Mystery Writing and Superstition

The moment I started thinking about superstition, I began to see links to being superstitious and writing mysteries. Are mystery writers particularly superstitious people, I wonder?

I think we are attracted to mysteries both as writers and readers, because the mystery novel attempts to make sense of the universe. A crime is committed that disturbs the fabric of the universe and it is up to the detective to solve this crime and thus restore the universe to wholeness. (This is one of the reasons I don't like the noir novel. Wholeness is never restored even when the crime is solved).

So essentially the mystery novel can do what we can't do in real life. As mystery writers we can restore harmony, see that justice is served and good triumphs. We know this doesn't happen in real life. Maybe that's what we also are trying to do with our superstitions--we try to control our luck, our fate and our universe. If a black cat crosses my path, from right to left, I will do well at that job interview. Or as yesterday's commenter put it, if I wear my special earrings I'll ace the interview. And of course wearing those earrings we do well because we feel invincible.

I just re-watched Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince, in which they brew a potion of Liquid Luck. Harry pretends to give it to Ron who then plays quiddich brilliantly, thinking he can't lose. So what we all need is a secret vial of that liquid luck, don't we? Just a drop on the tongue for those really important occasions,

Superstitious, Me?

When Hank Phillippi Ryan interviewed me at Malice I denied that I was in the least superstitious.
In my last post I realized that do have superstitious quirks after all. Maybe that's because I grew up in a household of great aunts who were an endless font of superstitions: if you drop a spoon, you're in for a disappointment, if you sneeze once you'll get a letter. I can't remember what twice was but it was "three times something better." And of course all the well-known ones, "Fine at seven, rain by eleven." (that was England of course where that prediction often comes true). Dark men, flights of crows, black cats--my aunts believed all of them would influence their lives. It seemed that everyday happenings all had some message of luck or prediction attached to them.

So it was little wonder that growing up I looked for portends. If the bus comes by the time I count to one hundred, I will pass the geography test. If I can get home without stepping on a crack , I can make a wish.
When I found that these simply didn't work, I lost heart. Grew up sensible, forward thinking, organized....
except I find that I do have my little superstitions still. Usually in times of great stress or distress. When my dear friend Lyn Hamilton knew that she had terminal cancer, she gave me a bracelet that we had bought together at an antiques fair in New England. I didn't want to take it but she insisted. So I put it on and refused to take it off, in the vain hope that as long as I wore it she wouldn't die. Unfortunately not even the bracelet  could keep her alive in the end. It's silly what hopes we cling to, isn't it? I guess we still have that element of primitive man, sitting around the fire in the cave, trying to defy nature, to survive against all odds, embedded in us.

So are you superstitious?

Malice, part deux.

This is a picture Hank Phillippi Ryan interviewing me at Malice. We do look a little like Sonny and Cher singing I've got you, babe, don't we? The interesting thing was how much we had in common. We had similar childhoods. We had both invented movie-star personas for ourselves as teenagers. Maybe she is my long lost twin, whisked out of Britain to escape from our wicked uncle?  But then Jacqueline Winspear and I seem to have led parallel lives, so perhaps she was the younger sibling. Fascinating to think about.

Anyway, one of the things Hank asked me was whether I was superstitious. Superstitious, me? I replied with a laugh. No, I'm sensible, realistic. And it wasn't until today that I realized that I am superstitious:

I knew I wasn't going to win the Agatha award this year because of my hair.

My theory is this... if my hair is easy to manage and goes perfectly into place, then I'm not going to win an award. If it is hopeless, needs rewetting and re-drying five times and even then is a mess, then I have a good chance at winning. So it occurred to me as I did my hair and it fell nicely into style that I was doomed, award-wise.

Then, at the banquet, the doom was reinforced. My other theory is this: if I eat all of my meal and enjoy it, I am not going to win. On the other hand, if I push the food around my plate, can't swallow it and end up hiding the chicken under my brocolli then I seriously believe that I'm going to win and I'm nervous.

So yes, Hank. A teeny bit superstitious at times. Sensible and together most of the time, however.