Hey, There's A Dead Guy in the Living Room

A Week in the Life

Abby Zidle

Man, it's been a busy week.  My brain has basically melted, so I'm going to borrow Deni's "Quibbles and Bits" format and just tell you what my busy week looked like.  (SPOILER ALERT: I set no fires this week.)

The biggest news is that I bought three books!  One of them, the easiest deal, was the third book from Anna McPartlin, an Irish author I love, whose first book (Pack Up the Moon) is just out and doing well.  Going back for more was a no-brainer, and our previous deal made negotiations simple.  "Here's the money.  Sound good?" "OK." "Everything else the same as last time?" "Sure."  Poof, we own a book.

The second is a novel from our own Tuesday blogger, Janet Reid.  (See? It's all who you know.)  She told me about this book over lunch one day, because she rightly suspected I would love it.  It's the story of a woman running her family ranch in eastern Washington, and it hooked me from the very first page: there's a brutal snowstorm raging outside when a riderless horse, still wearing saddle and bridle, appears in her yard.  The heroine mounts up, calls the dog, and goes off to find whatever hapless rider has no doubt frozen to death...but in fact, he's still alive.  And he's a Mexican immigrant on the run from La Migra.  He and the heroine strike up an unlikely partnership, and the whole thing is told in such compelling, elegant language that I can't wait to share it with readers.  (Coming next summer to a bookstore near you.)

The last book in this week's shopping spree is a quirky one that just stayed with me long after I finished reading. A single mom is struggling to make ends meet in Brooklyn when she stops by her local ATM.  When she pops in her card and asks for $100, the machine spits out $200.  There's no record of the extra money on her statement or her receipt, so she chalks it up to a bank error and hopes that's the end of it.  But when she next needs money, she goes to the same ATM...and this time, when she asks for her $100, it gives her $1000. And next it's a $10,000 bill, with the admonition, "USE IT WELL."  But you can't exactly change a $10000 bill at the local bodega.  What the heroine does next, and how it changes her life, is surprising and, ultimately, uplifting.

So as if that wasn't enough, I also had a week where none of my books had titles (or had titles that were going to work long-term).  So I had to sit around just thinking, which is hard and annoying :).  This is a particular chore when I happened to like the book's original title, but it won't work for some reason (read: sales doesn't like it).  I'm sure many of you authors have had the same experience, no?  "But I called it what I called it for a reason."  "Too bad.  Call it something else.  And we need it by Tuesday."  So this week, "Untitled Werewolf Romance" became Bride of the Wolf; "Take a Chance on Me" became Sunset Bay; and "The Truth Will Out" became As Sure as the Sun.  And those wonderful books I just described?  Yeah, they're gonna need titles.

Lastly, I had the chance to stop in at a big agency party this week.  Lots of my old cronies were there, and I think I saw more of them than I did the agents.  I still get excited about going to events like these--they make me feel cool.  Especially when they're in funky Soho buildings where the elevator opens right into the office, and the views show you almost the whole city.  But it was wall-to-wall people; not exactly conducive for meeting one's hosts.  I think I ran into almost everyone I'd ever worked with, though!  Can't wait till next year...

And that's quite enough business for one week, I think.  I must now turn to the less-relevant (but sadly, no less daunting) task of cleaning my house before my in-laws arrive...everyone out there, put your feet up for me!

Betty & Veronica

Robin Agnew

When I was a kid my most prized possesion was a cardboard box full of comic books.  I know, I'm a girl, so that's not supposed to be the case, but I was loaded up with Batman, Superman, Richie Rich, Casper the Friendly Ghost, Romance Comics (very funny!), and of course, Betty & Veronica.  Most of the others mentioned have hit the highway - if you visit a comic shop today the "comics" aren't aimed at kids at all but teens or young men, being all about tortured superheroes or lengthy anime novels.  I personally think the loss to kids of Scrooge McDuck and Super Goof is a big one.  Luckily, there's still good old Archie.

Nominally, the comics are "Archie" comics but really they're about Betty & Vernoica, and you can still buy them at the grocery store,  They don't cost $.12 anymore (am I dating myself yet?) but  neither do they fetch the $10 & up of today's superhero "books".  I couldn't be more delighted that my kids are Archie fans just as I was.

When my Dad was a kid they weren't allowed to read Hardy Boys books - at school they were thought to be too trashy, and my grandmother was an english teacher, so that was a no go.  When I was a kid my mother put no restrictions on my reading but my friend's mom wouldn't let her read the romance ones (of course she read them at our house).  And I won't mention who had about 10 boyfriends before I did.

But old Archie, apparently, is a classic.  When my kids are sick there's nothing they like better than the sofa and a stack of Archie Digests.  My daughter has analyzed all the relationships - we still think Moose has some hidden smarts, and Dilton isn't as smart as he thinks he is - but in their universe, mine, and Archie's, they're all about Betty & Veronice who, as anyone can tell you, look exactly alike except for their hair.  Let's face it, if babes like Betty & Veronica went to any high school they'd probably stop all the guys dead in their tracks but somehow belief is suspended and the world of Riverdale is an easily embraced one.

Both my kids hjave been sick this week and the living room is littered with the corpses of Archie, Betty, Veronica & Jughead.  It's nice to know there are some things in the world that never change.

Time Marches On... Dammit

Jeff Cohen

It's becoming way too real. It's May. September is only four months away. And in September, I'll be dropping my son off in Philadelphia, lugging all his belongings into a small cinderblock room, and then turning and driving away.

No, he's not going to prison. Just college.

There are times you can't wait for them to get out of the house, and then it's happening, and you wonder what the hell happened to that squeaky little voice that you wished would change. And then it did. And then you missed it. What happened to the questions: "Dad, why aren't there any GO signs?" What happened to the times he'd just sit down on the sofa next to you and lay his head in your lap, because he could. What happened to the guy who would ask for a ride to school, when school was all of three blocks away, because it was raining?

This is what happened to all that: it got HUGE. And its voice deepened. And it started giving you ANSWERS instead of questions. And it got its driver's license, and could go wherever it wanted whenever it wanted. And it was just too big to lie down on the couch--forget your lap--anymore.

You still get the occasional hug, at special moments, but it's like hugging a bear. The thought that this once rode on your shoulders is enough to make your neck hurt retroactively. Now, it makes its own movies and studies psychology and film and the parts of math you never understood at all, and doesn't ask you for help with homework anymore.

And in four months, you pack it up and drive it away. And, in opposition to every male adult cliche, you'll get teary and wonder if you'll ever see it again.

But it'll be back. You know it'll be back.

It never learned how to do laundry.

On a completely different note, if you're not appalled by this, you're not paying attention.

Strapped for cash? Knock out a thriller, then . . .

Sharon Wheeler

I read this hard-hitting first-person piece in The Guardian at the weekend. It moved me a lot, but it also made my eyebrows go up and down double time.

The bloke writing it is an author with mental health problems, so a proportion of the piece is taken up with how he's battled back from those. The rest talks about his successful debut novel and how that helped fund the charity work he's been doing in South Africa. It's a moving story and no doubt 99.9 per cent of readers won’t think twice about the following quote. The last sentence made me twitch, though:

"Four years earlier, in memory of Kay, I had set up a foundation to help disadvantaged South African children attend the nation's best, formerly "whites-only" schools - an event that unleashed in me a heady surge of joy. By January 2003, we were educating 30 incredible kids. But two months later America invaded Iraq; the world's stock markets plummeted; the gold price soared; and the South African rand strengthened by more than a third against sterling. Suddenly the charity's budget had a 35% hole in it and my only hope of filling it was to abandon five years of complex technical experimentation and transform my second novel into the lurid thriller my most commercial publishers hoped for."

Richard Mason isn't the first and no doubt won't be the last writer to believe that knocking out a thriller ensures you instant dosh without raising a sweat. Interesting, though, that he didn't manage it – I wonder whether that was down to his struggles with his health or the fact he simply couldn't turn out a book to order. I felt sorry for Mason and his struggle with bipolar disorder, but does his comment mean thrillers can't do experimental?

You may remember the spat from earlier this year between Joan Brady and The Times who, she claimed, misquoted her (if any of my students are reading, this reinforces why you need your shorthand or, at the very least, a tape of the interview!) Brady was taking legal action against a factory next door to her home which, she said, was poisoning her. It was claimed that she'd said her brain was now so addled that she was reduced to writing thrillers. Brady disputes this, saying she admires a number of genre writers.

I have a soft spot for thrillers, particularly those by the likes of Dan Fesperman, which have dragged the genre into the 21st century's troublespots. And I still harbour admiration for Frederick Forsyth's The Day of the Jackal, Desmond Bagley's Running Blind and Alistair MacLean's back catalogue which all attracted me to the genre.

I'd be the first to admit that there are some absolute stinkers being published under the thriller banner (anything with the slightest echo of The Da bloody Vinci Code makes me want to cry. Or scream. Or both). But there are turkeys in all areas of literature, for heaven's sake!

I'm always intrigued, though, by the writers who do wander over and play in our sandpit. Susan Hill's police procedurals are good, but not what you'd call cutting edge. Sophie Hannah's and Robert Edric's venturing into genre writing didn't much work for me either – again, they seemed nothing special amidst the avalanche of genre writing I come across as a reviewer. And the jury is still out on Benjamin Black's (aka John Banville's) two 1950s Dublin thrillers – Christine Falls and The Silver Swan – simply because I am really struggling to plough through the former.

Whenever I read articles about writers being scathing about genre novels, I wonder how much of it is envy at the telephone number dosh the successful thrillers must make. If it's so easy, we'd all be doing it. Hey, maybe I can knock one out by the end of the month and keep the bank manager off my back! If anyone wants me, I'll be slaving over a hot laptop.

Write what you know... or maybe not

Lynne Patrick

It’s the oldest adage in the creative writing manual: choose a subject you know something about. And in the case of crime writing, it often begs the question how do they know about that?

Fortunately, a dark and vivid imagination and a lot of meticulous research can fill a lot of knowledge gaps. The list of panel discussion topics at an upcoming crime fiction weekend convention set me thinking about the areas of their own lives our own authors plunder in the name of gripping fiction. Or not, as the case may be.

The convention is CrimeFest, the first ever of its ilk, if you don’t count the year Left Coast Crime crossed the ocean and set up temporary house here in the UK. Actually, it bears an extraordinary resemblance to Left Coast Crime, possibly because a) it’s organised by the same people, and b) most crime conventions seem to follow the same broad pattern anyway. And we’ll be there in force: all but one of Crème de la Crime’s current authors are participating, all of them on at least one panel. Last week’s spring break (there, you didn’t even notice I was away, did you? Thanks for covering the slot, Deni.) now feels like a distant memory, so forgive me if I spend a few minutes looking forward to my next weekend away.

Some of the author/topic connections are pretty much as you’d expect. Our first-timers are represented on both the new blood panels. Maureen Carter will be discussing women sleuths – great, since she writes about a particularly sparky one, though she swears they only thing she and Bev Morriss have in common is a, ahem, keen admiration of Johnny Depp. Kaye C Hill’s hilarious debut Dead Woman’s Shoes has a cat and dog centre-stage and a rare bird lurking in the background (Kaye’s a closet twitcher), so she was an obvious choice for Animals in Crime Fiction. Adrian Magson’s Riley Gavin/Frank Palmer series is tailor-made for a chat about sidekicks, though how he knows so much about gangland wars, quasi-religious con artists and the South American drugs trade will probably remain forever a mystery.

Roz Southey’s background as a musical historian provides plenty of meat for the 18^th century setting for her Charles Patterson novels: possible Crème’s best example of using the day job to fuel the creative fire. And she’ll have plenty to contribute to a discussion on The Mystery in History too.

The big surprise came when I saw the line-up for the cosy crime panel. We have two people on it. Mary Andrea Clarke trespasses, in the most respectful way, on Georgette Heyer territory – which makes her an ideal choice. Mary’s a great fan of Ms Heyer, and though The Crimson Cavalier is strictly speaking neither Regency nor romance, it certainly captures a similar spirit and is as cosy as a Crème novel gets.

The surprise was Linda Regan. Linda is blonde and sweet-faced, softly spoken with never a harsh word to say about anyone. She writes directly from her own experience, so the acting profession plays a large part in her books. But so does murder of a particularly violent and gory kind, which she assures me she’s only fantasised about, and never experienced first-hand. And her portrayal of the back regions of theatres and strip clubs leans on blocked lavatories, grubby towels and bitter rivalries, rather than elegant after-show parties and glamorous costumes. She keeps her dark side well hidden in real life, but it comes out in bucketfuls in her books. Cosy they are not. So that panel will be an interesting one.

In fact, CrimeFest is shaping up to be an interesting weekend all round. The programme has a generous sprinkling of big names, but an awful lot more of the lesser-known authors we aficionados enjoy tracking down – or coming across by happy accident - in the bookshop.

And I think they’re still accepting bookings.

Why book buying will be dramatically different in five years.

Janet Reid

Returns have been a subject of complaints at every publishing watering hole in town and a lot of panel discussions at BEA and now blogs for quite some time. “Returns” is the business model that allows a bookstore to order a book and return it to the publisher if it doesn’t sell. It’s not quite consignment but it’s damn close.

I’ve heard of Barnes and Noble stores sending back the contents of an entire store when they moved from one location to another. I couldn't believe it but that’s exactly what happened.

Recently Borders announced it will turn more titles face out on their shelves. Since they’re not adding shelf space, they returned about 30% of their inventory in one massive blow to a lot of smaller publishers.

Yea, verily returns stinketh.

Yet, until now there’s been no compelling reason to stop the practice. Bookstores like it, it’s like getting to try stuff on for free. Publishers don’t love it, but it means bookstores order more and maybe something unexpected will hit big. Authors loathe it when they get their royalty statements and fully 1/3 of what they are owed is held in reserve against returns, but authors have no bargaining power to eliminate the returns practice.

Here’s what will end returns: fuel costs. Gas is double what it was several years ago, and all those books go to bookstores via truck. Sending them out, sending them back, all that costs someone money. Make it really expensive to return books, and booksellers and publishers will stop doing it.

Here’s what they’ll do instead: they’ll invest in the bookspresso machine.

In five years you’ll walk into a bookstore and see shelves of books, face out. You’ll see video screens above the shelves. You’ll hold the book up to the screen and a menu about that book will pop up. Author interview, book trailer, other books by the author, blurbs about the books, maybe a couple minutes of the author reading from the book. You can do this right now with music CDs at most bookstores-put on a pair of headphones, dial up a track and listen before purchase.

This is going to be an incredible problem for independent bookstores. For starters, the capital investment for video screens, let alone the bookspresso machine is going to be prohibitive. More challenging though is that the indie store's advantage of "handselling" is going to be diminished. If I can see a lot of information about a book right there at the bookstore, I'm less likely to walk up to the register and ask "what's good." Big ass chain stores are going to get past the problem of retail clerks who don't know the inventory, by making information about the inventory as easy as touch 1 for blurbs, touch 2 for trailer.

Then, If you decide to buy a book, you’ll take it to the register. The clerk will scan the barcode. Then she’ll keep the book and hand you a receipt, just like they do at J&R Electronics when you buy a computer. In ten minutes your book will arrive from the basement where it was freshly printed on a bookspresso machine. Maybe it’s delivered to you in the coffee shop. Maybe it’s waiting for pickup after you shop at other stores in the mall.

It’s an exercise in vanity to predict the future I suppose, but I know that if fuel prices continue to rise, and paper continues to be the book medium of choice, something has to give.

Get Me Rewrite!

Jeff Cohen

I hate rewriting.

Hate, hate, hate. Hate. As Hawkeye Pierce once said, the real thing.

Now, don't get me wrong. I recognize the importance of rewriting. I realize that nothing I've ever written would be one half as good as it ended up if the first draft had been the last draft. I will acknowledge that, when the rewriting is done, the book will be much improved. There is no question about it.

But I hate doing it.

I'm currently in the middle of revising (could you tell?) A NIGHT AT THE OPERATION, the third Double Feature mystery book. The second book in said series, IT HAPPENED ONE KNIFE, is right now about a month and a half away from publication, and the first, SOME LIKE IT HOT-BUTTERED, is on your bookshelves now. Or should be. So the book I'm currently rewriting is scheduled for publication almost exactly a year from now, and I'm doing my damnedest to make it improve.

In the newspaper business, they used to have what were called "rewrite desks." Reporters, who were out in the field armed with a pad and pen before cell phones, PDAs, Blackberries, Bluetooths, satellite phones, fax machines, email, text messaging and WiFi hot spots, would call in with the facts of the story, and an editor would channel the call to a "rewrite man," who would take all this gibberish and hammer it into something resembling coherent prose.

Where are those guys when you need them?

My editor, the lovely and obscenely talented Shannon Jamieson-Vazquez, is always able to see where I'm fudging it, what elements of the story don't add up, when a character doesn't register as a real person, and when I'm going miles out of my way for a joke that only I will find funny. She never misses anything, and she's always right.

I hate that.

Writing is hard work. Rewriting is torture. Here, you think you've slogged through it, gotten all the problems solved, tied up the loose ends, created something from nothing, and what happens? Someone smarter than you reads over your cherished work, finds all the potential problems, and then--and here's the part that's truly appalling--won't just let you slide by on them.

William Faulkner, and everyone else who's ever written a word, said, "In writing, you must kill all your darlings." He meant that those phrases, those lines of dialogue, those plot turns of which you are proudest--those are the ones that need to be cut, mostly because they are most likely the sections in which you are being self-indulgent, show-offy, inconsiderate of the reader and self-aggrandizing. Other than that, they're probably perfectly fine passages.

But in killing one's darlings, doesn't one eliminate the fun of writing? If we take out all the stuff we love the best, aren't we just leaving in the things that we put in just to keep the story going? And if that's true, why did we sit down at the keyboard for this particular exercise to begin with?

As a writer, I have to come to terms with the fact that I'm not writing for myself. The reader is the most important person in the equation, and while I understand that from an intellectual standpoint, it's not always getting through emotionally. I love that joke on page 46; so what if the reader might not get it? Well, that's the point: if the reader isn't going to be included in the work, why would s/he go out and buy that book?

Rewriting is about making the book better for the person who reads it. If I want to stand back and admire something I've done, just for my own edification, I can look at a photograph of my children. It's a lie--they've become who they are by being themselves, and their mother and I just helped here and there--but it doesn't hurt anybody's feelings and it makes me feel good.

Writers like me (and I hope there aren't any) have to rewrite, no matter how much we hate it. In fact, we have to rewrite to a large extent because of how much we hate it. Because we are putting ourselves though torture to remind ourselves of the pecking order in the author biz: It's always Reader First.

Second Time's the Charm

Abby Zidle

Man, you guys are bitter! I was shocked to discover that I was the sole bastion of naivete after last week's post--apparently you've all been so beaten down that you're convinced great books are languishing in steamer trunks all over the country.  (Well, maybe on flash drives all over the country.)  It makes me feel both dorky and sad at once--thanks a lot, jaded Dead Guys!

Well, I suppose I'll forgive you.  And I shall grace you with a story, told to me secondhand, but it comes with a lesson at the end (those, as you know, are my favorite--I get to be preachy and look smart).  So gather round, kiddies...

This week, the #1 trade paperback on the New York Times list was The Friday Night Knitting Club.  One of my very good editor friends is in charge of managing the book, but she was not the acquiring editor or the person who worked on the book before it was published.  When I called to congratulate her on the book's success, we talked about how it can feel weird, as the adoptive editor, to receive congratulations for things like this.  After all, we didn't get to pick the book, work on it with the author, pitch it to the sales force, or any of those steps in making a book a success.  But I shared with my friend this bit of wisdom from another editor who works with many paperback reprints:  "Did you f*** it up?"  My friend laughed and said, "No, of course not."  "Then congratulations."

The moral of the story?  There are lots of ways to get in the way of a book on its road to success.  The paperback editor's job is to make sure none of those things happens.

OK, OK, so that's a little obvious.  Bonus story for you:  I nearly set fire to my table today while I was out at an agent lunch.  I ordered a fondue-thing, and it came in a little brazier with a lump of sterno underneath it.  But the sterno just sat on a flat plate--there wasn't any kind of cover to control the flame.  So I'm chatting with this agent, and I notice that the flame is getting a little high and the cheese is not so much bubbling as boiling.  I tried to blow it out, but that didn't work.  My dining companion tried to extinguish it with the flat of her knife, but that didn't work...and now her sterno-covered knife was also on fire.  We tried to tamp it out on the plate, but that had a paper doily on it that caught fire.  We managed to get the doily and the knife extinguished, but the original sterno lump was still blazing away, so we flagged down a waitress.  She tried to use a tablespoon to smother the flames, but it didn't work, and (wait for it) her spoon caught fire.  She ultimately had to take the entire plate back to the kitchen, where they did who-knows-what to it and put out the sterno.  Meanwhile, my agent friend and I laughed until we cried.  Amazingly, none of the tables nearby batted an eye.  Apparently I really am so unpopular that no one would put me out if I was on fire.

Out of print, gone forever?

Barbara D'Amato once commented at a booksigning - as I was filling the table with her books - that the longer you are in the business, the bigger your pile of out of print stuff is in proportion to your in print stuff.  With very rare exceptions, this is usually the case, hence the success of the used side of our business.  But even more frustrating to me are the authors who simply seem to drop from the face of the earth.  Of course somewhere they exisit and perhaps somewhere they are filling notebooks full of writing, but the fact remains that I can't seem to find their books of if I do I can't keep them on the shelf.

Almost every day I am asked about author Deborah Morgan, who wrote a short lived series about an antiques picker in Seattle.  People in Ann Arbor read her books in the beginning I think because she's married to Loren Estleman - when they signed together, people would buy both.  But she now has her own, very devoted following.  When I do find one they are instantly gone.

Two of my personal favorite authors who no longer seem to know how to use a pen are K.J. Erickson and Gini Hartzmark.  Both women were award winning authors - Erickson won an Anthony award, I think, and Hartmark an Edgar for PBO.  Erickson wrote a tightly plotted police series set in Minneapolis, with an unusual divorced Dad as the central character.  Midway throuigh this regrettably brief series he moved over to cold cases.  Hartzmark wrote a fast paced and intelligent legal series, one of the few that actually had an entire book about the financial markets (and it was terrific).  Both authors also killed off a major character in the last published book, so maybe they knew what was coming.  However, ladies and publishers, this was wrenching and some of us need a little closure.  I realize I'm not going to get it at this point but I'm still bearing a grudge.

Jeanne Dams wrote not one, but two series, the first one about elderly widow relocated to England, Dorothy Martin, and a second, historical series about a maid who worked for a wealthy family in South Bend at the turn of the last century.  Actually, checking fantastic fction, I see that the maid series is due for a new installment, but that probably won't satisfy Dorothy Martin fans or anyone who wants to read the rest of the Hilda books.

While David Handler still has a series in print, his ghostwriteer series has vanished - THE MAN WHO LOVED WOMEN being one title.  This series was light and funny and actually had a dog character who didn't make me vaguely nauseated.  Lulu the basset hound was one of the reasons to read the books.

And to finish where I started, with the philiosophical Barabara D'Amato.  While there are some of her titles still in print the ones I enjoy handselling and the ones I am really passionate about - her Chicago cop series featuring Suze Figeroa - are gone, gone gone.  If you can ever get your hands on a copy of D'amato's KILLER.APP or GOOD COP, BAD COP, snatch it up first and think later,  You won't regret it.

I could go on but you get the idea.  I am thankful I sell used books because otherwise these authors would be "gone forever". 

Preaching to the choir

PJ Nunn

The mystery community is a wonderful, living, breathing, entity that's alive and well (relatively speaking) in the US and abroad. Sometimes at odds within itself, sometimes cliquish and exclusive, but generally fun and highly desirable for those who write or want to write said mysteries (suspense, thrillers - lines grow hazy).

Most of the authors who come to me for help with promotions hope to become better known in mystery circles. Some request that, specifically. But there are a select few who seem completely oblivious. What I find most interesting about them is that they're usually published by large publishers, with large print runs, and comparably large advances. So while so many are trying to break into the coveted mystery realm, I'm looking for ways to take some who are in the mystery realm and break them out of it. Not entirely, of course, but let's say widen their boundaries.

I love the mystery realm. I love the cons and the awards and most of the people I find there. But if you want to hit the NYT bestseller list on a consistent basis, you might need to appeal to a larger audience in addition to the already committed mystery afficianados.

Because promotion goes hand in hand with rejection in many areas - not my favorite part of the business, I assure you - it's understandable for authors to want to stick to areas in which there's more chance of quick acceptance. The comfort zone. But if wanting to stay in the safe places (which again is relative, as criticism within the realm can be swift and sure) prevents one from venturing out into other avenues of promotion, it may also assure that they never appeal to a larger audience.

I completely agree that we should all support independent mystery booksellers and mystery publications and virtually all things mystery. And it's completely possible to stay full time busy promoting your books on mystery blogs, indie postcard mailings, select signing events and author panels, and attendance at a mystery con or two a year. But to limit all of your promotional eggs to the proverbial mystery basket is a mistake in my opinion, for what it's worth.

But if most of the more mainstream venues of newspapers and chain stores aren't really open to mystery authors, what's a sleuth to do?

Strap on the armor and wade out there anyway because most is not all and there are some who are open to new things and who will receive your book and help you sell it. People who populate mystery bookstores are usually people who already love mysteries. They probably read Mystery Scene and Crime Spree. They may even be members of Sisters in Crime and a local book group. Trying to convince a devoted mystery reader to read your mystery probably isn't all that hard. But winning an audience that isn't already pre-qualified is a bit more of a challenge. So why not go the easier route? Because there are a LOT more of the latter, that's why.

Like it or not, a lot of people shop chains and non-mystery indies. If you book isn't on the shelf there, those people probably won't buy it.

A lot of people listen to radio shows that aren't dedicated to authors or books in general. If you're not interviewed on those shows, the listeners may never hear of you or your book and again, probably won't ever buy it.

The bottom line of promotion is simple - people don't buy what they've never heard of or seen, so the point of promoting your book is to get as many people to hear of it or see it as possible. Then the chips can fall. So doesn't it make sense to develop a plan that puts your name and your title in front of as many people as possible rather than in front of the same people over and over again? Repeat exposure is important, granted, but oversaturation is also possible. And once you've convinced a person to buy, they're probably not going to keep buying copy after copy. Present it to another person.

So if your whole promotional plan is contained in our own beloved mystery realm, by all means go for it. Just don't stop there. Widen your boundaries just a little. Step out of your comfort zone and get the word out to people who haven't heard of your work before. Some of them will buy it. Some of them will love it! And you'll be a step closer to that bestseller list.

Till next time,