400

Getting paid is the measure of being a professional.  When amateur painters start getting paid for their work, they transform from pursuing a hobby or passion to engaging in commerce.  This doesn’t make them Michelangelo, it just makes them a professional painter.  Remember, I said that getting paid ‘technically’ makes you a professional.

 I functioned for years after college working professionally while cranking out reams of stuff on spec as I toyed with different kinds of writing.  I freelanced small pieces to local and national magazines; I sold ideas for stories; I sold jokes and comedy sketches; edited liner notes for LPs; wrote script coverage, radio news, ads for TV and radio, PSAs, and on and on.  I got a job rewriting a screenplay at MGM.  I was struggling, but building a resume in drips and drabs. 

I was a professional alright, but it was the ‘myth’ of being a writer that captivated me, and I was trying to live the myth as I hobnobbed in café society.  Unfortunately, I was lazy, poorly organized, a terrible net worker and had lousy follow-through.  I had no realistic career strategy, poor writing habits, and didn’t know a thing about marketing.  I wasted years carousing, chasing women, and basically screwing around.  Oh it was fun and I was a professional writer.  Technically, a professional.  A real writer?  Hardly.  Not in what has become my opinion of what a real writer is.  I was a dilettante and didn’t know it.

One day I woke up and realized I’d just lost a decade.  I’d bought the volume Writers At Work some years before, but never even finished it.  I’d only made feeble attempts to replicate the commitment those writers evidenced.

See, I’d been committed to the myth of being a writer, but not to the reality.  I’d always relied on my youth, charm and good looks to get by.  I was reminded of the old saw about the pretty, party-girl actress who tried to sleep her way to the top.  You can’t sleep your way to the top; you can only sleep your way to the middle.  As I looked around, I wasn’t sure I’d even gotten that far.

That’s when I decided to seriously commit myself to what it really meant to be a writer.  To every aspect of writing: the business side, the practical side, the artistic side.  It takes a commitment of time, effort, focus, energy and intent that a lot of people aren’t prepared to make.  Some simply can’t.  It takes guts, discipline, sacrifice, love, passion and sweat.

The learning never stops, as I found out after my novel, Unseen Forces was published late in 2004.  Wish I’d taken a few more marketing courses.

If you count all the palm trees inHollywood, then multiply by 10, you’ll be a few hundred thousand short of the number of people who call themselves writers in Los Angeles.  Most every waiter in Hollywood has written at least one screenplay and thinks he/she is the next Robert Towne or Joe Eszterhas.

Spending a month with a buddy on the weekends drinking Margaritas while you crank out a spec script does not make you a writer in my book.  You’re just another pretender as I was, in a city that’s full of them.  Even if you sell that spec script and become a ‘professional,’ flukes don’t always repeat themselves.

There’s simply no substitution for dedication, experience and perseverance.  That’s why it’s so good to see young writers who really sink their teeth whole hog into the notion of this crazy beast of word-smithing.

If only I’d done the same way back when.

There’s nothing wrong with playing at the notion of being a writer.  Just don’t take it or yourself too seriously.  And yes, you can hold down a full-time job that isn’t ‘you’ and still be a real writer.  Lots of greats have done it and you can too.  The requirements become a lifestyle and determine who you are.

I’m not even sure it’s possible to explain that exactly.  We all seemed to agree that we knew when we had a good one.  When you strike gold, idea-wise, those plots tend to grab hold of a writer and not let go.  Maybe the idea sprang from a newspaper headline or a person we met or a situation we witnessed.

But what about the writer who sits down at her/his desk and just starts thinking?  And comes up with a great idea.  How do you really explain that, except by calling it the Creative Process, whatever that means?

Once upon a time writers spoke of have a “Muse,” and while that word did come up once in the roundtable discussion, it was glossed over.

Here is a definition of “muse” from the answers.com wiki answers website:

The term refers to a source of inspiration, accessible by artists and generally restricted to artists (artists in a broad sense). The muse is not in itself a delusion, or hallucination, but rather a myth to which writers, musicians, painters and more are able to credit the conception of their art to – those times when the artist has not been actively designing a piece, but spontaneously has an idea for one.

In Greek mythology, Muse referred to any one of the nine daughters of Mnemosyne and Zeus, each of whom presided over a different art or science. Muse in modern day terms refers to a guiding spirit or a source of inspiration.

Please don’t hate me, but I personally feel that needing to rely on inspiration in order to write is the mark of an amateur.  I’ve heard some would-be writers say, “Oh, I just couldn’t write today because I wasn’t inspired.”

 Inspiration is a wonderful thing, and I always welcome it.  We can even argue that is exactly that which makes a good story idea grab us, as authors, but we shouldn’t confuse inspiration with the everyday execution of the craft.

Anyway, the notion of something—a spirit?—outside of ourselves being responsible for our creativity makes, I think, most us a bit uncomfortable. 

Still, when we get some lightning bolt idea, or when we suddenly blurt out something hilarious that we hadn’t “thought” of and laugh as we hear it for the first time as does everyone else in the room, it’s curious to wonder just where exactly did That come from?

From our brilliance, obviously! 

Certain scientific materialists and neuroscientists—the types who would ascribe a person’s religious experience to the existence of the “God module” in the human brain–can no doubt explain away creativity as a chemical reaction or brain synapses firing, etc etc.

Funny, but many Nobel Prize-winning scientists explained their breakthroughs as having transpired due to a “gut-hunch.”  (Inspiration?)

Which, rounaboutly, brings me to the following story:

In late summer of 2009, after attending the Pusan International Film Festival in Korea, I found myself sitting next to one of the biggest movie producers in Asia as we embarked on a long drive back to Seoul.  After schmoozing a bit it struck me that I had a unique opportunity to pitch a project since I had a captive audience!  I knew generally the kind of story the guy was looking for, but didn’t have anything on my mental project shelf that I could throw at him.

I spent fifteen minutes pretending to look at scenery while trying to come up with a story idea.  I remembered reading about “Astronauts”—Asian businesspeople who constantly flew back and forth between Asia and the US.  What if one of these astronauts was seemingly a Peter Pan type playboy, and what if he had a prim, practical 10 year old daughter in private school in Los Angeles living by herself…?  In fifteen minutes I had a romantic comedy called TEACHER’S PET.  I pitched it to him, and got hired to write it.

Where did that story idea come from?  Rendered on demand, in a very short period of time.  Part sponge of memory, part pure creative imagination?  Were my biorhythms up, had I entered “The zone” to use a term from sports?  Was my mental acuity particularly sharp? (Probably not, considering how much drinking had taken place previously with those hard-partying Koreans!)  Had the “Muse” paid a visit?  Can there really be Divine Inspiration that comes into the mix? 

 Hard to say, but after all these years, the creative process is just as exciting to me as it was in the beginning.

            The story felt like action/adventure.  No surprise there as at that point in my career I’d written at least half a dozen action screenplays, all of which had either been produced or optioned.

            As the idea faucet opened wider I began to ‘feel into’ the form – was this going to be another screenplay?  I’d wanted to write a novel for many years and had begun but abandoned (uncharacteristically) an earlier start on a novel.

            So I was a bit leery to go the novel route, but I was tired of writing screenplays.  Soon it became clear that the emerging idea was going to be my second attempt at producing a novel.  A title came to me and I ended up keeping it:  UNSEEN FORCES.

            But I wanted to finish this one.

            Having begun and completed over 30 screenplays (I’ve written 15-20 drafts of some scripts) I decided to apply my structuring techniques of crafting a screenplay to the development of the novel.  Just to be clear, I wasn’t trying to write a book that had ‘movie’ written all over it.  I simply needed to proceed using a system that gave me confidence I would finish what I started.

            I always begin with a legal pad, jotting down thoughts, impressions, snippets of dialogue, and whatever comes up in a stream of consciousness kind of flow.  No censoring of ideas at this point, it’s whatever pops into my head.  I’ll see pieces of scenes in my mind’s eye and simply write down what I see.  This is one of the freest, most purely creative aspects of the writing process, and although it’s hard work, it can be a lot of fun and quite fulfilling.

            I cull a lot of research at this point.  Thank God for the Internet and the eased burden of research.  I’ll write at least five pages single-spaced of information – back story, character traits, ghost or no ghost – about each of the three or four most important characters that have emerged.

            As the story starts to take form, I’ll create cards for material that feels like it might be a scene in the story.  To mount the cards, I use three Styrofoam insulation boards that I get at a building supply company for about $2 each.  Being so lightweight they’re easy to move around the house if I want to work in another room or outside.  Using the classic three-act structure, one board represents each act, and I’ll place a card where I think it might fit in the story.  It’s an incomplete jigsaw puzzle at this stage.

            Since plot is so important for thrillers, the card placement helps structure the dramatics, the ebb and flow and act break crescendos.   Not sure if you’re ignoring a sub-plot in act II?  Run your eyes over the cards and you have your answer.

            I take my time arranging and fleshing out the cards and characters.  This part of the process is perhaps the most challenging: what happens when to whom and why.  It’s the pouring of the foundation and erecting of the superstructure.  The actual writing, once I’ve got the story mapped out, is the fun part.  In a way I envy writers who can just start writing a new mystery with no idea of where it is going or how it will turn out.  I might try that method sometime, but for now I chose to stick with what I know works for me.

            I keep the cards mounted and handy even after I’ve roughed out a first draft, because usually there’s switching around that needs to be done – a scene has to go someplace else or a new scene needs to fit in somewhere.  Having the cards makes it so easy to see the whole flow of the story right in front of you.  When the draft is finished, I congratulate myself and then get right to work rewriting.  Kurt Vonnegut Jr. said there’s no such thing as writing, there’s only rewriting, and I’ll second that.  Revisions revisions revisions.  Get used to it. 

            I had a writing partner once who got angry when I insisted we go to a third draft on a project.  She was an amateur and it showed.  I rewrote my new, New Orleans-set crime novel, STORM DAMAGE numerous times, even when I didn’t want to.  The improvements were substantial.  Without the rewriting, I doubt I’d have received the kind praise I’ve been fortunate to get.

            I have no tricks to solve writer’s block because, knock on wood, I never suffer from it.  I suffer from having so many stories bouncing around in my head and not enough time to write them.  It’s a nice problem to have.

            (Ed Kovacs’ crime novel, STORM DAMAGE, will be published by St. Martin’s Press Minotaur in December, 2011.)

At one point during the luncheon, participants were urged to mingle, take photos, and garner each others’ signatures on a commemorative poster we’d all been given. A Japanese gentlemen about eighty years old, with clear eyes and a ready smile, approached as I sat at my table and began speaking to me in Japanese. Thankfully, the man next to me was able to translate, and I proceeded to hear a fascinating tale of a very lucky man.

One fateful day during the war, the elderly man now standing next to me had been delayed from taking off from his base in the South Pacific to attack American forces. As he tried to locate his squadron, he spotted eight planes and flew toward them. The aircraft turned out to be American Corsairs, and they all gave chase after his lone Zero. He’d been unlucky at being delayed in taking off with his squadron, and now his luck turned from bad to worse as the formation of American planes attacked.

As he stood next to me in the hotel banquet room, telling his war story, the old warrior related as how he used every skill he could think of to avoid being shot down. He hinted that it didn’t even feel like he was flying the plane during his mad dash. The eight American Corsairs had to peel off one-by-one as they ran low on fuel, and somehow, the Japanese pilot made it back to his base.   On the ground, the Japanese ground crew counted about eighteen bullet holes in his plane.

His story concluded, I shook his hand and dubbed the old pilot “Mr. Lucky.” He autographed my poster and wrote down his squadron number and the date of the incident, to assure me it had really happened.

That pilot had been in a difficult situation, to say the least, and I later reflected upon some of my own difficult times, when it seemed my luck was going from bad to worse.

Panicking, becoming upset or overly emotional, succumbing to depression, or merely trying to walk away are not effective means to deal with difficulties. Some would argue that “luck” can be turned around by those of us who are willing to try.

The pilot, in the face of death, no less, had remained cool. Perhaps most importantly, he flew on instinct, jinking the plane every which way in split-second maneuvers to avoid a kill shot. Combat seems to intensify good or bad luck like no other experience, since life literally does hang in the balance.

PFC Jessica Lynch survived a deadly ambush in Iraq, returned home a national hero (though severely injured) and married her sweetheart. Every other soldier riding in her Humvee died. Why?

Did our Japanese pilot pray to a higher power during that terrifying flight for his life? Was he clutching a favorite talisman or charm, or perhaps silently begging his ancestors for help? We’ll never know; it would have been impolite for me to have asked. But we can all agree that he was lucky. The philosophical debate comes when we try to identify the source of the luck.

Was it the hand of God that saved Jessica Lynch? Did the pilot make it home because he entered a zone of pure instinct that guided his flying? Was it mere chance, the vagaries of war, that kept them alive?

 Beyond the facts as we know them, what if the pilot hadn’t been delayed at takeoff, but had flown with his squadron? Would he have been shot down that day, as others had?

Sometimes we don’t know how lucky we are. Sometimes even when things are “bad,” perhaps we are much better off than we might realize.