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

The 10-second Rule

Robin Agnew

I always wonder how long an editor or agent takes before he or she decides "No way, this isn't for us," or "I love it!"  For me it may actually be longer than the 10 second rule of childhood (if it's on the floor no longer than 10 seconds it's safe to consume), but it's close.  Recently after finishing and distributing my monthly newsletter (and writing the accompanying reviews), as well as reading through a few old Ngaio Marshes, I decided it was time to apply the 10 second rule to my own pile of new reading candidates.

I had four choices, and I'll probably read all of them eventually, but it was a question of which one I wanted to read on a cold, blustery, January day.  For me 10 seconds is actually the time it takes to read a page or two, though I may read more pages of a Michael Connelly book than a Val McDermid one (his sentences are much shorter!)

Here were my choices:  Roanoke by Margaret Lawrence.  I absolutely loved Margaret Lawrence's Revolutionary War series, the one beginning with the amazing Hearts and Bones, but sadly those are long gone, and anyway I've read them all.  Happily, she'll have a new book out in June titled Roanoke, set during the later years of Queen Elizabeth I, taking place both in England and the nascent America.  Here's the first sentence:  "The last day of Shrovetide, a damp February in the year 1585, great Elizabeth's twenty-seventh year upon the throne."  That's pretty historical, does a nice job of fixing the time period.  What I like so much about Lawrence shows up a bit later, in her description of the street:  "A delirium of smells - roast goose, Shrove buns, early flowers brought in from the country, cinnamon and cloves in the spice merchants' barrels."  Nice, evocative, even lovely.  Next!

Off our bargain cart, an ARC of Frederic Lindsay's My Life as a Man.  I know nothing about Lindsay except his name, and that he's Scottish.  Here goes:  "The day my wife died, 15 February 2003, turned out to be an exceptional day of winter sunshine."  As first sentences go, that's pretty top drawer.  Hard to pass up, and the next two pages were interesting too.  Next!

Michael Connelly's The Brass Verdict has been winking at me for awhile now, and sales have slowed enough that I can take a copy out of the front window to read.  Connelly's opener is hard to beat:  "Everybody lies.  Cops lie.  Lawyers lie.  Witnesses lie.  The victims lie.  A trial is a contest of lies."  Connelly is a master, no two ways about it.  It's hard if not impossible to put down one of his books - when my children were small I drove them around so they would fall asleep and I could finish The Poet.  Next!

To me Val McDermid is absolutely one of the finest writers alive - she has everything: prose, characters, plots, setting.  She's brilliant.  Here we go, from her latest novel, A Darker Domain:  "The voice is soft, like the darkness that encloses them. 'You ready?'      'As ready as I'll ever be.' "   That's right up there with Connelly. 

I made my choice and am happily reading (almost finished, in fact), and am wondering which one you would choose?  And does an editor or an agent take any longer than that to make up his or her mind?  I'm still wondering.

Those things you never knew

PJ Nunn

Ok, it’s not about mystery today. Someone on Facebook provoked me (or is it tagged? I forget) to do one of those “write 25 things nobody knows about you” or something like that. Possibly it’s too much information, or at the very least an overshare, but I trust you’ll forgive me. Here you go:

 

1.   It really bugs me when businesses choose cutesy names that include misspelled words like Kwik Wash and Sun Your Bunz.

2.   As much as I love winter holidays, when the first breath of spring comes along it reminds me of how I felt as a child when I knew it was time to start counting the days until school was out.

3.   I miss the time when it was not only acceptable, but expected, to put a dollar’s worth of gas in the car and cruise Main Street for hours. I especially hate that my kids never knew such a time.

4.   I love getting a case of a client’s advance review copies in the mail. It’s like a box full of hope for a new beginning.

5.   When I read things (all too often) like wolla when it should be voila or would of when it should be would have it’s usually enough to make me put down the book and not read another word.

6.   When I was in junior high, I won a contest in Tiger Beat Magazine to get a phone call from Davy Jones of the Monkees. I wasn’t home when he called and he never called back. Nearly broke my heart.

7.   When I moved to a small school in the fourth grade, I was promoted to the fifth grade because I was ahead of the class. When I was in high school, I took Jr. English by correspondence so I could graduate a year early, mostly because they wanted to get rid of me. I was a bit of a troublemaker (thus the name Rebel…). Course, I outgrew it. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

8.   I’m reasonably certain that chocolate is the fifth, and best, food group.

9.   I have a Scottish terrier named Arwen who hasn’t yet graduated   from obedience school, and probably never will, but I love her can-do attitude. Did I mention my grandmother was a MacCormick?

10.                Good music can change almost anything. Good includes, but is not limited to, Beatles, Stones, Hall & Oates, Stevie Wonder, Chicago, Three Dog Night, Creedence Clearwater and even Leon Russell some days…yes, I’m a child of the 70s.

11.                Blogging does not come easily to me. I know, you’re shocked.

12.                I love to learn. If I could, I’d stay in school the rest of my life.

13.                I know I shouldn’t but I love fried eggs and bacon with waffles.

14.                I still think that jeans and Reeboks qualify as wardrobe staples.

15.                It galls me that I gave birth to five children with little or no medication, yet a tiny mouse can provoke me to scream like a girl.

16.                The Lord of the Rings Trilogy is my favorite group of movies bar none, and the LOTR Trivial Pursuit my favorite game. Tolkein rocks. And I’m not surprised that he and C.S. Lewis were friends.

17.                The card game of Rook was banned from the dormitories of our university the semester after my then-fiancé (now my hubby) and I conducted multiple tournaments that caused some students gasp to skip classes.

18.                I was also accused that semester of practicing kung fu (I did) in the nude (I did NOT), perpetuating that Rebel nickname.

19.                I have a Master of Arts degree in Psychology and am currently working on a Certificate of Graduate Studies in Criminal Justice. I plan to complete my PhD within the next five years.

20.                When at Bouchercon or any other convention where there are a lot of people, many of whom know my name when I don’t know theirs, you’ll usually find me hiding in the bar (not drinking) or some other relatively secluded place.

21.                I love the music of the Bee Gees although I don’t, and never did, participate in disco.

22.                I used to play on the basketball team and run track. Sometimes I wish I still did. I love to be outside.

23.                I like jigsaw puzzles and buffalos and teapots.

24.                I don’t watch much TV but I still like to watch Home Improvement sometimes. I have absolutely no valid explanation for that.

25.                Watching my children grow into independent, full functioning adults is a wonderful, even exhilarating, experience and I find it hard to believe I had anything to do with it but I’m really glad I got to be a part. They are the best part of me.

26.                Bonus: Capt. Scott Huckabee, formerly of the CCPD, taught me many things while chatting in his office and riding in the squad car, and inspired a love and respect for law enforcement and criminal justice. He was the first to explain to me that BEM stands for booger eating morons. And that it’s hard to hit a target you can’t see. Those little bits of trivia that somehow shaped my life.

 

Till next time,

 

What Am I Missing?

Jeff Cohen

Filling in for Sharon Wheeler

I've always been the kind of person to shy away from whatever the new biggest, enormous craze of the time happens to be. I don't own a copy of "Thriller." I don't watch "American Idol." In the Seventies, I never went to a disco. In the Sixties, I confess, I was a Beatles fan. But hey, they were the Beatles.

Suffice it to say, until this week, I had not seen "The Dark Knight." It just smacked of way too much hype and of all the wrong kind--a superhero movie that was being discussed as a work of great art?

But I teach screenwriting at a college on occasion, and my students were after me: "This is the real deal," one of them said. "It's the best movie of the year. You can't teach screenwriting if you don't want to see this movie."

So okay. What with the new ability to upload movies onto my TiVo box direct from Amazon, and Amazon's willingness to show me The Dark Knight for less than $2, I took a slow work day and sat down to see what all the hype was about.

See, for me, Batman was Adam West. When I was of a very impressionable age, the TV version of Batman debuted, and it was more fun than a barrel of very silly Monkees. Sure, it was stupid--it was intentionally stupid--but that was the point. It was campy. Hell, it was the Sixties--to NOT be campy would have been a crime! But when you're not yet 10 years old, and this paunchy guy shows up on TV with all his neato gizmos and a sidekick who's supposed to be just a few years older than you (but was actually pushing 30 on a good day), who deals with all the villains and the death machines and a weekly cliffhanger, well, that makes an impression.

West's Batman seemed stoned most of the time. He was a vigilante seemingly because he had nothing better to do, and because he liked playing with any gadget he could put the word "bat" in front of. Much like George Reeves (who played Superman roughly a decade earlier), he had a laid-back, almost amused quality on camera, and winked to the camera so often Sarah Palin was probably taking notes.

In one episode, Batman is forced to hold a conversation with Bruce Wayne, and West's performance, awkward and hurried, is hilarious. His voice is exactly the same for both "characters" he's playing. The people listening in (and that was the point of the scene) would never have been able to tell which one was supposed to be speaking.

Now, the idea of a dark version of Batman seemed logical. Times, in case you haven't noticed, have changed since 1967, and the silly version of Batman wouldn't be workable anymore. In these days when comic books are called "Graphic Novels," and become the basis of most movies, way too much respect is being paid to this form, so superhero movies would naturally become art films. It makes sense.

I saw "Batman Begins" a few years ago when my son was going through his most serious Batman phase, and wasn't especially impressed. That movie, though, was liked and not loved by most critics and didn't achieve the kind of heightened status that The Dark Knight managed with the same basic team: Christopher Nolan directing and co-writing with his brother, and Christian Bale as the Caped Crusader.

So I sat down to see why this movie was being considered for a Best Picture nomination, why Heath Ledger's turn as the Joker was better than Jack Nicholson's, and what made this movie the toast of the highbrows this year.

I'm still wondering.

Yeah, this Batman is darker than the others. Yes, it has a sheen of realism on it (although the crazy gadgets and car are still way over the top). Sure, there's a tragic quality to it.

But you know what? It also goes on about a half hour too long, it is approximately 40 percent more pretentious than it needs to be, and the appearances of Michael Caine and Morgan Freeman, the only two actors in the cast with a sense of humor, are much too brief.

Bale, as Batman and Bruce Wayne, at least modulates his voice. He modulates it to the point that when Batman is talking, you can barely hear him, and when Wayne is talking, you're too bored to care. There's so much going on in this movie that it's hard to remember Batman is supposed to be the main character, and about 20 minutes into the film, you understand why his name isn't in the title. He's an extra in his own movie.

Heath Ledger's farewell performance as the Joker is, I'll say now, head and shoulders above Cesar Romero's. (For one thing, Romero insisted they apply the white makeup over his quite-visible mustache.) It's probably more affecting than Nicholson's. But a powerhouse performance that deserves the Oscar he's (almost certainly) going to receive posthumously? I must have missed that part. 

By the time this marathon film is about halfway through, the Joker has stopped being a fearsome sociopathic genius and has become that annoying guy at the party who thinks he's funny and won't shut up. You dread his appearances on the screen because you just don't have the energy to smile and nod at him anymore, and wish he'd just go away.

The movie leaves him hanging by his foot from a building. He's still talking.

Sorry, but while I didn't hate "The Dark Knight," I'm still in the dark (no pun intended) about why it's a great achievement in film. 

Personally, I sort of miss Adam West.

Good times and tight budgets

Lynne Patrick

I read somewhere that one effect of the economic downturn is that publishers are cutting back on long lunches and glitzy launch parties.

 

A tiny, slightly ungenerous part of me thought, lucky them, to be able to cut back on something so easily! We small guys never had a budget for that kind of thing in the first place. Our version of taking an author out to lunch has always been coffee and a sticky bun in a town centre café, and most of our enjoyable-but-not-especially-glitzy launch parties have involved a benevolent bookshop proprietor, a case or two of wine and a few packs of nibbles from the local supermarket.

 

I suppose the entertainment budget is part of the marketing one, and we don’t really have one of those either – at least not in a monetary sense. But, as I say on a regular basis and must have said a dozen times right here on this blog, what we lack in hard cash we make up for with imagination and ingenuity.

 

Tonight we’re running our first murder mystery evening of the year. They’re rapidly becoming one of our greatest assets: it’s not the end of January yet and so far we have seven on the calendar and three more enquiries on the stocks which I’m confident will turn into firm bookings in due course.

 

They cost us very little: travel to the venue, a small royalty for the author of the three scenarios we offer, a few dozen sheets of paper and enough printer ink to create new sets of answer sheets each time. They generate sales of at least twenty books: one way or another, the venue has to guarantee that, or pay us a fee in addition to expenses. And we take a boxful or two of backlist to sell at a knock-down price, and usually get a few takers.

 

The host venue usually provides refreshments – tea and cakes, fruit punch, occasionally wine. and most important of all, people have a really good time working out who offed the theatre handyman (or fitness instructor, or 18^th century entrepreneur). We try to say ‘Crème de la Crime’ as often as possible too, so that they associate our name with the good time when they’re browsing in a bookshop or exploring what’s new on Amazon.

 

You could say that’s where our way intersects with the big guys’: giving people a really good time. But how, exactly, does taking an author out for an expensive restaurant lunch contribute to sales of the book? Or of any book? And are the glitzy launch parties aimed at readers who might go to a bookshop and order a copy – or are they a way of thanking the agents, editors etc etc etc who played a part in getting the book into the shop? (OK, maybe reviewers, and people who might want to buy subsidiary rights; we invite them too, to our far more modest events.) I’ve only been to one launch party which wasn’t for one of our books. Copies of the book were ranged along a table and were certainly for sale, but I didn’t exactly see people rushing to buy.

 

Now I have to come clean and confess that our next launch event will have a higher than usual level of glitz. The organisers of CrimeFest (which is kind of a British Bouchercon, but smaller, and happens in May, not October) have given us an evening slot to celebrate Criminal Tendencies, our charity anthology. It’s our way of saying a big thank-you to the people who made the book possible, and everyone who registers for CrimeFest is invited too.

 

We’ll do our best to ensure a good time – but free-flowing champagne is not our style, and the nibbles will be peanuts rather than caviar canapés.

 

And the book? It will take centre stage. Isn’t that what it’s all about?

Be AFRAID, be very AFRAID

Barbara Poelle

The wickedly talented Grand Central editor Jaime Levine and I were enjoying a recent outing together when I commented it’s been a while since I was sure that both Pennywise and The Other were standing in my closet.

 

I’ve just been needing a good old fashioned scare from a book.

 

So we get into a normal run of the mill discussion on some of the great ones, when she causually mentions, “I have this book coming out soon and…well…I’ll send you a copy and see what you think.” Of course I politely nod and smile and inquire about the plotline. Jaime says, “Well, it basically takes place between the hours of 10 p.m. and dawn in this small town in Wisconsin. There is a helicopter crash and then something starts killing people.”

 

Well, okay, I’m in. But not like, cannonball in. I’m just wading, you know, maybe up-to- my-calves-while-holding-a-tropical-drink in.

 

Jaime sends me the book.

 

Good cover. Nice, ominous colors. Striking imagery without being cartoon-y. Hefty in the hands but not daunting. A delightful mass market paperback with a solid one word title and an author whose name you can really bite into.

 

Afraid. By Jack Kilborn.

 

Okay, sure. Innocently, I pop it in my bag where it is safely nestled between an umbrella and my ereader. Maybe the corner creasing a bit from being nudged by my uber presumptuous stainless steel eco friendly klean kanteen, but otherwise innocuous, it rides quietly home with me on the subway on a brisk winter Friday night.  

 

There is a delicious dinner when I get home (thanks babe) and some chatter. I unload my bag, stacking the contents nearby, flip open my ereader and settle in to read some manuscripts. My husband wanders by my roost on the couch. “What’s this?”

 

“A book Jaime gave me.”

 

“Can I check it out?”

 

“Yup.” (I may have also added, “Ooh, let’s make some popcorn.”)

 

So the Poelles nestle in for a craaaazy Friday night in New York City, the only sound the munching of popcorn and the flipping of pages as he settles in with Afraid. (I’m ereading, my pages don’t make noise.) About seven minutes later, Travis murmurs, “Whoa.” I glance up. Two minutes after that, “Oh, God.” I look up for a full beat. Thirty seconds later, “Oh, no…OH NO.”

 

I flop my ereader into my lap, “What? What’s happening?”

 

“This book, I, uh, it’s really scary.”

 

So I do that face (the same face, incidentally, that I use when his food looks better than mine, or I am cold and my sweater is sooo far away, or I want to watch the Die Hard marathon instead of go to MoMA) and he rolls his eyes and hands over the book.

 

Oh.

 

My.

 

God.

 

People, this is the kind of book where you wish you had arms like Sarasvati, one set of hands to hold the book and the other to cover your eyes while reading. I don’t want to get into too much detail here, (which is hilarious because I spent about 40 minutes outlining the entire book to Holly Root last week and in retrospect I think all she said was “Are you gonna have the soup?”) but let’s just say that, yes, this is a story about a small town in Wisconson from the hours of ten p.m. and dawn. There is a helicopter crash, and apparently something from that crash is systematically killing people. And oh yes, the people are not killed, ohh, what is the word I am looking for here. Can I say kindly? Gently? Hmm, okay, let’s see…sometimes there was silence. Sometimes there was screaming. And I am talking about me, here.

 

The thing about Afraid is that yes, there is violence and gore and of course the word “gratuitous” may be bandied about, but what I like about the violence is that it isn’t mysogonistic. The rage is equally and horrifically distributed between all the sexes; the only difference in the splatter is the blood type. And I gotta tell you, some of these ‘Sconnies do not go down with a whimper and a sigh. (Glossary: ‘Sconnies. What us Minnesota kids affectionately call Wisconsin kids…I have long tried to get my Sconnie friends to call us “’Sotes” but it hasn’t caught on yet) You spend the book vacilating between cheering them on and weeping with fear because you quickly fall in love with this little town and ohmygod she is just trying to hide and stay as quiet as possible as what goes on below surpasses human comprehension please please please stay quiet  and then you turn and look and it is 2 am and your husband is sleeping gently beside you but you’re completely freaked so you poke him awake and then fake that you didn’t because he would be mad but you just don’t want to be alone when you click off the light.

 

So, yeah, uh, it scared me. Last night I was 99% sure that ________ was in my closet.  (oh no, you’ll get no spoilers from me, dear friends, let me just say I am going to super

glue my socks on for, oh, say, the next year or so). This book is not for the faint of heart, so if you are the type of reader who will be setting aside Pride and Prejudice or  The Notebook, thinking “I wonder what that adorable Barbara Poelle was talking about” just remember:

 

You’ve been warned.

 

Afraid will hit the shelves in about two months, so if you are interested in understanding why I still find myself listening for the floor creak that doesn’t quite fit the others or can’t quite look at a pocket swiss army knife the same again, it I promise it won’t kill you to preorder on Amazon.

 

Well, perhaps I shouldn’t make that particular promise.

 

Happy screaming.

 

 

 

 

A Modest Goal

Jeff Cohen

I've decided to write the funniest novel in history.

Now, be advised: Said novel could be years, perhaps decades, away. I don't have the idea for the story yet. Don't know who the main character is, nor what he/she/it will be faced with. But the decision has been made, and no power on Earth can reverse it. Unless I decide not to.

It's just that at some point in life, a writer has to identify the one thing that he/she/it truly wants to accomplish, and aim at that. And while I adore being an almost-totally-obscure writer of "humorous cozies," I've managed that, and feel perhaps I should reach a little higher.

So I've decided against that "Great American Novel" thing, since I really haven't a clue what anybody means by that, and at my age, have given up on being the next great comedy screenwriter. At 51, it seems silly to try to compete with Judd Apatow to see who can get the most dialogue about sex into a movie and still have critics say it "has heart."

Nope, it's the funniest novel in history; that's what I'm shooting for. And it's a lofty task, but I think I'm up to it. After all, the vast majority of novels (the ones that I've read and heard about, anyway--there are gazillions more) are depressing as all get-out. How someone can spend months, sometimes years, writing a story that will inspire suicide in its readers--thus cutting down seriously on the audience for a sequel--is beyond my comprehension, but there you are. I'm going for counter-programming.

Of course, first I have to decide what it's about, and then let the story cook in my head, and write it. Hopefully, my agent will find it both hilarious and marketable, and then find a publisher willing to turn his/her/its back on the trend and say, "Nah, forget horribly depressing! We're going for hilarious!" 

And then I can cash the check and move on to the next thing. 

Oh MAN! I'll have to get ANOTHER idea after I write the funniest novel in history????

Maybe I should rethink this.

Meanwhile, a sincere and heartfelt thanks to all who contributed a vote and helped get IT HAPPENED ONE KNIFE nominated for a Lefty Award (funniest mystery of the year)! This is the second consecutive nomination for the Double Feature series, and extremely gratifying for the author (that's me). I'm really flattered and hope that this year, the book actually takes the award. I won't actually be at Left Coast Crime (Hawaii is just too high a budget item while paying college tuition), so I figure that ups my chances, because it's just my style to win an award if I'm not there to accept it.

Still, if you're headed for LCC and you get a vote, please consider KNIFE. And thanks again for the help.

Cry Wolf

Inspired by Barbara's post this week, I thought I'd take some time to talk about a plotline that I just. can't. stand. Whether in a ms I'm considering or out in the wild world of non-Bleak-House media, this story drives me up a wall and back again, giving me heebie jeebies and generally unbalances my carefully leveled countenance.

It's this one:
"Please, please, won't someone believe me? I know a horrible, frightening truth and NO ONE WILL LISTEN TO ME! Why am I the only one who sees this? Why do I have no credibility with the general public -- or my loved ones? THIS NOT LISTENING TO ME WILL COST YOU ALL YOUR LIIIIIIIIIIIIVES."

So, I guess, more simply, this could be classified as the Reverse Boy Who Cried Wolf.

There are a few reasons that I find this particular narrative so frustrating:

1. Being so completely in possession of life-saving knowledge (The aliens! They look like us now!) and being so utterly ignored is the worst kind of powerlessness. (Well, a bad kind of powerlessness. I guess I shouldn't presume to label it the worst kind.) Powerlessness of any kind is difficult for me to watch (in my mind's eye or on a screen or in real life) -- I get anxious and keyed up and feel just plain unpleasant.

2. Watching such scenes unfold, I can invariably think of (at least) eleventy-billion better ways for Sally H. LifesavingKnowledgePants to get her point across to Sheffield P. MindsMadeUpperson than the method she's using. Seriously. Sally cries when she should shout. She trots out crazy-person-looking handdrawn maps when she should just make eye contact and speak earnestly. She shreiks "Trust me!" from behind the bars of a mental institution, at clearly unsympathetic white-coated cynics. She does not adjust her tactics to her audience. She is unconvincing ...

3 ... until the third or fourth body surfaces. THEN people start to take notice of Sally and her maybe-not-so-outlandish-after-all theories. But it takes those first few deaths (or tragedies, or whatvever -- this drama can unfold in countless ways, and not all of them have to do with aliens). The other characters are just so stubborn in their disbelief. Just so unwilling to quesiton their own sacred knowledge. Just so heedless.

4. Well, and there's always that one guy who is never convinced ... and the audience is supposed to take some heart in the scene where he's finally given his due by the brainsucking, human-looking aliens. "Ha-HA!" we're to shout. "At last Sheffield is dead, dead from his lack of listening!" But I've always found those scenes to be too little, too late. They never satisfy in the way I want them to ... because it's not important to me that Sheffield die. It's important to me that his mind is changed. That he opens himself up to a new (maybe scary!) idea. That he becomes un-stubborn and (gasp!) vulnerable to change.

... So, I guess what I really hate it when people don't listen. Or won't accept that maybe they're not always right. That maybe, just maybe, Big Bird isn't lying and Mr. Snuffleupagus IS real.

Thank Heavens for Book Club!

Robin Agnew

 

There are many reasons I’m grateful for our book club.  Since we began 16 years ago, it’s developed into a real community, and we’ve celebrated weddings, births, new jobs & retirements over the years.  Last night was a birthday along with a lively discussion of Ruth Rendell’s classic, A Judgement in Stone.  So along with Rendell’s creepy, blood soaked story, we enjoyed some red velvet cake.  I felt a little funny unwrapping the large cake knife I’d brought along – not sure why, as the killer in the book uses a shotgun.

 

What then developed was one of those discussions – we don’t have them every time – that are nuanced and lively and really get into the meaning of the story.  In case you aren’t familiar with this book, it’s the story of a housekeeper who kills the family she works for because she’s illiterate.  In the hands of Rendell it’s also a devastating character study as well as a look at class, the things advantaged and educated people take for granted, and the value, basically, of education.  Everyone in the book has a blind spot of one kind or another, making them not just unable or unwilling to understand but completely blind to the behaviors of their fellow human beings.  The end result is a tragic one.

 

In any case, to my delight, the club really liked the book and the one thing one of the members disliked was Rendell’s complete lack of sentimentality.  But since she was in disagreement with the rest of us, as we talked, we all tried to take in the point of view of the other readers.  As the birthday girl pointed out, it’s a book that improves and becomes clearer by discussing it.  I never felt that way in college English classes but in my book club I do, I think because of the complete lack of boundaries.  There’s no academic respect; either we like the book or nor, we usually have no preconceptions.  It’s very refreshing.

 

It’s nice during the winter months to have a reading community; it’s nice when it’s slow to see customers who have been coming to the store and helping to keep the doors open practically since we opened.  The birthday girl in question – Happy Birthday, Aline! – and I actually have very similar taste and in 16 years have discovered many common reading passions.  There’s nothing nicer, really.

 

We ended the night on a note of respect for both Ruth Rendell and P.D. James, who into their 80’s, are still following their own passions, luckily for the rest of us. If you’re not in a book club, you should join one.  I started my day in deepest gloom and ended it feeling happy and surrounded by good friends – and good readers.

 

One to one marketing

PJ Nunn

 

It’s one of the 2009 catch phrases you’re bound to hear sooner or later. But what does it mean? Isn’t it oxymoronic? The whole point of marketing is to get lots of people involved, not just one. And as far as authors go, nobody made the NYT Bestseller List selling one book at a time, did they?

 

When it comes to making decisions, most of us like to think in terms of black and white. Complications arise with the recognition that life happens in living color. So while it’s fairly simple to devise an overall marketing plan that makes sense, the step by step implementation of that plan is filled with small details and decisions that aren’t so simple. It’s kind of like looking at a rainbow. If you’re far enough away, it’s easy to see distinct colors, but the closer you get, the harder it is to see where one color stops and the next starts. Get closer still, and you’ll lose sight of the rainbow altogether.

 

If your goal is to sell 100,000 copies of your new novel, that’s not hard to visualize. But if you try to envision 100,000 distinct and separate people who will buy the novel, you’ll not likely finish the task.

 

And honestly, I don’t subscribe to all the theories I’ve seen making the rounds. Take everything with a grain of salt (or salt substitute). My approach to PR, like my approach to life in general, is a lot more practical than theoretical. Not everyone can afford a $50,000 marketing campaign, and even if they could, not everyone who can afford one will be a smashing success.

 

Just like presentation is a huge factor in finding an agent to represent your novel, or better yet, finding a publisher to publish it, presentation is a huge factor in marketing. You don’t have to like it. You don’t even have to believe it for it to be true. It just is.

 

I’ve often heard authors insist that signing events don’t work, or radio isn’t for them. I hear them tell tales of the horrible publicist they used to have who took their money and didn’t do a thing for them. Alas, I’ve even had some accuse me of the same thing. I can’t speak for the others, but I can honestly say that I’ve never swindled anyone. In fact, the few that have complained over the years are usually the ones we invested the most time and effort in. Maybe it only seemed that way. The point is, even in marketing, there comes a time when the product or person who’s being represented has to cowboy up. The agent, publisher, publicist and whoever really only set the stage. The author and ultimately the book have to perform.

 

Almost every author I know wishes, secretly or otherwise, that all they had to do was produce the manuscript, then the publisher would take it from there. The PR department and sales force would do their part and books would fly off the shelves while the author types happily at home on the next novel. I’m not sure those days ever really existed, but they sure haven’t since I’ve been in the business the last decade or so.

 

But I digress.

 

So how does one to one marketing work?

 

One to one marketing doesn’t discount the value of an overall marketing plan to reach hundreds of thousands of people. Nor does it indicate you should reach those numbers one at a time. Marketing is always a numbers game. People won’t buy what they’ve never seen or heard so you’ve got to reach as many people as possible with information about your product. The first step in sales is to initiate a desire for the product in question.

 

Obviously some are easier to sell than others, but even items that are used every day and are considered needs still benefit from marketing. For instance, you might have used the same toothpaste for years, but if someone does a good enough job marketing another brand of toothpaste, you just might be tempted to buy it. But if you never knew there was another toothpaste that was practically guaranteed to make your teeth whiter, prevent decay and gum disease, and taste better, you’d never buy it simply because you didn’t know it existed.

 

So marketing, whether to one or one hundred thousand, is first about information. Select information. But there again, are you more likely to be swayed with a black and white bullet list of facts? Or a full color brochure that offers you a dream? To go back to the toothpaste, would you be more persuaded by a picture of plain, white teeth? Or a beautiful, laughing woman with a spectacular smile? Presentation.

 

Can you picture an unhappy signing event in which a lone author stood forlornly beside a card table three steps from the bathroom in the back of a bookstore? The scenario doesn’t prompt me to want to buy a book.  

What about a busy signing event with a fairly well known author and a line of people anxious to get an autographed copy? Seems like a happier occasion at first, until you notice the author barely looks at the person in front of him, always glancing down the line to gauge how many are waiting and sometimes even misspelling the person’s name due to inattention.

 

How about some middle ground, where an author appears pleasant and relaxed, making small talk with customers who stroll by that often has nothing to do with her book, but sometimes deftly finding an opening in the conversation in which to insert some information, or perhaps to hand out a bookmark. To the practiced eye, she’s always in command of her time and attention but has cultivated a gift that makes people feel as if they have her undivided attention, and that she really listens to them.

 

Which of those three authors and situations is likely to linger in anyone’s memory long after the fact?

 

One to one marketing isn’t about the spectacular. It’s not about selling 100 books in half an hour. It’s about systematically creating a ripple effect that grows exponentially, starting with one. An author who’s willing to hone his or her skills can learn how to captivate an audience so that each listener feels like he’s had a personal conversation. Pie in the sky? Maybe a little. But I think you get the point.

 

I can set you up on a radio interview with a listening audience of 100,000 people, give or take a few. Will they all buy books? No. How many will buy books varies widely depending on what kind of impression the author makes during the interview. I can provide the host with a review copy of your book and the best promo pages we have. But once that’s done, it’s out of my hands.

 

The host may be one of the best, who thoroughly reads the book and takes time to carefully plan an engaging interview. Or he may be one of the typical who barely scans the book and promo and might jot down a question or two on a nearby napkin. He may want to talk about what happened on the news last night or an imagined alien invasion. OR he may be a substitute who’s never heard of you or your book but had to fill in at the last minute because the host woke up with laryngitis or whatever.

 

Regardless of all of the above, it’s your time to shine. And if you’ve practiced and honed your skills, you’ll be ready for anything and it will be obvious to listeners that you’re comfortable and knowledgeable and hopefully interesting and entertaining, even if the host is a jerk.

 

I only know one way to get that way. Practice. More practice. Practice interviews with friends and family. Practice interviews on smaller shows that don’t make you so nervous. Practice on all types of shows and different lengths of interviews. Always as if you’re talking to ONE.

 

Bottom line. One to one marketing is about living in the moment. Not being so busy chasing that 100,000^th sale that you don’t take time to enjoy chatting with the person buying the 10^th book. Or the 100^th. Maybe one day you’ll have a line around the block waiting for a signed copy of your book. It’s much more likely to happen if you take time to look them each in the eye in turn and give them the impression that you have all the time in the world for them (even though you know you won’t let that happen).

 

Memorable. Memorable marketing is a better term than one to one marketing in my opinion, but I think we’re talking about the same thing.

 

Make your marketing in 2009 memorable – for all the right reasons.

 

Till next time,

Handing in your genre membership

Sharon Wheeler

I had the email equivalent of a beady stare the other day from Yvonne Klein, who's currently editing the RTE site. I'd sent her two reviews, one of which muttered a lot about the writer of the book maybe wanting to give crime fiction a rest. Yvonne demanded to know whether I was wearying of the genre, as it was the second time recently that I'd suggested an author should perhaps go straight, as it were!

I was quick to put Yvonne's mind at rest, assuring her that I'd got three rave reviews up my sleeve, having inhaled at some speed The Girl Who Played With Fire by Stieg Larsson, John Morgan Wilson's Spider Season and the audio CD box set of CJ Sansom's Matthew Shardlake series.

But it was a fair question. About 15 years ago I burned out on the genre big-time. I'd just finished an MPhil on feminist and gay and lesbian crime fiction and absolutely couldn't face another book with ever so arch references to the PI tradition or those from tiny lesbian publishers in Buttsville, Idaho, which were seemingly only published because of the author's sexual orientation and not because she could actually write …

It took me eight years to be wooed again by crime fiction. I was in Los Angeles in holiday and needed some books for the plane home. Someone had recommended a writer called John Morgan Wilson. I bought the first three books in his Benjamin Justice series, read them back-to-back, and promptly saw the light again!

Periodically I do wonder if I read too much crime fiction when I roll my eyes and get arsy about another genre cliché (ooh, surely not the boathouse at midnight again, or no, no, carry on your phonecall and tell the person what it is you know – you really don't want to answer the doorbell, honest!)

What made me wonder whether a couple of very good writers should be going straight, though, was the fact both presented the reader with a raft of wonderful characters and an inventive and vivid world around them, but were a bit wobbly on the plot front.

Morgan Hunt's Tess Camillo is one of my favourite characters in crime fiction. She's a resourceful, optimistic woman who's pushing 50 but still holds out dreams of Ms Right appearing. I love the slightly leftfield world Hunt has built around her. But in my review of Blinded By the Light, I felt the rather sketchy plot was secondary by quite some way.

I raved about Tana French's debut novel In The Woods and also got pretty enthusiastic about her latest, The Likeness. But in the review I commented that I thought her inventiveness as a writer was being held back by the constraints of the genre.

I'm just about to break one of the rules that my first editor drummed into me – as a journalist, don't ask questions, answer them. But I'd like some comments from the floor, please! Do writers get pigeonholed? Once you've gained exclusive membership of the crime fiction guild of writers and have perfected the funny handshake, are you there for life? Will people point and laugh if you try other things? Does your publisher pat you on the hand and humour you if you talk about branching out? Well, unless you're Sara Paretsky or Dennis Lehane … And do writers go into crime fiction because they reckon it'll be easier to get published? Except, boys and girls, we know it isn't. And we know, as well, that you can't just knock out genre fic because it seems easy (remember that bloke I blogged about last May who needed dosh quickly . . .)

Some idiot suggested after Harold Pinter's death that he couldn't write poetry. Having been in the audience at the Cheltenham Festival of Literature some years ago when the great man talked about his work and read some poems, I can confirm that said idiot was talking out of his back passage. Pinter delivered the poems with the pacing and menace that characterised much of his playwriting.

I bet his publisher never told him to restrict his pregnant pauses and three dots to the stage …

A whole new language

Lynne Patrick

Don’t ask me where these trains of thought come from – the human brain is a strange and wonderful mechanism which makes all kinds of unexpected connections. I think this one began during a meeting with a printer a few days ago. Well, not a printer exactly, though he was from a printing firm.

He picked up a copy of one of our early titles and ran his fingers over it in a professional kind of way. Then he said, “I see you’re a fan of long grain, as I am.”

Time was, not so long ago, when I’d have smiled enigmatically, nodded briefly, and made a mental note to find out what long grain meant before I met this guy again. This time it gave my system a little shock when I realised I actually knew what he was talking about.

Which was what set this train of thought in motion: over the past five or six years I seem to have acquired a whole new language.

Words, their meanings, shades, nuances, capacity for carrying emotion and description, have fascinated me for as long as I can remember. Other people think in pictures; I think in words. I can spend hours writing and rewriting the most mundane of notes or e-mails, to make sure it conveys exactly the tone I’m aiming for (or if the person on the receiving end gets the wrong impression, at least I did all I could). I get annoyed, sometimes unreasonably so if you listen to my friends and family, when people use the wrong word, or the wrong part of speech; am I the only person left who thinks prevaricate means lie, or sees a difference between I tried to shout and I tried shouting?

There I go again, riding my favourite hobby horse, when all I really meant to do was ruminate on the new language I’ve learned since I’ve been in publishing. The words themselves are mostly familiar; it’s the meanings that have changed, or taken on extra layers.

A few examples:

Printer. It used to be the machine that stood on my desk next to the computer and had to be fed paper and ink cartridges every so often. Then every spring for a few years it was the guy a few miles away who produced several boxfuls of competition entry forms for me on a noisy machine in the little workshop behind his house. These days most of the time it’s one of several large manufacturing units capable of turning a little plastic disk into a pallet or two of beautiful, enthralling books.

 

(Pallet – that’s one I never really had a use for at all until recently, except in historical fiction when the poverty-stricken heroine slept on one made of straw. Which is a whole different world.)

 

Dues. I used to pay my dues at the health club or writers’ group every month. Now I scan the weekly sales figures eagerly to see how the dues are building up on our next unpublished title.

(Title – I’ve got used to referring to a book as a title, but it’s been a stretch. The title is still the name it’s been given.)

Returns. Ouch. Don’t like this one. In the past my only regular use of the plural of return was to wish people many happy returns on their birthday. In its new incarnation it’s my least favourite aspect of the book trade (aside from marketing fee – and don’t get me started on that one…) Sales of a title are building quite gratifyingly – then, boom! one of the wholesalers or bookshop chains decides to clear some space on the shelves, sends back half their stock and the total sales figure drops with a bump.

 

And in case you were wondering, though you probably either knew already or don’t really care – long grain is when the fibres in the paper go in the same direction on every page of a book, to make the book lie flat when it’s opened.

The Big Five

Barbara Poelle

Five Plotlines I’d Kill to See

So Grand Central has this amazing book coming out this spring (tune in next week for me to GO BONKERS about it in this blog, and I mean BONKERS) and it really got me to thinking about what I would kill to see in my slush pile. And I’m not talking about “Oh, I would kill to have tickets to see Carrot Top.” I am talking about leaping out from the closet wielding a chainsaw wearing a rubber mask and galoshes kill to have the chance at signing. I feel pretty confident that typing these out ensures that they are now hurtling through space and time towards me, but it’s a Tuesday and there’s a new President so I may just be feeling wildly optimistic.

Okay, in no particular order

1.       It Devours From Beneath.

So, here’s what I am thinking. Small town. Quirky yet authentic characters. I’d like a Sherriff’s Deputy who is constantly under the umbrella of her father’s stint as Sheriff, but maybe daddy wasn’t such a great guy. Character driven- maybe sleepy bayou town? I’d like people to be dying horrific deaths. I’d like the culprit to be something that devours from beneath. I don’t care if its DNA is all bling’ed out or if pollution forced it into shallow waters, or if it is a megladon, just give me something devouring from beneath. Think Northern Exposure meets Jaws. Think Tremors. Just give me something that makes me check the closet or the swimming pool or both. Oh, and maybe give the heroine a police dog. For five extra points you can name the dog Justice.  (For ten extra points you can find out why).

 

2.       Moonlighting meets Psych

Remember how awesome Maddie Hayes and David Addison were? The bees being, the bears bearing and the doors slamming, and through it all that fabulous chemistry. I would like a series featuring two detectives that have such electric magnetism together that they make you want to commit a crime just to have the pleasure of them hunting you down. But to add an extra layer I would like it if either one or both of them had an ability or- wait for it- a disabilty that made them a particularly adept partner. Maybe one is blind and so they can smell things at the crime scene. Maybe one is deaf and so is extremely adept at reading body language. I don’t know, but give me good old fashioned chemistry meets unique new twist.

 

3.       Sigma Chi Till You Die

I used to love reading Christopher Pike’s books when I was 12, because sometimes it was the cute cheerleader who was chopping the heads off of the varsity football team. Now maybe this is the vodka doing the typing, butI would like to see a femme fatale in the vein of Basic Instinct but with a Legally Blonde type of approach. Say protagonist A kills her husband and then protagonist B finds out and blackmails her into killing her husband, but protagonist A decides to kill B instead. Lots of black, black humor.  And give me a finale like the trailer fight scene between Uma Thurman and Darryl Hannah in Kill Bill Vol. 2

 

4.       The YA YA’s Standing by Me

So go back and read The Body by Stephen King and then watch some girly movies (That came out wrong. I don’t mean girly movies I mean chick flicks) and give me something from the 50’s or 60’s or 70’s where something horrific has happened and how it is processed as adults. Wait, I think I just stole that entire plotline from IT. But you know what I mean. It doesn’t have to be a thriller or horror novel, think more like commercial fiction. We can kill somebody’s husband again in this one, but let’s have some flashbacks here too.

 

5.       Zombies Zombies Everywhere and None to Drink

There is nothing better than a good old fashioned apocalypse novel. Okay, I know that many people will tell you that zombies are so passé, those people should be checked for excessive red eye because me thinks thou doth protest too mucheth. I love to read these as I love to imagine myself in those circumstances (hit the pharmacy first and then a pawn shop NOT a sporting goods store, those will be picked clean, but pawn shops will have many useful items as well). And having an apocalypse is fine, but having something that chases you during the apocalypse is better. Vampires, infected folks, Republicans, anything.  It can be a bit steam-punk or a bit sci-fi but at the very least give me something lurching through dark subway tunnels and a backpack snagged on a ladder rung.

(Side bar: Hey, mom, I’ll save you the call:  “steam-punk” is like that movie The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen or the movie Wild Wild West, with Will Smith, where they take inventions from today that they couldn’t have had in, say, Victorian times and power them by steam. Almost like Mad Max but those guys had gasoline. And Tina Turner. )

So there you have it. These are the five plot lines that I am currently stalking in the field. The big commonality I see here is that they all must be character driven, and so in the end, I guess that is what I am truly restless for.

Well, that, and something devouring from beneath.

 

 

 

Beam Me Up, Napoleon!

Jeff Cohen

Tomorrow will include an event absolutely historic and awe-inspiring for the United States. It will be a moment to reflect on how far we've come and how far we have to go. And it will be, hopefully, the start of a much-improved era of America's dealings with the rest of the world. I'm hoping it will be magnificent.

So. Let's talk about old TV shows.

Through the miracle of technology and a deep-seated inability to give up on anything I ever liked, I've had the opportunity lately to re-evaluate two sacred favorites from my childhood. With the tentative marriage of Netflix and TiVo, I am able to instantly view any episode of the first season of Star Trek whenever I feel like it. 

And because some fanatics' prayers have been answered, the entire catalog of The Man From U.N.C.L.E. has been released on DVD, and that means I can rent each disc, one at a time, from Netflix (Netflix and TiVo run my life). 

Now, it's important to provide some context: These two television shows were an integral part of my life for years, starting when I was seven years old (U.N.C.L.E.) and lasting until, well, so far I'm 51. 

First, I was an U.N.C.L.E. freak. What seven-year-old boy wouldn't be? The show, about two agents of the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement (which the producers thanked at the end of each episode, only adding to the mania in the under-15 set), came on the heels of the first wave of James Bond mania, and it gave us everything we could have wanted: two guys who saved the world once a week, shot pretty much anybody they wanted to, and were American (Robert Vaughn as Napoleon Solo--a name created by Bond author Ian Fleming) and Russian (David McCallum as Illya Kuryakin, and so what if he sounded British?)! Detente, years before Detente!

There were U.N.C.L.E. badges (Solo started out as #11, Section 1, but was eventually promoted to #2), special guns (plastic reproductions of which were readily available at a toy store near you), books, pictures, records (McCallum sang, sort of), and even an U.N.C.L.E. ViewMaster set (of "The Very Important Zombie Affair"), which I loved to look at. Hey, it was the Sixties. Pong was still a distant dream.

Even as the seasons went on (there were four) and the show became sillier, the two leads had a sophisticated wit and never, ever seemed to be worried. Perplexed, sure. Concerned, perhaps. But where any of the rest of us would have surely melted into a pool of quivering jelly over the problems they faced, Solo and Kuryakin would be mildly irritated over each new development, until the inevitable happened, and there was a fourth-act raid in which lots of people in colorful jumpsuits (after the first season, the show was in color) were shot and things generally blew up so the world could be saved. It was a young boy's dream, and I was crushed when the show was cancelled (for something called "Rowan and Martin's Laugh-In"--I wonder how that show went over) in 1968.

That was a year before Star Trek--the original and, lets' face it, only real incarnation--was cancelled, after three seasons. By 1966, as a sophisticated nine-year-old, I had been all too eager to see the exploits of a crew exploring deep space.

The opening credits, with that narration by William Shatner: "Space. The final frontier. These are the voyages of the Starship Enterprise--its five-year mission: to explore strange new worlds; to seek out new lives and civilizations; to boldly go where no man has gone before." And then that magnificent spaceship, not the cigar-shaped thing we were used to seeing fly Gemini missions on the news--would whoosh! by (who cares if there's no sound in space?), and if you were a nine-year-old boy worth his salt, you were on board, and five years didn't seem nearly long enough.

Here, Detente was REALLY prevalent: They had a black woman RIGHT ON THE BRIDGE OF THE SHIP and nobody seemed to feel she'd need protecting. They had a Japanese guy who was navigating the voyages. A hearty fellow with a very odd accent fixing the engines whenever they would (inevitably) break down. Eventually, a Russian (whose accent left you longing for McCallum's British take) was added.

And best of all, there was a guy on board who wasn't even human! And even though he was kind of weird, everybody accepted him, too! Was fourth grade really going to be all that scary now?

The story of Star Trek is well documented (check out the Wikipedia page if you don't believe me). Suffice it to say, it became a staple in many lives, including mine, and even now, I'm looking forward to seeing what JJ Abrams has done to revitalize the characters in a feature film due in May.

But in viewing the two series (or at least selected parts of them) recently, what's interesting is how much better U.N.C.L.E. has aged. That seems to be counterintuitive: Shouldn't a series that takes place in the future and features fantasy elements be more ageless than a Swingin' Sixties spy series about a couple of sexists who would probably have no problem with waterboarding (Jack Bauer, but with a sense of humor)?

Certainly, the last season of either series should be discounted; fans of both acknowledge that desperate attempts to bolster ratings and the departure of the original producers damaged the fourth season of U.N.C.L.E. (some would say the third, as well) and the third and last season of Trek. But even before: Trek features heavy-handed allegories, some horrifying dialogue ("No blah blah blah!"), cheesy sets and costumes (although a 2006 remastering has made some of the special effects look terrific), and, let's face it, acting by some--okay, Shatner--that borders on the horrible.

Does the series still work? Sure, but each episode will induce cringes even in some die-hards like myself. The ideas never falter; some character interaction is still wonderful. But the plots can make you plotz sometimes, and when they don't, well, the rushed schedule of a TV series is often evident. John Lennon told about a friend who went to see Elvis Presley in Vegas near the end, and his friend reported, "if you squint and imagine, it's still Elvis." Well, there are times watching Star Trek all these years later that you have to squint and imagine.

U.N.C.L.E., though, perhaps BECAUSE it's so much a period piece, holds up better. The first season (and one disc of the second, which is all I've seen so far) presents two characters who have a job to do, and do it, well, without sacrificing the occasional good time. They like each other, but understand the mission is more important than any one man. 

Do they run into bizarre villains? Do they fight an organization named "THRUSH" for no discernible reason? Are they (especially Solo) flagrant sexists? Sure. But the characters seem to be self-aware enough that they KNOW it's all silly, but they can rise above that to succeed. 

Leo G. Carroll, as the unflappable Alexander Waverly (the two agents' boss), adds that touch of class. And the studio backlot, pretending to be Yugoslavia (when there was one) or Argentina, depending on what week it was, is not a distraction. The characters are a joy to be around.

And spending an hour in your childhood every once in a while isn't such a bad thing, is it? Open Channel D, please. And Scotty, if it's not too much trouble...

Edgars

As I'm sure you all know, this past Friday the Mystery Writers of America announced the nominees for the 2009 Edgar Awards.

I'm very excited for all the nominees (and I'm especially glad to see some people I admire on the list!). Because I'm woefully behind on my own pile of TBRs (remember when I watched 15 movies in one week?) I can't really give any kind of qualified insight into any of the nominations. I mean geez, I'm still reading nominees from last year. (I am really, really, really enjoying Pyres by Derek Nikitas, and will eagerly watch for his next title.)

But really, I don't want to talk about this years' nominees. Lots of blogs and listservs are doing that these days. What I really want to talk about is ... me.

Last year, three Bleak House Books were nominated for Edgar Awards. (Soul Patch by Reed Farrel Coleman, Head Games by Craig McDonald, and the short story "Blue Note" in Chicago Blues, by Stuart Kaminsky.) I was beyond delighted to get the news the day the nominations were announced. In fact, I was so delighted that I didn't even get angry that Ben (Bleak House's publisher) had woken me up early. (I am notoriously cranky in the mornings, and Ben knows not to call before 9:30.) That morning, as I lazily dozed through several snooze settings on my alarm, my cell phone just wouldn't stop ringing, and it was all Ben. I believe I answered his third call with a touchy, "WHAT?!"

And he told me: three of our titles were Edgar nominees. We hadn't even known that the nominations were coming out that morning -- that's how out of touch with the awards culture we were. For Team Bleak House, pre-January 2008, every day was simply wake up, grab a coffee, and start to work.

I'd like to say that things stayed the same. That after the nominations, we kept our feet on the ground and our noses to the grindstone. And I think, by and large, we did. Ben and I still work hard, still believe in what we do, and still feel proud when we open that first box of new books from the printer.

But ... some small part of me did change, and that's the part that I've been trying to get ahold of, to look at, since about December of last year. It was around then when I started thinking, "Oh, gosh, the Edgar nominations will be coming out soon ... I wonder if any Bleak House titles will be nominated this year?"

It would be a lie for me to say that I didn't hope for nominations. Didn't sort of make odds for myself on which Bleak House titles might be likely candidates. Didn't actually *set my alarm* on Friday morning, so I could wake up and check the announcement.

And it would be a lie for me to say that I'm not just a little disappointed that no Bleak House titles were on the list. Not disappointed in an angry, I-feel-slighted kind of way, but disappointed in an ... gosh, it's hard to put my finger on. In an I-don't-have-an-excuse-to-buy-a-pretty-dress way. In an I-kinda-wanted-to-eat-another-Edgar-Allen-Poe-depicting-dessert again way. In an once-you-experience-the-validation-of-an-award-nomination-you-sort-of-crave-more way.

I know that the work that I do is good. I know that Bleak House publishes books that are written from the heart, written with skill and consideration an care. I know that each and every one of my authors works dilligently and thoughtfully. I keep this knowledge with me daily, and I have confidence and self-worth and all that good stuff.

Yet ... it also feels really good to be validated by something outside yourself, and an award nomination fits that bill. I will forever remember the feeling of working on three Edgar-nominated books, and I know that this years' nominees will carry this feeling with them on into their futures.

I hope that someday I'll be able to say again that I worked on another Edgar-nominated title. And I hope that until that day, I remember to find my validation within myself, so that I don't spoil myself by expecting it from others.

Congratulations to the 2009 Edgar Award nominees -- and to every award nominee from the past, and to those who will be nominated in years to come!

Things I've Learned Along the Way

Robin Agnew

Just a few tidbits I've picked up over the years - from authors, customers, and fellow business people.

*  We're booksellers.  We're not supposed to get up early!

*  Have your photo taken whenever possible.  Five years later you won't believe how young, beautiful and slim you looked way back then.

*  Never drive when you can walk.

*  If your business is in trouble don't blab it.  That kind of thing takes on it's own momentum.

*  Books are a cheap, and acceptable, vice.

*  Mystery authors are very nice people.  The darker the writing, the nicer the author (usually).

* Publicists who work in New York for major publishing houses can't be more than 12 years old.  When they turn 13 or 14, they change jobs, and you have to break in a new one.

* Negotiate with your landlord.  They need you as much as you need them.

*  Paying cash for used books is the road to ruin.  We did this when we first opened, driving all over town to pick up books, but now the darn things have reproduced and we have PLENTY.  We only give store credit.

*  When someone wants a recommendation, agree with their taste, even if it isn't yours. 

And finally...

*  Know what you're selling!  That's the only possible reason for a specialty store to exist.  And love it, too.

Till next week...

Smile for the camera

PJ Nunn

 

The one thing I wish every author had – a good, high resolution, professional head shot. I’m honestly surprised how many don’t have that. If you can only invest in one thing, that would be the thing to get. Why? Because our society is very visual and anyone thinking of scheduling you for any reason wants to see you.

 

I'd love to show you some of the choice shots I've had pass my desk over the years, but the Internet is a big place and somebody would know somebody if I posted them here. But suffice it to say that a Wal-Mart photo of you kissing a calico chicken won't do, no matter what the title of your book is!

 

Casual and candid isn't a bad approach. In fact, you'll find a variety of those on the Client Events page on our website, and they fill out a press kit nicely as well, but nothing replaces that one, main, professional shot. I've had a multitude of positive comments on photos such as Kathy Brandt's scuba selections, and everyone loves Sue Owens Wright hugging lovable basset hound, Bubba Gump, but those types of shots alone won't take you as far as the 8 x 10 glossy these days. In color, please.

 

I think it's about personalization, but at the same time about presentation. If you think of yourself as a snapshot author, others will tend to think that way, too. Too often it equates to "home made." Much like the effect of "I work from home." It's taken me 10 years to live that one down and I still hear that tone in some voices when I tell them. I promised to get office photos up on my website and I swear I will one day. Probably not this week.

 

For an idea of the variances, go to my website (www.breakthroughpromotions.com) and check out the Client page (scroll down). There's an author shot beside each brief bio. Which ones appeal most to you and why? It's not really even about what the authors look like, it's about how they're presented. They might look fresh and happy, or sober and mysterious. As long as they don't look blurry, like school photos, or awkwardly posed.

 

Think of your photo in your press kit as the market's first (and lasting) impression of you. Have you ever noticed that if someone makes a bad first impression, it will take several good impressions to cancel that out? By the same token, if you make a great first impression, you can bobble several successive meetings without totally losing the strong first one.

 

When we're pitching an author for any type of event, their bio page and photo will be the first thing the market sees, even before the latest book cover. So if you're getting ready to launch a new book, try to resist the urge to have your hubby (or whoever) take snapshots of you against the living room wall or posed in front of a street sign or your RV (you get the idea, right?). Head for a good studio and pay for what you get. Then you can go crazy with the digital camera all you want.

 

Till next time,

Get your hands off my text!

Sharon Wheeler

Philip Pullman is a man after my own heart. Aside from the fact he's got no time for religion, he's also a realist when it comes to how readers interpret his books. Take a look at this link and see what I mean.

Mind you, I'd like to know how the hell the chap from Belgium found that the trilogy affirmed his own belief in god. Amazing what you can read into a text if you're so inclined . . .

And actually that's the point of it. As Pullman says: "Once a book is in your hands, ITS INTERPRETATION BELONGS TO YOU. You can read it in any way you like, and take away any meaning that makes sense to you. That's the great freedom of reading.

"But the idea that the author is sternly watching every single reader to make sure that they're reading in the RIGHT WAY belongs to some nightmare of authoritarian mind-control. Reading is a democracy!"

Those words should be stapled to the foreheads of a few authors. They're the ones who berate readers for skipping the prologue, or sneaking a look at the last few pages to see whodunit. Once I have a book in my hands, I can do what the hell I like with it. I can hurl it at the wall if it winds me up. I can rip out pages and turn them into paper aeroplanes if I want to. I can subject it to a queer studies Marxist/Leninist critique if the fancy takes me.

If authors don't like that, the answer's simple – don't get published. Keep your writing in your bottom drawer, or save it for your mates.

There's a time, though, when the author can legitimately tell the reader to back off and keep their snout out of things – and that's before the novel hits the bookshops. And I certainly shan't be arguing with the formidable Russell T Davies on the matter!

For any Americans who might not have encountered him, he's one of the best scriptwriters working on British TV. He's the man behind the awesome Queer as Folk (the UK version, not whatever it was the Americans did to it) which gave TV drama a much-needed kick up the … Yes, well, moving swiftly on, he's also the man we have to thank for getting Dr Who back on our screens.

Now those of you on the other side of the pond might not understand the significance of the Doctor and his Tardis. If you're of a certain age (oh, very well, 40 and above), a key part of your childhood was hiding behind the sofa when the Daleks appeared. Yes, we know the original show was lo-tech when compared with American science fiction programmes, but we didn't care. It was an integral part of Saturday night teatime, to be consumed alongside toast and butter, and Cadbury's mini rolls with the chocolate picked off and eaten last.

A run of fairly duff doctors saw the BBC plonk the Tardis into cold storage. And then Davies, a real fanboy if ever there was one, thawed it out and sent it spinning into space again with Christopher Eccleston and then David Tennant at the controls.

I'm currently immersed in The Writer's Tale, a fascinating book about writing and also the show itself, told via emails between Davies and journalist Benjamin Cook. One comment from Davies made me gurgle like a drain: "Creating something is not a democracy. The people have no say. The artist does. It doesn't matter what the people witter on about; they and their response come after. They're not there for the creation."

How about a deal? Us readers won't tell authors what to write – but you don't tell us how to read.

When is a novel not quite a novel?

Lynne Patrick

Make no mistake, size does matter.

 

We decided right back at the start that we’d leave the two-inch-thick blockbusters to other publishers. Our niche was going to be the pacy, tightly plotted three-hour read: the book you buy to read on the plane, not the one that’s meant to last through the fortnight on the beach.

 

It was a decision that worked for us. That’s why our guidelines say 70-80,000 words.

 

We get a lot of submissions which are quite a bit longer. Maybe their authors think we’ll fall in love with their hero, or get so caught up in the plot that we’ll be unable to resist, and will break the rule we’ve made especially to launch their genius into the world.

 

Or maybe they just haven’t read the guidelines.

 

Either way, at least there’s a precedent for books over 100,000 words long – hundreds, maybe thousands of precedents every year, in fact; even children’s books, since J K Rowling paved the way.

 

But now a different trend is beginning to establish itself. I keep getting submissions which are less than 50,000 words long. In five and a half years the frequency has increased exponentially: in the first three years I received one, these days it’s more like one a week. Last week I even got one from a literary agent, which I found very hard to understand. If I’m wrong I’m willing to be enlightened, but I thought part of an agent’s job was to filter out the non-starters and advise wannabe authors on the practicalities of their chosen creative sphere.

 

The fact is, fifty thousand words make a very thin book. Look at something like Ian McEwan’s On Chesil Beach (which attracted a lot of comment about its length) and you’ll see. To my mind that’s visual evidence that if you’re writing crime fiction, your magnum opus lacks a plot twist or five. I can’t actually think of a 50,000 word crime novel written in the last 20 years or so, though I’m willing to be enlightened about that too.

 

Then there’s all the advice available to aspiring writers, which has become an industry in itself: college courses, on-line tuition, magazines, library and bookshop shelves buckling under the weight. I haven’t read one recently, but if memory serves, the ones which claim to tell you how to write a novel generally mention that 80,000 words is regarded as something of a ball park figure.

 

I have no idea where that figure came from, but it seems to have been around a long time; library and second-hand bookshop shelves are stuffed with crime novels ranging from Sherlock Holmes right up to 21^st century serial killers which are just over half an inch thick, just short of 300 pages. And for the kind of crime novel we publish – enough complications to make it interesting, not so many that you have to keep checking back to see how it all began – it works pretty well.

 

Maybe it’s down to reader expectation – perceived value for money. If you’re paying eight quid, or even eight dollars, for a book, you want to feel something solid in your hand; and it’s one of those quirks of economics that a 160-page book doesn’t cost much less to produce than 300 pages, so the length doesn’t really affect the cover price.

 

Or maybe I’m missing a trick, and it’s a sign of the times. Maybe, as belts are tightened and everything shrinks, short books are the next big thing.

Big Goals

Barbara Poelle

At a recent pee wee hockey game, my five-year-old nephew scored his first goal. Ever.  Unfortunately as we live 1500 miles away we were not there to see it, but when he came home, he called us and well, hot diggity dog we howled and celebrated like it was November 4^th all over again.

There is something so delightful, so thrilling about a phone call with good news, and I am lucky enough to have a career  where it appears as one of the perks of the job. A client once made fun of me saying she knew I was calling about an offer, because I had a “barely restrained squeak” to my voice on the message- which I scoffed at, but yes, truth be told, my vestigial tail was wagging.  I just love those phone calls and I do my best not to turn into a 15-year-old girl from the valley who just got asked to the prom, but sometimes I can’t help it.

Lately, though, I have been feeling like I am losing that personal quality in my discourse when dealing with my private life.  Oh sure, I’ll text and email friends and family, but am I being an actual friend or just a cyber friend? Ooo! Ooo! Wouldn’t that be a great Saturday morning cartoon? The Cyberfriends! My name will be The Dish and it will be a double entendre because I will be sassy and adorable but my super powers will directly correlate to how many carbs I have consumed. I will wear an alluring- but not skanky!- blue lycra suit and a tasteful yellow cape and sport a picture of spaghetti and tofu meatballs on the front. 

Yes, I said tofu meatballs.

But I digress.

When my grandfather was in the war he wrote my grandmother about a gazillion letters.  Those letters held such a rich tapestry of family lore, of undeniable realism, and they FELT like history.  Even the stamps told a story. Now I blog, I log, I google, I twitter, I do things that a decade ago weren’t even words, much less verbs and I am starting to worry: what if I want to have a torrid love affair ala Bridges of Madison County or Benjamin Button? What is my kid gonna read while feeling a mixture of betrayal and rage yet also a deep sense of humility? An old iphone? How bouge-y. (That’s my slang for bourgeois. Also because I have no idea how to spell bourgeois. Regardless, I think I am supposed to say freedom fries instead anyway.)

Oh, don’t get me wrong, I loves me some technology. If there was a fire and I could save either my ereader or my husband I would miss him terribly and think of him constantly while I was uploading. But I doubt if The Fountainhead would have meant as much to me if I hadn’t felt the weight of it in my hands transferring from right to left as I passed the mid-point of the novel.  And I adore that my copy of Anne-Marie MacDonald’s Fall On Your Knees has my maiden name written inside and entire segments have been taped and retaped in. And if I hadn’t been in that bookstore in Santa Cruz 8 years ago (Aahh, see? The tofu meatballs are making sense now...) I would never have been able to introduce the sales clerk to the joys of Anne Lamott.  

I guess what I am getting at here is that I am going to do a better job of calling my grandmother, rather than e-mailing. (Although it is hilarious to instant chat with her). And maybe rather than texting happy birthday to my friend I will pick up the phone and sing it. (A voice like an angel, I tell you, AN ANGEL!) I am going to remember how much I enjoy those calls to my clients in my professional life and vow to be involved in less communication and more communicating in my personal life.

There, I feel much better.

Now off to google blue lycra….

An Unthinkable World

Jeff Cohen

When I was young--which seems like just a couple of weeks ago, but was not--I dreamed of being a terrific reporter (there was no such thing, in my mind, as a "journalist"). And I don't mean a television reporter or a radio reporter. If there had been such a thing as a "citizen journalist" in those days, I wouldn't have wanted to be one of those, either.

I wanted to be a newspaper reporter. That was where the real work was being done, where everyday people were being informed and real corruption and injustice were being exposed. The fact that most of my image of such things was formed by movies and television--that I wanted to be a newspaper reporter because Clark Kent and Carl Kolchak were, among others--was irrelevant. Reporters were my heroes (even some real ones), and I wanted to join their ranks.

Specifically, I wanted to work for The New York Times.

From my point of view, there was nothing finer. On visits into Manhattan--even years later, when I worked in Manhattan every day--I'd pass by the old Times building on W. 43rd Street and get a shiver up my spine. That was where the best reporters worked, where their prose was edited into the clearest, most to-the-point reportage possible. The Times was so cool, it didn't even have a comics page, like the Newark Evening News or the Star-Ledger. It was where the wittiest columnists this side of The New Yorker were tossing off the best one-liners short of Groucho Marx. It was an institution, surely somewhat imperious, stuffy (consider the famous "Mr. Loaf" incident involving a rock concert in the 1970s) and aimed at people a good deal higher up the economic ladder than the vast majority of us. But it was the best, and everybody knew it. 

And now comes speculation that the Times could fold its print edition, perhaps as early as this coming May.

Now, it's clear that timetable is unlikely. There has been no suggestion from the Times or anywhere else that this move is being contemplated. But the fact remains, the daily newspaper--any daily newspaper--is an endangered species, and not even fixing global warming is going to save it.

My god, that's awful. Yeah, you can tell me that the Internet has made newspapers obsolete, that they were on life support from the minute James Earl Jones first intoned, "THIS... is CNN." You could argue that the "distinguished journalist" is a myth, and that the democratization of the Web has given everyone a chance to report on the events of the day, and I'll grant you all that.

It doesn't change the fact that newspapers are better than TV news, radio news, and especially Web-based news, and it's not even a close race. And the idea that something as basic, as respected, as essential as The New York Times could be facing extinction has always been unthinkable. Until now.

After I graduated from college, I actually did manage to become--albeit briefly--a newspaper reporter. I worked for the Passaic Herald-News, which exists today in some sort of nebulous state, having merged with every other newspaper in North Jersey until it essentially merged itself out of existence, but nobody told it. 

The point is, in my year-and-a-half tenure as a newspaper reporter, I learned exactly why "citizen journalism" can't hold a candle to the real thing. In covering any number of towns in Passaic and Bergen Counties, I discovered the truth about reporting: It's a thankless, low-paying, virtually impossible job that no sane person would ever take on. It requires ridiculous hours, endless dedication, bottomless reserves of energy, and a fixation on quality that really and truly favors the insane. It is something that everybody can't do, and most people shouldn't try.

Sure, you can go out and take pictures of the electrical fire down the street with your cell phone and call yourself a reporter. You can even, if you're unlucky enough to live on the Gaza Strip, report on conflicts between groups that cause unspeakable tragedies. 

But just being somewhere and telling people what happened is a fraction of a reporter's job. There's also the idea of finding news, gathering it. Uncovering what's going on that they don't want the public to know. That's where a real reporter earns the ever-more-inadequate paycheck. That's the part I really couldn't do well, and the reason I stopped being a newspaper reporter. And that's where the web might stumble, and The New York Times will shine.

Then, there's the writing. Anybody can tell you about the fire down the street. A trained, practiced, professional reporter can get the facts right and put the event into proper context. Will someone writing for downthestreet.com do that?

Now, you'll argue, those terrific reporters will still find work. They'll write for Slate and Salon and HuffPo and, yes, for NYTimes.com, so their craft won't die, you'll say. And I'll tell you: Yes, some of them will move onto the web. But nobody's proved yet that web-based news can be a profitable enterprise, and newspapers, especially, have been lousy at translating their unique personalities onto web pages. Go to nytimes.com and tell me if it feels like you've read a newspaper when you're done. 

So how long will those news sites last? Probably somebody will find a format that makes a gazillion dollars and everybody else will do their best to copy it. I'm willing to bet, though, that journalistic integrity and hard-hitting investigative reporting (and I DON'T mean reports on the fish restaurant that has high levels of mercury on Main Street) will not be the selling points.

If news sites don't become strikingly profitable, what will we have then? Fox News? I don't think I want to be part of that civilization, thank you.

Let's not be alarmist: The New York Times is not at all likely to vanish this year. Or next year. But it will, and in the lifetimes of most of us (and I can say this as a man of 51). It will happen because the market, that faceless, unaccountable entity, will demand it. And it will make all the business sense in the world when it happens.

But I'll argue that the world will be a measurably worse place when it does. Isn't it worth $1.50 a day to avoid that?

Ejected!!!

Alison Janssen

(Fair warning: This post will have pretty much nothing to do with mysteries or publishing.)

For those of you who don’t know, when I’m not editing mystery novels, much of my time is spent on the roller derby track.

You remember roller derby, don’t you? Depending on your generation, names like Ann Calvello or films like Kansas City Bomber may resonate with you.

In any case, I’ve just begun my fifth season skating with the Mad Rollin’ Dolls, Madison’s one and only all-girl, flat-track roller derby. MRD is a proud member of the Women’s Flat Track Derby Association. MRD is skater and staff owned and operated, and I serve on the Executive Board. (Which, I think, provides my dad with no small joy, when I call him for business advice.)

I skate as Mel Ignant, and my wonderful home team is the Unholy Rollers. Last night, we started the season off with a bang by beating the Reservoir Dolls, a lean, mean team of Skate Crime enthusiasts. Never in the history of the Mad Rollin’ Dolls have the Unholies faced them and come out victorious, so our win was kind of a big deal.

To be honest, it was a huge deal. I’ve never been so proud to be an Unholy Roller. We played well together (our entire team is comprised of returning skaters – not a rookie among us!). We communicated, we kept them separated, we kept them scrambling, and we kept control.

Adding to the specialness of the evening was the fact that our season opening bout marked MRD’s move to a larger venue – from the local skate rink, Fast Forward, which served as our home for four years, to the Alliant Energy Center grounds. Last night, we skated in front of a record-breaking crowd in the Veterans Memorial Coliseum. The cheering, the heat of the crowd – it felt like everything we’ve worked for, all the time and energy and training and iced muscles, it was all worth it. We’re a success.

 But it was a bittersweet evening for me because … well … I was ejected from the second half of the bout.

Yeah, I know! ME! Ejected?!

It happened about, I think, 8 minutes into the second half. I was sitting in the penalty box, serving time, when Rev Riot (our head ref) came over to inform me that I’d managed to accumulate 3 major penalties already in the half and that I was ejected. (We were playing 20 minute periods last night, and 3 majors in a 20 minute period equals automatic ejection.)

So, I was surprised. I work very hard to play clean and well, and though I know I occasionally use my elbows when I shouldn’t, for the most part I keep ’em in. And I know I wasn’t cutting the track, and I don’t think I was pulling any 20-foot penalties.

But there’s no arguing an ejection, and so I thanked Rev for letting me know and frowned my way to the locker room, where I had to wait out the remainder of the bout. About 3 minutes later, there was a knock on the locker room door, and Mouse, a star jammer for the Res. Dolls, came in to give me a commiseration-ejection hug. She was out, too. So at least I wasn’t alone.

Ultimately, we won the bout. And I’m sad that I wasn’t there to share it, to play, and to participate in the good game line. But I celebrated with my team afterward, and I’m sure we’ll be toasting one another for at least another day or so (or, you know, for the next month or year or century!).

As I sat in the locker room, though, my number one emotion wasn’t sadness. It was shame. I was ashamed and embarrassed to have been ejected. I felt like a little child who’d stolen a cookie and been forced to sit in a time-out corner.

But when I shared those feelings with my friends and teammates, they all reacted with surprise. I was ashamed, really? But being ejected was so cool! I’m a rebel! I’m a legend! I’m Ty Cobb!

And this morning, awake and drinking coffee and watching Star Trek: the Next Generation in bed while I nurse my sore muscles and discover and catalog all my new bruises, I do feel a little proud of myself.

I play roller derby. I’ve played for four years. My team has won games, and lost; I’ve laid incredible blocks, and I’ve scored points in a jam. And now, I’ve been ejected. They’re all parts of the game I’ve chosen to play, and I’m learning that when you choose to play a game, you need to be ready for all the ways the game could play out.

The Truth Hurts

This week we had our first ever signing for a true crime book, though I have a more or less iron clad rule about January signings - the weather is too chancy.  And indeed the weather was terrible - cold, with a freezing drizzle on top of snow.  Still, my husband and I had both read and liked the book and were eager to meet the authors, both journalists. 

The book, A Slaying in the Suburbs, by Steve Miller and Andrea Billups, recounts the story of Tara Grant, a working mother whose husband not only killed her but cut her up.  The case took place here in Michigan but got national attention because of the gresome nature of the crime, and the fact that her husband (also the killer) made tearful pleas for her to return home on the news every night while her fate was still unknown.

I've addressed true crime on this blog before.  Why carry it?  Why read it?  Usually, mystery readers don't read true crime, and vice versa.  I read both though more mystery; my husband is about 50/50.  It's the same story though, folks - it's just happens to be true.  And while I've read awful stuff in true crime books - often heartbreaking - I've read fictional violence that haunts me just as much.  The true stuff isn's so neatly tied up but if it's well done (as this book is) it's about character, and that's a big part of why I read.  Plain old human behavior - why do we act the way we do?  Sometimes all the good research and writing in the world can't explain it. 

Still. some readers are squeamish about it, and true crime readers in general tend to be a bit sceretive and ashamed.  They like our store because they have their own comfortable corner, untouched by fiction, where the booksellers (us) actually read and enjoy it ourselves.  My dad once told me - when I first started working - that no job is too good for anyone, and I think the same about true crime.  No crime is too awful for us to try and understand.

In the case of this particular book, the crime is very recent, which added a dimension we weren't completely prepared for.  The morning of the signing, we got an e-mail from one of the victim's cousins, decrying the book.  And who can blame this person?  This is a family member we're talking about.  The next day there was an article in the paper about the sheriff who ran the case - he wasn't happy with the book either, but the victim's family had asked him not to talk to the authors, who still managed, as far as I could tell, to write a very even handed account of the crime, and they did almost help me to understand why this man snapped and behaved so terribly.

The authors themselves were very nice, intelligent people - the guy is a true crime geek, the woman, who had covered the presidential campaign while writing the book, was more uncomfortable about it.  Both felt terrible that this family member was upset.  A local well known chain refused to handle this event - they even told the authors they should give whatever tiny profits they got from their true crime PBO away.  Even more interesting was their young publicist, who usually is a movie, not a book, publicist.  She was very enthusiastic.

This is a case where we did every possible thing in our arsenal, and the publicist did too.  The authors were even on the local news before the event.  It was still dismally attended, and I hope they get better attendance at their other events.  Still, I enjoyed meeting and talking with these two intelligent and thoughtful people so much that I invited them to the fall book festival I help to run.  For the first time we're doing a true crime panel.  Stay tuend for September to see how it goes!

Volunteers?

PJ Nunn

One of the simplest, and generally less costly, ways of getting publicity does involve an investment on the part of the author, but it’s not an investment of cash on a large scale. It’s an investment of time and talent.

When cash flow is more of a trickle, those elements can be very useful.

Anybody can buy an ad saying “this is a great book!” Even if it’s not a great book at all. That’s why a genuine article about an author (even when it’s not about the book), or written by the author, lends a lot of credibility to both the author and the book. The article may not mention the book at all, but mention the title in a short bio that follows. Or it may just give it a passing mention. The point, as always, is name and title recognition that only comes after numerous sightings. Most marketing experts say it takes 14 sightings to even register on the psyche. And with book pages fading fast in many newspapers, any feature or column mention is worth a lot.

So how does one go about getting those mentions? One of the easiest ways is to get involved in local community organizations. There’s a plethora of them. If there isn’t where you are, maybe you should start one. That in itself is newsworthy.

One of the first times I was mentioned in a bona fide newspaper article was because as a member of the local Chamber of Commerce, I served as a judge of the annual float contest in the Christmas Parade. There was a whole 2- 3 paragraphs about my background and, incidentally, my writing even though I’d only had a couple of articles published at the time.

I got a full write up when I was appointed chairperson of the county child welfare board (again as a result of contacts I made while a member of the Chamber). The journalist gave a good amount of space to the fact that I was not only a freelance writer but was also writing a mystery and how the experience of working on the board helped me in my writing.

I’ve never known a thriving community organization that didn’t need volunteers and it can be a huge opportunity for networking. One caution, though. If you go in with the sole motive of selling more of your books, it will probably backfire. Just like the old adage you have to spend money to make money, there’s a law of sowing and reaping that comes into play. Go in to an organization or a cause that you can really support. Something you can do just for the sake of believing in what you’re doing.

There are a variety of opportunities that are both community oriented and nationally connected. One that’s a natural fit for authors is the cause of education and literacy and there are tons of organizations tied into those areas that utilize volunteers.

Public Relations: The Profession and the Practice lists the following areas as prime opportunities for volunteers:

1. Education

2. Crime

3. Environment

4. Poverty

5. Medical

6. Hunger

7. Child care

8. Drug abuse

9. Homelessness

Those certainly aren’t the only causes worth supporting, but if an author’s series protagonist has ties to any of the above, that one would be the natural choice for a time investment. And any of the above would make good topics or career choices for characters in future novels.

Regardless of what activities you might choose, the publicity doesn’t happen on its own. Someone has to take the responsibility to write and distribute the press releases and to ask for articles. It’s not rocket science, but it does require follow up and persistence.

So as you go into the new year and re-evaluate your promotion efforts, you might want to look into the possibilities of investing time in a local organization. It helps keep things in perspective but has the added benefit of providing opportunities for publicity that you might not otherwise have.

Till next time,

Hallelujah – we have some spirit!

Sharon Wheeler

If you're in the UK, you'll have found it difficult to ignore Alexandra Burke and her foghorn voice massacring a true classic.

The winner of X Factor took Leonard Cohen's wonderful Hallelujah to the number one spot in the charts over Christmas. It was just a shame she had no understanding of what she was singing. In fact, she might just as well have been bellowing out the telephone directory.

Laughing Len's classic has a long and distinguished pedigree. Aside from the man himself's rather kitsch 1980s version, it's a toss-up as to whether John Cale, Jeff Buckley or kd lang has done the definitive version. After extensive research, I have settled on Cale, as his clipped Welsh tones, accompanied by the piano, are just perfect for what's an epic in more ways than one.

And he understands just what he's singing. Unlike Burke. The words are in the right order (ah, well, maybe they aren't, considering how much of the song got cut). But her version is all sound and fury, signifying nothing …

I've had the book versions of that countless times, and boy, are they pigs to review. On the surface, they're technically OK – the author's fluent, keeps the story going at a fair pace, presents us with plausible characters and gets the punctuation in the right place. But you get to the end and something feels slightly off. When you come to write the review, though, it's the equivalent of a shrug. And sadly that doesn't take up 300 words.

Sometimes it's down to a lack of emotion. You get the feeling the author has spent so long polishing the story that they've stripped every centimetre of feeling from it. So the reader coasts through, never quite engaging with the characters or the plot.

Or you get the Burke syndrome, where everything's been thrown at the book except the kitchen sink. They teach you on journalism training courses that under-writing, rather than over-writing works. But that ever-so-useful tip hasn't filtered through to all writers.

Sadly no one told Alexandra Burke that the same generally applies to music as well. Unless of course you're Freddie Mercury doing Bohemian Rhapsody.

How it is for us

Lynne Patrick

Forgive me if I’ve said this before: becoming a publisher after being a writer for several decades is a little like the transition from childhood to first-time parenthood. When you’re a kid you swear you won’t treat your own offspring the way your mum treated you – then when you have kids, you realise why she did it.

 

I used to rail against publishers who sat on my manuscript for three months, then returned it with barely a hint that it had been looked at, other than a coffee stain on the title page and a compliments slip with a scrawled ‘No thanks’. Crème de la Crime was going to be different.

 

Our website used to promise a response to submissions within six weeks. We realised very early that this wasn’t going to be possible or practical all the time; it now says we’ll do our best to respond within 40 working days. And our best is what we do.

 

If you’re a writer, believe me, I know how it is for you. I’ve chewed my fingernails to the wrist, fallen to earth with a bump when the manuscript finally came back after months of waiting for the postman, cursed, yelled and punched the wall more times than a few.

 

This is how it is for us.

 

First of all, we have to meet our commitments by keeping to the publishing schedule we set. So top of the to-do list is making the timetable work so that we meet the printing deadlines. For me personally, that often - no, usually - means editing one book, proofreading another and marketing a whole list all at the same time. I often wish I was divisible into three. Actually, make that four: I also need to keep a firm hand on the steering wheel of all the parts of the process I don’t carry out myself.

 

Though our raison d’etre is to discover and publish new talent, and we aim to launch at least one new crime writer every year, we made the decision long ago to nurture our authors, to give them a chance to develop a series character – if they want to, of course, and if we sell enough of the first and second titles to make a third viable. So existing authors have a high priority. Not that they make demands; I’m afraid the kind of author who needs constant encouragement and ego massage doesn’t last long with us – self-sufficiency is the name of the game, and mostly they play it with skill and enthusiasm. But they’re entitled to a modicum of time and attention; goodness knows they deserve it.

 

So, vital though it is, receiving and dealing with the new stuff which may or may not become our future can’t be top of the list. (In the absence of junior assistants, guess who opens the mail.) We do our best to meet that 40-working-day deadline; and if we love your work and want to see more, we’ll try to keep you informed about progress.

 

But we’re human, and we need to sleep now and again.

 

Here’s a thought: there is a way to make sure you get a swift response from us, and sadly more than a few people get one for exactly this reason. Send us your submission by e-mail, or mention in your covering letter that it’s over 100,000 words long, and it will hurtle back to you within a few days with a weary suggestion that you might like to read our guidelines before sending us anything else. But we’d really rather you read them first.

Spacing Out in '09

Barbara Poelle

Greetings and salutations! I realize I have some wildly brilliant, kitten-heeled shoes to fill as the Lady Reid click-clacks her way off into the sunset, so I will do my best to try not to single handedly annihilate the readership.  However, I cannot promise that I won’t attempt to casually try out new words because can someone please tell me what is going on with being “inept” or “disgruntled” but nobody is ever “ept” or “gruntled”? All I am saying is, I will do my darnedest to dazzle and inform, but be prepared for some turns of phrase that may leave you feeling sullied and alone.

Serial blogging is a bit of a new adventure for me. I have done several guest blogs and I love to hear myself verbally pontificate at conferences and workshops on the finer points of, oh, say, the sub-genre specific  euphemisms in romances or the necessity of a multifaceted publicity approach for new authors, but the weekly exploration of industry, craft and creativity is going to be a new one for me.  However, what a perfect time for new adventures and risk taking- it’s a new year! A clean slate!  A freshly tapped keg!

The double whammy is that our agency just moved into new digs. I have a fancy new office with a fancy new desk that has that new car smell, and all the bells and whistles that are mine to ring and blow. I sit in my brand new leather swivel chair and survey my kingdom of covers and queries cackling with glee… but when the glass door closes and I feel mildly ill from the spinning, I realize that I am in a brand new space- and I mean that in every sense of the word-so how do I make it the right space for me?

The “space” for a proper, creative working environment is so important in ALL aspects of this industry. As a writer, you have to be “scribbling away” in a proper environment, and I have to be reading in one. This new office has amazing flow and energy (yes, I am one of THOSE people), and it is stunning and sparkly and absolutely conducive to success for all of our agents. But what is that thing, that feeling, I can’t quite put my finger on, of how to make the “space” mine in which to produce astounding feats of agenting? Of course, there is one specific thing the new space does not provide- specifically the Ethel to my Lucy, the incorrigible Holly Root of the Waxman Agency- there was nearly a full scale surgical procedure to remove us at the hip. But what was it about my stinky old chair, my doorless suite, my chipped desk that created such a positive environment? Think, Poelle! Think! Do I need a goldfish? Should I burn some sage? (Root, you know I did.) What does “creating space” mean?

Well, let’s break it down. Creating my space means of course, the right chair (ooh, swivel-y!) a solid work surface (smell that? That’s the smell of winning) and some shelves to brag upon (Check out that A Hint of Wicked cover, eh?)Hmm, okay. Let’s see. Creating my space also means attacking my queries with the same voracity I attack my contracts- because queries become contracts. Creating my space means attending conferences where I listen as much as I speak. Creating my space means taking a chance on a new voice. Creating my space means cutting back on coffee, laughing more than yelling, having chocolate at 3pm, praising more than cursing, brainstorming more than just storming and simply loving every single minute of being an agent.

Well, look at that. This is my space after all.

How gruntling! (hey, I warned you...)

Whether a promise to create the space in a busy day full of kiddies and carpools to have some time to finish that novel, or to purge the home shelves to make space for the manifestation of that 2009 Edgar, make the space for something in your life this year.  Even if it’s simply a new swivel-y chair.

Wheeeee!

A Short List of Things I Hate

Jeff Cohen

*The tacit acceptance that "serious," no matter how poorly executed, is better than "silly."

*The fact that foods that taste marvelous don't spread through your body, eliminating fat.

*Anyone of ANY religion who decides that if you disagree with them, they can kill you.

*The deterioration of punctuation--is "it's" REALLY that hard to figure out?

*The demise of newspapers in my lifetime: yeah, the Internet's faster. That's not better; it's just faster. McDonald's is faster than a filet mignon--does that make it BETTER?

*Football.

*The idea that a group--let's say gay people--should be met with "tolerance." There's nothing that says "warmth and understanding" better than being TOLERATED, no?

*Jingoism. "America's the GREATEST COUNTRY IN THE WORLD!!!" Well, so what? And at what are we "greatest?" I'm willing to bet the French beat us at crepe-making, hands down.

*Reality TV. Yes, ALL reality TV.

*Exercise. Yeah, I said it.

*Fish. Well, EATING fish. They can swim around all they want and it won't bother me a bit.

*Winter. Cold, snow, ice, sleet, wind, freezing rain. "Winter wonderland?" What drugs were THOSE people on?

*While we're at it, Christmas music. Yes, even that one. 

*People dying. I'm against it.

*The fact that there will never, EVER, be a new Marx Brothers movie. What a drag.

*Desserts that don't have chocolate in them. What's the point?

*The fact that everybody can't buy every book. It would make life SO much simpler.

*The squeaking sound that styrofoam makes. Even typing that gives me shivers.

*My children getting older. Whose idea was THAT?

*Fake memoirists. Just label it "fiction" and move on, okay?

*Did I mention exercise?

*The phrase "humorous cozy." (See previous posts for elaboration.)

*The baseball off-season.

*The fact that John Lennon has been dead for 28 years, and counting.

*Hate. That's right, I hate hate. Go figure.

Did I miss anything? What do YOU hate?

Happy to be Dead

Hello, world! My name is Alison Janssen and I'm honored to be a new blogger here at HTADGITLR. (Boy, that kinda sounds like a Norse God of something or other.) Thank you for including me, and I hope my posts are up to snuff.

So I figured I'd just jump right in today, none of this toe-in-the-water business. Cannonball all the way.

I've been watching a lot of movies lately. I mean, a lot. Several. A multiplex's worth. Specifically, fifteen since last Sunday. Some of them I'd seen before, some I was watching for the first time. Now certainly, they were not all masterworks of the cinema, but I did find something to enjoy during each of them (even if that something was shouting, "Hey, here's a paper bag, now ACT YOUR WAY OUT OF IT" at my tv screen).

I know people who are unable to lose themselves in movies, and I know that I am not one of them. No matter the subject, theme, special effects, voiceovers, stop-animation, camera trickery, wooden acting, method acting, costumes, historical inaccuracies ... whatever, I can still let go and get absorbed.

How about you? Do you like to float along with a narrative, perhaps making snide comments along the way but ultimately happy for the ride, or do you prefer to shut off a movie that doesn't Calgon-take-you-away?

p.s. For those completists among us, here is my list, as close to the order in which I watched them as I can recall. Please note that some of these trailers may not be appropriate for all audiences:

Stepbrothers
The Happening
Wall-E
Casino Royale
Hamlet 2
Burn After Reading
The Fall
Star Wars: The Clone Wars
Talladega Nights (The Ballad of Ricky Bobby)
I <3 Huckabees
Kung Fu Panda
The X Files: I Want to Believe
The Da Vinci Code
Kiss Kiss Bang Bang
The Omen (2006 remake)

And up tonight:
Lady in the Water
Nightwatch

New Year's

Last New Year's, we had a huge snowstorm, cancelled inventory (to the delight of our inventory "staff" of sleepy teenagers) and went to the New Year's Eve party we've been going to for years.  It's given by a friend of mine who has a son the same age as mine - they met in kindergarden, and the boys are now 15 - but this year, said friend thought the sights and sounds of Toronto would be more appealing.

I was resigned to spending New Year's at home with my daughter and her friends (my daughter implored me to go somewhere - anywhere!) but got a last minute phone call from another friend and so went to her delightful party instead.  I didnt think we would know too many people but it was not the case - the room was filled with book dealers, of all things. 

Ann Arbor is a huge book town, especially for it's size (about 140,000) - we sport 6 used bookstores and many new bookstores - and the book dealers in town all know each other.  Of course since we're all booksellers we're all a bit shy and bookish, but it's a loose fraternity.  My husband & I have been selling books for 16 years now, almost 17, and we still feel like the used book "newbies".  The booksellers at the party have been at it for a good 35 years.

It was so interesting listening to them talk about the early days of bookselling in town and not only how the town has changed - more restaurants and fewer distinctive local businesses - but Ann Arbor has gone more upscale from the halycyon and free days of the late 70's and early 80's.  These guys - one of whom doesn't use a cash register - actually spent part of New Year's Eve 2008 talking about their record collections.   None of us feel internet business is a huge part of our business, and agreed that what we were selling was our specialized knowledge.

They remembered when Borders was a tiny used book store not even on street level and they were also talking about whe Borders started to sell new books.  I wished I'd had a tape recorder.  The other thing we all agreed on was that business, at the moment, is day to day.  We have good days and terrible ones with no discernable pattern.  One of the guys said that it's the oddest buisness pattern in 35 years of bookselling.

It gave me a feeling that we might be around for 15 more years or longer, talking to these guys.   The book buisness sure gets under your skin, one way or another, and I think it's gotten under ours.  We're doomed, if the piles of books everywhere in my house are any indication.  So here's to another year of selling books and meeting the interesting people who read (and sell) them.

Of mice and marketing

PJ Nunn

While sitting in the easy chair in my room on New Year's Eve, pondering the year gone by and the new one to come, I felt what I thought was a muscle twitch in my right thigh. I was able to ignore it for a while, then later in the evening realized it only ever happened when I was sitting in that chair. And realized that I rarely ever have such a thing. About the time I remembered seeing a mouse run posthaste from my bathroom door to my closet door a few days ago, I leapt up and insisted my hubby come and look the chair over. Lo and behold, a bold little field mouse was so busy trying to fashion a nest under the cushion, it didn't even seem to notice that David had lifted said cushion, or that I'd run from the room, completely caught up in a totally irrational fear-like state, screaming like a girl. Yikes!

How's that for a memorable way to spend New Year's Eve? No more partying at a favorite club, or decked out dances that serve champagne. Home in a worn out chair with a field mouse. Doesn't get much more exciting than that, eh?

I might add that before midnight, we'd captured two more of its little friends and set them free out in the field beside the house. Did I mention we've recently moved to the country? Or that my two faithful canines don't think mice are worth the time and trouble to chase?

So I gather, along with the things I've planned to pursue in 2009, I probably should add mice to the list. I shudder to sleep thinking the little creatures are roaming the house freely in the dark of night. Then on New Year's Morning, anticipating the Rose Parade, I learned my eldest daughter, Kate, got a phone call around 3 am informing her that the Starbucks where she works as a second job while studying for her EA exam was crashed into and would not be opening this morning so there was no need for her to come to work. Again, not happy news for New Year's Day. It later proved to be only a minor setback and they'll be open again on Friday, when you read this, but geez. Crashed into? The guy wasn't hurt but apparently his car didn't fare so well.

I've also got another daughter planning a wedding in March, a son planning a wedding in December (the date is probable but not yet official) and the advent of our first grandchild expected around the end of August. Looks to be a busy and happy year (aside from the mice).

Of course none of this has anything to do with marketing mysteries, which is primarily what I do. But I thought you'd like to hear it anyway. We all have our stuff.

As for BreakThrough Promotions in the upcoming new year, I have been doing my research and considering comments from current and previous clients. Everyone is concerned about the economy these days, and of course concerned about making the best use of their promotional dollars. I want and need to take things into consideration as I map out our plans for the year. Public relations in any field is all about the planning.

It's times like these that I really struggle. I see the need for strategic planning that includes a look to the future, with public opinion surveys, brainstorming sessions with networked professionals, and developing suitable scenarios that can be customized for a variety of needs and clients.

Creating and working a fully focused marketing campaign easily costs upward of $25,000. That’s not so publicists can get rich (although it’s a nice thought) but because the research and the contact hours needed to conduct such a campaign are immense. By the time all is said and done, it usually figures out to something in the vicinity of $35 – $50 per hour plus expenses. To do it for less wouldn’t be at all cost effective.

My dilemma is that an average client pays me between $5,000 – $10,000 in a year. Many pay less than that. So it’s a challenge for me to try and give them the best bang for the buck at a price they can afford and still be effective.

And even though we do our best to keep rates affordable, especially for first time and small press authors who don’t get much of an advance to spend on promotion, I still sometimes have clients who think they aren’t getting enough for the money. It all goes back to understanding the big picture and the market value of services.

For instance, newspapers are still the resource most Americans turn to for news and entertainment information. Men who haven’t read a book in years, faithfully read their newspapers most every day. And I’ve not met many authors who don’t want newspaper coverage. Unfortunately, most want book reviews and/or feature articles about themselves. But those two items are increasingly hard to get.

We do still get them from time to time. A Florida paper is doing a feature piece on Rick DiBiasio right now. The Dallas Morning News did a feature on Elaine Viets a few months back. Harry Hunsicker shows up in Dallas area print from time to time. We snag reviews for clients in the Dallas and 

Ft.Worth papers periodically, as well as a few others scattered about the country. But considering the number of clients we represent and the number of review copies that go out, both from us and from the publishers, it’s a very small rate of return.

With both newsprint, and talk shows, the fact that someone wrote a new novel is not news. We need to find a non-fiction news hook, usually from the author’s personal experience. Savvy authors know how that works and they write to that end. Karna Bodman’s background in the White House opens a myriad of doors for her fiction. Elaine Viets’ Dead End Job mysteries offer a natural segway into talk shows. But most mysteries aren’t as easy to sell that way. And I still hear complaints that “they didn’t want to talk about my book – all they wanted to talk about was my job.” That’s the way it goes. It’s up to the author to work that book title in there somewhere. The host just wants to give an entertaining interview to his audience.

 

Magazines are also good media, but of the 22,000 + that are published regularly in the US, 12,000 defined as general interest and 10,000 are specialized trade and industry publications. Those can be great niche markets, but you or your book have to specifically fit the niche to have a shot at an article. AND the editorial calendars often run as far as 12 months ahead, meaning if you have a book coming out in January 2009, you should’ve gotten an ARC and a query in the editor’s hands no later than January 2008. Tough to work that far ahead of the release date.

Television is still the most popular choice for American’s news viewing, with cable/satellite shows gradually creeping up on the traditional network news that now only commands 50 – 60% of the viewing audiences. As television is the principle medium for entertainment and product publicity, it’s a natural choice for authors to make huge audiences aware of their books.

It’s also a little harder to get, and many authors either feel it’s too costly for the time (think about the cost of Superbowl commercials) but psychologists and marketing experts still insist that viewers hearing and seeing you makes for a better retention rate and name recognition factor. But to make a positive impression in a television interview takes more effort than just about anything else. Appropriate clothing and good interview techniques, possibly with the assistance of a media coach, will help.

And contrary to an online myth I’ve seen circulating periodically, radio continues to be a growing medium. A recent survey conducted by Media Literature and Culture (Baron) shows 12,428 stations: 4,735 AM and 5,693 FM with the remaining 2,000 as noncommercial and public. Many authors insist that no one listens to radio anymore (not true) while others insist that only the AM NPR stations are worth pursuing for interview time. Yet the records show that nearly three fourths of the overall listening audience listens to FM stations, and NPR can be found there too.

Another amazing statement that I continue to hear is “that show is on a small station – I want to be on a big station” or “I want to be on a program in Los Angeles, New York, Chicago…” Neither of those positions is supported in major marketing material. In fact often the smaller venues are recommended and sought because of the cost effectiveness in purchasing advertising time. There’s also the reasoning that in large metropolitan markets, there’s a lot more competition for listeners. And when you get right down to it, if your interview is heard by 5,000 listeners in Piedmont ND or in Brooklyn NY, do you really think the locale makes a difference in how many of those 5,000 listeners will ultimately buy your book? That doesn’t seem to be the case. And 5,000 potential book buyers is 5,000 no matter where you find them.

More than ever, this new year will mean that authors must carefully consider their promotional efforts. But as with any business, it’s almost impossible to grow a business (or a career as an author) without a marketing budget. You can’t count on the publisher to do that. They’re cutting back even more staff these days. If an author is serious about making a career as a novelist, careful planning and dispensation of a marketing budget is a critical element in the business plan, with an eye to getting his or her name in front of as many potential book buyers as possible on a consistent basis. Brick on brick. And remember, not every book buyer is a reader. A lot of book buyers are gift buyers. So they don’t all listen to “book” shows. You might find them anywhere.

I’m looking for more creative ways to market the clients we have. I know all of you authors are looking for more creative ways to market yourselves. I’d love to hear your ideas and your questions. Maybe as we compare notes we can all have the best year ever!

Till next time,

A list, a list!

Sharon Wheeler

Does anyone care about 'best of . . . ' lists? According to my blog mate Jeff Cohen, the damn things are all the same anyway, as reviewers refuse to break ranks. So is it just self-indulgence when we pontificate about our gems and turkeys of the year?

I always read people's lists, mainly because I'm nosy, but also so that I can roll my eyes at some of their weird choices, or grab a pen and start scribbling when someone mentions a book I haven't come across. And I'm grumpy enough to think that I don't go with the pack as a rule. I'm not a very clubbable person – I'm with Groucho Marx when he said that he'd refuse to join any club that would have him as a member! And given that I ensure I read and review a large number of books from small publishers, I can always guarantee a mix of the mainstream and the less well-known in my lists.

So … For those of you who are interested here are my books of 2008. For those of you who aren't, go and finish off the turkey, or eat the toffees that always seem to get left at the bottom of any box of chocolates.

The list is in alphabetical order by author, I've included a brief comment by each, and they've all been reviewed on RTE by me with the exception of the Richard Stevenson:

Sacrifice – SJ Bolton
A very creepy debut novel set in Shetland which mixes folklore with what, in the wrong hands, could have been a clichéd plot.

The Reapers – John Connolly
The focus moves in this book from angst-ridden PI Charlie Parker to his mysterious sidekicks Angel and Louis – and is all the better for it, as it exudes darkness and menace on every page.

Bad Traffic – Simon Lewis
This novel from small UK publishers Sort Of Books, featuring a Chinese detective adrift in England trying to find his missing daughter, has the feel of a noir movie.

The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo – Stieg Larsson
OK, so I bet this book will be on a lot of other 'best of' lists – and it thoroughly deserves to be. It was hugely hyped, but delivers in style with its two contrasting leading characters and its rich and intelligent storytelling.

Lorraine Connection – Dominique Manotti
A standalone from the author of the Daquin series and another look at the seamier side of France as a PI gets tangled up with deadly goings-on at a Korean-owned factory.

The Turnaround – George Pelecanos
This is a crime novel without police and not much in the way of crime either. But it's another formidable book as Pelecanos again turns a searing eye on American society.

The Crazy School – Cornelia Read
Read had a lot to live up to following her debut novel A Field of Darkness. This one, set in a school for disturbed teenagers out in the sticks, is even better – it's funny, scary and full of what you might call unusual characters!

To Dream of the Dead – Phil Rickman
Rickman's Merrily Watkins books are heavyweight efforts which often skim the line between crime fiction and horror. Whatever, they come from a master storyteller and this one featuring a TV archaeologist and a couple of gruesome murders is no exception.

Death Vows – Richard Stevenson
A welcome and overdue return with a new small publisher for the author of the PI Don Strachey novels. As usual Stevenson combines humour with tight plotting and a story straight from the headlines.

Bruno, Chief of Police – Martin Walker
A quirky, witty but deceptively dark book featuring the chief of police in a small southwestern French town. Threatening the seemingly idyllic lifestyle is wartime history and racial unrest.

And, seeing as I can see into the future (hasn't helped with winning the lottery, though), I can tell you my top book of 2009 – Stieg Larsson's The Girl Who Played with Fire. Oh, well, OK, so I've just read the ARC. Rumbled again!

Happy new year, everyone, and may 2009 be a good 'un for you.