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

Looking Back, Looking Forward, and Blatant Begging

Jeff Cohen

First and foremost: Today is Memorial Day. I have nothing but respect for those who serve all of us in our most dangerous and difficult times. And I mourn each and every one who gave his or her life in the performance of that service. And that is what Memorial Day is all about (not to be confused with Veterans Day, which is about all who served, not all who died in the line of duty).

But as an old idealist non-hippie (I was just too young), I wonder whatever happened to the notion that someday we might get to the point that we wouldn't need armed conflict to settle our disagreements. Young people used to protest and demonstrate against wars (granted, much of that protest was due to the fact that there was a draft, and a great number of us didn't want to serve in any war at all), and now they are simply trying to keep their scholarship grants in an awful economy. Times change.

Like I said, I have enormous respect for everyone who serves and has served. But wouldn't it be better if, someday, we didn't have a need for Memorial Day anymore?

Moving on: Take a look at the new blog KILLER CHARACTERS, starting tomorrow. A great group of cozy mystery characters will be posting there (starting with Olivia Limoges from Ellery Adams's A KILLER PLOT), and I have it on the highest authority that Alison Kerby, main character of NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEED, will be there every second of the month (for those of you wondering, that means Alison's first post will be this Wednesday). 

There was no way I would even consider not mentioning that E.J. Copperman's NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEED will make its long-awaited (by me and a handful of others) debut tomorrow. This warm, funny, spooky mystery is so close to my own work, it's almost as if I had written it myself.

If you know what I mean.

So yes, I'm going to make a blatant, shameless plea: Go buy (or stay in and buy) NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEED, the first Haunted Guesthouse mystery, tomorrow. Or, you know, now. Or soon. But do buy it. It's only $7.99 (or less). Give some as gifts. Use it to hold up the short leg of the kitchen table, and buy another one to read. 

When A NIGHT AT THE OPERATION, the last Double Feature Mystery (alas) was published last year, I offered a list of things that you could do other than buy the book. Unfortunately, too many of you took that advice, and did one of those other things. So now, I'm going to offer reasons you should buy NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEED. 

1. It's a very good book. (I can offer reviews that attest to this, so you don't have to take my word for it.)

2. It supports higher education. That is, every time a book is sold, it goes in part toward sending two wonderful children to college. Believe me.

3. It'll make a statement in favor of books, as opposed to TV, movies, bungee jumping and other entertainment options.

4. You'll feel good. Honestly. Buy this book, and you'll feel good. Even if you read it.

5. It's not about vampires. Ghosts, sure, but not vampires.

6. I'll be your best friend.

7. You can get a bookmark autographed by E.J. Copperman just by asking.

8. Buying this book will just about GUARANTEE the publication of its sequel, AN UNINVITED GHOST, next April.

9. My mother will be very happy.

10. It has a really good cover. 

11. There's a book launch party Friday night, and if you buy one, you can have it autographed there!

LP-to-Digital Conversion Project: Judy Small, I'm told, is an Australian folk singer with a strong feminist bent. The album I converted from my wife's collection consisted mainly of scolding men, which I found just a little bit objectionable, even if I didn't always disagree with it. Maybe if there'd been a tune.

When Saturday Night Live was new (in 1976), it became such a sensation that a record album taking some of the more recognizable bits from the show's first season was inevitable. But listening to it now illustrates exactly how important the visual component was, and makes us even that much more grateful for DVD. The famous "uvula" sketch ends up revolving around the constant repetition of the word "uvula," which gets old quickly, but the Weekend Update segments with Chevy Chase still work for the those of us old enough to remember what he's talking about.

Boz Scaggs started out in the Steve Miller Band, then broke out on his own, and didn't really hit his stride until he recorded Silk Degrees in 1976. Alas, I already had this album, its follow-up Middle Man and a few others on CD, so there was no reason to convert them. The early albums were a mixed bag, with some blue-eyed soul, country, rock and straight pop. The voice was there, but the songwriting took off later.

The week ended with Seals and Crofts, a duo whose presence in the collection is, I'm afraid, all my responsibility. Talented musicians who could find a melody, harmony and hooks in almost anything, they also had such tin ears for lyrics--and such heavy handed religious and political opinions--that listening to them now borders on embarrassing. The hooks are still there, the voices blend nicely, but the words make you want to get on the phone and ask these guys why they didn't hire someone else to do the lyrics for them. Just about to get to "Summer Breeze," but I'm sure it doesn't get much better from here.

Summertime blues

My favorite summertime blues involve cerulean skies and azure water, lit by a feed-my-inner-lizard blazing sun that makes me think reminiscently of time spent in Greece. Hmm, when was the last time I made zucchini with skordalia or garides me feta? Anyway, I'm not really a believer in astrology, but no question I was born under a sun sign.

And then there are the other kind. Which include the sort of thing that at this moment has given me a deeper appreciation of Francis Scott Key's pain when trying to compose just a few words in some sort of reasonable order while dealing with a brain rattling bombardment of sound that would seem to indicate the sky is falling. Bombs bursting in air just doesn't begin to describe it...

When you live in a city with a college population on the order of 1/3 million, summertime is both a blessing and a cause for the blues. Blessing for the universal celebrate the summer reasons, but also because so many of that third of a million go away, leaving in their place a refreshing relative peace, despite an offsetting influx of tourists. The tourists tend to stay in tourist places and this is about the neighborhoods where people like me live. Less crowding on streets and subways and in the best places to indulge that inner lizard; fewer cell phone conversations insistently blared to all in the same area code, while smartphone music is more apt to be restricted to earbuds and headsets (and why is it that the people most eager to share their music instead always seem to be the ones with the worst taste); a chance to renew acquaintance with some old favorite bars and restaurants where the demographics have undergone a radical shift past the legal drinking age; and just a general feeling that most of those around you are adults and capable of acting like it. Obviously there are very nice, quiet college students around here too... at least I assume there are. But being quiet and considerate, they've never forced themselves on my attention, so I can't say for sure.

The blues come in because not all of that third of a million go away for the summer. The ones who stay seem to be determined to make up in one type of volume for their lack of the other sort. They've actually been relatively decent up until tonight, with just some of the normal schoolyear level of party noise. But on top of cranking up the volume tonight, one of the joys of summer is windows wide open, circulating lots of fresh air (actually, after growing up in a 200 year old house without insulation, I tend to be uncomfortable indoors if I don't feel some sort of a draft year round). That means it's no longer just a matter of the buzz of vibrating walls and ceilings and windows over the pounding music they more or less muffle. Nope, it's as if that muscle car whose mega-speakers' wall of sound literally rocked you as it passed had decided to take up permanent residence in your passenger seat.

Creating even more summertime blues in the little blue cloud over my head created by my response to it all as I try to focus enough to finish this. How did Francis Scott Key manage under all those bombs bursting in air?

Lists & Characters

Robin Agnew

Guilty pleasure alert:  I LOVE Entertainment Weekly.  It's true you can read it in a half hour - but it arrives every week!  I originally subscribed to it because I was monitoring their book reviews for Sisters in Crime, but I quickly grew to love it.  In my family, it's worth fighting over, and when my daughter left for college this year, she had to get her own subscription.  Now anyone who reads Entertainment Weekly knows that one thing they love are lists.  I love them myself, and I started thinking about great mystery characters - of a more recent vintage, not Poirot or Holmes.  These aren't in order.

Harry Bosch - duh.  He's capable, smart, loyal and oh, a little dangerous.  Never dull, just like the books he appears in. What's not to love?

Detective Kubu - The first time I read one of Michael Stanley's books, much as I enjoyed it, what struck me was the wondrous character of Kubu that they had created.  A fat gourmand who also loves wine, he loves his wife and family just as much, but he's also a smart detective who always gets his man.  I asked the "Stanleys" is they had based him on Nero Wolfe and got a complete denial, but I can still see it.  He's absolutely adorable, by which I mean - I adore him.

Inspector Gamache - What can I say?  Penny set out to both recreate and update the classic mystery and she succeeded admirably, not least with her signature character, by turns calm, angry, sedate, kind, just, even tempered, and someone who also has a rich and full family life.  When I asked Louise if he was related to Simenon's Maigret I didn't get a denial, but I've met Louise's husband, and there's a resemblance there too.  However he came to be, he's a delight.

Alex McKnight - I live in Michigan, I almost have to love Alex!  But what's not to love about a tormented guy with a bullet lodged near his heart who lives in the middle of nowhere but who must still right wrongs, however they appear.  Sure, he may have tasered his best friend in one book, but heck, he had to do it.

Claire Fergusson - I think Claire is single handedly responsible for a new wave of crime fiction heroines, but she is supreme.  Tormented, capable, always acting with her heart as much as she's determined to act with her brain, she's unforgettable and indelible.  Bravo.

Madeleine Dare - Cornelia Read's mouthy, preternaturally articulate creation looks at the world with a critical but loving eye.  If there's a sentence that falls out of Dare's (or Read's mouth) that isn't actually memorable, I'm not sure I've read it - I must have skimmed that part.  Thanks for the gift of language, Cornelia.

Cork O'Connor - Mystery fiction's ultimate good guy.  If Cork ever makes a mistake it's for the right reason.  There couldn't be a more reliable, intelligent or better realized character.  Cork has gone through a lot in his journey and we've been right there with him.  I always need a kleenex.

There are so many more, these are just some faves.  I'm sure you all have your own.  Happy reading!

Invasion of the Book Bloggers

Dana Kaye

I had a request from a blog reader last week to discuss the glut of book review blogs. And since I always aim to please the readers…

In the past year, I’ve noticed a significant increase in the amount of online book coverage. I’m not just talking about the newspapers shifting their book sections online; I’m referring to everyday readers starting blogs with the sole purpose of reviewing books. These bloggers are librarians, recreational readers, sometimes they’re authors themselves. They update their sites often, read 2-3 books every week, and they have large, loyal followings.

For authors and publicists, this has been great. Book coverage can be hard to come by and, unlike newspapers, book blogging sites offer unlimited review space. Book bloggers can track their click rates, site visits, even if someone purchased the book from their Amazon link. All of this is extremely helpful in figuring out what type of publicity works and what doesn’t. When I contact a book blogger for a review, I know their blog subscribers, twitter followers, sometimes they even share their stats. I can ensure that the review will reach hundreds, even thousands, and is worth my time.

I think the concern addressed in last week’s comments was that there are so many people posting online reviews; how do you know who to trust? Why does their opinion matter?

The integrity of a reviewer, whether they’re writing for the NYT or their personal blog, lies in their previous reviews. If they recommended books you’ve liked and criticized those you didn’t, chances are you can trust their opinion. There are definitely differences between various book blogs in quality of writing and analysis, but overall, book reviewing is subjective. The better the opinion and the more accurate the analysis, the more followers the blogger is going to maintain. Give one too many bad opinions and people won’t listen to you anymore.

So while I think there are hundreds of book blogs and more created every day, I don’t think the additional coverage is a bad thing. No one would say there are too many news outlets or sites dedicated to professional sports, why should the arts be any different? Be discriminatory; look at their previous reviews and see if you agree with their opinion before going out and buying all their recommendations. But there are book bloggers I would trust more than some of the critics at the national newspapers. Here are a few of my favorites:

www.jennsbookshelves.com

www.jensbookthoughts.blogspot.com

www.myfriendamysblog.com

www.lesasbookcritiques.blogspot.com

www.popculturenerd.com

 

For those of you attending the Backspace Writers Conference, I will be speaking tomorrow morning at 10:00am for the “Buying and Selling: From Publisher to Bookshelf” panel. Hope to see you there!

Ack!

by Alison Janssen

I forgot to blog yesterday!

I'm so sorry, Dead Guy readers. This week is BEA, and I've been running around like a crazy person. I've also caught some sort of chest cold, and combined with my nonstop talking at our booth, my voice is shot. At first it was ok, I had a sort of sexy Kathleen Turner thing happening, but now I've moved past that into the realm of that episode of the Brady bunch when the middle kid's voice changed. (Honestly, I haven't even tried to speak this morning, who knows what horrors will come out.)

In any case, I have to hop a cab to the airport to head home to some comfortable convalescence. (And honestly, some quieter atmosphere. I'm so spoiled by Madison!)

I'll cook up a great blog post for next week to try to make up for my scatterbrained-ness, and I know Dana has a wonderful post for you lined up today. (She's also at BEA, but clearly far more organized than me!) If you have any suggestions about what type or topic of ramblings you'd like to read, leave 'em in the comments.

Thanks, everyone! And I apologize in advance to whoever has to sit near me on the plane. Though my voice sounds bad, my cough sounds worse. If I were on Flight 815 from Sydney, I'd have scared the Smoke Monster.

Smelling the roses

OK, if you’re going to be picky, it’s a tad early for actual roses, but metaphorically speaking I had a very pleasant few days’ downtime last week, thanks for asking. I read three and a half books in five days, ate far too much excellent food, including some sinfully delicious ice cream, watched a sunset, walked a few cliff paths, caught up with some old friends – and summer did actually arrive while we were enjoying the Guernsey calm, though clearly on its way to somewhere else since it’s now departed again.  

 

But six days have passed since we left the island, and it all seems long ago and far away. ’Twas ever thus with holidays.

 

First on the post-break agenda was CrimeFest, the UK’s answer to Bouchercon, which went off with its usual aplomb in Bristol last weekend. Crème de la Crime has been actively involved ever since it began as a relocated Left Coast Crime back in 2006; this year we were a little less active, but several names from our list popped up on panels.

 

Profile-raising aside, it’s an opportunity to catch up with people who were once just names on book covers but these days I can count as friends. I can hardly believe that at the first crime convention I attended, I wandered aimlessly feeling like the new girl on her first day at school; these days I don’t walk five yards without getting a hug, or at least a hi, from someone. As I’ve probably said a few times before, crime writers are such nice people. I think they must get all the dark side of their personalities out into the books.

 

This year we even managed a creditable score in the pub quiz, having come ignominiously last for the past two years – though most of our new-found success was down to the brilliant Ali Karim, who has forgotten more about crime fiction than I’ll ever know. Ali and a few other reviewers and fans with similarly encyclopaedic knowledge had been banned from forming their own team again because they kept winning (what a terribly British thing to do, methinks), so they attached themselves individually to others, and the Creme team drew a long straw for a change. Though he didn’t do it all by himself; he didn’t know that P J Tracy was two people – and neither did the team which eventually won, so I enjoyed a private little glow of pride there!

 

And now it’s back to the daily round. We came back on Saturday night and I’ve already run a promotion event and booked two more, proofread a quarter of a manuscript, reviewed a play for the moonlight job, deleted several reams of spam and dealt with a pile of submissions – as well as all the boring domestic stuff and the small mountain of other jobs which seem to fill 95% of the time. I wish I knew why it is that I plan each day’s tasks meticulously, but most days somehow don’t get around to looking at the plan till three in the afternoon.

 

And if I don’t take care, it’s going to happen today as well. So I’ll stop burbling and get on with some work!

Candlelight at the end of the Tunnel

by Barbara Poelle

So, the Poelles moved. It was an adventure. And by adventure I mean that the contractor effed up the wiring so we didn’t have electricity in the living room or the bedroom on Friday and then he PROMISED to be there first thing Saturday morning, so of course he shambled in at 11:30 on SUNDAY so we had to hang the bedroom curtains by candlelight and Husband yelled, “This is like Bed, Bath and BeAMISH!” and then he almost lit them on fire.

We laughed a little too hysterically.

Really though. This place is too fancy for the likes of me. Husband fits riiiiight it, but I keep expecting a knock on the door and two guys in suits will look at me knowingly and I will sheepishly duck my head and allow them to escort me away from the premises.

Dude! Our maintenance guy just started mowing the lawn and I just yelled, “That is a LAWNMOWER downstairs because there is a LAWN!” Husband went, “Yes, babe.” And kind of sighed. But, I mean do you see? This place has LANDSCAPING.  I might have to stuff my own hooker corpse in the wall just to feel centered. Or at least fall off the roof into a trash bin or something. One good thing has come out of this: clearly I have to buy only top shelf or I will embarrass myself in front of the neighbors.

All the other people who have lived here for years are so used to things like landscaping. And elevators.   And closets. (Closets in Manhattan are like facelifts in Beverly Hills. Everyone acts like they get along fine without, but secretly think about how life would be different with.) They probably don’t think about it too much, and they probably get angry when the elevator isn’t moving fast enough or the begonia petals track into their foyer.  Just like how a lot of times when you are on book three or four and feeling frustrated that you weren’t asked to do your panel this year at a conference, you forget that you are a published author. You DID it.

It is so important to be present, but it is also so important to remember where you came from. When is the last time you patted yourself on the back for even TRYING to write a book? When is the last time you paused and said out loud, “I did it.”? Take a minute.

You have come so far. Remember when you typed the last sentence? Remember when you wrote you query? Remember when you got your first rejection letter? Remember when you DIDN’T? Remember when you would duck your head and say, “I’m a writer,” nervous and frustrated when the next question was, “Oh? Who is your publisher?” and you would say brightly, “Still looking!” Remember when you would lift your chin and say, “I’m a writer,” and could answer the next question with “Random House.”? Remember when you saw cover art for the first time? Remember when someone asked you to sign a book?  Remember when you became a published author?

You did it.

Take a minute. Take two. You earned it.

And for those of you out there still on chapter 7. Or still agent hunting. You take a minute, too. This is a murky journey and sometimes the wiring is all effed up.  But there’s a candle. And laughter. And LANDSCAPING.  So it can’t be all that bad, right?

  

Random Thoughts/Obsession

Jeff Cohen

As you read this, there are eight days until the official publication date of NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEED by E.J. Copperman. So you'll have to forgive me if the following collection of random thoughts has a certain obsessive bent to it. Authors tend to want their books to be noticed, and we have a finite number of avenues open to us when we want to wave our arms and yell "lookit me!" So please allow me my upcoming excesses (or tune in next week, the day before the book comes out, when I'm SURE I won't be the least big obsessed):

* It's an interesting moment when, after your publisher asks you to use a nom de plume (that's a made-up author name, for those who are French-impaired) and you've tried, at least a little, to pretend someone else wrote the book, to find this on the publisher's own web page. I don't mind it; it's just interesting.

* Writing something in the "paranormal" category gives you a real sense of perspective on sub-genre nicknames. I thought it was bad when I wrote "humorous cozies," and now I'm stuck with "woo-woo." Makes a person shudder to think what's next.

* The first three games in this year's installment of what local sportscasters insist on calling the "Subway Series" (it's not; only a World Series between two New York teams can take that title) have been the dullest since they started this whole farce 14 years ago. All the nail-biting tension of "Yankeeography: Scott Brosius."

* For those keeping score at home, Rutgers edged out Brandeis at the last moment, so my daughter will be attending her dad's alma mater starting in September. Only she's in the honors program, because she's actually smarter than me.

* It's "Copperman," not "Cooperman." I should have seen that coming.

* E.J. Copperman now has more than twice the number of friends I have on Facebook. I take this to mean not that I'm less popular, but that E.J. is a Facebook slut. Or, they think the name is Cooperman.

* I've looked over the summer movie rosters. Looks like another season to spend with Netflix.

* I'm writing this before the end of LOST airs. But there's no chance I'm watching it in real time--the damn thing doesn't end until 11:30! So don't you dare tell me how it ended.

* My children are really good people. How many people can honestly say that?

* If you want to have a good chance to write a book that could be published, stop worrying about the machinations of the plot and concentrate on who your character is. The plot can be fixed and changed. If your character's dull, that's the end of the ballgame.

* Why is it college students can't tell the difference between "your" and "you're"? I blame texting.

* I don't see how the whole books-vs.-ebooks argument has legs. There's no reason there can't be both. We have movies and TV. The real death struggle here is about format: It's VHS vs. Beta all over again.

* When I was young, I wanted to be a Good Humor man. Bring ice cream to kids. Frankly, it's still looking like a decent idea. But I'd have bells on my truck, not some stupid electronic ringtone version of Scott Joplin.

* I'm thinking of putting out ads on the Internet that read "WILL WRITE FOR FOOD."

* NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEED has not been reviewed by Publishers Weekly. Actually, that's really not such a bad thing.

* The launch party for NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEED will be at Nighthawk Books in Highland Park, New Jersey, Friday, June 4 at 7 p.m. Bring your friends. Bring your enemies. Bring the state of Oklahoma, if you can fit them all into your SUV.

* Just keep in mind: to you, NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEED represents $7.99 or less. To me, it's a career.

* No, I really don't mind that LOST and 24 are being cancelled. Frankly, I was ready for both to end two years ago.

* 7 bedrooms, 4 baths, 2 ghosts. NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEED. What's not to like?

LP-to-Digital Conversion Project Update: I have a new definition of "love." In this case, I can show my wife how much I adore her simply by pointing out that I have converted, in succession, FOUR albums by Buffy Sainte-Marie, and in order to do so, I had to listen to them. That's love, all right.

Ms. Sainte-Marie seems like a nice person, and I might even agree with many of her political stands, or at least the ones she was espousing in 1965. But listening to her yell at me for four albums, strumming her guitar as if to saw it in half and using so much vibrato you begin to wonder if she's not gargling, is the limit of tolerance. Every note screams "strident" at the top of its lungs. But the upside is that halfway through the first album, you realize that her lower register reminds you of nothing more than the voice of Ruth Buzzi, and that in itself might be amusing enough to sustain you. Although I'm making no promises. 

Leading up to Buffy's stylings (including a pointless cover of Carole King's "Smackwater Jack") came a number of albums by Linda Ronstadt, who has a very entertaining voice indeed, but whose choice of material isn't always as sterling. The two albums of standards she did with Nelson Riddle are nice, but so reverent that you can hear her struggling to pronounce every consonant. Again, no arguments, but more fun when rocking out.

Carole Bayer Sager got to make some records in the seventies, when anyone who spelled "Carol" with an "e" added could ride Ms. King's box office coattails. Her debut album, creatively titled "Carole Bayer Sager" came after she'd written many songs with various partners and alone. Which makes it doubly strange that the only really memorable material on the album is the novelty "You're Moving Out Today," which she wrote with Bruce Roberts and Bette Midler, and which probably suits Ms. M. better.

Coming up: Judy Small (again, dear wife), an album of the first season of Saturday Night Live, and then a few albums by Boz Scaggs. No Buffy Sainte-Marie. That's how I spell "relief."

Recommendations

"If you like this then you'll love that..." recommendations can be tricky. After all, just because I once bought a frypan from them, Amazon.com seems to feel I am simply pining away for lack of golf tees for the game I don't play, diapers for the baby I don't have, a buzzsaw for the workshop I'd be an active menace in, and back hair trimmers for... sigh

OK, an admittedly extreme example. But a real life one; Amazon has actually explained (admitted?) to me that its recommendations use a marketing algorithm which says that if someone else bought something I did and bought a lot of unrelated stuff as well, then I must want all the unrelated stuff too. The problem is, most you like this / you must try that book recommendations aren't much better, because they tend to rely on relatively superficial stuff like setting or profession or basic genre labels. Sorry, but just because I love Jo Dereske's series featuring librarian Helma Zukas, that doesn't mean I'll love every series featuring a librarian. Any more than my liking Suzanne Arruda's series set in 1920s Africa means that all I need is a lion and an elephant or two and I'm good.

The most effective recommendations tend to be those based on the core of any book: the writing. Not just if it's well written—some people genuinely prefer reliable hack work or simple mind candy, and recommendations for them should take that into account—but the essential style. That usually starts with how thoroughly boiled it is, but should also factor in such things as this writer being a master of characterization while that one (writing superficially similar stories) has characters only because someone has to act out the intricate plotting he really cares about. Or the wry and dry voice of this humorous mystery writer vs. that one's easy guffaws you can see coming a chapter away. The meticulously crafted sentences of this writer vs. the impressionistic style of that one. The way that this writer brings, say, Greece to life as vividly as the unique light that shines on it, while that one clearly believes in just letting his fingers do the walking, with Frommor's and Fodor's as their guide. Greece is an especial bugaboo for me because it's one of my favorite places to visit in real life, a particularly vivid and unique place, but one whose uniqueness fiction rarely does justice to. One recent exception was Jeffrey Siger's newish series, which definitely offers a local perspective rather than one straight from the travel guides.

Now if I could only get amazon to realize that sometimes a frypan is just a frypan, not a gateway to nose hair clippers (do I even want to know what other places they feel I need to be clipped?) and well meant fellow readers to understand that just because Monica Ferris's needlecraft series and William Kent Kreuger's Cork O'Conner series are both set in Minnesota, that doesn't mean fans of one are going to automatically adore the other.

The Bookseller's Patter

Robin Agnew

The other day, because my son needed a book for a class right away, I went to another bookstore in town to get him a copy of A Raisin in the Sun.  (They only have enough copies for the kids to share in the classroom, and what that says about education budget cuts is another story).  Anyway, the bookseller on duty, a pretty cool verging on middle aged man, kept up a patter the whole time he waited on me.

We talked about the author's name (I only knew it started with an "H") and then for some reason he told me that one of his friends had been the voice of one of the California Raisins.  It was a pleasant and interesting encounter, one of those things that makes shopping in a bookstore such a pleasure.

I started thinking about the three of us who work at Aunt Agatha's and whether we, too, have a patter - a running commentary that keeps us in touch with our customers.  Some customers, of course, prefer to be left alone, but many more of them want to talk.

I think the key is being able to talk about books you either haven't read yourself (rumors to the contrary, none of the three of us have read all of the 25,000 books we have on our shelves and in our basement) or that you feel no personal affinity for.  The bookseller I mentioned above may or may not have read A Raisin in the Sun, and in that case it didn't matter as I wanted that specific title. Sometimes it does matter.

Lots of customers want to feel they have the "same taste" as you do, and of course that can't always be true.  All three of us like different things - my husband likes hard boiled stuff, vintage and new, as well as anything vaguely supernatural (he likes ghost stories); our employee Marty likes anything that takes him on a trip - he likes international fiction and he also likes historical fiction, as that's a different kind of trip. I personally like British and American police stuff, vintage British stuff and newer women writers who don't write cozies but who write something kind of in between.  And of course all of us have our quirks.

Anyway, selling a book to a James Patterson fan, for example, requires a different kind of skill - a patter, if you will.  I've read exactly one James Patterson book because I thought I should and I really didn't like it too much, but I got the idea.  I sometimes try to gently steer a customer a "better" way - towards Michael Connelly, for example.  As you talk with someone and lead them to the right shelf you can usually get a feel for what they like and adjust your talk accordingly.

My husband is very good at this and I think there's quite a few of our customers who would be surprised to discover that he hasn't read some of the books he enthusiastically recommends.  Marty is very conscientious; he keeps a list and index cards, some of which I made up for him so he can refer to them if someone likes, say, Victorian historicals. 

Best of all of course is the customer who does have your taste.  They're the most fun to sell to and the most fun to talk books with, but they are few and far between.  Even better is the customer who shares your taste and because they travel abroad frequently and buy books there, they expand your taste and sometimes bring you books.  We've discovered a few authors this way.

Now I don't know if this is true of all of us, but I'll take a book out of someone's hand if they haven't read a series and aren't starting with the first one.  I remember selling someone a copy of Ngaio Marsh's Death in a White Tie and I told him I was improving his life.  His companion laughed, but I meant it, and I could see he was hoping to agree.

There's a few authors that if people don't like we tend to throw up our hands - there's no talking to them.  It might vary among the three of us but I would say someone who doesn't enjoy Michael Connelly would probably throw all of us off our patter.  I think in 18 years of bookselling I may have met two or three people who don't like his books!  

We have a few "store favorites" that all of us handsell - we hardly ever have used Steve Hamilton or Kent Krueger or Louise Penny books, for example - and so shopping in our store means you are not only the victim of our patter, but of our personal tastes.   And that's the joy of a bookseller's patter.

Kindle-Fever

Dana Kaye

 

This week, most of the publishing world is buzzing about J.A. Konrath’s recent deal with Amazon. In case you’ve been living under a rock, Konrath is the author of the Jack Daniels series and blogger at Newbie’s Guide To Publishing. He has a large, loyal fan base and he recently signed a deal with Amazon to publish his next Jack Daniels book on Kindle. Print books will be available as they’re ordered, but most of sales will come from Kindle.

This is an exciting journey into a new frontier, one that early adopters such as Konrath and Boyd Morrison are having great success with. But I feel that there will be (and already has been) much backlash from newbie authors wanting to jump on the e-publishing bandwagon. They see Konrath, who is earning a phenomenal living on Kindle sales alone, and Morrison, who sold his book to a mainstream publisher because it did so well on Kindle, and they think, “I should do that.” I’m here to say, maybe not.

Why this deal is perfect for J.A. Konrath:

· He already has a strong, loyal fan base that will purchase his books no matter what form they take. His books are coming with a built-in audience.

· He has product. The man wrote a book while you were in the shower this morning and three short stories while you were eating breakfast. It works for him because he has a lot of product on the market and all of it is selling.

· He knows how to market. Konrath has a strong knowledge of the industry and how to promote. His blog gets hundreds of hits a day, he’s visited half the bookstores in the country, and frequently attends conferences, shakes hands and kisses babies. Not everyone can market themselves.

Why Kindle publishing worked for Boyd Morrison:

· He was ahead of the game. When he published on Kindle and priced his book lower than the bestsellers, not too many others were doing it. Now, the market is flooded and it’s 10x harder to stand out.

· He had an agent. He had already gotten over the first hurdle, his manuscript had been edited, and when Kindle sales were growing, his agent could immediately jump on the publishers and make them take a second look.

· He wrote a %*#^ing great book. When he and his agent went out on submission, the editors didn’t have a problem with the writing or the story itself. They just didn’t know how to market/sell it. The Kindle sales demonstrated that there was a market, but Morrison already had a great product.

Why Kindle publishing may not work for first-time authors:

· Most of the $0.99 Kindle books listed on Amazon aren’t good. Plain and simple. Traditional publishing requires many sets of eyes to read your manuscript (agent, editor, copy editor). All authors benefit from that feedback.

· You don’t have an audience yet. Unless you’ve already published books or have been marketing yourself for a long time, you probably don’t have the audience who will purchase your Kindle books.

· The market is glutted. There are SO many self-published books on Amazon now and all of them are listed at that low price point. It’s difficult to stand out.

· Most newbie authors don’t know how to market. I say most, because there are exceptions to every rule, but if you haven’t published yet, you probably have a lot to learn about the market. Even multi-published authors still admit they don’t get it. Having the support of a traditional publisher can be beneficial to learning about the industry and the process.

Again, there are exceptions to every rule and there may be plenty more Konraths and Morrisons coming out of the Amazon market. But if you’re a first-time author thinking about jumping into Kindle publishing head first, take some time and think about what I said. Publishing on Kindle is easy, selling on Kindle may not be, and the success stories may be exceptions rather than the rule.

Let's Give 'Em Something To Talk About

by Alison Janssen

Does anybody else miss English class? An hour a day devoted to talking about a book that everyone in the room has read? (Well, ok, has been *assigned* to read. I can't pretend I got through all my English assignments on time. I'm sorry, Mrs. Breach.)

My non-Tyrus reading can be sporadic, but I've been on a fit of it lately, and I'm starting to miss English class. I've been passing my finished books to my mom, and it's been great talking with her as she finishes them. (She also texts me updates as she's reading, which I love, because then it feels like I'm reading it all over again!) I'll see her later this afternoon, and I'm going to trade her Catching Fire for The Hunger Games, which I then plan to pass to my dad.

But I'm craving more. I want to be talking about what I've read with other people who've read it. I want to be a part of a community of readers, or at least I want to read other peoples' reactions to the books I've read.

I think this is part of what I enjoy so much about LOST. (I know, it's a tv show, not a book, but stick with me.) After I watch an episode, I look forward to reading the recaps and theorizing that Tracie at Jezebel and Jeff Jensen at EW write. I'm not interested in delving too much into my own theories or research about the mysteries of the show, but I sure like reading theirs -- it gives me another set of eyes with which to watch the same episode.

And that's what I like about talking about books -- another set of eyes with which to read. A new perspective on the characters, and different gut reactions to the book's emotional resonance.

I have a Goodreads page, but I've so far not participated enough to make it feel like "my" community. (Also I feel weird giving star ratings to books -- I think everything I read falls into the 4 star category, because I have a hard time ranking reads against one another.)

Maybe I should join a local book club -- or start one of my own. The problem there is, as I mentioned above, my non-Tyrus reading is sporadic, and I'd worry about keeping up with "assigned" book club reading.

Who do you talk with about your current reads? Do you have a reading community -- and if you do, what do you value most about it?

Ten Thousand Chances

A deputy blogger here, filling in while my Mum’s enjoying the sun in Guernsey. (I’ve just checked the BBC weather site, and apparently it’s supposed to be sunny there today. Not particularly warm, but sunny.)

I’ve been reading manuscripts for Creme de la Crime for as long as there’ve been Creme de la Crime manuscripts to read, so that seemed the natural thing to write about. Unfortunately, it’s much easier to say what makes a bad submission than what makes a good one, so below are a few thoughts (offered with all the usual provisos about this being only one person’s opinion, etc. etc.) on things that are likely to send a manuscript towards the polite rejection pile.

Opening chapters crammed full of backstory

Some writers find it hard to introduce a new character without giving us a potted biography. The problem with this is that reading it tends to leave me feeling like I’m treading water while waiting for the real story to begin.

Characters’ backstory is often important, but we don’t need it all right at the beginning. I much prefer to plunge into the plot proper, and to be filled in gradually on the background detail as we go along. If it’s handled well, being aware that there’s something we don’t know about a character can add to the tension – and mean that when the revelation finally does come, the reaction is one of excitement at finding out, rather than boredom at more backstory. Readers – and readers of crime fiction in particular – don’t generally mind being kept in suspense and left to figure things out for themselves for a while.

Writers who tell rather than show

One of the reasons it’s so hard to make a gripping opening out of backstory is that it’s very difficult to deliver a lot of background detail without resorting to telling. The dictum ‘show, don’t tell’ has long been a mainstay of creative writing courses, and with good reason. Being told is like watching events unfold from a distance: being shown puts the reader right there in the middle of the action. If a writer has to tell me explicitly that Helen is quick tempered, or that Henry is a lecherous old goat, rather than letting the characters’ words and actions speak for themselves, that’s a sure sign something is missing.

Writers who seem to think I can’t count

Creme asks authors to send the first ten thousand words of their novel, plus a synopsis. I’ve read a lot of submissions over the years, and I have a pretty good idea of what ten thousand words looks like, even if variations in font size and margins mean that’s not always going to be the same number of pages. I’m not going to quibble if an author needs a few hundred extra words to reach a chapter end or another convenient break, but my hackles will start to rise if that few hundred creeps up to a few thousand.

In some cases, it’s fairly obvious that the writer has sneaked in an extra chapter or two because it takes that long to get to the first key plot point, or the first significant female character, or whatever else it is they’re anxious for me to see. Given that this indicates they realize it’s important for this to be included in the submission, this always makes me wonder why they couldn’t also see that maybe it needed to happen earlier. I’m reminded of a man I once met at a party who informed me that the problem with publishers only wanting to see the first ten thousand words was that his novel got better after that. To which I wish I’d replied ‘Well, improve the first ten thousand words, then!’

In brief: a manuscript has ten thousand words in which to impress, and every one of them needs to count. Pack in some strong writing, some sharply drawn characters, and the beginnings of an interesting plot that zips along at a decent pace, and... well, who knows what might happen?

This End Up

By Barbara Poelle

Husband and I are moving all day this Friday, so I hope that I can count on some of you for either an alibi or bail money.

See, Husband and I have moved across the entire country together and had a grand old time. I swear, these seven blocks? It seems like traversing the Gaza Strip. Someone is always digging something out of the “donate” pile that the other one tossed out. And someone is always crabby. And someone is always tipsy. Sometimes that someone is the same person, and is gesturing and yelling, splashing her martini into the open boxes.

Yes, it’s true, I suppose I could take soooome responsibility for the warfare, as I can oftentimes have a bit of an opinion on how, well,  things, are done. (Like, I don’t like it when people stir their coffee and the spoon dings against the rim. That is just so totally unnecessary. You can mix it up just fine without touching the spoon to the sides of the cup.  I have been known to whip around at a restaurant and hiss, “I think it’s blended lady.”

She knows what she did. )

All I know is that I have never in my LIFE said the phrase, “the devil is in the details” and I think I have screamed it eleven times the past weekend, wielding it like some sort of incantation against the movers being late or the electricity not being switched over or the packing tape continually sticking to the roll so you have to dig and dig at it with your fingernail while it comes off in tiny, sticky curls that then are on the bottom of your footwear for the rest of your life. And our new place is so sparkly and fabulous, but in this old place I ALREADY KNOW that the neighbors have illegal rotating day care on Monday and Friday afternoons and the chick upstairs sings live jazz on Mondays and brings home people to keep up the groove until the wee hours Tuesday morning.  I have no idea what hookers are buried in the walls at my new place. I mean before, we were our classiest neighbors and WE ARE FOR SURE NOT NOW. What if they vote me out like some sort of reality show? WHAT IF I CAN HEAR THE NEIGHBORS STIRRING?!?!?!

 I AM PANTING RIGHT NOW, I TELL YOU.  PANTING.

I think we all know what this calls for.  Some sort of magical story about publishing told through pictures of baby animals that strangely parallels something happening in my own life.

So, look at you with your fancy writing career!

What’s that? Moving to a new publishing house? Well that is always an adventure. First and foremost you are going to have to get acquainted with your new team. They sure are shiny.

And then you turn in your first manuscript to the editor, and you think it is sleek and fabulous and you are certain there will be ZERO revisions, except for a missing comma or two.

And the editor sends you back the changes needed.

 

So you do the next logical thing and eat your feelings for a while.

And then the art department comes up with a new look: FUSCIA , and the title is being changed to include the word “Lugubrious”, and the editor is sorry to say the original promotions planned are not going to happen because of a tornado in Uganda, and your publicist has you slated for a 30 site blog tour starting tomorrow and ending tomorrow with original content only please and your shiny team in now terrifying and unknown.

AND YOU JUST NEED A MINUTE TO THINK!

But then you remember why you made the move in the first place and although there are growing pains and a little bit of bumpiness, your new house becomes your new home.

And you flourish.

And no one ever, EVER stirs anything again.

The end.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Choice

Jeff Cohen

For reasons that anyone who is within a hundred miles of my house probably knows at this point, this past week has been about choices, and the difficulty of making them. Suffice it to say I've been watching the process go on, and it has been, in a word, agonizing.

It got me to thinking about making choices, because writing is a long series of choices. We start with choosing the story to tell, then fill it, every time we type something, with choices.

For me, the only choice that is really crucial is the central character of the piece. I tell my screenwriting students (and a small percentage of them actually believe me!) that character is the most important element of a story. You can have the most twist-filled, spoiler-proof, enticing plot since Genesis, and if you people it with one-dimensional characters, it will fall flat onto its face.

Unless, of course, you infest it with nine-foot skinny blue people, in which case the fact that it looks really cool will overwhelm the fact that we don't care about anyone who shows up to supposedly entertain us. But perhaps I digress.

At least when I'm writing, I have to be interested in the character. This is especially important when I'm writing in the first person. You have to be able to get into the character's head and think his/her/its thoughts, so they can be expressed accurately. And for me, that means the character has to have at least something resembling a sense of humor. People who don't possess one generally worry me.

But that's me. If you're writing, you have to decide what's going to get you through those difficult moments that tend to stretch into months. Your main character, at for my money, the supporting ones too, have to interest you. You don't always have to like them, but you do have to care what happens to them.

So think about the character before you sit down to write. Don't just worry about whodunnit and how they dunnit and why they dunnit. Those things are important, but in the long run, they're not going to be as basic to your readers and your own sanity as whose story is being told.

I love my characters. I just can't stand their names, most of the time. The idiot who makes those up must really be a dullard, no?

LP-to-Digital Conversion Project Update: When last we met, we were about to embark on the catalog of Ms. Bonnie Raitt. And so this week went. Suffice it to say that Ms. Raitt has a real talent, among her other talents, to do something that could be considered the same a number of times and make it feel fresh every time. That's no small feat. It's something that starts with her first album and goes on through the albums up to her "comeback" "Nick of Time," which I did not convert because we already had it on CD.

After three Bonnie Raitt albums (again, those brought to the marriage by the female in the house), I moved on to "Time Peace," better known as The Rascals' Greatest Hits. Truth be told, the Rascals only had about five great hits ("Groovin'," "It's A Beautiful Morning," "People Got To Be Free" and so on), and the other nine songs on the album are either filler or somewhat interesting that didn't come within miles of being a hit. One of those cases where iTunes actually come in handy--you can actually download the cream of the album, which is extremely worthwhile, pretty easily.

Lou Reed is in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, and is a legendary and respected New York rock icon. But I've always thought he was kind of boring, to tell you the truth. Reed's style is designed to make him sound like he doesn't care about what he's singing, leading me to wonder why I should.

Following up, we moved to The Roches, Maggie, Terre and Suzzy. The first album they recorded was a folky breakthrough, bringing harmonies to some of the quirkiest lyrics on the planet and doing it with style, but never discounting the effort being put out. A shame the girls don't work more often.

Coming up: my wife's collection takes over with Linda Ronstadt, Carole Bayer Sager and lord help me, Buffy Sainte Marie.

Now that's a character

Picking an important real life historical figure for a protagonist could be seen as a sign of advanced writers' masochism. Sure, plenty of interesting people to choose from, with real life personalities and experiences people would brush off as unreal if you made them up. And probably some wonderful marketing opportunities, which is a consideration in getting published. But you're fighting a lot of preset notions and assumptions in the heads of every single reader and potential reader with every word you write. The bigger the historical figure the bigger a problem that can be. You can do a fabulous job—all meticulous research and photographic fidelity—and that problem's still not going to go away, because it's all about people's beliefs and opinions rather than the facts. That's why I think it's usually better to choose a bit part player on history's stage. Someone whose name people will probably know, but not a lot else about them. But masochism will out, and writers going after the big guys despite my advice (yeah, I know, the nerve of them) can still leave me cheering them on despite that.

I've just finished the two books out in Michael Atkinson's new mystery series featuring Ernest Hemingway (and why hasn't anyone used him before—seems a natural when you think about it). They're fascinating reading for anyone interested in the man but also solid reading as mysteries. Not only are there real clues and red herrings to go with the murders, but Papa actually engages in real detection to solve them. Sadly, that's not necessarily a given in books labeled mysteries (yes, one of the petting zoo filled with peeves). Atkinson sensibly writes as himself, telling the stories in his own way and not even trying to make his prose an echo of Hemngway's famous style. The dialogue still rings true regardless because it fits the character Hemingway, who wouldn't talk in the polished prose of his stories. No one does. But what really hits home in the end is the characterization, which would stand out even if Atkinson's Ernest Hemingway wasn't that Ernest Hemingway.

Probably the best example of that is the reason I personally enjoyed the second book more than the first. The series doesn't run in chronological order by Hemingway's life. Book one, Hemingway Deadlights, is set in 1956 Key West and Cuba; book two, Hemingway Cutthroat, in 1930s Spain during the Civil War. The still hard-drinking Hemingway of Deadlights isn't just the expected older shell of someone who lead a rollicking, physical life and hasn't exactly embraced the idea of current limitations. What's even more impressive is the depiction Atkinson provides—without ever hammering you over the head with what he's doing: a classic show don't tell—of a Papa who is still funny, forceful, smart and clever (although not necessarily as much as he thinks) at times, but also clearly showing the effect of decades of heavy drinking in forgetfulness, confusions, paranoias, etc. It's clear just how good a job Atkinson did with that aspect of the aging Papa when compared with the Hemingway of Cutthroat, who is unquestionably the same man and already fond of the bottle, but (again, shown more than told) is also clearly a younger man and with a brain that hasn't been thoroughly pickled. It's a lovely job of characterization, making something that is not easy to do well look effortless. I realized just how nice a job when I realized which book I preferred and why. I've just known too many pickled brains too well to enjoy their company by choice, no matter how much I enjoy their story. Now that's true to life characterization.

Mother's Day and the CAR

Robin Agnew

This last week has been spent in the car, mostly.  Sunday (Mother's Day) I spent at the store with Maureen Jennings and Cordelia Frances Biddle, which was delightful.  We always host historical mystery authors on Mother's Day, and this year we were able to snag Maureen through a review I wrote on the store website, which her husband, Iden, somehow found and enjoyed.  He invited Maureen himself but I was delighted to agree, as I am a big fan of her books.

Cordelia Biddle is someone I've known since her first book came out, again for much the same reason. I wrote a review of her first novel, The Conjurer, and aside from making her cry it also helped to make us friends.  She came to the store for the first book, to the book festival in town I help to run for the second one, and with the third (she is now, unfortunately, self published) she came for Mother's Day.

I had both ladies over for dinner after the store event, which was a blast.  If ever you want a sparkling dinner conversation, invite a Sherlock Holmes buff (Maureen) and a history buff (Cordelia).  It makes for some interesting stories at the dinner table, enlivened greatly by Iden's contributions.  That was a wonderful day but after that my week of driving began.

Tuesday I drove to Wisconsin to pick up my daughter from college.  She said she had stored some things for next year but she still had a remarkable amount of stuff which had to be hauled down three flights of stairs and stuffed in the car.  I was glad I came alone, because when we were done loading up there was only room enough for two of us.

Driving to Wisconsin necessitates driving through Chicago which can either be hair raising, irritating, or a breeze, which was the experience I had on the way back.  I'm not sure why the stars aligned for a quick and painless drive through the city, I'm just appreciating that they did.

Driving through Gary, Indiana, in the rain is a whole other story.  I think it smells worse when it's wet. Gary is not a beautiful city by any stretch, but even so I was surprised driving through on the tollroad to see one exit - where there appeared to be the U.S. supply of porta potties lined up - marked "no toll this exit." I assumed because it was so ugly no one would want to get off the highway there, but that's one of the mysteries you ponder as you zip by at 70 miles an hour.

After a day at home (and where my daughter's things, courtesy of the unpacking skills of her and her brother are scattered all over the living room floor), she and I were off again, this time to Northern Michigan to celebrate my sister's 50th birthday.  We had a lovely day spent with family, celebrating my sister, who is a lovely and loving person I feel lucky to know, sister or no.

We're back to Ann Arbor today.  If I don't morph into a car before the end of the day I'll be back selling books before I know it.  I'm definitely looking forward to it.

Pay No Attention To Shiny Objects

Dana Kaye

 

Distractions are inevitable, no matter what you do for a living. But I find that writers, in particular, are easily distracted.

They take a quick Facebook break that soon leads into a Twitter break, blog break, and a break to check their Amazon ranking for the third time that day. (You know who you are!)

They answer e-mails from fans, take calls from their agent, call their publicist and ask why they haven’t been on Oprah yet. (You know who you are!)

They do a load of laundry or unload the dishwasher or mow the lawn or research their next family vacation.

Many writers will take any excuse to do something other than write. But whether you’re a published author writing on contract or an aspiring novelist working towards publication, writing is your job, and it has to get done.

Ten Easy Ways to Stay On Task:

1. Disable internet or write longhand. Then, you’re less likely to get distracted by emails and social media sites.

2. Disable the phone or turn the ringer down. 9 times out of 10, it isn’t an emergency. If you have a smart phone, turn off your e-mail alerts or set up an automatic response.

3. Set aside an area of the house where you only write. If you have a spare room, set it up as your office. If space is limited, designate a certain chair or desk to be writing only. That way, you’ll compartmentalize your tasks so when you sit down, you know it’s writing time.

4. Head out to a café and work there. It’s a lot easier not to get distracted by chores when you can’t see what needs to be done.

5. Set a time each day dedicated to writing. If you have a set writing time, you won’t schedule appointments or other obligations during that time and your friends and family will know not to bother you.

6. Have everything you need to write before you sit down: thesaurus, previous chapters, your notebook, etc. Getting up to retrieve materials or research something is the easiest way to get off track.

7. If you get stuck in the writing, don’t let yourself walk away from the computer. Skip ahead to the next scene taking your attention and go from there. You can fill in the blanks later.

8. It’s easy to get caught up in revision. You’ll sit down at the computer, begin revising old scenes, and before you know it, the day is gone and you didn’t write anything new. Limit your revision time to ensure you move your story forward each day.

9. Timers are your friend. If you break for lunch, set a timer to indicate when it’s time to get back to work. If you had a real job, you wouldn’t be taking hour-long lunches.

10.  Give yourself goals throughout the writing day. If you write for word count, try to give yourself rewards for reaching word count milestones. Whether it’s as small as you won’t have the second cup of coffee before 500 words or taking yourself out to dinner if you reach 3k in one day, having small milestones along the way makes it easier to stay on task.

Feel free to leave other suggestions or tips to avoid distraction. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I just saw something shiny…

We're Going To Need a Bigger Dataset

by Alison Janssen


So it's been a while since I first figured out how to use Google Forms and post polls, and I'm curious how the world has changed since I first asked you guys about ereaders in September.

We got 24 responses on the poll, and half of all respondents had ereaders. 7 Kindles, 1 Sony Ereader, and 4 Other.

67% of respondents don't read as often as they'd like, and 74% of respondents are more likely to read material in print than on their ereader.

But it's been seven months! I'm curious if anything's changed, and I have some new questions to ask you about ebooks and reading in general. Up for another poll?

Yay!



Thank you for taking my poll! I'll leave you now with the song that's been stuck in my dead all day, I think because it's raining:

Interesting times

There’s an old Chinese curse which roughly translates as ‘May you live long, and through interesting times.’ It’s generally understood to mean I hope life throws a whole pile of rocks at you, but that’s only one interpretation.

 

Well, folks, times have certainly been interesting here in the UK for the past week or so.  General election time is always pretty eventful, although the news-following public could be forgiven for thinking that all the assorted wars, famines, oil spills and murders which normally make headlines had simply ceased to happen for the duration.

 

Let’s face it, it’s far more fun to watch the prime minister making a total ass of himself (I think I mean ass in both the donkey and the American sense there) by leaving his radio mic on for all the world to hear him insult a harmless old lady. And all the technicolor electronic wizardry the TV channels use to predict the final result on the basis of the first three seats – that’s better entertainment than a three-ring circus.

 

And the last five days have been the most entertaining of all. First of all, which way would the Liberal Democrats jump? Then, how much were the Conservatives willing to concede to get the Lib Dems’ full support? And a couple of days ago, were the Lib Dems serious when they called the other side, or was it just the political version of a gun to the Conservatives’ heads?

 

What larks, Pip.

 

Last night it all came to a conclusion in what felt like a matter of minutes. Gordon Brown resigned. He’d clearly had enough; it was somebody else’s turn to insult old ladies, visit the Queen every week (those two are not connected) and field the flak the media inevitably hurl at whoever holds the reins. The someone else is David Cameron – but not without a lot of backing from those tricksy Lib Dems and their leader the lovely Nick Clegg.

 

So now the pressure’s off, we have to wait and see what happens. I foresee more interesting – or at least entertaining – times ahead. Someone said last night, when Cameron goes off on paternity leave (his wife is five months pregnant), will Nick Clegg step up as prime minister for a few weeks? Answer: since it looks as if he’s going to be deputy PM, he probably will get to sit in the big chair for a while, though I expect there’ll be an open mobile phone link.

 

I know I should take politics seriously and get involved in all the debates and discussions, but I’ve lived through a dozen or more general elections. Governments come and governments go and I like some of them less than others but I can’t say my everyday life has been made noticeably different by any of them. Strikes, wars, explosions and inflation seems to happen whoever’s in power. So when another election comes I just sit back and enjoy the show. At least Cameron and Clegg are both easier on the eye than poor old granite-faced Brown. Oops, sorry, my inner politically incorrect demon surfaced for a moment there. She's back in her box now.

 

None of the above has anything at all to do with crime fiction. This isn’t something I indulge in often, but the last few days have been such fun that I hope you’ll forgive me for letting my digression habit get the better of me for once – especially since I’m the only Brit left on the regular team now.

 

This time next week I’ll be enjoying the warm sunshine (yeah, OK, enough with the hollow laughter) in Guernsey. My deputy Dead Guy for the week will be my daughter Meriel, who, when she’s not being an Oxford academic, forms an essential part of the family business Crème de la Crime appears to have become. If you’re a debut crime writer looking for a home for your manuscript, she’s the one you have to impress; she reads the new submissions, and gets a large part of the say in which ones move forward.

 

See you in a fortnight. 

Two for Tea and a Twofer for You

by Barbara Poelle 

I have joined an unspeakably great cast of publishing characters in donating to flood relief in Tennessee. I will be offering a face-to-face meet up if you're attending RWA or BEA- or via teleconference if not- with myself AND

the one…

the only…

you say Dolly I say Woot…..

Death Kitten.

I KNOW!  EVEN MY OWN MOTHER MAY BID ON THIS ONE! (She is very fond of Woot.)

We will sit and chat about the industry or hear and refine your pitch or tell you about the time I wiped out on my rollerblades on the way to work and asked Woot to meet me on the corner with some vodka.  (To sterilize the wounds, of course.) Whatever you want. And I will do my best to hide the location from Janet Reid, so Woot and I have allllll of your attention.

I believe our actual item for auction goes up Thursday, but there is some really great stuff up there already, so check it out!  http://dothewritethingfornashville.blogspot.com/

 I look forward to meeting the winner and watching as Woot repeatedly apologizes for my behavior.

 

I Have A Few. But Then Again...

Jeff Cohen

Things haven't been so hot, business-wise, around the old homestead lately. It's a function of the truly crappy economy, people refusing to believe in the daily newspaper, and other such stuff that I can blame my lack of business on. I'm getting by, but not as by as I'd like to get.

This, for reasons that would be too boring to explain, got me to thinking about regrets. People who say they don't have any are either lying or in denial, and so yeah, I have some regrets. But not big ones. Not yet, anyway.

* I regret that, unless something drastic happens, I will probably never meet Mel Brooks.

* I regret not having gone back to school for a Masters degree 10 years ago, so I could apply for teaching jobs now.

* I regret not having developed a better appreciation for fruits and vegetables, and those of you warming up to leave a comment saying, "it's not too late," yes, it is.

* I regret not having spoken to Mickey Mantle the one time I was face-to-face with him. I think I said something like, "aaaaaaahhh..." (You may insert gargling noises if you want the full effect.)

* I regret a few things I've said to people that they didn't think were jokes.

*I regret not going to see Ringo Starr when he was touring with his first All-Starr Band. That lineup was interesting. This year's? Eh.

* I regret not having learned enough about marketing and promotion.

* I regret this one time I called someone I know by a name that was someone else's. Repeatedly. It was just a brain cramp.

* I regret the times I tried to teach my son to ride a bike. He learned elsewhere, and I should have quit when I had the chance.

* I regret not realizing when I'm actually good at something.

* I regret not going down to see my father that last night.

* I regret something I said to my college girlfriend after she was finished being my college girlfriend. I wasn't lying; I was mistaken.

* I regret not having painted the side door to my house. Gonna need a new one this spring.

* I regret not buying a Prius three years earlier.

* I regret a few times I yelled at my children. I don't regret others.

* I regret not writing a novel until I was 42.

* I regret resisting barre chords for so many years.

* I regret not actually being able to tour with a book. I'm not sure it helps, but I'd at least like to find out.

* So far, I regret not reaching a large enough audience. I intend not to have that regret in the near future.

Next week: Things I don't regret.

LP-to-Digital Conversion Project Update: Let me begin by saying that Richard Pryor was a fearless, brilliant, angry, genius-level comedian, actor and writer. My problem is I don't laugh when I listen to him. I'm not shocked or offended, either, which might have bugged Pryor (assuming he cared if I was shocked), but the frequent use of profanity really doesn't bother me. I'm from New Jersey.

The Punsters, an overlooked and hilarious band whose song parodies were right on the money most of the time, deserve a mention. Besides, their original (and, of course, best) drummer was my friend and part-time cousin, Ken Cohen. Sophomoric? Maybe a little. Not always the best sung ever? Could be. Funny? Sure. Almost all the time.

Gerry Rafferty, who gained fame first as half of Stealer's Wheel ("Stuck in the Middle With You") and then briefly again as a solo artist ("Baker Street") was a relatively prolific, always entertaining grump, complaining about this or that with irresistible hooks and wild overproduction. I'm a big fan of his music, particularly the albums "City to City," "Snakes and Ladders" and "North and South." Check him out.

We're just now beginning a major exploration of Bonnie Raitt's career (thanks to my lovely wife), to be followed by The Rascals, Lou Reed, The Roches and Linda Ronstadt. Should be an interesting week.

Weighty Words

Have your words, been, well, putting on a little unnecessary weight lately? Do they take up more space in a sentence, have trouble finding a Tweet that fits, huff and puff a bit while getting around? Not sure? Well, let’s see—do you always refer to medication where once you took medicine? Yup, the word obesity police want you. You might want to start cutting back on those word sweeteners.

I’m not talking about just substituting a perfectly appropriate polysyllabic word for a different, simpler synonym. I’ve got a reasonably large vocabulary myself and enjoy finding le mot juste as well as anyone; although honestly that perfect word offtimes is the simpler short one.

No, the sort of word bloat I’m talking about is widespread substitution of a close cousin with a few extra syllables packed on for a perfectly adequate basic word. That close cousin has a related but slightly different meaning of its own. However, it ends up taking on the meaning of the basic word too, driving it out of business.

Medication replacing medicine is probably the first case I found consciously annoying. It seemed to start around the time the phrase “drug costs” began to acquire "escalating" as a constant companion—as if a more impressive name helped justify the added expense—and has now become nearly universal. Still, we did all once speak of taking our medicine and almost never of medication. The song didn't tell us that “just a spoonful of sugar” helped the medication go down. While the simpler, less weighty word did a bang up job of communicating what we meant and really didn't need replacing for any practical reason.

A news report the other night spoke of Gulf of Mexico oil spill costs being more than the original estimations. Estimation means the process of coming up with its intended, skinnier cousin—estimates. And how many times have you heard someone speak of utilizing (which technically means to use something outside its intended purpose) what they merely used. Undoubtedly an attempt to add weight—in the sense of gravitas rather than bloat—to what they’re talking about, which is fine; but in practice having the opposite result of appearing as slightly ignorant word bloat trying too hard to impress.

With a bunch more of them out there, whose memory I suppress until they pop up to scratch a nerve as that news report did. And honestly, I don’t mind someone occasionally going for the hundred dollar word when a two dollar one will do. Especially if it's one I don't already know, so I get the pleasure of learning it. The problem is when the big word universally takes away the job of the little guy, leaving him unemployed and forgotten for no good reason. That's when I find the, er, medication a bit hard to swallow.

Addicted to Reading

When you read a book that's so all enveloping you can't look away, is that like being addicted to reading?  Lately I've read two books that fit that description, and I told my daughter I was deep into the new Elizabeth George.  It's like book crack, I said - and she wanted to know if that was a good thing.

In the case of Elizabeth George, I can't decide, but I can't stop reading her books even though I don't always like them.  The last three have been problematic for most people.  In the earliest of the three (an excellent book), George kills off a major character (who we all know at this point is Lady Helen, Inspector Lynley's wife).  In the next book where opinion is VERY divided - and people still complain to me about it - (hello, I didn't write it) she took the other side of Lady Helen's murder.  The book is about her killer. 

To me, that book was also excellent, though it was difficult and painful, a couple things mystery readers aren't especially in favor of.  But taken objectively, What Came Before He Shot Her was by any standard an inventive novel.  I put it on my Top 10 list that year.

The next book, for me, was more problematic.  Careless in Red is a book I was reluctant to handsell after I read it because - and here's a word my teenage children LOVE when I use it - it was plain icky.  Many people complain that in any George book there's nary a sympathetic character, but I always disagree, except in the case of this book.

To me what sets George apart is the way she takes you into the life of the victim, truly making you care about them, even if you don't especially like them.  In Careless in Red I couldn't have cared less about the victim, and to me that meant George wasn't doing her job.

The new book is a return to her classic form.  While I've had conversations with many customers through the years that George can be discursive, grim, gloomy, etc., I notice none of my fellow addicts have forsaken their book crack.  And, fellow readers, this one is worth it.  The story is back in London with a side bar in the New Forest (a la Deborah Crombie), Havers' new boss orders her to get a makeover (guess how that's going), and Lynley is reluctantly back in the game, being his former mysterious and elegant self.

She's already made me cry once, and I'm only half way through.  That's how the real dealers get you...

Oh, the other book?  Michael Gruber's The Good Son.   His books are in a different category:  they put a spell on you.  Pick up any title and you'll see that I mean, though I recommend highly The Forgery of Venus.  Till next week...

Publicist/P.I.

Dana Kaye

More and more, I’m discovering that being a publicist is a lot like being a P.I. (well, without the badge, gun, and cool hat). To know how much traffic a website receives, to find a phone number to a producer or casting director, or to figure out which bookstore does the best signings, all require investigation.

Blog Traffic – When obtaining blog reviews for my clients, I only pitch high-traffic sites. But most bloggers don’t post their stats right on the front page. So how do you know who’s visiting the website? Some bloggers post their Google subscribers; that’s always a good indication. Anything above 300 is pretty solid. They also post links to their Twitter and Facebook. Check to see how many followers and friends they have. The more friends and followers, the more visits their blog gets. If it’s a blog like Hey, Dead Guy, where no stats or links are posted, look at the comments. Are there at least 3-4 comments on every post? Another good sign of high-traffic.

Contact Info – I have a couple contacts at Oprah, one at Craig Ferguson, and another at CBS Sunday Morning. How did they become my contacts in the first place? No, it wasn’t a friend of a friend, I didn’t meet them at a networking event and despite what the restraining order says, I did not climb in through the window of Harpo Studios and sneak into Oprah’s office. I simply called or e-mailed them.

Obtaining big media contact information can be tricky, but with a little digging and a lot of cold calling, you can obtain the pertinent e-mail addresses and phone numbers. If you’re lucky, they’ll have everyone’s name, title, and contact info in the “About Us” section of a webpage. If that isn’t the case, call the main line and ask to be transferred to the appropriate person. When they ask who is calling, state your name and title in that, “They’ll know who it is” tone. More often than not, you’ll get through.

Bookstores and Signings – There are hundreds of independent bookstores across the country, but how do you know which ones are good for signings? Step one: Look at their website. Who else is signing there? If they have lots of big-name authors in your same genre, it’s a good sign. Step two: Google them. The bookstores that get the best turnout always have listings or ads in the local papers. If nothing comes up, it means they don’t do a lot of promotion for events. Step three: call them. Do they know who you are? Do they sound excited when you tell them you’re an author? My policy is to never sign at a store that doesn’t want you there. If bookstores aren’t supportive of your work, they won’t draw a crowd.

Really, all the information you need is available to you. You just need to do some digging. And a cool hat wouldn’t hurt.

Ruining Books With Tears

by Alison Janssen

It seems like everything I'm reading (or watching -- LOST, I'm looking at YOU) these days is making me cry. Buckets.

Granted, I'm an easy crier, but this is a lot even for me.

I read The Hunger Games last Sunday, and at once point was so inconsolable that my fiance took the book out of my hands and replaced it with a PS3 controller, so I could cheer myself up by making Spiderman swing through the city. (Which worked for a time, the Spiderman game is AWESOME, but I had to get back to Kat and Peeta and Rue -- and I picked up book two, Catching Fire, and plan to dive in this weekend.)

A couple weeks ago, I finished The Ask and the Answer, and spent a good deal of those last chapters quietly sniffling into some tissues.

I love being so invested in characters that when terrible, atrocious things happen to them, I relieve the stress by crying. I love having enough time in the aftermath of an upset, when the author slows things down and lets the characters (and readers) mourn, to wipe my face and catch my breath and drink some water.

When an author can make my eyes well up with a single phrase, I'll be their reader for life.

What books inspire tears for you?

Of magic wands and other myths

In about ten days I’ll be departing these shores for a few days to recharge my batteries in one of my favourite places: the island of Guernsey, which, for blog-followers not familiar with European geography, is a tiny place just off the coast of France but technically part of Great Britain.

 

It’s quiet, beautiful, and also the home of a couple of good friends, and I’m planning to do some chilling out and make inroads into the book mountain which seems to be growing on the coffee table in my living room.

 

But before I get my break from routine, I have to work. Guernsey Writers’ Circle have asked me to run a workshop on crime writing for them, and I’ve also, perhaps a little unwisely, agreed to give one-on-one consultations to anyone who feels the need.

 

Unwisely not because I don’t want to – but because I know what they’re going to ask, and I don’t have an answer. I’ve already been in e-mail contact with several people, and so far only one has indicated that she wants to discuss a piece of writing with a view to getting a fresh pair of eyes on it and moving it forward. The others all want the impossible, and I’ll never be able to convince them I can’t offer it.

 

They want to know the secret of how to break into the market: what ruse they have to employ to persuade an editor that they’re the best thing since Dan Brown. And although they protest that they know how hard it is, and that the only real way in is to keep writing and keep submitting, and even then it may not happen – deep down they still think there’s something I can tell them, some trick or strategy that I know about and would be willing to divulge to them alone.

 

Here are a couple of examples of what I’m talking about, taken from real communications I’ve received (though not necessarily the ones I just mentioned.)

 

I would like to talk to you about agents, introductory letters and synopses. I have read pages of advice and I don't know who or what to believe anymore.

 

I am seeking guidance on how to break in to the market. The publishing business appears to be very personal, and it is tough to strike up relationships with agents/publishers/editors and the marketplace.

 

The first one I can cope with. Every how-to book and magazine article gives different advice, and it’s enough to make your head spin. But the second… I’ve come to the conclusion that 90% of aspiring writers believe this. I’m allowed to say that, because for a long time I believed it myself. When disillusion came, it hit me like a car crash, and it took a while before I could climb back behind the wheel.

 

But some people go right on believing it no matter what evidence to the contrary is placed before them. They think someone like me has a magic wand which will unlock doors and touch readers’ minds. Well, I’m sorry, guys, but Alohamora only works in Harry Potter books, and J K Rowling was just talented. And in the right place at the right time. And in tune with her audience.

 

The simple truth is there are no secrets, no ruses, no magic wand. You have to be all those things. And lucky. All at the same time.

 

Now I have to figure out a way to convince people when I get to Guernsey.

Barbie and Eddie Sittin’ in a Tr…Okay, a Bathtub Full of Gin

By Inga VonPeepenskeeven

Ms. Poelle is still recovering from her experience at the Edgars, courtesy of nominee Sophie Littlefield, so I will be taking over the blog today. Although Soph didn’t walk with the statue-  never fear! – Our Lady of Littlefield boarded a plane early the next a.m. to accept Best First Mystery of 2009 at RT.

I don’t think I could adequately describe watching Ms. Poelle prepare for and attend such an important event.  So I decided to nail it down to a succinct top ten list.

10. Ms. Poelle texts photos of herself  from  a fitting room while I handed her a variety of what I would call borderline inappropriate dresses while Molly Noot texts back helpful comments along the lines of:  “no”   “um, NO.”   “For the love of- you DO know you are in your thirties, right?!?!”   and then finally    “YES! That one!!!”

9. Ms. Poelle showing up in said dress to see that not only did Ms.  Littlefield have almost the identical dress, but she looked BETTER in it.  My glee was ALMOST palpable. I took a lemon from a passing waiter’s tray and stuffed it in my mouth to hide it.

8. Knowing Ms. Poelle had run 20 miles between purchasing the dress and donning it so that it didn’t fit exactly as it did when purchased. So, half an hour before the awards, I needed to dip my hands into the promised land and provide some last minute stitching to assure she didn’t pull a Janet Jackson at the cocktail party. Then I watched her arguing with Janet Reid about how much to tip the front desk guy for bringing up a needle and thread while I soaked my hands in enough Purell to kill a pterodactyl.

7. When the stitching burst. Oh yes, it most certainly did.

6. Arriving downstairs and seeing that Janet Reid had brought a date…..and it was Husband. And as they stood, arms linked, Husband paused and said to Ms. Poelle, “Well, THIS is awkward.”  And Ms. Poelle roared like the T. Rex in Jurassic Park . Later she hissed, “The gauntlet has been thrown, and it is Freddy Krueger’s!”  But between you and me, I don’t think she was even aware Husband had returned from whatever he does…I think it has something to do with professional bouldering. (Seriously, has ever a greater evil genius than Janet Reid lived? Privately , when Ms. Poelle’s back was turned, I genuflected and kissed Janet Reid’s many, many, many rings. And slipped her my resume. )

5. When Ms. Littlefield walked into the pre-party and we all screamed as if burned by scalding water. She looked like a Grecian Goddess. Oh, uh, but back when they had cash.

4. While I pretended to be rooting for eyeliner in my purse, I watched Ms. Poelle get locked in the ladies room as the awards were about to commence, rattling the doorknob like some sort of coked-up ferret with barely opposable thumbs and keening, “ohgodohgodohgod” until Danielle Perez, (yes THE Danielle Perez) with a juuuust barely disguised eye roll, pulled the knob the OTHER way and let her out.

 

3. When Andrew Martin (yes, THE Andrew Martin) busted Ms. Poelle for switching around all of table 2’s name tags. Apparently he designed the table seating, and he MEANT to sit by her. And he called her on it. In front of the rest of the table. And in reply? She did some sort of Spanish soap opera, “Aye Poppi!” with a vocalized trumpet: Waaa Waaaah!!!  He seemed to find it charming rather than mentally challenged, which both baffled and relieved us all.

2. Watching Ms. Littlefield charm the ENTIRE room in the after party and then exit stage left with a toss of that ri-DICULUOSly hot  blond mane, then watching Ms. Poelle try it and fall over a cater-waiter and into a potted plant.

1. Again, can we just go back to JANET REID’s DATE??? Sheer. Genius.

 We here at the Irene Goodman Literary Agency could NOT be prouder of 2010 Edgar Nominee Sophie Littlefield and A BAD DAY FOR SORRY and we hope you have preordered your copy of A BAD DAY FOR PRETTY. Congrats, Soph!

 

 

 

Language Lessons

Jeff Cohen

After driving to Philadelphia, then Arlington VA, then back to central New Jersey in the course of a few days, it's important to sit back, take stock, and think about life.

Okay, now that we've done that, let's think about learning a new language.

Let's face it: English isn't what it used to be. People are running around speaking whatever language they feel like speaking, both willy and nilly, having no regard for whether or not we understand them. And living in the age of Bluetooth means they're not just speaking other languages, they're speaking them loudly and in public, like on the Northeast Corridor Trenton local going into Penn Station on 34th Street in New York City.

I've put a good number of years into trying to get everyone to speak English when I'm around, and now that I'm teaching a writing course at the college level, I realize that's an impossible dream. English is doomed, and those of us with any regard for words at all must cut our losses and move on to another tongue post haste (that's Latin--it means fast).

But all that driving over the past few days has made me uniquely qualified to help in one particular language that has gotten very little attention. It's something that is specifically designed to be useful and it is tied to our modern times, but most people are far from fluent. In this case, that lack of knowledge could cost you your life.

Intrigued, aren't you? Well, consider: Learn to understand and speak this language, and your likelihood of ending up in a smoking heap at the bottom of a ditch is greatly decreased. Read carefully, because this is the wave of the future. And so, as a public service, Hey, There's A Dead Guy In The Living Room is pleased to offer:

The English/GPS--GPS/English Dictionary.

Think about it: Your GPS, with the voice of John Cleese, Bob Dylan, Homer Simpson or for all I know, Jessica Simpson is giving you instructions in "real time" (not fake time, like most other devices) that could make the difference between you arriving at your intended destination or driving off a bridge to your certain doom. So read on, driving New Millennium citizens--this one's for you!

(Phrases are offered in sequence, meaning the first is the beginning of the route, then the first turn, and so on.)

Turn left: My god, I can't believe you actually need directions out of your own driveway. Don't you know not to turn on your GPS until you're past the point where you can easily navigate yourself? How did I get purchased by such a moron?

In one quarter-mile, turn right: There are three right turns coming up. I'm betting you don't know how far a quarter-mile is. Bwahahahaha!

Keep left, in five hundred yards: If you don't know about a quarter-mile, there's no chance at all you can gauge five hundred yards. Besides, when I say "keep left," I actually mean "turn left, but not really sharply."

Take the motorway: No, I'm not British. I'm just messing with your head. It means "go on the highway." (The "not being British" thing doesn't apply if you have the voice of John Cleese on your GPS.)

Go straight on: Another fake British thing, although I can't be sure there isn't a veiled homophobic reference in there.

Take the exit right in two miles: Now I'm really messing with your head--Two miles? The exit's really in less than one. It's some weird default thing I always do when you're driving on the highway.

Turn around when possible: Good lord, you're an idiot! You've messed up so badly now that even I can't find a logical route for you to take other than to double back and DO WHAT I SAID THE FIRST TIME!

You have reached your destination: Praise the lord and pass the ammunition; you finally took my advice and got where you were going. I need a drink.

Make a U-turn: I SAID you had reached your destination! What are you doing driving by... hey! This is Circuit City! Are you looking for a new GPS???? I was just KIDDING about that U-turn thing! We can work this out! Hey!

LP-to-Digital Conversion Project Report: The slowest week yet. Basically, three albums by the Pointer Sisters (this week: all my dear wife's records), and a folky thing by somebody named Jim Post who went from playing folk songs in Chicago (where said dear wife was based for a few years) to playing Mark Twain onstage whenever Hal Holbrook wasn't in town. Not much to say, but next week: Richard Pryor and Gerry Rafferty.

Water, water everywhere

(Yeah, I know it's not the Standells' original, but gotta love the Dropkick Murphys. If you have to have the classics, just click here. Is that one of the first real guitar riffs you learned to play too? Still absolutely rocks after all these years, doesn't it...)

Greetings from one of those frustrated women, although not exactly for the reasons in the song. But it's definitely about that Dirty Water.

Sigh, Any other day I’d have a few gallons of water in reserve, chilling in the fridge. Fresh from my own tap, which offers surprisingly good drinking water. Bottled by me and not by a company selling someone else’s tap water under a fancy label. I drink it all day long, as is or lightly flavored with one of those foil tubes of instant tea, juice or lemonade, diluted 2-3 times past the recommendation (they're pretty gross made per instructions, but some aren't bad if you dilute them heavily into just a vague underlying flavor). But noooo… the day I decide to be lazy and refill the empties later is the day I experience my first ever “boil water” alert due to a burst pipe upstream. We still have water, but for the forseeable future it’s "from less treated backup sources."

It also comes with instructions that are frankly a bit confusing. I get the boil it before drinking part, and even that a coffee maker doesn't get the water hot enough for safety, but they go on to say that the water coming through the faucet now is OK for bathing but not for washing your hands. Dunno about you, but I’ve always thought one was an inevitable consequence of the other. Are you expected to carefully scrub using a washcloth or loofah between your wrists or toes (be very, very glad you won't have to watch me attempt to scrub my back using that little technique), or maybe try to keep some sort of little shower cap baggies covering your hands? I even get the idea that it's less safe for your hands because they're so likely to go near your mouth (although they never actually explain that as the reason themselves), but do they really think hands will never touch other body parts first? And what do you do if you should get some tap water or tap water soap bubbles on your hands? Does every bath or shower have to resemble some historical flick birthing scene, with demands for pan after pan of boiling water at hand "just in case"?

Then there are those times when washing your hands (and other things) is desirable, not just an inevitable side effect. I'm having a tough time swallowing the idea that not washing my hands after taking out the trash and before beginning lunch is healthier than even a quick soapy rinse.

Yeah, I know, use boiling / boiled water for everything instead. Since you only have to boil it for a minute, those insisting on it make it out to be no trouble at all. Well not only do they ignore that you have to know to boil it enough in advance to cool off—particularly for things that involve the submersion of body parts—but they also clearly have never tried to wrestle heavy pots filled with enough boiling water to cover at least a few hours' needs while on crutches. I can see Chevy Chase making a comedy routine of it that would have left his Gerald Ford in the dust, but I really can’t recommend it as entertainment for the one doing it. The results left me slightly disturbed to consider that my floor has been rinsed—however inadvertantly—several times with water considered safe enough for drinking... but my body hasn't.

Well what about using bottled water instead. Stocking up might have been good advice before the warning was out (sigh, see frustrated woman above), but once the warning was out, those suckers vanished faster than the rabbit in the magician's hat. Especially since I don't have a car (yeah, I know, practically unAmerican) to go on a wide ranging treasure hunt or carry it home if I did happen to find a mother lode.

The thing is, we just don’t realize how much we use water until we have to stop and think every time we do, for safety's sake. The things I mention above are just the tip of the iceberg (ah, no, since you ask, actually I had avoided taking up my limited freezer space with ice cube trays before they were really needed when the warm weather hit... that arrived this weekend too). What about brushing your teeth, rinsing salad greens, wiping up spills in the kitchen, washing dishes, the mountain of laundry I need to do, et al. There are the regular summer warnings about watering your lawn when reserves are low, while I had a taste of more extreme measures on a visit to Santorini in Greece years ago, when they were still importing water in tanker ships (the famous volcanic explosion also literally vaporized most of the island’s fresh water supply). But that's all about limiting use, not don't use. Worlds of difference.

Time to get creative I guess. There's a package store down the street, and isn't beer supposed to be great for the hair, while apparently being safer than the current water supply to risk dripping in my mouth during a shampoo? Some also claim it's a good wash for the skin (although some of those say you have to get the alcohol out first... spoilsports). I'm not sure I look forward to going to bed with peppermint and beer breath after brushing my teeth, but I figure my new body scent should make me immensely popular with my college student neighbors.

An Evening with Rhys Bowen

Robin Agnew

 

We host lots of author events of course, all enjoyable in their own way, but an especially enjoyable author event to host is one where a) you’ve known the author since her first book was published; and b) you are actually a giant fan.  Both “a” and “b” apply to Rhys Bowen.  

 

Rhys visited us the first time with Janet Dawson when her first Evan Evans novel was published.  She and Janet had eaten lunch at Zingerman’s and met some ladies they convinced to come to the signing that evening.  It was not too well attended, but it wasn’t horrible.  At that point (I’m not sure how long Rhys kept doing this) Rhys brought along a traditional Welsh hat that she wore during the signing.  It went well for a first book signing.

 

At that time I wasn’t sure where the careers of either woman would go – Janet had just been bumped down to PBO status (and her books were very solid and enjoyable P.I. outings) and I thought the Evans books were charming but I couldn’t tell how successful they would be.

 

Rhys’ next visit came mid-series with her Evan Evans books, before she had found her Molly Murphy muse.  This one WAS sparsely attended, and I felt awful – one of our most loyal customers (and book club members) attended, as did a woman who was a Welsh ex-pat and who just wanted to touch base with someone else who had been to Wales.  She, frankly, was a little bit of a downer.

Then a few years passed.  Murphy’s Law was published.  For us it remains one of our best selling titles of all time.  Before this most recent visit, we couldn’t keep it in stock.  About three books into “Molly”, Rhys returned.  I set up a companion dinner and companion book signers (Sharon Fiffer and Libby Hellman) and my friend Patti O’Brien brought a van load full of her book club readers over from the Detroit area.  The place was packed to the rafters. 

A few more years passed, and Rhys started writing her Lady Georgie books, which also are steady sellers for us.  When she came this time around I borrowed space, rented chairs, and enjoyed another full house with a smooth and delightful talk by Rhys who is at this point a total pro at discussing her books – and making the audience want to read them.  One couple had driven five hours to see her.

 

I like this full circle of a career, not that Rhys’ career is over, but it’s great to see it in full bloom, and think back to the event with only a loyal book club customer and a depressed Welsh woman.  Sometimes there are good things in life, and it’s good to enjoy them when they are happening.  I look forward to another visit sometime – maybe next time with a “Georgie” book.