Q: You've been compared to P.D. James, Agatha Christie, Ruth Rendell and Amanda Cross. You're a five time winner of the Lambda Literary Award for Best Lesbian Mystery, and a three time winner of the Minnesota Book Award for Best Crime Fiction. With 24 books under your belt, let's take a moment and look back. What made you first want to write a mystery?

Four-year-old Ellen during her glamour girl period.

A: The short answer is, I've always loved a good crime novel. When I was a kid, my parents bought me the entire Sherlock Holmes canon and—because I have a terrible memory—I could read the stories again and again, never remembering who did what to whom. The longer answer is that, for most of my adult life, I've wanted to try my hand at writing a novel. Actually, if I'd chosen a profession early in life, I probably would have done something with music. But living, as it often does, took me elsewhere. I ended up at a religious college in California majoring in theology. And what does a woman do when she has a degree in theology from a fundamentalist church? She marries a minister. Since that wasn't a option for me, I finally decided to go to school to become a chef.

I have a sneaking suspicion, however, that many people who love to read also secretly want to write—and that was exactly my situation. The problem was that although academic writing might have come easily for me, creating fiction (sustaining plot, character, tension, etc., for 65,000 plus words) was an entirely different matter. I'd never taken a creative writing class, but in 1987 I got an idea for a novel—a mystery. I wrote about 200 pages before I realized I didn't have a clue what I was doing. At that point, I knew I needed help. Intuitively, I made a good decision. I started reading mysteries voraciously, taking the books apart, seeing how the characters were developed, how plots were constructed, how clues were dropped, how tension was built. I teach mystery writing now and I tell my students to do the same thing. By reading mysteries, you begin to digest the format. Mysteries have a very specific architecture. They're very tight. As a matter of fact, someone once said the mystery is to fiction what the sonnet is to poetry. I believe that's accurate.

My mother and grandparents, seen here in the summer of 1941

Q: What writers influenced you?

A: Well, P. D. James—first and foremost. I think she's a master and I truly admire her work. Then there's Barbara Wilson. Her book Murder in the Collective was the first mystery I read that featured a lesbian sleuth. In a way, I think it gave me permission to write the book I wanted to write. I didn't feel I had to write myself out of my own novel just to get it published. Other writers I admire are Gore Vidal, Kurt Vonnegut Jr., Marilyn French, Anne Rice, Daphne DeMaurier, John Irving, Minette Walters, Raymond Chandler, Tony Hillerman, Martha Grimes, Elizabeth George, and Laurie King. The gay mystery writers I read consistently are, R.D. Zimmerman, Sandra Scoppettone, Abigail Padgett, Fred Hunter, Mark Zubro, J.M. Redmann, Katherine Forrest, Lev Raphael, Michael Nava, and Randye Lordon. I've just started reading Val McDermid, and I think she's going to keep me up for many nights to come.

Q: You currently write two different series—Sophie Greenway and Jane Lawless. What are the differences between the two? Why write two different series?

A: Well, first, the differences. The Jane Lawless series is niche marketed as a gay series, with the main sleuth being a restaurant owner in Minneapolis. Sometimes the central theme of the book has to do with a gay issue, sometimes it doesn't. The Sophie Greenway series is a culinary mystery series, featuring a husband and wife sleuthing team. Both would be considered traditional mysteries, although the later books aren't quite as cozy as the earlier ones. Why do I write two series? Well, for me right now it's an economic necessity. Contrary to popular opinion, writers don't make much money. One series wouldn't support me—even with the added income of teaching. Thankfully, I really love writing two series. I feel as if I'm moving back and forth between two different though equally interesting worlds, which helps to keep the writing fresh. And also, in so many ways the characters have become my friends. I miss them when I'm away from them, so alternating books keeps me connected.

Q: Tell us a little bit about your personal life. Where were you born? Where do you live now?

Father and mother, seen here in the summer of 1937.

A: I was born in Minneapolis in August of 1949. My parents married in the spring of 1939, just five months before Hitler invaded Poland. Thus, shortly after their marriage, my father joined the Army Air Corps and went off to war. When he finally returned home, my parents bought a house and settled down. I came along a few years later, one of the growing number of post WWII Baby Boomers. I had a very happy childhood, a great deal of which centered around food and music. Earlier in my mother's life, she had dreams of becoming a concert pianist, so between my opera loving grandmother (who was a fabulous cook!) and my jazz loving mother (who loved great restaurants), there was always music and food around our house. By the time I was in high school, I was seriously studying the piano myself. I might have gone on to get a degree in music at the University of Minnesota had it not been for one of life's unexpected detours.

I'd been raised as a Lutheran, but in tenth grade, I was exposed to the teachings of Herbert W. Armstrong and the Worldwide Church of God. I applied and was accepted at Ambassador College, in Pasadena, California, earning a B.A. in Theology in the early seventies. When the Vice Chancellor of the college impregnated a friend of mine (a young college student, like myself) and sent her back home to have the baby, my fundamentalist beliefs were understandably shaken. My own feminist stirrings were also causing me to question some of the church's teachings regarding women.

The college years in Pasadena, Calif.

Years later I learned that the head of the church had been sleeping with his daughter for a great part of her young life. Like most churches, the membership included sincere people trying their best to serve their God. However, the leadership was so corrupt, even 60 Minutes couldn't begin to scratch the surface of the corruption when they did their investigative report on Ambassador College and Herbert W. Armstrong—one that aired several years after I'd left the church. At that time, the Worldwide Church of God took in more money every year than any other church organization, with the exception of Billy Graham's. Considering all the college ski trips we took, our chancellor's penchant for expensive buying trips to Harrod's in London, and a gorgeously maintained campus along Orange Grove Boulevard in Pasadena, a lot of money was obviously being spent on other things besides the "Lord's work." A book that was written during the early Seventies called us "God's Jet Set." That about covers it.

By 1975, I'd had enough. I left my job at the college (I was a teaching assistant in the Home Economics/Interior Design department) and moved back to Minnesota. My best friend from college, Kathy, was living in northern Minnesota at the time with her two small children. When she was divorced a few years later, she moved to Minneapolis and we decided to rent an apartment together. It became clear to me fairly soon that my feelings for her weren't just limited to friendship, although I was afraid that if I told her how I felt, I'd lose her as a friend. Thankfully, none of that happened. We've been together now for 23 years. In January of 2000, I legally adopted her two children—now adults. Shawna and Bethany, and Shawna's husband Tom, are truly the lights of our lives. So are our two grandsons.

Ellen and Kathy at home in the late 1980s

Q: Okay, back to mysteries. Just a few more questions. Neither Jane Lawless nor Sophie Greenway are detectives by profession. Why did you decide to write them that way?

A: I write what's called a "Traditional Mystery." The majority of these books (as opposed to the more hard-boiled variety) are told in the third person, have limited violence, emphasize characterization, and most often employ an amateur sleuth. I'm often told that the traditional mystery, or cozy, is less realistic than the hard-boiled. I don't agree. First of all, if you've ever talked to a real PI, their jobs are singularly boring. Most of the time they're sitting outside a motel waiting to catch someone cheating on spouse. So the fictional PI is just that—fictional. Second, I don't know any drug dealers. I don't spend my time in sleazy bars or flop houses. If I met an Elmore Leonard character in real life I'd probably run. For me what feels real is the kind of drama and tension that comes from relationships—families fascinate me, and the problems that develop between parents and children, husbands and wives, partners, siblings, that is the natural territory for the modern cozy. An amateur sleuth fits perfectly into the mix.

Q: Can you describe your primary audience?

A: Anyone who loves a good, traditional mystery. Mysteries are essentially social documents. They reflect the society in which they are written. Today, we have far more diversity within the mystery genre—African American sleuths, hard-boiled women P.I.'s and police detectives, Chinese American sleuths, Native American sleuths, and yes, gay and lesbian sleuths—which reflects an opening up of our society. With the advent of the strong female character in the 1980s, a new Golden Age of mystery fiction was born. We now have a much stronger emphasis on characterization. In fact, a case can be made that many of our crime novels have moved from the realm of the Whodunit into new territory—the Whydunit. We're all fascinated by human motivation. In a sense, mysteries have become our modern morality plays.

With Bethany (left) and Shawna (right) - Kathy and Ellen's two daughters. Photo taken in the early 80s.

As far as my books go, the gay community has been starving to see itself reflected in popular culture. In the past, gays appeared in crime fiction, but they were usually closeted, twisted souls—either the criminal or the victim. Today, we have gay and lesbian heroes. That's important. Because mysteries fall into the category of popular, commercial fiction, because they tell great stories that grip the reader, and because they're entertaining and fun to read, I believe that mystery novels will become some of the most important bridges over which society can walk toward a more complex and mature understanding of what's it like to be something other than mainstream.

Q: Some people thought you'd sold out when you first became published by Ballantine. What are your thoughts on that?

A: My first seven books in the Jane Lawless series were published by Seal Press, a small independent publisher in Seattle. Just before the fourth book came out, Ballantine offered to pick up the first three mysteries and publish them as paperback reprints. Ever since that time, I've received comments that suggested I'd obviously sold out—that I was no longer writing my own book. By becoming published by a mainstream press, the publishers were now dictating—if not explicitly, them implicitly—what I could write. As Katherine Forrest has also stated, nothing could be further from the truth. I think most writers want the largest possible audience they can garner. I certainly do. I'd like to think that anyone, as long as they aren't homophobic, could read and enjoy my books. I'm always so incredibly moved when a gay person comes up to me at a book signing and tells me that they've given one of my mysteries to a parent (or a sister, or a brother) to read, and that it helped them open up a discussion about who they are. It makes a simple piece of commercial fiction seem very powerful indeed.

"The Boys": Busby (in blue) and Newton (in red).

Q: For other writers out there, how do you get started on a book?

A: Typically, I'm working on three novels at the same time. First, I'm usually deep into the editing process (with my editor) on a book that I've completed and submitted, one that will be coming out sometime within the next year. Second, I'm writing a current book. And third, I'm developing a story for the next book under contract. That means there's a lot going on in my head. Before I actually sit down and start writing a new mystery, I've done a great deal of thinking about it. In fact, it seems I resist the actual writing until I'm at a point in my thinking where the story has more or less come together. Commercial speed in New York (and I write commercial fiction) is a book a year. Since I write for two presses who each want a book a year, I don't have a lot of free time. Typically, I write a mystery every nine or ten months. (I remember a student saying to me once that he thought he'd like the writing life because of all the "down time." Funny, but I haven't found much of that.)

I start with a premise, a working idea. Sometimes the idea comes from a title (This Little Piggy Went to Murder—I based the story on the nursery rhyme), or sometimes the idea can come from reading the newspaper, or People magazine, or watching TV, or a hundred other places. An interesting motive might present itself, a quirk in the human psyche that I want to explore. Or perhaps it's a topic—like the Vital Lie, or gay Hollywood in the Thirties, Forties and Fifties. Sometimes a setting appears first, or sometimes a character (or the emotion of a central character). Usually, I jot it down to think about later. After writing quite a number of novels, I can tell you that every book is different. Each presents a new set of problems. When I first started writing, I did a brief outline. Now, I write without a net—a term Elmore Leonard coined a few years ago. Thus, my first draft tends to become a very detailed outline. I do at least two more drafts before my editor and agent see the book, and then two more drafts after it's been accepted (the major editing from my editor's suggestions, and the copy editing process.) I'm unable to begin writing until I have a central working premise, the cast, the basic motivations, and the hook—the beginning scene that will hopefully grab the reader's imagination and attention and cause her to read on.

Maureen Wells: the archetype for Cordelia Thorn, at the beginning of her "theatrical period"

Q: This may seem kind of off the wall, but what's the deal with the name "Cordelia?" The secondary character in your Lawless series, J.M. Redmann's series, and Val McDermid's series are all named "Cordelia." Were you channeling each other?

A: I've wondered about that myself. I've asked Jean Redmann, and I don't remember when she started writing her series, but she hadn't read any of my books. And I hadn't read hers—or Val's. I think it's one of those rare spontaneous coincidences that must mean something. It's probably due to some harmonic convergence, or maybe our karmas bumped into each other out in the cosmos somewhere. Which makes me think that the three of us should get together and give out an award each year called "THE CORDELIA." It could be presented to the gutsiest, most gorgeous, biggest (both physically and cosmically) and the most positively outspoken super woman—otherwise known as a ballsy broad—who happens to also be a public figure. (I nominate Camryn Manheim.) What do you think?

Q: Last question. Since you became a writer eleven years ago, what has surprised you the most about this life—both positively and negatively?

A: Well, first, I suppose, I was surprised by how much I love writing. I enjoy promoting books, doing readings, signings, tours, interviews, speaking at libraries, conventions, writing workshops, etc.—but most of all, I love the writing process. Not every day, of course. Sometimes I'd rather do anything than sit and stare at an empty page on my computer screen. But for the most part, writing is the most satisfying activity I can imagine. However, creating a work of fiction—and sustaining a career—is much harder work than I ever expected it to be. On the other hand, I'm not one of those people who view the need to write as a personal cross. I write because I love it, not because I'm driven to it by some deep neurotic (or romantic) need. If I didn't love what I do, I'd go do something else.

And that leads me to my second point. I thought there would be a swimming pool and a big bank account in my future. That hasn't happened, and frankly, I doubt it ever will. Becoming a full time writer, unless you get very lucky (as few have), is a job that pays very little, has no appreciable benefits, and no retirement package. If you're not doing it for the love of the game, for the richness it brings to your life, there are a lot better, more lucrative, and easier ways to support yourself.

I was also surprised by the mystery community itself. Almost universally, I've found that mystery writers are an approachable, friendly, supportive and practical group of people. They generally don't think of themselves as artists with a capital A, but as storytellers. I not only appreciate that approach (coming from the Midwest as I do) but I also have been impressed by crime writers' general lack of arrogance. Perhaps the two go hand in hand. (Not that we don't all have egos, and not that we're not all aggressively pursuing our careers.) I'm a huge fan of many crime writers myself and have been touched by their genuineness and generosity. I've also been impressed by mystery readers. I've heard other people say it and I believe it's true. People who read mystery novels to relax and to be entertained are an unusually intelligent, often highly educated, funny, and intellectually open group of people. The conventions and conferences I've attended have made that very clear.

The most frustrating part of being a writer today is the business side of publishing. With each book, the ante goes up. It doesn't matter how many awards you've won, how well your last book did—each book is another chance to succeed or fail. Whatever goes up must come down. Whoever too. In that respect, the very success that you so hotly pursue paradoxically creates insecurity. Self-doubt is one of the hardest things a writer wrestles with—any writer, bestseller or midlist. And today, with all the changes in publishing, the insecurity quotient is at an all time high. Nobody knows how the internet is going to affect publishing. And with German companies gobbling up the old New York houses as fast as you can say "where do I sign," we've gone from many, many publishers to four or five. The name of the publishing game today seems to be "conglomerate." In the mix, many books are simply not going to be bought because they don't fit a certain "bestseller" template. At the same time, independent presses, those who might want to publish less commercial, less mainstream fiction, are being squeezed hard financially.

For me, ultimately, worrying about the industry in flux falls under the voluminous "life is too short" heading. An author can only concentrate on what he or she has control over—and that's the writing.