The Book of Ideas

 I was just about to finish a novel that I had worked on for over fifteen years when the idea for a new novel started gnawing away at my consciousness. I was in no mood to embark on another book journey, but the idea continued to nag at me, so I started sketching out the manuscript that I had already entitled, Lynchings, a story involving a black musician, a white girl, a black detective, and a bunch of racist thugs.

I tried to explain to a white-haired gentleman my complex justification of "southern theme" novels one evening, when, in the middle of my explanation, he blurted out, "Where do you get your ideas?"

"Gosh," I said, dripping sarcasm. "I get them from The Book of Ideas."

My gentleman was no fool. He knew sarcasm when he heard it, so he meandered through the crowd until he found a real estate agent willing to listen to him.

It was not the first time I had been asked that question.

I spent a long night in a smoky bar in Virginia once with a few fellow writers trying to come up with an appropriate response to such a question. The plan was this: we needed a source for ideas—this was well before the prominence of Google. Want to know where to find the definition of a word? Go to a dictionary. Want to know the function of the gasoline engine? Go to an encyclopedia. To know where writers get their ideas? Go to a book of ideas.

Steve wanted the book to look like a thesaurus—if you wanted to write a book on lynching, for example, you looked up lynching, and you would find several plot summaries relating to that topic. He argued that such a book would be familiar and easy to use.

John felt that a small book did not do justice to the grandeur and the majesty of a book of ideas. He pointed out that Biblical quotations carried much more weight when cited from large, thick Bibles.

"Did you ever see a television evangelist quote from one of those little green bibles the devoted hand out to students?" he asked the rest of us. We conceded his point, and toasted his astuteness.

We decided that The Book of Ideas should be big and imposing, somewhat along the lines of the Oxford English Dictionary. It was our collective opinion however, that The Oxford English Dictionary begged not to be read.

"It's boring looking," Anne pointed out. 

"It's intimidating," Tracey added.

"It's scholarly," John said, and we all agreed that it was a turn off for anything to look scholarly.

Our book of ideas needed something eye-catching on the cover that invited scrutiny and accurately represented the magnitude of the material inside. Steve suggested a picture of God, dramatically appearing through ceiling tiles, slinging lightning bolts of ideas at a roomful of struggling writers seated in front of computer screens.

"Something along the lines of Blake’s The Ancient of Days, he suggested.

A hum of agreement ringed the table. We all agreed that could work.

After the third or fourth pitcher of beer, the book of ideas plan turned sloppy, and it was abandoned.

The issue continues to crop up however, at social functions, at readings, in classes, and in bars.

"Where do you get your ideas?" writers are asked, by students, white-haired men and women, by people who should know better, and by people who have no idea. Imagine my surprise when I asked the same question of myself. My ideas are a mixture of experience and ‘what if’ questions, but my answer is unsatisfying for the socially inquisitive who want specifics.

Of course, a book of ideas would be of little help to writers, since they must make connections beyond plot summaries, but imagine how nice it would be when the next time you're at a social function, and someone comes up to you and says, "You know, I could write like you if I could just come up with a few good ideas. Where do you get your ideas?" You answer, "From The Book of Ideas, of course. I think our host has a copy." You steer the person to the coffee table where s/he is immediately drawn to the cover. That would be much easier than pointing a finger to your head, and telling the person that a black musician, a white girl, a black detective, and a bunch of racist thugs somehow got mixed up in your head and came out in the form of a story. The crux of the matter is that ideas stem from connecting experiences, knowledge, and projections, and none of that can be abbreviated for the serious writer.

However, for the socially inquisitive, The Book of Ideas is a good idea.

Eating Cajun

When I moved out of Louisiana, there were three things I missed the most: the music, the Joie de vivre, and the food. When I think of crawfish etoufee, gumbo, jambalaya, fricassee, or red beans and rice, my mouth waters. My Uncle Moise could cook up the best duck gumbo you ever had. It was a little greasy, yes, but once you got past that, it was all good eating. My aunt made a fantastic gumbo also, but she had a unique twist to it. She would crack a couple of eggs into it, so it turned out sort of like an egg-drop gumbo. However, the gumbo I most remember and enjoyed was my mother's. She would make the roux dark, dark--actually black. My Lord, it was good. When I cook gumbo now, I combine my aunt's egg-drop and my mother's dark roux. If there's anything better in this world, I'm not aware of it. 

The recipe follows:

Jude’s Gumbo Recipe

First, you make a roux.

½ cup oil (a good vegetable oil will do)
1 ½ cup flour 

Making a roux takes time, and you are tied to the stove, so make sure you have all your necessities at hand: TV remote, snacks, beer. (My Uncle Moise Brasseaux used to say that any good roux takes two beers time to make. I usually go through three.) Heat the oil over a medium heat. Add flour and stir until the roux turns a dark brown or black, but be careful not to burn your roux or you’ll get these tiny little black flakes in your gumbo. It takes a lot of stirring and a watchful eye to get a perfect roux, so don't drink that beer too fast. After it is done to your satisfaction, set it aside.

Then you make the soup.

1 ½ lb. chicken (More or less as you wish. By the way, you can use duck or any other wild game in your gumbo.)
1 lb. sausage (More or less as you wish. Andouille is best but difficult to find outside of Louisiana, so any good smoked sausage will do.)
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 medium onion
2 stalks celery
1 large bell pepper (seeded)
2 cloves garlic (This is optional. Most Cajuns would not put garlic in their gumbo; however, I like the extra flavor.)
1 can Rotel Tomatoes (This too is optional. It really depends on my mood whether I will add Rotel. I like the one with habanera peppers.) 
5 cups chicken broth, water, or mixture of both (More if you desire a thinner gumbo)
Several fresh hot peppers (Cayenne is good for this, but if you don’t have it, you can use Serrano, habanera, or any other hot pepper available. You can use fewer peppers or eliminate them altogether, but in my humble opinion that would be a mistake.)
2 or three chopped okras (Not everybody likes okra, so sometimes I will omit it)
About a teaspoon of salt.
About a teaspoon or more of ground cayenne (Again, you can eliminate the pepper.)
A pinch of black pepper and other seasonings you might like.


Heat the oil. Dump in the chicken and sausage. While the meat is cooking, chop up vegetables. When chicken and sausage are nearly done, dump in chopped vegetables (except for the okra). Cook until onions are clear. Dump in can of Rotel Tomatoes and chicken broth and/or water and turn up the heat until soup comes to a rolling boil. (Let it boil for a while until the chicken cooks thoroughly. Scoop off the oil that floats to the top.) Add the roux one spoonful at a time. The soup will turn brown and thicken. (How thick you want your gumbo is up to you. Some people like it the consistency of stew; others like it like soup. The more roux you dump into it, the thicker it will become. If you over-thicken it, add more water and/or broth.) Add the seasonings. Cook at a slow boil for about 15 or 20 minutes to allow the flavors to meld. Scoop off oil that floats to the top.) Add the okra if you so desire. Cook until okra is done (about 10 minutes). Add fresh onion tops and parsley. Serve over rice and eat. C’est bon, cher. Tres bon.

It takes a while to master the art of making the roux, but once you've mastered it, you're all set to make a good gumbo. Good luck.

Why Write Detective

It's simple. I have always loved old black-and-white detective movies.  What's not to love about The Thin Man series or the Bogart movies like The Big Sleep, The Maltese Falcon, and High Sierra?  Easily, one of my favorites was The Third Man with Joseph Cotten and Orson Welles.  Another favorite of mine was Out of the Past with Robert Mitchum.  As a teenager, I read Mickey Spillane, Ross MacDonald, Raymond Chandler, Earle Stanley Gardner, Rex Stout, and a host of other detective novelists.  I read lesser-known writers also like Brett Halliday (Davis Dresser), Day Keene (Gunnar Hjerstedt), and Octavus Roy Cohen whose cheap novels featured sexy women on the covers. I would find the books gathering dust in used bookstores or boxes at garage sales, often free or for a nickel or two.   A few years ago, I decided to start my own detective series because, to be honest, I missed the enjoyment of having these guys and gals in my head stumbling upon one murder after another.

My series is called The Cajun PI and you can find him in Mysterical-E: http://mystericale.com/current-issue/