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

Confession

by Alison Janssen

So ... I watched The Ghost Writer. Which was directed by Roman Polanski.

I'm feeling pretty guilty about it.

My feelings for Polanski haven't changed. And the movie, though I liked it, didn't give me reason to want to use his art to excuse his criminal acts. I'm still baffled by the list of people who supported him when he was under house arrest.

So why did I rent the movie? What is wrong with me?! I didn't even want to see it that badly in the first place! I mean, I like Ewan McGregor, and the premise was intriguing but not oh-my-god-we-must-see-this overwhelming. In fact, I spent a good deal of the movie admiring his character's blue sweater and trying to reverse-engineer it in my head so I can knit it for my fiance:

 

     

(Though after the disastrous Captain Kirk inspired gold cotton/bamboo raglan sweater that I knit in its entirety this past winter, which then didn't fit him, I worry about attempting another raglan. I have difficulty getting the underarm fit to work! Where's Tim Gunn when I need him?!)

I'm trying to imagine having watched the movie without knowing it was directed by Polanski, or having rented it not knowing what I do about his personal life. I saw The Ninth Gate when it came out, but at the time I didn't know who Polanski was or really anything about him. I didn't really like that movie, but I didn't really hate it, either -- it was pretty forgettable, I thought.

I liked The Ghost Writer better than that, it had some nice moments (and that sweater) and I really loved the last shot. But it's got me all angsty because I went in with the knowledge of the past acts of its director, and I went in choosing to set that knowledge aside to try to just watch a movie.

Is it our responsibility as viewers to avoid the work of artists who have done terrible things? Should I feel bad for watching this movie? I honestly don't know.

What do you think?

This time last week...

Isn’t it strange that two days after you get back to normal life after a couple of weeks away from it all, normal life has closed around you and the break feels a hundred years ago? This time last week I was exploring the ancient cellars of the wine market in Beaune, a beautiful small town in Burgundy which has become France’s capital of wine and chocolate (well, that’s how it struck me). At this exact hour a week ago I was in the process of tasting fifteen different wines. At the end of the process I bought a case of a sixteenth, which wasn’t even on the tour, (tasted that as well, and some crème de cassis) and somehow walked out in a straight line, back into the glorious sunshine, and got it back to the car intact.

 And now…

 It was raining when I woke several hours ago, and hasn’t stopped since. I’ve been wrestling with a knotty work-related problem for most of those hours when I’d far rather have been writing this blog post, and really should be dealing with another right now instead of indulging myself. And my life, which in theory was supposed to become a lot less complicated when we returned home, seems to be even more convoluted than usual. Normal life is suddenly a whole different kind of normal from when I left for my Burgundian idyll.

 Big change, I said last week. Big news, I hinted. OK, here goes.

 Crème de la Crime is a small independent publishing company no more. As of a couple of weeks ago, the name has been acquired by Severn House Publishers, and will become an imprint under their umbrella, still publishing top-class crime fiction, but no longer because it was me that found it unputdownable. The formal announcement to the press will be made next week, but the news was made known informally while I was on my wine-and-chocolate-fest, so it may come as no surprise to some Dead Guy followers.

 It all happened very fast, and things are still in the sorting out and settling down phase, but of one thing there is no doubt: the future of Crème de la Crime is now a lot more solid. Running a small publishing company is a precarious, one-day-at-a-time business; determination and strength of will (or sheer bloodymindedness if you prefer) play as large a part as the books (though they were pretty great as well), and in among all the mixed emotions swirling around my head is a large measure of relief that someone else with better resources will be taking the strain from now on.

 I’ll still be involved in a smaller way; the backlist will remain on sale for a few months, and four titles will be launched in the USA over the next few months. And I’ve already been offered my first freelance editing job by Severn House, so I’m not going too far away.

 So how do I feel, apart from relieved that I don’t have to worry about Crème de la Crime’s survival any more? To be honest, I’ve been so busy dealing with the fallout – there’s always fallout, and I don’t mean that in a bad way – that there’s been no time to feel. I set it to one side while I was away, and since I came back, between 450 accumulated e-mails and seven loads of post-holiday/vacation laundry, I’ve hardly had time to fit in everything else I had to do, so analysing my emotional state has had to wait its turn. But I’m not losing sleep – well, maybe one night – and I haven’t broken down in unexpected floods of tears, so I don’t think there are any deep-seated regrets.

 I’ll miss it, of course; the hard work and relentless routine were punctuated by moments of pure pleasure, most recently like the days I read Roz Southey’s Broken Harmony, and Chris Nickson’s The Broken Token – do I sense a theme developing there? – and realised I had discovered historical crime fiction that would stand up with the best. And there was joyous laughter, like the day I read Kaye C Hill’s Dead Woman’s Shoes. And air-punching triumph when we got starred reviews in Publishers Weekly, Editor’s Choice slots in Historical Novels Review, and what amounted to an ongoing love affair between Sharon Wheeler and Maureen Carter’s inimitable Detective Sergeant Bev Morriss.

 But in the long run, I wanted the best for the authors I discovered and helped along the way; and maybe a little recognition for the work I put in, and the best way to achieve both was to hand it over to someone else.

 So now I can take a pace back, slow down a little, and watch Crème de la Crime flourish under a new regime. And I’m still a crime fiction nut, so Dead Guy will still be an important part of my life, one way or another.

 

It Had Eight Arms to Hold Me

by Barbara Poelle

So, um. I have an idea. Let’s talk about excess.

Like, how, oh I dunno, for example, say maybe someone who is not 22 anymore decides that it would be a great idea to attend two Sharktopus parties, one for the 9pm showing and one for the 1am showing. Then maybe that person wakes up in bed the next afternoon with mascara on her teeth, cereal stuck to her feet, and a dim recollection of explaining to Alison in an e-mail sometime after 2 a.m. why the Sharktopus makes whale noises (Because he is mournful. He has no soul mate. The entire film is a modern American noir about the anthropological and physiological impacts of loneliness on a single member species, Ali. Didn't you get that? Jeez.)

Excess is a funny thing, because it is like that 4^th martini:  never a good idea, but only truly identified as such in retrospect. Recently, I read a big buzzed about title that I thought was CLEARLY overindulgent in both the prose and narrative. As usual, I will CMA and not say the actual title as I would like to continue to do business with this house and I am afraid they may react less than enthusiasticly with regards to my next project when they see in writing how I would have rather scooped my eyes out with a melon baller than read one more metaphor for death. (Nope, you don’t know what book this is from that. Please. I am a CMA ninja up in here.) At one point while reading it, I remember looking up into the middle distance and saying out loud, “this book is a fat beagle” because you know when you see your friend’s fat beagle who isn’t just chubby, but actual teetering on some sort of weight related illness and you then look at the owner (your good friend for god’s sake!) and you think to yourself, “Mother of BALLS, why are you stuffing this poor dog with its own mortality every night?” and then you think to yourself, “Wait, this is Gary and Jenny I am talking about! They have had two really awesome beagles already; they know what they are doing. Maybe they are just trying something new with this beagle. Maybe they are actually showing us what a beagle CAN look like, maybe they are leading a new trend, and soon EVERYONE will have fat beagles but since they had the FIRST fat beagle they can hold their heads high knowing they are Trend Setters, not Irish Setters.” And then you will chuckle to yourself about this little word play.

 The thing is, clearly Gary and Jenny cannot see their fat beagle for the danger he represents, and somebody needs to be like, “Dude.  Sir Snootly Von Bonesington is FAT. Nope, no.  Not chubby. Not roly-poly.  FAT.  And I think it is in everyone’s best interest to go ahead and slim him down. “ But no one wants to say anything because Gary and Jenny are kind of sensitive about weird things, like that time you got caught in their front yard drunkenly chatting up their lawn Santa while eating a handful of raw cookie dough at 11 am on a Tuesday, so you all just think, ahhh, someone else will surely tell them they have a fat beagle.

(Oh great.  Now my brain just keeps singing “Fat Beagle” to the tune of Foreigner’s “Hot Blooded”. I dare you to try it once out loud. You’re welcome.)

The bottom line is everyone-INCLUDING ME- is paddling the surfboard out to catch this next wave of post recession jubilance when people return to the hardcover purchases and we see boosts in electronic readers and book sales, and there is dancing in the ATM lines and gosh, in my excitement, am I allowing for some leniency I wouldn’t have allowed for on my list three years ago? DO I HAVE A FAT BEAGLE? (Check it and seeeee.)  

If I do, I am sure I will be very sensitive about it too, and I am hoping that Husband, just like he did on Sunday, will just sit me down and gently say, “Are those CHEERIOS on your FEET?  So, um. I have an idea. Let’s talk about excess….”

 

Don't Call Me Ishmael

Jeff Cohen

I've gone on ad nauseum here about names: Whether a title makes a difference; whether a pseudonym is a form of hypocrisy; whether it would have been better had Dan Brown named his book Opus Dei and the Knights.

But getting older (not old, not yet, mind you) makes a person think about the past and the future. And the older you get, the more past you have to think about. Specifically, lately I've flashed on a thought I had as a child, that my name was the very thing an action hero would need. Jeff. Now, that was a real tough guy name.

It's amazing what you can convince yourself when you're eight.

Since then, I have seen countless characters in films, books and television named "Jeff," and each one has been either wimpy, dull, or, worse, when named "Jeffrey" (or, god forbid, "Geoffrey"), stiff and devoid of humor or life. 

I like to think I'm none of those things. Except maybe wimpy. I gave up the idea of being an action hero around the time I realized I was shorter than roughly ninety six percent of the population. We'll talk about the fallacies going around about short people another week. Remind me. I also realized I'm roughly as brave as the average bunny rabbit, and more capable of neutralizing the bad guy with a sarcastic remark than with a right cross. I've made my peace with it.

It is also perhaps worth noting that two of the greatest movie stars of all time were named "Clark" and "Humphrey." So what does a name do for you?

When I name characters--by far my least favorite part of the creative process--I think of an attitude first. What kind of person is this going to be. But you have to wonder whether that's a true reflection of life. I remarked to my son the other day that Steve Buscemi does not look like a "Steve" to me, and he pointed out quite accurately that "his parents didn't know what he'd look like when they named him."

So is it a cheat to name a character Agnes Crimball if you want her to be a prude and a nag? Dirk McClan if you want him to be fearless and virile? Billy for a naif? Horace for a stiff? Britney for... well, you get the idea.

After reading my first screenplay (an effort I have spent decades attempting to blot from memory), someone told me years ago that in the history of films, the name most often given to the villain is "Lassiter." The only real-life Lassiter I know is a teacher at my children's high school, and he seems like a very nice guy. Perhaps that means something, but I doubt it.

Would Moby-Dick have been a great novel if the ship had been commanded by Captain Henderson? Suppose the father in To Kill A Mockingbird were named Bob Finch--every other word of the book remains the same. Still a classic?

Sometimes I think character names are the most obvious places to see the author's intentions, and his/her talent. Obvious names are clumsy and take you out of the story; people aren't really named with their destinies in mind. Bland names are, well, bland. They might give you a sense of reality, in that most people don't really have interesting names, but they don't add to the story, either. 

This I can tell you with complete assurance: All the names of characters in my books--ALL of them--are desperation moves made by an author who had no idea whatsoever to call these people, and each and every one of them was at some point going to replaced with something better as soon as the author came up with a better alternative.

He never did. Until maybe after publication, when it was too late.

 

A note to those who miss the LP-to-Digital Conversion Project: Great news! For a totally random occasion that has nothing whatsoever to do with the anniversary of my birth, I have received a new gadget, one which now allow me to convert cassette tapes to Mp3 format. So be watching in the coming weeks as I find even stranger memories from the past and turn them into digital files. 

The series conundrum, by Dale Spindel

Whether or not you've ever wanted to work in a public library, you have to admit that it's pretty cool to be the one who gets to spend  a fair amount of taxpayers' dollars each month on books, DVDs and CDs.  While  the ordering decisions I make for some popular items are done  on autopilot ( books by James Patterson, Daniel Steel, any movie with Jennifer Aniston),  the trickier aspect of library  collection development involves selecting a body of materials that will closely reflect the needs and interests or the people who live in the community where I am employed.

Unfortunately, because space in public libraries is finite, the flip side of collection development is a task librarians refer to as "weeding," the removal from the collection of those materials that have either become outdated or that are no longer being checked out.    Because of automated library circulation systems, it is relatively easy to get what librarians refer to as  "dusty book" printouts,  listings of  those items that have not been checked out within a specified amount of time.    It is a also a sad fact of library life that those dusty book printouts will usually include  some titles by the likes of William Shakespeare, Ernest Hemingway, Herman Melville and other literary giants.    At least in the library where I work ( and no matter how dusty) the literary classics will never be weeded; being the  optimist  that I am, I know  that sooner or later someone will be in to check out  The Tempest, The Sun Also Rises, and Moby Dick  and I  want to spare myself the embarrassment of being the director of a library that doesn't have them.

So what then exactly is the series conundrum?

Although there are quite a few authors outside the mystery genre who have recurring characters (Kinsella/Shopaholic, Roth/Zuckerman, Harris/Sookie Stackhouse - you get the idea),  authors of successful mystery series command a disproportionately large amount of shelf space in my library.  I love it when a patron of mine gets hooked on a series because  it means that   she will be coming to the library at frequent intervals and will  know exactly what she's looking for.   Howeve, to keep these patrons happy, it also  means  that  the library  must keep on hand  the entire run of Stephanie Plums (the numbers as well as  the in-betweens), not to mention all the letters of Sue Grafton's alphabet, all of Robert Parker's Spenser novels, etc., etc., etc.   Going under the assumption that most other people are  as compulsive as I am,  I fully understand that they do not want to read volumes in a series out of order or (gasp) skip some of them  completely.    I also completely understand why an author who has created an extremely popular set of characters would want to run with them for as long and as far as he or she is able.

Perhaps I am putting myself at great personal risk by coming out on this issue on this particular website, but when I  purchase books  for my library's collection, the decision regarding whether or not to select a title in a mystery series is much more fraught with peril  than is the decision to purchase a stand alone title.   What if only one or two of my patrons are interested in reading a particular series?  Aren't they as entitled to find in the library the books they want to read as the people who enjoy Evanovich and Grafton?   The answer, of course, is that they are.  However, with so many mystery series out there to begin with  and so many of these series extending their runs into the double digits, is it appropriate for me to allocate a disproportionately large amount of shelf space to volumes that just aren't going to get checked out all that often?   What if I first become aware of a mystery writer when volume 6 of his or her series  gets a starred review in Publisher's Weekly?  Don't I then have to go back and buy volumes 1-5  or do I hope that I can procure the back volumes for my patron through interlibrary loan?  What if a patron borrowed volume 1 from a friend and is now requesting that we purchase volume 2 for our collection?  Do I not go ahead and also purchase volume 1 for the sake of future  readers of that series?   What about large print?  What about audio?  I could just go on and on, but you probably don't want me to.

(And you thought librarians didn't have stressful jobs.)

The answer, of course, is to have bigger libraries. 

A Couple Great Books

Robin Agnew

Every year, I read LOTS of great stuff.  Sometimes it's astonishing how much great writing there is out there.  And some of these books, despite their obvious excellence (and my enthusiastic recommendation of same, natch) just don't grab the audience they should grab.  So, doing my part to support me beloved genre, here's a few I've read this year that I thought were knockouts.

Frozen Stiff, Mary Logue.   I flat out love Mary Logue, and I haven't missed a series entry yet.  There are seven books in this wonderful series (one that's found Logue bounced around from publisher to publisher, she's now with Tyrus Books) and they all build on one another, though any book in the series can stand on it's own.  Her central character, Claire Watkins, is a deputy in a tiny Wisconsin town; she's left the Twin Cities because of a personal tragedy (the death of her husband).  She's raising a daughter and lives with pheasant farmer Rick.  Her true skill is rocket powered story telling.  In this outing a man stumbles out of his sauna into a deathly cold winter night, to be found by his wife in the morning.  Was it too late?  Read it and see.  Any acquaintance you make with the talented Logue is bound to be a happy one.

The End Game, Gerrie Ferris Finger.  This is a terrific first novel.  It won the St. Martin's Malice Domestic prize, but it's not really a cozy, though it has a traditional structure.  It's about a woman who finds missing children; in the opening sequence her cop boyfriend is called to a fire where the adults have been killed, but their two foster daughters are missing.  Finger has several strong aces up her sleeve:  she's very adept at describing the tiny Atlanta neighborhood where the fire occurred; without you really realizing it, her main character has visited every suspect in turn, and while she's done that, she's sketched in neighborhood loyalties and ties.  To satisfy traditionalists there's a locked room mystery and clues that involve train whistles.  Her material is pretty dark, but her writing soars. A very original and memorable debut.

Snakes Can't Run, Ed Lin.  Following my police procedural passion, I heard Ed Lin speak on a panel at Bouchercon and was captivated.  I was equally captivated by his book.  Set in the 70's, his central character is a Chinese cop who is a Vietnam Vet.  The breakdown of the Chinese class system is exquisite; and in truly noir fashion, nothing is what is seems, and no one can be trusted, except maybe Lin's cool cop, Robert Chow, caught between the America he grew up in, and his Chinese cultural roots.  This is a knockout.

The Good Son, Michael Gruber.  Wild premise?  Check.  Thoughtful consideration of, in this case, the war in Afghanistan?  Check.  Interesting, memorable writing?  Check.  Characters you can't forget?  Check.  All of Michael Gruber's books are mind benders and this one is no exception, though it's more immediately topical than his usual fare.  The main character is a special forces black ops guy who grew up in Pakistan.  His mother is infamous for dressing as a boy, going on a haj,  and writing a bestselling book about it.  While Gruber is always concerned with story -  this one kicks off when the mother is taken hostage in Pakistan  - he usually has another issue on his mind.  In this one, the differences between Muslim and Western culture.  He takes a look at the validity of each and poses the question: why can't our two sides get along?  It's also a thoughtful look at religion.  Oh, and you won't be able to put it down.

What these books all share is a very vivid view of whatever and wherever they're writing about, be it Wisconsin or Atlanta or Chinatown or Afghanistan.  Who says mysteries don't grow your mind?  Get reading, people!

 

Let Go and Let Someone Else

By Dana Kaye

A couple weeks ago I hired a new assistant, Lily. Going through the training process is different this time around: I know more of what to expect, what she can handle, and most importantly, what I can handle them doing.

For those of you who have never lived, worked, or hung out with me outside a bar or writing conference: I’m a control freak. I like things done a certain way and relinquishing control makes me anxious. From shipping packages to drafting e-mails to dusting the cabinets, there’s a right way to do everything.

My way.

But I’m not a robot who doesn’t need sleep and I haven’t found the perfect cloning machine yet (Ben from Tyrus is looking into that for me), so until matters change, I need help.

Yesterday, as I was teaching Lily the fine art of writing pitches, instead of showing her how I would write the pitch, I let her try one out herself, without any guidance. Here’s part of what she came out with:

“WHAT'S UP DOWN THERE? should be a handbook for women everywhere as it embraces the joys of sexuality and positive body image while still being choke-on-your-cocktail funny.”

I love it. It perfectly describes the book and draws editors in, all in one sentence.

Would I have come up with that? (Obviously I could because I’m brilliant and according to the girl in Alison’s video, “I can do anything good!) Probably not. Fresh eyes see the world differently and can often spot things you would have missed.

Many aspiring and first time authors are like me. They hate relinquishing control. They don’t want their editor changing the book, the publicist pitching them in a different way, the booksellers placing them on a shelf they don’t feel they belong on and I won’t even start with the issue of character names and book covers.

Although it can cause anxiety to open up the doors and allow someone to take over a task, often times, it can improve your project. So if you trust your editor and your publisher, or in my case, your assistant, let them take the reins for a bit and see what they come up with. You might be pleasantly surprised.

Just a Writer

by Alison Janssen

Hey, you guys all read J.A. Konrath's blog, right? If you don't, you should, it's forthright and interesting and a huge wealth of information.

He posted yesterday, upon reaching the milestone of over 100,000 ebooks sold, and broke down his numbers and outlined his strategies and basically took everyone to school, in a good way. (Learning is always good, stay in school, kids!)

Joe's last few paragraphs got me thinking, and I figured I'd think out loud over here today. That's what blogs are for, right?! Here's what he said:

I spent 12 years trying to break into publishing, and 8 years doing everything I could to succeed. Now I'm finally able to write full time, which is what I've wanted to do all along. No more tours. No more appearances. No more accessibility to the entire world.

I'm not a motivational speaker. I'm not a teacher. I'm not a salesman. I'm not a dog and pony show. I'm not an outlier.

I'm a just a writer, dammit. And that's all I'm gonna be.

Don't you want to be just a writer, too?

But Joe ... you're not "just" a writer. You're a publisher, too. You contract a designer to do cover work, you make sure your books are formatted (and I think I remember that you do that yourself, right?).You track your sales, you (at least nominally) promote your releases, you work with your agent to ensure your distribution across ebook retailers ... you're doing a lot of work, mostly managerial work, that isn't "just" writing.

So yes, I know, semantics, but here's where I'm going with this: The definition of writer, for Joe Konrath and many others, is changing. And has been changing for some time -- self-promotion isn't a new concept. The wide world of ebooks is providing an opportunity for non-big-6-backed authors to reach out to readers directly, to bring themselves to market without relying on outside companies.

The idea that a writer "just" writes is a fallacy. It was a fallacy back in the beforetimes of publishing, when people say things were so great and different, and it's a fallacy today. A writer doesn't "just" write.  A mom doesn't "just" mother. A firefighter doesn't "just" fight fires. Mostly, that is what those people do. But every job has more than one facet, and today's writer-facets are changing and expanding.

So, Dead Guy writers, how much time do you spend "just" writing? How much time do you spend attending to all the business that comes along with "just" writing? If you lived in a perfect world, I assume you'd spend 100% of your working hours on the writing (and revising!), and the books and readers would create themselves and sales would direct-deposit into your bank account and no promotion, negotiation, or travel would be required. But we live in an imperfect world, and it's about priorities and outcomes. If you knew you could achieve living-wages sales, would you devote 30% of your writing time for one year to the business-end of cover designs, file uploads, and  ebook sales tracking? Or would you prefer to devote 5% of your writing time for five years to sending out queries, landing an agent, shopping a book, and going "traditional"?

I'm not trying to make any value judgments, I'm just curious about peoples' hopes for their writing future. And though I've set this up as a sort of either-or, I'm sure there are tons of combinations and options I'm not thinking about, I'm just simplifying, like Team Edward and Team Bella.

So, are you Team Bob Dylan (one man band) or Team Traveling Wilburys (supergroup)?

And now, for no related reason except that I love it, here is the new OK Go video:

Plus ca change...

This is coming to you by the wonders of technology and the goodness of Jeff Cohen’s enormous heart. I’m not here. Well, I’m here; everyone has to be somewhere. But here at the moment you’re reading this is not my cosy office somewhere in middle England, complete with such 21^st century trappings as I’m prepared to put up with, but a village in France, sans e-mail, sans internet, sans everything except good wine, better food and a lot of relaxation.

 

The day before we set out, I completely forgot to e-mail an essential document to someone; being a far more efficient type than I am, she phoned me to ask where it was, and when I’d finished mea culpa-ing, commented wryly, ‘You’re really ready for that holiday, aren’t you?’ (Being British, like me, she said holiday, not vacation.) Rarely has a truer word been spoken. Times have been very interesting of late at Crème de la Crime.

 

When I get home next week, I’ll be plunged in at the deep end of the biggest change we’ve ever experienced. For the moment, that’s all I can say. But next week I’ll have big news to impart.

 

But now, if you’ll excuse the brevity, I’m going to enjoy the rest of my holiday. Vacation, if you prefer. There’s a chocolaterie in the village, and I keep wondering if Johnny Depp will turn up.

 

Modeling Parabolic Flight in the Context of Fictive Subaquatic Biology

by Barbara Poelle

In reading Susan Casey’s comprehensive and compelling work on global wave influence and the impact said water behavior has on costal and environmental markers, one is both engaged and awed with her prose.  THE WAVE is one of the finest non-fiction books in a long time, combining science, passion and education in a fascinating rhetoric that bares consideration, and I encourage citizens of America, nay of EARTH, to read it.

Okay, so that was smart talky book stuff right? Okay, good. Because now I am going to spend the rest of the blog announcing:

THE SHARKTOPUS RULES.

Oh, you thought mayhap I forgot? NAY GOOD FRIENDS!!! September 25^th has been circled on my calendar in DRIPPING RED INK since principal photography began.

Don’t forget: You may utilize any beverage for the consumption- we encourage teetotalers and pregnant ladies and minors to play, as we are an equal opportunity good time.   In fact, we played a similar game with my Minnesota BFFs and their kids using Gatorade and we all laughed so hard that one of us wet our pants.

Don’t worry about which of us did so- I’m just sayin’.

And so, without further ado, I present the drinking game forever to be known as:

 THE SHARKTOPUS RULES.

1. Any actor saying, aghast, “What could have done this?” or a variation thereof:  DRINK.

2.In Sharktopus, there is a character called "Captain Jack."  Whenever someone says "Captain Jack" in the movie, the first person to shout "Sparrow!" after, gets to make someone ELSE drink.

3. Every time the Sharktopus comes on land, thus inexplicably exposing its gills yet not suffocating: DRINK

4. As the Sharktopus approaches his next victim, predict how many tentacles will surface in the attack.  You must take one drink for every tentacle you're off.

5. When any overt sexuality is punished by the Sweet Fangs of Sharktopus Death:  DRINK."

6. Every time you think Eric Roberts is having an insane bout of career envy concerning his sister: DRINK*

*(I encourage you to indeed keep Gatorade on hand for this one, as that rule would be in play more or less constantly, and thus be fatal.)

Now, as you will note, I only have six rules, and any good rule book should have 7. I would like to challenge you, my dear friends, to come up with the perfect seventh rule in the comments section. The winner (as judged by Amy Lindel on Friday morning) will be announced in the comments and receive a copy of the murderously delightful and laugh out loud Austen-winking cozy, Tracy Kiely’s MURDER ON THE BRIDE’S SIDE.  And a bonus: BANISHED,  from that effervescent crime fiction author turned YA novelist Sophie Littlefield, which won’t hit the shelves for three more weeks!

And to each of you on Saturday night, I raise my glass to celebrate what is sure to be an historic occasion.

I’ll bring my plastic drop cloth.

 

 

TheLindelSpin: When a great writer comes chocolate-coated in that much crazy, it's not worth the emotional calories.

R.I.P. David Thompson; Long Live Murder By The Book!

Jeff Cohen

Don't worry--I'm not going to pretend I was David Thompson's best friend. I met the man only once, at a signing I did at his home, Murder By The Book in Houston, two years ago. 

But David was a friend to every author of crime fiction. And I mean that literally. He promoted and defended the genre to all, and when an author showed up in Houston and signed books at his store, David made sure every author was a star--not felt like a star.

When he died last week at the age of 38, it was a devastating, stunning blow to the solar plexus of crime fiction. It came out of nowhere, it took away one of the nicest men in the business, and it delivered a reminder of how fragile absolutely everything is. If this could happen, nothing is safe.

And nothing is.

This is not, you should know, a pile-on obituary for David Thompson. People know knew him much better have been very eloquent in their recollections and appreciations. Read, for example, this piece by Ben LeRoy of Tyrus Books, which had recently acquired David's Busted Flush Press when David died. Or read here about the upcoming memorial to David and how you can contribute to a fund set up by the wonderful Alafair Burke. 

This, instead, is an appreciation of Murder By The Book. David spent 21 years at the store and it was his vision as much an anything (or more) that helped turn it into the legend that it is in the community of crime fiction. As promotion and publicity manager, he saw to it that authors came and signed books and spoke at the store. Sure, there were mystery specialty stores in New York and Los Angeles and Chicago (and Arizona, and... ), but with David's indefatigable energy, it became necessary for any mystery author to pass through Houston, Texas on a book tour.

Or even NOT on a book tour. I made the pilgrimage almost exactly two years ago, as I documented right here at DEAD GUY not long after. And if you read that over, you might conclude that I was complaining about traveling, but only because I was. You'll notice, though, that the part about Murder By The Book contains no complaints whatsoever, and is uncharacteristically giddy coming from an old grump like myself.

David and I kept up via email after that. He'd send the store's newsletter and stick a note at the top. We'd go back and forth when I had a new title on the way, David insisting I come back to Houston to do an event, and me stupidly telling him I couldn't afford the trip. You start to wonder why you didn't do things when something like this happens.

I heard from him about a week before he died. He was emailing to tell me E.J. Copperman was selling well in Houston. And he was funny and smart and just the nicest guy you ever met in this business. I didn't respond by telling him that, because we don't do that enough. We always think there will be another time, a better time.

Going to Murder By The Book, you see, isn't another "here's-a-card-table-and-we'll-see-you-in-two-hours" kind of experience, and authors remember that.

You couldn't walk into that store as a visiting author and feel any other way. The piles of books already lined up to be signed, the rows of chairs waiting for actual people to come and hear you speak. And you knew that, unlike "events" at some chain stores and unenthusiastic independents, those chairs would have PEOPLE in them when the announced time for the signing arrived. Many of those people would buy books. So would others who couldn't make it, but asked for signed copies because the staff at the store would recommend it. And the customers would buy the copy of a book from an author they might not even have known existed before, strictly on the recommendation of the store's staff. Wow.

Okay, so it's nice to be treated with respect and appreciation sometimes. But the vast knowledge of the genre, of authors and titles and trends and the publishing business, was amazing. McKenna Jordan, then David's fiancee and now his widow and the owner of Murder By The Book, is a lovely, knowledgeable, very smart presence there, and everyone I met who worked there had the same level of drive and warmth that David and McKenna exhibited.

It's important that stay.

The book business, of course, is not necessarily in the best shape it's ever been. And independent bookstores, especially those of the specialty variety, are not generally considered the fastest road to millions. But Murder By The Book needs to continue, and authors need to flock there, sign books, give talks and maybe buy a title or two. 

So does everyone else. Go buy a book there if you can. If you don't live nearby, go to the store's web site and find out how to call up and order. Keep that place going. Keep other such stores going. Because people, unfortunately, don't last forever--some of them are taken from us long before we might anticipate--but stories can be eternal. David knew that. He quite literally devoted his life to it.

Good bye, David. I can't begin to say how much you'll be missed.

Dana Kaye adds: 

The first time I met David in person, he hugged me and told me I was awesome. That exemplifies the type of person that he was. He held a true passion for crime fiction and was always willing to do whatever it took to promote a talented author and a well written book. He always supported me and my authors, and for that, I will be forever grateful.

There are others like David, fans and booksellers that share his spark and enthusiasm. But those people are few and far between, and I know the crime fiction community feels quite lost without him.

Since I am unable to attend his memorial on September 26^th in Houston, I will purchase a new book from an independent bookstore in his honor. I’ll then read it with a margarita, his favorite drink, and toast a great advocate, bookseller, and most importantly, a great friend.

The Brooklyn Book Festival, by Dale Spindel

I had the great good fortune of going with a coworker (Hey, Kathleen) to the Brooklyn Book Festival on September 12.  The biggest dilemma of the festival for us  was figuring out how best to maximize our total book festival experience. Every hour on the hour, between 10:00 AM and 5:00 PM, there were no fewer than 10 separate programs to choose from, forcing us to make seemingly impossible choices between the likes of Paul Krugman and Francine Prose (we chose Krugman), Michael Connelly and Paul Auster (we chose Connelly) and Sarah Silverman and Pete Hamill (we chose Silverman), which, if nothing else, made for an extremely eclectic BBF experience.

In keeping with my commitment to becoming a more informed participant on Dead Guy, I made  a point of  attending "Poetry of the Gumshoe," a program which included readings by the mystery writers Gabriel Cohen, Michael Connelly, and Paco Ignacio Taibo II.  The venue for this particular panel discussion happened to be the especially appropriate and totally spectacular courtroom of Brooklyn Borough Hall. Cohen and Connelly each did a reading from their most recent books while Taibo chose to share with the audience the strange circumstances surrounding a commission he received to co-write a novel according to a very circumscribed set of rules.

During the question and answer period that followed, each author addressed the issue of mystery novels as literature.  Noting Western culture's fear of death, Cohen explained that the mystery genre was a vehicle for him to explore "deep and interesting" issues rather than just a means of providing "fluffy entertainment."  Connelly noted that his goal was to write mysteries with a social message.  Taibo stated that he was drawn to mystery fiction as a way to "create atmospheres and build cities," also pointing out that mysteries "provide an impression of how society works" and that crime is what results when there is a breakdown of society.

There was also some interesting back and forth between Connelly and Cohen regarding the relative  merits of having a recurring  character who, over the course of a series, can give the writer more freedom to focus on the story line (Connelly) versus the desire to treat each novel as a distinct story with its own settings and characters (Cohen).

I am a huge fan of the HBO series The Wire (I consider it the best TV program ever) but, since I  have never thought of it as belonging to the  mystery genre, I was surprised when a member of the audience asked the members of the panel to share their opinions regarding its success.  Taibo, also a huge fan, said that one reason for its artistic excellence was the fact that the story arc  of The Wire was spread over five seasons  which allowed the writers  sufficient time and space to explore many different issues, giving the series the breadth and feel of a novel.

Additional Observations regarding The Brooklyn Book Festival

1.  The audience for "Poetry of the Gumshoe" skewed toward middle age  while "Exposing a Difficult Past," a presentation by a panel of memoir writers, appeared to be attended mostly by people in their twenties.  Can we infer from this that a disproportionately large number of young folk are chomping at the bit to write about the dysfunction that was inherent in growing up during the 80's and 90's?

2. The Brooklyn Book Festival is much more enjoyable when it is not raining with a an accompanying cold breeze.  However, had the weather been better, the size of the crowd would probably have been such that I would not have been able to get in to attend any of the programs.

3. Listening to Paul Krugman and Robin Wells talk about the current economic crisis was extraordinarily depressing.

4. The food vendors at BBF were not really fast food but it was food definitely worth waiting for, especially the pupusas (  stuffed corn tortillas served with cabbage and sour cream on the side) and  ginger flavored ice cream. 

5. Sarah Silverman is really smart and very funny.  Dave Rakoff, Sarah's co-panelist, is also  smart and funny.

6. A stroll by the many vendor tables offered a chance to chat with people from  small publishing houses and on-line publishers who are  passionate about what they do and who are creatively exploring ways to get the work of talented writers into the hands of readers.

7. Brooklyn Book Festival was simultaneously exhilarating (all those great authors I got to hear speak) and depressing (all those great authors I did not get to hear speak.)

 

Kerrytown BookFest, Part Deux

Robin Agnew

Usually I write a bookfest blow by blow in this space, but this year we on the bookfest board were spared some of the more onerous physical labor that we've had to do in the past and I could focus more on the actual selling of books.  It's never been an afterthought after all the time I spend programming the day, but sometimes our actual store booth is an afterthought, and my husband and I (and kids) are caught running back and forth to the author's tent with boxes of books to sell.

This year I took a more coordinated approach to the whole matter.  I had my programming locked down early and I started splitting bookselling duties with another local bookseller, Nicola.  After that my wheels again began to turn:  why not program our booth just as I had programmed the author's tent?

I started to fill it in in half hour increments, and was helped mightily by the fact that the first two panels of the day were all mystery authors.  In addition, Loren Estleman, our Community Book Award winner, had a brand spanking new collection of Amos Walker stories available.  Available because on the Friday evening of bookfest weekend, I drove to Thompson-Shore, the printers (who happily are local) and picked up 25 copies.  By the skin of my teeth.  They closed at 4:30 and I was there at 4:45.  Luckily the delightful Angie was still in the building and she cheerfully loaded two boxes of books into the car.

Saturday I had about 50 of the speakers and their families over for a drink and dinner and lots of conversation.  I ended that evening sharing a beer with Steve Hamilton and Bryan Gruley, feeling very short, and listening to them talk about hockey and the Shamus awards.

Thanks to my turning wheels, the booth schedule became more and more filled up, and the latter part of the day took on a car theme.  (We ARE near Detroit).  This year, Dan Johnson, an author with another brand new book out, The Detroit Electric Scheme, a mystery about the early workings of the car business (circa 1910 or so) brought a friend who brought his 1916 electric car.  It was gorgeous, and made me think we always need a prop of one kind or another, as people were walking around it admiringly all day.

I had scheduled myself a free hour at the end of the day to walk through and look at all the other exhibitor's booths - we have 110 or so, which pretty much fills up the Ann Arbor Farmer's Market.  Little did I realize that by the end of the day, by dint of running from the tent to the booth to our other venue across the street I not only looked as beautiful as the road runner but my legs probably felt pretty much like his did.  A little rubbery.

I did get to take a walk through though and was impressed by the variety, from jewelry to notebooks made from old album covers to fairy wands to, or course, lots and lots of books, many of them of the used variety. Most of the sellers I talked to seemed pleased, and I hope they were.

The program overall was certainly successful.  The panels were all full - a dream I've had since I started to help with programming 7 years ago - and Nicola mentioned to me that the program was almost too good.  There was almost too much going on.  

And the Thursday after, when I was doing the inevitable return routine, I encountered yet another bookseller - looking for the Amos Walker book - who had also moderated a panel.  He looked at all the boxes that covered the store and he said, "That's the book business, isn't it?  You stack up the books, you pack them up, you sell them, you move them somewhere else, you send them back."  I heartily agreed.

While returns were many so were sales, and we left with a much lighter car than we'd started with.  We also estimated about 4,000 people enjoyed the day, many of them friends - lots of librarians who had come to town for the day to spend it shopping and enjoying hearing their favorite authors speak.

Friday morning, we started talking about next year's event.  2011, here we come!

The 3-D Community

By Dana Kaye

Though Hey, Dead Guy will be doing a formal tribute to David Thompson (friend and owner of Murder by the Book in Houston) on Monday, his passing is still fresh in my heart. So, though I will save my thoughts for the formal post, I felt today I should talk about a topic that meant a lot to David: book signings.

With air travel becoming more expensive and far less comfortable and online promotions being cheap and easy, more and more authors are avoiding traditional book signings. Additionally, with the e-reader craze and people’s attention span becoming shorter every day, booksellers are having a hard time driving traffic to their signings.

Seems like an easy solution right? If you don’t want to go sign, and no one wants to come see you sign, then why not do away with book signings all together?

I rep a comic book store here in Chicago, Challengers Comics + Conversation. When I spoke with them about being their PR rep, we discussed their mission, their goals, and their vision for the store. The owners wanted their store to be a place for people to come and hang out, a place to talk about comics or talk about anything, a place to convert those who don’t read comics and to introduce new authors to those who do. They don’t offer online shopping for that reason: they want people coming in to the store.

Do they lose out on some financial opportunities? Sure. Is that the point? No.

There is no community on Amazon. Reading an author interview on a blog is not the same as asking them questions live, in-person. Having any book you want with the click of a mouse is not the same as being surrounded by shelves of actual books.

Book signings and other author events are about strengthening the local literary community. I understand many of you don’t live in cities where there’s a convenient bookstore, but you are the ones who need that community more than ever. Start a book group, attend a conference, take a road trip with some friends to the bookstore a few towns away. Experience being a part of a community of people who share your love of reading, or perhaps feel the connection of shaking the hand of an author whose work you admire.

Though our mystery community lost someone very special, we can honor him by continuing his vision. Buy independent, attend events, connect with the authors you admire and take a chance on those you haven’t heard of.

Cutting Essentials

by Alison Janssen

What can you live without? TV? Carbs? A new pair of shoes every season?

What about essentials? Your sight? Left hand? A kidney?

This month marks the fifth anniversary of me losing an essential -- my thyroid. I had a goiter, and it spanned both hemispheres of my thyroid. Thyroids are butterfly-shaped, and often when a goiter is present, it's on one or the other side, and if it needs to be removed, a surgeon can often preserve the unaffected side. Not with me, my goiter was an overachiever! The whole thyroid had to go, in order to get the goiter out and clear my goiter-constricted windpipe.

There's a gross, operating-room picture of the resulting extraction, but I won't subject you to it here. There's also a weird, warped story describing the backstory of my goiter (because every goiter needs a backstory!), inspired by the in-utero fratricide habits of some species of sharks, but I'll let you work that one out on your own.

So now, since a body can't really live without a thyroid, I take a daily replacement hormone, and I'm just fine. I live without an essential, essentially. (Well, until a Justin-Cronin-Passage-esque disaster strikes, and then I'll be one of the first to go. But my post-apocalyptic pharmaceutical fears are a topic for another post!)

Which brings me to writing. What essentials have you given your characters that they could do without? Human beings are ceaselessly adaptable, and taking away an essential will make your characters' road harder, but also more interesting to write and read.

An endless fountain of resources is boring. Remove an essential, your charcater will survive. I am LITERALLY living proof!

p.s. This weekend, I'll be walking with my family in the Alzheimer's and Dementia Alliance Walk in Iowa County, in support of my Uncle Jeff and everyone else touched by Alzheimer's/Dementia. If you would like to contribute to the organization, here's a link.

This is the way the world turns...

 

Note: All of us at the blog mourn the passing of David Thompson from Murder by the Book in Houston, TX. He was a great advocate of crime fiction and a wonderful friend to authors in the genre. We'll have more to say in coming days, but right now, our hearts and sincerest wishes go to his lovely wife McKenna and his family and friends in Houston.

 

Lynne Patrick

 

I’m not a great imbiber of intoxicating beverages; as the song goes, mere alcohol doesn’t thrill me at all. But I enjoy a glass of good red wine now and again, and other half and I usually share a bottle at the weekend.

 

So it was last weekend: a rather nice Australian, which tasted not of toffee, plums or the train passing the end of the vineyard, but quite simply of wine. Mostly they do, I find. This particular one came complete with handy screw-top – which set a thought process in motion.

 

OK, my oenological expertise is pretty well non-existent, but something I noticed is that once upon a not very long time ago, wine in screw-top bottles was considered naff, and an inferior form of vineyard life. No longer. A few years ago, taking a bottle with no cork to a dinner party could get you banned from the circuit (not that dinner party circuits are my bag, but you hear these things…) These days, a lot of decent, acceptable wine from reputable places comes in screw-tops, and it’s well on the way to respectability.

 

The world has moved on.

 

Another example: mobile phones. Believe it or not, there was a time before they existed. I remember it vividly. Then when they first came into use, a certain type of person, the type who want the rest of the world to take note of how modern and sexy (and rich, probably) they are, used to walk around with brick-sized handsets clamped to their ears. A little later when they’d shrunk to postcard-size a good friend called hers a poseur-phone, and felt she had to apologise for carrying it when she was driving home late at night through desolate countryside.

 

These days, I’m the one who isn’t normal. Everybody carries the damn things; we resisters are so twentieth century.  

 

What else? Here in my world, not so very long ago publishers regarded multiple submissions as the height of bad manners; authors were expected to wait until the office junior had worked her way through the slush pile and sent out the coffee-stained rejection slip before sending the manuscript to the next name on their list. Then someone realised bad manners worked both ways, and it’s very bad manners to keep someone waiting six months for a decision; besides, it could take decades for the manuscript to do the rounds. So now, as long as you let everyone else on your list know as soon as an editor recognises your genius and the work is no longer generally up for hire, it’s OK to target the whole list at once.

 

And self-publishing… Once regarded as a small step away from vanity publishing, and only respectable for tiny niche markets and budding poets, and a last resort for aspiring novelists who couldn’t quite make it past the mainstream post. And anathema to booksellers. Admitting that you’d self-published was a sure-fire way to bring your manuscript flying back by return from many ‘proper’ publishers. We little guys especially; I have uncomfortable memories of struggling to convince suspicious booksellers that our books weren’t self-published, and our authors didn’t pay us a penny for the privilege of getting into print.

 

It wasn’t a cheap option, either. But now, thanks to the internet and various assorted online or digital publishers, not to mention an increasing number of so-called ‘assisted self-publishing’ outfits, getting your own stuff out there, and even selling a generous pile of copies, seems to be one way the trade is going to head. And eBooks, of course. (Hey, that’s another one – hands up who used to say, oh, I couldn’t possibly read a whole novel on a screen, it plays havoc with my eyes? My arm is certainly in the air over that one. Still. Maybe I’ll get there, some day.)

 

Progress… Or change, anyway. Blink and your eyes open on a whole new world. What will be next to move from slightly suspect to the next big thing? Any ideas?

Long Winded Short Cuts

by Barbara Poelle

Yesterday I was on the elevator heading down to the lobby and it stopped on the 6^th floor. The doors slid open. There was a pause. Then, a large black fly lazily boarded. The doors closed. We continued down.  The fly orbited a tiny, unseen planet. I checked my iphone. Time passed as it is wont to do. The doors slid open and we both exited the lobby and I muttered audibly, on an exaggerated exhalation of breath, “What a [insert air horn noise]-wad.”

Yes, I was talking about the fly.

Like, what kind of freeloader takes the elevator when they can fly?

 WHEN THEIR NAME IS ACTUALLY FLY!?

What. A. [insert air horn noise]-wad.

Look, I’ll admit, I take short cuts sometimes. I am all for the better-faster-now, in some cases. Like in my internet connection. And maybe even some of my gadgetry and hardware. In fact, I just purchased an ipad. It will help me access my submissions faster, without having to take the time to download to new hardware, but other than that, PLEASE, it won’t change who I am or how I approach life.

I mean, I will of course have to ignore my current social circle and make all new friends with people who wear casually irreverent, yet aggressively overpriced eyeglasses and are able, on an average day, to utilize hemp in at least 5 different ways, but still judge you by how many gigabytes of storage you have. I will have to play Joan Baez at my dinner parties and keep rolling my eyes at my own lack of imagination while sipping South African Shiraz from a stemless wine glass and mentioning how I had recently read a translation of Lysistrata and the cover should have just been an ouroboros  because what could make men MORE violent? Because reverse-reverse feminism is so what’s IN right now,  and my use of sardonic word play and the word “ouroboros” will make it CLEAR I would have been the first to withhold, and my new friends and I will laugh in synchronistically muted-yet genuinely jovial- gaiety as we gaze knowingly at our metro sexual husbands in their earth toned corduroys and vintage vests worn over ironic t-shirts silk screened with 80’s pop culture references  and someone would ask , “Oh my GAWD, Babs, are we listening to Joan Baez?” And YES, that IS paella simmering. More Shiraz?

Good LORD what were we talking about?

Oh, right: short cuts.

 Okay, so sometimes they are appropriate.  Like when you were supposed to be at a dinner with Husband and his family, but a client was in town and you accidentally ordered something that came served in a coconut and took pictures posing with it and then had to take a 30 dollar cab ride which included a stop at Rite Aid for Scope. Totally appropriate short cut.   

But this? Not appropriate:

 Ms. Poelle,

I could write a query and send pages as outlined in your submission guidelines, but I wanted to just get this manuscript in front of you asap. See attached.

Best,

Johnny Author

When I see this, I cross my legs which are clad in skinny jeans and legwarmers and thwap my Kate Spade flip flop (adorned with the ostentatious yet fashion forward faux daisy) against my heel and order another  half-caff soy chai latte just to GET THROUGH THE [insert air horn noise] DAY.

Don’t do this. Don’t ever do this. Let’s be honest people: short cuts should only be reserved for rush hour traffic and Last Resorts. (You know when the ice cube trays are empty, and the only clean glass is an Oktoberfest beer stein and you have tequila, diet coke and frozen grapes. Voila!  The drink known in the Poelle house as The Last Resort.)

Please. Pay attention to submission guidelines. Hold yourself accountable as the only voice for your work. Because let me tell you: I am going to start carrying a swatter with me on the elevator, because SOMEONE has got to hold that [insert air horn noise] fly accountable.

 

 

 

Let's Talk About Sex

Jeff Cohen

No, that wasn't just to get your attention. Let's actually talk about sex.

There's a lot said about what is and is not acceptable in a cozy mystery. Personally, since it was never on my career bucket list to be a cozy mystery author (it sort of happened by accident), I'm coming a little late to the party here, but apparently, second on the list of things you Absolutely Must Not Do in a cozy, is show people having sex.

Things You Absolutely Must Not Do in a Cozy

(In descending order of offense)

1. Do harm to a cat
2. Show people having sex
3. Do harm to a dog
4. Have people use "bad" words
5. Show violence (interesting, in a genre that insists someone get bumped off quickly)
6. Do harm to a gerbil or other small furry pet

There is no word on whether you can kill off rats, spiders, or the odd wildebeest.

Note, also, that using colorful adult language is a more serious offense than showing violence. I don't have hard statistics on this other than the objections I've seen raised, but it's an interesting morality system at work.

These taboos, which have never been codified to the point that anyone can reliably tell you for sure what is and is not crossing the line, exist now as a sort of implied contract with cozy readers. In other words, to reach the core audience for books such as mine, one must not violate the rules. In response to my following The Code, those readers will consider reading, and in some cases, buying my books. For my part, I get to tell my little stories and put them between covers, thus giving me license to spend my days watching my Amazon numbers go up and down with absolutely no idea what they might mean.

It's a living. Sort of.

Now, don't go off on me here--I intend no insult to cozies or their readers, and understand that some people's sensibilities are different from my own, which is absolutely their right, and mine. I write for an audience that prefers I not violate this implied agreement, and for the most part, I'm happy to comply. I honestly get a little squeamish trying to write explicit love scenes, I'm really not that interested in killing off a cat (although I reserve the right to change my mind on that one should the story demand it), and graphic violence, which has its place in some crime fiction, is really not my thing. I like to be able to read while eating with no danger that what goes down might yet come back up.

But my characters are awfully frustrated. They don't know they're living in cozy mysteries--they think these are their lives. And while they're usually pretty good-natured about having to stumble across dead bodies, put themselves and their loved ones in danger for the chance of righting a great wrong, or putting up with pets they might otherwise like to live without, the whole "no sex" thing has them up in arms.

Aaron Tucker, after all, is married to a woman he finds really, really attractive. They have two kids, who thankfully came before I started writing about him, or who knows what would have been? I'm sure he'd like to get behind closed doors every now and again with Abby, but hey, he's living in a cozy. The best they can do is banter (without swear words, of course) suggestively.

Elliot Freed? Divorced from Sharon, for whom he still carries a torch. Technically, he's a free agent. And he does run into women he thinks are quite alluring every once in a while. But can he do anything about it? Nope. Cozy. Out of luck, pal. Get in touch with Jack Reacher and apply for a transfer if you must, but keep in mind Reacher is usually dodging real bullets, and worse.

Now, Alison Kerby in the Haunted Guesthouse mystery NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEED is also a recent divorcee. And she goes out on dates sometimes, but she has a nine-year-old daughter and is leery about bringing a man home. Alison's in her thirties, and might have a thought or two that is rated higher than PG-13. Tough luck; it's a cozy.

All of which is, believe me, fine. As my good friend Ian Abrams (look him up on IMDb) says with great frequency, "Nobody wants to see your character have a nice day." It's our job as authors to frustrate them, worry them, task them. It's part of the service. Taking away sex is one more way of torturing people so the reader can be entertained. I have no problem with it.

But if you want to get on the subject of swear words, now there I have a problem. Maybe another time...

 

Oh, and by the way: I won't barrage you with my political views, but you can email me if you want to hear them. There is, however, one thing on which each and every one of us should agree: No matter how angry you are, no matter how righteous you think your indignation might be, you simply don't burn someone else's holy book. Or your own. Or any other book. If you don't like it, don't read it. But you don't burn someone else's holy book. Period.

On the other hand, if you want to burn one of my books, feel free. Because you'd have to buy one first to do that.

In Praise of Audiobooks, by Dale Spindel

Every so often,  one of my library patrons will take a random book off the shelf, hold it up to me, and ask me if I've read it yet.  Seeing as how even my relatively small library adds approximately 150 print titles to the adult collection every month,  the odds that I have read any given title on the shelf are about 1000 to 1.   In spite of this, there seems to be an expectation on the part of  at least some of my patrons that I am familiar enough with each and every book on the shelves to be able to provide a personal opinion regarding  the merits of any particular title.  Since I'm  not supposed to spend any of the 35 hours per week that I officially spend on the job just sitting behind my desk reading and since I can only average about two books per month on my off time, what's a librarian to do?

Yes, I do understand that the first order of business is to disabuse my patrons of the notion that anyone on the staff, myself included, is capable of being  familiar with the content and writing style of every book in our  collection; to be able to cross reference each of these books with the interests and tastes  of the approximately 2,000 adult cardholders in our database would require us to be in possession of super human powers.   Yet, since I do consider one of the main missions of my job as a librarian to be able to connect people to books they will enjoy, it appears to be simple logic that the more books I read, the more direct recommendations I will be able to make. 

When Steven King's story collection, Just After Sunset, was released just a couple of years ago, the reviews were so impressive that I decided I would need to move out of my usual  comfort zone and give it a try.  A little voice in the back of my head was also telling me that there was something about these stories that would probably make listening to them on audiobook especially attractive.    After the first couple of stories, I was totally hooked, not only on King, but also on  audiobooks. At first, I was concerned that I would not be able to keep characters and story lines straight if I was simulataneously experiencing two novels, one in print and the other in audio.  As a way of avoiding this potential dilemma,  after Just After Sunset, I went on a non-fiction audio binge, gorging on Gladwell (Outliers, Blink  and What the Dog Saw) before moving on to memoirs and  then finally back to fiction.  However, because I continue to consider the time I spend listening to audiobooks in the car to be "found" time, harvested so to speak out of thin air, I am far more willing to try things in audio that I  probably never would have  considered in their printed version.   

The irony and the bonus of all this is that for many of the titles that I have experienced as audios, my encounters with these books have actually been enhanced by the enjoyment to be had from listening to a skilled reader narrate a story, often with alternating voices for the different characters. And, to my surprise, I never confuse what's happening in the book that I'm reading with  what is happening in the book that I am listening to.  Because I have an extremely short commute to my job at the library, I get most of my book listening done while in the car running errands.   Thus, while it may take me  a week to listen to a book  contained on three disks, it took a little more than a month and a half  for me to complete the 30 disks of Steven King's Under the Dome.  In all, I figure that over the course of a year, depending on their size, I am able to listen to anywhere from 12-20 audiobooks .   That's  potentially 12-20 additional books  each year that I am able to personally recommend to my patrons. 

 Does that make me a better librarian?  Maybe,  or maybe not, but over the past two years I would otherwise have missed out on Invisible, by Paul Auster;  A Prayer for Owen Meany, by John Irving, Eat, Pray, Love, by Elizabeth Gilbert; and The Yiddish Policemen's Union, by Michael Chabon, just to name a few.

Kerrytown BookFest

Robin Agnew

I've been a part of the Kerrytown BookFest for seven years now, the first year as an exhibitor only (that was a fun and relaxing year!)  The rest of the time I've been a board member, now in charge of programming.

Some years programming is a dream, other years it's more difficult.  There are so many wrong ways to put a panel together, and I think I've done them all, but I've gotten steadily better.  It's always a chemistry experiment:  how will the panelists interact?  Will they spark off one another, or will it be a flat discussion?  That's beyond my control, though I try to bring togather good matches.

Last year our topic was food - we ended up with a great line-up, but it was difficult to program, as that is something completely out of any area of expertise of mine.  This year our topic - Michigan - was far more broad ranging and programming went like a dream.  My parameters were writers who live in Michigan, write about Michigan, or were from Michigan.  I have talent travelling from as far away as Duluth, Minnesota and Cottekill, New York, but they all, one way or another, have a Michigan connection.

Practically everyone I asked said "yes", and we have speakers raging from Loren Estleman to Thomas Lynch to Steve Hamilton to David Small.  If you think you don't know who David Small is, but you have teenage kids - google him - you've read aloud a David Small book, I guarantee it!  As I programmed I also found other speakers who cited David as a mentor, which seemed like a lovely circle to me.

While I feel this year we have one of our very strongest panel lineups, with all the panels being focused and interesting, it's always hard to tell.  I have learned over the year that each panel needs to have a fairly narrow focus, and it's best to keep the panel to 4 people so if one cancels, you still have 3.  (And there are always cancellations, it's part of life.)  We have also found that focusing the programming as a whole is more interesting and helps to draw people with a particular interest.

And to the panelist who cancelled a trip to Shanghai to attend the bookfest: your Vodka Soda awaits, special glass and all.  Thanks to everyone who is participating and hopefully attending - it all takes place at the Ann Arbor Farmer's Market on Sunday, September 12 from 11-5.  Visit www.kerrytownbookfest.org for a complete schedule.  

 

Do The Hustle

Dana Kaye

I recently signed a new client, author and OB/GYN Lissa Rankin. She’s also a client of Barbara Poelle’s (so I already knew she rocked) and her book is titled WHAT’S UP DOWN THERE? Questions You’d Only Ask Your Gynecologist If She Was Your Best Friend. I had to take it, right?

But I had my doubts, because the book launches in just under 3 weeks (ladies, preorder your copy) which means there is a lot to do in a VERY short amount of time. But Barbara assured me of one thing:

“This girl can hustle.”

And hustle she does. She’s got a 50k+ twitter following, a blog readership of 250,000, she’s venturing out on an 18-city tour and already has some major media lined up. She’s willing to fly into one city for a signing and fly out the next day, she’ll take a radio interview at 3am, she’s answering fan mail, writing guest blogs, running twitter giveaways, and sending out e-blasts. She’s hustling.

Why is this important? Because if a client is already putting themselves out there, if they already have an “internet footprint” and a voice in their field, it’s much easier to pitch to major media outlets. Talk shows and national radio don’t book guests no one has heard of. They book guests they think will draw viewers. If you’re known throughout the internet and have created a brand for yourself, it’s much easier to leverage bigger media.

Other instances of hustling:

• Before J.A. Konrath went digital, he visited 600 bookstores in one year. Want your books to fly off the shelves? You have to have someone pushing them!
• Sophie Littlefield has sold, I believe, 6 books this year. Lord only knows how many this woman has written. Want to sell more books? Write more!
• Debut author Avery Aames, in addition to contributing once a week to her blog, did about 20 guest blog posts and even more interviews on any blog that asked. Want people to know who you are? You gotta get your name out there!

Although writing is done in a comfortable chair with a hot cup of tea and a cat curled on your lap, actually selling the book you have written requires getting out into the world and promoting yourself. Oprah isn’t going to call you begging for an interview, the Pulitzer committee isn’t going to pick your book out of their stacks and say, “This guy has potential!” You have to market yourself, make yourself known, and put in the time and effort.

So authors, can do you the hustle?

Don't Rush This

by Alison Janssen

It's Fall. Knitting season. Slow cooker weather. Apple cider with brandy. Time for knee boots and flannel, but not the kind of flannel I was wearing in 1994 (three sizes too large, unbuttoned, over a t-shirt with an environmental message that I bought through the school science club fundraiser; a gorilla posed like the Thinker, with "To Be or Not To Be" written underneath).

I broke out the slow cooker last week and made chili, and once that was gone made a chick pea masala (so yummy, my god!). I'm not much of a cook, but I'm trying to learn more and get better, add a bit of variety to my usual tacos-mac and cheese-meatloaf repertoire. And I love using my slow cooker, because I can do the hard work in the morning, when I'm buzzed up on coffee, and then read all day in my office (ahem, the couch) smelling delicious smells, anticipating the joy that will be dinner. And slow cooking, naturally, has got me thinking about suspense.

Good suspense is hard to write. You have to strike that balance between giving too much away too early (you're the author, after all, you know how it ends); rushing through too quickly, skimming the details to get to the payoff, the climax; and plodding along, building the suspense curve so gradually that no one notices. A slow burn can be difficult to sustain without the fire going out altogether, and the temptation to give it all away in a big, spectacular flash must be great.

Just like slow cooking. Do you know how hard it is not to lift the lid of the slow cooker, to stir what's inside and maybe sneak a taste? To just turn it up on high and eat after four hours, instead of the recipe-recommended low setting for six? How no matter how often I use it, every time I do, two hours in I'm convinced it's not working right, that I should turn up the heat, bring things to a boil?

Resist, authors! Let the suspense in your novels grow gradually, let the reader savor the buildup as much as the climax. Make the outcome seem inevitable, show us how the character's fate is sealed. Point out the writing on the wall (how many of these cliches can I use in this post?), underline it, let us sweat it out on behalf of the population of the book, then open the small door to the side that no one noticed and let us all out.

Don't rush. Let the slow cooker do its work. Keep our interest, but withhold the important answers. Don't serve the food until it's ready. If you're worried that your curve is building too slowly, remember that it's easier to take away than to add. If you get through your first few drafts, give it to some trusted readers, and they complain that it drags, it'll be easier for you to cut a bit, combine two scenes into one, move all the action up three days, than it will be for you to go back and add filler. Filler is easy to spot in suspense, and it'll taste undercooked.

So keep that lid on! Enjoy the smells, have another glass of cider while you wait.

(Anyone have any good slow cooker recipes I should try?)

Beyond the pale

Gratuitous violence. I wish I had a pound for every time I’ve heard those words in a panel discussion. It has come up at just about every crime convention I’ve attended, and it’s often the topic of heated debate in the bar as well.

 

The big question of course is when is violence gratuitous, and when is it necessary to the plot? In another contest, a famous actress who is known for her willingness to shed clothing on-screen once said, ‘Nudity is never essential to the plot; it’s often useful to the box office.’ Same principle exactly, and it’s a point of view.

 

Violence plays a very large part in real-life crime and mystery, so it’s logical enough that crime and mystery fiction should have a share of the action. The issue which raises so much discussion and an awful lot of hackles is how far should it go? How much should be there on the page in graphic, stomach-curdling detail, and how much should be left to the reader’s imagination?

 

Given the quantity of graphic, stomach-curdling detail is waved under our noses on TV and the internet, the imagination doesn’t need many words to set it in motion. Sometimes when I’m reading about fictional murder victims it’s hard to tell what the reader has put there and what I’m conjuring out of all the imagery sloshing around my mind. But sometimes it really is right there in the words I’m reading; and one way I can spot the difference is that in those cases there’s too damn much of it.

 

OK, OK – too much of it for me. My stomach is not more easily curdled than the average, but sometimes the level of violence in crime fiction is such that willing suspension of disbelief is stretched so thin it’s see-through. A gory punch-up every five pages, interleaved with scenes of non-accidental damage in full bone-splinter-and-brain-matter technicolor, with the odd smidgen of torture as added seasoning… sorry, but what happened to narrative development, well drawn characters, vivid setting - in other words,  the story?

 

I emphasise that this is personal taste. I know a lot of people enjoy it, or at least get a buzz from it, in a horrified, thank-god-it’s-fiction way. And this isn’t a treatise in favour of cosy crime fiction. In fact, to put the other side of the question, how about this issue which someone raised in a discussion the other evening: to what extent is crime fiction glorifying crime and turning a horrific part of real life into entertainment if it doesn’t spell out the level of damage but focuses on the puzzle element instead?

 

But even in that case, how far should we go? What falls outside the bounds of tolerability? Or, donning my commercial hat for a moment, what will readers simply not accept?

 

Here’s a story told by a crime writer who probably ranks in the top ten most popular in the English-speaking world. I won’t go into too much detail; suffice to say that her (men don’t have a monopoly on the graphic stuff) plot involved an instrument of torture, and her villain tried it out on a live animal, which didn’t remain alive very long. Manuscript goes to editor, who returns it in short order with firm instructions to do something about that scene. The animal couldn’t be allowed to die in pain; the readers wouldn’t stand for it.

 

In the published version, the animal was humanely tranquillised first; it was the human torture victim that died in agony. The readers didn’t seem to have a problem with that.

 

Crème de la Crime’s version of that, of course, is Kinky, the chihuahua who thinks he’s a rottweiler. He almost comes to grief in both Kaye C Hill’s Lexy Lomax books, but escapes to snarl another day. He has to. If he didn’t, readers wouldn’t stand for it.

Slapping is a Moment...Family is Forever

By Barbara Poelle

At first glance, my grandmother, my mother, my sister and I all have similar tastes in reading. We like genre fiction, upmarket prose and a protagonist that we can feel both voyeuristic and empathetic towards.   We are partial to black humor and we think that red herrings and double crosses are better than doughnut sandwiches. (This is, of course, just two doughnuts smashed together, but you would be shocked how well that gets the job done. You’re welcome.)

However, recently my sister and I got into a “gentle” dispute about a book series and we were at such heated polar opinions that I was concerned there might be biting. (She weighs maybe 100 pounds, but she fights like a puma on crystal meth.) Oh, and don’t even think for ONE SECOND that I can pull the, “Well, since I actually work in the publishing industry…” Good God. She will soon be tossing a handful of my teeth across the floor as if throwing dice with a bunch of ragamuffin city street urchins in 1899.  My mother also liked this series, but not enough to choke me over it. Besides, she is much more the, “Oh Barbie honey, I’m so sorry you didn’t like it” variety rather than going with the glaring followed by the slapping.

So, here we are: I hate this series with the white hot rage of a thousand spitting geese, and my sister and mother want to invite it to Thanksgiving dinner and let it sit in my chair and tell it embarrassing stories about me eating dirt in the backyard.  

Meanwhile, there is another series that my grandmother and mother read as if on a heroin binge.  My sister? Stonily refused to even pick one up based on the cover copy. Personally, after reading the first two, I was still somewhat impartial and so I probably wouldn’t read another. But I PROMISE you, demographically speaking, this series was absolutely aimed at my sister and me.

There’s the rub:  we are all voracious fiction reading women over the age of 30, come from the middle of the country and have the same basic moral code, (let’s be honest, mine is probably a BIT looser) and would make up a certain demographic of readers on some book analyst’s computer print out, and we all seem to like the same types of books…but we don’t.

So who is the actual target audience?

That is such a basic question that I ask myself with every project, that I sometimes forget I’m even doing it.  Like Breathing.  Or drinking this mai tai. As an agent, you have to keep it in the back of your mind, it’s part of the job, because you need to make sure you are not pigeonholing yourself with a project that would make a killing in the south western dog owners who operate small businesses demographic, but would be ignored everywhere else.  Sometimes in meetings at the agency when someone is on the fence about a project they love, someone else will pipe up, “Who is the audience?” and often, THAT is what the agent is hesitating over, a lack of clear focus on the intended readership.

Meanwhile, it is to a certain extent important for an author to keep this in mind while crafting a novel, but not to the point of agonizing over plot details and protagonist traits. Sure, sometimes the age of a protagonist can focus the arrow towards a specific group of readers, but I bet you can think of about a few books where the protagonist was a young female under the age of 18, yet people of all ages where reading it.  And sure, Stephen King is read by 11-year-old girls and 75-year-old men, but please, most of the greats transcend actual demographics, that’s what makes them the greats. However, it is something to think about, especially if you have been receiving a lot of rejections on a particular project submission. Is it CLEAR who your audience is? Are you mixing heavy sci-fi elements with something you are referring to as women’s fiction? Have you placed your edgy crime fiction in a nursing home with a geriatric detective? That’s okay if you did, just make sure you are drawing those comparisons RIGHT AWAY in your query letter with previous titles that have done this and done this WELL. That will help to jar a reader into the right head zone to digest and enjoy the read.

There is a simple diagnostic tool to knowing your audience, and that is READING within the intended genre, and being able to draw comprehensive and viable parallels to your work. Read not only the bestsellers in your genres, but also those that had a solid and commendable performance on the shelves. This will instinctively help to hone your subconscious instinct in targeting the audience.

Biggest caveat: In the end, you can’t write for anybody. You must write because it is the story you HAVE to tell, and the characters you love, and the journey you HAD to go on. But this is just a little diagnostic tool to use when maybe the motor isn’t running as soundly as you would like. And also when thinking about what to get my sister for Christmas.

 

A Simple Quiz For Aspiring Writers

Jeff Cohen

Too much of what a writer does is singular and nebulous (which sounds like a cell phone service provider, but isn't). That is, we work by ourselves, largely, and don't really have any idea if anything we write is good, bad, or just plain regular.

For aspiring writers, the problem is compounded by the fact that you've never done it before. Sure, you can show your work to your spouse (always a bad idea), your mother (good for the ego, lousy for objectivity) or your writing group (each of whom is secretly thinking that their work is better), but that won't necessarily help.

So, how do you know if you have what it takes to be a professional writer?

We at DEAD GUY are here to help. Take the following quiz, answer each question honestly--without checking the correct answers at the end--and we will give you an objective, quantifiable means of knowing if you should pursue your dream or go back to beautician school. Don't bother to thank us; it's all part of the service.

Remember: The correct answer is the one you WILL do, not the one you SHOULD do!

The Professional Writer's Aptitude Quiz

1. On your desktop you have: your editor's notes on your next book, which must be back to the publisher within a week to meet your projected publication date; the barely started manuscript of its sequel, which is due in three months; the half-written manuscript for the novel your agent wants to market as soon as possible; a proposal for a ghostwriting gig whose author is getting antsy; that screenplay you wanted to write when you were 22. The first thing you do is:

• a. Get on the revisions, because you don't want to miss the deadline;
• b. Write 2000 more words in the sequel, which is actual paying work;
• c. Go after the new novel, the ghostwriting job or the screenplay;
• d. Come up with a brilliant marketing ploy for your current book;
• e. Check your Facebook page.

2. The cover art for your upcoming novel is emailed to you, and it has lovely artwork featuring a gorgeous blonde wearing a barely there negligee while making an omelet. This worries you, since your heroine is a man who works in a bicycle shop and wears flannel shirts and jeans, and there are exactly zero eggs in the book. You:

• a. Check your Facebook page;
• b. Make a frantic call to your editor;
• c. Try to write a curvy blonde with a penchant for eggs into Chapter Three;
• d. Drive to the artist's house and throw eggs at it;
• e. Complain to friends on a Yahoo list for authors.

3. You read over your last sentence and realize you don't know the difference between your and you're. You: 

• a. Figure your editor will catch it, and do nothing;
• b. Consult seven dictionaries and Wikipedia;
• c. Ask a fourth-grade English student;
• d. Check your Facebook page;
• e. Decide you have no business working in the English language and take up lapidary.

4. You get a 1-star review from an Amazon reader. You:

• a. Write a public response detailing each and every error the reviewer made;
• b. Go into the bathroom and weep silently into a sofa cushion you bring with you;
• c. Check your Facebook page;
• d. Laugh it off as the work of a petty, envious cretin;
• e. Agree with every criticism, realize you're a terrible writer and apply to dentistry school.

5. You have a can't-miss idea for your next book, one that will rank up there with giving one's main female character a dragon tattoo. Then you discover it's already been done. You: 

• a. Go into the bathroom and weep silently into a sofa cushion you bring with you;
• b. Check your Facebook page;
• c. Write the damn book anyway, because you'll do it better;
• d. Change the dragon tattoo to a lizard tattoo, which is way different;
• e. Call your agent.

6. Your book comes out today! You:

• a. Throw yourself a huge party that costs more than your advance;
• b. Spend the entire day watching your Amazon sales rank;
• c. Check your Facebook page;
• d. Spend the entire day Googling your title;
• e. Have a cupcake and work on something else.

7. You're writing an especially difficult scene. You:

• a. Put on your iPod and blast Procol Harem;
• b. Have an entire box of cupcakes and work on nothing;
• c. Picture yourself as your main character, get scared, and hide under the covers;
• d. Go see what you have stored on TiVo;
• e. Check your Facebook page.

8. You have two book ideas. One will be satisfying artistically and the other will sell easily. You:

• a. Work on the artistic challenge because you have to be true to yourself;
• b. Work on the sure-seller, because you have to be true to your landlord;
• c. Call your agent and ask his/her advice;
• d. Check your Facebook page;
• e. Write something else entirely.

9. You just sent your manuscript to a potential agent. You set your email to check for new messages:

• a. Once a day;
• b. Once an hour;
• c. Once a month;
• d. Once a minute;
• e. Check your Facebook page.

10. Your book lands on the New York Times Extended Bestseller list! You:

• a. Call your spouse to come home from work for a "matinee";
• b. Send out an email blast to everyone in the known universe;
• c. Grouse over the word "Extended";
• d. Play it cool and wait for others to notice;
• e. Make it your Facebook status.

 

Correct answers: 1-e; 2-d; 3-e; 4-b; 5-c; 6-b; 7-a; 8-b; 9-d; 10-c.

Scores:

• 1-2: Lapidary's looking good
• 3-4: Maybe "draw this deer" on a matchbook from 1976 is more up your alley
• 5-6: Write a children's pop-up book and get a really good artist to do the pictures
• 7-8: With a few revisions...
• 9-10: Welcome to low advances and no respect! You've made it!

 

P.S. Today is Labor Day in the U.S.. It's not about backyard cookouts or the "end of summer." It's about celebrating the rights of the American worker, such as the one to organize, and the dignity of American workers who make our part of the world work. Something certain Garden State governors should reflect upon before deciding which public union to "go after" next.

 

A Brief (and Possibly Inaccurate) Reflection on Why I Read (Part 1), by Dale Spindel

I envy the  librarian I know who recently mentioned   that she has kept a running list of every  book she has ever read since childhood.   As part of my own quest to figure out why I am attracted to certain types of books, I decided to take my own reader's stroll down memory lane and reflect on those books from childhood that have made an indelible impression on me.   

Age 6 -  The Books I Read To Learn How To Read The first books I can claim to have read independently and in their entirety are  "We Look and See," "We Work and Play," and "We Come and Go" from the Dick and Jane Series.  Dick and Jane's family bore almost no resemblance to my own in that we did not own either a cat or a dog, my father did not wear a suit to work, and nobody in my family had blond hair.   However, being the clumsy kid that I was,  I did relate to the picture of baby sister Sally getting her head stuck in the umbrella.   (Does anybody else out there remember that picture???)

Ages 6-7 -  Books That I Read for Sheer Pleasure Over and Over Again    Dr. Seuss classics such as The Cat in the Hat, The Cat in the Cat Comes Back  and my own personal favorite,  Horton Hatches the Egg.   Even at this young age I could recognize literary greatness.  These books were fun but there was also an element of poignancy to Horton's theme of child abandonment that resonated with me.  You also have to admire Seuss' total thumbing of his nose at Darwinian principles of evolution - an elephant-bird, indeed.

Ages 6-11 - What I Read for Pleasure and to Pass the Time  Under the influence of my older sister, I became a voracious reader of comic books and spent many dimes and quarters from my allowance money on anything in the extended Archie series.  As a result, I probably suffered  irrevocable  emotional damage  relating to my inability to understand Betty's preference for Archie when it should have been obvious to anyone that Reggie was far better looking.   I'm not sure if I read Archie comics because I  liked them or because I thought I was supposed to like them. However, there was a sweet and more age appropriate  comic series  that I adored  called Sugar and Spike  that followed the adventures of a pair of  adorable babies who were able to talk to each other but who could not be understood by  grownups.   By about age 8, I also began reading Mad Magazine and it was here that I  began to learn about  such things as point of view and satire.  I found Mad to be wickedly funny,  acknowledging however  that as an eight year old   I had very little  understanding of most of the subjects being satirized.  

Ages 6-11- What I Read for School - I know that I read lots of books for book reports of both the oral and written variety; I am pretty sure that I  even did an oral report on Nancy Drew and the Secret of the Old Clock in 4th grade.   I also  remember reading  books by Beverly Clearly as well as  from a series in which each volume took place in a different country and followed the exploits of a set of twins who were born in that country.  I   read several books in the Danny Dunn series as well as one or two in a series with a young female protagonist  named "Honeybunch."   I don't remember loving any of these books.

Age 10 - The First Books I Read for an Emotional Connection -  Charlotte's Web was the first  book that made me cry because of the emotional connection I  formed with a character who later dies.   However,  it was only after reading Little Women that I  developed an unhealthy fascination with death, repeatedly rereading those chapters that described Beth's illness and eventual demise.  As a child, those chapters  were as scary to me as any horror story.

In most matters, my long term memory is pretty good, so I find it incredibly sad that, aside from comic books, there are so few books that I can actually remember from the first 6 or 7 years of my reading life.  Since I always identified myself as being a kid who loved to read, the question that looms large for me today is why almost nothing that I read  as a kid made any kind of lasting impression.  Is this a reflection of the sorry state of children's literature at mid-century or is it possible that  my ever increasing  mastery of the mechanics of reading was in and of itself  enough to keep me engaged?    (To be continued)

Changing the subject- There was an article in Tuesday's NYTimes discussing the impending January closing of the Barnes & Noble's near Lincoln Center.  The reporter observed that many of the B&N customers were there to buy coffee and snacks but  then left without actually buying any books, movies or CDs.   As a  book lover, I am  definitely  of the opinion  that the shuttering of any venue that dispenses books into the hands of the public is a bad thing.   However, might I at least  be permitted the tiniest bit of schadenfreude toward a  business model that was responsible for sending countless library boards scrambling to devote valuable library floor space to coffee shops without  having  the least bit of  understanding of what is required to open and maintain a retail food establishment?  (Helloo - foot traffic anyone?)  http://mediadecoder.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/08/30/barnes-noble-to-shutter-lincoln-center-store/

Not a lot of free time this past week - still reading Roth, listening to Coben and wishing I had the time right now to commit to the new Franzen.

Sounds like Heaven

Robin Agnew

We had a celestial event the other evening, an event I had almost forgotten about in the whirl of preparation for the Kerrytown BookFest, which is next Sunday.  Our store is full of boxes of books written by the authors attending that festival, but I agreed to squeeze Mr. Elias in when his St. Martin's publicist gave me a call.

Then she sent me the books, which were a delightful surprise.  Hopefully lots of you will hear of Gerald Elias eventually as his book are really wonderful.  They're really traditional mysteries set in the classical music world, not surprisingly, as Mr. Elias is himself a concert violinst.

I approached the books also with some trepidation.  Veering over from another career doesn't automatically assure that you'll also be a good writer (unless you were already a journalist, and there are certainly many examples from that field).  Writing is a craft like any other craft.  However, Mr. Elias is a very skillful writer.  His books have narrative drive, a great main character and a wonderful setting.  Plus he has that indefinable "something" which marks a natural writer.  A turn of phrase, a use of prsoe that's particularly deft.  He seems to be the real deal.

At dinner he talked about his affection for Donna Leon and the fact that long rehearsals (he's the associate concertmaster with the Utah symphony) gave his mind freedom to plan his books, as do long car drives.  He was toting his "fiddle", a surprisingly casual appellation for his beautiful 18th century instrument.

Part of the reason I had agreed to host the event was that his publicist told me he'd be playing his violin.  I figured that would help me reach out to the musical community in some way, but several of my book club members were also intrigued when I told them about the event.

On the actual evening, the store filled up with book club members, as well as various musicians Gerry had known for a long time, including a woman he'd gone to college with.  He seemed to relax as his friends turned up: his world was in place.  He talked for awhile, a typical author talk, but then he got out his violin.

It was completely magical.  My lack of knowledge when it comes to classical music is fairly vast, but when Gerry picked up his violin it simply didn't matter.  In our crowded store, you could have heard a pin drop. It was a shame when he had to stop playing.  It was one of those moments that make me extremely grateful to do what I do, and that I get to meet the people I get to meet.

It was also a "perfect" event - we sold every book!  

The Books Made Me Do It

Dana Kaye

One of my favorite aspects of reading is the power it can have over you. Books can ignite tears and laughter, cause you to miss your train or be late for work. And probably the most common catch-phrase in crime fiction, books can keep you up all night.

So today, I thought I’d share the books that have caused such reactions and hopefully, you’ll share yours!

MYSTIC RIVER by Dennis Lehane – reading it on my way to class, missed by train stop, ended up on the south side and was an hour late for class.

THEY’RE WATCHING by Gregg Hurwitz – read it on vacation with my family, read in an attempt to de-stress and relax. Instead, it literally raised my heart rate and caused by jaw to clench.

MAGICAL THINKING by Augusten Burroughs – caused me to laugh out loud in many public places.

THE BROOKLYN FOLLIES by Paul Auster – caused me to cancel plans with friends so I can stay in and finish the book.

HAIRSTYLES OF THE DAMNED by Joe Meno – literally warmed my heart

GOOD PEOPLE by Marcus Sakey – kept me up all night because I couldn’t put it down

THE SURGEON and THE APPRENTICE by Tess Gerritsen – kept me up all night because they scared the %$&@ out of me.

Edits for All!

by Alison Janssen

Hi Dead Guy-ers! I hope this Thursday is treating you well. I've got a cup of coffee, some new music, and a revised manuscript here in my office (ahem, the couch), and I'm feeling pretty good. The heat has broken, it's raining, and both cats are near enough to cuddle should I need a break.

I also have an announcement.

I've started freelancing!

Yes! In addition to my duties as editor at Tyrus Books (which just bought Busted Flush Press, hooray!), I'll be working on freelance editorial projects to help me save up for my upcoming wedding and other grown-up life necessities.

I built a website, www.alisonedits.com, and you can visit for more information, or just email me at alison (at) alisonedits.com. (And hey, if you notice any typos or confusing info on the website, drop me a line. This is the first site I've built and I'd be surprised if I got it all right the first time.)

So that's my announcement! I'm very, very excited to do more of the work I love, and to work beyond the scope of titles Tyrus publishes. (YA authors, I'd love to work with you!)

I feel incredibly lucky that the profession I've chosen provides me with work that I enjoy, am proud of, and can do well.

Sunny outlook today, despite the rain!

p.s. Unrelated aside: Remember how I gushed a few weeks ago about how much I love and admire my best friend? And then how a week later I blogged about book art? Well, this is how I know my best friend and I think alike. I got a package in the mail from etsy with no note, and it was a perfect bit of book art for my wall. It was from Clobber, who didn't read the blog, but saw the piece and knew I'd love it!

Reviewing the evidence...

First of all, an apology to our much-missed blogger emeritus Sharon Wheeler, for nicking the name of her review website as a header for this post. Sorry, Shaz, but it fitted so perfectly I couldn’t resist. Cos my reading of this blog thing is that you write about whatever’s on your mind, and what’s on my mind this week is… reviews; what evidence is there that they affect book sales?

 

Needless to say, it’s on my mind because we’ve had a small glut of them in the past few days; and I’m delighted to say that if the enthusiasm of reviewers did relate directly to number of books sold, we’d have three top ten hits on our hands. But as the song goes, it ain’t necessarily so; that has been proved over and over again in the past six years. I love it thatHistorical Novels Review thinks Roz Southey portrays 18^th century Newcastle vividly and creates quirky, charming characters and satisfyingly perplexing plots. I’m delighted Eurocrime thinks Chris Nickson’s debut novel has a satisfying richness to the background detail that makes it an engrossing read. And if Shaz didn’t feel that Maureen Carter’s latest tangle with Detective Sergeant Bev Morriss was flinty, no-nonsense, populated by real, vivid people and had a stonking ending, I’d worry that Maureen was slipping – which she certainly isn’t.

 

Someone with a lot more experience than I have in the book trade told me the other day that in the USA, if a book doesn’t get reviewed in at least one of the trade journals – the ones booksellers, not readers and book buyers, look at  –  it’s liable to sink without trace. I’m sure he’s right; I wouldn’t dream of disputing the word of a publisher who was in the business when I was wearing mini-skirts the year Mary Quant invented them. And if I try to think like a marketing person, it makes a kind of sense. Marketing is all about keeping your product in the sightlines of potential customers, and making it stand out from the crowd. The book trade is more crowded than most: well over 100,000 new books are published every year, and any given bookshop can only stock a small proportion of them; so one that’s reviewed in a journal read by booksellers (I’m talking about real booksellers here – not the kind who sit in office towers and make buying decisions based on how famous the author is and how much money the publisher is contributing to promotional hype) is more likely to stay in their minds than one that isn’t.

 

I don’t know if the same is the case here in the UK, though I suspect that the same marketing principle may apply.

 

What I do know is that what really gets a book to the top of the bestsellers is word of mouth; no matter where – or if –  it’s shelved in the shop, if enough people like it, and tell their friends, a book will sell. Chocolat; Captain Corelli’s Mandolin; even, may the gods defend us, The da Vinci Code: all word-of-mouth bestsellers. The big challenge for a publisher is how to get that word of mouth going. And reviews are going to play a large part in that.

 

So, Eurocrime, Historical Novels Review and Shaz, Crème de la Crime salutes you. (In the US, add in Deadly Pleasures, ILoveAMystery Newsletter, Mystery Scene and a few more I’ve probably missed.) And thanks you, too, for not ignoring the little guys. The evidence is that your word counts for something. I don’t often check Amazon ratings; it’s a sure way to rampant insanity. But in the absence of reliable information anywhere else, I usually take a look after a good review. And this week there have been three.