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

This Weird Summer

Robin Agnew

This summer has been a weird transition.  For the first time, my daughter isn't home, she's up north, living with my sister, and working as an intern in a library, which is what she wants to do with her life.  She'll be a sophomore in college this fall.  My son, who had to go to summer school thanks to the rigors of Algebra II (and a few other things) had thus spent most of his summer in Algebra class (it's finally over!) and then sprinting to band practice because, being 16, he is of course in a rock band. Thankfully drum sets aren't too portable so they play at the drummer's house.  They are actually pretty decent.

My summer memory has become driving him to summer school in the heat (it's at a different high school on the other side of town) and unfortunately listening to his music selection, Little Wayne.  It floors me that rap is what kids like to listen to, and I suppose our parents thought the same thing about whatever it is we listened to, but the rap message is so bleak, so cynical - there's none of that "Love is all You Need" style message that I remember.  His favorite band is actually Nirvana, which I wouldn't mind, though they too, are pretty depressing - but at least Kurt Cobain could sing.

He and his band had a little concert this summer and I was actually really impressed - they didn't cover any Little Wayne songs, they covered Nirvana, which was almost comforting.  None of them (and this is unusual for a rock band!) wants to be the lead singer!  They just added another guitarist but he doesn't sing either.   Two of the guys had their girlfriends in attendance at the concert, so it was a weird combo of concert/family picnic/date (for the guys).  The boys didn't actually sit WITH us, but they did sit NEAR us.  It was a nice day, but an unexpected one, in a long summer of unexpected things.

We go north to pick up my daughter this week, and our family will be back to "normal" for two weeks before she leaves again for college.  She can't wait.  I'm finding transitions are hard.  And before you know it we'll be plunged into the maelstrom of my son's senior year.  Senior pics need to be scheduled...I'm assuming the coming year will be just as "weird" as the summer.

Authors Are People Too

By Dana Kaye

 

Last night, I attended a book signing for my two wonderful clients, Jamie Freveletti and Michael Harvey. The signing was at the Book Cellar, one of my favorite bookstores/wine bar (perfect combo right?)

 

My parents joined me and on the car ride over my mother mentions, “This is my first book signing.”

 

Excuse me? Really?

 

My mother is an avid reader and always incredibly supportive. I’ve convinced her to come to triathlons, swim meets, poetry readings in the backs of delis. How has she not come to a book signing?

 

The event went well. Jamie discussed her research on Somali pirates and her experience crewing for her ultra-marathon running husband. Michael talked about why this book was different from his others and what motivated him to write about a spree killing on the Chicago El. They both talked about being career novelists, former lawyers, and a bit about the writing process.

 

At the end, I knew my mother was going to buy books. She’s my mother, it’s her job to be supportive. But after the talk and Q&A she turns to me and says, “Both those books sound fascinating!” As a predominantly lit-fic and nonfiction reader, I didn’t think she’d go for two high-octane thrillers, but meeting the authors and hearing them talk about their work inspired her to read their books.

 

For most of us who are in the publishing industry, we know that connecting with readers is the best way to sell books and build a fan base. But many people never think of venturing out on a weeknight to meet an author, especially one they’re not familiar with.

 

So your mission, if you choose to accept it, is to attend a signing at your local bookstore next week. Even if you’ve never heard of the author, even if you have to drive out of your way, even if you don’t think you’d ever read that genre. Take a friend and take a risk, you may meet someone interesting and find a new author to read.

The Story of the Book

by Alison Janssen

I really love to hear the "how this book got published" stories, especially for my favorite books, and so I thought today I might share the story of one of our Tyrus Books, Late Rain.

Once upon a time, a popular and talented crime writer was looking for something new to read. He was browsing the selection at his local used book store, and found a title he found intriguing. It was called The Long Fall, and was written by a man named Lynn Kostoff. Published in 2003 by Otto Penzler Books, our intrepid, read-seeking author purchased it and hurried home to start in.

He read the book in only one day, and loved it so much that he wrote about it on his website (scroll waaaaaaay down, to 5/24/07, to see the review).

Now it just so happened that Lynn, the author of The Long Fall, visited that website and saw the review of his novel. It touched him to see someone recommend it so highly, and he decided to email a thank you note.

The two authors began a correspondence, and in the natural manner of things, Marcus asked Lynn, "What are you working on now?"

Lynn was working on a manuscript about the murder of a soft drink mogul in South Carolina, witnessed by a man suffering Alzheimer's, who couldn't put the words together to describe the killer. It was a bleak manuscript, but with a cast of characters who grabbed your heart and hung on. Marcus asked, "Do you have a publisher for this new one?"

Lynn said, "No," and that's when Tyrus Books got very, very lucky. Because Marcus said, "I have a friend who's an editor, want me to introduce you?"

And I received an email from him, telling me the story so far, and praising Lynn's writing in no uncertain terms. And then I received an email from Lynn, asking if I might like to see the new manuscript.

You bet I would, buddy!

And now, several years later, Late Rain is a brand-new Tyrus Book July 2010 release. In fact, it's a Tyrus title I'm incredibly proud of. It's a title I believe represents the kind of book Tyrus was founded to publish.

I love it so much I want you to have a copy. So today, the first three people to comment on this blog post will get a copy for free. Because even if the books don't have happy endings, the stories of the books always do.

The ones that get away

One of the perks of being a publisher of crime novels is that the need to stay abreast of trends gives me an excuse to read even more of the things than I would anyway; two a week is a pretty good average, and that’s in addition to the manuscripts. I have my favourites, of course – Phil Rickman, J D Robb, Val McDermid, Mark Billingham to name just a few of them – but in an attempt to put my money where my mouth is, I try to interleave the ones that feel like falling back into my own bed after a couple of nights in a Travelodge with new or new-ish names who I may or may not connect with. Sometimes I don’t, but often I find a new name to look out for. Since my favourites usually only produce one new book a year and if my maths is right I seem to read about a hundred books a year, the ones to look out for aren’t thin on the ground; so I think it’s fair to say that a lot of the authors I read are authors I might, if circumstances had been different, have actually published.

 

Occasionally those circumstances centre on the book itself. Maybe it’s too long. Crème de la Crime specialises in tight, pacy four-hour reads: the one you read on the long-haul flight and pass on to your travelling companion, not the doorstop that lasts through a fortnight of lying on the beach. So however brilliant the 150,000 word manuscript is, it’s not for us. Or maybe I just don’t connect with the story. There’s a market out there for fast-moving thrillers with a vicious punch-up or other nasty incident on every other page, and I’ll happily concede that some of them are well crafted, well written and excellent of their kind. But sorry, guys, it’s a kind I can’t relate to. Unrelenting violence just doesn’t do it for me – and that is a whole different blog post; watch this space!

 

The most common circumstance is the obvious one: they didn’t send me their debut novel in the first place. Which in a lot of cases is a very great pity, but mainly for me. I have to be honest and self-aware here, and point out that if Penguin or Random House pick up a talented debut author, that author almost certainly has more chance of making the big time than if they’d come to me; Penguin and Random House actually have a marketing budget, and though we’d all love to believe that cream rises by itself and all that’s really needed for success is prodigious talent, the cold truth is that even prodigious talent needs to have its trumpet blown loud if it’s going to be noticed. So while Penguin’s gain could be my loss, the author is the winner, which can only be a good thing.

 

But who am I to talk anyway? I’m the publisher who would have turned down The da Vinci Code. See above for reasons, if you need them.

Ain’t No Cure...Except for This

By Barbara Poelle

I got an email from a colleague recently that just said, “Is this March?”

Now because you don’t speak Death Kitten, I will translate: March was a tough month for me.  I felt like I was zipped inside of a hippo carcass and made to fight to the death in the name of entertainment on the dusty, blood soaked sand floor of a stadium packed full of screaming faux royalty.

You know what I am talking about.

Like, they aren’t really royal blood of any kind but they wear shabby chic skinny jeans and silk shirts with voluminous necklines dotted with oddly clustered rhinestones and feathers.  And their hair looks like a cross between Beetlejuice and Justin Bieber. And they say fake exclamatory words like, “Flytastic” and “Suge-nasty”.  And they have reached such stratospheric boredom in their lives that the only thing that could possibly turn their flaccid existence into anything resembling kinetic movement is watching a literary agent get sewn into the still fresh carcass of a hippo- which smells oddly of spaghettios and leather- and fight someone in a llama suit to the death.

Wow. What the hell was I talking about again? I got so totally distracted about the dystopic world I was building just there. Like Mad Max meets Project Runway.

Okay, wait, I got it. March.

Right! Okay, so for whatever reason, March just kept kicking me in the teeth. I felt like I just couldn’t get ahead of my slush and that I was talking MONTHS to read manuscripts and that I was violently apathetic about the current commercial trends.  I was frustrated and shameful and ate my feelings as if I was getting paid per calorie.

Yup, I had the summer blues…in spring.

Now that we are into the dog days, or hippo suit days, of summer, I am fielding a lot of conversations from colleagues and clients alike that sound EXACTLY how I sounded in March. Add to it some 90 degree thigh-kissing weather (you know, like how when it is so hot and you wear a skirt, your thighs kiss as they pass each other) and an inbox that resembles the log book on Liberty Island, and you got yerself a  March on your hands. Summer can throw schedules awry and heat up tempers and frustrations inside as quickly as the temperatures rise outside. It is more important than ever to lean on your support system of fellow authors and give yourself permission to close the laptop, grab a lemonade [couch cough add vodka cough] and go outside and READ!

I am telling you, what got me through March was reading some really spectacular works already on the shelf. It reminded me how much I love being a part of this fabulous-frustrating -fantastic industry and how much magic is still out there waiting to break free and shine. And I am privileged- SO privileged- to be a part of that.

You KNOW there is a book on your nightstand you keep meaning to read, but feel guilty that you should be writing or doing yard work- even though when you simply walked out to get the mail your thighs basically got to second base with each other.  

Those of you having a March in July, I hereby give you permission to lose yourself in a story this week. In fact, treat yourself to that hardcover you have been eyeing. Remember why there is NOTHING better than a good book. Remember why you wanted to plunge into this crazy stadium to begin with. Remember why you thought this whole writing gig would be so flytastic.

I am off to bedazzle this silk shirt.

 

The Fifteen-per-cent Solution

Jeff Cohen

Changing agents, I have discovered, is a difficult thing to do. Not long ago, I parted company with the agent who has represented me for four years and six books. We split by mutual agreement, and I have nothing but complimentary things to say about my previous agent, if you're interested. But that would be a private conversation, not one I'm having with myself here today.

Finding a new agent--and you have to break ties formally before a new agent will discuss your situation--is tricky. Granted, I know a number of you DEAD GUY fans are still trying to latch on with your first agent, and that is admittedly more difficult a task. Once you're published, you have a track record, experience and published books you can mention, all good selling points for prospective representation.

That doesn't mean, by any stretch of the imagination, that even a published author who parts with an agent and has no immediate prospect of another doesn't wake up at three in the morning wondering what the hell he might have just done. Trust me.

But the Agent Hunt is something universal to all writers. It helps when you start with a track record and some friends you've met along the way. People who know your work are especially valuable, because they might know agents who respond to that sort of thing. And authors who write in your sub-genre might also be helpful (there are many generous and giving people in this business). But that does NOT mean I'm saying you should get in touch with Stephen King because you wrote a horror novel or Donna Andrews if you write humorous cozies--contacting people you don't know, who don't know you, isn't going to get you an agent. It'll get you, at best, an email from an author you don't know. At worst, if you don't quit, it can get you a restraining order.

Online lists can be helpful. Predators and Editors is a decent place to look for lists of names, and Publishers Lunch, with a list of recent deals and the principals involved, can help. Compile a REALISTIC list of those you'd like to contact.

Write a killer cover letter, but don't lie. Don't say you're published if you haven't been. Don't say your novel, MURDER CAN BE MURDER, is the logical successor to Raymond Chandler, Agatha Christie and Charlaine Harris all rolled up into one, because let's face it, it's not. DON'T send the 700-page manuscript to every agent on a list. In fact, don't send it to ANY agent until they ask for it.

If you get a response, be polite, quick, and accurate. Send what the agent asks for, not what you think they should have. If the agent says, "send the first three chapters," and you know something GREAT happens in Chapter Four, send the first three chapters. Of course, there's nothing I can see wrong with deleting the breaks between chapters three and four and THEN sending the first three chapters. If your mind-blowing plot twist comes in Chapter Thirty-Eight, however, this ploy is, at the very best, ill advised.

Be patient. Sending an email every day after you submit your material--even if you don't directly ask why you haven't heard back yet--doesn't make you an aggressive marketer; it makes you a pest. Don't be a pest.

In my case, a chance encounter between two people--an author who's a friend and an agent who happens to live in the same building--led to a flurry of emails, a submission, and what do you know, a change in representation. So now I have to come up with something else to wake me at three in the morning. 

Don't worry--I have a stockpile of such things.

LP-to-Digital Conversion Project Update: It's the end of the line, children. I got through the (considerably fewer than expected) singles in just a couple of days. And I'll publish the list thereof next week, promise. Suffice it to say some were classics, some 
 were obscure, and some were just plain embarrassing. But they are now all preserved for posterity until the next technological breakthrough hits and I have to turn them into corn chips, or something. Next week: I'll sum up the project.

P.S.: If, by any chance, you are associated with, or know of, a company in the film/TV/post production business which might be interested in extremely low-cost help (in other words, work for college credit or minimum wage) for six months, please don't hesitate to get in touch (see here for email directions). My son,the film major at Drexel University, is scheduled to begin his co-op--a major part of the program there, getting the student actual workplace experience--in September. He's still looking, with special interests in (but not limited to) editing and writing, and is open to suggestion. Suggest.

Social Media--What's the Point?

Elizabeth Riley Adams (filling in for Kim Malo)

I spend a lot of time online.

Most of this online time is spent doing promo work.  But sometimes it can be hard to tell exactly where the promo is happening because I’m not doing any direct marketing.  I’ll have Twitter set up to automatically tweet once an hour each day and I’ll blog daily (actually, I’m on several group blogs, so I end up with an average of more than one blog post a day), and I’ll update my three Facebook pages with status updates every couple of days.

Through all this?  I never once say, “Hey!  I’ve got a book for sale! Go buy it.”  

So the question I get asked a lot is, “What’s the point?”

And the answer is different, depending on which form of social media we’re talking about:

Personal blog:  The point of having a personal blog is that it functions as a home base for writers online.   Because it’s updated more than a website (usually), it’ll rank higher on Google results than a static webpage.  Personal blogs are a great way to connect with other writers and your readers.  Now nearly every blog hosting service offers the ability to put different pages on your blog.  So you could treat the blog like a web page—have an “about you” page, a press kit page, and a page filled with links of places where your book is available.  In your blog’s sidebar, you can also put a buy link as an easy way for someone visiting your blog to purchase your book. 

Twitter: Ultimately its point is to funnel eyes to your blog and give guests an opportunity to learn more about you, increase awareness about your book or release, and purchase your book.  The best tweet to direct someone to your blog is one with a catchy headline that links to a well-written blog post.

Facebook:  Its point is to provide interaction and networking in a more relaxed format.  This is where you really get to know people—whether the people are journalists who write reviews, book bloggers, other writers, or readers.

Sometimes I see writers doing things on social media that just don’t make sense to me.  They’ll set Twitter to auto-tweet what’s basically a commercial for their book four or five times a day.  They’ll exclusively talk about their book on every blog post—how they wrote the book, the inspiration for the book, etc.  They’ll Facebook a countdown for their book’s release and not interact on Facebook at any other time or write on anyone else’s wall. The number one point of being a part of social media?  It’s to provide meaningful content…which, ultimately, means bringing more awareness of your books.   And subtlety is huge! Because we all know how to unfollow and unfriend and unsubscribe to blogs or people that are non-stop commercials.

Social media can be a huge time suck, so we have to monitor the amount of time we spend doing it. How long it takes depends on how much online presence you’re looking for.  I’ve used Twitter for as little as 10 minutes a day (scheduling a few helpful writing-related links to post), and I’ve used it as much as an hour a day (the current amount of time it takes to find the links that I post and schedule them to run.)  The same goes with the other forms of social media—it needs to be worked in around the other things that you’ve already got on your schedule.

Organizing social media time:

Timers are really helpful to help you know when your allotted time is up.  I also like to try to set a routine for social media.  Facebook is great to update in the mornings.  Twitter peaks in the early morning and late afternoon (US time zones).  Blogging is really best earlier in the day (Eastern time) because a lot of people will check or comment on blogs before they head off to work. 

If you end up subscribing to a lot of blogs (usually the blogs of people who comment and interact with you on your blog), then you can save some time by organizing the blogs in your Google Reader.  You’ll add each blog’s RSS feed to Google Reader, then divide the blogs into folders—you could have a M/W/F folder, or a T/Th folder, or one that you check every day.  This helps you keep track of which blogs you’ve visited over the course of a week and help you maintain your connections to your different online friends.

And, of course, if it’s a choice between writing time and social media time, writing comes first.  Otherwise?  There’s nothing to promote. 

What’s your favorite social medium  and how do you keep track of the time you spend updating it? 

And…thanks so much for letting me guest blog today at Hey, There’s a Dead Guy in the Living Room!

 

Elizabeth Spann Craig (Riley Adams)
http://mysterywritingismurder.blogspot.com
http://mysteryloverskitchen.com
Twitter: @elizabethscraig

There Will Be Blood

Robin Agnew

The Ann Arbor Art Fairs, which happen every year during four of the hottest and/or wettest days in July (often both, as in this year), take over our town.  About 500,000 people come through the city for the 4 day event, bringing with them mayhem, dollars, and human interest galore (as well as art, or course).

 We’re off the main path of the art fair which is actually a good thing – it gives us room to set up on the sidewalk right in front of our store (which wouldn’t be the case if we were on Main St.) and we’re between two of the larger parking structures in town.  We hustle a ton of dollar books – every one we sell makes us a little happier, and our book load a little lighter.

 Of course we also sell the books that cost more, inside the store, and lots of people have made us a stop, including artists who need good reading materials for booth sitting.   We have one lovely family from Richmond, Va, who come every year – the parents are classics profs, and like historical mysteries, their daughter likes Harry Potter (she has 73 different editions of all the various installments), and the twin sons, majoring in math, love Deaver, Connelly, Lehane, Child and interestingly, David Hewson, an author that’s seemingly enjoyed by the whole family.  This year I got the guys started on Robert Crais and the Dad on Elizabeth George, two authors I love hand  selling, both because they’re terrific and because people always want more.

 We had another man from Ohio who, like my husband, loves Kem Nunn.  Any other Nunn-ites out there?  You know who you are and you are few and far between. I got him started on Jack O’Connell, another fave of my husband’s.   Another woman stumbled in, looking desperate – she demanded to know where the Asey Mao section was.  Luckily I have been selling books long enough to lead her to the luckily large pile of Phoebe Atwood Taylor books we have.  She found five she’d been searching for.

 All day there’s a swarm of people walking by and buying dollar books – one very elderly golf enthusiast had to make sure the golf book we had on the dollar table was really a dollar.  He then wanted to know where the REST of our golf section was.  I was saddened to tell him – as well as another elegant, browsing man – that we only sold mysteries.  The elegant browser left with a copy of Farewell, My Lovely.

 Oh, and the blood?  A elderly woman who lives up the street stumbled on the sidewalk and gashed her forehead open – I was struck by how nice people are, as two people walking by helped her staunch the blood with a towel I gave them, and while I called 911, the sub shop owners from down the street hustled over and brought her a bottle of water.  They even helped me wash down the sidewalk after the ambulance took her away.  And luckily, one of them is a med student so he didn’t gasp audibly (as I did, I could NOT be a doctor) when he saw the gash.  “Oh,” he said kindly, “it’s just a little cut.”  I think he’s going to be a great doc.

 

 

Winner of Sharktionary

From Death Kitten...

After much whisker-licking deliberation, I am pleased to present you with DK's rulings on the sharktionary.

Honorable Mention for Evil Stare to Rival the DK's Own: Carrie, with the eagle.

Honorable Mention for Least Likely to Pick Up His Award on Account of Being Sharkbait: Sean Ferrell

Third Place, prize of an extra set of editing-eyeballs: Amy Lindel

Second Place, prize of a companion ticket to rehab with Barbara: Alli

and

First Place, winner of the Sharktionary Editor-in-Chief gig AND a copy of the exceptionally entertaining ITW Debut Thriller of the Year Running From the Devil....

Keli Scrapchansky!

The Death Kitten approves of your choice of subjects, Kelli. Well done.

The Death Kitten would also like to say thank you to all the entrants. The Death Kitten enjoyed your feeble human attempts at humor (skadgers excepted. Everyone knows skadgers are crap at being funny).

When the Death Kitten says this, the Death Kitten actually means:

Your Ironman

By Dana Kaye

As many of you know, I’m currently training to run the Chicago Marathon with the intention of completing Ironman Madison in 2011. For those of you who are unfamiliar, a marathon is 26.2 miles and an Ironman triathlon is a 2.4 mile swim, 112 mile bike, and a marathon.

 

Ok, yes I know I’m crazy, you can pick your jaws up off the floor. But you want to know the craziest part? Up until the summer of 2007, I had never run more than a mile without stopping.

 

My girlfriend wanted to run the Shamrock Shuffle, an 8k fun run that ends with beer and music. I like beer, I like music, and running 8k (5 miles) didn’t seem like that big a deal.

 

As you may have guessed, girlfriend stomped me. She finished in a respectable 50 minutes and I walked half the time. But after that, I was hooked. I started training on a regular basis, running more and more and walking less and less. I did a 5k in 28 minutes, then a 10k in just under an hour, and in 2008, only one year after I began training, I completed my first half-marathon.

 

While a marathon seems like an impossibly daunting task, it’s really not. It only requires time, focus, and the determination to put one foot in front of the other (for about four hours).

 

Writing a novel requires the same: time, focus and determination. If you write a page a day, within the year, you’ll have a novel. Tell most people you’re writing a book, you’ll probably get a similar reaction as when I tell people I’m running the marathon. But it is an attainable goal; you just have to have a plan.

 

Your Training Plan:

· Set a word count or page count goal. A page a day is manageable. Think about it. A page a day? That’s it? And if you do that one page a day, you’ll finish the book in a year. Set a goal that works for you. If you can only write on the weekends, set the goal of 7,000 words or 7 pages per week. Stick to your plan, meet your goals, and you’ll finish the book.

· Set checkpoints. When you complete act one of your novel, give it to someone to read. A friend, fellow writer, anyone that will give you honest, helpful feedback. Before you continue the story, you want to make sure you’re on the right track.

· Set a date. My marathon is in October. That’s the deadline for being trained, prepped and ready to race. Set a date to complete your novel. Have the manuscript polished and ready by the next Thriller Fest or by the first of the year. Having a set date will push you to meet your goals.

· Reward yourself along the way. Meet your goal for the week? Take yourself out to dinner. Reach the midpoint? Give yourself a shopping spree at your favorite bookstore. It’s important to reward success, even if it’s small.

 

Remember to take the journey one mile page at a time!

Dinner Party Guest List, Fiction Edition

by Alison Janssen

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle talks about how and why he created Sherlock Holmes:

(via kottke.org)

This is such a great video, you guys.

I mean, first off, his old-timey manner of speech is endearing: "I used, occasionally, to read detective stories," and "... it, uh, prospered, and so, may I say, did I ..." And he rolls his Rs! But not ironically!

Second, I'm struck by the letters Doyle describes receiving, addressed to Holmes (or to his "rather stupid friend, Watson"), from people around the world who believe Holmes to be a real man. Can you imagine writing a character who people -- many people, from the sound of it -- believe to be real?

As a writer, that must feel awfully good. You wrote so convincingly that someone, somewhere thinks you were telling the truth!

If I could wish a fictional character into actual existence, I think Holmes would be high on my list. Sure he's got his issues, but I'd still love to hang out with him. Also Jack Reacher. And Stella Hardesty. And Gravedigger Peace. And Sirius Black.

How about you? Which characters top your list of "Wish You Were/Thought You Were Real"s?

Learning to fly

A long time ago – well, maybe only six or seven years, but it feels like a long time – when Crème de la Crime was only a list of questions on a notepad, one question we never thought to ask was what happens when a debut author stops being a debut author?

 

Debut authors being our speciality, it was something that soon came up. And of course there’s more than one answer.

 

One option – actually the one that seems to have happened most –  is that they become series authors. Of the thirteen debut novels we’ve published in the past six years, eight turned out to be the firsts of series and a ninth is heading that way. I’m counting two books as a series here; a couple of those didn’t make it beyond the second, which was a shame, but that’s how it goes sometimes.

 

It doesn’t always work out – if only! Some books capture the reading public’s imagination, other’s don’t. (Let’s face it, the reading public’s imagination is sometimes a strange and wonderful creature. If I could lose a pound for every time I’ve said, How did that get to the top of the bestsellers?, I might be able to get into that pair of jeans at the back of the wardrobe…) So just occasionally, the debut is all there is. It gives me a warm, glowy feeling to know that here at Crème de la Crime it is just occasionally. Mostly, if I love a book, it’s not hard to persuade other people to love it too.

 

The ideal solution, the one we all lie in bed dreaming of, is that the author moves on to greater things.

 

Every writer knows that the giant step is getting published at all. The reason we founded Crème de la Crime was to make that giant step a little more accessible for a few more people; so far we’ve done it for thirteen people. But I like to think we’ve done more. Four of our debut authors have moved way beyond anything a little indie can offer. Two have books coming out in the next few months with bigger houses. Another already has three additional books out there. The fourth caught the interest of a leading literary agent with his debut novel for us, and subsequently hit the big time with one of the mega-publishing houses, albeit under a different name.

 

So in at least three cases we’ve been the springboard: made possible the background that made an agent or an editor look a second time at a query.

 

I’m under no illusions, and take no credit at all for their huge talent – all I did was unearth it and give them a chance. But I discovered on my own account a lot of years ago that nothing impresses an editor as much as another editor’s good opinion. When I was writing magazine stories and features, I found success bred success. The quality of the work is what counts for the final decision, of course, but a CV which could list significant previous publications seemed to go a long way towards getting the work looked at in the first place.

 

Forgive me if I feel a little maternal towards my fledglings. Some stayed around the nest longer than others; some are still hovering on the edge, and I’m not about to push them out! But it’s good to know I’ve helped some of them learn to fly. 

Sharktionary Volume One

By Barbara Poelle

Husband and I have a different idea of what “on time” means. For me, 5 minutes early is seven minutes late, and for Husband, 5 minutes early is like a unicorn selling quality real estate for low prices along the Hudson…a nice idea, but it ain't happening. 

Recently when I was determined to leave “on time” I called out from the bathroom- “We are leaving in 2 minutes…do you have your shoes on?” “Yeeeeessss,” he droned, and I could HEAR his eye roll.  But when I emerged- coiffed and spectacular- one minute and 37 seconds later, there he was, in all of his socky glory.

“Are you kidding me? I just asked you if you had your shoes on and you said YES!”

He rose, slowly, with his thumb moving a snail’s pace over the power button on the remote, turned to me, and without a hint of irony said, “When you said, ‘do you have your shoes on’ I thought you meant ‘are you in the process of getting your shoes and putting them on’.  Which I am.”

Reader, I married him.

But this brings up something I think we can all use.  (And no, I don’t mean access to feet sanitizer for Skadger baths.) So, without further ado, and of course helpfully illustrated, I present to you the “what I really meant” glossary, also known as:  

The SHARKTIONARY

Vol. 1.

What I say:

I am having difficulty seeing where this would be shelved.

What I mean:

What I say: Not at alllll! I am not doing anything in particular right now anyway.

What I mean:

 

 

What I say: I find that editor can be difficult to pin down.

What I mean:

What I say: Nobody Panic.

What I mean:

 

What I say: Negotiations are going very smoothly.

What I mean:

 
What I say: I have a comprehensive, four-pronged plan of attack I am going to initiate.

What I mean:

What I say: I am attending a conference.

What I mean:

What I say: Janet Reid ALSO offered on this one? Well congrats! We’ll all figure it out I am sure.

What I mean:

This is way, way too fun. Play Sharktionary in the comments. Death Kitten will vote on her favorite and we'll crown you Contributing Editor of the Sharktionary.

Spenser Vs. D'Artagnan

Jeff Cohen

I have tried a number of times to read two books that, in theory (I was going to say "on paper," but that seemed self-contradictory, somehow), I should really like. I haven't been able to get through more than one chapter on either one.

The first is A Confederacy of Dunces, by John Kennedy Toole. Heralded by any number of reviewers, friends and people who have actually read it as hilarious, the story concerns itself with Ignatius J. Reilly, an overweight 30-year-old in New Orleans in the 1960s who lives with his mother and, well, doesn't do much. The plot, such as it is, revolves around his trying to find a job, without tons of success.

For me, Ignatius's superior attitude, apparently meant by the author (who committed suicide 11 years before the book's publication) to be satirical, is merely obnoxious. While intelligent, Ignatius believes himself to be superior to most of the people he meets, while exhibiting no obvious evidence to back up that idea. Again, humor being as subjective as is possible in humor interaction, you might fall over laughing at this, but from my point of view, that's not a comic hero--it's a pain in the butt. I've read the first chapter maybe eight times. Never read the second. The forward, concerning itself with the efforts of Toole's mother to have the book published posthumously, is more interesting to me than the novel itself. Your mileage may vary--a LOT.

The second book I can't get myself into is The Three Musketeers, by Alexandre Dumas. And if I have to tell you the plot to THAT one, there's not a lot of point in reading further. Suffice it to say it's not about a candy bar. 

I am a huge fan of the story, having seen most of the movies made from the novel (especially the Richard Lester version in 1974, which is excellent). And I'm a real sucker for most of such stories in which swashes are buckled. Yet, I can't get myself past the archaic-feeling language (translated from French) and the massive tonnage of details Dumas feels compelled to provide. Much as I want to experience D'Artagnan and his friends through their creator's own words, I just haven't managed to bridge the chasm of time. I'm still trying with that one, though.

Which brings me to Robert B. Parker.

Parker, whose Spenser novels reinvigorated the detective genre in the late Seventies and Eighties, died in January, probably while writing three or four more books all at once. He was tireless, prolific and very good at what he did, to the point that maybe he got TOO good, and overextended himself. The later Spenser books are, essentially, retreads, and the other two series Parker wrote, featuring Jesse Stone and Sunny Randall, are variations on Spenser.

But his prose was spare and to-the-point. No time was wasted in a Parker novel. Long digressions on the fragility of life or the glory of a summer morning were for other writers. The supporting characters (although many women I know detested the love object Susan Silverman) are interesting. The backstory... well, there's not much backstory.

For all the comparisons to Raymond Chandler, Parker didn't write that much like his idol. Chandler, although I'm very fond of his work, never met an adjective he didn't like and occasionally went so overboard in his description that you forgot what was going on in the scene. Parker eliminated all that, so that when he finished a novel Chandler left behind, it sounded like a writer with multiple personality disorder had started it, then channeled a Spenser novel into the 1940s.

What I'm saying is that just because a writer or a novel is widely accepted as brilliant or, worse, "classic," every reader will bring his/her own taste to the reading. Some people can't stand Parker. They're not wrong. Some people don't like my books. They are, in fact, wrong, but you can't talk them out of it. It's not worth trying.

So--what "great" book can't YOU manage to finish? (No points for Moby-Dick, because NOBODY ever finished that one.)

LP-to-Digital Conversion Project Update: Believe it or not, boys and girls, I actually reached the end of the line this week. Sort of.

Having gotten through the Three Dog Night catalog (or at least the portion of it I actually owned) convinced that a Greatest Hits album would have been enough, I moved on to a little-known band called Toby Beau (kinda famous for a minor hit called "My Angel Baby"), yet another album I accumulated as an arts writer--or arts editor, because I did both at various times--for the Rutgers Daily Targum, my college newspaper. Frankly, the raised album art is probably better than the record, but they had a few enjoyable tunes, notably "Moonshine."

That said, quick one-album appearances by Jennifer Warnes and Sonny Boy Williamson led to two very different comedy albums, one by Robin Williams, the other a collection of TV monologues delivered by Flip Wilson. The Williams album, Live at the Met, is probably his best work, a truly virtuoso performance at the Metropolitan Opera House in New York City, that has a through-line reaching from sexual desire through parenthood, and is touching and hilarious often both in the same second, showcasing Williams's amazingly quick mind. 

Flip Wilson was a comedian whose TV variety show made him a surprise superstar, which isn't easy to be. He told stories, and told you they were stories, and played characters, particularly Geraldine, a spunky black woman (Wilson was African-American) who didn't take any crap from anybody. Just in the gestation period when his album The Devil Made Me Buy This Dress was recorded, Geraldine would end up taking over Wilson's act, which was unfortunate, because he was better than a one-note comedian.

Then, it was on to the Stevie Wonder catalog (again, those albums I owned and did not already have on CD). The surprise pick in the bunch was Hotter Than July, an effort that didn't offer passel of the big hits Innervisions or Talking Book did ("Master Blaster" did reach #5 on the singles chart), but held together nicely and never failed to entertain. Nobody knows how to write a tune that will catch your attention, or to put it over brilliantly, better than Stevie. Nobody. Check out "All I Do" and "Happy Birthday," his (successful) plea for a holiday celebrating Martin Luther King Jr., and you'll know what I mean.

That brings us to the end of the albums, but don't fret--there are still plenty of singles to convert, and that's a REALLY interesting bunch. See you next week.

Summer time when the reading is easy

The problem isn’t the heat or humidity per se, it’s that they’ve both been around so long they’re applying for resident parking stickers.  This is the area about which Mark Twain supposedly said that if you don’t like the weather... wait a minute. We’re used to variety and we expect it. This summer, however, we seem to be doing our very best imitation of Washington DC, which in the days before air conditioning was sometimes classified as a hardship ambassadorial posting because of the relentlessly hot and humid summers complemented by things like malaria and yellow fever outbreaks. Great, but if that was what I wanted, I’d still be living there.

This is the time, with your brain feeling like it’s melting out your ears, to give it some low impact reading exercise. Not necessarily the proverbial beach books—the glittering sagas about wealth and power or the latest thrillers de jour, neither of which entertain me very much. This is my time to catch up on familiar series that I’ve gotten far behind on because I didn’t read this book, which meant I couldn’t start the next one until I read that one, which meant I couldn’t read the one after that when it came out which meant…  It’s also the time when I’ll go back and re-read things I haven’t looked at in years but remember really liking.

Basically I want books that are pretty nearly guaranteed to provide pleasure without making me work too hard for it. For once familiarity is an assumed virtue rather than an increased risk of boredom. I don’t want writing suitable for junior high level comprehension skills (one of my guilty pleasures is a cozy series annoyingly prone to this which I like otherwise just enough to keep reading regardless... for now.), but neither do I want vocabulary and sentence structure that require highly focused careful attention to grasp what the author is trying to tell me. This is not a time when highly crafted is automatically better than simply fluid.

I’m struggling now with an historical mystery for review where two pages into it the word ponderous lept to mind and stayed there. Not because of incompetent writing, or at least not in any absolute sense—the author can certainly handle words, while this is fairly clearly an intentional effect, using that type of first person storytelling voice to tell us something about the viewpoint character. You can argue that maybe the effect was overdone, but not that it was unintended, the result of writing error. Problem is I'd normally avoid such a person like the plague and at the best of times would have difficulty getting engaged by writing reminiscent of them.  As for right now, cranky in the heat and humidity? I am just soooo totally not in the mood for it.

At the other end of the spectrum, by all means be witty and clever and amusing,  but don’t get carried away with your own cleverness to the point that I need a machete to get through it to find the story underneath.  It's rarely a good sign when you can pick out the bits you'd bet cash money the author snickeringly loved to death but the editor didn't.

Which is why I’ve spend a soothingly entertaining couple of weeks catching up with and revisiting Maisie Dobbs and Hamish MacBeth and Sister Frevisse and Jade Del Cameron and Lord Meren and Duncan Kincaid to go with Discworld and non-series authors like Tom Holt. Blessedly reliable entertainment and escapism from the miserable weather, with no heavy lifting required. 

Everyone Has a Story

Robin Agnew

Everyone that came through our doors today had a story, and boy, did they want to share it.  Because I had not a ton of customers (all of whom spent, luckily, a nice chunk of change) you get to hear some of them too.

The first couple doesn’t count, as they were one of those who wondered where our cookbook section was (I also got a telephone inquiry on the same topic).  It took three assurances before the woman believed that, yes, we only carried mysteries.

First customer: a woman who actually had no story.  She walked around the store, apparently bookless, but then I spied the giant pile she’d made on the front table, which she left with.  Thank you, quiet lady.

Next: a longtime customer and now friend who wanted to talk historicals and the direction that I feel they are taking at this point in time.  I think that for a while there they were heading in the romance direction, sometimes to good effect.  At the moment, though, I’m pretty smitten with Stefanie Pintoff, so I made her buy In the Shadow of Gotham, a book that practically has sold itself since it hit our store in paperback. She “hit the old dusty” (as my daughter would say) as a salesman came in, saying he wanted to “get out of the heat.”  Perhaps that was true, but he also wanted me to buy an ad in his coupon book.  I refused, and he hit the old dusty as well.

Next: a woman with a bag of true crime titles who wanted more.  She says she can’t sleep at night.  (Is this a surprise? I think not).  However we hit the true crime stacks together and as she started to talk about her interest in DNA testing, I remembered Joseph Wambaugh’s terrific book, The Blooding.  We even had a copy, and I set her up with a few other faves while she told me about her son’s eating habits, her teaching job, and her summer job with the Detroit Tigers “but they’re on the All Star break so I can come and buy books.”  Thank you, Detroit Tigers!

Next: a customer, prof at University at Michigan, and a now first time author.  Her book, Rich Boy, hits the shelves next month and she’s starting to get nervous.  This is a conversation I enjoy as we share many of the same reading proclivities  - she brought in some Josephine Tey titles for credit, but said she could never give up The Franchise Affair  Me either.  I then introduced her to the joys of Laura Lippman, and I look forward to hearing what she thinks.  We also talked colleges, the importance of narrative, and why characters shouldn’t be perfect.  Her main character isn’t, he’s interestingly human.  Hers is the first non mystery I’ve read in awhile and I really enjoyed it.  It reminded me of one of my favorite books, Marjorie Morningstar, by Herman Wouk.

Next: A wandering couple of tourists.  The wife was on her phone talking to somebody about juice as her husband rolled his eyes, asked where the cookbooks were, and could I recommend a book he might like.  I handed him a copy of The Lincoln Lawyer.  Lucky him.  His wife was still talking about juice when they hit the old dusty.

Next: the window washer.  He was pleasantly wordless.

Next: paying the bills, recycling cardboard, a couple returns, and hitting the old dusty myself.

Believe the Hype?

By Dana Kaye

Last night, my family and I went out to one of the hottest new restaurants in Chicago, the kind you’re afraid won’t let you in because you’re not cool and trendy enough. It’s been getting tons of reviews, and since we’re all, except for my father, pretty obsessed with restaurants, we read everything we could about the place prior to going there.

So although they placed the menus in front of us, we knew what we were going to order. Yelp raved about the pork belly. Time Out recommended the pot roast. Chicago Magazine gushed over the gnocchi. But my father, who still thinks Yelp is a sound that dogs make and Four Square is a game you play on the playground, ordered the meatballs.

Meatballs were the only dish poorly reviewed on any of the websites.

“But they look good,” he insisted.

And we all shrugged. “Fine, don’t listen to the hundreds of people that have already dined here.”

But guess what? The meatballs came and they were amazing.

So why am I telling you this, other than whetting your appetite for lunch? Because book reviews can be the same way.

All of us rely on other people’s opinion when it comes to choosing books. If I’m dropping $25 for a hardcover and intend on investing my time, the book better be good, and I rely on friends and reviewers to tell me if it is.

But not all reviews are accurate, and therefore, many quality books are overlooked and go unsold.

This was evident at the Thriller Fest banquet last week when they did an award for “Worst Amazon Review”, winner John Gilstrap: "The glue boogers in the binding were more captivating than Gilstrap's torpid prose." Have you read Gilstrap? He writes wonderful books, far superior to the glue boogers that hold the binding together. But if you read that review on Amazon, you probably wouldn’t have bought it.

So I suggest all of you take a risk in your book buying. So you read one or two bad reviews, so what? Does the book sound interesting? Does it have a few good blurbs on the cover? Did a friend or colleague recommend it? Give it a try. Like the meatballs, it might be the best thing you consume all year.

Weed and Bee Stings

by Alison Janssen

Wow, what kind of headline is THAT? I can tell you right now that Barbara and Dana already know what I'm talking about, and it has nothing to do with the full grown shark and baby skadger buddy pic we're developing for Nickelodeon.

Today I want to talk about one of our Tyrus authors, Hal Ackerman. Hal's debut mystery, Stein, Stoned (in stores now, or available direct!), is hilarious. Barabara, his wonderful agent, pitched it to me as Fletch meets The Big Lebowski. Intrigued?!

You should be! Have I mentioned this book is really funny? But you don't have to take MY word for it. Hal's been getting great reviews, and readers have several upcoming opportunities to see Hal in person.

So Stein, Stoned is set in two very different kinds of worlds: the world of medicinal (ahem) weed-growing and the world of cutthroat hair salons. And as of last week, I've got the first 100 pages of the next Stein mystery, due out next spring, Stein, Stung. Guess what kind of world THAT delves into? Beeeeees! Hence the headline.

I always love when we get delivery of the second manuscript in a two-book deal, and Stein, Stung is no exception. It's so wonderful to reconnect with a familiar set of characters, and it's a treat to see how a writer's voice has changed and grown between books.

The one hurdle I'm facing with this book -- and it's a new hurdle to me when editing -- is FEAR. Stein and I share a mutual kneejerk flight response when faced with honeybees, and I'm finding my skin crawls a bit while I read about the swarms and hives and clouds of stinging insects. Now I know bees are more scared of me or whatever, and that if I stay still I will be ok, but even out on my own back porch I can't help flailing and yelping a little when a bee happens by. I feel my fear is justified (see photographic evidence: Me, age 7, with a swollen, bee-stung eye):

But rest assured, dear readers, I will power through this personal failing of bravery and edit Stein, Stung. Becuase I know that, like me, once you read Stein, Stoned, you'll want more.

In a jam

A good friend who died a few years ago urged me many times to make time to smell the flowers, so this morning I did.

 

Not flowers exactly; the vegetation that interested me had moved beyond the flowering stage and was in full fruit. Raspberries and redcurrants, for those who delight in details. I enjoyed a couple of hours in the fresh air picking lush basketfuls, followed by a deliciously self-indulgent lunch which included home-made cake I didn’t have to bake myself, and in an hour or so I’ll be back in my kitchen stowing it all away in the deep freeze, and maybe even turning some of it into jam.

 

There, you didn’t know I had a domesticated streak, did you? Don’t worry, it’s not a very wide one, and it’s only motivated by the garden and fruit farm abundance at this time of year. Though I did make some chocolate chip cookies the other weekend…

 

Then as I carried the brimming baskets from the car to the kitchen I started thinking about ingredients. Not just the ones I’ll be putting in the jam, or even the ones that went into the choc chip cookies: the ones that go into a successful crime novel too. (See, even when I’m in domestic mode, crime fiction is never far from my mind. Obsessed or what?)

 

So what are the right ingredients? Not the ones that take a book to the top of the bestsellers; if I could quantify the little bit of magic that makes the difference between moderate success and mega-hit, I’d be viewing villas in the Seychelles. I’m talking about an earlier stage of the process: manuscripts. Why do most go back with a more or less standard letter, a few get asked to send the complete manuscript, and a very, very few make me settle back in my armchair and become as absorbed as if I was reading a new Val McDermid or J D Robb?

 

The ones that go back are the easy ones. Something in the first three chapters doesn’t work. Sometimes it doesn’t work for me; mostly it just doesn’t work. The characters are flat or unlikeable or for some other reason simply not engaging; the writing is clunky; the plot veers off on a visit to some other genre, or simply doesn’t ring true. Whatever the reason, I know pretty quickly that it’s not going to turn into a viable book any time soon.

 

The ones we ask to send the complete manuscript are possibly the trickiest. On the face of it, the ingredients are in there: the first few chapters are well written; there’s some sharp characterisation and a keen sense of place. The complete manuscript is often a different matter. Maybe the plot begins and ends well, but sags into tedium in the middle like a sad Victoria sponge cake. Maybe the characters don’t get any more  interesting. Or maybe I find I’m simply not excited. I returned one earlier this week which had the ingredients, ticked all the boxes: tight, pacy writing, interesting protagonist, well-drawn background, complex plot that found its way to a believable conclusion. But for some reason I can’t define, it didn’t excite me.

 

I have to be excited. Crème de la Crime publishes half a dozen books a year. It’s my job to promote them all, and the only way I know how to do that is to be enthusiastic and hope my enthusiasm infects other people. And anyone who knows me will tell you I’m not a very good liar. I find it hard to say I love something if I don’t.

 

I have to love the books I publish. That’s why my working life, give or take the odd 75% of daily routine, is a constant search for the manuscript that makes me settle back in my armchair and become as absorbed as if I was reading a new Val McDermid or J D Robb. The characters I want to get to know; the writing that carries me along and doesn’t make me stop to make a margin note every three pages. And most of all, the manuscripts I really want to read, and look forward to going back to, even after a full and tiring day of routine.

 

Because those are the ones that matter. Those are the ones I’m going to love.

 

Like the jar of jam made with exactly the right balance of sugar and fruit. Or the batch of cookies that turned out just perfect.

RUNNING FROM THE SKADGER

by Barbara Poelle

Thrillerfest was an actual thrill this weekend as my author Jamie Freveletti walked with the ITW Award for best debut for RUNNING FROM THE DEVIL. Hurrah! All hail the Freveletti! Doesn’t that make you ALSO want to read the next book in the series, RUNNING DARK? Well thank goodness it is available now! Tell your friends! Tell your neighbors! Organize a 5K that ends at a local bookstore and then as the runners cross the finish line, buy them a copy! (Well, pick two of those choices, at least.)

Jamie’s win was a fabulous cherry on top of the already deliciously successful sundae which was T’fest. Shane Gericke was, as always, a delightful puppet master and Liz Berry was as effervescent as she was organized- this is a high caliber conference with quality attendees and presenters and I am always so pleased with the outcome. After all, it was at Thrillerfest where Jamie and I first met and I signed both Jamie and Graham Brown (have you reserved your copy of BLACK SUN yet?) as a direct result from that conference. Thrillerfest is always an eventful week and this year most especially with the added bonus that I was licked by a Skadger on Wednesday night. My how the week packs in the most bang for the buck!

Next up for me is the Romance Writers of America conference in Orlando, Florida, and I…

Hm?

Yes. That’s right. Licked by a Skadger Wednesday night.

Anyway, so RWA is also a—

What? Okay! Geez. I’ll elaborate.

So Wednesday night in the late evening Husband and I adjourned to the back yard to enjoy a frosty glass of milk before bed. And by milk I mean buffalo’s. And by glass I mean pitcher. Anyway, about halfway through the glass (pitcher) I noticed our good friend Francisco the Skadger lumbering around the corner garden…but wait! What’s this? A mini-me Francisco! A baby Skadger! He was quickly christened “Enrique” and thus needed a much closer look in order to assure the naming was fitting. So I crept up within a respectable distance and said, “Psst, Enrique!” to see if he seemed pleased. Well, it was at that moment that Enrique decided to reveal that he may be more skunk than badger as he turned and lifted his tail, taut, in my direction. So I peeled out of there and ran back to the bench next to Husband where we giggled maniacally for a few seconds until Husband’s eyes suddenly widened and he hissed, “Don’t MOVE.”  I peered out of the corner of my eye, and Enrique was 3 feet away and closing in.  I immediately flashed to calling Shane Gericke’s cell and saying, “Yeaaaah, uh, sorry I can’t come to Agentfest because I was sprayed by a skunk.” He would of course assume that meant I had pounded seven G&Ts and fallen down a flight of stairs which is oftentimes referred to in my house as “calling in sick”.

So I froze.

Enrique did not.

Nope. Instead, that baby Skadger waddled right up and nuzzled my ankle and then proceeded to lick my foot.

A lot.

I said, as if practicing my ventriloquism through clenched teeth with a whispered hiss, “Enrique is licking me,” Husband was stunned into immobility as if by the errant wand of a Hogwarts student. Then, the rock of Gibraltar that he is, he goes apoplectic with muffled wheezing hysterical laughter. After a tense (and actually kinda sweet when you think about it) 7 seconds of Skadger bath, Enrique shambles off like a drunken toddler and I leap up and run into the apartment to scrub my feet with soap and water and lye.

Now all of you rabies people, (I am looking at YOU Folly Doot) no panicking. The skin was not broken and I asked Sophie Littlefield who is writing a brand new series for Luna about saliva transmitting diseases and she said I was fiiiiine. (Yes, I get all of my medical advice from my fiction writers. So?)(And hey! Don’t forget to check out AFTERTIME, hitting stands in Spring 2011 by some brilliant author named Sophie Crane.)

So, as promised, the week of Thrillerfest is ALWAYS aptly named.

(Okay, FINE, mom, I talked to an ACTUAL licensed physician and no, I don’t need the rabies shots. SO See? Sophie was right, and Janet Reid is FOILED once again.)

 

 

 

 

 

A Class Act

Jeff Cohen

There are few people who are truly irreplaceable, at least professionally. Even if Uncle Jim is your favorite, the guys down at the pipe fitting plant can probably find someone else to do the job, even if s/he doesn't do it as well. Yes, it's sad when a favorite writer, actor, director, or artist passes on, because there won't be more of their work, but at least what already exists will continue to exist.

But Bob Sheppard was, and remains, truly irreplaceable. There won't be another one like him ever again, and that's a shame.

Sheppard, who passed away Sunday a few months short of his 100th birthday, was the public address announcer at Yankee Stadium (the real Yankee Stadium) for 56 years. Think about that--56 years. That's impressive enough even before you remember that George Steinbrenner once fired three managers in a single season, which lasts only six months.

Sheppard wasn't flashy and he wasn't entertaining. He was just really, really good at what he did. A teacher of speech and language, he made sure that every player's name he announced was pronounced perfectly. Not correctly; perfectly. When he introduced Jorge Posada (in his first game) as Jorge Pasado, Sheppard was mortified, apologized to the catcher the next day, and never repeated the mistake. When he saw a simple Anglo-Saxon name like Steve Sax, he was disappointed; there was no melody in that.

Nicknamed "the voice of God" by virtually everyone, Sheppard performed what seems like a simple job with class and precision, and paid attention to the details. He didn't "root for the home team" in his announcing; he didn't spice up the home players' names. He simply told his audience (whom he famously welcomed to Yankee Stadium before every game) who was batting, then went back to the book he was invariably reading between hitters. By all accounts, he bolted for home (surprisingly quickly for a man in his 90s) immediately after the last out was recorded.

But new Yankees--and opposing players coming to the Stadium for the first time--would wait to listen to Bob Sheppard introduce them. Many reported goosebumps. That didn't happen anywhere else.

At tomorrow's baseball All-Star Game (usually the snoriest night of the baseball season), there will be one genuine highlight. Sometime in 1997, when it was clear that Sheppard actually wouldn't last forever--the Yankees had just assumed he was immortal--Derek Jeter asked that a recording of the man introducing him be made, and that it be played in every game Jeter played for the Yankees, no matter how many years into the future that might take him. And in Anaheim tomorrow, when Jeter comes to bat in the bottom of the first inning, it will be Bob Sheppard who announces him. Good on you, Derek. You're a class act, too.

Mr. Sheppard, wherever you are or are not now, you will be sorely missed. Not many people are irreplaceable, or perhaps, every one of us is.

LP-to-Digital Conversion Project Update: James Taylor began the week. Now, since the earlier albums in Mr. Taylor's canon (his Apple album, Sweet Baby James, Mudslide Slim and the Blue Horizon) are already included in my CD collection, we skipped those, but still found some gems. 

One Man Dog is not one of them. It should have been--James hanging out with some great musicians in a cabin, making music. But the songs (aside from One Man Parade and Don't Let Me Be Lonely Tonight) are uninspired, sort of like the work of a man shoehorning certain elements into his work to make it more commercial, and failing. Hmmm...

On the other hand, Gorilla is one of my more fondly remembered Taylor albums, and one I was really looking forward to in this project. It did not disappoint. Working with then-wife Carly Simon, friends like Graham Nash and David Crosby, Taylor produced a smooth, enjoyable work that maybe doesn't have the same painful heft of earlier (and some later) works, but sure does boast songs you want to hear more than once: Mexico, Lighthouse, the title song among others. If you haven't listened for a while, take a try. You'll smile.

By the same token, In The Pocket is trying a little too hard to make you smile, but JT is a very strong album that actually branches into a few musical styles and finds interesting lyrical points of view ("I'm just a bartender/and I don't like my work/but I don't mind the money at all"). And the find of the week might be Dad Loves His Work, an overlooked album that has some really interesting work (Hour That The Morning Comes, Stand and Fight) on it.

Following the most famous Taylor, because these records are being converted alphabetically by artist name, came Kate Taylor, who made a couple of really enjoyable albums with her older brother, and Livingston Taylor, whose lengthy career has included some strong albums (3-Way Mirror) and some slogging, but the occasional gem (Pajamas, Loving Be My New Horizon). Alas, I have no Alex or Hugh.

A collaboration between Sonny Terry and Brownie McGhee provided some rollicking blues, but lasted only the one album, and now, we're on to Three Dog Night, which probably could have been limited to a greatest hits album without losing much (beyond their hilarious cover of Randy Newman's My Old Kentucky Home).

The stack is getting pretty short, friends, but then there are singles to be considered. Seven months in, we still have some time to go.

Some cool relief from the heat

The friend who introduced me to the band Little Feat had an old VW bug whose floor was rotting away, section by section, with a heating system that honored the concept of warmth more in the breach than in the observance. In all but the hottest weather, letting him drive meant Lowell George would be singing “Cold, cold, cold…” over and over in my head. Can’t say I enjoyed the frozen toes and ankles, but it was much better musically than the current weather setting a chorus of Buster Poindexter and “How you feeling? (Hot hot hot)” between the ears. I was in desperate need of some cool reading... NOW... to drown it out.

One of the nice benefits of acting as webmaster for Robin’s Aunt Agatha's Mystery Books site is that I get to read all her reviews etc. as I add them to the site. Not that I wouldn’t read them anyway, because they’re genuinely worth seeking out, but honestly the longer I'm on the web the less basic browsing I do after all the business and regular communication stuff is done. I just don't always think to check sites I like for updates before logging off in relief. But her most recent update piqued my interest with a  review of an author I’d never heard of, David Housewright.

As I’ve mentioned before, I’m a bit of a mystery wimp. I don’t like what cozy seems to have morphed into, but neither do I tend to look for PI books, the gateway drug into another end of the spectrum where I know I don't want to be. I may have to re-think that strategy a bit. Robin was not only right about how good Housewright is, but since as a "series in order" person I went back to start with the first, I got the desired cool reading on multiple levels, as it opened with a subzero trek after a suspect.

I also kept thinking that anyone who is mourning the end of Spenser with Robert B. Parker's passing, or who, like me, has mourned for years the loss of the Spenser of the early books (Mortal Stakes has always been my favorite), might want to give Houseman's Rushmore "Mac" McKenzie a shot. I'm not saying these are in any way copycat or Spenser wannabes, because they're emphatically not. But there is a real feeling of connection in the sorts of people Mac and Spenser are, despite their differing backstories and environments, and significant common threads in their worlds and worldviews. I think the Spenser of the later books became somewhat of a self-parody, separate from other annoyances in the books. The Spenser of the early books may have seemed to good to be true in some ways, but he was also very believably human. So's his spiritual cousin Mac, a former cop come into independent wealth (I won't spoil it for you by telling you how) that left him a bit bored.

It also left him with the time and skills and independence to do "favors" only for the people he chooses to help rather than having to earn a living at it, like the usual licensed PI. Inevitably none of those favors end up as simple or innocent as they initially seem. The first book has him helping a friend find the runaway daughter who might be a compatible bone marrow donor for her younger sister. A search that morphs into something completely other involving gangs and prostitution, a respectable body count and not so respectable businessmen, before the end. The next book starts with another innocent seeming favor, this time for a friend of Mac's late father, looking into why so many of a beekeeper's bees are dying. Another favor that takes Mac far from it's roots into the worlds of violent crime that are never quite as distant as they seem. And the pattern is set for a highly enjoyable series that's got enough quirks to be memorable and appealing to go with the quality writing.

So if you haven't tried Housewright, settle in with a long cold one and A Hard Ticket Home (first in the series) for some cool reading to beat the heat. Or if you're not a series-in-order type like me grab the most recent one after being tempted into it by Robin's review. I can hardly wait to get there myself.

Battle of the Sidekicks!

Robin Agnew

Three of the most appealing sidekicks through all of mystery fiction are certainly Hawk, Joe Pike, and Winn, the psycho-WASP.  Maybe appealing isn’t the totally right word, but they are strangely fascinating.  I was pondering, during a recent five hour drive, the different ways they stack up.

 TATS

Hawk:  None known.

Pike:  Two red arrows pointing forward.  He got them in ‘Nam.  Say no more.

Winn:  WASPs don’t have Tats.  Please.

 

CLOTHING

Hawk:  Sweatsuits, gold chains.  Sweatsuit unzipped to show off Hawk’s apparently awesome pecs.

Pike:  Jeans & a t-shirt.  Maybe a couple pairs and a couple shirts, but probably all the same.  Essential:  mirrored sunglasses.

Winn:  Chinos & button downs, maybe a polo shirt, maybe a (blue) blazer.  Are there other kinds of clothes?  I have a feeling he might wear one of those needlepoint belts on occasion.

 

WOMEN

Hawk:  Yes

Pike:  Unknown

Winn:  LOTS

 

SKILLS

Hawk:  Back-up or front man in any gunfight.  Looks scary enough that lots of people don’t mess with him anyway.  He does stuff Spenser doesn’t want to do (stuff that goes against the White Knight code).

Pike:  Name it.  Killing is no problem, disabling, protection.  In the latest outing he has to juggle a battle and a baby.  Elvis doesn’t have quite the same scruples Spenser seems to be burdened with, though he has plenty.

Winn:  Again, name it.  Some of his skills are varied and surprising, but they’re always useful to Myron (see Hawk, same reason).

 

LOYALTY

Hawk:  No question, though he’s known to side with Susan S.

Pike:  Dumb question.

Winn:  Luckily for Myron.

 

CONVERSATIONAL SKILLS

Hawk:  Way amusing, terse, to the point.

Pike:  None known.

Winn:  By far the funniest of the sidekicks, as far as I’m concerned.  Don’t let him hear YOU say that.

 

SMARTER THAN THEIR BOSSES?

Hawk:  Usually.

Pike:  Almost always, but Elvis has better social skills.

Winn:  Maybe a smidge, but see above.  Myron is simply better socialized, not being a psychopath and all.

 

And they are INDISPENSIBLE.  The series just wouldn’t be as cool without these guys, and the authors are smart enough to leave a reader wanting more of them.   Who’s the baddest ass?  As far as I’m concerned it’s a tie but I’d love to know what you think…

 

Live from New York, it's ThrillerFest!

By Dana Kaye

 

I’m in NYC this weekend for ITW’s Thriller Fest, and last night, at the hotel bar (of course), I realized the best part about these conferences: talking with people in the industry.

 

Because I’m an independent publicist based in Chicago, I’m removed from the NYC publishing machine. There is a large community of writers in the Chicagoland area, but there are very few publishers, agents, editors and publicists. While the lack of book publicists works to my advantage from a business standpoint, I realized there is some disadvantage to relating with the NYC folks exclusively through e-mail.

 

In-person meetings are part of the publishing culture. Call it old school or inefficient, but that’s how it is. Editors, agents, and publicists, all meet for coffees, lunches, drinks, anything to get away from the office and talk shop, in person, for an hour or two. The in-person meeting cultivates the relationship in a way e-mails and phone calls cannot.

 

But since most authors don’t live in New York, they miss out on that face time. Thriller Fest is the perfect time to get it. Every author I know in attendance has met with their editor, agent, marketing team, even sales rep. They are no longer a name on the cover of a book or an e-mail address. The author becomes a person.

 

Whether you’re published or unpublished, I highly recommend making a trip to New York (or wherever your publisher is located).  If you’re unpublished, attend Craft Fest and Agent Fest or the Backspace Writers Conference. If you’re published, go to BEA or make a separate trip and set up meetings with your “people”. The connections made are well worth the time and money.

 

Now, for shameless client promotion! For those of you at Thriller Fest, you should definitely attend the following:

 

The Debut Authors Breakfast – Saturday 8:00-9:20am – so many great author are participating, including Graham Brown, Avery Aames, Sophie Littlefield, and Boyd Morrison

 

What’s Love Got To Do With It? - Saturday 2:00-2:50pm – featuring paranormal romance and romantic suspense author, Rebecca York

 

Was Shakespeare Right? Should We Kill All the Lawyers? – Saturday 3:00-3:50pm – moderated by lawyer and thriller writer, Jamie Freveletti

 

Who’s More Thrilling, Cop or Con? – Saturday 4:00-4:50pm – featuring humorous mystery author, Steve Forman

 

And don’t forget the banquet where Jamie Freveletti and Marcus Sakey will hopefully be accepting their Thriller Awards! But it’s an honor just to be nominated, right?

 

Now if you’ll excuse me, I must return to the hotel bar (where I’m hosting all my panels). Hope to see you around!

As I'm sure you're all aware, the LEGO Harry Potter game was recently released.

Wait, you don't follow LEGO videogame releases as closely as I do? Well, ok. Here's a look:

AWESOME, right?

Right. So my fiance and I grabbed up a copy for the Xbox 360 the other day, and we've been dedicating our late evenings this week to some serious witchcraft and wizardry. (You know, I wasn't really allowed to play video games as a kid, and I don't consider myself good at them by any means, nor do I like to play the games with lots of guts or zombies or whatever, but the LEGO games are pretty awesome, and I also enjoy the puzzle-y ones, like Braid and Portal. I guess there is just no nerd pastime I can't get behind!)

But this post isn't about LEGO Harry Potter, not really. Nor is it about my inability to stop myself from speaking the spells out loud as my LEGO character casts them. "Wingardium Levio-SA!" This post is about the dual purposes an author faces when writing series novels.

Besides the video game, I've also had the opportunity to enjoy the audiobook of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. (Thanks, Mom!) It astounds me how different the experience of listening to a book is from reading that same book, and I've been completely delighted at rediscovering the story -- and specifically the funny lines -- due to Jim Dale's brilliant readings.

And then, of course, we own all six movies so far, so there's that form of Potter-digestion as well.

All this has gotten me thinking about the various audiences who must be satisfied by each new form. As an avid fan of the books, I watch the movies knowing how they'll end. I get a huge amount of enjoyment from watching it all unfold on screen, but I get maybe more enjoyment from seeing specific props or characters or moments -- the realization of a vibrant, important element of the book, right there in front of me in the movie. Or, as I mentioned above with the audiobooks, Jim Dale's satisfying reading of one of my favorite lines, or the unique voice he brings to a small but important character.

But if I hadn't read the books, if I didn't have a knowledge of the world and the characters and the text, I would watch the movie for plot. The individual moments that give a book-reading-movie-watcher joy would not signify the same thing for a viewer not already conversant in the context. So the movie has two purposes: to satisfy and appease book-reading-movie-watchers, and to introduce and explicate the story in a way that inspires the same kind of appreciation in a non-book-reading-movie-watcher.

So then I got to thinking about series. Because if you're writing a series with characters who change and grow book-to-book, who don't just reset Simpsons-style to their baseline at the start of each new book, then you need to be aware of readers who may start in the middle, or skip books, or read the series out of order. How can you create emotional resonance for a reader who hasn't been with the character every step of the way? Without, you know, having a chapter dedicated to "Here is who these people are and what they've been through and why you should totally care about everything that's happening!"

That kind of chapter never works. Well, it never works for me. I am a highly emotional person (I find myself crying just a movie previews these days. Stop making me cry, Zach Efron!!!), and I'm susceptible to subtle emotional suggestion, but an info-dump catchup version of a series's previous titles gets on my nerves. Because in life there's no catchup chapter. If a character goes through an intense series of events (like solving a murder or being targeted by a killer or etc etc etc), that character's life will have changed. Those events will color the way that character behaves and thinks -- a smell could trigger a memory, or a dark alley might inspire a second thought in the fifth book when in the third the character would have walked down it unperturbed.

Keep in mind that your new readers can catch up without a summary, and though their emotional engagement with the character will necessarily be less than that of your loyal series reader, each book in your series should have enough emotional intensity to satisfy regardless of what came before.

For a wonderful example of a series arc being resonant as a whole and as each piece, check out John Galligan's Knot series: The Nail Knot, The Blood Knot, The Clinch Knot, and coming in March, The Wind Knot.

p.s. Today will mark a page-view milestone here at Dead Guy, and we want to say thank you so, so much to all our wonderful readers and comment-leavers. And a special thanks to Jeffrey Cohen, who got us all together to post here.

Crossing the lines

A fat envelope arrived in the mail a few days ago – even fatter than the small pile of moderately plump envelopes containing submissions which arrive on a regular basis.

 

This one contained a submission too – but it wasn’t the usual synopsis-plus-three-chapters, or even synopsis-plus-complete-novel.

 

It was a movie script.

 

I scanned the covering letter to find out which Hollywood studio had snapped it up, and when the movie starring George Clooney was due for release, but, well, I suppose I’m just not that lucky. The author clearly knew what he was doing; the script was laid out properly, and had big action scenes, car chase with streetlights making silvery trails on wet roads, great showdown involving a rooftop, a suitcase full of money and a very large gun. But no one had snapped it up; he thought it would have more chance if it came out as a novel first, and wondered if I knew anyone who could turn the script into bestselling fiction.

 

I returned it with a polite note suggesting he find out exactly what it is that publishers do. But I guess we can all dream.

 

It did get me thinking, though, about why some crime novels are snapped up for TV and film, others get optioned several times but never go into production, and yet others don’t attract any attention at all.

 

I get the impression that movies are mainly about bestsellers, but TV is a different matter. It’s not unusual for a little-known author to make it on to the small screen. The most successful and long-running examples I can think of here in the UK are Morse and Midsomer Murders. Colin Dexter is much-feted and a keynote speaker at conventions these days, but when the lovely and lamented John Thaw first breathed life into Inspector Morse back in the 1980s, only aficionados were aware that the books came first. And Midsomer Murders took off and developed a life of its own, several counties and a whole sub-genre away from Caroline Graham’s original concept.

 

The question everyone asks, of course, is which actor do you see playing your character?

 

I got involved in a discussion with a couple of crime writers at a festival a few weeks ago. One has a page on his website inviting readers to suggest actors to play his characters. The list is getting quite long, and includes George Clooney, Tom Cruise and ‘that guy who played the baddie in, you know, the one about the undercover cop and the kidnapping.’ I don’t think Clooney or Cruise do a lot of British telly work, but the series has been optioned a few times so who knows, maybe the third guy may get a look in at some point.

 

The other author was one of our own: Maureen Carter. She keeps getting reviews which ask when the adaptation is going to hit the screen, and Bev Morriss would be certainly the making of a bright young actress with Guinness-coloured hair and plenty of attitude, if only someone had the vision. Producers please note… OK, so I’m heavily partisan on the subject. Doesn’t mean I’m wrong.

 

Two of my favourite crime writers are about to hit the small-screen big-time, and they both feel they’ve scooped the jackpot with the actors they’ve attracted. Mark Billingham’s Tom Thorne will be played by David Morrissey, who was Mark’s first choice back in the days when TV was just a dream for him. And the prodigiously talented Brenda Blethyn will be Ann Cleeves’s Vera Stanhope. Looks like I’ll be enjoying a few cosy nights in this autumn.

 

None of which answers my original question: why do some books make it on to TV and not others? Answers on a postcard please… Or a comment will do just fine.

Don’t It Make My Blue Eyes Red

by Barbara Poelle

In the last nine hours I have been on a boat, a plane and a funicular, and so a lot of me wants to barf right now. Okay, not so much from the funicular, but you get the idea.

Why don’t I remember how awful red eyes are? Bluurg.

Anyway, Husband and I were on vacation with some dear family friends- we’ll call the Hersheys. We always have a blast with them and 4^th of July weekend was no exception- especially as we got to be in a parade! I love a paraaaade! We putt-putt-putted down main street, throwing handfuls of Hershey Kisses to the masses, and shouting “Happy Birthday, America!” (After about a half mile at .07 miles an hour, I ran out of steam just repeating that, so I began yelling out things like “sloppy joes”  “the Brooklyn Bridge” and “childhood obesity”-  all things you must agree that are inherently American. )

Husband and I did some wickedly grueling hiking and also enjoyed a frothy delight known as a “buffalo milk”, which is every bit as fabulous as it sounds, as it boasts a whoooole lotta rum. My total delight in consuming buffalo milk daily was met only by my total horror when I found out that each one comes in at around TWELVE HUNDRED CALORIES. But thank goodness calories don’t count when you’re on vacation.

I behaved myself as best I could, what with all the rumming and funicularing, and was only admonished for working on vacation twice. And OMG! Who here has read the latest Reacher novel from Lee Child? Was your mind not BLOWN!?!? Don’t say anything about it here as I would never want to ruin the read for the other kids, but sheeesh- that man is the master.

Speaking of which- I need to make this short and sweet and go get my game face on as this week NYC will be hosting ThrillerFest- cumulating with the ceremony that will hopefully see Jamie Freveletti’s RUNNING FROM THE DEVIL crowned best debut thriller. (fingers crossed!) I am doing a panel with the ever-delightful Sophie Littlefield on Wednesday and Agentfest on Thursday so if you are in the city for the conference, make sure to give a little wave.

Ooo, just think! My next brilliant thriller author may have been on the same flight as Husband and I this morning! If so, uh, that belligerent woman shaking her plastic cup at the flight attendant and bellowing, “I don’t KNOOOOW what’s IN IT! Just maaaaaake me a buffalo milk” was not me.

 

Cohen's Not-So-Famous Quotations

Jeff Cohen

"We cherish our friends not for their ability to amuse us, but for ours to amuse them." --Evelyn Waugh.

"He deserves Paradise who makes his companions laugh." --The Koran

"A censor is a man who knows more than he thinks you ought to." --Granville Hicks

"There is only one success--to be able to spend your life in your own way."  --Christopher Morley

"The difference between life and the movies is that a script has to make sense, and life doesn't." --Joseph L. Mankiewicz

"Thanks to the Interstate Highway System, it is now possible to travel from coast to coast without seeing anything."--Charles Kuralt

"One day the people of the world will want peace so much that the governments are going to have to get out of their way and let them have it."--Dwight D. Eisenhower

"A conservative is a person who does not think anything should be done for the first time."--Frank Vanderlip

"In spite of the cost of living, it's still popular."--Kathleen Norris

"The least questioned assumptions are often the most questionable."--Paul Broca

"Never mistake motion for action."--Ernest Hemingway

"Is it progress if a cannibal uses a knife and fork?"--Stanislaw Lem

"You can pretend to be serious; you can't pretend to be witty."--Sacha Guitry

"When the writer becomes the center of his attention, he becomes a nudnik. And a nudnik who believes he's profound is even worse than just a plain nudnik."--Isaac Bashevis Singer

"'The freedom of any society varies proportionately with the volume of its laughter."--Zero Mostel

"Men do not quit playing because they grow old; they grow old because they quit playing."--Oliver Wendell Holmes

"A man is a success if he gets up in the morning and gets to bed at night, and in between he does what he wants to do."--Bob Dylan

"If criticism had any real power to harm, the skunk would be extinct by now."--Fred Allen

"Boredom is rage spread thin."--Paul Tillich

"I don't want to achieve immortality through my work... I want to achieve it through not dying."--Woody Allen

"Television--a medium, so called because it is neither rare nor well done."--Ernie Kovacs

"If I was two-faced, would I be using this one?"--Abraham Lincoln
 

"Don't listen to those who say, 'It's not done that way.'... Michelangelo would have painted the Sistine floor, and it would surely be rubbed out by today."--Neil Simon

"Style is self-plaigirism."--Alfred Hitchcock

"The difference between reality and unreality is that reality has so little to recommend it."--Allan Sherman

"My main reason for adopting literature as a profession was that, as the author is never seen by his clients, he need not dress respectably."--George Bernard Shaw

"I think, therefore Descartes exists."--Saul Steinberg

"You can no more win a war than you can win an earthquake."--Jeannette Rankin

"A person who publishes a book willfully appears before the populace with his pants down."--Edna St. Vincent Millay

"I don't necessarily agree with everything I say."--Marshall McLuhan

"I quote others only the better to express myself."--Michel de Montaigne

"Whatever it is, I'm against it."--Groucho Marx

LP-to-Digital Conversion Project Update: This week began with a task I'd been dreading--the two-disc set of the Star Wars soundtrack by John Williams. As with most film soundtracks, this sounds like more fun that it actually is, and in this case once again, it was proven that the only music with the power to surprise after all these years is the whacked-out jazz number played in the Cantina by an all-alien band. Fun stuff. The rest? Just exactly what you remember, for two discs.

Later, things got more interesting. A strange coincidence of the alphabet determined that Star Wars would be followed by Stealers Wheel, the duo of Gerry Rafferty and Joe Egan (along with various side musicians) best remembered for "Stuck In The Middle (With You)," lovingly resurrected by Quentin Tarantino as the perfect music by which to cut a man's ear off in "Reservoir Dogs." Stealers Wheel had itself some catchy little hits (notably the aforementioned "Stuck..." and "Star"), and paved the way for Rafferty's solo career, during which he would periodically dust off one of the old standbys from his days with Egan and speed it up, slow it down or change the key. Interesting, but hardly rousing. Stick with the greatest hits album, if you can find it. Shockingly, it's called "Stuck In the Middle (With You)."

A quick side trip into comedy followed, with two albums by David Steinberg, an aggressively intelligent comedian who nonetheless has made a tidy living for himself directing television sitcoms. Steinberg made references to great philosophers, foreign filmmakers and the Old Testament, but wasn't above the occasional sex joke. Not a great ad-libber, his delivery relied on his reciting each line exactly as he'd rehearsed it, but more often than not, it worked. Good luck finding anything but "Booga Booga" still in print.

And if that weren't weird enough, the next stop was with Cat Stevens, (born Steven Giorgiou, later Yusuf Islam), who went from the top of the pop charts to the top of the no-fly list in only a couple of decades. Stevens, who had a lot of interesting hits in the folk/rock area in the Seventies, converted to Islam, dropped out of the music business, and even after expressing shock and sorrow at the 9/11 attacks, was denied entry into the United States in 2004 when on his way to meet with the suspected terrorist Dolly Parton (?). The list was subsequently reviewed and he was allowed into America in 2006, although one assumes Dolly had moved on to something else by then. Musically, he's a sort of one-note songwriter who does manage to grab the attention, a singer with an unusual scratchy voice that somehow works, and a lyricist who, well, probably should have collaborated with someone else. Stick with the Greatest Hits.  

The week ended just starting in on the career of James Taylor, which might take a while. But since much of Mr. Taylor's work already exists in my collection on CD, we might breeze through a little quicker than one might suspect. Stay tuned.

There's light at the end of the tunnel, kids--only 36 albums remain!

One last quote: "We hold these truths to be self-evident--that all men are created equal."--Thomas Jefferson. Seemed appropriate, although I'd amend that to "all people." Even Jefferson can benefit from a good editor.

Hell's Writing Room?

I don’t have a TV or any desire to make watching one a regular habit, so I don’t usually catch even the high buzz shows like Hell’s Kitchen. But a couple of local chefs are on it this season, which made me a bit curious about the show itself and how they’d cope, sending me off looking for the online stream to check it out. As the saying goes, it always helps to have a personal interest.

It was, as expected, colorful and dramatic and loud and profane and ugly (all the backstabbing and whining) and beautiful (the food!!! although in between screaming sessions, a soft voiced Ramsay doesn’t make bad eye candy either). But mostly, it was about excellence and how you get the brilliance of a perfect diamond through unbelievably intense pressure followed by refusal to settle for anything but the best out of the results. So many of the failures had to do with sloppiness and settling and inability to deal with pressure once it got past a certain point or if it came from too many directions at once. Ramsay's methods certainly aren't the only ones that can work, but the bottom line is that they do work, with spectacular results, and they're not boring.

Which got me thinking about some of the weaker books that are getting published and some of the better authors who have stopped being published, and the possibilities in a Hell’s Kitchen approach to creating some rational balance there. Think about it: to get a cozy manuscript even considered, rather than having a marketable hobby / shoppe hook, you have to have enough writing chops to win a competition that involves dashing out a short story using fixed ingredients and a time limit. Half baked characters? Boring presentation and bland story? Stale dialogue? An unbalanced seasoning of violence or romance? Thanks for trying, but this point goes to the blue team.

Think your hero is a tough guy and can take all sorts of punishment and come out of it with a smirk, a handkerchief staunching the bullet wound and a wiseass quip on his lips? Try getting him there with the editorial equivalent of Chef Ramsay kicking over your computer at every clichéd metaphor, taking a lighter to your thumb drive whenever the prose starts to drag, using a knife instead of a comma to break up run on sentences. Then try pulling your writing group together into a team that can work together to create the character and backstory that will take down someone else's tough guy. Man, Dash Hammett never had to get it done this way.

And of course there would be the special challenges, like the writing equivalent of Hell's Kitchen having a fine dining restaurant switch to serving up burgers and fries to the USC school band, such as forcing your gritty noir writer to satisfy picky and delicate Aunt Dimity-level cozy tastes if he wants to advance.

We haven’t even gotten into the punishments for losing. Having the team of gritty noir realism writers whose pages weren't dark enough to hide the reality about their writing spend a day writing Hello Kitty ad copy? Force the no onstage gore or violence cozy team, whose manuscript induced a response similar to the one A. A. Milne elicited from Dorothy Parker, to write a scenario with some fresh ideas about Freddie Kreuger showing people what cutting edge can mean? Set the Mickey Spillane wannabes who turned out to be all wannabe and too little Spillane to entertaining everyone else with Karaoke in drag, starting with strictly falsetto versions of “I Am Woman” and “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun”?

I'm starting to like this idea the more I think about it, and that's before we even get to finding the best looking name writer available to fill the Ramsay role. Any volunteers?

The woman you don't want to sit next to on a train . . .

Sharon Wheeler

Coooo-eeeeee! *Sidles in and has a look around*. Ooh, I might have guessed that standing in for a bookseller would be very civilised – comfy chairs to slob out on, and books everywhere . . . I could get used to this.

So how have you all been since I last saw you? Me, I've had a rollercoaster few months. My mum died in February, so I'm still dealing with the aftermath. I finished my playwriting course and got a good grade, so I'm happy with that and currently trying to shape a full-length play out of the extract I submitted for assessment. My PhD pootles along and I'm hoping to get to London over the summer to see lots of plays. And the deadline for my journalism book is the end of September . . . Ahem, yes, moving swiftly on . . .

It's that time of the year again when I criss-cross the UK by train and when I spend longer choosing the books to take with me that I do selecting smart(ish) clothes to wear to meetings!

As per usual at this time of year, I had new offerings from Peter Robinson, Mark Billingham and Peter James to accompany me on my way. I also took a handful of new faces along. David Barrie's rather classy Night-Scented, set in Paris, is well worth tracking down if you can from a small UK indie publisher. One of the others, though, which will remain nameless until I decide how much of a hatchet job to do in the review (suffice it to say it's a cosy set in the Cotswolds), was very lucky not be heaved out of a train window somewhere around Nuneaton. Damn good job some of these trains are sealed units with air conditioning and non-opening windows these days! So I contented myself with imagining the pleasing smack the book would make as it connected with the head of the 'too cool to care' wanker opposite, who blathered loudly into his mobile phone all the way from Birmingham to Leicester.

The book brought to mind that old chestnut of murdering your darlings. The moment a writer falls in love with their creation, that's when I bunk for the door. Oh, OK, PD James put Adam Dalgliesh on a pedestal aeons back, but she can write – and she makes me care about him.

Our cosy writer, though, was so besotted with her lead character, a woman of a certain age who was supposed, I think, to be the sort we all want as a friend, but was in fact a tactless and simpering bore who any sane person would run a mile to avoid. Sadly said writer didn't take the murdering your darlings maxim to heart and bump her off for good. I was attracting some strange looks from fellow passengers as I chuntered under my breath at the character's breathtaking stupidity. At least it guaranteed no one sat next to me!

I then came home and started on the new Susan Hill – and wondered if anyone would notice if I recycled my review of her previous book, with just the title changed. I find it increasingly difficult to care very much about Simon Serrailler and his sister Cat, particularly when the whole thing appears to be based around how saintly they both are and with Hill sighing loudly about how vulgar these low church sorts are and how Fings Ain't Wot They Used To Be.

I'm endlessly fascinated by how different readers interpret characters differently. I wonder sometimes if I'm just being contrary – OK, so I can hear my friend Linda saying yes, but then she is still looking smug at the fact she can obey instructions and count bricks in a wall better than I can… The more perfect and saintly a character is, the less likely I am to believe in them. In fact, it reminded me just why one of the most compelling characters in crime fiction is Patricia Highsmith's murderous Ripley . . . And he's hardly on the side of the angels.

PS: For those of you who adored the Stieg Larsson trilogy, take a look at The Girl Who Fixed the Umlaut in the New Yorker. Spot-on!

In Defense of Libraries - a Chicagoan's take

By Dana Kaye

 

Logged on yesterday to read Alison’s blog post, and today I feel compelled to follow up. I’m sorry to say that while she was shocked and outraged, my response was, “typical Chicago”. As much as I love my fair city, I’m also a Chicago-lifer where I know Daley is king, the government is corrupt, and the words “budget cuts” are announced on the news at least once a day. Is it surprising that they want to cut funding? Absolutely not. Am I shocked that the libraries are the target? Not at all. Librarians can’t line anyone’s pockets, why should they get funding? And although it’s horrible that our local news station aired such a misinformed and ignorant post, it’s far from surprising.

 

What surprises me is that the concept of supply and demand is being completely ignored here. In only an hour, the news report stated over 300 people walked through the doors. Library use is increasing, and yet, the budget is decreasing? If the Harold Washington library was completely empty and there was a ton of excess staff, fine, cut the budget. But people are using this service more than ever and your reaction is to cut?

 

Since this is a problem plaguing much of our nation’s cities, here are a few things you can do to help:

· Write your alderman or city representative. Tell them the importance of libraries.

· Contact your local news station. They may be aware of the prospective budget cuts, but they don’t know how the community feels. Let them know.

· Donate. Most local libraries have fundraisers and ask for donations. Just as you would donate to NPR or PBS, give a little to keep libraries in your community.

· Talk to the librarians. Find out what they need more and help them get it. Whether it’s volunteering once a week or donating books for their used book sales, every little bit helps.

 

Meanwhile, I’m going to begin drafting my letter to the producer of Fox Chicago and find out why such an ignorant, horrible report made it on air. I suggest you do the same.

 

In Defense of Libraries

by Alison Janssen

OH MY GOD FOX NEWS ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!*

You guys, this is probably going to be a completely reactionary post, so consider yourself warned.

So I just watched this video (via Galleycat) and got Hulk-smash-type angry.

Listen, I don't pretend to be an expert (or even a dabbler) in economics. And budgets? Ha! When I was growing up, my mom had my sisters and me keep a series of labeled jars and coffee cans into which we had to split up our allowance money. Something like 20% for Long Term Savings, 30% for Short Term Savings, 40% for Living Expenses, and 10% for Offerings. I think that's right, but I feel like I forgot one of the jars. Anyway, we got paid as many dollars as we were years old, and then we had this clickety-clackety old Mickey-Mouse-wearing-a-graduation-cap calculator to figure out how much money went into each jar. It was a painstaking process, and one that involved my stepdad having a huge supply of change for us, since we couldn't just get fourteen dollar bills and be done with it. We kept the jars in the upstairs room that used to be an office but got turned into my little sister Rachel's room, on a shelf with the change buckets and the calculator. I will say, the Offerings jar was a cool idea and I still remember deciding which charity to donate to which month, and I'm happy and proud that my mom taught us to give like that. But the budgeting lesson? Lost, when we discovered that my sister Rachel had been dipping in and out of everyone's jars for her own purposes.

So OBVIOUSLY I can be forgiven for not being good at budgets and savings. OBVIOUSLY, RACHEL.

But FOX News, you guys are a bunch of weenies for airing that story. The answer to the Illinois state (or any state's) budget crisis is not to single out a service/program/what-have-you, scare up a bunch of percentages of how much it costs to keep that service/program/what-have-you running, and then camp out with a secret camera to see if people are using that much money's worth of service/program/what-have-you!

And really, FOX News, you're going to say that since the majority of the people you observed spied on in the library were using the internet, then ... well I'm not clear what you conclusion is here. It somehow turns into "Are LI-braries NECESSARY!?" but what I think you're implying is "Are BOOKS almost EXTINCT?! Does ANYONE even READ anymore?!"

Yes, FOX News. I do. And so do all of my friends.

And sometimes we get our books at the library.

Other times, we go to the library to look things up on the internet.

I get that there are limited resources and lots of jars to fill. I get that there's not enough to go around. But I take huge, massive, awesome-in-its-enormity issue with the suggestion that it might be a solution to cut funding to public libraries.

I'm bolding this next part because I'm afraid if I put it in all-caps it'll be hard to read, but know that it feels all-caps in my heart:

Education is vitally important. Schools need funding. But education doesn't -- shouldn't -- stop when you graduate. Education is a lifelong pursuit, and we as a nation have a responsibility to ensure that our populous has access to free information, no matter the age (or income or etc, etc, etc) of the individual.

Nowhere but at a public library can a person walk in off the street, consult a card catalog or librarian, and begin to learn about any topic of their choosing. Public libraries are amazing, vast, sacred places. Hands OFF.

And stop f*#@ing hiding in libraries with spy cameras! It is not up to you, or to ANYONE, to judge how an individual uses the resources available at a public library. If I want to look up ancient looming methods, as (apparently) useless as that information may be, it is up to me to decide to learn it.

We trust our librarians to curate helpful, enriching, culturally significant, entertaining, varied collections, and they're also there to aid us in searches that go beyond the books on library grounds. It's a vital public service, and I can't stand anyone suggesting otherwise.

* Well Fox News, I was hurting for a blog post topic, so, I guess, thanks for that? Weenies.