Pokes head out of writing cave, blinking
- Maggie Shayne
- Jun 3
- 4 min read
Hello my lovelies. I miss you! I know it's been kind of quiet around here for a couple of weeks. I fell into a book. I fell hard. I've written three drafts of Arsenic and Old Ladies in nine weeks, and have messed up my back/neck/shoulders in the process. Omygod I'm in pain right now! But I'm doing PT and it's improving very slowly.
I finished the third draft just yesterday and sent it off to my editor, who has to love it or else I'll die. Phew! Three drafts in nine weeks! That's a new record. My old record was one draft in eight weeks. I've never experienced a book the way I'm experiencing this one. And that's saying something, as I've written well over 100 of them.
But a lot of things are changing for me during this 64th year on earth (this time around.) And I think it's all connected to embracing, truly embracing my age. I've noticed that lately I just love being around older women, women my age, give or take a decade.
Ew, people, was my old reaction to being in large groups.
But something has changed. In large groups now, my eyes are drawn to the matriarchs in the mix, and their eyes find mine, and something connects. It's like, we know shit, and we both know we know shit. We understand each other. At least a big part of each other.
As I was writing Arsenic and Old Ladies, I decided the best way to keep my characters' personalities in mind, would be to cast their rolls to the actresses I'd want to play them. I even gave them the same first names, to keep them in mind. Bonnie Hunt as Bonnie Tucker, Diane Keaton as Diane Maisy, Rosie Perez as Rosie Sandoval, and Christine Baranski as Christine Hogan Schlotski.
I intended to change the names, but the characters grew into them, not becoming the actors for whom they were named, but becoming the fleshed out people who walked and talked through the story. The actors were just jumping-off points. (But I'd still cast them.)
I fell in love with these characters. I just felt them so deeply. I have photos of them on the walls in my workspace, with long-wordy essays about who they are. I have photos of the houses they live in, the cars they drive. I know them like friends.
I realized, during the course of writing this book, (related or not?) that I'm done with hair color. I'm going to do one more round to get it as close as possible to my natural color, a medium to dark brown with red undertones. From there, I'll let it go naturally whatever color wants to be and just see what happens. This way I won't end up with red from the ears down and brown from the ears up as the color grows out, and I won't have to cut it short. It'll be different, but at least it'll be close.
I never got so many replies to a Bluesky post as I did when I mentioned this decision there. Women came out in support, cheering for the decision and telling their own hair-stories. Hair is a big deal to us. My red hair has a been a part of my personality for a long time now. But at this point, it's just getting silly. It clashes with my face, you know? Has for a while, but now it also clashes with who I am becoming–the elder, the queen, the priestess, the matriarch, and yes, the crone.
The word crone was once a term of deep respect. I want to reclaim the word from those who've made it an insult. When they call us crones, we should take it as a compliment.
I don't know, girls, I just feel more connected to other women than I ever have before. I wonder, has this kind of thing has happened to you, too? Do you feel an evolution happening in your sixties, my sexagenarian sisters? (Yes, we're sexagenarians. Don't you love it?)
I told you already that I spontaneously stopped biting my nails this year, a habit I've battled since my baby teeth came in. (Chaotic & scary childhood.)
So I don't know, I'm growing and changing, and releasing a book that's different from anything else I've ever written, and a book that come through me differently than any others have before. (It's part one of a planned trilogy.)
Here's the cover blurb!
In this wickedly dark comedy, retirement has never been so lethal.
When soft-spoken retired teacher Bonnie Tucker accidentally kills a local predator, she knows the truth is a hard sell.
Fortunately, she has friends like Diane, Christine, and Rosie. To save her, they employ a signature "double-decker" burial method, hiding the evidence beneath the town’s own dead.
The girls think they’re in the clear—until a witness who live-streamed the crime demands silence, and by silence, he means death. Realizing they have a knack for "community pruning," the grandmothers decide to “silence” him first.
The stakes turn deadly when Bonnie’s son, Sam, moves back home to join the Sheriff’s Department, detective division. His first assignment? Investigating the very disappearance his mother caused.
As Sam closes in on a vigilante killer, the girls must balance Sunday dinners with tactical strikes. They’re about to prove that the most dangerous thing in town is a matriarch who knows where the bodies are buried.
I'm working to set up a way readers can pre-order autographed copies and have them shipped, so stay tuned for that as we figure out logistics.
Release date 9/22.
Here again is the trailer.
More soon dear ones. I have a big essay in mind about the messed up relationship between the romance genre and feminism, because it's dumb. But for now I need to go touch grass.
Love you and I'll see you next time!
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