Studying Scarlets:
Interviews with
The Studious Scarlets Society
Leah Guinn & Jaime N. Mahoney
Leah Guinn has been a Sherlockian for eight years, most of which she has (apparently) spent writing. She blogs at both The Well-Read Sherlockian and The Commonplace Books. She is the co-author, with Jaime Mahoney, of A Curious Collection of Dates (Wessex Press, 2016). She has written several articles, as well as a monograph in pastiche-writing with the John H Watson Society, entitled "Sherlock Holmes and the Adventure of the Blank Page." Her house is rather messy, but she lives there happily with her husband, three kids, a cat, a dog, and various fish. She is a member of the Illustrious Clients of Indianapolis and of the Studious Scarlets Society.
Jaime N. Mahoney is co-author of A Curious Collection of Dates: Through the Year with Sherlock Holmes, proprietor of the Sherlockian blog, Better Holmes & Gardens.
Her essays have appeared in About Sixty: Why Every Sherlock Holmes Story Is the Best and Sherlock Holmes Is Like: Sixty Comparisons for an Incomparable Character. She is a member of Watson's Tin Box and of the Studious Scarlets Society.
Her essays have appeared in About Sixty: Why Every Sherlock Holmes Story Is the Best and Sherlock Holmes Is Like: Sixty Comparisons for an Incomparable Character. She is a member of Watson's Tin Box and of the Studious Scarlets Society.
Leah: So—have you always wanted to be a writer, or is this affliction of more recent origin?
Jaime: I’ve always wanted to be a writer. It’s just the simple, and just that difficult.I can’t remember a time when I didn’t want to write--except perhaps that brief period in college when I dabbled in the hard sciences. That was a dark time. My mother was a writer, so there was just a lot of it going on in our house, so many scribbling pens and tapping keys. That said, just because I always wanted to write doesn’t mean that I always felt people wanted to read my writing. For a long time, I was content to just let my words go out into the ether. It’s only in the past few years that I’ve found there are people who want to read what I write. It beggars belief.
Leah: Which authors and/or books have inspired you?
Jaime: I’m inspired by authors that world-build, and know how to world-build well. I mean, it must take a profound amount of confidence in your abilities as a writer to say, “You know what? I’m going to invent a new sport.” The same goes for writers who create complex lineages for their characters, or who invent new planets complete with detailed ecological systems. And don’t even get me started on authors who manage to invent new languages. Some days I feel like I’ve barely mastered one language, never mind developing new syntax and verb conjugation.
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle built a world over the course of sixty stories. It’s not a complete world--there are threads for pastiche writers to pull on until they unravel into something new. But Doyle’s world has substance. It has weight to it. It’s almost as if you could pick it up and hold it in your hands. It would be heavy, wouldn’t it? I admire and am so inspired by the ability to do that--to create things with weight and substance. Real things that you want to hold it your hands.
Jaime: I’ve always wanted to be a writer. It’s just the simple, and just that difficult.I can’t remember a time when I didn’t want to write--except perhaps that brief period in college when I dabbled in the hard sciences. That was a dark time. My mother was a writer, so there was just a lot of it going on in our house, so many scribbling pens and tapping keys. That said, just because I always wanted to write doesn’t mean that I always felt people wanted to read my writing. For a long time, I was content to just let my words go out into the ether. It’s only in the past few years that I’ve found there are people who want to read what I write. It beggars belief.
Leah: Which authors and/or books have inspired you?
Jaime: I’m inspired by authors that world-build, and know how to world-build well. I mean, it must take a profound amount of confidence in your abilities as a writer to say, “You know what? I’m going to invent a new sport.” The same goes for writers who create complex lineages for their characters, or who invent new planets complete with detailed ecological systems. And don’t even get me started on authors who manage to invent new languages. Some days I feel like I’ve barely mastered one language, never mind developing new syntax and verb conjugation.
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle built a world over the course of sixty stories. It’s not a complete world--there are threads for pastiche writers to pull on until they unravel into something new. But Doyle’s world has substance. It has weight to it. It’s almost as if you could pick it up and hold it in your hands. It would be heavy, wouldn’t it? I admire and am so inspired by the ability to do that--to create things with weight and substance. Real things that you want to hold it your hands.
Leah: When did you first meet Sherlock Holmes? What sort of impression did he make?
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Jaime: My mother was a writer who wanted a quiet house. Unfortunately, it was summertime and I was a pre-teen who thought she could be an opera singer. My mother had an immense library and she started throwing books at me--not literally, although there were probably a few moments where she thought about pitching the volumes directly at my head. Maybe when I tried to hit the high notes. As it was, she had a copy of Nicholas Meyer’s The Canary Trainer, and I imagine she thought this was a neat merging of my various interests.
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If you’ve read The Canary Trainer, it is an odd and difficult place to start a Sherlockian journey. I didn’t know what “Reichenbach” meant, or why Sherlock Holmes was in Sussex keeping bees. I didn’t understand why Dr. Watson featured so little in the narrative, and this was also part of a blissful period where I was still ignorant about Irene Adler. I had a lot of questions, and since I did not ask them in a screeching, operatic fashion, my mother was more than happy to take me to the library. I think this is why, even though I own many copies of the Canon, I love library copies. I like to imagine someone’s life was changed while holding one, just as mine was.
My mother hates how often I tell that story these days. She thinks it makes her look unsupportive, but I think it’s the opposite. She knew me well, and loved me enough to turn me around. And I can’t sing. That’s just a fact.
Leah: And while we’re at it, which is your favorite story in the Canon?
Jaime: Oh, if you could only hear the agonized sound I just made. All right, I can narrow it down, but I’m not sure if I can choose just one. I have to choose both “The Six Napoleons” and “The Veiled Lodger.” SIXN speaks a lot to Sherlock Holmes’s methods, to his dogged and tireless persistence in pursuit of a case, and of course, there’s that positively gorgeous scene between Holmes and Inspector Lestrade at the end--which I think says a lot about Holmes’s development as a person, about his ability to evolve as a character, and forge personal relationships over time. It really has a little bit of everything.
VEIL I must confess that I like for personal reasons. It’s a bit of an odd story, with no real mystery to speak of, but Sherlock Holmes wants to speak to Eugenia Ronder nonetheless. He cares about what she has to say, even though everything the reader has learned about Sherlock Holmes tells us the opposite should be true. He talks her out of something that cannot be undone, even though there is no real professional or intellectual benefit to himself—that was a side of Sherlock Holmes I needed to see. And a side I found at a particularly pressing point in my life.
Leah: Why an almanac?
Jaime: I have no idea. It fell into our laps. Seriously. It just sort of happened. One minute you and I are talking about how it would just be really nice if all these important Sherlockian dates were all in the same place, and the next we’re admitting that we just want to write a book and we’re talking about word counts and page limits and topics. It was a little bizarre how quickly and smoothly the project evolved.
My mother hates how often I tell that story these days. She thinks it makes her look unsupportive, but I think it’s the opposite. She knew me well, and loved me enough to turn me around. And I can’t sing. That’s just a fact.
Leah: And while we’re at it, which is your favorite story in the Canon?
Jaime: Oh, if you could only hear the agonized sound I just made. All right, I can narrow it down, but I’m not sure if I can choose just one. I have to choose both “The Six Napoleons” and “The Veiled Lodger.” SIXN speaks a lot to Sherlock Holmes’s methods, to his dogged and tireless persistence in pursuit of a case, and of course, there’s that positively gorgeous scene between Holmes and Inspector Lestrade at the end--which I think says a lot about Holmes’s development as a person, about his ability to evolve as a character, and forge personal relationships over time. It really has a little bit of everything.
VEIL I must confess that I like for personal reasons. It’s a bit of an odd story, with no real mystery to speak of, but Sherlock Holmes wants to speak to Eugenia Ronder nonetheless. He cares about what she has to say, even though everything the reader has learned about Sherlock Holmes tells us the opposite should be true. He talks her out of something that cannot be undone, even though there is no real professional or intellectual benefit to himself—that was a side of Sherlock Holmes I needed to see. And a side I found at a particularly pressing point in my life.
Leah: Why an almanac?
Jaime: I have no idea. It fell into our laps. Seriously. It just sort of happened. One minute you and I are talking about how it would just be really nice if all these important Sherlockian dates were all in the same place, and the next we’re admitting that we just want to write a book and we’re talking about word counts and page limits and topics. It was a little bizarre how quickly and smoothly the project evolved.
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Honestly, an almanac is probably the last type of project I ever thought that I would work on, and even more bizarre to see my name on the cover of one. It was so far out of my comfort zone that I wasn’t sure I could get my portion done. I felt I would surely collapse under the weight of the impossibility of it, of my inability and lack of experience.
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Leah: Do you have a particular writing routine?
Jaime: I’m sorry, I had to come back to this question after a good five minutes of a solid laughter. I have a toddler, so I write when I can. That might be fifteen minutes during her nap, or two hours after she goes to bed, or during my lunch break at work. However, anything can disrupt that time and I get no writing done at all on a given day. I wish I could have a writing routine, a set time that allows me to treat my writing with the seriousness I want to, but that’s not possible right now. No, I don’t have a writing routine.
Leah: What was it like writing with a co-author? What do you consider the advantages? Disadvantages?
Jaime: Just like I never thought I would ever write an almanac, I honestly never thought I would work with a co-author. It’s just not in my nature. I’m very solitary. Group work gives me hives. That said, having a co-author on a massive project like this one wasn’t just helpful, it was completely necessary. I think if I had tried to undertake this almanac on my own, it would never have gotten done. I would have snapped once I realized I needed to add entries for some other forgotten film or historical event, and with no one to talk me down from the ledge, I probably would have abandoned it completely. You kept me honest.
I want to tell the world that Leah was a terrible co-author so that I’m the only one who will ever get to work with her. However, that’s not fair or true. I don’t think anyone would believe me anyway. The truth is that I seriously lucked out working with Leah. I was so blessed to have co-author who worked right into my strengths and weaknesses so well. And she’s brilliantly talented to boot. I got a lot out of working on this project, but getting Leah as a friend? That one was the best.
Leah: Was writing a book like you expected it to be? What was your favorite part? Least favorite?
Jaime: You know . . . I don’t know what I expected it to be like. I never thought that I would write non-fiction. At least, not my first start out of the gate. I always imagined myself writing fiction, so the almanac felt odd at first, more restrictive. You and I had agreed that entries should keep within a certain word limit, simply because we knew that the book had the potential to grow exponentially without them. I found myself working hard to stay within that word limit, picking over words and phrases as I went. While you would write as much you wanted, and edit afterwards. It was astounding how differently we worked.
I loved finding new topics for entries, but it was also maddening. If we weren’t careful, the almanac could have really gone on forever, never finished—no matter how much we policed each other. Sometimes it was truly painful to decide that an entry couldn’t make the cut. I think it’s fair to say that I’m oddly attached to every entry I wrote.
Leah: Do you have any other projects planned?
Jaime: Always. I’ve had a few times in my life where I haven’t had anything to work on and I always felt a bit itchy. Uncomfortable in my skin, as if I weren’t myself. I have a couple of articles that I’m trying to finish. There’s always something for my blog. I’m even trying my hand at pastiche right now (it’s slow-going). You and I might have another book in the works. I always need to have something going, even if it is just the idea of something.
Leah: And finally, what advice would you give other aspiring writers?
Jaime: Don’t take any advice for which you didn’t ask. I’m not joking. There’s a lot of advice for writers out there, and so much of it is conflicting. For example, how many times do writers hear: if you don’t write every day, you’re not a real writer? This is pretty devastating to someone like me. I have a family, a home, and a day job. Sometimes, despite all my efforts, writing doesn’t happen. Not one word. Sometimes for days. Does that mean I’m not a real writer? No. It. Does. Not.
As you write, you’ll know where you need advice. Time management? Accurate voice? Seamlessly incorporating research? Seek it out. You will use the advice you ask for, but much less the advice that was given to you.
When did you first meet Sherlock Holmes? Did you ever imagine your first book would be about the Great Detective?
Leah: In a weird parallel which might not bear too much examination, I met Sherlock Holmes in the same way I met my husband—many times before he finally “took.” Brett (the husband, not the Jeremy) and I first met at church when we were six; we attended the same high school and actually dated briefly when I was a senior. I ran into him at church several times when we were both in college, and then we lost track of each other entirely for about ten years. I’ll admit to internet-stalking him a few times, until finally, in November 1999, I threw caution to the winds and sent him an email. Less than a year later, we were married.
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Given Sherlock Holmes’ status as a cultural icon, I can’t say precisely when I first became aware of him, but my first true contact probably occurred when I bought Eve Titus’ Basil and the Pygmy Cats at the school book fair when I was in second grade—so, 1974 or ’75. To be honest, I didn’t care much about the human side of Baker Street—just the mice, but I developed a passion for mysteries and, in fourth grade, I went to the book fair again and came home with a paperback—either The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes or The Sign of Four; either way, the mention of cocaine on the first page scandalized 9 year-old me so much that I didn’t go near the Great Detective until high school and college—both times, The Hound of the Baskervilles, and both times, I was confused as to why Watson seemed to be the main character.
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In the early 1990’s, I read Hanna’s The Whitechapel Horrors, Carole Nelson Douglas’ Goodnight Mr. Holmes, and watched episodes of the Granada series on a television that only got PBS; I liked both, and can remember where I was when I learned that Jeremy Brett had died, but I could hardly be termed even a casual fan.
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Zip ahead to 2010, sometime in October. I had just finished devouring Preston and Childs’ “Agent Pendergast” series, and found myself utterly lost. No matter what book I picked up, it couldn’t fill the space left by the brilliant, arrogant, yet strangely vulnerable FBI agent and his loyal cop friend, Vincent D’Agosta. Until I remembered how, at least once in the books (or online), I’d read that Pendergast had a great deal in common with Sherlock Holmes.
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I re-read Hanna’s book, and then Lyndsay Faye’s Dust and Shadow. Then, like Watson, I started at the beginning, at the lab in Bart’s, and this time, at 43, I was well and truly hooked. What can I say? I don’t fall in love easily. Still, like my obsession with Brett J. Guinn, I have every faith that this one will also last the rest of my life.
Jaime: When do you plan to introduce your children to Sherlock Holmes, or have you already done so? If you have, what do they think of him?
Leah: Oh the troubles and travails of the Sherlockian parent! At some point, as your kids grow, you realize that indoctrinating—er, sharing your interests with—them, is a bit difficult. On the one hand, your kids like to do things with you. They want to be like you, at least a little bit, and they love your attention and approval. On the other hand, telling your children “I liked this at your age” is pretty much giving that thing the kiss of death, and you can be sure that any book you bring home for them after they reach the age of 9 or 10 will be “boring” and remain unread.
Leah: Oh the troubles and travails of the Sherlockian parent! At some point, as your kids grow, you realize that indoctrinating—er, sharing your interests with—them, is a bit difficult. On the one hand, your kids like to do things with you. They want to be like you, at least a little bit, and they love your attention and approval. On the other hand, telling your children “I liked this at your age” is pretty much giving that thing the kiss of death, and you can be sure that any book you bring home for them after they reach the age of 9 or 10 will be “boring” and remain unread.
Still, Brett, as the “fun parent,” has managed to get the kids interested in everything he likes, so I had to try with Holmes. Younger children love being read to—I’d advise this strategy to many Sherlockian parents—but mine were getting a little old for that, so I decided to use the Granada series, as it’s closest to the Canon itself. I love nearly every iteration of Sherlock Holmes, but I definitely want my kids to know and love the original. I thought that perhaps “The Speckled Band” might be the best episode to start with—it’s really kind of scary, but it’s also easy to follow, has some great scenes, and jungle animals. THEY ABSOLUTELY LOVED IT!! Other favorites have been “The Six Napoleons” and both “The Final Problem” and “The Empty House.” Unfortunately, only one child (kind of) likes Basil Rathbone—the black and white seems to be a bit offputting, and while I thought they would love RDJ’s incarnation, they actually got bored with it and wandered off. “The Great Mouse Detective” and “Young Sherlock Holmes” were more popular—especially the former. Because of its sometimes more mature subject matter, I’ve held off on introducing BBC Sherlock for quite a while, but just recently I allowed my 14 year-old daughter to watch “A Study in Pink” and she liked it very much.
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One of the bigger challenges Sherlockian parents face, however, is how to attend conferences and scion society meetings when their children are young. Many times, children aren’t welcome at these events, there is a fair amount of drinking, and the meetings themselves are, of course, geared towards adults, and, as such, can be boring for younger kids—and mine were/are particularly squirrelly.
I’ve been fortunate in that the Illustrious Clients of Indianapolis have welcomed our kids on more informal events, like field trips, and that now my kids are getting old enough to accompany me occasionally to meetings. Still, I hope to begin a scion society in our new city, and in order to encourage people to join and attend, I plan to offer childcare. Being a parent with young children can be isolating, and I think that as Sherlockians we’re missing a huge opportunity when our events really only accommodate the childless and the empty-nester demographics.
Jaime: What is your writing routine like? Does it vary when you are working a big project vs. a smaller one?
Leah: I don’t think I have a different routine for long vs. short as much as I do for fiction vs. non-fiction. In both, I am more of a planner/plotter—I have to have an idea of where the story is going, or the points I want the piece to hit. So I outline for both—sometimes on a wide scale, sometimes chapter by chapter. With fiction, though, I just jump into the story, and work the research into it over time, while with non-fiction, I do a lot of research on the front end before I start writing anything; eventually, the piece will start to take form. In any piece of writing, however, once I get started, I stay open to the possibilities. I let my characters talk and act and move the plot, or I let discoveries happen—sometimes in non-fiction, you don’t know what you’ve really got until you start writing and the questions and the connections start popping up. I know some people get annoyed at hearing writers say this, but when you’re working, it’s like another part of your brain rises from the depths—or comes online. As a result, a lot of times I can re-read stuff I’ve written and it just doesn’t seem like me, exactly.
Jaime: If there were no obstacles, what kind of project would you want to work on? Would you consider working in other genres or a different medium (for example, a screenplay)?
Leah: If there were no obstacles, I’d love to do a massive social history study of…something, or a biography—preferably of someone who isn’t that famous, but is very interesting.
Leah: I don’t think I have a different routine for long vs. short as much as I do for fiction vs. non-fiction. In both, I am more of a planner/plotter—I have to have an idea of where the story is going, or the points I want the piece to hit. So I outline for both—sometimes on a wide scale, sometimes chapter by chapter. With fiction, though, I just jump into the story, and work the research into it over time, while with non-fiction, I do a lot of research on the front end before I start writing anything; eventually, the piece will start to take form. In any piece of writing, however, once I get started, I stay open to the possibilities. I let my characters talk and act and move the plot, or I let discoveries happen—sometimes in non-fiction, you don’t know what you’ve really got until you start writing and the questions and the connections start popping up. I know some people get annoyed at hearing writers say this, but when you’re working, it’s like another part of your brain rises from the depths—or comes online. As a result, a lot of times I can re-read stuff I’ve written and it just doesn’t seem like me, exactly.
Jaime: If there were no obstacles, what kind of project would you want to work on? Would you consider working in other genres or a different medium (for example, a screenplay)?
Leah: If there were no obstacles, I’d love to do a massive social history study of…something, or a biography—preferably of someone who isn’t that famous, but is very interesting.
Jaime: Did you enjoy working with a co-author? Would you recommend it to other writers?
Leah: Up until the time we started working on A Curious Collection, I would have sworn that I would never want to work with a co-author. For one thing, I need to know where everything is going—I am horrible at those “round robin” stories. I am kind of a control freak—group work is anathema to me because I want to do my own thing—which is usually very different from how others want to approach the project. And I tend to be the kind of person who wants to make others happy . . . so if I do work with someone else, I’ll often step back and let them call the shots, because I don’t want to steamroll over them. You and I discovered very early on, though, that we seem to share a brain; in consequence, we’ve had a remarkably equal and productive partnership. Would I recommend co-authorship to others? Sure, why not? It’s always worth a try. It’s so important, though, for both of you to leave your egos at the door. As Sherlock Holmes quoted Flaubert, “L’oeuvre, c’est tout.” It’s all about the work—keep that your priority, and other things will fall into place.
Jaime: What is your favorite story in the Canon? Do you think people would be surprised that it’s your favorite?
Leah: My favorite story in the Canon is “The Illustrious Client.” I’m not sure how surprised people would be by this—a lot of people like it. My other two favorites are “The Problem of Thor Bridge” and “The Cardboard Box.” I’m fascinated by clever, manipulative villains—and the reasons why seemingly good people make dark decisions.
Leah: Up until the time we started working on A Curious Collection, I would have sworn that I would never want to work with a co-author. For one thing, I need to know where everything is going—I am horrible at those “round robin” stories. I am kind of a control freak—group work is anathema to me because I want to do my own thing—which is usually very different from how others want to approach the project. And I tend to be the kind of person who wants to make others happy . . . so if I do work with someone else, I’ll often step back and let them call the shots, because I don’t want to steamroll over them. You and I discovered very early on, though, that we seem to share a brain; in consequence, we’ve had a remarkably equal and productive partnership. Would I recommend co-authorship to others? Sure, why not? It’s always worth a try. It’s so important, though, for both of you to leave your egos at the door. As Sherlock Holmes quoted Flaubert, “L’oeuvre, c’est tout.” It’s all about the work—keep that your priority, and other things will fall into place.
Jaime: What is your favorite story in the Canon? Do you think people would be surprised that it’s your favorite?
Leah: My favorite story in the Canon is “The Illustrious Client.” I’m not sure how surprised people would be by this—a lot of people like it. My other two favorites are “The Problem of Thor Bridge” and “The Cardboard Box.” I’m fascinated by clever, manipulative villains—and the reasons why seemingly good people make dark decisions.
Jaime: On that note, what’s your favorite pastiche and why?
Leah: My favorite pastiche? Ugh, that’s kind of difficult! My absolute favorite overall is Kim Newman’s Moriarty: Hound of the D’Urbervilles. I love the style, the understated profundity, the amazing ability Newman has to weave in so many threads from so many sources and tuck them so that it all runs gloriously together. My favorite “Watson-voice” pastiche is Lyndsay Faye’s Dust and Shadow—I owe that book so much, it’s atmospheric and clever, and I think she does an excellent job of capturing our heroes. Paul Gilbert’s books of short stories are my favorites for a very Brettish Holmes. And I love Dan Simmons’ The Fifth Heart; it’s definitely AU, and I’m sure some would not like his Holmes, or the decisions he makes, but I thought it rang true, and I adore the deeper questions of identity it raises. |
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Jaime: What was the easiest part of writing an almanac? The most difficult?
Leah: The easiest part was deciding to do it. Everything else was tons more difficult than I imagined it would be! There were the dates we couldn’t find entries for. There was the huge list of items to be included and the quickly turning calendar. There were the days where everything was flowing—but far more days when every word took about half an hour to come up with, and was still wrong. It was really hard to take so many facts—or so few—and fashion them into interesting and informative pieces that read well. It was hard to summon the complete dedication it finally took to get the thing done and submitted—the house was a pit and it never really recovered, and people don’t understand that writing takes just as much time, effort, and emotional energy as any other job—occasionally more. It was hard knowing that I was making my husband and children sacrifice for the book when they hadn’t exactly signed on for it. It was hard paying for the rights to use some of our illustrations. It was hard doing re-writes, and hard knowing that not all of those would actually make it into the final product, due to time and space constraints. And it was so very hard to be done with it. It’s highly possible that I became emotionally entangled with every person I wrote about, and it was difficult to let them all go.
Jaime: What is one thing you’ve learned from Sherlock Holmes that has helped you as a writer?
Leah: I think I alluded to it above: that the work is all. I need to put for the effort. I need to get my facts (“trifles”) right. I need to do the absolute best I can do. But in the end, it’s not about me. It is never about me. It’s about the subject and making that person or idea accessible to the reader. Once I take myself out of the equation, most everything else works itself out.
Jaime: What are you working on now?
Leah: Oh wow—so, so much. I have an article on a particular poison that I meant to be a short IHOSE {I Hear of Sherlock Everywhere] piece—and some of it might still end up there—but which has evolved into something the BSJ [Baker Street Journal] might like. I have a true crime article (vaguely Holmes-related) in progress, and a large historical editing project. Earlier this year I had several articles accepted for journals and anthologies, so I’m waiting to see those show up. There may be a new Holmes book in the offing, and once, a long time ago, I began a novel which A Curious Collection pre-empted. I still hope to finish that one someday.
Leah: The easiest part was deciding to do it. Everything else was tons more difficult than I imagined it would be! There were the dates we couldn’t find entries for. There was the huge list of items to be included and the quickly turning calendar. There were the days where everything was flowing—but far more days when every word took about half an hour to come up with, and was still wrong. It was really hard to take so many facts—or so few—and fashion them into interesting and informative pieces that read well. It was hard to summon the complete dedication it finally took to get the thing done and submitted—the house was a pit and it never really recovered, and people don’t understand that writing takes just as much time, effort, and emotional energy as any other job—occasionally more. It was hard knowing that I was making my husband and children sacrifice for the book when they hadn’t exactly signed on for it. It was hard paying for the rights to use some of our illustrations. It was hard doing re-writes, and hard knowing that not all of those would actually make it into the final product, due to time and space constraints. And it was so very hard to be done with it. It’s highly possible that I became emotionally entangled with every person I wrote about, and it was difficult to let them all go.
Jaime: What is one thing you’ve learned from Sherlock Holmes that has helped you as a writer?
Leah: I think I alluded to it above: that the work is all. I need to put for the effort. I need to get my facts (“trifles”) right. I need to do the absolute best I can do. But in the end, it’s not about me. It is never about me. It’s about the subject and making that person or idea accessible to the reader. Once I take myself out of the equation, most everything else works itself out.
Jaime: What are you working on now?
Leah: Oh wow—so, so much. I have an article on a particular poison that I meant to be a short IHOSE {I Hear of Sherlock Everywhere] piece—and some of it might still end up there—but which has evolved into something the BSJ [Baker Street Journal] might like. I have a true crime article (vaguely Holmes-related) in progress, and a large historical editing project. Earlier this year I had several articles accepted for journals and anthologies, so I’m waiting to see those show up. There may be a new Holmes book in the offing, and once, a long time ago, I began a novel which A Curious Collection pre-empted. I still hope to finish that one someday.
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Jaime N. Mahoney and Leah Guinn also have essays in the Studious Scarlets Society anthology, Villains, Victims, and Violets: Agency and Feminism in the Original Sherlock Holmes Canon. |
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