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

Social Media Will Sell Your Book

by Erin Mitchell

Earlier this week, I read an insightful, intelligent, and inspiring post by Hilary Davidson on the 7 Criminal Minds blog. In it, she explains why social media will not sell your book.

While I agree with almost everything in Hilary’s post, I have a slightly different take on social media and selling books. Ok, a completely opposite take. As a marketer and a reader, I have seen that social media will sell your book, and for precisely some of the reasons Hilary outlines. And her own books provide the perfect illustration.

I enjoyed Hilary’s first novel, THE DAMAGE DONE, and this year’s THE NEXT ONE TO FALL just about as much as anything I’ve read recently. So much so that I’ve purchased multiple copies to give people. But were it not for social media, I never would have read them at all. The jacket copy would not have hooked me. The stories didn’t really sound like my cuppa. I read THE DAMAGE DONE, though, because of social media. Because of the posts and tweets from Hilary herself as well as bloggers I trust. And photos. Before I ever met her, I knew Hilary was a lovely person because of the photos shared via social media.

But I said I agreed with Hilary, right? Here’s the thing: A constant stream of posts that say nothing more than BUY MY BOOOK! will not sell your book. Autoreplies won’t sell your book either. They’re both annoying. Social media done stupid won’t sell your book, but that doesn’t mean you should throw your hands up at social media as a whole.

I have made the case before for authors having Facebook Pages. Hilary, by the by, is a perfect example…I’ve been advocating for her to have a page for a while now, and I’ll keep doing so. A Page gives your readers a place to gather and discuss your book. It’s also clearer for readers; when someone clicks ‘Like’ she or he knows to expect updates from your page at regular intervals. Pages also provide (many) more options for engaging with your community.

Pages also don’t have a limit on the number of fans they can have. Just this week, I have twice tried to find authors on Facebook (Jeremy Duns and Tom Piccirilli, to be exact), only to discover that they have profiles that are over the circa 5,000 friend limit cap. So here I sit, outside their Facebook community, without a way in. Woe is me. Pages also work far better than Profiles if you jump into the Facebook advertising pond.

Pages come with a certain responsibility, too, of course, to share content at regular intervals. And not just BUY MY BOOK! posts. This is an investment (of time or, if you choose, money) well worth your time.

And what about Twitter? Opinions abound…here is mine (might sound familiar by now): Incessant BUY MY BOOK! tweets don’t work. Or rather, they might sell a couple of copies of your book, but they won’t move any discernible needle.  Also, disappearing from Twitter while you’re writing or vacationing or whatever will not help sell your book because…wait for it…it will not build your brand recognition. A consistent presence, though? That will build your brand, which in turn sells your book.

Here’s where I diverge from many of the social media thought leaders: I’m not saying never tweet a link to Amazon or wherever people can buy your book. Fact is, these links make purchasing easy. And we are, in the end, a fairly lazy species. Nothing wrong with making things easy.

In the end (and in the beginning and middle), social media is all about engagement. If you feel all alone out there in the social media landscape, then you’re doing it wrong. If you don’t see people talking about you and your books, ditto. Can’t remember the last time you answered a question from or thanked a reader? Think about what you need to change.

As for the other social media venues—Pinterest comes immediately to mind—I have yet to see them have an impact on brand-building or book sales. I’m watching, though, because I can see that might change. And all of this leaves the enormous topic of blogging aside…that’s for another day.

Unofficial Labor Day Opening Challenge

So, you’ve got a long weekend, I’ve got a short attention span, and I’ve got a micro challenge for you.

I often talk about how I know I’m going to love a book based on the strength of some obscenely small sample—usually the first few paragraphs.  I also say that I can’t always articulate what it is that works (in the abstract), but I know it when I see it. From there, when I have a living, breathing example, I can kinda string together a coherent defense of what it is that I love.

Let’s put that in practice.

For those of you on Twitter, put together your best opening in one single tweet. Use the hashtag #hdgc. That leaves you with something like 134 characters. Doesn’t matter if it gets cut off in the middle of the word. I'll know.

Or at least I think I'll know.

If you have questions, ask me here or on Twitter (@tyrusbooks).

3, 2, 1, go!

Book Launches

Doubtless you’ll all be glad to know that Lynne will return from her travels next week, but I’m afraid that in the meantime you have to put up with me once more. This week I’ve been pondering the idea of the book launch, as I have one coming up on September 14the for my new novel, Come the Fear.

My books are mysteries, set in Leeds, England, in the 1730s. The launch will be in the city, at Holy Trinity Church, built in 1727 and now an arts centre – about as perfect a location as I can imagine. There will be short extracts from the book read by young local actors (the centre has a mission to foster young talent, although I’m far from young!), some artwork by young local artists inspired by passages from the book, some music and some storytelling by two of England’s best tellers – friends who volunteered their services.

So far, so good. I’ve held launches for two of my three previous novels, and they’ve been fun affairs. The question that keeps coming back to me, however – and I’m the one paying for this launch, as I don’t expect my publishers to kick in anything – is how worthwhile is a book launch really? I’m trying to treat it as a party, a celebration, rather than a way to make people more aware of the book and my writing, although I’m making a story with my series characters, and set in Holy Trinity Church – available for the launch weekend only.

For those of us who don’t receive reviews in the newspapers (and don’t ask, I’m not going into that), maybe the way to look at it is converting readers one at a time. I’ve been lucky and had good reviews in some publications and on blogs. But ultimately, it’s about the folk who spend their money or borrow the book from the library. And if a book launch in Leeds brings in a few more readers, as well as having a great time on a Friday night, then it’s a win-win situation. Right? Right? I’m interested to know what others think.

Introducing Jessy Randall

Josh Getzler

Sixteen and a half years ago, when my wife and I were dating, she introduced me to one of her closest friends, Jessy. Amanda had met Jessy when they were both singing in a chorus at Columbia, and they’d remained close through single life and early jobs.

We had brunch together, and all through the meal, Jessy and I kept looking at each other and thinking we’d met before. Finally, as we were getting the check, she said “I got it, I figured it out—we sat together at Amanda’s sister’s wedding and you never asked me to dance…you jerk!”

Nine months later, a couple of hours after she served as one of our bridesmaids, and right after I danced with Amanda, her mother and mine, I made my amends and hopefully was no longer a jerk.

Fast forward a decade and a half, and Jessy is living in Colorado Springs, where she is the Curator of Special Collections at Colorado College’s Tutt Library. She’s the author of two books: A young adult novel, The Wandora Unit (Ghost Road Press, 2009) and two books of poetry—the latest of which, Injecting Dreams Into Cows (Red Hen Press, 2012), is between Ferlinghetti and Lucille Clifton on the Amazon list of Hot New Poetry releases at number 15. Her poetry and prose are fun and quirky, literary and sharp, and deal with everything from parenthood to the relative merits of vegan cheese.

Beginning this Sunday, Jessy will take over the Librarian slot on Hey There’s A Dead Guy in the Living Room, taking over from Dale Spindel. (Thank you so much for your contributions, Dale!) I love the fact that every day there’s a different perspective on books, writing, and life from contributors located all over the country and world. I’ve been fortunate enough to have been Jessy’s friend (after she forgave me) for the last sixteen years. I can’t wait to hear what she has to say every week.

Awesome Dude

Jeff Cohen

At the end of next month, I will mark ("celebrate" might be too festive a word) my 55th birthday. So I have a decent number of life experiences to look back on, and hopefully a good number yet to come. I have been lucky and unlucky, amazed and bored, mortified and thrilled. I was present at the birth of each of my children. I was, not surprisingly, present at my wedding that has so far resulted in a marriage of 25 years. I've covered a few interesting stories for newspapers and magazines.

But I have been seriously, truly, literally awestruck perhaps three times in my life, and that's probably being generous. 

The one I remember most clearly was the time Neil Armstrong first walked on the moon. I was eleven years old. Armstrong was 39.

He died on Saturday, and that news, while noted, seemed to be lost among the latest anticipation of a political convention at which everyone knows who will be nominated for president of the United States, anticipation of a tropical storm headed for said convention, and the fact that a 50-year-old Roger Clemens was pitching in an independent league baseball game.

Neil Armstrong, guys. The first man to walk on the moon. Think about that.

Back in the 1970s, the comedian Robert Klein noted that Armstrong "could have set himself up for a thousand lifetimes--and his family.  All he had to do was step down onto the surface of the moon and go, 'COCA-COLA!'"

Instead, he treated his fame as something of an embarrassment, and in the years after he stopped going to the moon, was rarely seen and less often heard in public. He had been given a task to perform, he had performed it successfully, and that was all there was to it.

In an era where all someone has to do to gain enormous fame is shove a toddler into the spotlight of a beauty contest on television, it might be lost that a guy who was once The Most Famous Man on the Planet did nothing to make himself incredibly wealthy as a result of his achievement. He did not show up as himself on episodes of The Big Bang Theory. He didn't endorse deodorants, sneakers, upside-down pens or Tang. 

Imagine what it would be like if everyone had that ethos--athletes would retire with grace, politicians might actually take into account the service of their constituents rather than getting elected and re-elected, actors would do their best to play roles and not concern themselves with being photographed on the right red carpet.

I don't know a lot about Neil Armstrong's personal life. That's largely because he didn't want people to focus on such things as his divorce or remarriage. He was the guy who first walked on the moon. Surely that was more than enough.

One small step, indeed. Rest well, sir.

 

Our fond farewells to Sunday's DEAD GUY blogger Dale Spindel. You'll be missed, Dale, and we thank you for the past two years of fascinating posts. Next week, the Sunday spot will be assumed by Jessy Randall, and you're gonna love her. Stay tuned!

It's been fun

    It's hard to believe that it's been  two years since Jeff Cohen reached out to me with an email, inviting me to become the Sunday blogger for Dead Guy.   Aside from the fact that this came totally out of the blue, I was kind of  surprised because Jeff  didn't know me all that well and  he was making the assumption that I would be able to produce coherently written posts  on a weekly basis.   I was also hesitant to get involved because I  didn't read very much crime fiction.  However, because I  was intrigued by the possibilities of becoming a blogger  and was  more than a little flattered to have been asked , I accepted the assignment with the condition that Jeff would consider my first six weeks to be probationary, after which either  of us could decide that it was time for me to move on.

    So here it is, two years later, with somewhere in the neighborhood of 100 posts under my belt - about 94 more than I thought I had in me.   Because I took this assignment seriously, I jumped right into the crime fiction genre, devoting the majority of my audiobook listening time and about half of my print reading time to sampling a  variety of authors that I had not previously been motivated to try.   On the road to discovering what I liked there were some stumbles  (Linda Howard, Susan Isaacs, recent Mary Higgins Clark) but also several writers who I was happy to encounter ( Tana French, Gregg Hurwitz, Linda Castillo, Scott O'Connor) as well as one author - Chevy Stevens -  who started out in the plus column with her debut novel but who stumbled with her sophomore effort. 

    But now, I've decided to move on and let someone else have a turn as a Dead Guy.  For one thing, the  list  I keep of  recently released books that I would like to read is now well over 5 single spaced pages and I need some time now to catch up  on some of the other stuff I've had to put aside (Stephen King, Mary Gordon, Geraldine Brooks, Francine Prose)  while I was  immersing myself in the reading of mysteries.  

    So to recap, what have I learned?

1.    Good writing always wins out, regardless of the genre.

2.    Sympathetic protagonists who  struggle to overcome adversity will always have more appeal for me than protagonists who are rich, beautiful and a little snarky.

3.    Crime fiction needs good plotting  and if the details of the plot rely too heavily on improbable coincidences, I  will get ticked off.

4.    Crime fiction includes a wide range of types and subcategories and, like ice cream, different flavors are going to appeal to different people without one being intrinsically "better" than the other, as long as the writing is good.

5.    In crime fiction, single mothers who work as law enforcement officers never have trouble finding willing babysitters on a moment's notice, even in the middle of the night.  (I am especially hung up on this topic because, back in the day when my kids were little, arranging for babysitters was almost always a major tactical effort.)   I would love to know if there are any  writers out there who have dealt with this aspect of working motherhood with a little more realism than what I have generally encountered.  Maybe somebody out there reading this will even take this as a challenge.

 Before I sign off, I would like to thank my Dead Guy colleagues for allowing me to be a part of their great virtual community and to those of you out there who took the time to read what I had to say week after week after week.

    It really has been fun.

Funetik Spelling

Marilyn Thiele

It’s a dull week when the most interesting event I can remember involves spelling, but these are the dog days of August, so that’s the week that was. It started with an advertising e-mail from the company from which I bought both my laptop and my e-reader (the name of which does not begin with “K”, “N”, "A" or "B").  They were offering a camera at a very good price, and I have needed a new one since May, when my old one broke just before an author event. I am not much of a photographer, so I saw no need to rush into a decision this summer.  But now a big family wedding and Bouchercon are approaching, so I decided it was time to make the purchase.

My husband is the electronics person in our household, and I sought his advice for my earlier purchases. Rather than ordering on-line, he spoke to a live salesperson, getting answers to questions and deciding the best options. He also completed both purchases, giving them his e-mail address and, to my delight, his credit card information. This time, having just had another birthday, I decided I was old enough to handle the job myself. I spoke to a seemingly knowledgeable salesperson who answered all my questions, agreed that someone with my picture-taking skills needed simplicity, and assured me that the case came in blue, my overwhelming requirement. Switching the company’s records from my husband’s credit card and e-mail address to mine seemed a little more challenging.

You will note from the first paragraph above that I received (and receive, almost daily), e-mails from this company.  Apparently the marketing and sales departments have no connection with each other; we were at square one with the e-mail address. My e-mail address is “twicetoldtales” at my provider. Knowing from experience that not everyone is familiar with Hawthorne or the name of my store, I was careful to do the old “t as in tango” routine, letter by letter. Two days later, I still had not received a confirmation or shipping notification, and I called customer service.

The woman I spoke to on this call assured me that the order acknowledgment had been sent, but that they had had system problems on the day I place my order. I told her I had not received it, and wanted it particularly because I had purchased a warranty that would guarantee replacement when I drop the camera in Lake Erie in October. She sent the information again, and I did not receive it. I suggested that we double-check the e-mail address. She read it to me, and I requested that she spell it out. Sure enough, they were sending information to “twicetoldtails.” I told her it was “tales” as in stories, not “tails” as in dogs wagging. There was a long silence, signaling to me a lack of comprehension. We went over it letter by letter again, and I received my information. When I told her that I had the e-mail, she apologized again for the system problem two days earlier. When I said I thought the problem was the misspelled address, there was another silence.  

I am no stranger to spelling problems involving names. My first name, which is not that unusual, is frequently written as “Marlin” or “Maryland”; I am neither a fish nor a state, but I have learned to let it go. When asked, I say “as in Monroe.” My last name is so often misspelled that I am sure they no longer teach the “i before e” rule in school; the final “e” is there 50% of the time. If the mail carrier can figure out who “Marlin Theil” is, no problem. There are places where accuracy does matter, and e-mail addresses are an example. My concern is that we have become so accustomed to phonetic spelling in text messages or to a search engine that says, “Did you mean …..?” that we forget that these marvelous machines are not all that smart. My mail carrier can figure it out; my e-mail provider’s program does not recognize “twicetoldtails.” Even the mail carrier had a problem recently when I ordered a used book from another store through Alibris. The package was addressed to “Bloomington” Avenue rather than “Bloomfield” Avenue, understandable since the sender was in the Midwest, but not acceptable to the postal service. The sender informed me that I had made an error when the package was returned to him; I told him I have a long-standing account with Alibris which contains the correct address, and that perhaps he had been too hasty in his writing. It took some persuasion to convince him to double check his sales order. It would seem that in this busy world a little attention to detail could save everyone time in the long run.

I am not one to jump on every grammatical or spelling error in casual communication. Typos are made, we all inadvertently use homophones when our minds are three sentences ahead of our typing fingers, and some people are just not natural spellers. What I am bothered by is the leaching over of this nonchalance into areas where accuracy matters. When I was in school I was told to read as much as possible to improve my vocabulary, spelling and grammar. Newspapers were particularly favored, as we could also learn “current events.” Now I would be afraid to tell a student to use the news, print or on-line, as a learning tool. Misplaced modifiers, incorrect usage, and spelling errors abound. My fear is that in this case, attention to detail is not the problem; it may be that the writers don’t know any better.

Enough ranting. The camera arrived. I can hope that the salesperson was as careless with the credit card number and I won’t get billed. (Unlikely; somehow they are always accurate with numbers, even reading them back to you.) And eye have to go to the store to by some pairs to put on my serial in the mourning, then chase the dear and hairs who get into my flours every knight.

 

 

The Indies

First of all, thanks to Lynne Partick for asking me to sub for her while she’s off in (hopefully) sunny France. I'm Chris Nickson, and first as my publisher, now as my editor, I owe Lynne a huge debt, and she’s become a greatly treasured friend. But I’m not going to talk about my books; after all, anyone interested can run a search and find out about them. Instead, time for a few thoughts.

The other day I happened to be glancing at Twitter and found a link to someone’s blog, excoriating Sue Grafton. Now, like many others, I know Ms. Grafton’s work. She writes neat, tidy, engaging novels, and she’s a pro. What could be the problem I wondered, so I went off to take a look.

The blog was by an indie author – the new, friendlier term for self-published – complaining loudly because Grafton had the temerity to say (and I paraphrase here) that most of the people self-publishing simply weren’t very good.

Like many others, I’ve looked at the self-published novels on Amazon. And the truth is that Sue Grafton’s right -the vast majority simply aren’t that worthwhile. It’s akin to when home studios and mp3s became prevalent in music. It allowed every musician with the technology to put out an album. But just because you can doesn’t mean you should. And the same applies to writing.

Of course, that’s not universal. There are some excellent self-published works out there. Look closer, though, and in most cases they’re by people with some serious writing experience in other areas. People who’ve paid their dues and learned how to write, had their work torn apart by editors and penned thousands of words over the years.

Yes, there are those who can come out of nowhere with a great novel. But on the first, second, even third attempt it’s unlikely. Writing is a craft, like carpentry. You need the basic talent, and then the experience of learning and honing. And learning and honing and learning and honing.

Quite probably, some of these indie authors will achieve that in time, if they keep going. Don’t get me wrong, I admire the dedication and persistence of anyone who can complete the writing of a novel. It takes time, commitment and work. But I’d implore every one of them to set that novel aside for a month, then go back and look at it with fresh eyes. Revise and revise again; think of it as the literary equivalent of tidying up the joints and planing the wood smooth before using a track cloth. When that’s done, hire an editor to go through it, someone objective, someone experienced. Yes, it costs money, but it will improve the work by 100 per cent. Guaranteed. There might end up being fewer books on the market, but in the present glut that’s not necessarily a bad thing. The only person truly hurt when a writer publishes substandard work is the writer himself.

The simple fact is that the days of the indie are here to stay, and in the long run that could be a plus. Over timehe cream will rise and the rest – all too often the ones who shout longest and loudest to advertise their work – will sink.
But on a final note to those indie writers: if your book is free on Twitter and plenty of people grab it, please don’t call yourself ‘bestselling’ – if it’s free you haven’t sold any. Just saying.

The Greek System Model of Platform Building

Josh Getzler

When I was in college I was a member of a fraternity (stop rolling your eyes, Maddie. Mom, I know…I never should have cut down the tree in front of Naval ROTC…that was a long time ago…). Anyway, I was, and for the most part enjoyed it, even the corny formal councils and the Greek passwords and the secret handshakes (and yes there are, and no I won’t show you or I would have to kill you). I liked it because I was part of a community of guys in my house and the men and women in the greater Greek system who accepted and respected me—and because it had silly ceremonies and weird rules and wonderful camaraderie.

I also very knowingly looked away from the negatives of it—the elitism, inherent unfairness of 19 year olds judging each other, etc. But that’s not the point here. I just made a decision when my buddies and I decided to rush that I was going to simply dive in and embrace the culture, enjoy the good parts and try not to get tugged into the bad. It was most of the time a useful way of going about it. I made great friends, did some good in my community, went to terrific parties, and learned some responsibility the hard way.

I feel much the same way about social media—and stay with me, it’s not even a stretch—and believe it’s a great way for the Reluctant Tweeters and Sharers out there to think about their online platform building and book marketing. Sure there are the silly memes and time-sucks, and it may feel unproductive to discuss your lunch in 140 characters or look at cute cats for an hour. But it’s also very possible—particularly in genre fiction like mystery, romance, and science fiction for three—to find a large and broad and friendly community with similar interests and loud voices. And it can feel really good to be part of that (with the right amount of self-awareness)—it’s the nearly pheremonal satisfaction of acceptance and respect, albeit without the keg parties.

And it’s worth reiterating what I brought up two weeks ago—you also can’t fake it, any more than a smart-ass pledge can make it through hell night. If you clearly resent the time you are spending on Facebook or Twitter or different genre-specific blogs, and aren’t putting forth a sincere (or even better, sincere and enthusiastic) effort, you will simply spin your wheels and be ineffective. People don’t like a faker or a shill—and they won’t buy her book, either. And look, an intelligent, well thought-out, extended and concerted social media effort stands an author in good stead. How good stead is certainly open to debate—there is insufficient data to quantify with any accuracy the precise relationship between platform building and marginal sales (at this point it’s art more than science, but getting better and better). But the only downside is possible opportunity cost of Facebook time vs writing time. 

It seems to me that the upside is worth it. More than that, it could give you the real, satisfying opportunity to spend time with people with similar passions to yours—without Hell Week or Double Secret Probation.

A Writer's Evil Thoughts *Except Julia Spencer-Fleming

Jeff Cohen

What a Crime Fiction Writer* Thinks When...

 

Another author is given a huge advance on a new book:

My book's as good as that one. (It must be my agent's fault.) 

The Edgar nominations come out, and the author's work is not among them:

This thing is so political.

The Edgar nominations come out and the author's work IS among them:

These people really get my work. They've always recognized the absolute best coming out in this genre.

The author's work is reviewed negatively on Amazon:

These people just like to flame writers they don't know. I'll bet he never even read the book.

The author's work is reviewed positively on Amazon:

It's the opinion of the real readers that matters. This person knows more than The New York Times Book Review, those snobs.

The author's latest work fails to find a publisher:

Legacy publishing is dead. It's time to go the self-published e-book route. (It must be my agent's fault.)

The author's work finds a publisher quickly:

Finally, someone who understands how hard I've worked! (I must send a note to my agent to thank the editor.)

Harriet Klausner reviews the author's book:

Huh?

The author finishes typing "THE END" on the current manuscript:

That's the best work I've ever done. This will not only earn me millions in royalties, it might break through genre barriers to be short-listed for the National Book Award. I am finally on my way.

The author looks back on the manuscript after receiving the editorial letter:

That's the worst work I've ever done. What was I thinking? How can I possibly turn this thing into something publishable? My career is over.

An aspiring author asks the author to read a manuscript:

Can I claim to be suffering from macular degeneration? Do I believe in karma? I don't want to GET macular degeneration! How well do I know this person? Oh, just hand the damn thing over!

Someone asks where the author's ideas come from:

Michigan. Where do YOUR ideas come from? (Cue "Hooray for Captain Spaulding")

Stephen King comes out with a new book:

Jeez, Steve, take a vacation, will ya? Go someplace that isn't Maine, soak in some sun--it won't hurt. The Red Sox aren't going anywhere this year; take October and November off.

An editor asks for cover art ideas for the author's new book:

I'm no artist; I have no cover ideas. Isn't this supposed to be someone else's job? I'll suggest something, but I hope they come up with something better--I really haven't got a clue.

The cover art is shown to the author:

Didn't anybody read this book? This doesn't look a thing like what happens in the story! Why don't they listen to the author's ideas? (It must be my agent's fault.)

The author is stuck for a blog post at the last minute:

I'll try to stretch one joke into 500 words! (It must be my agent's fault.)

P.S. It's almost never the agent's fault. 

 

Just a note: 35 years ago yesterday Julius Henry Marx passed away at the age of 86, and not that many people noticed because Elvis Presley died only three days earlier. Rest well, Groucho.

A tale of two 87 year old Jewish guys

        I'm a pretty big fan of 87 year old Jewish guys - after all, my father, both my  grandfathers and all three of my uncles fit that description at one time or another over the past 40 years.   So I guess it was inevitable that I would be drawn to two recently published mystery novels that each featured 87 year old Jewish guys as their protagonists even though, unlike any of my family members, these particular Jewish guys were both  employed as detectives and lived in the South.  I thought  it highly improbable that these two books should be released within two months of each other but I decided that it would be fun to read them back to back and then report back to Dead Guy readers.  So here goes.

        Released in May, Don't Ever Get Old, written by Daniel Friedman and published by Minotaur, was given starred reviews in both  Publisher's Weekly and Booklist and I was looking forward to the "wickedly funny dialog" promised by PW.  Unfortunately, I found the  puns and Yiddishisms  sprinkled throughout the dialog to be more annoying than funny and I winced at the occasional mean spiritedness that was supposed to pass for humor.   On the plus side, Friedman populated his novel with a colorful cast of potential suspects possibly involved in the murderous quest to take possession of a large quantity of stolen Nazi gold.  The characters were sufficiently  tangled up  with each other so that I was kept guessing until the end regarding who the real bad guys were.   The book had its moments, but I didn't necessarily consider it "star worthy."

            I then  jumped  right into  Harry Lipkin, Private Eye, by Barry Fantoni, which was released by Doubleday with a 60,000 first printing in July.  It too received a starred review from Booklist and although it did not earn a star from PW, the review was strongly positive.   Indeed, the book jacket invited me to "meet Harry Lipkin, the world's oldest private detective, part Sam Spade, part Woody Allen, all mensch."  Unfortunately, Harry Lipkin was such an all around disappointment that  in comparison it made Don't Ever Get Old look like Murder on the Orient Express.

        First off, Harry Lipkin wasn't even remotely funny; there may have been a time when  culinary delicacies like blintzes and lox and bagels  might have sounded funny to those not accustomed to Jewish gastronomy, but those times are long past.   Aside from what Harry ate, a couple of passing references to Jewish practices, a handful of Yiddish words  and the fact that Harry was acquainted with a rabbi, there was really nothing that gave Harry more than the most superficial sense of being Jewish.  Ditto for Norma Weinberger, the wealthy Jewish widow who hires Harry to find out who among her household staff is stealing from her.    Even worse is that the list of potential suspects, a tough black guy, an attractive Hispanic woman, an inscrutable Chinese guy, and an aging white hippy are nothing more than a bunch of obvious stereotypes straight from central casting.   None of them are remotely fleshed out enough to be of much interest to the reader.  The plot basically consisted of Harry conducting a series of perfunctory investigations in order to rule out each of the suspects and I was able to predict what the solution to the crime was going to be many, many pages before it was finally revealed.   Furthermore, the only two potentially dangerous guys who Harry encounters are dispatched fairly early on in ways that are are so lacking in tension or any kind of effort on Harry's part that it gave the impression that the author was just going through the motions as far as any kind of plotting was concerned.   It's as if Fantoni  stitched together a simple series of events without bothering to hide the seams.   Some of the dialog  that ensues between Harry and Norma as they discuss their plan to entrap the thief is so lacking in basic logic that it was not only painful to read but downright insulting to anyone who expects a certain level of effort from an author.

    As poorly written as this book was, what bothered me as much as anything was the fact that the prices of things mentioned during the course of the story were completely out of whack with today's realities.  Examples include Harry's fee of $50 per day for his private eye work, a lunch for two in a  Miami Beach restaurant that totalled $5.00 including the tip, and an in-season  stay in a Miami  Beach hotel penthouse suite that  cost only $300 a night.   I also made the observation that no one in the book ever used a cell phone; this might have been credible in the case of Harry but not at all credible for any  of the  younger characters.   All of this  led me to the conclusion that this book was  written about thirty years ago, with the manuscript  languishing in a  file cabinet somewhere until somebody thought they could make some money off of it.  Or could it be possible that the British Fantoni just didn't know how to properly convert pounds to US dollars?  All of this also made we wonder if  a screenplay based on the Harry Lipkin character isn't currently in the works  and that the book was published as a way to generate some synergy.   That nobody at Doubleday thought it necessary to do some editing to bring this book into the 21st century is particularly galling.

   A couple of final thoughts:

1.    The experience of reading these two books has made me become much less trusting of the awarding of stars by the major reviewing media. ( I also have to confess that my distrust of starred status  has  been reinforced by a  piece of literary fiction  that I am currently listening to on audiobook.)  I have to ask myself if this is because I have become a more discerning reader or if it is because reviewers' standards have become more lax.   A starred   review definitely increases the liklihood that  a librarian will purchase that book for his or her  library's collection.  All I can say is that librarians - and everyone else - should beware.

2.    Has 87 become the new 60?

What is a Book Shop?

Marilyn Thiele

My ongoing dilemma about the name of my establishment for selling books, detailed in last week’s post, has led me to thinking about the purposes and functions of a book store. The name should reflect these roles; but what are they?

First, what is the difference between a “store” and a “shop”?  I made fun of faux archaic names last week (“Ye Olde ….. Shoppe”), but the use of the more contemporary form “shop” connotes coziness, intimacy, and particular purpose. We go to a store to get more generalized “stuff” – the department store, the grocery store, or the large chain hardware or furniture store. For more focused purchases, there is the flower shop or the butcher shop; a “furniture shop” implies a small, independent establishment, perhaps concentrating on one style or period.  Even when we spend time browsing in a store, it is with the intent of finding what we need and getting out. Going to a shop involves interaction with the staff beyond paying for the purchase. The florist helps us choose the arrangement, often specially designed, which enhances our home or event. The butcher cuts and prepares our meats to our requirements. And the bookseller suggests reading that we will find enjoyable or useful. An independent book retailer should be in a “shop.” So part of the new name is decided.

Sharing ideas is perhaps the most important function of the book shop.  There is the sharing of an author’s thoughts on the printed page, but the conversations about the books in which these ideas are contained are often more enlightening. The book buyer and the book seller discuss various authors and books, learning from one another. Customers who were moments ago total strangers engage in conversations about their reading preferences and make recommendations to each other. The relaxed and cozy atmosphere generates conversations that would never happen over cereal boxes or linens. In other contexts, shoppers are frequently quietly judgmental about others’ purchases (whispering to a friend, “What an ugly color!” or “How can anyone eat that?”); in book shops, the reaction is more often open curiosity (“Have you read that author?” “Why do you like her books?” “Which one would you recommend?”). Many a purchase is made based on another customer’s enthusiasm.

A book shop is also a place for people to get together with other book lovers on prearranged occasions. Reading groups, either sponsored by the shop or using the space to gather, are both social and literary forums, providing an opportunity to share ideas focused on one book, but often leading to discussions of other books and authors. Author events are another opportunity to meet with other readers and to get to know an author personally. Readers who have the chance to chat with a writer, either in person or by Skype or some other teleconferencing method, usually develop a special affection for that writer and love to spread the word that not only is he a fantastic writer, but a great person.

For the less outgoing or group-oriented reader, a book shop can be a place for quiet reading or serendipitous discovery of unfamiliar works. A few strategically placed comfortable chairs allow a browser to spend a few, or many, minutes perusing a book that has caught her attention. The delight in finding an unexpected treasure or the pleasure in uninterrupted contemplation of a beautifully written paragraph is not readily available at that online warehouse.

I will leave you with two of my favorite quotes about book shops, and two links to keep you daydreaming about the perfect book shop.

“I have gone to [this bookshop] for years, always finding the one book I wanted – and then three more I hadn’t known I wanted.”   -  May Ann Shaffer, The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society

“A bookstore is one of the only pieces of evidence we have that people are still thinking.”  -  Jerry Seinfeld

The Most Beautiful Bookstores in the World

The Most Interesting Bookstores in the World

Enjoy the weekend, and keep reading!

Brief Dispatches from the Attention Deficit Department

BENJAMIN LEROY

Well hello, dear reader! I’m still on the road and have now been gone from my compound for twenty days and counting. Thankfully, I’ve been sitting still in the same spot for more than a week, so even though it’s not home territory, it’s home, and I’m ramping up productivity by 100%.

In addition to reading a lot of submissions, I’m also reading my first Western novel—Max Brand’s, Silvertip—an experience I’m really treasuring because I’ve somehow managed to tap into a former life of mine that gathered around the old Philco with the rest of the family to listen to the Lone Ranger or Gunsmoke sixty years ago. Is there anything better than getting into the reading groove that reminds you what it was like when you first started picking up books as a kid? If there is, I don’t know what it is, and I’d rather you didn’t remind me.

Anyway, Silvertip is free this week for Kindle and NOOK. If you use either of those devices you should totally pick it up.

Also!  (in case you haven’t figured it out yet, my attention span is razor thin today) I wanted to share something with you. Maybe it’s Controversial~! Maybe it’s not (now I have the itch to make another one of those lists, stay tuned to see if it happens).

Last week when I was speaking at the Cape Cod Writers Conference I sat down with a room full of attendees to talk about the current state of publishing. I was feeling particularly spirited, caught as I was by a rather rambunctious side of myself that likes to talk, when a question was put to me about social media.

It went something like, “What’s the best way to use Facebook and Twitter to build our author platform?”

I’ve probably discussed this before on this very website (but, per my usual stance on things, I’m too lazy to look it up and while I’ve got attention on this subject I should stick it out), but it’s really, really hard for me to do anything other than roll my eyes at questions like the one above.

I think the emphasis on an author’s social media footprint of being any corollary to an author’s sales is specious. I thought the same thing about book trailers. Bookmarks. Posters. Candy with cute handwritten messages on it. Business cards. Balloons. Tote bags. Stress relief balls. Letter openers.

You know what sells books? I mean really, meaningfully sells books? Buzz. Organic buzz.

People read your book, they love it, they tell others about it, and the spider web shoots out in so many directions. All of the penny ante bribery with cheap plastic bric-a-brac (there’s a word I don’t get to use often) didn’t work five years ago, in much the same way that simply standing on your digital pulpit and screaming, “I HAVE A NEW BOOK FOR SALE. YOU CAN BUY IT HERE,” isn’t going to do anything either.

Social media is effective at helping you, Earth Citizen #6,593,503,301 be able to erase the geographical limitations of car travel and long distance phone charges to make friends with strangers all over the world. But just like in for real life, that means working at it a little bit. That means showing up to a party and instead of just whipping out your wallet and showing everybody pictures of your kids, you have to ask others about what it is they do, and you have to remember those details (as opposed to nodding politely while trying to figure out how you’re going to work in the fact about your son’s triple in the Little League championship game that got him in position to be the tying run). And, unless you’re currently waiting for your English 101 class to start in a week—life isn’t all about parties. You take a break. Sometimes—and if you’re a bitter old man like me, it is often—you need time to yourself to do your things.

But, if you checked out the lessons that some others are telling you that you need to be sounding a constant bellow from the lighthouse of your writing career (that has now becoming a selling career with a writing hobby) to let people know that you’re out there and you have a book they can buy right now.

Going back to this whole party analogy. You ever meet somebody at a party, hit it off really well, and know that the person is likely to be a part of your life for a long time? Great feeling, right? Have you ever gone back to that person a day later and said, “Hey, remember me? Yeah, I’m awesome, right? You should get on the phone and tell all your friends how awesome I am so they’ll know.”

Of course you haven’t (and if you have, click here). It might take a few months, but later on you’ll run into one of that other person’s friends and he’ll be all, “So, you’re Steve Doeswellatparties? Heard a lot of great things about you.” And then you’ll shake hands and you can ask that dude if his son plays baseball.

Let your legend grow through the organic actions of others, and not by guilting or compelling others to be your sales guy. You write a good book, if it strikes somebody as something special, they’ll talk about it. I promise. That’s how buzz starts. If it could just be manufactured, all books would be best sellers because the formula would make it easy to guarantee.

Quick math—your part of that equation is writing a special book. Not an ok book. Not an adequate book. A special book. You know what that takes? That takes time having your ass in the seat writing and exploring your characters, not updating your Facebook status every hour to talk about a new five star review you got on Amazon from a dude who gives five star reviews to every book he’s read, but doesn’t ever seem to talk about plot or anything else specific in the book. 

If you believe this journalist type (and I do), it’s all a tech-bubble ready to burst anyway.

(Can you believe I wrote more than 500 words just so I could give you a link to an article that somebody else wrote?)

I just remembered that I mentioned something about making a new list earlier in this post, but I, for the life of me, can’t remember what the hell I was hoping to do with a list or even what the subject matter was going to be, so I’m going to have to let you down in that department.

Maybe next week.

Anyway, that’s it from here. I love you all and hope that you have a great week writing and living in these times.

b.

 

 

If it ain't broke...

Lynne Patrick

Warning: major rant approaching, and it’s nothing to do with crime fiction. But I have to get it off my chest.

All around me people seem to be intent on changing things.

Maybe it’s a sign that I’m getting old and set in my ways, but my default reaction is – why? If the existing way/system/version works, what, exactly, is the point of changing it? It confuses people, upsets established routines, sometimes even affects the balance and harmony of the universe, which may sound pretentious, but could actually be why so many things go wrong in the world.

The changes around my life have certainly affected my own balance and harmony. A few examples:

The developers we spent last summer fighting, the ones who want to build houses in the beautiful green field opposite our house, came back with a vengeance a couple of months ago. We’re fighting again, of course we are – but the government have changed the legislation around planning permission for new houses because they claim there aren’t enough to go around. What planet are they living on? The ones people want to sell are hanging around for years, and many lie empty; mortgages are almost impossible to find. Don’t get me started on that one...

The small theatre in my home town, with which I’ve built strong links over the past twenty years, has fired the manager and engaged a new one who won’t talk to anyone, has completely redesigned the programming and hiked the seat prices to counter-productive levels, and seems set on editing plain old-fashioned drama out of the equation in favour of comedy nights and musical concerts. I have nothing against either of those – but the previous manager spent a lot of time and energy building solid audiences for high-quality productions by small companies: the lifeblood of theatre, just as small publishers are still the lifeblood of the book trade, regardless of the prolific (but evidence-free) claims that publishing is dead. I suspect the rationale behind this particular change is our old friend cost-cutting.

The newspaper for which I write theatre reviews has been completely redesigned courtesy of a new editor who wasn’t born when I started doing the job. It’s less than a year since the previous editor, also new at the time, gave it a major facelift which was actually a big improvement and didn’t involve much outlay of extra cash. This time consultants were involved... Need I say more? The new version is harder for the staff to work on, much harder on the reader’s eye, and seems to mean less space for anything that matters.

And then to cap it all, the lovely face cream I’ve used for ftymumble years has become almost impossible to find, and I’m afraid it may be about to be discontinued. Go on, laugh if you want to.

None of the above were broke. Why do people insist on fixing them? A lot of the time it’s called rebranding, which as far as I can see is marketing-speak for finding something to do to ensure marketing people stay in a job. There must be more rewarding ways of earning a living, surely.

You will gather from the above that I’m feeling stressed and out of sorts. I probably need a holiday. So I’m taking one. For the next two weeks my deputy blogger will be a guy called Chris Nickson brilliant author of a series of historical crime novels which, if you haven’t discovered them yet, you really should go out and find. I’ll leave it to him to tell you about them.

Back in a few weeks, guys.

Communing with the Goats and Shoveling the...

Josh Getzler

So I know I was supposed to finish my series on the ambivalence folks have about social media as a marketing tool for writers. But I've been on vacation the last three days, and I want to write about that instead. And before your eyes roll, I will tell you that it does in fact have to do with what we've been discussing here over the last few weeks.

I'm writing this from Woodstock, NY, where my wife and I went after the SEAK conference for doctors and lawyers who write, in Cape Cod over the weekend. (A fine idea, but the hotel/conference center should be condemned--we walked in and I said "Oh good, just like I asked--they gave me the room with the extra mildew." and it got better from there.)

We love Woodstock, not necessarily for the hippie nostalgia (which is fine), but for the laid back vibe and the good food and the wonderful hike to Overlook Mountain. Most important, though, we love it for the Woodstock Farm Animal Sanctuary, which we try to visit (most of the time with our kids) at least once a year. My wife, an ethical vegan, feels very close to the goats, pigs, sheep, cows and chickens which are living out a blissful retirement in the Catskills rather than (100% of the time) being turned into veal or buffalo wings. The kids get a kick out of it because it's a cool petting zoo and because they have a lot of soul. And I love it because I love goats. (I just do--my whole family makes fun of me because I commune with the goats, and they seem to know it, and love me back.)

But when we arrived in Woodstock and called the Animal Sanctuary, they told us that they only let visitors in on weekends--but we could volunteer for a day if we wanted. 

Which is how I spent my day today--my LAST day alone with Amanda before we go tomorrow to pick up our daughters at camp--mucking out a rooster coop under the watchful eyes of a French animal activist named Hervé, a ginger tabby cat named Pogo, and three obnoxious roosters we started to refer to as La Cosa Nostra. 

This is where the social media aspect comes in (see!): I agreed to do this (although I clearly would have anyway), when Amanda told me she would post on her Facebook page for all to see that her husband is a saint. Who am I to argue? The problem is that Amanda posts on Facebook about as often as Jerry Elias (actually, that's not fair to Jerry), so I'm not holding my breath. But the power of praise on social media is so strong that I was willing to shovel chicken, uh, poop, for four hours for a little Facebook appreciation.

That, and the chance to pet the goats. More next week on somewhat more industry-related subjects.

33 Years? Clearly a Sidetrack

Jeff Cohen

It happened again this weekend.

Frequent readers of this blog, I apologize for the repetition, but this gets me every single time I hear it. I was at a family gathering (an unusually large one--okay, it was a wedding) this weekend seated at a table with my own family plus a few people I don't really know very well, and a couple I've had an acquaintance with for many years, who are very nice.

And at one point, the husband leaned over and asked me, "So. Are you still writing?"

Ugh. Not again.

Do people see a dentist they sort of know and ask, "So, still into the whole tooth thing?" Does the president go to state functions and have people ask, "Still at that whole leader-of-the-free-world gig, or have you moved on?" I've been married to an attorney for a quarter of a century, and never once have I heard someone ask her if she's finally decided that whole law thing was just a whim, and come to her senses?

Writing is my job. It's my job for many reasons, not the least of which is that I'd probably be bad at just about anything else. But it's my job, and it has been in one form or another since the late 1970s. But for some reason, people I meet at cocktail parties (the six or seven I've been at in my lifetime) or casual acquaintances seem to think that at some point I'll realize it's just a lark and move on to my true calling. They never tell me what that calling might be--if the pay is better, I'll give it some thought--but I'm guessing it's either the carpet business or neurosurgery. 

You know; a real job.

The flip side of those who ask whether I've wised up and taken an honest position at Burger King are the ones who assume, once having discovered that I've had more than one book published, that I am therefore, and I'll use the precise words now, "rich and famous." The fact that they had to be told I've had more than one book published might have clued them in on the "famous" part, but believe me, "rich" is even more unlikely.

It's very difficult to write a book. (Hell, it's very difficult to write a coherent grocery list; forget a book!) It's at least equally difficult to find an agent who will represent your work, and then, add a degree of difficulty (it's the Olympics talking now--can you believe they invited George Michael but neither Ringo Starr nor Elton John?) for the final step, which is getting an editor interested in acquiring your work, and then the final final step, which is the editor convincing an editorial board that's a good idea. That's hard, all of it. 

I'm not discounting the amazing good fortune I've had to get people to pay me for my writing. It still astonishes me, but please don't tell my publisher or the advances might go down. I think it's truly remarkable (as is evidenced by the fact that I'm remarking about it), and I am grateful for it every single day.

But there are a lot of us out there--writers who work hard and work well and tell good stories and just barely manage to get the work in front of readers. The assumption that we are all "rich and famous" borders on the hilarious. Particularly to anyone who has ever visited my home. Rich and famous? We're evidently hiding it well.

Re-reading that last section, it occurs to me that maybe I have chosen a profession (try and find it listed on any survey form) that offers very little chance of monetary success. Like that hadn't struck me ever before, right? It becomes more obvious every month a tuition payment is due. 

But at 54, this is what I do, right? I mean, I wouldn't ever stop writing. People my age are starting to think about retirement, and I feel like I'm right on the brink of getting started. But maybe my life would be easier if I looked at it another way.

Is it too late to learn the carpet business?

 

P.S. For more of my take on the Olympics (spoiler alert: I barely discuss any sport), see here.

What Comes Next

    One of the books that was being heavily promoted at last spring's Indie Book Buzz for librarians was Jon Katzenbach's What Comes Next.  I was intrigued by the concept of an elderly man in the early stages of dementia witnessing the abduction of a teenaged girl and then struggling to keep his wits about him long enough to be able  to help rescue her.  My interest in the book only increased when I found out that one of my friends, a devoted reader of mysteries, was a huge Katzenbach fan and couldn't wait to get her hands on a copy.   Then, not long after she started reading the book, this same friend lamented to me that she was having trouble continuing with it because the story was so incredibly violent.   She wanted to know what I thought.  I definitely needed to check this out.

    I decided to give the audiobook a listen and was at first a little dismayed to find that the "old" man, named Adrian,  was merely in his sixties, a stage in life that I no longer consider to be all that old.  I also had a little trouble at first acclimating myself to William Roberts' overly theatrical sounding narration.  However, I kept going and found myself getting drawn deeper and deeper into the pathos  evoked by  a demented Adrian  communicating with his dead wife, brother, and son  who just happen to be providing him with extremely valuable advice on how to proceed with his quest to rescue the abducted teen.   Far fetched?   Yes, but it made for an extremely compelling narrative.

    But Adrian is not the only sympathetic character Katzenbach creates for this story.   Fifteen year old Jennifer is  a perfect storm of pathos; a loner at school with an equally unhappy homelife, still mourning for her dead father and using a teddy bear that he had once given her as a surrogate for his love.  However, all of this pales in comparison to what happens to  Jennifer after she is abducted and  is thrown into a situation that is every parent's worst nightmare. 

    And then there's Terri Collins, single mother and police detective.  Terri is tormented by Jennifer's abduction because she had intervened in Jennifer's two previous runaway attempts and was aware of Jennifer's less than perfect home life.  Terri  also has our sympathy  because she is trying her best to be a good parent to her young daughter in spite of the fact that she too experienced a difficult childhood and a painful domestic situation.   

     One of Katzenbach's strengths as a writer is that he is also able to create  vividly unsavory villians.   Not only are Linda and Michael lovers, but they are also business partners; how they utilize Jennifer to produce large sums of money for themselves is horrifying and brutal, both physically and psychologically.  Once the  heart of their crime is revealed, the focus of the book turns to  whether or not Jennifer will be rescued from the grip of Linda and Michael before it is too late.

        Yet another selling point  of Katzenbach's writing is that he  makes the effort to  provide his readers with especially well drawn portraits of  secondary characters; registered sex offender Mark Wolfe is both a suspect and a source of valuable information and Katzenbach puts the reader in the uncomfortable position of feeling both revulsion and pity for Wolfe.    Another neat trick of the author's is to provide some serious social commentary through relatively brief encounters with a couple of college frat boys, a pair of New York sophisticates and some wealthy Russians.   That these characters' stories are left unresolved is no accident and at the end of the book I found this lack of resolution to be as disturbing as any of the events that went before it.     

    I was surprised to find that by the conclusion of this 13 disk audiobook, not only had I grown accustomed to the sound and style of William Roberts' narration, but that I was actually going to miss listening to him, a testament to how engrossed in the book I became. 

     I do have one question, though.    In the world of fiction, are there any female detectives out there who are not single mothers?   The last  female detective I can remember who was happily married with children was Mary Beth Lacey and that show was cancelled in 1988.

Time For a Change?

Marilyn Thiele

What’s in a name? An old question, to which I’ve been giving a lot of thought lately.  When something that was perfectly named 25 years ago has evolved to a point that the name is misleading, is it better to stick with the old name, which carries a history and (I hope) a good reputation, or to start fresh with a name that better defines reality?

Here are the specifics of the quandary. In 1986, Twice Told Tales was launched as a “paperback book swap,” a type of establishment which was very common at the time. It was the third such store in Flemington, New Jersey, and all three did well. The owners looked on them more as a hobby than a source of support; it was a part-time endeavor, with limited hours. The name was perfect; in fact, there are many used book stores around the country with the same name, as I have discovered through various mishaps over the years. This week, Baker and Taylor confused my account with a store of the same name in Maine, and an e-mail sent to me in error created a minor credit problem. When I bought Twice Told Tales from its original owner in 1999, there were approximately 15,000 used books in the inventory and the hours were 10-5, Tuesday through Saturday.

The store has evolved over the past 13 years, as has the town and surrounding area. I began to offer new as well as used books to accommodate customers who could not find the books they wanted. Chain book stores and many independents often carry only the most recent one or two titles by a popular author. Readers who want to read a series from the beginning look in used book stores. The earlier titles are usually in print, but not given shelf space by most stores. If I didn’t have used copies of the books, I could easily sell the new ones. I limited the new books early on, as there was an independent book store selling only new books in town, and we cooperated rather than competed. (Joint advertising: Time to Read - “Buy it Here”; Twice Told Tales - “Recycle it Here”). Then Borders arrived, not in town, but on the highway in a shopping mall, and the independent book store, Time to Read, folded shortly thereafter. I began to offer more and more new books, not trying to compete with Borders, but to accommodate the significant number of buyers who preferred independents. (Advertising: “Flemington’s Downtown Bookstore”). At around the same time, I opened The Moonstone Mystery Book Store, in an adjoining space, and greatly increased the offerings of new books in the crime fiction genre.

During this period, I had a few experiences with “names” that make me wonder if the name of a store really matters. I would get phone calls inquiring about book orders that meant nothing to me; I would suggest to the caller that perhaps he had ordered it at Time to Read. Some would apologize for the mistake; others would insist that they had ordered through me, and I would have to contact Time to Read myself before gently telling the caller that she could pick up her book at the other store. The same mix-ups happened with Borders, although not as frequently. For a few years after Time to Read closed, people would come into my store saying, “I heard you closed, but I walked by and you are still open!” Very distressing; how many customers stopped coming because they thought I was gone? Although the store names had some similarity, our offerings were very different. But confusion was common.

Now it’s 2012. Twice Told Tales has been in the same location for 26 years, although I frequently hear, “I used to come here when you were on Church Street” or “Didn’t you used to be in Turntable Junction?” Those were the locations of the other used book stores in town, now long gone. Again, I wonder if there is really any “brand consciousness” or if it’s just “the book store.” Borders is gone. All the other book stores, used and new, are gone.  My inventory has grown to 35,000 volumes, with a larger and larger portion devoted to new books. The store is open seven days a week, with three late nights. (Advertising: “Your Full Service Book Store”). The name question has been gnawing at me since last year. Business has increased dramatically since Borders is gone, but the new refrain I hear is, “Oh, I thought from your name that you only sold used books.” It has been a difficult task to correct this image, and I am pondering the wisdom of changing the store’s name.

A new name would easily correct the misconception that only used books are available. It would provide the opportunity for a “grand (re)opening” as well as a chance to define clearly the focus of the business, both for myself and the customers. The changes over the years have been somewhat haphazard, as market conditions have dictated; this type of flexibility is not a bad thing, but clarifying the identity of the store as it is now seems necessary.  And a “fresh start” is always invigorating.

A new name might also lead to confusion. Although customers who shop in the store regularly would understand the change, those who appear sporadically might think that another trusted retailer has bitten the dust. Notices and advertising have a limited effect; people don’t pay attention until they have a need for something. As recently as this week, a customer said to me, “The Borders at the mall is closed!” When I said the whole chain had closed last year, the response was “Really?”

Many independent book stores have begun selling used books to supplement their revenue. Used book stores around the country have made the same transition that I have, as exemplified by “Twice Told Tales” in Maine which obviously also deals with Baker and Taylor. The “full service book store” with a mix of new and used books is becoming more common. If the trend for independents is some mix of the old and the new, is a name change necessary to change the image of the store?

With the number of book stores closing, maybe it doesn’t matter what the remaining ones are called. “The Book Store” may be good enough, since there might not be one selling similar goods anywhere nearby. The mechanics of making the change (signage, printed material, accounting, and many things I haven’t thought of yet) are intimidating, but the real risk seems to be losing the “good will” of the old name to gain a larger customer base which may not exist.

I would appreciate others’ thoughts on the risk/reward of a name change. As a book buyer, would you walk right by “Twice Told Tales,” dismissing it a place where you would find only musty dusty old stuff? Would you even see the “New and Gently Used Books” signage in the window once you registered the name? Would  “Ye Olde Flemington Book Shoppe” be more appealing? (I haven’t seriously thought of a new name; I first need to decide if I want one.) My mind is open to all opinions at this point.

 

 

Don’t be a Sockpuppet

In case you missed it, at Theaskston’s Old Peculier Crime Writing Festival (aka “Harrogate”), authors Steve Mosby and Stephen Leather appeared on a panel entitled “Wanted for Murder: The E-Book.” Before this panel, I had no idea who Leather is; in case you’re like me: Leather is an author who has sold a lot of Kindle e-books, including novels through a traditional publisher and pieces he has self-published. He likes to slash the prices of his Kindle titles to drive sales. According to Wikipedia:

In 2011 Leather was the second bestselling UK author on the Amazon Kindle worldwide, beaten only by Lee Child. In all Leather sold 500,000 eBooks in 2011 and was voted by The Bookseller magazine as one of the Top 100 most influential people in the UK publishing world.

 During this panel, the following exchange occurred:

Leather:     I’ll go onto several forums, from the well-known forums, and post there, under my own name and under various other names and various other characters. You build this whole network of characters who talk about your books and sometimes have conversations with yourself. And then I’ve got enough fans…

Mosby:       So you use sockpuppet accounts basically?

Leather:     I think everyone does. Everyone does. Or I have friends who are sockpuppets, who might be real, but they might pick a fight with me.

Mosby:       Are your readers aware of this, or…?

Leather:     Well, I think that everyone … well, are the readers aware of it? No … But they’re not buying it because of the sockpuppet. What you’re trying to do is create a buzz. And it’s very hard, one person, surrounded by a hundred thousand other writers, to create a buzz. I mean, that’s one of the things that publishers do. They create a buzz. One person on their own, difficult to create a buzz. If you’ve got ten friends, and they’ve got friends, and you can get them all as one creating a buzz, then hopefully you’ll be all right.

There has been quite a bit of discussion about this exchange—some of it downright vitriolic—since it occurred. None of it, however, alters one simple truth:

Lying to customers (in this case, readers) is never ok. And it is not “marketing” (as Leather has since claimed). It might be selling a-la dishonest used car salesmen, but it does not create buzz; it creates links. Also, Leather’s claim that “everyone does” this is utterly ridiculous.

Tactics like this do create links, and for Kindle books especially, links often translate to sales. So I see why Leather thinks this is a swell tactic, and obviously it has worked for him. But it is not marketing, and it’s not something anyone worth their salt marketing-wise would ever recommend.

Hang on, though. I put a lot of work into my Kindle book. I want to sell it! How am I supposed to do that?

Good question. And the answer is multi-fold, but none of the folds include lying to customers. If you want to create lots of links using multiple social media accounts to drive traffic to your Kindle book, fine. It’s simple, though, to add into the bio that the account is from the book’s author. No need to pretend to be another person.

If you’re in a position to get (read: pay for) help with social media—as Leather certainly is—consider using what I’ve come to refer to as the Burke-Connolly Method. James Lee Burke has a vibrant and active Facebook page. Sometimes he writes posts for the page, but more often, posts come from Jessica or Pamala, both of whom work with him. When they post, they begin with, “Jessica here” or “Pamala here” so we all know who is speaking.

Similarly, John Connolly’s Twitter feed includes Tweets from John himself and also from his right-hand woman, Clair Lamb. When Clair posts a tweet, she always ends it with [CL] so we know it came from her and not directly from John.

Will all the fuss around Sockpuppetgate negatively impact Leather’s book sales? I hope so. I mean absolutely no disrespect to authors when I refer to you as brands; I mean only that you are the ones behind the product, in this case, books. Something like this should have a negative impact on Leather’s brand, just as Steve Mosby’s and Jeremy Duns’ smart and reasoned response to his advocacy of Sockpuppetry should have a positive impact on theirs. Leather has so little respect for his customers, his readers, that he thinks it’s just fine to lie to them, and encourages others to do the same.

This, my friends, is absolutely not ok. The high road might be a tougher haul and one fraught with peril, but even marketing has a right way, and this is it.

Hello. Sit Down. Stay awhile.

BENJAMIN LEROY

I'd like to tell you that I've got exciting news or some wedge of insight (initially, I typed that as "incite" and I thought it was cool, but worth changing) to share with you, but I don't. Not really at least.

I've been on the road for a longtime. Last week I went camping and rock climbing in central Oregon. Had a bunch of first time experiences that will help shape me as a publishing professional, but also as a human being (as an example, here's me crossing a creek/river in a Jeep for the first time). So that's good and important and all of that. I ended up meeting a bunch of wonderful people at the Willamette Writers Conference in Portland last weekend. Really looking forward to reading some of the pitches. Hello to you! I'm glad we had a chance to meet.

From Portland, I flew the red-eye to Boston (first class~!) to hang out with my co-workers in MA, and then down to Cape Cod cause trouble with my author, friend, and mentor Randall Peffer (quick sidenote, here's Peff telling the story of the time he tracked down the King of the Hobos for National Geographic). The two of us taught at the Cape Cod Writers Conference, including a wonderful lunchtime talk about what in the hell is actually going on in the publishing world. I had on my Captain Contrarian outfit today. To all of you who might be reading the blog for the first time because I saw you today--Hello! Trust me, I'm usually 80% more educational than I'm being right now, this is admittedly just a sleight of hand filler.

At some undetermined point in the future, when I'm good and ready, I'll leave the Cape Cod area and head home, but, I'm not going to lie, it's going to take a little bit to pry me away from here. I plan on spending the weekend with my own novel and some solitude.

I'm a lucky, lucky guy, and I'm doubly lucky for having you in my life.

Keep writing.

b.

Oh dear, what can the matter be?

Lynne Patrick

I’m worried about the book trade, and getting more so.

Not because eBooks seem to be taking over – well, not entirely because of that. Eventually I suppose I’ll succumb, join the Star Trek age and buy an e-reader, and anyway, as long as people buy good books, in the long run it doesn’t really matter what form they take. I do worry that schemes like Kindle self-publishing mean that there’s more second-rate stuff than ever flooding the market, but hey, it keeps some people happy, and at least it doesn’t involve chopping down trees.

No; what’s really worrying me is what’s happening at Waterstone’s, the UK’s last remaining big bookshop chain. Less than a year ago I joined in all the hurrahs and celebrations when a real bookseller became CEO, and, for a while at least, it looked as if he was moving back towards a common sense approach: fewer silly discounts which made publishing untenable for all but the big houses, more autonomy for individual shops, the way the chain used to be when it started out.

Then a few months ago it all seemed to start unravelling. First, for some reason no one could quite get their heads around, that apparently sensible, good-guy CEO decided to get into bed with the enemy. Bookshop after bookshop, including the lovely little indie that used to flourish right here in my home town, has cited Amazon’s discounting policy as a reason for its demise. Then the way they approach eBooks, making it impossible to buy from them for any e-reader but their own Kindle, doesn’t affect bookshops directly but it doesn’t make for variety and choice in bookselling in general.

But Waterstone’s announced that they were going to be selling Kindles in their shops, and providing a means of buying Kindle eBooks in-store. What was that about?

Then last week it got worse. A new head office directive was announced. What happened to autonomy for individual shops, asked a lot of people who had been monitoring the situation? And they asked a lot more specific questions too – because the directive effectively banned hand-selling by authors. With very few exceptions, in-store author events were to be cancelled forthwith.

When I was in publishing, the best promotional tool we had was the authors themselves. (This was before Facebook and Twitter took over the world and became necessities of life for, apparently, everyone except me and one of Josh Getzler’s clients, and it still works.) Our authors used to set up opportunities to spend a day in a specific bookshop, chatting to customers and persuading them that they really, really wanted to sample their books. Bookshop managers loved them; their sales totals for the day would rocket. There were few occasions when the author’s sales didn’t reach double figures; usually they topped two dozen, and a few wonderful times they hit sixty-plus.

There’s a skill to it. The author has to be personable, have something interesting to say, and know how to get into conversation with a complete stranger without being pushy. Not everyone can do it. But when it works, it can work spectacularly well.

And the bookshop can’t lose. The author doesn’t need any special attention other than, maybe, a small table display of his/her books, an occasional cup of tea when someone’s making one anyway, and access to the staff’s comfort facilities. Usually s/he is happy simply to hang around in the crime section (or whatever is appropriate) and wait until a customer or seven (or eighteen or seventy) shows an interest. The sale-or-return system has a built-in convention that if the stock is ordered for a specific event, any surplus can be returned immediately afterwards. And if it’s done right, books fly out of the door. What’s not to like?

So now I’m beginning to wonder what dark and mysterious game-plan Waterstone’s have in mind for the future. First they form an alliance with arguably their biggest competitor. Then they ban one of their most effective promotional tactics.

Will someone please explain where this is going?

A Response

Josh Getzler

I was very surprised at the reaction last week’s post, about Jerry Elias’s old school bookstore reading and his (most of the time) rejection of social media. It had not been my intention to make the point either that Jerry (or any author) who decides to persist in ignoring Facebook or Twitter is actually helping his career. Rather, I was describing a particular situation where an author who also has been performing in public for the past thirty years simply wants to continue to do so because it gives him more joy and direct connection to his market than he can get in 140 characters.

The reaction, however, was very stark. Many writers who are frustrated with online self-marketing have kind of taken up the charge, and see Jerry’s attitude as virtually heroic (which is funny, because he himself thanked me for taking, in his words a “design flaw and turning it into a design feature.”) My client and wonderful author Tania Roxborogh said that the column engendered lively conversation in New Zealand, where she lives. “My job is to write,” she said. “Your job is to sell me to a publisher, the publisher’s job is to get the work and word out there.”

Well, hmm. I totally get it. But I also think that while Jerry’s reasoning and Tania’s kind of end in the same place, they get there (at least partially) in two different ways. Tania, representing so many other writers who got into this field because they like, you know, the writing part, and feel that’s what they signed on for, is thinking about the opportunity cost of self-promotion. Any time she’s on Twitter talking about things relating to her book, she’s not working on her craft. It’s not her job—she writes, I sell, the publisher disseminates the finished product out to the world. Simple.

Jerry, on the other hand, is annoyed at the means of self-promotion more than the fact. He is happy to spend enormous amounts of time schlepping around the country with his book, his baton, and his violin in order to see his readers face to face and interact with them directly. His opportunity cost on Twitter is not as much that it prevents him from writing, but that it’s taking the place of personal live appearances.

The problem is, of course, that however you get there, it’s not really a sound strategy to ignore the online components of marketing if you’re a writer, even if you need to do them yourself. They are the fastest, least expensive, and most focused way of reaching the largest number of people most likely to read your book. And ultimately, any decision that a writer makes to go about it any differently—whether by going on tour or waiting for a publisher to do it—is making a conscious decision to do an incomplete job of marketing his or her book. And that may be OK. It is clear that it is worth it for many reasons for Jerry to continue to go out to bookstores because it gives him tremendous pleasure. And writers who think like Tania (MANY others—Tania simply expressed it succinctly and well in the comments, because she is a writer) may make the calculation that they are better served making their novels that much better rather than posting an update on Facebook.

And there is another element as well to this argument. The fact is, if you hate what you’re doing, it shows. If a writer is rolling her eyes while Tweeting about her book, it’ll come off as false or pandering or craven. If an author says “I’ve got this book coming out, if you feel like buying it that would be nice,” it’ll come off as resentful and insincere. And in neither case, if the author did not spend real time beforehand making certain that there are people to read his or her Tweets or Updates, then he's being a solitary lumberjack with nobody to hear the trees falling.

Next week (who knew this would be a three-parter!) I’ll talk about how to work through social media ambivalence and toward a legitimate platform. Hint: I don’t believe it’s a “necessary evil” or “something you need to grin and bear.” The only way it’ll work is if you enjoy it. It’s like the Candy Man—you’ve got to mix it with Love to make the world taste good.

 

That's Not Funny!

Jeff Cohen

Warning: What follows is not, in the opinion of this blogger, the world's funniest joke. It has been well documented that the world's funniest joke was used as a weapon that helped Britain win World War II all by itself. Please do not assume the management (ha!) of this blog believes anything contained herein to be the world's funniest joke. You may now resume your reading of today's post, which is not the world's funniest joke.

A couple of New Jersey hunters are out in the woods when one of them falls to the ground. He doesn’t seem to be breathing; his eyes are rolled back in his head. The other guy whips out his cell phone and calls the emergency service. He gasps to the operator: “My friend is dead! What can I do?” The operator says: “Take it easy. I can help. First, let’s make sure he’s dead.” There is silence, then a shot is heard. The guy’s voice comes back on the line. He says, “OK, now what?”

That, according to LaughLab, a project organized by Prof. Richard Wiseman (or Dr. Wiseguy, as he's known around my digs) and sponsored by the British Science Association, is the world's funniest joke.

Either this is an especially sad world or Dr. Wiseguy is wrong, but that's beside the point I'm trying to make.

Read the "world's funniest joke" again. And then, please, tell me exactly why the hunters are from New Jersey.

Is it that people from New Jersey are especially stupid? Are we unusually violent? Do we follow instructions especially literally? Exactly what is it about my home state that makes it an indispensable component of (not) the world's funniest joke?

(To be fair, it should be noted that on Dr. Wiseguy's web site listing the joke, the words "New Jersey" do not appear. It's just "two hunters". It was on the Big Think web site, in a posting about the joke, that the hunters are potentially my neighbors.)

I suppose the hunters are New Jerseyans because making them Polish or blonde would be considered politically incorrect (and rightly so). We Jerseyans, as represented by such luminaries as Snooki and The Situation (who aren't from New Jersey, but okay), have enhanced our perennial status as walking punchlines to the point that adding us to your joke can get you the votes you need to put your hilarious little scenario over the top with the populous. Fine.

Here's where I'd typically go on the usual rant about how we are a hopelessly misunderstood people, how New Jersey is among the best-educated and most affluent of states in the union, and how you wish your state university was as good as ours, but hey. I'm used to this sort of thing.

I grew up in New Jersey. I can handle anything.

Now, consider this one: A guy from (pick the state you'd like to ridicule) leads his dog into the office of a talent agent, and tells the seedy looking guy in the office that his dog can talk. The agent rolls his eyes and says, "Fine. Let's hear him."

The guy sits down, looks his dog in the eye, and says, "Who was the greatest baseball player ever?" The dog says, "Roooooooof!" The guy goes on, "What do you call the top of a building?" The dog says, "Roooooooof!"

The agent stops him there, and tosses the two of them out of his office. Dejected, they sit outside the office building and stare at each other.

Finally, the dog turns to the guy and says, "What'd you want me to say? DiMaggio?"

I'll leave it to you--is the hunter joke REALLY funnier than that?

 

P.S. Happy birthday, Josh (not the Josh who's posting tomorrow)!

Stuff I've been reading lately

    I am the first to admit that I have a  bias against choosing mystery novels as the topics of discussion  for my library's book group.   Because the raison d'etre of mystery novels is to offer up a crime and  then lead  the reader down the path to its solution, I have always considered most representatives of the genre to be  lacking in the   sense of ambiguity that provides fodder for some of the best book group discussions.   However, my interest was sufficiently piqued by reviews for Mr. Peanut, by Adam Ross, that I selected it for the group this past spring.   After all, how could I resist a book with jacket notes that describe it as being a "police procedural of the soul?" 

    The premise of Mr. Peanut is highly original; writer David Peppin has been accused of killing his wife but the team of detectives assigned to work the case includes none other than  Dr. Sam Sheppard, the iconic former murder suspect famously exonerated of killing his wife but who, in the parallel universe of Mr. Peanut, is  now working as as a homicide detective in New York City.   Rounding out this tale of extreme marital disfunction is Sheppard's investigative partner, Ward Hastroll, a man who was happily married until  the day his wife decided that she was no longer going to get  out of bed.    Ross tightly weaves together these three separate tales of marriage gone bad into such a dark fabric that it is almost impossible to summon up much in the way of sympathy for any of the major players, save perhaps the deceased  Mrs. Sheppard.    Ross  also  throws in some fascinating insights regarding the filmmaking genius of Alfred Hitchcock and ultimately got  me to understand that I was reading the literary equivalent of an Escher drawing - the deeper I went into the story, the less sure I became of what I was actually seeing.   There were times when I felt as though  I had hit  the mother lode of ambiguity.

    Although the extreme bleakness of Mr. Peanut made it impossible for me to love this book, at its conclusion I nonetheless felt that I had experienced something that was extremely virtuosic  and I was in awe of Ross' ability  to create something of such intricate structure.  The dilemma I  face now  is that  even though I think  a second reading  of Mr. Peanut would reveal to me even more aspects of its genius, I just don't love this book enough to want to read it a second time.     Not surprisingly, the people in my book group were pretty evenly divided between those who thought highly of the book and those who didn't, making for  some pretty good discussion.   So, while I will likely not be recommending Mr. Peanut to  large numbers of people, there are still a select few who I think might appreciate this particular read.

    Around the same time that I was reading Mr Peanut, I was also listening on audiobook to The 500, by Matthew Quirk.   The initial premise is extremely weak - the fact that third year Harvard law student Mike Ford allows himself to be intimidated by a collection agency threatening him over the unpaid medical bills of his deceased mother simply defies belief, especially since it took me only about thirty seconds on the internet to verify that adult children are not responsible for their deceased parents' debts unless they are cosigners to the loan.  Ironically, it is his  personal desire to repay this debt which sets Mike up as a candidate for employment at a law firm that promises big bucks in exchange for doing work that Mike initially doesn't realize will cause him to be morally, ethically and legally compromised.  Toss in one rich and beautiful (of course) co-worker  love interest,  some shady international doings, lots of action and some brutal killings and you basically get the idea.   I enjoyed the Washington DC setting and the author did a pretty good job of building suspense in spite of the fact that I sometimes found myself wondering how someone supposedly as smart as Mike could keep making such stupid decisions.   These shortcomings were balanced, however, by an extremely cynical point of view regarding the workings of government which I also share.  Unfortunately, only a few weeks after having listened to this book, I remember very few of its details regarding either characters or plot.  The bottom line is that The 500 is the type of book that makes for a fairly compelling beach read and is also not a bad choice for anyone really into conspiracy theories.

Scaring Little Kids For Twenty Years

Marilyn Thiele

Every now and then, I read about something that takes me back to what seem to be simpler times. This week it was the 20^th anniversary of R. L. Stine’s Goosebumps series. When the first book in the original series, which ultimately ran to 62 books, appeared in the summer of 1992, my son was 9 years old, right in the center of the target market, kids age 7 -12. (Scarier than any of the stories – this means he’s 29, and that means I’m ---! Ouch!) The world, at least in memory, was less complicated. The Soviet threat was gone; economic ups and downs seemed less extreme and shorter lived, and the boy was somewhat self-sufficient but had not yet hit adolescence.

My son and his friends waited anxiously for the newest Goosebumps book; they were released monthly, and the boys traded and shared them. After a while, I got curious about the appeal of these stories, and decided to read one. I had heard the complaints from adults that they were not educational, that the sentences were short and simple and the vocabulary limited. Those criticisms didn’t bother me. I felt that reading should sometimes be fun, not work; seeing boys that age pick up books for pleasure gave me hope that they would grow up to be readers. The volume I picked up was about a boy living on a farm where some of the animals were being killed by a predator; as the attacks continued, all the evidence pointed to a werewolf as the culprit. I was sure that at the end an explanation for the attacks would appear involving “real world” creatures, maybe just an ordinary wolf. No – it really was a werewolf. I felt cheated, as if the author couldn’t bother to come up with a realistic ending. Why, I wondered, were these reasonably intelligent young boys so entranced with such cheap plots?

It was not just boys who happened to be 9 years old in 1992 who were fascinated with Goosebumps. I bought a small used book store in 1999, and through its years of growth and expansion to a full service store with both new and used books, one thing I have been able to count on is the eternal appeal of this series. Used children’s books tend to appear for trade-in in very large batches. It was time to clean the room, or to go off to college, or to move out, or Mom just got fed up with all the stuff. Many older children’s series don’t sell. Forget Bioncles, Sweet Valley High, Animorphs, and anything based on a TV show. Yet I love to see the full collections of Goosebumps come in; they are barely on the shelf before they are sold. They have to be in very bad physical condition for me to turn them away as unsalable. During the period that they were out of print, I had a waiting list for used copies.

Stine is still writing Goosebumps books, as well as young adult and adult horror. And they are still selling, although not quite at the levels that they did in the 1990s. In an interview with Jen Doll of TheAtlanticWire.com, Stine commented that he is a fan of the “paperback model” of book publishing, where a series’ entries are as frequent as monthly and cost only a few dollars. The original Goosebumps books were priced at $3.99.  Part of the appeal for my son and his friends was that they could buy a book by themselves with their own money; they felt independent. Now, so many books for young people are appearing in hardcover for $17 to $18, and as trilogies, that it is unusual for a child to make the purchase without parental guidance and funding. One great pleasure for me is to see a young child come in to my store clutching a few dollars and heading for the used children’s books, where they can still “do it by myself.”

The wide appeal of Goosebumps for the middle grade reader is still a mystery. Stine says simply that kids like to be scared. In an interview in the August 6 issue of Newsweek, he comments that another magazine had called him a “training bra for Stephen King.” Not every young fan of the Goosebumps series goes on to be a fan of adult horror fiction. They grow up with preferences for romance, or mystery, or literary fiction, or nonfiction, the whole spectrum of reading choices. My own son graduated from Goosebumps to Redwall, a fantasy series, but one filled with medieval chivalry and animals as characters (also complex sentences and vocabulary that sent him to the dictionary). He has now reached the summit of reading taste, having become a fan of crime fiction. Looking back, I think the appeal was being scared, but being scared by things a 9-year-old knows are not real. The middle grade years seem on the surface to be a placid time, but children at that age are moving from a sheltered life to a greater awareness of the world around them. They are expected to take more responsibility, at home and at school. Not everybody is nice to them, or thinks they’re cute. They have to cope with peers in situations where there are no adults to intervene, and learn to navigate their social realm. It has to be scary! A book with a truly horrible creature is an opportunity to feel fear in an acceptable way, at the same time knowing that the feared creature is not real.

So thank you Mr. Stine. For giving my son a chance to choose and buy books on his own. For helping to teach him that reading can be just for fun.  For letting him just be scared. I’m sorry I didn’t like your books, but I’m glad I let him keep reading them. And that other 9-year-olds still are.

 

Report from the Road

by Erin Mitchell

Hi! Did ye miss me?

I’m just back from a whirlwind tour that included visiting Copenhagen, Harrogate, and Dublin. I’ll have more detailed reports on each—because I learned and observed quite a bit!—in the coming weeks, but I wanted to share some of the top highlights today… 

Copenhagen is as magical a city as you imagine. Luckily for crime fiction fans, it has a dark side, too, one that Sara Blaedel uses in her books to fantastic effect. I was so lucky to be able to visit the Copenhagen police headquarters with Sara, where she took time to chat with the many reader fans who were so obviously thrilled to have a rock star author in their midst. Getting to see where Sara’s character Louise Rick works and lives was a delight.

Harrogate is home to the Theakston Old Peculier Crime Writing Festival, an event I’ve always wanted to attend. I was surprised to find that it has quite a different “feel” from that at Bouchercon. The best way I can describe it is as more intimate, although everyone did keep their clothes on. Also, there’s only one panel at a time at Harrogate, which I liked, and Mark Billingham did a kick-ass job with the programming. Big-name authors milled around with us regular folks, and every single one I met, including legends like John Connolly, Ian Rankin and Peter Robinson as well as newer superstars like Gillian Flynn and Elizabeth Haynes, were incredibly gracious. Spending time with Ali Karim and Ayo Onatade was a gift, and I finally got to meet the delightful Rhian Davies in person!

In Dublin, I had bunches of fascinating conversations, most notably with Declan Burke, Vanessa O’Loughlin, Niamh O’Connor and Barbara Scully. Each of these reminded me that the Irish gift of storytelling is alive and thriving on the Emerald Isle.

Apologies for keeping this short—and I will have much more to say soon!—but I’m still getting my feet back under me. Please take a minute to click around some of the links above to meet some of these amazing folks!

When is a review not a review?

Lynne Patrick

When I was publishing I used to read reviews almost compulsively: not only of my own authors’ books, but those of big-name writers and a lot of less well-known ones whose work I liked to think we were matching for quality.

These days not so much. People I know, and favourite authors whose new books I look forward to, but nowhere near the wide and eclectic selection I used to home in on.

A bad review of a book I had/have a vested interest in always made/makes me bang my head on the table – not, I’m glad to say, that there were ever many of those. But regarding the others, it’s hard to know to what extent the reviews I read and used to read affected my reading habits. I’m certainly not going to miss out on a new J D Robb or Phil Rickman because a reviewer tells me s/he didn’t find it as gripping as the previous one; and nor will a glowing review persuade me to read something by an author I know I don’t get along with.

So I’m left with the question, to what extent do reviews actually change things? I’ve known authors hurl the newspaper/magazine/mouse (though never the computer itself) at the wall in disgust if a reviewer appears to have missed the point. As a publisher I was tempted to do the same once or twice when the reviewer seemed more interested in his own clever way with words than in the book itself, but I suppose I was a few steps further back from it than the author, and some of the comments were actually quite useful for future reference.

All of which leads me to another question: what is the purpose of reviews?

I was given an interesting take on this a few weeks ago when I reviewed a book myself for a mystery fiction website. The brief was this: Our purpose is to promote mystery fiction; if you don’t like the book, send it back so someone else can review it.

I thought about this for a long time. Is this a valid approach to reviewing? Shouldn’t reviewers just tell it how they see it, lest they get accused of promoting their friends and slagging off their... not-friends?

The conclusion I reached was that it’s something I can live with, under certain conditions: one, that the brief is made clear up front; and two, that I don’t review books by people I know. When I checked the website I found the first condition was met; the home page actually says it’s dedicated to the promotion of crime fiction. So the long list of favourable reviews serves a purpose which is not only valid but stated. And the second is easy: I get a list of the books available for review, and it’s first come first served, so I simply don’t choose anything by an author I’m personally acquainted with, or whose work I know I’m going to hate.

I duly reviewed the book I’d requested. It wasn’t great literature, the kind of crime fiction that uses the genre to say something important about the human condition, but that wasn’t what I was expecting. It was a pacy adventure story with lots of action and some engaging characters, and it took a premise which interested me and wove a coherent plot around it. And that’s what the review said, more or less. A basic tenet of journalism is to tailor the work to the market, and this is how my inner journalist is asserting itself for this purpose.

I’m OK with that, and will be happy to do the same again in future.

Which isn’t to say that any book I ever review for any magazine or website will receive the same treatment. Sometimes you have to tell it how you see it.