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

Little things

PJ Nunn

Every now and then, I see again how it's the little things that can make the most lasting impressions. This month, media has focused on the 30th anniversary of Elvis' passing. As they've played and replayed comments about him, rarely does anyone mention his singing or any talent that made him as famous as he was. Rather it's random acts of kindness, or a smile, a word, a touch. Communication that sidesteps the spotlight and makes a momentary connection between one person and another.

I remember when I first discovered The Thin Man movies and how I loved Nick and Nora Charles. But  one of the first things that comes to mind when I think of them is Asta. Riggs (Mel Gibson) eating dog biscuits as a means to overcome a smoking habit had nothing to do with the plot of Lethal Weapon, but made him seem a little more human in a bizarre sort of way. And remember Kojak's lollipops?

Fictional characters in books can be enhanced the same way. Stephanie Plum seems just a little more real when she pauses in her chaotic life to make sure Rex the hamster has a grape or a piece of popcorn. And while I love Elvis Cole's wisecracking, larger-than-life action, he rarely seems more alive than alone at home cooking for or discussing life with his scar-faced, often obnoxious cat.

Of course, where book/author promotion is concerned, I don't call up a TV producer and pitch endearing qualities of my clients, because that's not what nabs an interview. Yet after the fact, when I talk with a host or interviewer, more often than not those are exactly the things they say they liked best about the interview. Just recently I've heard how one host liked Deb LeBlanc's laugh, and another appreciated NJ Lindquist's knowledge of baseball. More than one CRM or equivalent has mentioned how polite and charming Harry Hunsicker is. While they all occasionally mention loving the author's book, it is hardly ever the first thing that comes up in conversation. And truthfully, only about half of them ever read the books. So it stands to reason if these are the people we need to enlist to help us sell more books, probably it's not the content of the book that will win them over. Interesting, isn't it?

Most of the time, if I like the author, I'll like his or her book. Probably that's because the book comes from the author and there is always a part of that author in the book. Sometimes it's more obvious than others, but it's bound to be there. If not in blatant character traits, in more subtle mannerisms and opinions. Little glimpses at the person behind the persona. Rereading Deadly Appraisal after the pleasure of spending some time with Jane Cleland at Criminal Pursuits in Hot Springs earlier this year, I see subtle resemblances between her and Josie Prescott. And I know there's a similar similarity in my own writing from time to time.

Just as quirky but nice things can leave a positive impression, others may leave a more negative memory. I've had post-event reports that weren't so pleasant and distinctly prevented the author from having a return engagement. Again, none had anything to do with the books. Rather the comments were that the authors in question chewed gum during a phone interview, alternately ignored or spoke sarcastically to the store personnel, persistently interrupted the interviewer or pointedly ignored questions that weren't directly related to the book. Was it Solomon who said, "little foxes spoil the vine"?

So, while we spend mega dollars and time on the large part of book promotion, it would be good to remember some of the little things:

Don't chew gum, or if you must, don't make noise with it.

When making an "author" appearance, be nice no matter what you feel like.

While you're being nice, don't say anything you wouldn't want to see written in the newspaper or on a billboard.

You don't have to say everything you know.

Sending thank you cards is rapidly becoming a lost art.

If you think it's strange advice coming from a publicist, remember it's a relatively strange business we're in.

Till next time!

At the end of the day, Brian, it's a game of two halves . . .

Sharon Wheeler

. . . and we're gutted that the lad's picked up another groin strain (how careless – where did he drop it in the first place?) But it's all about winners and losers and the game's never over 'til the final whistle . . .

Oops sorry, there I was, transported back 15 years to covering post-soccer match press conferences where managers spouted clichés without batting an eyelid. I was half-listening to a load of the blighters in full flight over the bank holiday weekend while reading a crime fiction book. And suddenly the two strands morphed into one and I started compiling a list of genre eye-rollers where you find yourself yelling "noooo, please, you're not going to … Curses, you have!"

One person’s old chestnut may be another’s valid plot device. But these are the ones that I’d like to see pensioned off:

1.    Manipulative mother. Daughter (because it usually is, with the possible exception of Michael Siverling's hero) is a strong, tough professional, but turns to putty when mum pokes her nose into her private life again. I had two books in a week recently with this as a significant plot thread. Bleugh!
2.    Boathouse at midnight. Heroine (because it usually is – do we detect a trend here) gets a phonecall from a husky-voiced individual inviting her to meet someone in the deserted boathouse where she'll learn something to her advantage. This plot device is so ancient it was around when dinosaurs walked the earth.
3.    The ‘I’ll tell you everything when I see you tomorrow, ooh must go now, someone's at the door!’ phonecall. Yep, that person won't be seeing the sun rise . . .
4.    Falling in love with Mr Wrong (and very occasionally Ms Wrong). He's usually a slimey git or an arrogant toerag, even if he does look like a movie star. And the police procedural version of this is going head-over-heels for the chief suspect who will of course be assured by our hero that no, of course s/he isn't in the frame. Um, cue impatient readers sneaking a look at the last page and hoping in vain that the feeling they have in their water isn't about to be justified . . .
5.    "You've got me bang to rights, guv!" confession that comes out of nowhere. I'm not over-enamoured of the gathering all the suspects together in the same room trick, but that pales into insignificance against the murderer suddenly parcelling the confession up ever so neatly, tying a big bow and handing it to the investigator before they've even asked them their name.
6.    The phonecall (repeat after me – because it usually is) that provides the sleuth with the super-duper nutter turbo bastard final clue (as my friend Sue would describe it) that they don't share with the reader, thereby depriving us of any chance of solving the crime. That's not playing fair!

These are my six of the worst. Any more for any more? And boy, isn't it tempting to write a book with all of these in and then see if some poor sucker will publish it (ooh, hang on, didn't PublishAmerica do a similar one, courtesy of some science fiction writers?!)

America, America...

Finding new ways to raise Crème de la Crime’s name above the parapet is one of the constants on my to-do list. There’s only one rule: it has to be cheap. Preferably free. The only things we have to invest are time and enthusiasm - plenty of the latter, as much of the former as I can squeeze out of my 72-hour weeks and the authors (the only publicity department we have) can spare from producing the books.

Fortunately one thing that isn’t in short supply is imagination. Crime writers are overflowing with the stuff.

A new challenge for 2007 was how to make ourselves known to the American market. About a year ago we signed a distribution deal with Dufour Editions, and the first dozen of our titles hit the US back in the spring. Dufour are doing a great job; we have reviews in the US Library Journal, and two of our authors in particular seem to have acquired something of a fanbase.

But Dufour can’t do it all by themselves - hence the new challenge. What can we do from 5,000 miles away (minimum!) to raise our profile?

I put the question to the publicity department (see above.)

And so - Gordon Ferris's debut novel, a dark, pacy post-World War Two noir called Truth Dare Kill, is one of four new Crème titles out in Dufour’s autumn catalogue. Gordon is a great one for the personal touch. He’s also a keen skier, and the lure of the Colorado mountains in early March was a powerful one - so he’s taking in Left Coast Crime along the way. (Could someone explain how Denver equates to Left and Coast? Is my logical Brit brain missing something?) Gordon is currently in touch with the organisers to get himself on to a panel. If you’re there and you spot him, do say hi. He also has a shorter visit to New York planned for November, and we’re working to capitalise on that!

Gordon’s second post-war thriller, The Unquiet Heart, will be out in the UK in early May, but won’t hit the States till later in the year. I expect he’ll mention it a few times…

Roz Southey is another of our Period Piece authors; her 18^th century musician hero lives in Newcastle. Well, kind of. You have to read it…

Roz doesn’t ski, and hates flying - so she did some lateral thinking, and has spent the last week or so tracking down Newcastles or New Castles in north America. And there are quite a few. Also Durhams, Gatesheads and other assorted place names which the US has in common with the little piece of north-east England where the book is set and Roz herself lives.

Local newspapers, radio stations and libraries in Pennsylvania, Kentucky, Kansas, Indiana, North Carolina, Delaware, Oregon, Colorado and one or two in Canada now know all about the sparky and slightly left-field historical crime novel (it’s called Broken Harmony, and the follow-up Chords and Discords will hit the States at the same time as The Unquiet Heart) written by a musicologist and historian who had some quirky stories left over from her PhD research and couldn’t bear to waste them.

For my part, I’m trying to figure out a way to make use of the murder mystery evening and crime fiction quiz we offer to libraries and bookshops here in the UK as a way of waving the Crème flag and persuading them to buy our books. We ask the shop or library to cover the expenses of the author who goes along to host the event, and airfare doesn’t come cheap. We’ll need to apply some imagination and do a little lateral thinking.

But we seem to be good at that.

Call Me Psycho, But...

QUIBBLES & BITS

Here on Vancouver Island, the sun has been offering  more teasing titillation than my sexual tension scenes in The Landlord's Black-Eyed Daughter.

But today the sun finally peeked out from behind a bank of clouds, and, ironically, I seem to be catching a "summer" cold. If it were the flu, I'd curl up with a copy of Stephen King's The Stand, which for some reason makes me feel better. I tend to reread The Stand (the longer, unabridged version, of course) when I have the flu.

The thing is, you can medicate the flu but colds are like pesky relatives who come for a visit and won't leave. Sniff.

This morning, feeling stuffy, I awoke up to the following, posted by [author and editor] Dave Zeltserman on the Short Mystery Fiction loop: "Deni's upcoming story DEAD AID in the summer issue of Hardluck (probably out after Labor day) is exceptional. If you like Bruce Jay Friedman (one of my favorites) you'll love this story. It has that same absurdist streak that Friedman does so well, and it's a story that I'm exceptionally proud to be able to publish on Hardluck. Given the quality of the writing in this, it's no wonder Deni is getting starred reviews for her upcoming book."

I felt much better :-)

Bruce Jay Friedman has long been a favorite of mine, too, ever since I saw my sister Eileen in the original Broadway production of Steambath. What a kick to see your little sister run across the stage...naked.

For those who have never seen Bruce Jay Friedman's Steambath, the razor-sharp, outrageous comedy portrays God as an overworked steambath attendant who doles out "wrath" and "blessed events." The off-Broadway production was directed by actor Anthony Perkins, whose picture is at the top of this blog. Perkins made his [early] mark in Tall Story, Friendly Persuasion, and a little movie called...wait a minute...it's on the tip of my tongue...oh, yeah, Psycho.

Trivia: Alfred Hitchcock had decided to split Psycho in half and show it in 2 parts on his TV show, Hitchcock Presents. Lucky for movie mavens, he changed his mind.

Digression: When I was a kid, I had a crush on actor Anthony Perkins. Then, oh joyous day, I saw him on Broadway in Look Homeward Angel, and even though it was raining pitchforks, I walked to the alley behind the theatre and waited at the stage door for him to come out. Picture a plump, red-haired, 5-foot-nothing Shirley Temple, wearing a plaid, pleated skirt, black tights and Capezio flats, clutching a program and pen underneath a gray, cable-knit sweater (against her budding breasts) so the program wouldn't get wet. Tony - as I fondly thought of him in my prepubescent daydreams - finally walked outside, sheltered by an umbrella. I held my program and pen out to him like a suppliant asking for the Pope's blessing...

And Mr. Perkins spent 10 minutes, more or less, telling me why he couldn't sign his name. The gist of his explanation was that if he signed my program, he'd have to sign autographs for everybody else and he didn't have time to do that because he had to "rest up" for the night's performance.

Let me make it clear that I was The. Only. One. idiotic enough to stand outside in a downpour, waiting for the actor I adored with all my [young, prepubescent] heart and soul.

Getting back to Steambath, I attended the opening night cast party with my sister. And what [who] to my wondering [or is it wandering?] eyes should appear?

No, not Santy Claus. Tony Perkins!

I was introduced. Perkins smiled. I mumbled, Hullo," turned on my heels (literally), and walked away.

Later, my [now clothed] sister said, "That was kinda rude."

Trivia: Did you know that Bruce Jay Friedman won an Edgar?

Hey, maybe I can win one for DEAD AID.

See? I'm still daydreaming.

Over and Out,
Deni

PS- Is it starve a cold or feed a cold? If it's the latter, all chocolate (or junk food, and Scout's honor that's the only time I eat it!) donations welcome.

Life's Ups, Downs, and Acrosses

Jeff Cohen

Writers attribute their ability (I don't care for the word "talent") to any number of factors: genetics, study, muses, a man who stands behind the wall and feeds them lines (don't laugh--a remarkably successful writer swears by that one).

I can't speak for anyone else, but I'm an advocate of the New York Times crossword puzzle.

You can talk about your Strunks and your Whites, your Syds and your Fields, your Abbotts and your Costellos, for all I know. But I can sit here and type honestly that I can't start a day of writing without doing the New York Times crossword puzzle. No other will do.

Will Shortz, a man whose name conjures up countless puns that could be used in... a crossword puzzle... is the editor of the puzzle, and has been for some years. If you haven't seen the movie Wordplay, you might not know about Shortz's methods of finding puzzle writers, refining clues and in general doing his best to drive millions of people crazy every single day of his life. It's not a job; it's a calling.

In that documentary, NYT crossword fans ranging from Jon Stewart to Bill Clinton vow their allegiance to the form and the master, and they do crossword puzzles. Clinton wrote one for the Times not long ago. And if you think he doesn't have enough to do these days, you haven't been paying attention.

(George W. wasn't interviewed for the movie, but he strikes me more as a "Find 10 Things Wrong With This Picture" kind of guy, anyway.)

Starting with a Monday puzzle--always the easiest one of the week--and culminating with the near-impossible Saturday puzzle and the mammoth Sunday puzzle (which arrive in my house on the same day, creating a dilemma), that Shortz guy puts together a perplexing and sometimes exasperating lineup of word exercises that is not only puzzling: it's addictive.

I started innocently enough when I was in my 20s, because I was commuting to Manhattan on the bus and needed something to distract me from the fact that I was commuting to Manhattan on the bus. My mother was a devoted crossword fanatic, and got me interested. But then I found I couldn't stop.

One a day is enough, believe me, but there has to be that one every day. Last year, my family and I spent a week in Rome, and I was jonesing for a dose of Shortz the whole time. It was all I could do not to buy an International Herald-Tribune every day just for the puzzle, but I was afraid the news would depress me too much to enjoy it. After all, I was on vacation.

How does that help me write? Well aside from the obvious benefits of learning new words, the crossword gets me thinking about words pretty much first thing in the morning (after feeding the dog and reading depressing baseball news). Let international politics and local disasters wait: I need a four-letter word for "seed covering" (it's "ARIL," by the way).

It's not a conscious process: I don't believe I've ever used the word "aril" in my writing, or in conversation, or in anything except the crossword puzzle, until one paragraph ago. But just getting that part of my brain to get up and do some crunches early in the day infuses my work, I think, with a little more energy, a little more thought. A mind is a terrible thing to waste, and what's a six-letter word for "idiots?" (DODOES)

I start by scanning for clues that have quotation marks in them. That generally means a pop culture reference, and what do I know better than those? Once I've exhausted the clues that jump right off the page at me, I start at the bottom of the "DOWN" column and start my way up. (This method is not meant to be copied, by the way--there's no actual utility to it; it's just the way I do the puzzle. I'm sure I could do it the other way, from one across down, and have the same amount of success. Writers are nuts; get used to it.) I fill in the blanks on those I can figure out immediately, and leave the harder ones for the next pass.

Once I get to the top of the DOWNs, I start on ACROSS, either from the top or the bottom. I'm ambivalent towards ACROSS; it's where you generally find clues with more letters, and those are either terrific to fill up or really hard and annoying. Depends on the day. Mondays are easy, Tuesdays a little harder, and so on until the black hole of Saturday, where only the bravest puzzle freaks dare to go.

Later in the week, I'll cross off the numbers of the clues as I solve them (usually just in DOWN; again, for no particular reason). On Sunday, all clues are crossed off as they are solved, if only for the sake of sanity--there are so damn many clues on those, you'd be looking at the same three over and over again and reminding yourself you've done this already.

I solve the puzzle almost every day. Of course, sometimes I get a little help from Google (who knows the winner of the 1937 Nobel Peace Prize?) or IMDb (I don't know EVERY movie ever made). There are also puzzle-cheat sites like OneAcross.com, which still require some work on your part, but are only to be used in extreme emergencies, usually on Saturdays.

And yes, I do it in ink. I've never understood why people find that extraordinary. I still make mistakes, but instead of erasing them, I write over them. What's the big deal?

The puzzle is a great day-starter, but the fact is, once it's solved, I don't think about it again until the next day. I never check to see if I was right. I move on to the following day's puzzle and stare at all those blank squares, taunting me. It's time for battle.

This Just In: Publishers Weekly has weighed in with a review of Some Like It Hot-Buttered. You might want to click here to read excerpts or here for the whole thing (you have to scroll down quite a bit).

Flotsam and Jetsam

Abby Zidle

Ah, the week before Labor Day.  Publishing is well and truly into the summer doldrums, so you should all put down your pens and give yourselves a break.  (None of us want to open the mail this week anyway!)  These last lazy days have left me unable to sustain coherent thought as well--apologies for the rather stream-of-consciousness post.  (Ooh! Shiny thing!)

You win some, you lose some...
So that long historical thriller I bought?  The authors took their ball and went home. As regular readers may recall, I wanted the authors to cut down the UK edition a bit for the American version; unfortunately, we couldn't come to terms on revisions. They were left feeling like we'd tried to butcher the book, and I was certain that leaving things as they were would kill the book's chances in the marketplace. All of us are left with our noses slightly out of joint.  Harrumph.

Really? 1 in 4?
Did you all see that poll about readers in the U.S.?  That 25% of American adults haven't read a book in the last year?  And that the average number of books a single adult reads in a year is 4?  This is why the publishing industry is forced to cater to blockbusters. It's simply too dangerous, bottom-line-wise, to trust that brilliant writing will reach enough people. Especially people like this guy, who won't read fiction. (I've got news for you, buddy--lots of movies are fiction, too.)

(If) He Did It
I've never seen a book that so many bookstores actually disdain as IF I DID IT, version 2. It's sort of a fascinating reverse-Harry Potter scenario. The whole idea of the book is pretty weird and creepy...but as I recall, the thing was pre-ordering on Amazon just fine, and I wonder how many sales will result from the ghoulish nature of the bookbuying public. (No offense, book buyers! Don't make it 2 in 4 non-readers!)

The Perfect Crime
Because I like to think of Dead Guy as, above all, a service blog, check out this link at The List Universe. My editorial salary is currently comfortable enough that I need not turn to a life of crime, but it's good to know there are helpful references should I need to. (Why do I have a feeling this is going to bring the feds to my door?)

Happy last week of summer, gang!

Gather ye History While ye May

Gordon Aalborg … filling in for Robin Agnew

The mysterious power of the internet never ceases to amaze me.

I’ve just spent a few days delving into the intricacies of genealogy, courtesy of an innocent question asked by a distant relative I didn’t even know existed until recently.

Her name is Trine, and her great-grandfather’s brother was married to my grandfather’s sister. In Norway—long ago and far away. She’s coming to Canada this summer for the first time ever, to meet some of her husband’s relations in Alberta. And while she’s at it, she reckoned, she might try to find some of her own distant relatives.

She knew that two daughters of her great-father’s brother, had—way back in the 1930s, before either of us was even born—stayed with an uncle of theirs named Aalborg, on a farm, somewhere in Alberta. And that one of them had eventually married in that district. So she went online looking for any Canadian Aalborg that might know more—and the only one she could find in all of Canada was me, who knew nothing. I didn’t even know my grandfather had a sister!

It was something of a surprise to get the email from Trine. And a huge surprise when my geriatric mind eventually kicked in and I recalled—and then actually found—an old family photo which, miracle of miracles. showed Trine’s relatives—my grandfather’s nieces indeed!—with my father and grandparents. The biggest surprise of all was that I’d actually kept the damned picture at all. I’ve been carting it around for years without knowing why. Now I know.

But I believe Trine got an even bigger surprise when I was able to send her the photo and tell her that I spent several summers as a child on the farm with one of those sisters (our mutual relatives) and the man she married. Good memories clouded by a lot of time.

Which should have been the end of it, except…

About a week later, I registered with www.facebook.com so I could look into this online thriller that fellow Canadian Dr. Brad Kelln is doing. And a few days later I was invited to join an Aalborg group on facebook.

More relatives I didn’t know existed. A lot of them. All in Norway, which is no surprise. And in Norway, apparently, everyone with the Aalborg surname can be traced to one of two families and communities … or is a ring-in from Denmark and doesn’t count.

The name isn’t that rare in the U.S., although most are of Danish heritage, I think. But the only Aalborgs in all of Canada, it seems, are my youngest daughter, my sister and me. At least we’re the only ones with publicly listed phones—there could be hundreds, for all I know, using unlisted and/or cell phones to avoid the pestilence of telemarketers (may they all be cursed to perpetual impotence and have their most intimate bits rot and putrefy and drop off, along with their tongues!)

But by this time, dear reader, my curiosity bump is itching like crazy. I mean—who are these relatives half the world away? And how are we related? And under what circumstances? And what’s the back story to my own lineage? So it becomes my turn to prowl the internet looking for relatives. In a foreign country, with records in a language I can’t read.

Thank goodness for those relatives who’d already found me!  Trine’s second cousin (I think that’s how it works) is something of a genealogist—and a good one, too.

With his help, I now know my grandfather was one of eight children. And I know when he left Norway, how he got to Canada, and my paternal lineage back to the 1600s and the Aalborg farm in Tynset, Hedmark, Norway (somewhere I may never see in person, more’s the pity).

And I’ve been able to trace the family line further back yet to the Viking King Godred Olavsson of the Isle of Man in the twelfth century. Royal blood!—is that cool, or what?

Okay … cool, but sort of irrelevant, really. What’s the point of it all? Well there isn’t one, really. Except to assuage my writer’s curiosity. And to make me feel sort of sheepish to realize that the answers to most of my questions today were there, readily available to me, when I was young and my parents and grandparents were still alive and would have answered them had I but asked. Which of course I didn’t. I was only a teenager, then, so I thought I already knew everything worth knowing.

But I should have paid attention and I rather wish I had. Far, far better to get your family’s history first-hand, if possible. While your relatives are still walking around, able to tell you first-hand who’s related to whom and why and where and how.

The internet is, indeed, powerful and mysterious. But it’s no substitute for the real thing—history straight from the hearts and minds of those who made it. That is the point.

For my part, being distantly related to a twelfth-century king of the Isle of Man is vaguely interesting, but not half as interesting as being found on the internet—in this century by the great-grand-daughter of the brother of my grandfather’s sister’s husband … a lady the age of my youngest daughter and a lady I never expected to meet in person.

So you can imagine my surprise when the phone rang the other day and a voice with a decidedly Norwegian accent announced that Trine, her husband, and twin daughters were in Vancouver, with a view to taking the ferry over to Vancouver Island—just to visit me.

Which they did, and it was a splendid visit, too. The highlight of my summer, I think.

Mind you, we’re still trying to figure out exactly what her relationship to me actually is… The term fourth cousin, thrice removed, comes to mind, but I’m sure it isn’t accurate. J

Flying pigs and raving reviewers!

Sharon Wheeler

I like being a reviewer. Hey, I get to read books, listen to CDs, go to gigs and write about it. The only thing that would make it perfect would be if I made loads of dosh out of it. Is that a load of pigs I see doing stall turns over my house?

So in the meantime, reviewing for the love of it will have to suffice. And as I’ve said before, writing reviews isn’t rocket science. But there are a number of problems that beset reviewers as we attempt to capture the essence of a book in 300 or so words. A conversation this week with the wonderfully sane Wayne Gunn, an experienced academic and reviewer, made me start scribbling

1.    The hardest reviews to write are often the so-so books. They’re the equivalent of a shrug. Yeah, they were fine, but . . . And you often can’t quite put your finger on what the ‘but’ is. And it’s when you realise you have 300 words to fill that you start to twitch! Reviews where you loved the book often write themselves – as do hatchet jobs. But the latter is to be used very sparingly, or it becomes all about the reviewer and not about the book. And neither are a lot of help if the reviewer doesn’t back up their ravings!
2.    How much plot do you put in? RTE reviewers will testify that I’m absolutely paranoid about spoilers. They’re well used to getting emails from me that say: “You know your review of Chuffy the Serial Killer? Is it giving too much away to say that he bumps off his victims with a red-hot poker?” My preference is for a couple of paragraphs of plot summary only. Otherwise the review turns into a précis.
3.    What about reviewing books which you have a pretty fair idea you’re not going to like? OK, I know that sounds negative, but I’m not struck on cosies, for instance. I have mixed feelings on this – over the years when I’ve worked on papers, I’ve had no choice. The book or play or film has to be reviewed and that’s that. I hear the words of an old editor saying snottily: “You’re not paid to like it, you’re paid to review it!” But is it fair to an author if I review a cosy crammed full of quilts, cats and recipes? Whatever some authors may believe, you can’t choose your reviewer. I hope I’d be able to look at it impartially, even if I have to use that immensely convenient phrase: “It wasn’t to my taste.” But you need to give the reader enough flavour for them to get an idea of whether they’ll like the book, even though the reviewer wasn’t that enthusiastic.
4.    Diving in partway through a series is an occupational hazard for reviewers – and you can’t tell your editor to hang on while you pootle off and read the previous 26 books in the Chuffy the serial killer series! Some authors are excellent about providing just enough information to make sure you’ve got some idea what’s happened in previous books – Susan Kelly is particularly strong at it, for example. With others, you feel like you’ve landed on Planet Zog, and the natives have left you there while they’ve nipped off to Planet Tharg for the day! I recently read – and enjoyed – Greg Rucka’s latest book Patriot Acts. But I spent most of it trying to work out what had happened to Atticus Kodiak before this story. I think in the end you have to mention this in the review. And it’s something authors need to be aware of. You can’t guarantee someone will read a series in the correct order, what with books going out of print, or people’s buying habits being as they are.
5.    Reviewing from ARCs (advance reading copies) can be a minefield. A lot of publishers send these out well before the publication date – if you haven’t come across them, they’re basically uncorrected galley proofs. Publishers like them because they often stand a better chance of getting a review on or very near publication date if the reviewer has had plenty of time to get the book read and reviewed. A reviewer has to assume that there’s not going to be wholesale changes, but I and other reviewers have discovered that you cannot assume that all typos will have been cleaned up for the printed edition. In the end, if you haven’t been sent the finished version (and some publishers are lax about that), and there was a hideous number of errors in the ARC, you have to hope they were caught in time for the copy that hit the bookshops.

In a nutshell, a reviewer needs to provide a balanced and constructive review that analyses rather than describes and gives a flavour of the book. Then the reader can make an informed decision as to whether the book is worth their time and money.

Sharks, cigars and glittering prizes

Almost everyone on Dead Guy is having an exciting time at the moment, so I suppose the law of averages says someone has to be in slow mode. Looks like the someone is me.

In a couple of weeks, possibly less, I’ll have a manuscript to edit, a promotion campaign to organise and a tight-knit cover/editing/typesetting/proofreading/printing schedule to co-ordinate, fitting marketing strategy and events into every spare corner and praying to any passing god that the unexpected doesn’t get in the way of progress.

At the moment, having assembled the pieces and laid the jigsaw out on the table, there’s not much I can do except wait for some things to happen.

It’s Catch 22: when I’m run off my feet I struggle to find time to blog; when I’m not, there’s nothing much to blog about.

Someone warned me this would happen, and advised me to have something on ice, just in case. Trouble is, once I’ve used it, I’m stuck next time.

Oh, what the heck. Here goes. I’ll look on it as practice for October, when I’m booked in as speaker at a big writers’ circle. They’ll want to know why I do what I do. Writers always ask why.

So why do I do it? And why do I continue to do it, year on year, when the bookshop chains grow more and more powerful and cashflows and projections and sales figures get scarier and scarier?

It’s a good question.

Contrary to popular rumour, it certainly isn’t for the money.

Someone once said the way to make is small fortune in publishing is to start with a large one. You know what? It’s true. The big-money stories that make headlines are the phenomena: J K Rowling, Lynne Truss, Jeffrey Archer. The point about headlines is they highlight the unusual. A couple of small indie publishers go out of business every week; nothing unusual there, so no headlines.

It’s not for the glory either. Everything gets entered for every award it’s eligible for. I’ve been told several times that one of our books came close to a shortlist, but so far there’s a distinct absence of cigars. And even if we made it, it’s the author, not the publisher, who makes those headlines.

So why? Why sink a large chunk of my life’s savings into an enterprise so many people warned me was the business equivalent of shark-infested water?

The answer that pops into my head whenever someone asks is, because someone had to. There’s actually a lot of debut fiction out there; contrary to popular perception, the big houses’ lists don’t consist entirely of established bestsellers. Even J K Rowling was a debut author once, though at this remove it’s hard to believe.

But when we founded Crème de la Crime, if a debut author made it big, it was almost by accident. No one was actively going out in search of new talent - which is probably how that piece of popular perception got a foothold.

I fell at the final hurdle with my own work more often than I’m comfortable remembering. You can certainly write, said the page-long rejection letters; do please send us your next novel.

Nine novels down the line I concluded that someone up there was telling me something. It was time for a change of direction.

I knew how much unsung talent was out there; I saw it every year, on the shortlist of a big international short story award I ran until 2005. So I decided to put on my shark-proof wetsuit and wade out into the water. And two years later one of the largest publishing houses in the UK launched their own new writing imprint. Does that tell you something?

We’ve just begun our fourth cycle of six books per year. We’re still not making money; glittering prizes still feel a long way away. And you know what? I’m having the time of my life.

Writing My Way Out of a Paper Bag

Sound the trumpets, beat the drums. The official pub date for THE LANDLORD'S BLACK-EYED DAUGHTER is...tomorrow.

So, to celebrate, I'm going to tell y'all a true story.

Once upon a long time ago, before I was a published author ("published author" is redundant but I can't stop using it), I submitted my first diet club mystery---Throw Darts at a Cheesecake---to a High-Powered Agent. At the time, the book was called "The Diet Club Murders."

The High-Powered Agent turned it down. In her rejection letter she said I couldn't write my way out of a paper bag. I'm not making this up. That's exactly what she said: "I'm sorry, Denise, but you can't write your way out of a paper bag!"

Not that I've ever been inside a paper bag, nor have I ever wanted to write my way out of a paper bag, and where did that expression come from anyway? Does anyone know?

What I don't know is why The High-Powered Agent didn't just send me a form rejection letter. The mystery I submitted was about dieters getting killed off at goal weight and everybody eating as if their lives depended on it. So...maybe the High-Powered Agent was on a diet. Maybe she was skinny and didn't like the idea of getting killed (off).

After the initial hurt, my determination to become published increased ten-fold (or more), and to this day I credit The High-Powered Agent who told me I couldn't write my way out of a paper bag with my success as a published author. Every time I've toyed with the idea of giving up, every time I've gone through a temporary period of burnout, every time one of my publisher's lines have folded (not my fault, I swear!), I've thought: paper bag...paper bag...paper bag.

And now, after 14 years in the pub biz, for the first time ever...

One of my books has gone into a second printing. Before its pub date!!!

And, says my publisher, it's "poised for a third printing."

How cool is that!

Is it because of my starred Booklist review and the fact that The Landlord's Black-Eyed Daughter made Booklist's Top 10 Romance Fiction list? Sure it is. But it's also due to my Library Journal review, which came out August 15th.

Here's the best part of the LJ review...oh to heck with it, pick your best lines and skip the rest :-)

"Take one highly successful Gothic romance writer who just happens to be an innkeeper's daughter; add one disillusioned, devil-may-care highwayman who robs only the rich on principle; set them down in the turbulent, hypocritical times of late 18th-century England; season with a dash of humor, a splash of the paranormal, and a dollop of danger; and let the adventures begin. Loosely based on Alfred Noyes's poem "The Highwayman," with Robin Hood elements and a hint of Romeo and Juliet tossed in for good measure, this tale, for all its lively romance and adventure, takes on some serious social issues of the times, specifically the privilege of wealth and the inherent injustices it causes. A fast pace, fluid writing, and an exceptionally well-crafted plot make this an enjoyable read." Library Journal

I'm tempted to send the Library Journal and Booklist reviews to the High-Powered Agent who said I couldn't write my way out of a paper bag, except she wouldn't have a clue who Mary Ellen Dennis is.

In fact, I'm fairly certain she wouldn't remember Denise Dietz.

Unless she's still on a diet.

Or skinny (and paranoid).

Over and out,
Deni

Of A Scooter and Two Rare Flowers

Jeff Cohen

It's been a rough week. And today's only Monday.

To be fair, it's actually last week that was hard. Personally, I have a lot of work, which is good, because that means eventually that I'll get paid. My mom went through her knee replacement very well, and while it was difficult and will be so for her for a few weeks, it's much better to be on this side of the surgery than the other. Now comes the news that J.K. Rowling is working on a crime novel: great. The competition wasn't fierce enough yet.

But those things aside: sometimes, news of people you don't know well--or don't know at all--affects you deeply. Last week, two of those things happened.

First of all, you must understand that I am a lifelong Yankee fan, and grew up listening--every single day--to the voice of Phil Rizzuto. I never saw him play; the Scooter "retired" from the field (when it was suggested to him that he exit in order to make way for a pinch hitter) the year before I was born. But once I became aware of baseball, my guide to the game was Phil Rizzuto.

And what a guide! Rizzuto the announcer, who ISN'T in the Hall of Fame but should be (he is enshrined as a player), was an unabashed "homer" who openly rooted for the Yankees and didn't care who knew it. It's been said more than once that listening to him call a game was more like watching the contest with your neighbor from down the street, because Rizzuto would discuss anything BUT the game if he felt like it--gardening, Italian pastry, the traffic last night on the George Washington Bridge (the Scooter would often leave in the sixth or seventh inning to get back home to New Jersey at a reasonable hour), his fear of... everything--all these were fodder for the broadcast. Lord help those who got in his way.

When Rizzuto was teamed with former St. Louis Cardinals star Bill White in the broadcast booth, they seemed an odd pair: the flaky Italian leprechan of a shortstop paired with the no-nonsense giant slugger. But they quickly became what I believe was one of the greatest comedy teams in the history of television.

There was a rain delay that went on during a game in the early 1980s, when the Yankees were just beginning to be as awful as they'd be for about 15 years, that should be preserved by the Museum of Television and Radio and shown to anyone who thinks baseball is dull. For over an hour, the two men--who apparently hadn't expected the game to be broadcast at all--ad libbed conversation about virtually every possible topic, including Rizzuto's legendary fear of lightning that bordered on psychosis. They discovered at one point that they needed to refer to the standings in the American League Eastern Division, and they got a copy of the NY Daily News to figure it out. They read the newspaper on the air. They riffed and giggled and it went on and on.

It was classic. When the game finally began, it was a disappointment. All anyone could talk about at work the next day was that amazing rain delay.

Sure, Joe Buck and Tim McCarver can quote you statistics they're fed by the Elias Sports Bureau (and let's face it, McCarver is incredibly annoying). Yeah, Joe Morgan is grumpy with the best of them, and Jon Miller can take any sentence and sound... SURPRISED! when he finishes it. They can tell you who has the best split-fingered fastball in the league and what the on-base percentage of the Number Eight hitter on the Milwaukee Brewers has been during Tuesday night games against lefthanded relief pitchers. But can they fill an hour of rain delay with improvisational comedy that would rival the Second City troupe? I don't think so.

It's a shame that Phil Rizzuto is gone. But it's a bigger shame that if he were just retiring from baseball today, he couldn't get hired as an announcer. He wasn't serious enough.

Still reeling from the death of a childhood friend (albeit one I knew from television), I discovered on Friday (after everyone else knew it, apparently) that the Black Orchid Bookshop on 81st Street in New York will be closing in September.

It's always bad when a bookstore closes, but this one really hurts. Bonnie Claeson and Joe Guglielmelli treated authors like family, took in the most obscure of us (and I should know) and made us feel like bestsellers. They love the form, and they love the people who create it. Most of us love them back.

But I guess we didn't love them enough: Bonnie says the store "was always a labor of love, and not profit," and in recent years, there just weren't enough people buying books to keep the enterprise afloat. It wasn't one of those New York rent horror stories--Bonnie says the landlord "always treated us very well and wants us to stay." It was the reality of being an independent, small specialty bookstore in a culture that adores big, corporate, broad-based bookstores and online behemoths. I'm as guilty as anybody of buying from those, and today, I feel especially guilty about it. So what if Black Orchid was four trains and 90 minutes (on a good day) from my house? I should have shown up and bought the place out once in a while. It'd be worth it to keep so worthwhile an enterprise alive.

When my first book was being published five years ago, Bonnie invited me in to sign stock, and while I'm sure she didn't sell enough of that title to cover the five or six books I signed, she continued to do so through the next two. She always said that when I came out with a mass-market paperback, she could hand sell it. Well, I have a $6.99 mass market paperback coming out in October. The month after Bonnie and Joe will close Black Orchid.

Their Edgar parties were legendary, taking over East 81st and spilling out into the street. A wonderful place to meet fellow (and non-fellow) authors, talk over what little we know of the business, make friends, eat Raisinets, and maybe buy a paperback or six and get them signed. A good time was indeed had by all, and it will be a little colder next April in New York City when Edgar Week arrives and there's no Black Orchid to visit.

So many who have heard the news have responded with regret--"I didn't go often enough. I didn't buy enough books." Probably true, certainly so in my case. But of all the bookshops I've gone to since becoming an author, there was always something just a little bit special about the Orchid, and that something was Bonnie and Joe. The books could be found elsewhere; apparently too many people were finding them elsewhere. You couldn't find Bonnie and Joe anywhere else.

Soon, you won't be able to find them there, either. It's been a rough week.

Goodbye and thanks, Bonnie and Joe. I'll miss you, Black Orchid.

Holy cow, Scooter. What'll we do without you?

Anatomy of a Book Event

1. Get call from St. Martin’s publicist - she asks, "Would it be OK if Donna Andrews comes to your store in August?" Scraping myself off the floor, I of course say yes, am pleasantly surprised that no begging was involved to snag this popular author.

2. Read "Murder with Peacocks", Donna’s first book. Am even MORE pleasantly surprised. Then I read the new one - it’s so funny I’m actually laughing aloud by the end of the first chapter. There’s nothing better than believing in the product you’re selling.

3. Lady calls store and asks if it’s "alright if she comes even though she’s not in our book club" (Donna is speaking on our book club night). We are happy to say yes. Stack up some presells, always a good sign of interest.

4. Son asks if he can help me set up the store in payment for some Magic Card decks he wants - of course I say yes. I don’t want to move the bookshelves alone! (My friend Patti’s husband put a few of our shelves on casters so we can roll them to the side for larger events. We are really squished in sometimes when we have a big turnout).

5. Can’t find "lucky" signing shirt - panic. I ALWAYS wear the same blouse, there’s no messing with good luck.

6. The Ann Arbor News actually runs a bit of an article on the signing - a miracle. In the past they have run features on writers two weeks after their events. As any publicist can tell you, that is ludicrous. However, I thank the gods above for small gifts, and the article even has a giant color cover of Donna’s new book.

7. Find "lucky" shirt wedged in with winter coats. It needs to be ironed, but that’s OK.

8. Go to work, get set for Donna’s appearance that evening. All day long am selling books ahead of the event, but the bad thing is, I’m starting to run out of books.

9. Donna arrives; the store is packed. My book club arrives from their dinner out and the store is even more packed. Donna is funny, adorable and nice, everyone seems to be enjoying her. As I look at the crowd and the diminishing pile of books, I realize I am going to run out. I make sure the lady who drove up from Cleveland has one, and then I ask Donna if I can mail her a box of books to have her sign when she gets home. She nicely agrees.

10. I tell a woman I can mail her a book, she starts to tear up (no kidding). I find a very long term customer and ask her if I can sell her book to this lady, and she agrees. Then the lady actually does cry, but she’s thrilled. It all works out, the books I am supplying later are either for people who aren’t there or who have been such longtime customers (one is a former bookseller) that it’s not a problem.

11. Donna and Doris Ann Norris are having a good gossip at the back of the store which I unfortunately can’t hear because I am in front ringing up book sales (I know this is a good/bad thing). I KNOW they are having an interesting conversation!

12. Everyone finally clears out, Donna signs the remaining (paperback) stock, and we do get a bit of a chance to visit. What a pleasure to meet such a nice and talented author.

13. I vow to never again be short on books, and though a bit of a fight in the aisles always perks things up, it makes me too nervous! Look forward to another visit from Ms. Andrews. We had several people drive up from Ohio, and several from the Detroit area come in just to meet her. Heave sigh of relief, look at large stack of books piled up for Kent Krueger to sign next week, hope we have enough!

The one thing

PJ Nunn

I don't know about you, but here, in my office, it's been a week of Mondays. Not the bad kind of Mondays, just the kind that make you look at the clock, then wonder how it could possibly be 3:30 when you just sat down at your desk a few minutes ago when it was quarter to nine. The kind when no matter how many emails you answer, there are more when you sign offline than there were when you signed on. Or the kind when your voice mail light never stops blinking no matter how many messages you retrieve. You've had those kinds of weeks, right? I'm hoping it's not just me. And yes, I'm looking to hire more help.

It's been a good week for reading. I enjoyed Wild Indigo by Sandi Ault. It's different - an original voice and unusual premise. I'm looking forward to her new one early next year. I also got a peek at Zoe Sharp's Second Shot - she's outdone herself. Gotta love that Charlie! I'm holding on to the manuscript of Chris Grabenstein's Hell Hole for a day in the near future when I might really need an encouraging word.

Aside from pleasure reading, which I don't do enough of, it's been a productive week. We helped Kathleen Tracy (Unkindness of Ravens) hook up with A & E Biography. We scheduled a fabulous pre-Halloween event for Deborah LeBlanc (Morbid Curiosity) and Alex Sokoloff (The Harrowing) at Nightmare on the Bayou in Houston and have some local media interest as well. These are unusual events, but we love scheduling them. Especially when we ask, "What's the average traffic you expect on a night the week before Halloween?" and they check last year's figures and answer, "Oh, probably around a thousand..." Now THERE's good news. Not many authors can hope to draw that kind of crowd to the local bookstore.

I'm not a believer in the "one big break" that we all seem to look for sometimes, but it's exciting when you really want something and it happens. I still firmly believe that success in promoting books and authors is created by a long-term, cumulative effort and no one can really know in advance which event will put you over the top. I hear a lot of wishing about Oprah, but in all honesty, while it would be a coup, if that one tv spot was the only promotion an author did for his/her book, I'm not sure even that would achieve the desired results. Marketing depends on repeat exposure.

While authors come in all shapes, sizes and temperaments, they all - at least the ones who make it - have one thing in common. They hope for the best. I've worked with optimists and pessimists, whiners and braggers, doubters and trusters and just about every adjective you can think of. Some are definitely high maintenance, others are so laid back I have to check up on them every now and then. But all of them, somewhere inside, have a measure of hope that the next signing will be better attended. The next review will be a little more inspiring. The phone will ring and it'll be the producer of whatever show they're hoping to be on next week. And I share that hope with them, knowing that just because I hear "no" on one phone call, if I'll just make one more call, it might be "the one."

What about you? What's the one big thing that's happened while promoting your book? Or the one you're hoping will still happen? I'd love to hear...

Till next time.

Nurse, my sides!

Sharon Wheeler

My book club has something called a Secret Santa where, come the festive season, we draw names out of a hat and then buy that person a book. So I really hope my friend Tim isn't reading this when I say that his choice for me missed the mark.

Technically he should have been on to a winner. He knows I love crime fiction. He knows I have a very off-beat (oh, OK, juvenile) sense of humour. So buying Jasper Fforde's The Eyre Affair should have been a good choice.

Except I have yet to finish one of Fforde's books – and I've had two bashes at The Eyre Affair. I can't even quite put my finger on why it doesn't work for me. I think, like Terry Prachett's books, Fforde comes across to me as trying a bit too hard.

Reading and reviewing humorous crime fiction is tricky, as what makes me snigger leaves someone else with a face like a smacked bottom. And as for black humour – admitting you laughed at certain scenes will be treated as if you'd farted during the national anthem!

If reviewing it presents a challenge, then writing humorous crime fiction must be even more difficult. For a start, do you run the risk of trivialising what's actually not funny in the least?

OK, I admit it, I was reading (and enjoying) Lean Mean Thirteen, the new Janet Evanovich, when I started thinking about all of this. Evanovich seems to polarise opinion to the extent that if you enjoy her books, it sometimes feels like you have to admit to them being a guilty pleasure.

I'm not blind to the fact that the books are pretty much a one-trick pony, but I'm too busy laughing to care. And I bet Evanovich is laughing all the way to the bank as well.

What Evanovich does do well (aside from sizzling dialogue and the ability to create knockabout scenes) is to stay the right side of making Stephanie look like a total loser. OK, so she will be made to look a fool by the usual bail-jumpers, she'll end up with gunk in her hair at least once, and she'll write-off two cars by the end of the book. But she's also gutsy enough for the reader to believe that she will net the bad guy with minimal help from Ranger and Joe.

A music list I'm on has an ongoing joke about musical DNA. So when someone says that they love A's new album, but couldn't abide B's, we all nod sagely and say: "Ah, we all have different musical DNA!" So no doubt the book version accounts for why, for example, Sarah Strohmeyer's and Liz Evans's books don't work for me.

As for black humour, I'm sure a lot of it is down to that guilty giggling reflex that seems to surface at inopportune moments. There I am, reading Ken Bruen's Jack Taylor series, one of the bleakest around, but suddenly I'm sniggering at humour so dark you have to go back and re-read to make sure you didn't misunderstand.

Bruen is the king of the one-liners, the classic throwaway line that any writer would love to be able to conjure up with a nonchalant click of the fingers. My favourite of his? It's from Priest when Jack is talking to a drunken priest in a pub and the priest quotes "the devil's right hand." "Revelations?" asks Jack. "No, Steve Earle," says the priest.

But the honour for writing the scene that made me laugh so much I nearly got slung off a train goes to Christopher Brookmyre for his 'turd on the windowsill' opening to Quite Ugly One Morning. Any other nominations for scenes that cracked you up?

Shattered dreams

I was going to write about back cover blurbs this week, since that’s where I’m at in the great scheme of 2008; but Abby beat me to the line, and said pretty much what I was thinking, except that I don’t have a team of copywriters.

Fortunately something else stirred the thought processes.

I’m finalising the schedule for 2008; five slots filled, the sixth still undecided. Crème de la Crime’s policy is to launch two debut authors every year, and it’s a second debut I’m still looking for. This isn’t a call for thousands of new authors to send me their novels; it’s too late for that this time around. I’m at the stage where the pile of possibles is slowly reducing.

Like a lot of (dare I still say most?) publishers, I ask for an initial sample of synopsis plus ten thousand words of new submissions. My reader ploughs through them and winnows out the occasional pearl, and if I concur with her view, which I usually do, we ask the author to send us the complete manuscript.

A month or so ago there was a neat stack in the corner of my office, all of which had shown immense promise at the initial sample stage.

One had blown us away - me, my reader, her crime fiction addict chum who reviews for a couple of websites and sometimes offers a second opinion. The opening pages didn’t so much grab our attention as seize it by the throat. The writing was effortlessly powerful; the characters jumped straight off the page; the concept was a winner. In fact, I pencilled in a slot in next year’s schedule.

Then the finished manuscript arrived, and alarm bells started ringing. Somehow it had shrunk by fifteen thousand words - and 60,000 words do not a novel make.

The opening was as powerful as ever, and though the tension level dropped after that first heartstopping punch, at first it felt like a necessary breathing space, a momentary slackening-off in preparation for more pummelling and twanging of the nerves.

The problem was it didn’t build up again for about 150 pages.

Another sample was pacy, vivid and full of action - but the complete manuscript plodded along and constantly floundered in a morass of over-explanation and too much description.

A third was described as a political thriller, and the first body appeared on page ten. But by page 100, I was floundering in a sea of politics, and the thrill factor had faded almost to nothing.

A fourth was a historical novel, beautifully written, meticulously researched and with a murder in the first chapter. But the background and setting were clearly far more important to the author than the crime.

A fifth was returned unread. A small point the author omitted to mention when he submitted his sample was the finished novel was only 30,000 words long.

Several authors in my pile had written the novels they wanted to write; they just hadn’t written a novel which my carefully-nurtured instinct told me was a Crème de la Crime novel. I couldn’t in all conscience ask them to make major changes when what they’d done was what they intended.

Others simply didn’t measure up to that early promise. It’s an unfortunate fact of life that an awful lot of people can write a brilliantly engaging 10,000-word opening and a climactic ending that leaves you breathless - but can’t seem to hold the middle together.

All of which begs the question, what can a publisher ask for which will ensure an accurate representation of the complete manuscript, so that no one’s time is wasted, no expectations are raised and no dreams are shattered?

All suggestions considered.

George Washington Grew Pot

Deni Dietz

QUIBBLES & BITS

Yay, yay, yay, yay. Danny made the finals of So You Think You Can Dance.  Despite bad edits.  Despite the jidges (misspelled on purpose) pompous assertion that he was "arrogant," and that he "couldn't connect with the audience."  Obviously, he connected just fine.  And what's even better, talent won out and. . .wait, where am I? Oh yes, my Dead Guy blog.

Starting over again...

Yay, yay, yay, yay. Dead Guy's own Abby Zidle was kind enough to send me the following:

                                Top 10 Romance Fiction by Booklist

    Adieu, My Love. By Lynn M. Turner. Avalon.

    Agnes and the Hitman. By Jennifer Crusie and Bob Mayer. St. Martin*s.

    Billionaires Prefer Blondes. By Suzanne Enoch. Avon.

    A Distant Magic. Mary Jo Putney. Del Rey.

    The Landlord's Black-Eyed Daughter. By Mary Ellen Dennis. Five Star.

    Let's Misbehave. By Lisa Plumley. Zebra.

    Rough and Ready. By Sandra Hill. Berkley Sensation.

    Soul Song. By Marjorie M. Liu. Dorchester.

    Tempting. Susan Mallery. HQN.

    Virgin River. By Robyn Carr. MIRA.

Yay, me. I mean, yay Mary Ellen :-)

In case you're wondering why I listed (the 10 top Booklist) romance novels on a mystery blog, I am Mary Ellen Dennis and The Landlord's Black-Eyed Daughter is a "paranormal history-mystery-romance." But it costs more than $6.95, so please request it at your library.

Okay...it's summertime and I'm in a really good mood, so let's have some fun, eh?

Here are some fun facts that you might (or might not) be able to use in your
writing:

1]  A duck's quack doesn't echo, and no one knows why.

2]  A whale's penis is called a dork.

3]  An ostrich's eye is bigger than its brain.

4]  A rat can survive longer without water than a camel.

5]  A "jiffy" is a unit of time representing 1/100th of a second.

6]  Both Hitler and Napoleon were missing one testicle.

7]  George Washington grew marijuana in his garden.

8]  Daniel Boone detested coonskin caps. (My guess is that Fess Parker didn't!)

9]  In the 40s the Bich pen was changed to Bic for fear that Americans would pronounce it "Bitch."

10]  A barnacle has the largest penis of any other animal in the world in relation to its size.

11]  It is illegal to be a prostitute in Siena, Italy, if your name is Mary. (Take that all you authors who have set your books in Siena and named your protagonist Mary!)

12]  Dr. Seuss and Kurt Vonnegut went to college together. They were in the same fraternity, where Seuss decorated the frat house with drawings of his characters.

13]  On April 15, 1912, the SS Titanic sank on her maiden voyage and over 1,500 people died. . .including, of course, Leonardo DiCaprio :-)  Fourteen years earlier a novel was published by Morgan Robertson. The book described a ship the same size as the Titanic which crashes into an iceberg on its maiden voyage on a misty April night. The name of Robertson's fictional ship was the Titan.

Now. . .who can add a fun fact?

Paperback Riders

Jeff Cohen

First, thanks to everyone who sent (either via comment or email) a note about last week's blog, particularly about my son and his 18th birthday. He was skeptical about all the nice things I said about him, but they were all true. And I'm pretty clear-eyed on such things, actually.

Moving on: as the release date for SOME LIKE IT HOT-BUTTERED gets closer, I'm beginning to learn a little bit about what it means to have a book that is a PBO (paperback original, for you laypeople).

For one thing, it means that a great many more people COULD buy your book if they wanted to: it costs a fraction of the price of a hardcover (in this case, only $6.99). It means that people will be able to carry the thing around much more easily--did you see anyone trying to lug the last Harry Potter book around? I saw some in the Metro in Montreal, where the books are smaller (and there are "adult" versions, so grownups don't have to be embarrassed!), and their arms looked tired!

But, according to all book folk, it also means that most libraries won't order your book.

On the surface, that seems reasonable. Paperback books are going to get worn down after a much smaller number of readings, and they are, after all, much less expensive. So those who come to the public library to avoid having to pay large sums for hardcover books can do so, and probably still afford the mass market paperback (did I mention it's going to be only $6.99?).

Still, the idea bothers me. Are paperback originals in some way less worthy books? Will those who enter the library without a specific title in mind be deprived so many new ones because of a less-than-logical prejudice against non-cloth covers?

Also, since PBOs are so much less expensive than hardcovers, couldn't libraries buy more than one copy, so they wouldn't get worn down as quickly? Or replace worn ones with new copies when necessary? Seems easy enough.

Any librarians out there who can answer this for me? I'm sure there's some strikingly obvious point that I'm missing.

Meanwhile, a special shout-out to my Mom, who is saying good-bye to her original knee and getting a new, stronger, faster one today. Don't look at it as losing a knee, Mom, think of it as gaining the finest in bionic technology. Best of luck. You know we love you.

Copy That

Abby Zidle

Next spring Pocket is going to publish an Irish novel called PACK UP THE MOON, by an author named Anna McPartlin.  This week I had to approve the back cover copy for our edition of the book, copy which posed a particular challenge.  The novel is about a young woman who suffers a loss quite early in the story, and then has to rebuild her life over the course of the book.  However, the tone of the novel is hardly somber--it's funny, wry, sardonic and bawdy (which is why we acquired it).  How do you convey both of these ideas to the casual reader?

I have the luxury of depending on a fleet of skilled copywriters--but because they don't necessarily have the chance to read the whole manuscript, I'm usually the person who knows the story best.  Also, I'm an editor, and asking an editor not to mess with someone else's prose is like asking a two-pack-a-day smoker to please hold your lit cigarette for the next hour.  Our first round of copy was too depressing: it was frank about what happens to the heroine, and just said "grief novel" too strongly.  I worried that a reader deciding whether or not to take the book home would think, "Ugh, death book" and put it back on the shelf.

So back it went for a rewrite.  The second draft removed explicit reference to the death in the story, instead just referring to an unnamed tragedy.  It also concentrated on the strength of the bonds between the heroine and her friends, and talked directly about the author's tone.  The new copy will hopefully make prospective readers think, "Ooh, snarky relationship book" and not "what a downer."

Having arrived at copy I was happy with, I then had to hope the author would agree with me.  (This isn't always the case, alas.)  I was nervous, because this was actually the first time I'd spoken (well, e-mailed) with the author--someone else did the original deal, and I'd been dealing with the foreign agent who sold us the book.  Would she hate the copy?  Would she be insulted or think we'd "dumbed down" her book by sidestepping its more serious content?  Would our American sensibility work with an Irish author?

Fortunately, she loved it--in fact, she said she preferred it to the copy on the Irish edition, and she wrote that!  Now we just have to see if I guessed right about what all those American browsers are looking for in the 2.8 seconds I have their attention!

Our favorite quotes...

Note:  This little quoteathon was put together by my husband & partner, Jamie Agnew.  Enjoy!  My personal favorite quote is:  "Some say life is the thing, but I prefer reading." - Ruth Rendell

When we first opened our store we thought it was necessary to make people aware of our name and who we were, so we advertised every month in a local publication. Since we didn’t have too many events to publicize back then, I’d stick in a quote about murder and mystery in the little ad, and, since I’m an inveterate quote recorder, there was no shortage of material. The ads actually built up a small following, but with more signings and less money spent on advertising, the quotes became quickly expendable.

I read inchoately, I read emotionally. I read for story, I read for milieu. I read because reading crime novels gave me both a tidy sense of resolution and a sense that the ramifications of violent events would go on forever.

– James Ellroy

Truth will come to light, murder cannot be hid long.

– William Shakespeare

What do most major writers have in common? A fascination with crime.

– Joyce Carol Oates

I find homicides quite stimulating.

– Ellery Queen

"That’s why mystery writers are, on the whole, such mild-mannered individuals," Peggy said smiling. "They don’t have to take an axe to the people they hate, they kill them with a pen. Or a word processor."

– Barbara Michaels

Murder was for the newspapers! For the dry, old court records, for history, for anything but not for her!

How could anybody to whom you’d given six ties (and hung over the counter for a long time choosing the designs) be a murderer.

– Mignon G. Eberhart

Steering her Toyota through the crowded local roads, puffing on a cigarette and listening to the radio, she could not have known that just three days before, her son had murdered a young prostitute in the backseat of the car she was now driving.

– Lisa Beth Pulitzer and Joan Swirsky

They really shouldn’t have stopped. After all they had a body in the trunk!

– Fred Rosen

When Patrolman Safina rushed up the back stairs at the station house to report to the Ninth Detective Squad that a dead body had been found in the trunk of a rented car, the immediate reaction was largely annoyance. "Another one?" somebody said.

– Dick Schaap

Again and again, Christa lifted the rock and slammed it into Colleen’s skull until the asphalt split the hard bone into two pieces. "Stop Christa! That’s enough!" Tadaryl called.

"No, I want to see brains."

– Patricia Springer

Each ant emerged from the skull bearing an infinitesimal portion of brain.

– Donald Westlake

"You’ve never really hurt anybody before yesterday, have you?" asked Deputy Thompson.

"Oh, yeah," Cindy replied casually. "I’ve hurt lots of people. I’ve stabbed people, I’ve shot people. I’ve tried to run people down, I’ve beaten people..."

"Ever kill anybody before?"

"No, and I’ve tried so many times."

– Joan Merriam

Well, I could go on, but I think that’s more than enough for the moment. So what are your favorite murder and mystery related quotes?

The other day as I was cleaning out my desk I found a few index cards with quotes on them and figured they deserved to be resurrected:

What to look for

PJ Nunn

Some days, when I read the posts of my fellow bloggers, I can't help but say "what the heck am I doing here??" They're good, aren't they?

Shaz, I've often wondered myself about the honesty (or lack of same) of so many reviews. It's something that more and more clients are asking us to help them get, as print space for books becomes more scarce, yet I have to question how much the average review is worth these days. There are those markets that only post nice reviews, and those that seem bent on finding something to criticize, but not as many as I'd like to see that actually ring true.

Lynne, I have to concur about the cover art thing. I wish it weren't so but I think it is. I certainly see it on the promotion end and I'm sure it affects the interest level of browsing shoppers. Try it if you haven't. Find a local bookstore and just let your eyes wander the shelves. If the author's name on the cover is big enough, and someone I know I like, it might be enough to overcome a bad cover, but all too often if I don't recognize the author's name, it's a catchy cover that draws my attention to actually pick up the book and explore it further.

Probably those things belong in "comments" but here they are just the same.

One of the things I'm most often asked is some variation of, "How do you suggest promoting my book?" It's not an easy question to answer, partly because it can mean many things to different people. Some books or series come with a good hook, like Harry Hunsicker's Lee Henry "Hank" Oswald. When Still River came out three years ago, the link between the Dallas PI's name and the notorious Lee Harvey Oswald was an instant attention getter for media, but stores weren't as easily interested in this first novel from an "unknown" author. Store interest increased almost immediately upon release, and continued to grow with the release the following year of The Next Time You Die. We were fielding requests for events for Harry early in the year for the August 2007 release of Crosshairs. Momentum builds.

But while store interest grew by leaps and bounds, the hook we used to snag media for Still River was old news for Crosshairs and we had to find new interest. That's all the more challenging when you understand that what works for one, doesn't ever work for all.

So how do you find the best way to promote a book?

Technically, there are as many answers to that question as there are books. But there are certain things that I usually look for that help me find the best pitches:

• anything in the storyline that mirrors current events and news items, such as the El Salvadore link in David Corbett's Blood of Paradise.
• a character with a background or traits that are pertinent in today's society, such as Julia Spencer-Fleming's Clare Fergusson - a female Episcopal priest - in the year the Episcopal church first ordained female priests.
• any type of medical link, such as the son's AS in Jeff Cohen's Aaron Tucker series or Dr. Allen Wyler's Deadly Errors or Dead Head.
• niche markets of just about any kind - think Jane Cleland or JB Stanley's antiques, Hailey Lind's art, Leann Sweeney's adoption PI, Elaine Viets dead end jobs - the list could go on and on...
• location - this could be anywhere, but unusual is sometimes better. Deborah Turrell Atkinson makes Hawaii seem very real, even to readers who haven't been there and look what Les Roberts did for Cleveland.
• the protagonist's profession can be a strong factor in promotion if it's written well. Nevada Barr has built a series utilizing the park ranger position, but also locale (a different one in each novel) and newsworthy topics.
• pets. I know it seems unlikely, but there's a very large market interested in pets, especially specific breeds.

The list could go on, but I think those cover the primary factors. And even though good writing isn't on the list, it is important. It's just not enough on its own to intrigue most hosts and producers. So write well, by all means, but tune in to the things that attract the right kind of attention as you write. You'll be glad you did, when launch time arrives.

Till next time.

He (or she) who sits on fence does themself nasty mischief

Sharon Wheeler

Anyone who's watched sport on TV with me will testify that there's one thing guaranteed to wind me up. OK, so Britain not doing very well is a bit of a bummer, but what plagues me more are the former sports stars masquerading as journalists.

And the blighters are all over our screens like a rash. One minute they're winning medals, the next they're interviewing their old team-mates. And guess what, it's all as safe and fluffy-bunny as your favourite candle-making cosy. I mean, who's going to ask a tough question of someone they know well, and competed alongside until recently?

I detect this little delight on the crime fiction scene as well where a number of reviewers are also authors. I was reading a hideously bland review in the UK press last week, written by a fairly well-known author. I'm pretty certain she didn't like the book she was reviewing, but there was no way she was going to break ranks and say so. After all, she might meet the author at a convention – or that author might review her next book.

Now, I know very well that some writers are also journalists, but there's a point at which authors should admit conflict of interest and retire gracefully from the reviewing scene – unless of course they happen to be a recluse à la JD Salinger, or their area of expertise is rock climbing or the ancient Etruscans! Most of the writers I've come across go to conventions or meet other authors at signings – so I can't see how they can ever be honest when they write reviews if, at the back of their mind, there's always the thought that they might be on a panel at some stage with the person whose book they've just criticised.

One of the first things you're taught on a journalism training course is impartiality. You're advised not to join organisations or to do anything that can lay you open to accusations of favouring one person over another. And you declare an interest if there's any doubt. So that's why I won't review Jeff Cohen's books now, because I count him as a friend.

And that's why I object to writers reviewing books by other writers. I don't care how much they try to convince me that they're impartial . . . I always detect a strong element of fence-sitting in the reviews.

And there's also the issue of non-journalists taking work away from journalists. I Googled the writer who sparked this rant off, and she's not a journalist. Neither are several others whose work appears in the newspapers. OK, so we're not talking brain surgery, but I don't muscle into a garage and start dismantling a car engine.

When I worked as a sports reporter, we had a description for these sorts of people – we referred to them as greengrocers and taxi drivers, because that's often what they were. They were amateurs, and were also willing to work for nothing to cover sport for (usually) local radio – and in some cases did it at their own expense, when the radio station wouldn't pay travelling expenses. And because they were fans of the club they were covering, their impartiality tended to leave a lot to be desired.

I remember being lost for words (well, it does happen now and then!) watching athletics coverage on the BBC some years back. The Beeb had employed Sally Gunnell as a reporter. Now, she may have been a damn good runner, winning Olympic gold, but as a so-called 'reporter' she was nothing more than a huge embarrassment.

She interviewed Kelly Holmes (who subsequently won double Olympic gold) after a race where Holmes had been beaten into second or third and had then accused the athlete who finished ahead of her of drug-taking. Gunnell giggled inanely, made a bland comment, and singularly failed to follow up a story that was back page material. When the BBC finally came to their senses and dispensed with her services, she whined about how they'd hung her out to dry by not training her. Erm, hang on, how many people take jobs they're not qualified for? Maybe I can phone the hospital in the morning and start work as a brain surgeon next Monday . . .

A well-trained journalist will know how to interview, will be familiar with media law so they don't libel someone in reviews (and yes, it can and does happen) and will know how to write appropriately for their market. And I know there are some damn good reviewers out there who aren't professional hacks (go and look at RTE, for a start). The reviewing equivalent of the greengrocers and taxi drivers (not on RTE, thank heavens) prove they can copy off the dustcover and then stick recommended/not recommended at the end and call it reviewing. Thankfully most of these aren't being paid, as far as I can tell.

But I'm bolshie enough to think that if you're being paid to write reviews, then you should be a proper journalist and not someone with an undeclared interest who's always got it in the back of their mind that they might offend a fellow writer by being honest. Otherwise, that's plain dishonest.

This week's unfortunate truth

I have a feeling that this posting is going to leave me a tad unpopular with some of my fellow bloggers and quite a few of our loyal followers.

Not because I’m in a controversial mood. This is about unfortunate truths, of which, I’ve discovered, the book trade has more than its share. Like, large chains can squeeze small publishers for such crippling discounts that it’s hardly worth sending a book to the printer.

But I’m done with working out the figures for the moment; they never add up anyway. It’s another unfortunate truth which is exercising my mind at the moment.

A question: what’s the most important part of a book?

Do I hear the deep life issues it explores?

Or, the lesson it teaches, subtley and entertainingly, through the age-old medium of storytelling?

Or, the opportunity it offers the reader to stretch his/her horizons and give the grey matter a workout?

Nope, nope, and nope.

Sorry, folks. It’s the cover.

I’m not just saying this because I’m up to my elbows in blurbs and jacket images at the moment - though I admit that’s what turned my thoughts in this direction. Put simply, it’s the cover that sells the book. And without the sell (I use sell in the widest sense, to include persuading library users to take this one instead of that) no one gets to find out about the deep life issues or the lesson or the horizon-stretching.

I actually don’t enjoy this cold truth any more than the people without whom there would be no book to design a cover for, but over the past few years I’ve come to accept that it’s… well, true.

Fact: booksellers have to decide what to order months in advance. Mostly finished copies aren’t yet available when those decisions are made. So give or take the odd personal favourite and a few hundred copies of the latest blockbuster, they choose from websites, catalogues or information sheets. And booksellers are busy people. The cover design which draws the eye has a better chance of getting on to the shelf.

Fact: chain bookshops and - heaven help us! - supermarkets choose their display titles using dummy covers and information sheets, whether or not there are copies available.

Fact: if it ain’t on the shelf, it ain’t going to sell. Remember that statistic about eighty percent of people who go into a bookshop knowing they’ll come out with a book, but with no idea which book?

Final fact: those eighty percent are going to pick up a dozen books before they subside on to the sofa to sample one or two; the cover design and blurb are they only criteria they have till they open one.

So this week I’m obsessing just a… lot. Do I go for snappy and memorable or meaty and informative in the blurbs? Eyecatching or representative for the images? Ideally both in each case, of course.

Once I realised how important the cover was, I began to watch people browsing in bookshops. I even catch myself at it: homing in on a spine that looks different from the rest (why do you think ours are scarlet?), skimming the blurb before turning over to look at the image on the front.

Am I wrong? Believe me, I really wish I was. I wish there was world enough and time to read whole chapters of twenty books before opting for the one the household budget allows. But there isn’t.

So let’s hear it for a great cover.

T is for Tightie Whities

Deni Dietz

QUIBBLES & BITS

It may be me, and probably is, but sometimes I find that a series gets stale, if not downright moldy. On the other hand, maybe it's like driving into a town you've never visited before. You're hungry enough to eat a horse (or one of the cows that dot the side of the road). On the main street -- usually called MAIN ST. -- there's a diner called DI E (with the N and R missing from the sign) and a Village Inn or Denny's (or Tim Horton's). Avoiding DIE, you decide to eat at the Village Inn because, although the food is somewhat bland, you know exactly what to expect.

I'm not saying that series books are bland. I'm just saying that by the time I get to Book # 6, 7, 8, 13, 15, I kinda know what to expect.

Is that good?

Most (if not all) of you don't know this, but I've been writing a "secret series" since the 1980s, using a pseudonym. The books are not on my website and I've bribed Jeff Bezos to keep them off Amazon.

A few close friends and relatives know about my secret series, but they've been warned to keep quiet. They are well aware that, If they say one word, I'll email my hitman, whom I keep on retainer.

My sleuth's name is Plethora.

Things I like about Plethora: Her turgescent ego and florid complexion. Her fluctuating weight. Her superciliousness. And her hot love scenes with Detective Engorgement, although I do wish she'd choose between him and her other boyfriend, Forester. Also, Grandma Matzoball is a hoot.

However, I don't like the fact that Plethora started out in my first book (A is for Abundant) at age 25...and she's still 25 years old in book twenty (T is for Tightie Whities). Also, she doesn't own a cell phone.

I have 6 more books to write (in that series) but I'm afraid it's getting stale - if not downright moldy.

Compare the Plethora series to my diet club mysteries, starring diet club leader Ellie Bernstein and Homicide Detective Peter Miller. I always planned to write 4, and only 4, using 4 lines from a quote by the late, great Gilda Radner: "Eating is self-punishment; punish the food instead. Strangle a loaf of Italian Bread. Throw Darts at a Cheesecake. Chain a Lamb Chop to the Bed. Beat Up a Cookie."

I've been asked, more than once, if I would write more than 4. The answer is no. Not unless I was offerred a lot of money, and/or an all-expense-paid trip to the Caribbean (or NYC).

GOOD BIT: The good news I hinted about a couple of weeks ago is that John Betancourt (Wildside) will be publishing my backlist and I'll be launching THROW DARTS AT A CHEESECAKE at Left Cost Crime/Denver.

Which means no one can say: "I'd love to read CHAIN A LAMB CHOP TO THE BED, Deni, but I prefer to start a series at the beginning and your first two books (Throw Darts at a Cheesecake and Beat Up a Cookie) sold out and are virtually impossible to find." Or something like that.

Question of the Week: Do you find after umpteen or more books, a series starts to get stale?

You Only Fail To Impress The One You Love

Jeff Cohen

The other night (meaning not this night, but that other one), I was performing a little tweaking on the revamp (by the inestimable Sue Trowbridge) of my web site, www.jeffcohenbooks.com(drop on by), when my wife happened to walk by the computer. She took a glance at the screen, and snorted a bit in amusement.

"Frequently asked questions?" she said.

"Yeah," I answered, only somewhat defensively. "People do read my books, you know, and some of them ask questions."

"Frequently?"

I changed the subject to the lovely job Sue had done on the site, and on that, at least, we were able to agree. Ms. T. is truly an artist.

My wife is constantly surprised that people read my books, and that some of them get in touch with me (almost always via email). She thinks it's absolutely astounding that this occurs on a semi-regular basis, and that people would take time out of their busy days to ask questions about fictional characters, particularly those dreamed up by her husband, whom she sees on a regular basis sitting behind a blank computer screen looking as baffled as a gopher trying to do advanced calculus.

It's hard to impress someone who has lived with you for 20 years. They know all your stories (the true ones, and the ones you enhance a bit. They were there for a good number of them. They've heard you tell others about your exploits, they know your tricks, they see you at work and play, and they know, better than anyone, your shortcomings.

The idea that strangers could consider you (even on a very limited basis) a special person is just hilarious to your spouse. To someone who sees you in your underwear on a regular schedule, the idea that there's something extraordinary about you that could be communicated to others is a leap that's hard to make.

But find me a writer who's not trying to impress someone close to them, and I'll show you a baldfaced liar.

They say every actor, every rock musician, every television personality, every movie director started in their business for the same reason: to impress people of the opposite (or in some cases, same) sex. And no matter how long we stay in such pursuits, the goal remains the same. I write books because someday, I'm going to hand one over to that woman I've been living with since 1986, and she's going to say something other than, "it's cute. I like it."

Until then, I'll just have to keep trying.

On a more personal note (if such a thing is possible): Today is the 18th birthday of an extraordinary human being. My son Joshua made his debut in this world on August 6, 1989, and has grown into a young man who has absolutely exceeded every expectation we could have had for him.

As many of you know, Josh was diagnosed at age 6 with Asperger's Syndrome, a high-functioning form of autism, and his... I won't say "struggle"... his diligent work to overcome some aspects of his disorder and his refusal to consider other parts a disorder at all have been a deep and wonderful inspiration to those of us who know him well. He doesn't despair over what life has handed him; he either accepts it or changes it.

He'll enter his senior year in high school in a few weeks, and fully intends to go away to college this time next year. Josh thinks he wants to study filmmaking (shades of his old man), but wants to leave his options open right now until he's sure. In the meantime, he has done well academically, and with a lot of loving help and a huge amount of effort, he has done very well with social situations.

Josh is a real mensch, a gentleman and a person of remarkably good intentions. He doesn't have a mean bone in his body, and he honestly tries to treat everyone with as much respect as he himself deserves. And that's a lot.

This past February, he passed his test and received his driver's license. This Wednesday, he will begin an internship at a very prestigious television production company in Manhattan.

But his greatest accomplishment is that he is Josh. That's quite a bit to achieve in only 18 years.

Happy birthday, Joshua.

Agent Break-ups

Abby Zidle

First, thanks to everyone who participated in the personals contest from two weeks ago.  Congratulations to NYCed for getting all five sleuths and authors correct--NYCed, e-mail me at azidle (at) hotmail (dot) com and tell me where you'd like me to send your prize!  And my thanks to Deni for taking a crack at an ad herself:

New York sports agent with floundering love life seeks tenderhearted, wisecracking woman who will share his love for danger and the Knicks. Must drink Yoo Hoo.

Harlan Coben's Myron Bolitar, yes?  Deni, I'll send you a little somethin' if you tell me where to mail it.

I was reading another blog this week, one written by a bestselling author, in which she discussed the fact that she and her agent had parted company.  Her agent no longer shared the same vision for this author's career, and suggested that the author needed to find an agent more connected to her new goals.

I thought it was worth mentioning, because so many writers' sites, advice books, etc. are all about how to get an agent in the first place--and it's a challenge, I know.  But once you get the agent, don't you get to stop worrying about it?  As the example above illustrates, no.

Certainly, there are many author-agent relationships that outlast most marriages, and if both sides are finding success repeatedly, why change?  But people do change, and as in marriage, sometimes the person you started out with isn't exactly the person sitting next to you now. As an author, how do you know when it's time for a change?  And if you're the one who didn't see it coming, what do you do now?

It all comes down to why you need an agent in the first place. Your agent is (or should be) your advocate--her job is to sell your books, but also to make sure your rights are being protected, your voice is being heard by the publisher, and to help guide you through a career. When an agent offers to represent you, it's because she thinks she can sell your manuscript, of course, but she also needs to think she can stand you for the next several years (or at least books). She likes your work, likes your personality, and presumably discussed her working methods and her vision for your career development before you signed on the dotted line.

When agents drop authors, certainly one reason is that, despite their best efforts, they couldn't sell the books. It happens--the reading public is a fickle master, and taste is always subjective. But why would an agent drop an NYT bestseller? Well, suppose you began as a writer of cozies, and your agent represented those books excellently. But after you've written two or five or twenty-seven of them, you become interested in something new. Maybe it's the e-book world, and you want to write an epic saga serialized electronically in 487 chapters; maybe the research you did for one book opened up a new world of nonfiction to you; maybe you want to start writing true crime.  But your agent's expertise may not lie in those areas, or he may not be convinced that becoming the electronic Dickens is the best decision for you.  If you're bound and determined to see your dream project through, it's best that your agent allow you to find the best representation for it, rather than having you constantly met with "I don't get it, but we'll try."  The agent who steps aside in this case is being extremely ethical, I feel--and you, in turn, can graciously say, "It's not you, it's me."

Keeping Company with Mysterious Characters

I was waiting for my sister in a doctor's office the other day reading an Elaine Viets book (Murder with Reservations - very funny), and got to thinking that waiting rooms (and cars, waiting for children to dance/play guitar/etc.) are part of the reason readers love mysteries so much.  They're friends that go everywhere with you and never let you down or disappoint you.  They always do the right thing, and have something snappy to say while they're doing it.

There are, of course, other reasons to read a mystery, but I'm talking about the times when you're stressed or waiting or laid up & not concentrating, so a visit with Helen Hawthorne or Goldy Bear or Sky Dennison or Meg Lanslow is just the thing.  When customers are getting a divorce practically the first thing they do is come in and replenish the shelves - they're extra furious the ex has taken off with all the Harry Bosch books, and they have to be replaced.

At a panel at Bouchercon I heard a group of writers bewailing the fact that booksellers sometimes sold their books as "airport reads" - they should be flattered!  It means they are so good at narrative and creating a character who seems to practically live and breathe that spending a few hours in their company is a welcome distraction.  I know dear friends I couldn't say that about! 

I listed some of my favorites above & below - Goldy Bear has gotten me through many a stressful situation - and I would love to hear the stress reliever lists of other readers.  I think guys probably have a different list - Jack Reacher, anyone?  But it's the same idea.

And a favorite anecdote that points up the fact that mystery readers are just plain passionate.  Last summer I had a very nice (and kind of cool) man come in and we got to talking.  It turned out he was a New Orleans musician who had lived through Katrina and had made it through to live in a FEMA trailer in his front yard but guess what he missed the most?  That's right, his books.  Then he said that he didn't really read mysteries, but after a moment's thought he asked, "Wait a minute - is Raymond Chandler a mystery writer?"  This poor resident of New Orleans had never even read the sublime James Lee Burke - so you can imagine what he went home with that day.  I'm always happy to provide education for the public!  Look forward to other people's reading lists - my son has a guitar lesson coming up & I need something for the car!

My List of Distracting Reads

CHOPPING SPREE, Diane Mott Davidson

MURDER OF A BARBIE AND KEN, Denise Swanson

JUST MURDERED, Elaine Viets

MURDER WITH PEACOCKS, Donna Andrews

THE LISTENING EYE, Patricia Wentworth

THE ABC MURDERS, Agatha Christie

SOME BURIED CAESAR, Rex Stout

DEATH OF A PEER, Ngaio Marsh

ANYTHING by Michael Palmer (all the same & all completely distracting!  I gave one to my dad and he said "This is great - two people dead in the first chapter! "  My dad likes for things to move right along).

The week that was

PJ Nunn

...but was WHAT? I know there was a week preceding this day, but I can't in all honesty, tell you where it went. What I know is that once it was July and now it's August and here I am. A whole new set of releases to promote. And a whole new month for which to ponder the possibilities.

I do know I've spent more time at the local gym than I've done in years, in an effort to satisfy my doctor, lower my blood pressure, and replace the semi-effective but oh-so-monotonous 50 daily laps of the pool that I won't force myself to do as temps decline starting next month. If any of you have insightful suggestions for making the also-monotonous time on a treadmill and/or stationary bike seem more worthwhile, I'd love to hear it. I've found that watching those around me who are almost without exception younger, thinner, firmer and generally enjoying their gym experiences more than I is not my favorite pastime. Nor is watching soap operas with closed captioning on the ceiling mounted televisions and I don't own or really care to own an ipod. Reading in those circumstances causes motion sickness. Bleck.

So mostly my time consists of watching the countdown on the dashboard of whatever equipment I'm on at the time and having brilliant (at least by comparison) ideas about promoting  my clients' work that I generally forget before I'm at a place where I can write them down. I do try to resist the urge to think of all the things I'd rather be doing, and try to think of something positive about the effort involved. Probably I'll get better at it later. Right now it's just another thing to write in my Daytimer.

On the other hand I'm delighted that the new month brings the release of several new books, including Donna Anderson's The Penguin Who Knew Too Much.  It's fun to get her some extra media attention for this one! Penguins are my favorites.

I'm also delighted that St. Martin's has picked up Chris Grabenstein's Ceepak series (the next one comes out next April) and even more thrilled that we'll be helping him promote that as well as Hell for the Holidays, the second Christopher Miller outing, and a fine followup to Slay Ride.

Another thing that's demanding increasing amounts of time, is the 2008 calendar for Criminal Pursuits workshops, as well as final preparations for CP Tulsa coming up September 14 - 15, 2007. In fact, we had dinner with Mike and Shelly Witzgall again last night. If he weren't a peace officer and heavily armed, it would worry me more that eavesdroppers might become concerned at our frequent discussions that include talk of alibis, which weapon works better in what situation, who we should kill and who'll be the bad guy this time. I'm sure you can see how that could be problematic. But it sure is fun! If you're anywhere near and haven't yet registered for Tulsa, do so. It's going to be a great time. Without giving too much away, part of Mike's teachings this time will involve witness interview techniques and the nuances of knife wounds.

But we've also got the following dates/locations in the works:

Lafayette LA February 15 - 16, 2008
Little Rock AR April 25 - 26, 2008
CP Lubbock August 15 – 16, 2008
CP San Antonio October 24 – 25, 2008

There's a possibility we might have to swap locations, so keep up with our Criminal Pursuits website for exact details. There'll be a different crime scene with a different type of crime at each one, and at Hardboiled Heroes and Cozy Cats in Dallas June 2008. We'll also be updating that website shortly, and will include a column where Mike answers your questions about law enforcement issues. I'll keep you posted.

Meanwhile, I'd better get back to work. Tours to plan, press kits to mail, people to call...you know how it goes!

Till next time.

Woe, oh woe...

(Gordon Aalborg … standing in for Sharon Wheeler, waterlogged over there across the pond.)

My muse hath abandoned me. Alas, alack and woe is me.

‘Tis true. I fear the fickle creature has buggered off back to Tasmania. Or maybe never left. I’m actually beginning to wonder if I’ve been here in Canadathese last few years, bereft of her talents and unaware of my loss. Perchance she is seeking my soul, which I’m more than half certain is still there in Tassie, wandering in the wilderness like a wayward wombat.

This time I think I know the reason said muse has got her knickers in a twist, and I must admit that it makes me fair-dinkum cranky too. An acquisitions editor for a leading Australian publisher passed on a submission because (paraphrasing, here) Australian reviewers prefer books by Australian authors who are convenient to contact for interviews, photo ops, etc.

Nothing about the good/bad/indifferent qualities of the book, a blithe ignoring of the fact that I am an Australian author, nothing about the fact the book is set in Australia. Simply the issue that I am in Canada and—by implication—Australian reviewers are too lazy or too ignorant of things like email and telephones to be able to conduct an interview with me even should they have actually liked my book, had it been published in the first place and sent out for review in the second place.

Interesting concept of priorities, though it makes sense. Why publish a book if the reviewers can’t be bothered with it because interviewing the author might be a problem? Where I live, mind you, the “local” paper has plenty of reviews cribbed from the larger papers in the chain—papers in places where “name” authors do visit.

Then, just to rub salt in the wounds, the “book editor” of my local paper did a piece recently in which she said she saw her responsibility as providing reviews of books which—in her opinion, obviously—the largest number of her readers would be interested. Translation: the most popular authors, which bodes little good for the up-and-coming ones. The ones who probably need reviews the most!

{And reviews are important. Deni has a starred review coming up in “Booklist” for her (as Mary Ellen Dennis) THE LANDLORD’S BLACK-EYED DAUGHTER, and I haven’t seen her so excited since I proposed.}

In my own case… well, I guess it could have been worse. I’m actually surprised the perceived problem wasn’t the Tasmanian setting and the possibility this editor was unsure if Tassie is actually part of Australia. I wondered about that myself occasionally when I lived there. J 

I realize also—just by the way—that I shouldn’t be whingeing about this in the first place. I know this because Roberta Islieb says so in her recent guest-blog on www.writersplot.typepad.com Roberta calls it whining because she is (I assume) an American and doesn’t therefore recognize that whingeing is a much … nicer … word for the phenomenon and sounds better in the bargain. Indeed, one can “have a whinge” without actually whining. Unless one is a Pom, whereupon the words become identical. Anyway, Roberta suggests that by any designation it’s wasted effort and we should concentrate on those things we can control. Which (despite the fact that you’re right, of course) isn’t a helluva lot, darling girl!

An author’s bloody lucky if he/she can control anything at all, up to and including—and especially—his/her imagination. We don’t, after all, concern ourselves with facts and reality and all that bottom-line stuff. We just tell stories, deal in fiction, fantasy, dreams, the very fabric of souls. Stuff that’s really important. Small wonder we are oft misunderstood and even more often rejected.

And we get pissed upon from great heights—a lot! Which is why some of us drink and some of us get depressed when we are not amused with our muses.

Which brings me back to Chris Roerdon’s DON’T MURDER YOUR MYSTERY, just as I promised on an earlier occasion when I was press-ganged into this designated blogger role. We have issues, Chris and I, about transitions and about ellipses, but neither issue is egregious enough to argue about, so we shan’t. My real issue with the (otherwise excellent and I’ve said so before and say so again) book is Chris’ choice to begin with the sad, bad news that most people charged with evaluating our books for publication are really, truly, assiduously, looking for any damned excuse they can find to REJECT us.

Which is true, of course. And Chris has chosen to begin her opus with that fact and then reveal in vivid, coherent detail the hows and whys and wherefores of beating the bastards at their own game. She does it well and makes many and diverse excellent points and suggestions and recommendations. Truly.

But to start with the bad news? To tell us we’re near-as-dammit doomed before we’re even weaned? Fair go, Chris! I cannot fault that choice as it applies to readers who are aspiring authors, or even those in the wondrousness of a fledgling career, but for an old stager like me it was just too depressing for words! Those of us who’ve survived our battles—won or lost—in the “business” of being published authors KNOW the bad news—we didn’t need reminding right from the start that writers are mere “produce providers” on our best days ever.

I was so depressed by the time I got through Part 1 that I had to take the rest of the book in small doses like cough syrup, or cauliflower or Brussels sprouts. And even when I’d finished, and picked up a lot of doubtless important things I’d forgotten and some I never knew, there was still a disturbing after-taste of depression.

Probably just me; I’m prone to depression sometimes. I have to believe Chris because of course she is right. I’ve heard the exact same comments about those who “evaluate” film scripts. They, too, are said to search for any reason to reject, to avoid making a decision they might one day have to defend, champion, actually believe in. And (horror of horrors) perhaps be wrong about. And I believe those comments, too.

I believe them in my head, but not in my soul. I cannot—dare not—believe them in my soul. Which means that I believe them but I don’t Believe them. Because if I did, my muse really would abandon me and my soul would shrivel and my dreams would die and I would too.

Deni (my esteemed mystery author wife Denise Dietz) genuinely believes and often states that if you drop a dream, it shatters. I believe that if you abandon your dream, it dies horribly, and slowly, of starvation and neglect and loneliness. And so do you.

I’m too young to die.

I'm just a gal who cain't say no...

Wasn’t it eighteen publishers who allowed Jane Austen to fall through their fingers? And twenty-something for Frederick Forsyth? And I forget how many hundred for the Blessed Harry Potter.

Fact: some publishers miss potential bestsellers.

(In my case, chance would be a fine thing. It’s one of the industry’s unfortunate clichés that bestsellerdom is more often created by high-profile marketing campaigns than a happy accident based on that elusive quality which makes readers sit up and take notice - in other words, throw money at it and it’s more likely to succeed than not. And yes, I do know Bloomsbury spent a grand total of £300 marketing Harry P 7, but they'd be first to say that's the exception to the rule.)

The likes of Crème de la Crime can only cross our fingers and wait for the happy accident; so when I’m selecting new authors to publish, the only criterion I have is my own everywoman status: if I love their work to bits, there’s a chance other people may too.

But unlike most publishers I’ve encountered, my background is from the other side of the fence; I started out as a writer, and the traditional dozen unpublished novels are still stacked up in my attic. So I know how it feels when the package thumps down on the mat, and the only evidence it’s been opened is a coffee stain on the title page and a standard rejection slip.

It feels as if someone has punched a large hole in your abdomen - and it’s not a sensation I would wish on my worst enemy. Which aspiring writers are not. Mostly they’re just perfectly nice people chasing the same dream I had. (Which is actually why I founded Crème de la Crime in the first place, but that’s a whole different blog posting.)

So at this time of year, when I’m scheduling six, seven, maybe even eight titles for next year’s list, that feeling comes back to haunt me. Secondhand it doesn’t make me stamp around the house for three hours, or find a cushion to punch; but it does make me step back from the manuscripts I don’t fall in love with, and ask myself who would love it. I don’t have much of a penchant for dark, gritty, city crime laden with blood and bullets; I’m picky about the periods of history I want to engage with; and humour is such a very personal reaction. But a personal reaction is all I have; given these preferences - OK, prejudices if you insist - am I the right person to make a decision which could shatter someone’s dream as mine was shattered a hundred times?

Until Crème grows a bit, the fact remains I’m the only person around to make that decision. So their fate is in my hands - and as responsibilities go, that one is pretty awesome.

It’s a well-known fact that publishers are either ruthless individuals with a strong commercial sense but no taste, or weak-willed doormats who allow themselves to be overruled by marketing men and accountants. So where does that leave those of us who are editorial, marketing and accounts departments rolled into one?

Looks like I’m just going to have to go for great writing, tight plotting, vivid settings, pace that sweeps the reader along…

Well, we’re still here, about to go into our fourth year, and it seems to have worked so far. You never know, this could be our Harry Potter year.