Interview With Vicki Batman

Please welcome my friend and fellow author, Vicki Batman to Mysteries and Margaritas. Vicki has sold so many short stories that I now call her the Queen of Shorts. I've been hounding her to come on and tell us about it, and I finally wore her down. Here's her bio.

After reading Dick Francis' mysteries, Vicki Batman admitted to Handsome Hubby, "I wish I could write like that." It took twenty years to try.

Lots of wild and wacky things happen in her stories filled with humor, witty dialogue, and happily-ever-after. She had a whirlwind year when True Love, True Confessions, True Romance and LongandShortReviews.com published fourteen of her short stories.


Her day usually begins with hands on the keyboard, a tilt to her head and playing "What if??"

LIZ: So Vicki, the burning question today is how did you ever break into the short story market?

VICKI: Wow, that is the burning question. Very simple answer, really. My friend asked me to critique six shorts she wanted to submit to Woman's World magazine. After reviewing them, I guess osmosis set in because the next thing I knew, I had ideas of my own. I wrote them down and began developing stories. My friend read one and said to submit to the Trues. I did and voila! have sold thirteen to the Trues and one to Longandshortreviews.com. It's been a whirlwind year.

LIZ: Where do you get your ideas for the shorts?

VICKI: Handsome Hubby says my inspiration comes from him and if he keeps saying and doing crazy things, my writing future is set. But I've developed stories from pictures, from one word, from a cake recipe. I really like setting my hands on the keyboard and wondering What If???

LIZ: How does this work? Are you paid by the word?

VICKI: It all depends on the publisher. The Trues pay by the word.

LIZ: Do you have any full-time novels under your bed? If so, what genre?

VICKI: I do have three manuscripts under my bed. LOL. I'd classify them as contemporary women's fiction with suspense elements.

LIZ: How long does it take to write a typical short story?

VICKI: It all depends on lots of things. I'm basically a pantser and if I set my butt down and get to work, sometimes the words flow so easily. Others, I have to suss out more. Mostly, I begin with lots of dialogue and go back and add other things. One day I'll think "that's it" and send it off for critiquing. It comes back bloody and I get to work again.

LIZ: What do you think is the biggest difference in writing short stories and full-length novels aside from the obvious ones?

VICKI: Some shorts are really short - 500 words. That can be more challenging. I have to write those bigger and edit down, making each word count. Others, I write bigger, up to 8,000 words.

Honestly, the process isn't that much different for me. Taking my idea, I write by the seat of my pants, which is mostly dialogue, and toss in a few nuts and bolts for reference. Then I go back and edit and revise and edit and revise. I do the exact same thing in my books.

LIZ: How long have you been writing?

VICKI: About six or seven years.

LIZ: What is your usual writing schedule? Do you set goals?

VICKI: Every morning I have an early workout, get cleaned up, and sit down and work. Since Handsome had cancer four years ago, I spend my weekends doing stuff with him. Even then, my brain is still working. And maybe, he'll say or do something crazy.


LIZ: What is your favorite genre to read? Any favorite authors?

I love a good contemporary, a good historical, and good mysteries. My FAVORITE author is/was Dick Francis. I tell everyone this story: After gulping down a bunch of his books like a chocoholic, I told Handsome how much I loved his work. Then I confessed, "I wish I could write like him." It took me 20 years to try.

I do read just about anything because I figure I have as much to learn from a good book as a bad one. (I just pray mine aren't bad.)I can't wait for Liz Lipperman's LIVER LET DIE to come out. (Okay, I added that last part. So sue me for a shameless plug!!)

LIZ: Where can we find these stories?

VICKI: To find the Trues, go to www.zinio.com and find the issue you want to buy. I have all my stories listed on http://vickibatman.blogspot.com.

Longandshortreviews.com published "Ouch," a free read on their website. Check it out. (The goose biting the yoga student really happened!)

LIZ: Any exciting news lately?

VICKI: I have a couple of other works I'm waiting to hear back on.

LIZ: Any chance you might post an excerpt?

VICKI: Sure. Here's one from an unpublished story, "Kissing School":
He said I was a terrible kisser.” I yanked a chair from the bistro table at the café and sat, my small plaid tote bag rolled from my lap to the floor.

Nothing, but dead silence for a moment. Patti slapped her hand across her mouth, and choked out through splayed fingers, “A-are you, Kelly?”

“How should I know? I’m not a serial kisser, like you.”

Patti went over the cliff in hysterical laughter, wiping teary eyes with a napkin, “How was S-Skip’s kissing?”

“Okay,” I shrugged. “I guess.”

“Just okay? Slimy? Bad breath?”

I wrinkled my nose. "He wasn't slimy per se, more...thick-ish."

Patti’s eyes bugged as her face morphed into one horrific look. “Thickish?”

I waved her off, not wanting to discuss my beloved's tongue tricks. "It's a sign and I'm worried."

Resting her fingers lightly on my forearm, Patti’s voice dropped to a concerned octave. “’bout what?”

“Skip is acting strange. Maybe my love life’s in a rut.”

“Duh. Skip is a rut.”

“Would you stop with the disgusted faces every time his name is mentioned---” Patti’s lip twitched. “See? You did it again.”

She gave me that wide-eyed innocent look. “Did what?”

“Skip and I need a spark in our relationship.” In pure soap-opera fashion, I pressed my clasped hands to my breast. “He’s my One True Love.”

“You need to dump him, girlfriend.”

“Patti!”

"Sorry, Kelly, I haven't liked your -- quote -- True Love -- unquote -- for a long time.”

This was big news to me and it hurt, sending tears to my eyes. She'd never said a word before now. Unraveling a wadded tissue, I pressed a section to the corners of my watery eyes. “Why? I think he's perfect in every way.”

Holding up her left hand, she ticked “One.” “What guy goes to Paris with his mother?”

Okay, so I’d wondered the same thing. The most romantic city on earth and Skip had gone without me. That had stung. “He said his mother paid for the trip.”

She ticked “Two.” “Why didn’t he visit you in the hospital when you had appendicitis?”

“I told you why. He said he doesn't do blood well and the antiseptic smell sets off his sneezing. He sent a card instead.”

“I bet a thousand dollars his mother picked out that sympathy card.”

“I thought it cute. Baby birdies, bunnies.” Silence. Glumly, I said, “What else.”

Her fingers shaped into the number "Three." “What True Love forgets his girlfriend's birthday?”

“He remembered...” I said softly, sadly, “two weeks later.”

“And I'll up my bet another thousand with this -- his mother had worn the twinset he'd given you.”

I’d thought the same thing, especially after I'd discovered the missing label and a vague aroma, like Shalimar, his mother’s favorite perfume, on it. Skip had said he loved the color moss green, but "smashed moldy English peas" described the set better. “I still have to try. We had magic---”

“Once.” She snorted again. “Maybe.”

“I’m begging, Patti. Please, think of something. I don't know what to do.”

Sighing, she said in her practical voice, while arranging the silverware. “I think I have a solution. Because you’re my best friend, we can call my cousin, the couples’ therapist. Howie’ll coach...”

Horror filled my chest. “Therapist?” I gulped. “Coach? Howie?”

“Yes, he will coach you into becoming a better kisser.”

"I don't remember this cousin," I frowned. “Does therapy involve kissing, uh, him?”

Patti groaned, “God. You met Howie when we were sixteen and he lived with my family that summer.”

“Oh, yeah. The nerdy wannabe-jock. What's he like now?”

Patti rested her chin in her palm. “He’s like six-one; one-eighty, short brown hair, rimless glasses, big smile. You’ll like him. Everybody does.”

“He sounds like Howie, the football sportscaster. He’s a cutie-pie. But honestly, Patti, will he be discreet? Can I really confide in him?”

“Just trust me.”
And there they were, those three little -- but mighty important -- words. I did trust Patti with my life. But my love life? This woman dated as if there was no tomorrow, embracing a bonafide “live and let live” philosophy. Not like me with steady, stay-the-course Skip. "I dunno. Therapy's expensive."

“He will charge the family rate -- twenty dollars per session.”

I could afford that. I had to. I desperately needed help. Exhaling, the “last resort” feeling stored in my soul withered away. “Tell me what to do.”

Thanks, Liz, for inviting me to blog with you today. I'll be around all day if anyone wants to ask questions or just chit chat about writing.