by Marilyn Todd
Today marks a milestone in my writing career. I’m celebrating—big time, I might add—the publication of four books and short stories in the space of a fortnight. Not a bad way to kickstart my thirtieth year as a published writer, and between you and me, I’m black and blue from pinching myself. But what’s the one thing these masterpieces all have in common? History.
Today, we take technology for granted. Want to capture the moment? Click! Share news? Pick up the phone. Need answers fast? Google. Pay now? There’s an app for that, too.
Roll back the centuries, and it wasn’t that easy. Medusa might have been able to capture the moment. One look and they all turned to stone. Unfortunately, most of her contemporaries didn’t have her skills, and if they wanted to share updates, they’d have to send a living, breathing messenger to do the job. Which was fine, if you lived in Athens. But if you’re in Syracuse and want to send news to family on the other side of Mount Etna, pity the poor runner who has to contend with bears, wolves, volcanic eruptions and the inevitable thunderbolts from Zeus. Answers didn’t come quickly, either. Especially if they involved entrails.
But here’s the thing.
We no longer navigate by the stars, but human nature hasn’t changed. We still have the same virtues and vices, and murderous desires, our ancestors embraced with such gusto. Just that these days we have the advantage of forensic science.
The first one in my Celebration Line-up is a thriller set in Ancient Rome, juggling insurrection with baby snatchers and a serial killer, because, yes, Rome was full of them. Did I set out to write thirteen thrillers and a dozen short stories set in Ancient Rome? Not exactly. I’d set my cap at romantic fiction on the high seas, hadn’t a clue where to send the manuscript, so why not start with one of the top UK literary agents and work my way down? Very soon after, I got my first (and only) rejection letter. Standard thanks-but-no-thanks, but with a personal, hand-written note at the bottom. “Very well written and thoroughly enjoyable, but not what I’m looking for.” I did what anyone would do. I picked up the phone and asked her what she was looking for. “Crime, Ancient Rome, pro-active heroine,” she said.
Within three months romance turned to gouging out eyeballs in the Forum, with a rich bitch dominatrix as the lead character, honestly I’d never worked so hard in my life. Blood, sweat and tears paid off, though. Pan Macmillan picked it up straight away, and the rest, you got it…is history.
White City Press is now republishing the whole series, and Wolf Whistle, out now, is the fourth book in this exciting new development.
But that’s not all White City Press is up to this month. They’re also publishing a collection of my short stories, Desperate House Wines. Billed as a full-bodied collection of sinister stories, all but two are set in the past, ranging from ancient history to the Swingin’ Sixties. Because, yes, and sorry if it makes you feel old, but the 60s now officially qualify as historical…
Keeping those Sixties Swingin’, not to mention the corks popping, is my contribution to The Beat of Black Wings, a collection of stories inspired by the songs of Joni Mitchell. Because who could resist taking the “Pirate of Penance,” and turning it into murder in a seedy Soho strip club?
Last but not least comes “The Tattenhall Tontine” in the latest edition of Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Begging the question, why historical crime? Why such a variety of eras?
In a word: imagination. Once I’ve decided what to write, I’ll visit the location, even if it means suffering for my art in the likes of Tuscany, Sicily, Croatia, Sweden and Tombstone’s wild, wild West. Trust me, researching Desperate House Wines and Distilling the Truth was a nightmare, and I should have got a medal for my dedication round the vineyards of Montepulciano.
My point being, from there on, it’s easy to peel back the layers of time and immerse myself in the period. Whether it’s Jack the Ripper’s London, the setting for my series about Britain’s first crime scene photographer, or Jerome in Arizona, the setting for my award-winning The Wickedest Town in the West, I am those characters. Yep. The Good, the Bad and the Ugly, I’m all of them. Mainly ugly, first thing in the morning, but let’s skip over that, because the wonderful thing about immersion therapy is that it’s the gift that keeps on giving.
You can peel back layer after layer and never get bored. Even here, where I live, those strata are everywhere. At the bottom of my garden is a castle that dates back to the Crusades. Bad luck for the owners, they backed the wrong side and the castle was razed, but a tiny portion of the original wall is still visible, along with the ditch that protected it, and a beautiful new(ish) castle stands proudly on the remains. There’s little a Saxon-era church next door, and, at the bottom of the cliff, riddled by the way, with caves used by Neolithic man, are the remains of a Roman bridge across the river. Now if that doesn’t scream write a thriller about this place, what does? Scorpion Rising will also be published by White City Press, but that’s later in the year. In the meantime, I have four publishing triumphs to celebrate.
Marilyn Todd is “one of the best short story mystery writers of her generation” according to Ellery Queen, the world’s leading mystery magazine. Her short story “The Wickedest Town in the West” scooped one of their prestigious Readers Awards, as did “Blood Red Roses, while Room for Improvement,” about quickie divorces in 1950s Brighton, was nominated for a Shamus. Her Roman series features “a gorgeous rich bitch, plotting and spying to survive adverse fortune” (Daily Mail). All her work embraces *humour, suspense and a lively sense of drama, often inspired by the places she visits. She and her husband currently live on a French hilltop surrounded by vineyards and woods, and when she isn’t killing people, Marilyn enjoys cooking. Which is pretty much the same thing. *(Marilyn Todd lives in the UK where they add extra letters to words, willy-nilly.)
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