When I was a nineteen-year-old housewife, suddenly socially disoriented because I'd temporarily quit college to get married and, as my mother used to say, "go to housekeeping," I often found myself quite lonely during the day when my husband was at work and all my chores were finished. But like my mother, I loved to read, and in the stories published in the "ladies' magazines" of the day--most notably Redbook and McCall's--I found friends to keep me company.
Fast forward a decade to my first real corporate jet pilot job. I loved the flying and the travel. Much of a corporate pilot's life involves sitting in hotel rooms in odd corners of the world, ready on a moment's notice to race back to the airport and take the passengers to their next destination. It's a lot like being "a chauffeur with wings." You're almost always tethered to the airplane, because you never know when the passengers may abruptly change their plans. That's part of why they fly on a private airplane--the schedule centers on them, not the other way around, as in airline travel.
One such weekend found me in San Francisco, a city on my "top ten list" of favorite trips. The other pilot and I had secured no rental car for the weekend, opting to depend upon the airport shuttle since our hotel was so close to San Francisco International Airport. That meant hanging around the hotel until departure time two days hence. Fortunately, the hotel had a good restaurant.
Well and truly bored by Saturday morning, I idly wandered over to a small coffee shop next to the hotel, one of the few nearby businesses catering to travelers. It was vaguely reminiscent of the old drugstore soda fountains or Woolworth lunch counters. Looking for something to read that was more interesting than the bag of flight manuals I'd brought with me, I found a small section of paperbacks on a rack by the door.
Without much enthusiasm, I selected an unknown (to me) title by a mystery author that my sister, who owned a mystery bookstore in Portsmouth, New Hampshire, had occasionally mentioned. I'd never read a mystery, but it seemed promising--after all, it was set in California. Might as well get into the spirit of the place.
The book was "A is for Alibi," Sue Grafton's first in the Kinsey Millhone "alphabet" mystery series. I was surprised to find that I loved it. I'd always shied away from mysteries, fearing a too-complex plot that would make me feel stupid and lots of blood 'n' guts and gore. Clearly, this was a different sort of mystery. But after burning through the book, I tried to figure out what I liked best about it. Of course, the writing was superb, the plot compelling, and the sense of place most satisfying--after all, Sue Grafton is one of the original grandes dames of the female detective story. But it was something else, and it was something elusively familiar.
It took me a while to realize that it was the characters, the people in Kinsey's world that brightened up my lonely, impersonal hotel room. By the end of the book, they all felt like old friends. Back at home base, I drove out to the local bookstore and picked up more of Grafton's "alphabet" series. By the time I finished "D is for Deadbeat," I had permanently acquired a comfortable circle of friends--friends who asked nothing, but were always there, ready to eagerly lead me on new adventures.
When I decided to set my flying life aside for a little while and do the writing I'd wanted to do for many years, it was a no-brainer what I would write: it had to be a mystery with really engaging characters. Oh, and it had to be a series. Oh wait--and it had to have flying in there somewhere!
Installment number one of the Jude Hayes Mysteries is titled Remover of Obstacles and it will introduce you to your newest "comfortable circle of friends." I hope you like it. Number two is already well under way--but that's for another post. By the way, congratulations to Sue Grafton who will receive the Lifetime Achievement Award at the Bouchercon World Mystery Convention this month in Albany, NY!
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