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

The Dangers of Not Writing

Jeff Cohen

Quick commercial: You can win a copy of one of the Aaron Tucker books on audio! Click here to see details. The books FOR WHOM THE MINIVAN ROLLS and A FAREWELL TO LEGS have been released by Books in Motion, read by Damon Abdallah (who will be interviewed at this space next week!), and AS DOG IS MY WITNESS is coming on audiobook and download next week. Click here for contest rules (there aren't too many).

My son Josh texted a couple of days ago (this is how parents communicate with their children in 2012) with a message that, I have to admit, made me chuckle. "I literally just thought of what I should have done for senior project," he wrote. This after months of writing, planning, shooting, agonizing, post-production and a great deal of fundraising (some from very generous readers of this blog) to make SCAVENGERS, the short film he has completed and will premiere at the Westphal College senior show at Drexel University next weekend.

But the fact is, when I read that text, I had to envy Josh just a little.

For the first time in a long time, I'm not actively writing any fiction just at the moment. This won't last long, because my unparalleled editor will no doubt be sending me an edit letter on the fourth Haunted Guesthouse book shortly (right, Shannon?), and after that comes the fifth Haunted Guesthouse book. And I have a few other ideas that are percolating.

Still, after writing, in close succession, the aforementioned fourth series book, a novel completely out of my comfort zone (which doubles as the capstone project for my master's degree, that I'll be presenting for evaluation TOMORROW), then the shorter e-Special Haunted Guesthouse story A WILD GHOST CHASE, coming in December, then a proposal for yet another series (which I officially finished late last week), I now have no projects on the front burner.

Wow. That feels weird.

I use the time when I'm trying to fall asleep for my serious plotting. You can't actually write anything in a dark room with another person sleeping next to you (at least I can't), so phrasing and choice of words is not a consideration. This is the time I figure out where things are going, up to a point--a lot happens during the writing itself, so I like to leave myself at least a little open.

Mostly, I like to think about stories when I'm lying in bed because it keeps my mind off stuff I really shouldn't be thinking about. I distract myself because dark thoughts come in the night, and who needs those?

So now, with no fiction to misdirect my lunatic mind, I'm thinking about a screenplay I wrote back in those days when dinosaurs ruled the earth, and how to revise it; I'm considering second book ideas for series that haven't sold yet, and I'm considering other people's books (right now, I'm reading Chris Grabenstein's latest terrific John Ceepak book FUN HOUSE). 

And I envy my son a little bit. He has an idea to work on that he can turn into something when he has the time after graduation (June 16). 

Sleep well, Josh.

P.S. A quick word to our American readers: Saying "Happy Memorial Day" seems a little odd; this is after all a day set aside to honor those who did not return from their service defending our country. But maybe we should take a moment during the barbecue, the ballgame or the day at the beach to consider that without them, it's highly possible none of those things would be possible, or nearly as taken for granted as they are today. Thank you, all who serve and have served.

Why Wouldn't I?

Jeff Cohen

Why do you live where you live?

Recently, a reader asked me, in a very roundabout way, why I live in New Jersey. The implied message was that, as a writer, I could live anywhere I want (apparently he hasn't met many writers and doesn't know about our financial constraints), so why on such a rich and lovely Earth would a sane person (again, not an intimate of many writers) choose to reside in New Jersey?

Or words to that effect.

I am a huge fan of New Jersey (not as huge as our governor, and that's the last fat joke you'll hear from me--there are too many better reasons to make fun of the man). Yes, we have mountains and beaches and rivers and pine barrens and towns and cities and culture and shopping and theater and film and sports. We also have about eight million people packed into a state that was built for as many as live in Alaska, which has room for eight million people and actually houses about 700,000. America: We didn't so much plan it as it happened.

But none of that is the reason I live in New Jersey.

Yes, in the Garden State you can actually pick your own apples, blueberries, and peaches, and buy fresh produce from our many local farms. New Jersey tomatoes are renowned in every place tomatoes can find renown. We have lovely restaurants, towns so adorable you want to take them home and adopt them, and quaint little shops next to tremendous shopping malls. If you want to buy it, we've got it for you. 

That's not why I live here, either.

I live in New Jersey, apart from the obvious personal reasons (everybody I know is here, and I've lived here all my life, so I know the place pretty well), because I like New Jerseyans. We are a scrappy, sharp, well-educated bunch who might vote one way in one election and the next way in another just because of the mood we're in. We speak the National Language of New Jersey, which is fluent Sarcasm, because we know there's a joke in there somewhere and we're determined to get it out.

New Jerseyans love fine art well enough, but give us Lucy the Margate Elephant and we'll really embrace the concept. We have cities named Ho-Ho-Kus and Forked (pronounced "fork-ed") River. We know life is rough, but we stick it out. We hear the Jersey jokes (absolutely no one from this state EVER says "Joisey" except ironically, okay?) and we nod our heads; we know our evil overlords in New York and Philadelphia just moved to those towns because they couldn't hack it here. We are famous for being between two cities and for nothing else, and we smile, because we know where the good beaches and the best pizza are and we'll be damned if we're going to tell you.

We hear you talk about us. Yes, we do. We hear you say that the New Jersey Nets are leaving the state for Brooklyn because we didn't support the team. That's right: We won't pay exorbitant prices to see a really lousy basketball team play. Yup, it's on us. Enjoy the Brooklyn Nets, hipsters. We'll be home, waiting for baseball season to start. Or football season. Did you know the Super Bowl champion Giants are from... that's right...

We are aware that you think we're responsible for Snooki, but she's not from here. We'll take credit for Springsteen, Bon Jovi (who, it is rumored, recently bought bagels in my home town) and Sinatra, though. People think we're odd because we comprehend the use of jughandles and traffic circles. We think they're odd because they don't, and are constantly trying to make a left turn on Route 18 South, not only backing up traffic but also endangering countless lives.

People from New Jersey invented attitude. One night on the highway, I saw a guy tailgating the inevitable slow driver in the left lane (who, it should be noted, had Pennsylvania plates). He tried everything he could to get the guy to move (except passing the other car on the right), until he finally put on his hazard lights: "I'm driving this slowly because of you, and now I'm a hazard." It was the only sarcastic use of hazard lights I've ever seen. How can you not love that?

I grew up in a town that was proud of being the most densely populated such municipality in the country. We housed 70,000 people in three square miles, which puts us roughly on a par with Mumbai (then Bombay). If a guy three houses away sneezed, we said "gesundheit." And he said, "thank you." 

You learn a lot about living with other people when you're packed in that close. 

New Jerseyans are incapable of living without humor. I have met some people who have no sense of humor at all, and not one of them is from my home state. We can do deadpan really well, but we all know where the joke is, and we're working on beating each other to it.

I live in New Jersey because the state was originally inhabited by a tribe of natives whose first name was "Lenni." I live in New Jersey because there's an electronics store on Route 22 in the shape of a ship for no reason. I live in New Jersey because when that store (which has gone through many incarnations) had to be torn down due to structural issues, they built a whole new one that still looked like a ship.

I live in New Jersey because when the state government, after hundreds of thousands of dollars in efforts to write a new slogan for tourism in the state, had come up with nothing, decided to ask New Jerseyans for suggestions. And they even got some that could be printed in a family newspaper, although my contribution ("New Jersey--What are YOU lookin' at?") was not accepted. They chose: "New Jersey--Come See For Yourself," which I consider only a slightly more polite (and therefore less interesting) version of what I'd submitted.

I love it here because every time there's some goofball legislation about adopting a state song, there are two perennial contenders: One little old man with his song "I'm From New Jersey," and "Born to Run," which mentions suicide twice. And we always end up without a state song. 

But mostly, I'm from New Jersey because my people are here. All hail, New Jerseyans. Thank goodness for you, and your sarcastic use of hazard lights. 

Why do you live where you live?

P.S. You can win a copy of one of the Aaron Tucker books on audio! Click here to see details. The books FOR WHOM THE MINIVAN ROLLS and A FAREWELL TO LEGS have been released by Books in Motion, read by Damon Abdallah (who will be interviewed at this space next week!), and AS DOG IS MY WITNESS is coming on audiobook and download next week. Click here for contest rules (there aren't too many).

Against Synopses

Josh Getzler

I’m now over my compulsive refreshing of Amazon Rankings after last week’s frankly fascinating flurry of ascents (descents) into the heights (depths) of the charts. One last note: I also found it interesting that movement on the Amazon charts did not necessarily result in a comparable degree of success in the B&N.com charts. This probably has to do with a combination of differing demographics of who buys from B&N versus Amazon, and particularly in one case, when an author really concentrates on Amazon and ignores B&N. In any event, it was, anecdotally, my most retweeted post, and thanks to everyone for reacting. (And to Harry Potter’s Psychiatrist, neither the author nor I organized the Goodreads giveaway, and I suspect there will be others.)

This week’s particularly hectic. I’m two weeks out from my son’s Bar Mitzvah, so much of my free time is being spent talking to caterers and figuring out table seating charts. We’re also noticing that the boy’s formerly high and clear voice is beginning to waver a bit as he sings. Given that he just surpassed my wife in height (she's not Manute Bol, but it's a milestone nonetheless), we’re hoping like crazy that it doesn’t change any more between now and the beginning of June.

So just a quick word today on synopses, which are on my mind because I had to ask two of my clients to supply them for editors who requested them. The reason I didn’t have their synopses on file is very simple: I hate synopses, and don’t include them in my submission requirements.

When I was in college in the late 1980s, I took a course in Derridian deconstruction, which dealt with a number of arcane philosophies of literature and politics. One of the things it taught me was to take a text—complex, filled with the ebbs and flows of drama or plot—and break it down into its fundamental, chronological components. For my final paper I took Absalom, Absalom, broke it down into its plot elements, imposed Derridian Differance (with an a), and…sucked all the life out of Faulkner’s masterpiece. (Aside: I reread my paper four years after graduation, and didn’t understand one word. But it was, of course, very impressive.)

And that’s my problem with synopses: They take an author’s labor and break it down into dry plot elements. We want to read a story, be transported along. We don’t simply want to know what happens. We want to know in the author’s sweet time. It’s why I hate reading synopses, and most authors hate writing them. I feel that a letter with a paragraph or two with the idea of the book—genre, basic characterizations, length—and the first five pages, gives me a much better sense of whether I have an author I want to work with than two pages of “and then they find the daughter dead in the bathtub. And then the maid screams. And then the police come…”

OK, off my soapbox. Back to seating charts.   

 

The Voice (not a TV show)

Jeff Cohen

I've been re-reading Laughing Matters, a memoir of television and movie writing by the late, incomparably brilliant Larry Gelbart. And I've been re-reading one passage especially this week for my own selfish reasons. 

Speaking of perhaps his most famous triumph, M*A*S*H the television series, Gelbart writes, "The worst aspect of watching reruns is compulsively, mentally rewirting the material, trying to write better lines to rush over to Stage 9 to make changes in an episode that was irreversibly imprinted on film twenty-five years ago."

I got a tiny taste of that this week. Through the courtesy of the good people at Books In Motion, I heard my first novel, For Whom The Minivan Rolls, read--no, performed--by Damon Abdallah, whom I have never so much as exchanged an email with, let alone met.

Mr. Abdallah does a very nice job with the material, not overdoing it with exaggerated voices the way many voice actors do when reading a novel with a large cast. I have no idea how many characters I wrote into Minivan, but I noticed as he was reading it that there were a lot. He had clearly given a good deal of thought into how each would talk, aided very little by my descriptions, which when they exist at all are minimal.

Oh, I'd tweak things here and there, largely because the writer always has an inflection and a delivery in his head when writing dialogue especially, but the vast majority of what Mr. Abdallah has done with my work (and I'm now starting on his performance of the second Aaron Tucker novel, A Farewell to Legs) is really creative and presents the material in a way that the author--that's me--would say is true to the original vision.

But now I can't get the guy's voice out of my head. I don't know if I'll ever be able to write in my own voice again without thinking, "I wonder how Damon Abdallah would read this," or simply channel his inflections into my work. It's a little disconcerting.

Maybe I should have spread the listening experience out a little bit.

The other thing about hearing someone read your work out loud, I've discovered, is that every little miscalculation, every misplaced word, every unconsidered choice, is amplified at the same volume as all the words one might find a source of pride. The mistakes just sound like they're at a decibel level that could fill Central Park. 

To be fair, it is now 10 years since Minivan was first published, which means it's at least 11 years since I wrote it. So the primitive nature of the technology Aaron uses (he apparently has never heard of Google and thinks a cell phone is the absolute cutting edge of gadgetry--I'd be horrified to show him an iPhone) is period-appropriate. 

Some of the pop culture references are a tiny bit dated as well, but not awfully. The book, to my ear, is a clear example of a writer not the least bit confident in his ability to write a novel, but who has a good sense of character and can write dialogue. I don't by any means disllike the book--it's very dear to my heart, and I honestly believe the story still works well--but now on published book #11, I have a clearer vision of what will land on the floor with a clunk and should therefore be avoided.

After a while listening to an audio performance of your work, it's interesting how two things happen: As a writer, you remember certain phrases that you're especially proud of just before they come up, and brace yourself for how they'll be read. Will it be what you expected? Usually, yes it will.

The other thing is that you want to go back and change stuff. You want to stop the reader at certain points and say, "Wait! I know that's the word on the page--but this is so much better!" Gelbart's frustration must have been what I'm feeling, multiplied geometrically. 

The other phenomenon is that you really want to sit down with the person who did the reading and discuss his process in detail. Mr. Abdallah, how did you conceive the voices? How did you get through some of my marathon, rambling sentences with all the supportive clauses without taking a breath or even a drink of water? How long did it take to record each book? How long had you prepared beforehand? Did you like the book?

It's funny how you want the guy who reads the book to enjoy it. 

Someday, I hope I'll get the chance to discuss the Aaron Tucker books with Mr. Abdallah (the third, As Dog Is My Witness, will be available from Books In Motion shortly, I'm told--perhaps Damon is reading it now). 

I can call him "Damon," you know. We share something.

Going Against My Own Philosophy: The story of how three very different books turned me into an Amazon Rankings Stalker for one day.

Josh Getzler

Today’s post is about not practicing what I preach. Since Amazon (and Barnes and Noble, but mostly Amazon) began to rank books several years ago, I have spent serious amounts of time vainly trying to convince my clients that if they spent their days pressing “refresh” on their ranking every five minutes, they would a) get carpal-tunnel syndrome, b) become unproductive at their writing right when I needed them to be producing the next book, and c) quickly descend into obsessive-compulsive mania, placing ever-more meaning on the fact that they went from, say, 116,065 to 116,172 between two and three am. “It’s counterproductive to your career to concentrate on your ranking so compulsively,” I would say. “The important thing is to do your best at marketing your book, working in tandem with your publisher to make the most of the window you have to sell the majority of your books.”

 

And it’s not that an Amazon ranking is reflective of any absolutely quantifiable metric (if you aren’t working in Seattle). We know it’s some combination of sales, page views, reviews, and alchemy. We don’t know how many books you need to sell in order to rise (fall? It’s such a pain when getting better means having a lower number). It’s all relative. Certainly it gets harder the higher up (lower number) you are to move the dial. And forget about the top 50 or so, which are all different editions of Hunger Games and 50 Shades of Grey these days anyway. So I tell my clients that while it’s OK to check every so often, don’t make yourself crazy.

 

I spent today going against everything I have been saying. I was dying for the numbers to refresh (which incidentally happens once an hour, unless the book is in the top 1,000, in which case it changes more often). I cursed when a title went in the wrong direction and tweeted madly when it rose (fell). And the interesting thing to me, and the reason I played the Amazon Stalking game so rabidly today, was that I had three titles moving significantly, and all for different reasons.

 

The most “normal” reason to be interested on a rainy Tuesday was because one of my clients had a book published this morning. Whitney Johnson’s Dare, Dream, Do (which I misstated on Facebook at 5:30 am—in my congratulatory post to her—because in my sleepy haze I used the title with which she had submitted the book to me, rather than what we decided on with the publisher, Bibliomotion), is a marvelous, inspirational book about finding your dreams and going for them. Whitney, who works in finance and venture capital in Boston with Innovation guru Clay Christensen, has spent the last several months—really almost a year—setting herself up for this day. She’s been talking with her vast network of contacts throughout the country, very nicely and with the right balance of savvy and fervor and belief in her message of empowerment, and built an almost palpable buzz for her book. I always believed that she had a chance to do well, but it wasn’t until ten days ago, when I saw Whitney organize the TriBeCa Film Festival’s Disruptive Innovation Awards (where I became a rock star dad to my 9 year old daughter when I emailed her a photo of Justin Bieber at the awards…), that I understood just how powerful her network was. Entrepreneurs, CEO’s, techies, media folk all knew about her book—and all liked and supported her, and promised to tweet and post on May 8. I couldn’t wait to see what would happen to her book when it went on sale. And there were hints that it was going to be good—her ranking had gone from 100,000 to 50,000 to 20,000 to 11,000 over the last week.

 

The second reason I was so interested in Amazon rankings today had to do with a book published in February: American Cancer Society CMO Dr. Otis Brawley and journalist Paul Goldberg’s How We Do Harm, which is Otis’s discussion of the ways that cancer patients in the US today are being over- and under-treated. (I’m being facile, because the book is about much more than that, but it’ll do for this discussion.) How We Do Harm had had a nice launch, with many strong reviews and a second printing, but it had been out a while and was sitting in the 10,000 range in ranking. That’s good, but the book had pretty much stabilized there for a couple of weeks. Then Otis spoke before a large group of medical journalists around ten days ago; and then was interviewed on television; and then was quoted in a number of medical blogs; and all of a sudden the number started to improve. And then, this morning, co-author Paul Goldberg emailed me “We’re in the Times—D5.” And it was an almost half-page article taken from the NY Times Wellness blog that discussed the book and interviewed Otis (with a large photo). I wanted to see what that would do to the rankings.

 

The final reason I was looking was for a unique situation. Several months ago one of my first clients, Keith Raffel, had taken a thriller he’d written, Drop by Drop, and released it himself in e-book form. He’d done quite well, selling several thousand copies at prices ranging from $1.99 to $5.99. Keith’s a former Tech CEO (as well as the traditionally published author of several books), and knows a little bit about incremental analysis. He’d hit a little dip in sales a couple of weeks ago, and decided to do something he’d never done before: put Drop by Drop on free download for the weekend, then see a) how he’d do in free downloads, and b) whether that might goose sales. Turns out he had more than twenty-three thousand free downloads, hitting the top ten in the whole free Kindle store. And when he began charging for it again, he found that he was selling considerably more copies than before, and was sitting around 500 in paid Kindle sales at the start of the day.

 

So when I woke up in the morning, Keith was around 500, Whitney (who’d gone on sale at midnight) had dropped all the way to 3,300, and Paul and Otis were at around 3,400. It is now 10:12 PM as I type this, and I’ve had a fascinating day. Keith stayed around 500 all day—but that was a good sign, as it’s pretty easy to drop off the face of the earth from that number if you don’t sell for any length of time. Otis and Paul, through traditional publicity (the story in the Times) augmented slightly by social media (several of us—but not hundreds of us, mind you--shared and tweeted the link to the article), went all the way to 1,300. In the late afternoon I received an email from their editor informing me that they were going back to press for a third printing. And Whitney, who was filled with positive energy and whose friends were overflowing with a bounty of good will toward her (she had people—what we call “big mouth influencers” cheering her on all day), was ubiquitous on social media. It would not at all surprise me if the number of people who saw a tweet or a Facebook post about Dare, Dream, Do today numbered in the millions. This evening, after she appeared in a sold out PivotBoston conference in front of 120 women, Whitney’s debut, on its launch day, hit 645, and #12 in the personal finance chart. And with events planned all over the country over the next couple of weeks, I would not be surprised at all if it improved as time passes.

 

So you can see why my mouse hovered constantly over “refresh.” For disparate but incredibly exciting reasons, I needed to ignore my own philosophy and—for one day, anyway—embrace my inner Amazon Stalker.   

 

Sign Language

Jeff Cohen

A brief commercial to start: FOR WHOM THE MINIVAN ROLLS, the first Aaron Tucker mystery, is now available for the first time on audiobook! The good folks at BooksInMotion have released MINIVAN unabridged, with a terrific reading by Damon Abdallah. You can download it here or buy a CD copy here! Please take a look (and a listen) and let me know what you think.

Now, for the business at hand: People like to get their books signed, most often by the author (having them signed by, say, a plumber would be a trifle odd, but to each his/her own). Authors like nothing better than signing books, because 1. It means the person with the book enjoys your work and 2. They have to buy the book to get it signed. Win/win.

The difficult part, from the author's point of view, is when the reader, in particular one who is not a personal acquaintance of the author, wants it inscribed. The reader will hand me the book, with a look of (you should pardon the expression) great expectations on her (it is inevitably a her) face, and ask for it to be personally inscribed.

Now, believe me--I have no problem with that, and am tickled pink that a reader cares enough to ask for a personal message to be written into a book I actually wrote. Hell, I'm thrilled a book that I wrote is out there on real paper, between actual covers, in an honest-to-goodness bookstore, for that person to buy and read. 

But the fact is, sometimes I haven't got a clue what to write on that title page other than my name (or that of my CLOSE PERSONAL FRIEND E.J. Copperman).

I mean, think about it: Someone you've never before laid eyes upon, who walked into your line of sight seconds ago, offers up a copy of something you spent months creating, and not only spends some of her actual cash money on it, but asks you to write her a small personal note to act as a commemoration of the moment you met. Just a little something this person will see every time they open the book for the rest of forever.

But hey, no pressure.

Compound this question with the idea that one's work is intended to be, as the trade calls it, "humorous." So now, this total stranger is not only expecting a note personalized to her, she wants it to be witty. And in a warm and ingratiating way that is specific to the reader. Go ahead, say something funny. Right now.

To be totally honest, I do have a few stock phrases at my disposal to use when I really can't extemporaneously conjure up a reader-specific phrase that perfectly fits the occasion. For the Double Feature Mystery series, I could write "Comedy Tonight!" and sign the book. The theater in the series was called Comedy Tonight, and it showed only comedies, which was the hook on which the series was hung. So that could work in a pinch.

It's not a trick, but it is useful to size up the reader as much as possible. I'll ask her how she came to hear about the book (if she hasn't told me herself). This is, to give away a trade secret, not really because I want to find that out, although it doesn't hurt to see where readers hear about your work. It's really to gauge the reader's attitude. If she's bubbly and fun--as many of my readers seem to be--an inscription like "Keep smiling!" might work well. If she mentions her own work, something on the order of "Best of luck with your book" can be appropriate.

Some readers seem to think you know their names. They'll ask you to inscribe it and look at you. You ask what name the reader would like in the book, and get an answer like, "Hecuba." Ask the reader how to spell that, and you usually get a look that indicates you should know. Don't ask, and someone named "Pat" will invariably spell the name "Paqt" just to be contrary. 

The flip side of this is that some readers will hand you the book and then tell you what you should write in it. This is a puzzling tactic, (although admittedly sometimes welcome if you're dry on funny inscriptions) essentially telling the writer, "I love your work and the way you express a thought--here are exactly the words I want you to write." I don't mind it at all, but it's an interesting idea.

If you ever see me at a book signing (or anywhere else that isn't the men's room) and want me to sign a book for you, please don't hesitate a second to ask. I'll be happy to do so. If you want it inscribed, it will be my honor to inscribe it. If you want me to write something specific, sure. I'll do that happily. Just a few rules:

1. It has to be a book I've written. Don't ask me to sign Plato's Republic. I don't think Plato even gets royalty statements anymore.

2. You have to buy the book. Don't ask me to sign the one you took out of the library.

3. Tell me your name and how to spell it. I don't care if your name is Al; tell me how to spell it.

4. Don't look at me and say, "Write something funny." Every witty impulse in my brain shuts off when people say that.

5. Don't say, "Please just sign it. You can get more on e-Bay if it's not inscribed."

6. Don't you dare walk away until you get exactly what you want. That's what I'm there for.

Malice Stuff (Now With One Picture!)

Jeff Cohen

 

Me (um, third from left) with, from left, Meredith Cole, Cynthia Chow, Leann Sweeney, Lorraine Bartlett and Heather Webber (in background, Luci "the Poison Lady" Zahray and PJ Coldren)

BETHESDA, MD--Every once in a while, it's nice to go somewhere other than one's home and pretend to be a famous author. (Here might be the place to note that some people appear to believe the words "famous" and "author" are joined appropriately for more than, say, 10 people on the planet. They're wrong.)

 

For the mystery author, particularly one whose work falls into the category we unfortunately refer to as "cozies," there can be few experiences as gratifying as attending the Malice Domestic conference in Bethesda, MD every April. And so it was this weekend.

Malice, for the uninitiated, is an annual three-day (ish) conference that isn't quite of Bouchercon proportions (which is nice, since an author at Bouchercon often feels like someone trying to be noticed in the third tier at Yankee Stadium) but larger than most regional gatherings. It's not by any means an intimate con, but it isn't so huge that you won't run into almost everyone you want to see sooner or later.

Since it devotes itself almost entirely to the "traditional" mystery--and if someone could make the distinction for me between that and a cozy, I'd appreciate it--Malice's panels can be about anything from the right kind of poison to use in that tricky situation to how to work knitting cat quilts into a story about multiple murders. 

Authors do their best to answer increasingly detailed questions about process while mentioning, as many times as possible, their latest works. This is tolerated by fans, who appear to be thrilled to see the creators of their favorite novels in the flesh. 

From my point of view--and I just returned from Malice a few hours ago--here are my quick and unconsidered memories and impressions of Malice Domestic 24:

* Malice is a fan convention. As such, it's not meant to be an author's retreat--we're there to meet the readers, and thank goodness, they show up in great numbers. Many of them have even read our books! And they comment--almost always favorably--about what they've read. That is the greatest pleasure of the author biz, hearing from appreciative readers. 

* Coming in a close second to meeting readers is renewing acquaintances and friendships with other authors. Give writers a bar and other writers to talk to, and we are a happy bunch. Among those I was especially happy to see again: Leann Sweeney, Lorraine Bartlett, Hank Phillipi Ryan, Jim and Joyce Lavene, Chris Grabenstein, Ilene Schneider, Elaine Viets, Jennifer Stanley, Kate Carlisle, Roberta Rogow, Jane K. Cleland, Dru Ann Love, Roberta Isleib, Parnell Hall, Neil Plakcy, Con Lehane and Hallie Ephron.

*Glimpsed from across a crowded room: Lee Goldberg, Jan Burke, Donna Andrews, and many, many others. 

* Spent time talking to two of my favorite librarians on the planet (our own Dale, alas, did not attend), the gracious and wry Doris Ann Norris and the luminescent Cynthia Chow.

* Talked for a good while (and I mean "good") with Jack Bludis and Debbie Mack, which was fun.

* Had a blast of a panel, something different called "Dirty Little Secrets" with the moderator Aimee Hix and fellow panelists Robin Hathaway, Kate Gallison, Elizabeth Lynn Casey and Toni L.P. Kelner. Had to figure out what skills I have other than writing (hint: not many), who has done the largest kindness to me ever, and what my writing-on-a-deadline snack might be. A lot of good laughs, mostly for my panel mates.

* After the panel, got to sign books next to the too-long-absent Mindy Starns Clark, who showed me the ropes at my first mystery conference about 10 years ago and made me feel like maybe I did belong after all. It's always great to see her and hear about her family.

* Got to talk to my exalted editor, Shannon Jamieson Vazquez, whom I do not see nearly often enough. It's always a pleasure, even when she's telling me about more work I need to do on something I thought was already finished.

* Talked to a few certified legends of the biz, like Charlaine Harris and (briefly) Joan Hess. Great for those moments when you start believing your own publicity releases to remember that you haven't done anywhere near what others have accomplished.

* Heard a talk by the ridiculously knowledgeable Luci Zahray (the poison lady) about Ethanol, and no, it wasn't regarding the benefits or deteriments of using it as an alternative fuel. There's a reason nobody ever lets Luci buy them drinks at a conference.

Overall, Malice is something no writer of less-than-gory mysteries should miss. I came back recharged, invigorated, and exhausted. To a house in which my bedroom walls have been, well, demolished, there was a leak from an upstairs heating pipe to the living room ceiling, and my wife was hitting the road for a few days at a conference for her job.

I bet it won't be as much fun.

London Report, part 2

Josh Getzler

So when last I wrote, I’d had two days at the London Book Fair, with another to go. And so I did, and it was terrific, and a wonderful experience. I feel like it’s a great idea for an agent—even one whose role is not to sell foreign rights—to go and take meetings in the International rights bullpen at Earl’s Court. Part of the reason is just because it’s a good idea to inhale the atmosphere—of camaraderie and commerce, professionals jacked up on caffeine extremely focused on meeting their schedules. It’s a bit like when I spent a few summers working on the floor of the New York Stock Exchange. If you look from above, or on TV, it looks like chaos. But really it’s a bunch of collegial folks doing business.

So last week I said that I’d go through some of what I heard in London; what markets were wanting and hesitant to take; eager to see and backing off. Here goes (realizing that these are gross generalities, and others might have heard different):

1)      Europe’s economic struggles are clearly affecting its publishers. Spain and Eastern Europe in particular were very frank in saying that previous aggressive buying has been curtailed. I went with fifteen or so books at the front of my list; my Eastern European co-agent said that they could only see being successful with around three—two of which already had buzz and several other foreign sales; the third was Anne Tyler. With Spain it was somewhat less specific, and more sad smiles and “times are hard.”

2)      On the other hand, Brazil seems to be very healthy. Whether from not being in Europe or from having a large population with burgeoning readership, the word from Brazil was “lay it on us.”

3)       France is…unique. I have three British historical novels (my joke is that I’m looking for one novel set in every century—to date I’m good with the 11^th, 12^th, 16^th, 17^th, 19^th, 20^th and 21^st Centuries. So if you have a good thriller set around Edward III, I’m your man!). A French editor smiled, shrugged, and said “what else do you have?” She was very pleased, however, when I said that I thought the French Revolution could be the next Tudors, and was looking for a good novel set around the storming of the Bastille.

4)      Everyone wants a “tentpost thriller” with a Franchise protagonist. Yes, well…

5)      Nobody wants to see any more dystopian YA, particularly paranormal. Unless, of course, you know…it’s good. But that’s glib. It’s really that from the YA side, there’s a sense that we’re ready for a next trend, to come after the Hunger Games followers are exhausted, which came after the Twilight followers were exhausted. There was a bit of a sense it could simply be realistic fiction, a la John Green; or perhaps witches or angels or new shapeshifters. Zombies are finishing their cycle too, it would appear. The amazing thing, of course, is that it’s going to be the one incredible story, rather than any industry-wide desire for a trend, that will ultimately determine what will be the next Big Thing.

On Wednesday night, after the nice announcer lady kicked everyone out of Earl’s Court, I went to a pub and had my last supper in London, while I read a manuscript. While I was eating, I noticed that the pub was becoming more and more crowded, and the predominant color being worn by the locals was blue. I discovered that the Chelsea Football Club was playing a Champions League semifinals match against the powerful first-seeded Barcelona club, and the match was about to start. I almost stayed to watch, but knew it was going to become extremely crowded, and I was going to be leaving for the airport early the next morning. So I went back to my cupboard under the stairs, petted Scabbers, and watched while I packed. I’m a very big sports fan with a wide range of likes. I’d never watched a high-level soccer match of this type before, though. It was exhilarating. And Chelsea, which won 1-0, had precisely ONE shot on goal in 90 minutes. And I couldn’t take my eyes off it. This evening I saw on my friend Mark James’ Facebook page that Chelsea had—almost miraculously—defeated Barca again to advance to the finals. All I can say is Go Blues! And next time I’ll watch from the pub.  

 

Interview Answers, Self-promotion, and a Sappy Love Letter

Jeff Cohen

A couple of weeks ago, in a post about interviewing, I invited readers to post their own questions to me about interviewing, and promised to answer them. We got a few, and this is a good time to address them, so let's begin, shall we?

Robin Minnick asked: Okay, Jeff, you said you don't like to lob softball questions, and I agree, those are boring to answer. You've interviewed several celebrated people. What question, or perhaps type of question, do you consider the hardest for you to ask an interviewee? What question is either difficult to get past your lips or has you fretting about the answer in advance? 

Good question (or questions), Robin. I don't like to ask personal questions; when I pitch an interview to a publication, it is generally of a person whose work I admire and respect, and the interview will be about the work. When I interviewed Phoebe Snow, for example, I wanted to talk about music. The magazine I was writing for (which I ended up suing for other reasons) wanted me to ask about her life. I was not comfortable asking about her daughter, who was born with a severe brain injury, and when I started to say, "I wish I didn't have to ask this," the late Ms. Snow replied gently, "Just say, fine."

Cindy Smith asked: You say you don't like to ask the ho-hum typical questions when doing an interview, but do you have a favorite question that you always ask because you figure it will generate an interesting answer?

I've already sort of addressed this in comments to you, Cindy, but let me elaborate. No, I don't have one question I'll always ask, because I think the interview should be specific to the subject. I can't think of two people I'd interview whose questions would be exactly the same. But having said that, I do have a few that I'll ask of more than one person if I think it applies to their work. For example, I like to finish an interview by asking, "What do you know now that you wish you'd known then?" I've gotten some interesting answers, and if I could remember one, I'd tell it to you.

Elaine Charton asked: Is there anything you absolutely refuse to ask in an interview?

Again, Elaine, I try to stay away from personal questions, because I don't think they're relevant and I don't find them interesting. But when the publication that's paying me insists on some things being covered, I'll cover those things. I don't remember ever flat-out refusing to ask a question, but that's because I don't remember being asked to use a question I found absolutely inappropriate or offensive. 

After I mentioned that the favorite interview for which I was the subject was conducted by famed journalist Linda Ellerbee, Donald A. Coffin asked: What did she do that leads you to list her as the best interviewer you've encountered? Was it her prepared questions? Her ability to follow-up on your answers? Some combination of things that are difficult to disentangle?

First, I was flattered Linda accepted the invitation to conduct the interview. But I found her questions to be insightful, she had obviously read my books, which is a refreshing change of pace, and her questions were about process but were also fun and interesting to the reader. They were not so "inside baseball" that someone who wasn't a crime fiction writer wouldn't care. She had obviously put thought into the interview, and that was what made it a good experience. Another really good interviewer who talked to me was David Skibbins, a fellow author and life coach, and we did a half-hour telephone interview that was a ton of fun. 

Brenda asked: Is there anything on your bucket list that (a) your readers can't imagine that you'd care to share or (b) that you are anxious to share?

My bucket list? I'm not sure I have one, but one thing is to have a novel published outside the crime fiction category, just to see if I can. Working on that. Something my readers (both of them) can't imagine I'd care to share? Read on to the bottom of this post.

ROCCO asked: What made you decide to switch gears and go from a trilogy about a guy who ran a 'comedy-only' theatre to writing about a woman who owns a Jersey Shore home? Did your love of classic movies (ala TOPPER) figure into it, or were other factors involved?

Thanks for asking, Rocco. I was persuaded to "switch gears" when my publisher informed me that Elliot Freed's services at the comedy movie theater Comedy Tonight would no longer be desired, and then asked if I'd like to do something else, using a name other than the one on my birth certificate. I was glad they asked, and from that came the Haunted Guesthouse series, and yes, the TOPPER films and TV show were an inspiration. 

Any more questions? It's an easy post for me, and maybe a chance for you to hone your interview skills...?

 

P.S. I'll be at the Malice Domestic conference this coming weekend, and on the panel "Dirty Little Secrets: An Inside Look at the Writer’s Life” with Laura Bradford (Elizabeth Lynn Casey), Kate Gallison, Robin Hathaway and Toni L.P. Kelner. Sunday April 29 at 9:45. PLEASE drop on by, and if you see me roaming the halls, walk up and say hello--it's why we authors show up! (That, and the free tote bag.)

P.P.S. There is a woman out there (or in here, depending on how you look at it) who is among the most understanding and patient on the planet, who has inspired pretty much every novel I've ever written and maybe a few more things, who never fails to get my jokes, even if she doesn't find them funny all the time, and who once was in fact, an interview subject for this blog. And when Thursday comes around this week--the very day before I will hop into a car and drive to Bethesda for Malice Domestic--she and I will be married for exactly 25 years. I don't believe in miracles, but that comes close.

Happy anniversary, honey. Let's hope 25 years is just the warm-up.

All Fair

Josh Getzler

Greetings from Cozy Single Room 17 of the London Lodge, otherwise known as the Cupboard Under the Stairs (Where's Hedwig?).

I'm here for the London Book Fair, having arrived Monday morning off the red-eye and leaving Thursday noon. So it's 2 1/2 days full of meetings, followed by beers and the occasional curry. Ive always said that, other than New York, the city I could most easily move to would be Rome. But after visiting with the family this summer and returning now, there really is no contest. I've taken to London--rain, expense, tiny hotel rooms and all--and...well, I guess I'll have to go to Rome soon to compare...

OK, so how is this Fair different from all other Fairs (sorry, Passover hangover)? Well, let me start by saying that my comparisons are the BEA in New York, writers conferences both regional and national, and professional baseball winter meetings from my other life. I've not yet been to Frankfurt or Bologna, which my sense is this most closely resembles. But from my experience, this is actually closest in atmosphere to a baseball winter meeting.

The first thing is that this doesn't at all resemble any writers conference, most notably because there simply aren't many authors visible. This is a working conference for publishing professionals--publishers, agents, international rights managers and reps, suppliers and other vendors. It's incredibly commercial--it's a trade show, where the product (sorry authors for using the word!) is books. In that respect, there are similarities to BEA--big convention center, with booths for all the publishers. But in New York, there's a real sense of the presence of writers, and also of the Public. Librarians, booksellers, and fans buy tickets and travel the floor, picking up ARC's (though fewer and fewer each year) and seeing what the publishers have to offer. Here everyone seems to be associated with a house, an agency or a supplier.

Another difference between this and every other conference I've attended is that I am constantly hearing other languages--moreso than at BEA. Of course, this is the first time I've attended a conference where I'm specifically selling translation rights. But the International Rights Center is very large and well-populated, and in any five square foot area I'm as likely to hear Chinese or German or Dutch, French, or Spanish. Today, for example, I met with (consecutively) a German publisher, our Italian co-agent, a Brazilian publisher, a foreign literary scout, a British editorial director, our British co-agents, an American editor and his British counterpart, our German co-agents, and another British editor. Yesterday I met with French agents, Korean agents, and had drinks with a bunch of film folks. Tomorrow is six more, plus an author schlepping in from Manchester for coffee.

I'm beat, but also exhilarated. The people have been simply wonderful--smart, productive, all excited to talk books. I've been pitching and re-pitching, seeing what's getting nods and what blank stares. I'll go through that analysis next week, when I've had the chance to recover and really consider what I've been hearing. And yes, there's lots of talk about ebook pricing and distribution, and belt-tightening etc that we always hear and complain about. And of course folks who've been to a bunch of these fairs say that it feels, you know, DIFFERENT from the good old days. But that's not the way I see it--and not simply because I am, as ever, looking for good things. It's because there IS a sense that books can sell--whether because of or despite the growth of e-publishing. Publishers are looking at opportunities to grow or expand lists to reflect and exploit this new reality. They are, among other things discussing launching e-original imprints (almost all the publishers are doing this, particularly for their genre fiction).

And the other reason I've been enjoying this trip so much is that it has given me a chance to meet people I've sometimes never even spoken with, but only communicated via email. There's a ton of two-cheek kissing and "so THERE you are" in the entrance to the rights center, and good-natured complaining about sore feet and inability to navigate the cavernous Earl's Court convention center.

I can't wait till tomorrow.

Female Dog. That's It.

Jeff Cohen

It absolutely cracks me up that (at least this week) ABC is airing a sitcom called "Don't Trust the B____ in Apt. 23." (That's the real name; I'm not censoring it.) I only saw a minute of the show, and it wasn't funny, but the title is hilarious.

Words have never offended me. I can't think of a word that's been used in my presence that, strictly based on its existence, has bothered me. I understand that other people consider certain words "bad," but I don't get that. George Carlin said, "There are no bad words. There are bad thoughts," but then, we can't get upset about what someone is thinking until they say it, and the words take the brunt of our displeasure.

Sure, I get that some people don't like to hear some words. They've been taught all their lives that these are offensive things, that the people who use them are trying to insult them, and that anyone who stoops to "such language" has run out of more sophisticated ways of expressing the thought involved.

I don't buy into that. There are words--chiefly ethnic slurs--that are considered acceptable within the group and violently incendiary outside of it. It's the same word. Context creates insult. In that case, it's the thought and not the word, isn't it?

When a neighbor of mine--long ago, before we moved to this town--took a look at my infant daughter in my arms and suggested that "she really has a Hebe face, doesn't she?", I wasn't offended by the word; I was horrified by the thought being expressed. And I asked him if he understood why there was, in fact, a For Sale sign in front of my house. He didn't. We left a few months later.

So the little TV show about the "B" in Apt. 23, I'll admit, simultaneously amuses and baffles me. Because I'll be damned if I can figure out how the expression "bitch" became a curse word.

It's a female dog. That's what the word means. And yet, say it out loud in front of many people, and they will look as if you've suggested they are of a sexual deviance so lurid and perverse that to identify oneself in such a way would be to have committed a crime against society. All you've done is compare a woman, presumably, to a female dog.

Try it with a man: "You dog, you." "He's a real hound." "He follows her around like a Golden Retriever." Where's the offense? It might not be the most complimentary term imaginable, but a vulgarity? Hardly. My dog doesn't mind when we call him a dog. Of course, he has no idea what the heck we're talking about, but even if he did, I don't think it would bother him much.

So what is the big deal with "bitch"? The fact that it's a female dog? That's it? Nobody seems to have a problem with it during the Westminster Dog Show every year.

Try calling a woman a "ewe," or a "doe," or a "filly." Probably not going to endear you to them, but it won't get your face slapped. It doesn't add up. "Bitch" isn't even a four-letter word, and we've clearly decided that is the requisite number of letters for a really offensive word. Call someone "reprehensible" or "contemptible," and nobody blinks. Why? Too many letters. (Also, there's a decent possibility they don't know what you mean.)

The same network has another show--which I have been assiduously avoiding in the sincere hope I will never have to spend a minute thinking about it--called "GCB." That used to stand for "Good Christian Bitches," which apparently was the title of the book upon which the series was based. And once again, ABC (perhaps noting that it already has the letter "B" in its name) chickened out and created an acronym that absolutely no one recognized. When the show was being promoted before its premiere, I assumed the letters stood for "George Carver Bridge," and that it was about a span named after the world's most famous peanut scientist.

We assign, sometimes, too much responsibility to individual words. Perhaps it's time to consider the thoughts behind them and let people--in the interest of free speech--use any word that fits the thought. Then we'll know what people really think.

Assuming that's something we actually want to know.

Questions, Questions... Questions?

Jeff Cohen

Another year I didn't make the American Library Association's list of Most Frequently Challenged Books (the ones the most people wanted to have removed from shelves). What does a guy have to do?

(Side note: To Kill A Mockingbird? Really?)

For the past 26 years (not long before it's 27!), I have been a freelance writer, and that has meant a lot of different things. I write mystery novels, occasionally I write non-mystery novels, I write non-fiction books, and then there's the day-to-day work: articles for magazines and newspapers.

Before freelancing, I wrote on staff for magazines, chiefly trade magazines, and before that, when dinosaurs ruled the earth, I was a newspaper reporter.

Even in college, writing for the student newspaper, I was finding the skills that I'd use for every job I had for the rest of my life, assuming I don't at some point take on a greeter's position at the local Walmart or decide to go to medical school very late in life. And while I did in fact discover that I was lousy at gathering news, I also realized--after a good number of years, which is typical of me--that I am actually a very good interviewer.

There's a craft to conducting a good interview. You can say what you want about the fawning style of James Lipton (known around my house as "the incredibly pretentious guy") on Inside the Actor's Studio, but the man knows his subjects and he asks good questions (except for that stupid survey at the end--"what's your favorite word"?). 

Knowing your subject if foremost. The better you familiarize yourself with the person being interviewed, the better the questions will be. But it's also important to read OTHER interviews the person has given, if for no other reason than avoiding the questions that have been asked a thousand times.

Interviewing is like writing a character--you have to get into the head of your subject and consider what it's like to be them. What thoughts do they have? What do they care about? What don't they care about? What is it about what they do (interviews are usually about work in some way) that makes it interesting? What must their concerns be? 

I'm good at coming up with questions the subject will find stimulating, which will elicit better answers. I don't do hard news interviews, so "gotcha" questions (like the infamous "what magazines do you read?") are not part of my style, but I'm not going to lob softballs the whole time. It's not that I consider the subject an adversary; it's that easy questions return easy--read "boring"--answers. My job is to make the interview fascinating.

I put a lot of work into an interview. I enjoy it. It's not the kind of thing I like to do on short notice (although I will; freelancers rarely turn down an assignment). Preparation is important, and so is thought. I want to consider questions ahead of time so that I don't get that feeling after the conversation is done that I missed the one subject that would have put the piece over the top. You don't always have the luxury of being able to call back with follow-ups.

Because I do take interviewing seriously, it's a major disappointment when I am, on rare occasions, interviewed by someone who doesn't. Radio spots especially can turn into snorefests because the host hasn't read the book, is reading your information off a press release, and is asking you all the same questions s/he asks every author who appears on the program. It's sloppy, it's unprofessional, and worst of all, it's dull. If I don't think I'm interesting, what's someone tuning in going to come away with?

I have, luckily, sometimes been interviewed by people who are good at it. This interview, for example, was clearly the work of someone who had read my book and really had a curiosity about process and inspiration. It was a joy to do. I wish I could say that about every one I've done--and I'm hardly a household name outside my own household, so I don't get interviewed that much--but unfortunately, I can't. There are too many who phone it in. Sometimes literally.

Some thoughts on interviews and being interviewed:

Best subjects I have interviewed:

Garry Marshall

Carl Reiner

Phoebe Snow 

Mel Blanc (he really did end with "th- th- th- th- that's all, folks!")

William Goldman

Gene Roddenberry

Carrie Fisher

All were gracious, listened to the questions, did things other than simply push the latest project, and answered what was asked.

Not great:

David Mamet

Budd Schulberg (mostly because he was hard to hear on the phone; not his fault)

Best perk:

Blanc did at least six voices during the interview;

Wally ("Famous") Amos sent muffins afterward.

Dream interview:

Mel Brooks

Ringo Starr

Steven Spielberg

Mel Brooks (I know I said him twice; that's what a dream it would be!)

Best interviewer who has interviewed me:

Linda Ellerbee

Dream interviewer: (People I most wish would interview me)

Jon Stewart (the best interviewer on television bar none)

Terry Gross

Leonard Lopate

Craig Ferguson

Janet Maslin

 

If you'd like to test your skills as an interviewer, let's play a game: Anyone who wants to ask me a question based on this post (or on writing, or anything else), put it in a comment below or email me. If enough people play along, I'll answer the questions and post them next week. If there aren't enough questions, I'll just post about something else. No harm, no foul.

Ask away! 

A Few Short Takes

Josh Getzler

Today's post is short after the last couple, because I am sitting with my wife and kids, watching the NCAA Women's Basketball championship game. The eight year-old, our future scrappy point guard, is in pretty much awe of Baylor's Brittney Griner, who's 6"8 and dunks (and is brilliant). If our Ita REALLY grows, she'll be a foot shorter. But she can ball, so watch out Title IX! I mean of course she first has to conquer the NYC Yeshiva League, but we're all pretty ambitious.

But I did want to mention that I had the opportunity late this afternoon for a real Holy Cow moment. An email came in as I was about to leave the office from Jen Besser, the editor of Geoff Rodkey's brilliant Chronicles of Egg: Deadweather and Sunrise. It had a wonderful subject line: HOORAY!. There was no message, only a link: http://rickriordan.blogspot.com/2012/04/deadweather-and-sunrise-avast-ye.html . Click the link and you'll know why my beer at Ear Inn taasted particularly good.

Next week I'll be blogging from Orlando, where the family will be having seder with Mickey, Donald, and Harry and Ron and Hermione. I wonder if Butterbeer is kosher for Passover...

10 Things College Students Don't Know About English

Jeff Cohen

For the past two weeks, I've been between terms at the teaching gig, which is an odd time. You get into a rhythm with these things, but you're glad to have the break after you get through all the grading at the end of the term. Which is, believe me, a trial.

I believe my students try very hard to write what they think I want them to write. They don't always write what THEY want to write, which really is what I want them to write. But these kids have been trained all their lives to go for the grade and that's what they're doing.

Which makes me wonder why they're taking a writing class if they have--not hostility, but a general indifference toward the English language. Tomorrow, I'll go into class and lay out the rules, and for the following nine weeks, will want to pull what's left of my hair out when they blatantly don't remember them.

So in anticipation of starting a new term on Tuesday, let me detail:

10 Things My (College) Students Don't Know About the English Language

1. Your means belonging to you; you're contracts the words "you are". As in: Your parents are spending $50,000 a year in tuition, so you're going to get this right.
2. You don't lay on the bed. A chicken will lay on the bed if you are foolish enough to put one there. You lie on the bed.
3. When you're in a car, you put your foot on the brake. If you don't do it fast enough, you might hit something and break it.
4. 4. When someone looks at you in a clandestine fashion, he peeks. If you catch him, your ire peaks.
5. 5. The only time you put an apostrophe in it's is when you're contracting the words "it is." It's is not a possessive. That's the only time you put in the apostrophe. No, really. It is.
6. Too means also or excessive. To doesn't mean that.
7. Someone shortening the word "honey" as a term of endearment says "hon." Attila was a "Hun." It's different.
8. Some people stare at stars. They are not starring; they're staring.
9. People don't walk down the isle to get married. They might fly to an isle on their honeymoon, but before they leave, they should go to the supermarket and visit the sunscreen aisle.
10. Unless you're in one of those driving education cars, you can't get into the drivers seat. Having more than one driver would be dangerous. Sit in the driver's seat. Unless you call shotgun.

Bonus: Not every freakin' word that ends in "s" gets an apostrophe, okay?

I'm sorry. I'll be okay by next week. And by then I'll meet the students who'll have to learn all the above THIS term.

Also: Passover starts on Friday, according to my extremely secular calendar. (This happens to coincide with my more fervently held religious holiday, the beginning of the New York Yankees baseball season.) If you're interested in the 45-minute PowerPoint seder (now in HD!), feel free to stop on by. But let me know you're coming, so we'll have enough macaroons.

Get Out Of My Head

Josh Getzler

On Sunday afternoon, my wife and I sat down at the Public Theater near NYU in comfortable clothes. We popped sucking candies into our mouths, made certain our phones were off-off, and watched a thirty-something redheaded man enter what looked like a dilapidated office from the 1980’s, set down his coffee and turn on his ancient computer. It didn’t work, so he turned it off and waited the requisite ten seconds, then tried it again. As he waited for it to boot up, he looked around his desk and picked up a dog-eared copy of The Great Gatsby. He started to read out loud. He stopped (except for three intermissions, including a supper break) seven hours later, having acted the part of Nick Caraway (along with his co-workers at the office, who took on the roles of Gatsby, Daisy, Tom et al) in a complete reading of Fitzgerald’s book. The play was Gatz, and it was a revelation.

The performance itself, which was somewhere between a staged reading of the entire book and an actual play, isn’t the point of this post. The point is the text of the book—the rhythmic, controlled lines that bridged Hemingway’s minimalism and Faulkner’s genius sprawl. The lines that were all in first person, never deviating from Nick’s perspective, never showing something Nick didn’t see except when he said “they told me that…” or “I heard that…”

Sometimes Fitzgerald wrote his way into corners, such as the scene where Gatsby and Nick were discussing from across the Buchanans’ lawn  whether they thought Daisy and Tom were inside. In order to find out, Nick needed to say “Wait here, I’ll check,” then trudge to a window, look in, trudge back, and report. It’s clunky, but necessary to stay in perspective.  Had Fitzgerald written a different kind of book, he could have panned into the house either by using an omniscient third person narrator or by “head-hopping” to, say, Daisy, sitting at the kitchen table not eating fried chicken or drinking ale. Would have perhaps been faster, not as slightly annoying to read. But, then, you kind of realized as Nick made his way to the house that he was annoyed, too; that he didn’t want to be doing this any more than we wanted to read it. It was an effective, if slightly excruciating, scene.

One of my pet peeves when reading my clients’ manuscripts (you know who you are, You and You and You…) is the overuse of head-hopping. My assistant, the ever-patient Maddie, who often reads along with me, will come in in the morning and, as we discuss our opinions, peer over her monitor and say “So, how many perspectives do we need to work around?”

And here’s the thing. Notice I didn’t say she asked “So, how are we going to work it into one perspective?” Oftentimes—particularly in novels with large casts, with scenes taking place simultaneously in different places, in the third person—it’s neither practical not necessary to be in one tight perspective. The trick, though, to me at least, is to be in as few heads as possible. I don’t like to be confused, paragraph by paragraph or chapter by chapter. I believe (most of the time, at least) in clarity of voice. I also don’t mind a couple of tight perspectives combined with a strong omniscient narrator—that can be very effective, particularly in place of zipping off into someone’s head for a short time. All it means is that you can’t say “he thought” but rather need to show it through action or conversation. It also forces the writer sometimes to really think through ancillary scenes and really assess their reason for being.

At 10:15 on Sunday night, after one of the more extraordinary days of both theater and literature I can remember, my wife and I left the theater and went home. I flipped on my iPad before bed and checked my email, and browsed through a couple of queries. I got to one where, in the first five pages the perspective changed three times. Sighing a little,  I moved it into the “Queries No” file. Sorry, Old Sport. No head-hopping after Gatz.

 

Adapt Or Die

Jeff Cohen

It's my  half-birthday! Which is... totally meaningless. Forget I said anything.

A LONG time ago, I remember seeing a cartoon: People are seated in a large movie theater (remember those?), the lights are out, and the screen is filled with a black-and-white image of a large fancy party. People stand around in dress clothes, wait staff walk through with trays of canopes and champagne. In the foreground, someone is holding another tray, with a large book open to a page in its midsection. A woman in the audience leans over to whisper to the man next to her:

"It follows the book rather closely."

Reading Marilyn's post on Saturday, I was struck by a few things about the task of adapting a work from another medium to film or television. It's something I teach my screenwriting students about on a regular basis (more on that in a later post), and the one thing you can be sure of when you take on such an assignment is: Somebody's going to hate you for it.

Not, I should point out, that I've ever actually adapted someone else's material. I've had enough trouble adapting my own work. But I've read enough of it and done enough of it that I know what the dangers are. The fact is, those who worship the book will hate the movie if you change so much as a detail. Those who are indifferent or unfamiliar with the book will picket your house if you keep in extraneous material or quote large sections of the text, especially if it is done in voice-over narration.

Casting is beyond control of the writer, but people will blame you for that anyway. Marilyn said she'll have trouble with Tom Cruise as Lee Child's iconic Jack Reacher. Many share this opinion, although some are less thoughtful than Marilyn and simply grouse about Cruise being short. This, without anyone having seen as much as a foot of exposed film. Similar ire is being aimed at the casting of Debbie Reynolds as Janet Evanovich's Grandma Masur, which seems to be based on the opinion that as Hollywood's official Old Lady, Betty White should have had the part by acclimation. Forget that she was 89 at the time of shooting, and they were hoping to set up a film franchise that so far has sustained 19 books.

(Never mind, also, that Dashiell Hammett described Sam Spade as tall and blonde, and yet nobody seems to have a problem with Humphrey Bogart's portrayal, despite his being not so much on both accounts.)

But forget casting. The writer is responsible for the material that is handed to the director, who will ignore whatever s/he wants to and create a film. That's the director's job.

So if you're hoping to adapt a book, play or series of educational filmstrips into a movie on the big or almost-as-big screen, block out any idea of pleasing the masses. Simply follow the steps below:

1. Read the material you're adapting carefully and pay attention what makes you respond. If you write it well enough, the film will encourage others to respond similarly. If you lose sight of what you like about the original work--and you'll have plenty of opportunity to do so during the adaptation process--you're cooked.

2. Give up any allegiance you have to the original writer(s). If they were good at screenwriting, they'd be doing this themselves. You're here to write a movie, not a translated book.

3. Include the things that make this a good movie and only those. The subtext of the book was fine, but you'd need seventeen hours of film time to show them all, and you don't have that unless you work for the BBC and everybody wears way too much clothing. Cut down to the plotline. You're lucky if you can fit all that in.

4. You can make stuff up that's not in the book if it clarifies the plot or gives the audience a better read on the characters. You're creative; it's what you're supposed to do.

5. People who want the book will still have the book. They can read it whenever they want. People who go to the movie or watch on TV have only what you give them. Make it the best version of the story in a visual, moving medium. That's the job.

6. If you are successful at your task, some people who see your version will then go on to read the original book. They will find things that they didn't know existed in the story, and note that there are differences between the two. Some will be pleased. Others will be upset that the book is not the same as the movie, and will consider the screen version superior. They will be upset with the author of the original book for not sticking to the story that didn't exist when the book was written. There's no pleasing some people. 

If you're an audience member, keep this in mind: This is a movie. It's not the book. If you loved the book and want to see it translated exactly, don't go to the movie. Read the book again. There will be differences and they'll annoy you. Avoid annoyance when you can. Life is short.

Brush Strokes and Heavy Lifting

Josh Getzler

Last week, when Jeff Cohen challenged me to a conversation about agent-author relationships, I wanted to get into one of his comments, but it didn’t fit into the time or space I had. So I’m going to take Extra Time like they do in soccer and discuss the question of whether I would send a book out on submission when it’s not really ready, just to get it off my desk. That was the basic question, right Jeff? No matter, it’s the question I’m answering, because it gets into a far more existential issue than whether another scrub would make a novel more marketable. Rather it has to do with intent, and with the true definition of “done” and whose decision that it, really. Hell, this could be my first Derridian deconstruction of text since my senior thesis (which I reread five years after graduation and didn’t understand one word I’d written after “By Josh Getzler”). So let me impose some late-80’s differance and see where it leads us.

First things first, I almost never simply get a manuscript, say “OK,” and send it to publishers. Once in a while with a reprint (because, well, what are you going to do?), but not with a manuscript that comes to me unpublished. And it’s not because I want to leave my mark or impose my will. It’s that most of the time, when I read a submission—even a terrific one—there are things in it that I think could make the book more marketable, or a better read, or better organized. So I always give it that kind of a once-over. I was originally an editor, and actually digging into text is something I love. But I do my best not to do unnecessary tearing apart.

Often, though, there is a need for edits, where either the plot outshines the character, or the pace needs speeding up (rarely does it need slowing down!), or where relationships need clarifying or worlds need to be built better or…whatever, it needs editing. There are then two ways I go about it: I either write an editorial letter with broad issue suggestions, or I go through the manuscript using Track Changes and do a full-on, roll-up-the-sleeves line edit. Often I will have a phone conversation with the author as well in order to clarify my points, particularly when I get the sense that I will get pushback on my tweaks. My clients know that I use the terms “brush strokes” and “heavy lifting” to describe the degree of work I think a manuscript needs before I feel it is ready to go out on submission.  Those terms also give a sense of how many times we’re going to need to do it, since a Brush Strokes ms often needs just one go-through and a scrubbing, while a Heavy Lift mostly needs to get to Brush Strokes first.

One thing to say here, which leads to the conclusion, is that my edits and suggestions are exactly those. I recognize and understand that this is my author’s writing, and he or she is very much entitled to disagree and choose to ignore me. And that doesn’t mean I won’t submit the book. And here’s the salient point. If I’ve chosen to take an author on, and have gone through the material to the point where the author is satisfied, unless I believe that the book is embarrassing in some way, I am likely to submit it. It’s not that I haven’t refused ever—I have several times told authors that I felt that their books are unsalable and either need another edit; or, occasionally, ought to be shelved for the time being. That could be because the market shifted away from the subject of the book; or there was something fundamentally flawed with the plot or characters that I felt that nobody would buy it and it would be a waste of the editors’ time to make them read it (which then would be a bad reflection on both the writer and on me).

But the point is that I believe that my role is to be the first reader, the advisor, the sounding board, the conduit between the author and the publishers. My judgment had already been made—I took the writer on after submission  because I felt that he or she was talented enough for me to spend my time reading, editing, and submitting the writer’s work. So while I will discuss and argue with the writer about decisions and choices, I will often defer to the author when I feel that further edits will not be useful. This is particularly true when I feel that the author has had it, and is becoming resentful of my suggestions. Then we get into diminishing returns on further edits, and it’s worth stepping back and preparing for submission.

The good thing, I have found, is that most of the time, my authors and I get to the point of saying “we’re ready” at the same time. We get to the best possible place for the manuscript, where the kitchen smells great, like a cake is in the oven. And then, when it’s completely baked to our satisfaction, we take it out and serve it to the publishers.

Hope that helps! 

 

Blah, Blah, Blah

Jeff Cohen

My wife and I have been spending some time watching the TV show Smash, a new series that supposedly chronicles the efforts of an intrepid team of Broadway vets and newcomers to mount a musical based on the life of Marilyn Monroe. The cast is uniformly very good, the songs are Broadway-catchy, the production values are really lovely, the New York locations are absolutely authentic, and the sets look swell.

Jessica especially loves the song and dance numbers and I... I enjoyed the book on which the series isn't even loosely based, but whose title and basic premise they grabbed so it gets a fleeting credit in the crawl at the end of every show. I'm trying my best to get through it, in the interest of marital harmony. Jess already says I hate too many shows (I refuse to watch Up All Night ever again), while my contention is that life is too short to waste on things that aren't at least above average. This problem will no doubt abate in a month, when baseball season begins, and our television habits go their separate ways.

Like I said earlier, the performers are very good. You get actors like Debra Messing and Anjelica Huston, and you'll get good performances. The songs are by Broadway veterans who wrote, among other things, Hairspray. One of the executive producers is Steven Spielberg. All the elements to make a terrific show are in place.

But my ears hurt after every episode from listening to the dialogue. 

I don't brag much about my writing, mostly because I know there are plenty of people who are terrific at what I do, and many of them are indeed better than me in a number of aspects. Some can write plot twists that will curl your hair (something which clearly happened to me at a very early age, possibly in an ABC book; maybe I didn't see the letter Q coming). Others will develop characters who are diverse and real and so compelling you'd pay to read about them sitting around all by themselves doing nothing.

So you can understand that it is very unusual for me to write out loud that my dialogue is well above the norm not just in the mystery field, but in all books. I write killer dialogue. And if you'd like to dispute me on that, it's your right, but you're wrong.

Listening to dialogue that's clunky, that's all exposition, that sounds like a screenwriter telling people what to say, is witnessing a crime against drama. It is the fastest route to taking an audience out of the story and drawing attention to the man, woman, or combination thereof behind the curtain. Bad dialogue is something that can make your head hurt. It can cause dangerous blood pressure levels. It can cause grown people to choke.

It's bad for ya, people.

So when I say that the dialogue on Smash is making it hard for me to get through each episode, you can take me at my word. It's hard to make Anjelica Huston look foolish; you have to go out of your way. Her performance--and those of most of the other cast members--can be best described as "game," because they seem like deer in the headlights, unable to get out of the way of the rush of lousy phrases coming in their direction.

Every week, I hope the sound of the talk will get better. And every week, no matter who wrote the particular episode, it doesn't. 

I don't mean to dump on this one show--bad dialogue is all over television, it's all over movies, and yes, it's in plenty of books, including ones that the critics will tell you are "brilliant" or "penetrating," or worst of all, "shattering." (Who would pay to be shattered?) Some great plotters, some genius misdirectors, and some fantastic deep thinkers with important points to make just don't have an ear for dialogue. They can do everything else great, but they can't write two people having a conversation that sounds like two people having a conversation.

That doesn't make these people bad writers. It makes them bad dialogue writers. There's a difference. I'm willing, in some cases, to overlook--or skim past--clunky conversation if the author (or screenwriter) is wonderful at everything else; that's clearly worth the effort. I will bow down to some of the pioneers of the craft. I will faithfully buy their books and watch their TV shows or movies, because I know that I'll get what I want despite the incredibly creaky talk their characters perpetrate. The original Star Trek had some dialogue that makes my skin crawl; I've been a huge fan of the show for 45 years.

But when someone can really write dialogue, I will overlook everything else in favor of it. I love a good conversation, especially when it's in real life. In fiction, it is a delectable treat. I will watch anything Aaron Sorkin decides to write (even Moneyball, which I thought was silly) because I can't wait to hear what his characters have to say. He's got a new HBO show called Newsroom coming sometime this year (HBO can't seem to make up its mind) and I'll tell you now, I'm watching every episode. Even if the stories are awful, the dialogue's going to be great. I'm there for it.

Because the next best thing to having a great conversation is hearing one. 

A Response, Not A Rebuttal

Josh Getzler

When Jeff told me that he was going to write his blog post this week on the relationship between author and agent, he made it sound dire. He gave me warning because he said that he wanted to give me the chance to rebut his post. I appreciated the opportunity, and waited quite apprehensively to see what he was going to say.

Ultimately, though, my response is hardly a rebuttal, but rather an expansion of sorts, from my perspective, of the relationship between writer and agent. I want to spend much of the time, actually, discussing an element of this relationship which has always been important but now, as the industry changes seemingly hourly, is even more so: Agent as expectation manager.

Yes, yes, Jeff is right that writers take the very blood out of their veins, give the outpouring to someone who (most of the time) isn't even related to them (and oftentimes not in the same city or state), and asks them to do right by them; to select the correct editor to submit to, to write the most pursuasive pitch, to negotiate the best contract, to stay on top of the publisher to ensure that the book gets the best possible chance to succeed. And the very vast majority of agents take that incredibly powerful responsibility very seriously and work hard to achieve the greatest success. As Jeff said, most of us are in this because we fundamentally love books and are excited to find something we think is terrific; so of course we want to see it reach its potential. It's also how we can pay the rent.

And there is the joke that we all hear that so much of our job is talking insecure and apprehensive artists off ledges that we ought to get degrees in Psychiatry rather than English (or business or writing, but you get the idea).

But now--and particularly in the past months--we have a new responsibility. It's now very important to alert our clients (whether current or potential) that being a writer no longer means, simply, Being a Writer. Rather, with the concurrent blossoming of social media and online communities along with the tightening of most publishers' purse strings in marketing and publicity, a writer is now responsible not just for writing his or her book, but also for getting word out.  And we've hit a tipping point recently, I think. Within the last year, I've seen writers who sign their contracts with a platform either in place  or planned out in detail exceed expectations regarding presales and early momentum. Conversely authors who don't--or who are either resistant or indifferent to this new paradigm--are unhappy, confused and resentful of the fact that simply writing something of quality is insufficient to success: They also need to go out and shill for it.

Both reactions--acceptance and enthusiasm on one side, rejection or grudging, half-hearted attempts on the other--are perfectly reasonable. I totally understand why an author would want to walk away from this crazy business rather than have to spend hours thinking of 140-character updates that might result in sales. I also see how a well thought-out strategy starting several months before publication and going a few months after pub can be both exciting and satisfying to an author who really buys in. (Incidentally, I'm not bringing up the publisher's role at all--that is the subject of a different post from this one.)

So my detour-filled addendum to Jeff is this: Not only do we need to manage an author's expectations on editors' responses, advance and print run sizes, sales figures, and subsequent contracts, we now also need to manage marketing and publicity expectations, and get into very detailed strategies as to how best to market the book on line--which the author needs to do whether he or she wants to or not. We need to do so early--on signing perhaps, and certainly on offer of contract. We need to understand each client's appetite for self-promotion, just how far we can or should push. We need to set up meetings with online consultants--or know enough to do it ourselves. We need to do our homework and learn from other writers' successes and failures. We are no longer "simply" first readers, shrinks, contract negotiators and cheerleaders, but marketing consultants as well. And we all need to get used to it.

PS--Initially when I read Jeff's post I was going to discuss how much work I do on manuscripts before submitting them, and whether I ever go out with a book I'm not 100% excited about or think isn't 100% done. It's a very reasonable question, and one I'll discuss next week. 

What's 15% Among Friends?

Jeff Cohen

The relationship between an author and an agent is complicated and generally speaking impossible. It involves two people working toward the same goal, and with roughly the same agenda, but with different skill sets (remember the word "expertise"? Whatever happened to that one?).

An agent needs to know when something's not ready to be marketed, and when to pull the plug on something that's being marketed. But the author makes the final determination. An author would probably hang in there until there were no publishing companies left on earth that had not turned down the work, and then start again from the top under the assumption that the personnel must have changed by now.

Nobody can always get everything he wants all the time, and you're lucky if there's a good day every once in a while. This is not a function of the personalities involved--I think Josh is a terrific agent and a great guy--but of the way the whole thing is set up to begin with.

Now: I know there are writers and aspiring writers (although anyone who writes is a writer) who are reading this and saying, "Shut up. You have a contract with an agent who wants to represent your work. You should be happy with that." And that's true, and I am. 

But consider the way this relationship operates: The author writes--beyond whatever has already been contracted--anything he or she (but for our purposes, let's say he) wants to write. After spending weeks/months/years sweating blood on said project, polishing it to a positive sheen (or a Martin Sheen) and then shaking with anticipation and dread at the prospect, the author hits the "send" button and expels the fruit of his labors to the agent to read.

I don't presume for a moment to speak for a literary agent; I don't walk in one's shoes and I have only the most narrow of experiences to use as a referent. (Classy, huh?) But the option for the agent after receiving the new file from the author--which we can assume is one of at least a couple showing up from clients today--is clear: Represent the work, or not.

The chances that the agent will say, "This is the worst piece of crap I've ever seen, and I refuse to be associated with it" to an established client are, let's say, slim. Nobody makes anything on a book that they don't even try to sell. Unless the project is really a horrifying mess of tortured verbiage (like that phrase, for example), the worst an author can expect is some gentle prodding to fix the last 100 pages or so in an effort not to embarrass anyone (the agent) associated with it.

So the game is on. Authors have a general idea that someone representing us will respond to our writing, because otherwise they would have passed on the opportunity to work with us in the first place. Next comes a plan. Here, if the author is as completely clueless as, say, I am, the agent can mention any names he wants and suggest the work be offered to those editors. The author generally trusts the agent, and most of the time should, so this is not a terribly hazardous area.

But when something happens with the work, the question must be in the back of the author's mind: Did this sell because I'm a genius, or because my agent is? Did this fail to sell because I'm a hack, or because the business is so screwed up that editors won't buy a book that's good because they don't have a "slot" for it this month?

The problem is that all writers believe everything they deign to save to a hard drive is the next big bestseller and should be the object of a publisher auction within hours of typing "THE END." Agents, who are not insane creative maniacs and actually understand how business works, have to deal with the unhinged writer, keep the avenues of communication open, and maintain the impression (which should also correspond to the truth) that things really and truly are being done.

But writers, alas, are crazy, and patience is overall not one of our most possessed virtues. Hence, the impossibility of this relationship.

I talk to my agent, who might care to rebut everything I'm saying here when his turn comes tomorrow, fairly regularly. And every time I get off the phone with him, I feel better. I trust him implicitly. Truly. I wouldn't be posting about agents at all if I didn't.

What we authors need to do is to have realistic expectations. But then if we were realistic, would we be writing fiction? There's a question to keep you up at night!

I now yield the floor to my counterpart on the other side of the aisle.

Today’s Tom Sawyer

Josh Getzler

Last night, I sat down with my wife and our three children, opened the 135^th anniversary edition of Tom Sawyer (with all the original illustrations), and began to read out loud.

I really didn’t know what to expect, either from my 21^st century kids, suffused with loves of both literature and nick @ nite; or from the book itself, which I hadn’t opened since college at the latest, if not high school. I remembered liking it, but in an “it’s good for you” kind of way. I remembered the story, but had no memory of the words, of the style. I knew it was less earnest than Huck Finn, less noble—and taught less often in literature class.

What I didn’t remember, and maybe never knew or appreciated until last night, is that Tom Sawyer is a modern upper-middle-grade novel (albeit with a much more advanced vocabulary).  And it’s hilarious. And Mark Twain knew exactly what he was doing, and was stunningly brilliant, even while making three upper west side tweens collapse on a couch, punching each other in order to make one of them “holler ‘nuff.” And they kept at it the rest of the night, to the point where I heard, an hour after they should have been in bed, my eight year old gleefully yelling at her overmatched sister to “holler ‘nuff, Jessie—holler ‘nuff…DAD! She won’t do it!” I couldn’t even get mad.

From the standpoint of structure, the first chapter of Tom Sawyer does absolutely everything I want my writers to do in 2012. It gets directly into action, but sets the scene. It introduces almost all the main characters (in the first 9 pages), makes the reader understand the personality of the protagonist through action rather than exposition (for the most part), and sets up several conflicts. And while my kids may have had a hard time chewing on a phrase like “her resolution to turn his Saturday holiday into captivity at hard labor became adamantine in its firmness,” they had no trouble at all understanding the showdown on the street between Tom and an as yet unnamed antagonist:

“I can lick you!”

“I’d like to see you try it.”

“Well I can do it.”

“No you can’t, either.”

“Yes I can.”

“No you can’t.”

“I can.”

“You can’t”

“Can!”

“Can’t”

This is perfect down to the way each line gets shorter, but more passionate; sentences turn into exclamations and grunts, until they boys are rolling on the street "and covered themselves in dust and glory.”

What I didn’t realize however, as I read this to my kids, was that Twain knew exactly how he wanted to market this book—that he was thoroughly modern in his desire to cross over from the children’s book audience to the mass market. As he says in his Preface (and remember, this is in 1876!),

“Although this book is intended mainly for the entertainment of boys and girls, I hope it will not be shunned by men and women on that account, for part of my plan has been to try to pleasantly remind adults of what they once were themselves, and of how they felt and thought and talked, and what queer enterprises they sometimes engaged in.”

And of course, those “queer enterprises” revolved around painting fences and playing hooky and fooling the adults, and sometimes getting caught and being in trouble, and trying to impress the girl next door and figuring out whether your instincts are good or bad, and whether you can make the stranger facing you on the street holler “’nuff.”

This isn’t a call for a return to a simpler world. Rather, it’s a simple expression of admiration for a writer who was modern for 2012…in 1876. Jeez, I can’t wait till Chapter 2!

 

Why Not Be Both?

Jeff Cohen

Are you a series, or a standalone?

What the hell, I can steal from the Mac/PC commercials. I'm shameless.

I just finished writing my first standalone book. For the uninitiated, a standalone is a book whose entire story is told in one volume, as opposed to a series, which has a new story in every book but whose characters will "recur," meaning they show up every time with something else to do.

In short, a standalone is a feature film, and a series is, well, a television series.

Think of how it works: In a feature film, the characters are all new (except for sequels, which now account for about 104% of all movies), the situations immediate and generally extreme. I tell my screenwriting students that they should be telling the story of the most important thing that's ever happened in their characters' lives. Because if there's something more important, why aren't they telling that one?

On a TV series, it would be entertainment suicide to tell the most important story in the first episode. Do that, and what reason does anyone have to tune in next week? The story here is a  much longer, more episodic, being, a thing that will take (hopefully) a very long time to tell in a tremendously huge number of installments. The story really becomes the journey, then, and those who are loyal to the series will see payoffs in a late episode that might come from seeds planted very early on. Keep reading, Haunted Guesthouse fans!

For example, throughout the three books in the Double Feature series (remember that, both of you who read it?), I made jokes about how small Elliot Freed's office was, and I did so because I knew that at some point--as it turned out, in the third and final book--I would want to include a scene in which the size of Elliot's office was the whole point. Readers who started with book one (which included a reference to book two so obscure I think my editor and I were the only ones who got it) would be rewarded in book three by the small-office scene. But it was important that new readers wouldn't feel like they didn't know what was going on.

A standalone, however, raises the stakes. Anything can happen, no future book is guaranteed, so the ending is The Ending. The reader might have a tiny bit more suspense reading a standalone because the characters won't have to recur, if you catch my drift (and if you don't, I recommend more drift practice after school). 

So there are pleasures, for the writer and one hopes the reader, in both. A standalone heightens the tension but a series provides a somewhat deeper experience for the character's development. Someone who is an irritant in book one might be a trusted ally by the time book four rolls around. You never know.

The standalone was an eye-opening experience for me. Even books I've written that haven't sold (yet) had until now been considered part of a series; I had future installments in mind while writing them and was deciding on recurring characters, threads that could be picked up later, and possible plot strands that could color the first book without even being mentioned, but would show up in later volumes so the reader would go, "Oh! So THAT'S what all that was about!"

In a standalone, there's none of that. The story is about this one incident in the character's life, and it can have all the implications I want, because there will be no sequel. Unless, of course, the book-buying public insists on one. I wouldn't want to disappoint my readers, after all.

It is also said that standalones appeal to men, while series are more popular with women. Personally, I find that an appalling generalization, but then, I know as much about marketing as the next guy, assuming the next guy doesn't know much about marketing. So perhaps writing a standalone for me was a baldfaced appeal to get more male readers. Although women have faces that are generally more bald than men, so perhaps not.

Writing a standalone was in some ways liberating as a writer--as I mentioned here last week, it was emotionally difficult because it was more intense. But I'm not at all interested in giving up series writing; I do love to see characters in new and different situations to find out how they'll react. So returning to characters I know is... I wouldn't say comforting, because it's never comfortable to write a book. But it is a way to test myself, see how much I really know about these people I made up, and find out whether readers will go with them in a new direction with each installment.

The next book I write will be #5 in the Haunted Guesthouse series, and after the standalone, it will be something of a relief to get back to Alison and her merry band. But I bet after that, I'll have the itch to write a one-and-out again. There's an exhilaration that goes with it that might just become addictive.

But first, we have to find someone to publish the one I just wrote. Stay tuned!

Is Badass-ness Physical?

Josh Getzler

 

I had a very interesting lunch today with an editor, who is in the relatively unusual circumstance of working on both adult and young adult (and in fact the crossover "new adult") fiction. We were talking, as we do at these lunches, about what each of us was reading, and what we were looking for from our submissions. This is a particularly useful exercize from my perspective as agent because I can (as I did) go through my list in my head and move projects up and down in priority to mention based on what I'm hearing. I didn't expect to mention a beauty and makeup nonfiction project I have because I thought she worked on fantasy novels. But that was precisely what she said she was looking for, and we spent some time in the until recently to me foreign world of blushes and lip colors.

 

Then we entered a different phase of the conversation, and I thought it was fascinating. The editor said that she's been seeing an awful lot of strong female characters whose strength was of a particularly physical type. They weren't admired or respected for the brains, she said, but because they could kick the boys' asses physically. That was a cop-out, she said. Why weren't they allowed to be smarter, or respected for their ingenuity or problem-solving ability, particularly in middle-grade and YA?

 

I thought about that (as I mentally moved one of my projects--with a teenage girl who protects the two geeky boys from physical harm--down on my list of possible pitches), and said that I figured that many of these girls were being written somewhat archtypically, as empowerment characters for the young girls reading the books. When I mentioned this conversation to my wife this evening, she took it even further. Girls, she said, are kind of allowed to be--supposed to be, at times--smarter than their male counterparts. But it is empowering for them to be admired for their physicality as well.

 

My badass female leads come in a number of shapes and sizes, and largely become less physcially deft as they are older, even in books with a lot of action. I think I end up on the side of approving of strength in female characters for any reason. I have two daughters, one of whom is very physically strong (as well as being sharp academically), and one less physical (if still very strong in other areas). When they read, I want the message to be that girls can keep up with--and occasionally surpass--the boys, whether in figuring out whodunit or on the basketball court or in science class or even on that rare occasion when defending themselves against vampires.  

The Writer's Rollercoaster

Jeff Cohen

What about those Academy Awards, huh? Could you believe she won? I mean, that last thing was sure a surprise, wasn't it?

Okay, I admit it; I'm writing this before the Academy Awards airs, in fact a whole day before. I'm guessing Billy Crystal was funny and classy, the middle 90 minutes were tedious, Whitney Houston got the biggest ovation in the Memorium crawl, and The Artist won best picture (I promise I won't change that if I'm wrong). But I honestly have no idea.

Addition after Academy Awards: I had no idea when I wrote "Could you believe she won?" that Ms. Streep of the Jersey roots would take home her third over Viola Davis et al. Go figure. And there was NO applause during the Memorium crawl--you got the feeling the audience had been asked to refrain. All in all, I thought it was a pretty good Oscar show. Could have used more Chris Rock, less Ben Stiller, and Billy Crystal, while miles above last year's fiasco, looked annoyed a lot of the time. Hope he'll be back next year, though. I will.

But that's not what we'll be talking about this week. (Aside to Josh G: Don't read the rest of this post. You'll understand why when you read it.)

My wife and I went out to dinner with friends a couple of weeks ago, and I'm sure everyone was wondering why I was in such a bad mood. There was no question about it; I was grumpy. Yes, more than usual. (Very funny, wiseguy.) I didn't talk much, I wasn't trying very hard to be amusing, and when the evening was over, I just sort of shook hands, got back in the car and left.

I wasn't trying to be antisocial, but I was going through a difficult moment emotionally, one that writers have and rational people don't. I had left the character in the book I was writing in a very unsettling situation, one that was absolutely agonizing for him, and I was feeling the effects.

This is not an isolated incident, although it doesn't happen with every book. Quite some time ago when my children were small, my parents and my brother treated us to an anniversary gift: a long weekend in Bermuda. It was incredibly generous of them and we had a very lovely time. 

But I remember leaving Newark that Friday morning in a funk: I was writing a screenplay and my character and his son were in an extremely precarious position I had not been able to resolve before we left. I won't say I was grouchy the whole time we were in Bermuda, but it took me a little while to shake it.

Writers go through an emotional roller coaster when we're working. To do the job right, we have to really experience--mentally--the situations we write. For me, it's more a sense of tension when things (in the story) are going badly for the main character, even when I know how I'm going to resolve it. Once I get to the ending, there's a relaxed sensation, a satisfaction that comes and stays. Until I start the next story.

This past opus, the one I just finished (which is not part of any series and doesn't feature any character you might have read from me before) was a tough one. It's scary to start anything new, particularly in an area you haven't explored before--it's not a mystery at all--and the character I was writing had to go through some really harrowing life moments, ones that caused him a lot of grief.

It was a difficult couple of months, and I don't think anyone--not even Jessica--realized it. The draft is now done and if it is what I believe it to be, anyone who ever reads it will not imagine for one second that the author was a complete lunatic while writing it. 

Now, I'll be on tenterhooks until someone reads the damn thing and tells me if it's any good. And I don't want it to be an obligation (I'm serious about that; I don't--that's why I told you not to read this, Josh!), so I'm waiting patiently.

Except for the grumpiness. But nobody will notice that.

The Joy of Submission

Josh Getzler

 

I spent a good amount of my day today submitting manuscripts to editors. It was largely two of the…many (more than six) projects I have on my plate ready to roll, with several more on their way.

Yes, that’s a ton. But I’m fortunate that these are timed so that I have almost no editor overlap, which is often a source of great stress (please forgive the digression): What do you do when two projects ought to go to the same person at a publisher, when simultaneous double-dipping is typically frowned-upon? My list, thankfully, is broad enough now—and many editors’ mandates narrow enough—that where three police procedurals might once have gone to the same editor, I can now divide it into the Historical Western procedural with romance, the contemporary Boston procedural with the Jewish sub-angle, and the one with vampires and other beasties.  

Today, though, I really was able to go to very different folks, since I was going out with a young adult novel with a paranormal element (aliens, not sparkly vamps—this time) and a police procedural for adults. Both are dark, angsty novels dealing with identity and love. One’s by a man, one by a woman, and in fact one is likely going to be read more by men, and the other by (young) women. Most of the editors I sent the procedural to are men (though there is one woman I am really thinking could love it), while the YA editors are almost entirely women. In both cases I went “out wide” to more than ten editors—all of the Big Six, plus several larger independents.

My clients are excited—for one it’s the first time at the dance; not so the other. But in each case this was one of the most optimistic, adrenalin-filled days (OK, afternoons), where all of a sudden there is the knowledge that it’s Out There, with editors we’ve discussed at houses we’d like to make their homes.

There is excitement as well because there is visible activity going on. OK, so back 10-15 years ago there would be a more physical sense of a manuscript being Out, since it would be a physical box with, you know, paper, rather than a phone call or email and a brief zap. But still, one of the authors knew that something was going on because all of a sudden she was seeing Publishing House IP addresses on her website.

Of course, tomorrow—or rather sometime at the end of the week, when all the editors have called me back and all the manuscripts are delivered to the appropriate inboxes, and the little jokes and greater hyperbole in my pitch letters are read, the waiting begins all over again. It’s a brutal process for the writer. For me it’s a lot of underlying brutality, rather than the ever-present pain to the writer. After all, tomorrow I get to start submitting the business book and the thriller, while finishing reads on two other client manuscripts, notes on three others, and contract negotiations for three others still (all different projects and authors!).

My hope for the procedural and the YA is that there will be an editor who just heard from me, who will have dinner plans cancel and will hang out at work an extra hour and decide to see what I was talking about, and then find herself at 10 transferring it to her kindle for the subway to Brooklyn or Astoria or the Upper West Side, and will call me tomorrow and say “I can’t put it down.” And while there are all manner of pitfalls as to what happens after that, we will know that the excitement will be sustained. 

 

Oscar or Eagle?

Jeff Cohen

Think carefully, now:

Every four years, we have an interesting confluence of events in the United States, and particularly one that I think helps define the type of person you think you might be. Sure, you can look at the years whose numbers in the Roman Calendar are divisible by four and say, "Okay, there's Leap Day, but so what?" I will argue, however, that a deep psychological truth can be discovered if you are in the mood for self-reflection.

Consider: Every four years, we have a time when you can ask yourself a very telling, and in some cases, pivotal question. And the way you answer it can determine, if not the course of your life, at least the route you would prefer it take. Ready?

Which would you rather win: An Academy Award, or the Presidency of the United States?

Wait. Think before you answer. These are two races that will be dissected, scrutinized, analyzed and for all I know bowlderized before the year is over. Winners will be chosen by a select group (in the case of the presidency, too select because not enough people choose to participate) of voters. Losers will be shunted to the side, only to become the answers to trivia questions as the years pass. They will have to appear jovial and conciliatory at the moment their rivals are declared victors, and go home to lick their wounds in private, firing their closest advisors who brought upon this outrage, since the blame must certainly not be their own.

And how you answer the question will provide a window to... well, not your soul, necessarily, but certainly your megalomania. Which would you choose?

Personally, I'm going home with Oscar if I get the choice.

Every election year, voters complain that we only seem to get candidates who are out of touch with the average voter. They say the people who run for office see themselves as above the typical citizen, because of money or power or the seductive effects of both those things, coupled with the constant reinforcement they're given from sycophants who tell them everything they do is perfect.

Of course we get those people. Of course crazy people run for president. What sane person would want that job? What human being within driving distance of reality would think he or she is qualified to do it?

Nope, I'm getting an Academy Award. All that happens then is people who do the same thing you do tell you they think you did a good job. There's no responsibility. Everything that is required of the award is done BEFORE you campaign for it. After you win, you go to some parties, do some interviews, and go home (preferably) with your spouse to celebrate. Then next year, you show up to hand out the award to the next person in line, and wait for the next update of Trivial Pursuit to see if your name's made it in there yet.

Once you're elected president, you begin to age in dog years. Nobody has ever left that office looking as good as they did when they arrived. People start to complain--before you begin the job--that you're not doing it well enough. Everyone you've ever met wants a job, and will be incredibly peeved if they don't get the one they want--and a lot of them wanted to job you have now.

Then you get the first briefing from the security and defense people, where you find out what's REALLY going on, and if your hair wasn't grey before, it will be by eleven that morning. If it was grey before, it will start to fall out.

And here's how crazy most of these people are--after four years of that, they work like the Dickens to get it all AGAIN.

The presidency? You can keep it. I'd just like to get the envelope from which my name was read and the chance to thank people while Billy Crystal looks on. Or, if I don't achieve all my aspirations, a tape of the phone call when they let me know I'm in the running. I can fake not hating the winner as well as anybody, I'll bet. Just give me the chance, I say.

After all, it's an honor just to be nominated.

Which one would YOU choose?

P.S. Pitchers and catchers reported yesterday. There is hope.

Facebook VS Twitter IMHO

Josh Getzler

 

I was at a cocktail party last night and was talking to another agent about our respective social media habits.

 

"I love Twitter," she said. "It's immediate, it's quick, and when something is happening in the world it suddenly explodes and I feel like I'm in the middle of something big." She went on to say that she tweeted almost exclusively about publishing-related topics and didn't like Facebook because she found it too big and overwhelming. It seemed to be an almost sensory reaction to the different photos and drawings and videos. Also the fact that it was more personal--by design--than Twitter.

 

(Note: That's the way she--and I in this case--use it. It's a tool to get short snippets of information out, to retweet our clients' brilliance (and occasionally to suggest to our followers that they buy one of our clients' books). Certainly there are all manner of people--I'm talking to YOU, Kanye--who are a bit more intimate in their tweets.

 

I found that fascinating, because I find myself drawn far more to Facebook precisely because it's a bit more sensory. I like seeing the graphics and clicking on a video. I also like the fact that my Facebook community is a combination of publishing folk, friends from different stages of my life, and relatives. They have a very wide range of social media styles--from the FB version of the Twitter feed, businesslike and filled with reshares; to my high school classmates showing pictures of their kids or discussing their jobs (which are not like mine, by and large); to my own, which is more like the former than the latter, except that if you are my FB friend you know that I love the Muppets, Angry Birds and the NY Liberty, as well as my clients and family.

 

I don't feel like I need to be exclusive in one direction or the other--I don't spend enough time on either to feel like it's sucking away my life--but I'm finding it interesting hearing what others think. I'll be glad to see comments this week, and will be more active responding to them.

 

And what the hell is Pinterest?

 

Happy Valentine's Day! 

Oh My God It's 11:25! (Or #agentday)

Josh Getzler

Yesterday, when I was running around with my son, interviewing with him for a new school (my wife and I sat with the headmaster for two HOURS, while he got to go to history class!), there was a Twitter hashtag thingy called #agentday. My assistant told me about it this morning, because she said that it totally stressed her out.

"All these agents were tweeting about what they were doing all day. It stressed me out and I DO all this stuff," she said (only better).

So today, it sat in the back of my mind that I ought to think about the different elements of the business I work on during a somewhat typical Tuesday--where I was not having lunch with an editor or submitting a book (both of those will happen tomorrow). I realized that, like eating the proper amounts of all the food groups, I actually worked through a very significant number of the parts of the publishing process, all in different chunks of the day:

I started by writing notes on a contract, which is the second part of contract negotiation. The first part is where the editor makes the offer and the agent says "What? That's IT?" (No, no...). Here I was finishing a review of a pretty reasonable agreement for a book where I had already negotiated a contract with the publisher before. Where I saw discrepancies between the two agreements, I said so, then sent it along. I recieved a new version of the agreement later in the day, which likely will very closely resemble the final contract by day's end tomorrow.

After the contract review I had a phone call with the daughter of one of my clients, who has entertained the thought of entering this industry. My client is no slouch in the brain department, and he had described his daughter as "the smart one." She is living in Seattle, though, and doesn't want to journey East, so she's going to have a bit of a tough go at making a living editing. But she was very smart, and lovely, and certainly was interesting to speak to. I think about the publishing industry, and the fact that there are in fact so many very smart young writer/editor/readers, and I think about what Simon Lispkar said to me when I joined Writers House in 2007: "In order to be successful, you need three things: Taste, luck, and perseverence. You can't have just two. But if you have all three, you can survive--eventually."

After I finished speaking with the now completely discouraged (but REALLY smart) Seattle-an (sic? What do I know?), I had an exciting meeting with two clients who are working on a women's beauty book. They are both extremely well-versed in the industry, and are kind of rock stars. When I read the original proposal, I believe I understood every third word. Now I'm starting to get the hang of it, and their projet is one that marries old and new publishing in an extremely exciting fashion. We realized that there was a real question as to whether the book would drive the website or vice-versa, and whether there was greater potential revenue through royalties or sponsorship income. Absolutely fascinating.

After lunch of sushi at my desk (note: HSG was going to take advantage of both Restaurant Week and our office location to go to suddenly affordable Nobu, but my partner Carrie saw my look of panic at my to-do list and suggested we skip it and order in. Bless you, Carrie!), I got to do one of my favorite things: dig into a manuscript and make editorial suggestions. What I was doing was somewhere between an in-the-margins memo and a line edit. Look, many, many agents started out as editors or writers--or at least with degrees in English. We LOVE working with text. We don't ever get to do it as much as we'd like. So when we have an extended period of time where we can read and make constructive suggestions, we grab it. It was a blas.

After a quick stop to pick up #1 son, take him home, and oversee Homework for Three, I met Jess and Carrie at the West End bar for a quick drink and discussion, and then we went to Columbia for a reception with their MFA program. It was a blast, not just because I had the opportunity to meet with a good number of smart, dedicated writers (lots of memoirs and literary Novels of Brooklyn), but also because I got to hang out with a bunch of agent friends. We sent writers to each other, caught up, showed each other pictures of our kids, and drank white wine in the Low Library rotunda. It was a lovely, rather old-school way to end the day. I may have met a new client or two in the evening--or maybe not--but regardless, it was a fitting end to a day that shifted through so many interesting and stimulating directions.

When I got home, my son wasn't yet asleep. "How was your day, Daddy,"he said. "Did you do anything interesting?"

"You bet," I said. "All kinds of things."

It's OLD HAUNTS Launch Day!

Jeff Cohen

 

 

Don't listen to what this guy says:

OLD HAUNTS, the third Haunted Guesthouse Mystery

Publishes TODAY, February 7!

Fans: You get to meet The Swine!

New Readers: Jump right in--no learning curve necessary!

Enter the OLD HAUNTS giveaway contest here!

 

    The date that at least three of you have been waiting for is finally (very close to) here! TODAY, Tuesday February 7, marks the release of OLD HAUNTS, the third Haunted Guesthouse mystery! And you'll see (assuming you get a copy; this won't just happen at your house) Alison Kerby deal with the past. Not just her past--although the Swine is at the door, making noises about "being a family again." It's Paul Harrison's past, too, and the ghostly private investigator is asking Alison to find the woman he intended to marry before he became, well, dead. Just to see if she's all right.

    That's nothing compared to the request that comes from Maxie Malone, the resident poltergeist. Maxie's just found out that her ex-husband (they were married four days once) Big Bob the biker has been found quite deceased, his remains under the Seaside Heights (NJ) boardwalk. And Maxie wants to know who killed him. Something Alison would prefer not to find out, as it could mean she would make it onto the killer's to-do list... 

Good Things That Will Happen If You Buy OLD HAUNTS Tomorrow

1. I'll be happy
2. My wife will be happy
3. My children... who are we kidding--won't notice
4. The world will experience more laughter
5. Some of it may be yours
6. You'll get a fun mystery that might challenge you
7. You'll meet The Swine (on paper)
8. You'll contribute to the American higher education system (believe me!)
9. You can add an attractive green cover to your bookshelf
10. There might be a possibility of world peace (no guarantees offered)

 

Bad Things That Will Happen If You Don't Buy OLD HAUNTS Tomorrow

1. All I'm saying is: Keep in mind the Mayans had this book release planned when they made their calendar. 

 

P.S. Pitchers and catchers report in 12 days.

Just Skip the Legalese

Jeff Cohen

I'm working on something now that I'm not going to tell you about, but let's say that one of the things it deals with--and I have no idea if you'll ever get the chance to read it--is the relationship between entertainers and those who appreciate the entertainment.

I have written very few fan letters in my life. To Mickey Mantle, when I was six, or maybe seven. To Paul Simon, around 1980. Not sure if there's ever been another. (Mr. Simon was nice enough to have his assistant answer; Mr. Mantle, not so much). So I sort of understand the impulse, but haven't really felt it in a very long time.

But it leads to the question when a fan gets in touch with an author, for example. What does the entertainer owe to the people who read, watch, or listen to his/her work?

There are many schools of thought. A book I'm reading now describes the procedure that went into answering Groucho Marx's fan mail in the 1970s. Groucho responded to all the mail he got, through an assistant, but with a handwritten autograph each time. I could have been one of those fans. I wasn't, but I could have been, and would have appreciated his philosophy.

On the other hand, celebrities will often complain--some less fervently than others--about being bothered while eating dinner in a restaurant, or while in the restroom. I can see their point, as well.

So I think that, with my fan base now boasting well more than six people, I'd like to detail precisely the responsibilities I think author and reader have in this odd relationship.

Author/Reader Contract

Author: Jeffrey Cohen/E.J. Copperman

Reader: Your Name Here

 

Author promises:

1. When you read my work, you will always get my best effort. Maybe you'll think one book or another is better or worse than the rest, and maybe you'll be right, but it won't be because I wasn't trying. That was the best book I could write at that moment.

2. When you get in touch with me, I will treat you with respect. I might be sarcastic, but to a certain extent, I think that's expected of me these days. I'm from New Jersey. Suffice it to say, I appreciate every reader.

3. If you think I won't be taking your email address to send you future news on my work, you're just being naive. I will. If you prefer I don't, say so and I will remove your name from any email list. I also won't send a newsletter very often.

4. I will not give you something you don't expect. I'm not saying all my work will be the same, but when I vary from what you're used to, I'll make sure it's clear I'm doing so. I'm not trying to trick anybody.

5. If we meet at a convention or a signing, I will be thrilled to see you and hear that you've read my work. I do not promise to remember your name. This is because I'm terrible at remembering names. It is absolutely not personal.

6. I will not present a murderer who appears for the first time in the last chapter. For one thing, it would piss me off if someone did that in a book I was reading. For another, my editor wouldn't dream of letting me.

7. I will endeavor to give you fully realized characters, interesting plots, sharp dialogue and even catchy titles. The key word here is "endeavor". If your opinion is that I didn't succeed, see promise #1, above.

Author requests of reader:

1. Please read the books. 

2. Don't suggest what should be in the next book. For one thing, by the time you read this book, the next one's probably written, so that can't happen. And besides, this is my job. I won't tell you how to do yours, and I don't want to steal your ideas anyway. Write them in your book.

3. If you see me at a convention, please come over and say hello. Just not in the restroom.

4. If I'm going to be signing at a bookstore/library/convention/street corner near you, please try to come by. It gets lonely when you don't. And it doesn't help me make friends with the booksellers.

5. Buy the book. Don't ask me for a free copy because "you must have a lot of them." I love libraries, and use them myself for expensive hardcovers, but my stuff is published as paperback originals. I realize money is tight, but the thing is $7.99, usually discounted, and I have two kids in college. At the same time. 

6. If I'm signing your book and you want me to write something in particular as an inscription, please speak up. I honestly don't know by looking at you that you'd like it to say, "Yours in Wicca, E.J. Copperman."

7. Feel free to email me, but let's make it about the book, okay? I don't have any recipes to share. And if you really hated the book, well, you can still email, but seriously, why would you want to? Do you think I'm going to take your argument to heart and quit the writing business?

8. Please don't blame me for a cover you didn't like, or typos in the book. The cover: I don't get to decide (see previous tirades on the subject of a black cat). I happen to think the cover of OLD HAUNTS (left) is terrific, but I sure as anything didn't design it; look inside to find out who did. Typos: Yes, I look over the proofreading after the copy editor gets to see it, but you know what? We're human. We miss stuff. We're not trying to get it wrong, and we really do know the English language. It was a mistake.

9. Don't ask me to write faster. I write pretty fast. They don't publish that fast. It's out of my hands. 

10. Please, go out (or stay in) and buy OLD HAUNTS in 15 days. I prefer you buy it at an independent bookstore, but any purchase is, believe me, greatly appreciated.

Signed on this date: Jeffrey Cohen

Reader: 

Okay, please sign that and get it back to me ASAP, okay? If there's language you don't care for (that is, if you think authors owe you more), please comment below with your revisions. I'll have my people call your people.

P.S. Pitchers and catchers report in 27 days.

A gentleman and a gentle man

Lynne Patrick

When someone famous dies, lots of people have their own story about him or her.

Reginald Hill, one of the most brilliant crime writers that ever lived, died last week, far too soon, (seventy-five is absolutely no age at all these days), and this is my story about him.

About four years ago I decided to put together a collection of short stories with a crime theme, and publish it in support of two breast cancer charities, one in the UK, the other in the US. Publishing was always a steep learning curve for me, and I stumbled around this particular project without much idea of how to begin.

First off was to approach a whole lot of authors, to ask them to donate stories: some were hardly known at all, others known to crime fiction aficionados, a few very well-known indeed.

Reginald Hill came top of the third list – and he was the first to reply. By return e-mail. He liked the sound of the project, but he wanted more information.

And quite right too. I could have been anyone, asking him to give away his work for no fee. At that stage I hadn’t even finalized which charities the book was going to support. I told you I was stumbling around. Everything in the wrong order.

Reg Hill’s first contribution to the project was to force me to look at what I was doing and focus my thoughts in the right direction. The information he wanted was pretty basic stuff: which charities, how much would they get, that kind of thing. That tells you how woolly my thinking was.

The next part tells you that he wasn’t asking questions to be difficult, but because he was more clear-sighted that I shall ever be: as soon as I was able to give him the answers he wanted, he replied by return e-mail again – this time with a short story attached.

His was the first contribution I received. Like every wonderful book of his I’ve ever read, especially the incomparable Dalziel and Pascoe series, and the gentle but incisive humour of Joe Sixsmith, it bears re-reading; each time there’s something, some nuance, some detail, some clue, which I missed every previous time. And the quality of his writing is an object lesson; forget the great divide between literary and genre fiction, he should be required reading on every creative writing course.

I never met Reg Hill, though after making contact through the short story collection we did exchange e-mails from time to time, and he gave one of ‘my’ authors a great cover quote. He mostly stayed away from the conventions and festivals at which people like me get to rub shoulders with people like him, and if he engaged in any of the controversies the book trade throws up from time to time, I never heard about it. The closest was during one of his rare public appearances, when he said that given the choice between writing a Booker Prize winner and a new crime novel, he’d take the crime novel. I heard that secondhand and don’t know if he said why; I’d like to think it was because the crime novel would be more fun.

I knew him best through his books. There I perceived a man with a keen but kind eye, a positively scary intelligence and a refusal to compromise on things that mattered to him. Everyone I know who did meet him says the same: he was one of nature’s gentlemen, and a gentle man.

Should We Award This Kind of Behavior?

Jeff Cohen

It's that time of year again, boys and girls.

The Golden Globe Awards were handed out last night. I'm actually writing this BEFORE the awards show, and probably won't watch, since I couldn't care less about the Golden Globes, but they have a certain significance, and it is not the one everybody always drones on about.

Yes, the Globes are seen as a precursor to the Oscars, which is a show I WILL watch largely because it's fun. But that's not the point. (I've actually seen a few of the contenders this year, and would root for THE ARTIST if it is nominated.) What's truly significant is that the Golden Globes represent the first shot in a seemingly endless war of awards shows in every possible branch of the entertainment biz. It is my unsubstantiated opinion that there are now more country music awards shows than there are country music artists, but it's possible I've miscounted. I was an English major.

The publishing industry, of course, is not immune to Awards-itis. And in the crime fiction field, an author can win an Edgar, an Agatha, a Lefty, an Anthony, probably a Phyllis or a Bob. There are plenty of awards out there for crime writers.

I know one very successful crime writer whose work was cited in the awards for worst sex scene of the year. When I sent him an email to congratulate him on the event, he said it was "an honor just to be nominated." Never having written an honest-to-goodness sex scene--yet--I can only imagine.

The politic thing to do around awards season (which is roughly all year except November) is to lay low. It is gauche to campaign for a nomination (and hard to figure out exactly how one would do that in the first place), and considered bad taste to admit to a hope for one. If the work is exemplary, it is implied, no arm-waving and shouting will be necessary. This is the same kind of logic which ensures that every leap year, the two absolutely smartest people in the country run against each other for president, because campaigning is unnecessary. The cream will rise to the top.

So allow me to be tasteless: Hell yes, I'd like an award for my work. I think the books I write are good. In some cases, I think they're better than the ones which actually win awards. Of course, I'm just a tad biased, and my definition of "better" might differ from that of, you know, everybody else. That's the thing--awards are incredibly subjective.

But if you're a nominator for any of the crime fiction awards and you're looking for something to read that won't make you want to slit your wrists, you could do worse than the two works I published last year, the novel AN UNINVITED GHOST (as E.J. Copperman) and the short story THE GUN ALSO RISES (as me, in Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine, January 2011).

Am I being tacky by admitting to award-lust? Would it be better if I were to simply trust in the voters and my own talent? 

Nah.

I've done that before. I've sat around, smug in my self-assurance that the book (whichever one) was clearly a work of superior talent (and to be fair, there was one of them that was pretty good). That positive reviews would be noticed. The power of humor would overcome the stodgy, pretentious leanings of award-givers. Surely the hard work I put into the writing would speak for itself.

My mantle, strikingly, remains unadorned. (I don't actually have a mantle, but you know what I mean.)

So this year, I'm being blatant. Yeah. I want the (fill in name) award. I think my book deserves it. I think *I* deserve it. And I'm going to scream from the mountaintops about it every chance I get. Assuming I can find a mountain near my house. It's winter, and plane schedules are iffy.

We'll see if it makes a difference (I'm betting not, but you never know). But I won't lie to you--I'd really like to get some recognition here.

Go ahead, nominate me. See if I care. Because I will.

* OLD HAUNTS will be published in 22 days.

* Pitchers and catchers report in 34 days.

But is it Art?

Jeff Cohen

Here's how oddly my mind is working these days:

Ben's post on Friday (and if you haven't read it yet, go and do so now; I'll wait) got me to thinking. The video of Harry Crews discussing what is and is not "art" really stirred all sorts of feelings in me. 

I agreed with everything he said--particularly about not enjoying writing, but loving having written--until he started defining what he did as being an "artist." Now, I'm not arguing for a moment that Harry Crews isn't an artist. 

What I'm saying is that I'm not an artist.

In the tradition of other great cowards, I'm going to qualify that statement even further: I am not suggesting that what I do isn't art in the broadest sense. In other words, I'm not saying that other authors who write the same kind of book as I do are not artists. I make no such claim for anyone other than myself.

All I can say for sure is that when I'm writing, which is most of the time, what I'm doing doesn't feel like creating art. It feels like a job, a craft. Sometimes it resembles a magic act, pulling out certain tricks that will get the point across. Other times it's a question of allowing the characters enough freedom to do what they're going to do and not getting in their way too much.

In any event, typing away with "Feel the Sun" by The Goldbergs in my headphones doesn't really seem to be the sort of solitary, solemn, serious and immortality-seeking activity art is "supposed" to be.

Part of this statement, of course, is tied to the fact that I can't really tell you much about art. I'll go to museums with my wife because she loves them, but I'll tell you the truth--I get nothing out of it. We went to Rome in 2006 and saw works by Raphael, Leonardo, Michelangelo and probably another Ninja Turtle, and while I admired the craft as something I sure as hell couldn't do, the emotion of it, the story, the message the artist was trying to communicate, all that was lost on me. Some of them were very pretty, though.

The same is true of the works I've seen by Picasso, the operas by... anybody, the great novels of Melville, Hemingway, Hawthorne and some Dickens (he could spin a tale). It's a mystery to me. There are things universally accepted as classic and artistic, and I'll prefer to watch Raiders of the Lost Ark again or re-read Flanagan's Run by Tom McNab. Or listen to The Goldbergs.

I fully accept that this is a failing of my own. I've seen many great paintings (living near New York will help you do that), and never viewed one that I didn't feel would have been better if it could have moved. I wanted the rest of the story. One frame out of a movie, no matter how brilliantly composed, never really reaches me.

This, I'm guessing, infuses my view of my own work. I read over things I've written, and I have ego enough (believe me) to enjoy them when there's enough distance between my typing "THE END" and the reading. I think I'm pretty good at what I do. I think more people should read my books. I think I fill a need.

But art? What the hell is art, anyway?

P.S. OLD HAUNTS by E.J. Copperman will be published in 29 days. I don't feel like it's art, but maybe you have a different definition. I hope it's a good story well told.

P.P.S. Pitchers and catchers report in 41 days.

A Seventh-Grader’s Analysis of Banned Books

Josh Getzler

 

Last night at 9:30, our 12-year-old son, Joe, much like his parents before him, realized he hadn’t finished his homework due this morning. He was supposed to write an essay about a book he’d read which had been banned. At 10:45 (when we’d forgotten he was even awake…) he strode out of his room in t-shirt and Muppet boxers and said “I am finished. I will read to you.”

 

What follows here, with Joe’s permission, is his unedited essay. If it sounds like a speech it’s because he’s supposed to present it, and he has, uh, a flair for the dramatic. I think it says a mouthful.

 

I haven’t had too much experience with banned books. In fact, you could say I’ve played it relatively safe. I’ve read moderately light fare by authors such as Judy Blume, Andrew Clements, Beverly Cleary, and the like for most of my life. The more adult books I’ve read are mostly of the tamer quality, such as James Herriot’s “All Creatures Great and Small” and autobiographies (the naughtiest of which being ventriloquist Jeff Dunham’s “All by My Selves”, which chronicles the life of the scandalous puppeteer). I have, however, read some books that have been banned in some places, or criticized as inappropriate. Here are a few of them:

• One of the earliest banned books I remember reading-or, more to the point, being read to me-was Maurice Sendak’s “In the Night Kitchen”. I know it was banned because it is on my mother’s “I Read Banned Books” bracelet (which I am wearing in class today). The story is a surreal, though not incredibly rude, one: a little boy named Mickey floats out of bed and meets 3 chefs who desire milk for the morning cake, which Mickey finds and gives them. Even the less keen-eyed of readers will notice that when Mickey floats out of bed, his pajamas come off. And no, Sendak does not show Mickey naked without his more private parts, as others have done when drawing naked characters in usually lighter fare (case in point: Gary Larson’s “The Far Side” comic strip, which shows plenty of naked characters while leaving out the private bits). Rather, the boy’s genitals are out where anyone can see them, and thus this book has aroused controversy (as well as for the apparently phallic-looking milk bottles in the background) and was named #25 in the ALA’s 100 Most Frequently Challenged Books 1990-2000.
• Also on the “Banned Books” bracelet is Dav Pilkey’s “The Adventures of Captain Underpants”, a favorite of mine when I was younger (and confidentially, it still is). Needless to say, the title basically tips you off to why it’s been challenged: a grown man runs around wearing nothing but underwear and a curtain that serves as a cape. But you have to admit; that’s kind of its charm. I mean what else could it be? “The Adventures of Captain Undershirt”? Not as funny.
• One of the aforementioned “Frequently Challenged Books” is J.K. Rowling’s famed “Harry Potter” series, which is placed at #7. I have read all 7 of the books, “Sorcerer’s Stone” through “Deathly Hallows”, and despite their jaw-droppingly long page-span (according to Wikipedia, book #5 is 870 pages long!) they are for the most part very enjoyable. Fantastical elements of the wizardry world aside, there are few reasons for this series to be challenged. Maybe it is because of  witchcraft? You know, seeing as half the cast is made up of witches and warlocks, and in #3 a wizard choir sings a musical rendition of the “Double, bubble, toil and trouble” scene from Shakespeare’s witchy…ahem, Scottish play. (#1, I am an actor, so I am refraining from saying the exact name of the play. #2, I now begin to wonder if the song is only in the movie version of #3.) It could also very well be because of the house elves, led by the character Dobby the House Elf, who delight in working and therefore work in Hogwarts’ kitchen. They wear sacks as shirts, and in book #4, Hermione Granger tries to start a petition to free them, saying they are “indentured servants”. Plus, characters use some pretty foul language in #7, most notable of which being Ms. Weasley’s cry as she defends her daughter Ginny from the evil Bellatrix Lestrange: “Not my daughter, you female dog!” (I say female dog because it is a direct meaning of the word she actually uses). So, yeah. I guess they are pretty naughty.
• Roald Dahl’s “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory” is one I’ve read. There are many Roald Dahl books I like: “The BFG”, “Matilda”, “George’s Marvelous Medicine”, “The Giraffe and the Pelly and Me” and especially “Fantastic Mr. Fox” are all my favorites by him. I recognize “Factory” more for the 2005 Tim Burton movie, which I have seen several times (and yes, I am ashamed to admit that I have only seen the Gene Wilder original once completely.) but I have also read the book a few times, and can see its position as one of Dahl’s best. However, the first edition apparently featured the Oompa-Loompas as black pygmies, and was criticized for that reason. The copies I’ve read seem to have corrected this error, as has the 2005 movie. But it still lends a slightly dark undertone to the otherwise-rosy children’s book.
• Hugh Lofting’s “Dr. Dolittle” is one I recognized, as I read it, as a pretty controversial book. A subplot involves the African Prince Bumpo, who wishes he were white, and the doctor bleaches his face to make it so in order to gain his freedom. Good grief. That’s pretty racist. I guess it was included because in 1920, this stuff wasn’t as serious as it is today. But still…that’s nasty.
• And finally, I have finished reading the play version of George Orwell’s “1984”. Of course, you in the class are also reading it. I’m sorry for finishing it while you are still in the middle of it, but my parents insisted. I won’t spoil anything for you, but let me just say, the rest is even creepier than it is now.

So, there you have it. These are some banned books I’ve read. Which shall I read next? Well, after I finish another of James Herriot’s autobiographies; “All Things Bright and Beautiful”, I shall begin reading “The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn”. Wish me luck!

But before I end this, there is something serious I have to talk about, and that is on the subject of banned books as a whole. The ones I have listed are only a fraction of the numerous censored, banned, and challenged books in American literature. In truth, there are many, many, many more books that have been banned in certain places due to what is perceived as inappropriate content. This is not right, for although most banned books feature content that can be perceived as prejudiced or offensive, it is still sugarcoating American literature. To pretend these books did

not feature such content would be the same as saying these prejudices did not exist, and that is sugarcoating American history. As Judy Blume put it:

“[I]t's not just the books under fire now that worry me. It is the books that will never be written. The books that will never be read. And all due to the fear of censorship. As always, young readers will be the real losers.”  

(From AFI’s page on challenged books).

So please, tell anyone you can about this travesty. It is a sad fact, but it is true, and only you can make it stop. You can make a change.

 

 

Theatre, Writing, and Pictures of My Dog

Jeff Cohen

New York: One day we Garden Staters are going to be condescended to one time too many, remember you live on an island, and cut you off. I'm just saying.

First of all, for those who have been asking, we went to see THE ARTIST on Christmas Day. It was very good, different (clearly), inventive. My life did not change in a significant way, but I enjoyed it, and that's enough. Later in the week we went to see Lysistrata Jones on Broadway. Fun, breezy, very well performed. Not getting nearly enough press.

On to new business:

*I'm writing something new, without a contract, just for myself (until I finish it and send it to Josh). Not a mystery, not like anything that's come before. And it's scaring the living hell out of me. (No, it's not horror. It won't scare YOU...)

*I've been listening to music lately by Paul Melancon and The Goldbergs. Leave it to me that my "new music" is five-to-eight years old.

*Far too many of the artists I listen to are now dead. Last year I lost Gerry Rafferty and Phoebe Snow. To go with George Harrison, John Lennon, Jim Croce, Eric Woolfson, Harry Chapin, Harry Nilsson, Elliot Smith and Cass Elliott (among others), that's just too much. This is part of getting older, and like most of getting older, I could do without it.

*I can't wait for Wednesday, just so I won't have to hear about Iowa again for another four years. Except when my wife talks about her college years.

*On January 1, the New York Times printed a special section on the Oscars. Dear New York Times: That's too soon. I can still remember who won some of the awards last year.

*I won't be going to Malice Domestic this year. I'm sorry about that; I wish I could go, but it's not possible. The travel budget won't allow it, and it happens to fall on the weekend of my 25th wedding anniversary. I like being married more than I like being an author, so I'll be back at Malice in 2013. Probably not as the guest of honor, but that's understandable.

*Winter break is just long enough to get used to having the kids back home. They they go back to school and we go through the whole "empty nest" thing again. It's cruel, in a weird way.

*Dear Dick Clark: Retire.

*I've been digitizing family photos, and therefore have been looking through every picture we've pretty much ever taken. What's interesting is how the dog has aged. His snout is now almost all white. It's a preview of coming attractions for my beard.

*Where's Old Zealand? (If this is to be believed, it's an island off Denmark.) 

*To Whomever is in charge of weather: What we're getting in the Northeast right now is just fine. Don't change a thing. Until April.

*Just to mention it: OLD HAUNTS by E.J. Copperman will be published five weeks from tomorrow. A to-the-second countdown can be found here. But who's counting?

*Pitchers and catchers report in 49 days. 

*Getting ready to teach again, starting next week. I always get nervous ahead of time. Isn't that odd?

*Got an amplifier for my acoustic 12-string as a gift. Had no idea how frightening it would be to actually hear what it sounds like when I play.

*I don't understand the animosity toward the Post Office. Who else is going to carry something of yours across the country for 45 cents?

*My son's enthusiasm is persuading me that I should take a look at DOCTOR WHO. Not sure if or when I will, but his opinion is usually pretty valid.

*Josh Getzler is a really good agent. Shannon Jamieson Vazquez is an incredibly talented editor. The readers I hear from are enthusiastic and intelligent. I am really lucky.

*For those who responded: My son Josh's film SCAVENGERS has exceeded the budget amount he was hoping for--we're blown away by the response. Thank you all. Shooting will begin right after OLD HAUNTS publishes in February.

2011 By The Numbers, (with paragraphs!)

Josh Getzler

So the year is ending with a real bang. Nancy Bilyeau's The Crown (over which I still have major schpilkes), is getting great reviews and is setting up nicely. I got a call the day before leaving for vacation that I will be selling a new book at the very beginning of January. I am eagerly awaiting three new publications between the beginning of January and the end of May. And I'm in the middle of several manuscripts with truly great potential. So I decided that I would go through the last year in numbers. It's been an exciting, nerve-wracking year with an awful lot going on both for my own business and for the publishing industry in general. Here are some of the highlights.

Number of months HSG Agency has been in Soho: 7 (May 23)

Number of clients on my list on Jan 1: 28

Number of clients on my list now: 41

Number of deals made during calendar year 2011: 12 (domestic: Doesn't include foreign contracts)

Number of books in those deals: 20

Number of Adult novels: 7 (of the 12 deals)

   Mysteries: 4

   Thrillers: 1

   Women's fiction: 1

   Literary/science fiction: 1

Number of Adult nonfiction books: 3

Number of children's books: 2

Number of books currently out on submission: 16 (note: this is an ENORMOUS number, and not what I would really like to have out simultaneously. That being said, there are still enough publishers/editors, and the books are disparate enough, that we can handle it. And we are also going to have 6 new manuscripts coming up for submission early in 2012. But we also expect three or four of these submissions to turn into deals in January. So that's pretty good.)

Number of clients I signed out of conferences in 2011: 2

Number of clients I signed from referrals in 2011: 7

Number of clients I signed from the slush pile in 2011: 4

Number of clients who are spouses of other clients: 1

Number of clients I have who are the result of Cali Yost, whether directly or indirectly: 4

Average number of submissions received weekly: 80 Number of full manuscripts in my "Must read RIGHT NOW" list: 18

Length of time, from first query to sale, of Sam Thomas's historical mysteryThe Midwife's Tale: 6 Weeks.

Length of time, from first query to sale, of Sheila Webster Boneham's mystery Drop Dead on recall: 2 years and a bit.

Length of time, from sale to publication, of Otis Webb Brawley and Paul Goldberg's medical screed How We do Harm: 1 year, 7 months.

Length of time, from first electronic text conversion to publication, of A.B. Bourne's The First Secret of Edwin Hoff: 6 weeks.

These are some interesting, specific-to-me numbers, which should not be taken as representative of, well, any greater trend or tendency of other agents. It has been a pleasure blogging this year--it's made my Tuesdays sparkle a bit, and I really appreciate the feedback I've gotten. I look forward to continuing and to getting still more of your comments and corrections and praise and pillory.

May 2012 be happy and successful in all the ways you wish it to be.

Josh

Greenest Post Ever (Recycled!)

Jeff Cohen

Well, now that that's out of the way...

It's late December, in case you've been living away from a calendar for the past twenty-five days. And in the style of all entertainment options, I feel that this week's blog should follow a time-honored tradition.

In December--and at other times when they've run out of ideas--television programs especially will provide their viewers with what is termed "a special celebration" of the program, to reward them for being loyal viewers. Sometimes, this is also called "a retrospective." 

It's a clip show.

Eschewing "reruns," (remember, kids?) which used to be utterly reviled as cheap programming and cheating by the professionals (and are now sold on DVD and Blu-Ray so that you can program them yourself whenever you feel like it) the clip show provides "highlights" from past episodes, which are meant to recall the best of the best. It also gives the writers, actors and directors a week off. Which, in December, is something pretty much everybody should get. Just because we're about to face another winter, and anything that gives you a break before that is worthwhile.

Don't get me started on "the holiday season."

So here's the first-ever DEAD GUY clip show, which I've borrowed only from my own posts, because I'm in such a lazy mood (closing in on the end of Book #4 in the Copperman series and starting something really out of my comfort zone) that I didn't even ask any of the other DEAD GUYs for their permission. So, enjoy or... come back next week. I promise it'll be all new stuff then. After all, then it'll be 2012 and everything will be way different.

Assume that each of the following entries is in quotes. Here are my personal highlights from 2011:

Reading "said" all the time, even when it's being done by a master like Robert B. Parker, who was addicted to the word, is like being hit lightly over the head with a hammer every few seconds. It's like listening to a story being told by Sgt. Joe Friday. Just the facts, ma'am. Just the facts. If I want to hear just the facts, I can tune in to  The Daily Show with Jon Stewart.

 

To me, the character IS the book, no two ways around it. I write mystery novels, and I put quite a bit of work into figuring out who did what to whom and why. I look for places to include plot twists and red herrings. I can misdirect with the best of them. The top 46 of them, anyway. And yeah, you might find a joke or two going on in my pages. You'd better.

But without a character I care about, I won't even type the first word.

 

"Do you realize how hard it would be to move a whole house?" I asked my six-year-old.

Without so much as a giveaway grin, she replied, "Daddy. You call a professional."

 

I should have considered this years ago. If the one thing that holds a writer back is the financial end of the business--and it is--then there's one way to eliminate the unpredictability of publishing and guarantee artistic freedom and a steady income.

That's right--I'm selling the naming rights to my next book.

 

Mr. President, I believe in the rejuvenative, therapeutic power of comedy. I think a good laugh does more for you than a ton of briefing memos (but keep reading those--I'm not suggesting you stop!) and "serious" novels. I think an amused mind is one that is more creative, more active, more useful than one burdened with problems both real--and you've got all of ours on top of yours to worry about--and fictional. 

 

If people read my books and come away thinking deep thoughts about the nature of life and how it's all hopeless, complex, depressing and above all, serious, I have badly screwed up the mission with to which I have assigned myself.

 

Contrary to popular belief, most of us who are without religion are not necessarily trying to strip you of yours. Personally, I think you should believe what you believe, and I'll continue to believe what I believe. As long as you don't try to convince me otherwise, I'll do the same in return.

 

See, laughter is not an intellectual process. It's emotional and elemental. Nothing in your brain says, "Why, that's quite amusing! I believe I'll make a sound like this--ha, ha, ha!" Laughter is much more reflexive; it's like sneezing. And it is the only emotional response that actually makes you feel better. (Yes, there is a hormone released when one is feeling love, but that's not what I'm talking about.) Laughter really IS the best medicine, except when you need an antibiotic.

 

Sung to the tune of: 

I Am the Walrus

Kindle, e-book, Barnes & Noble, Sony Reader, iBook in an iPad/

Some say that all books' gooses are cooked; I disagree/

I'm smiling.

 

Books can be on paper/

Or they can be on a Nook/

Authors write for readers, not for certain formats; read me any way you like and I will shake your hand.

You are the reader/ (Whoo!)

You are the leaders/ (Whoo!)

I'm just the writer!

Goo goog a joob!

 

 

Oscars: How soon before the Academy announces a comedian will host next year? (Ed. note: Just so I have it on the record, this was posted last Feb. 28.)

 

More often than I'm asked about my books, I'm asked if I am the actor who played "the fat kid" in Goonies  because his name is... Jeff Cohen. Um, no.

 

Personally, I resent FTD, Hallmark, 800-FLOWERS and the entire chocolate industry telling me when I should feel romantic. And since, in modern America, Romance=Sex (go ahead, prove me wrong), frankly I think it's my own business. Well, and my wife's.

 

Dunstan McNichol, an extraordinary investigative reporter covering the New Jersey Statehouse for something like the last 30 years, died last week very suddenly at the age of 54. Those who care about the state of journalism in the Garden State are understandably mourning the loss as one that cripples the free press' first responsibility--keeping government accountable to the people it represents--unexpectedly and severely.

Those of us who knew Dusty are more upset at losing his insights, his wit, his talent and his compassion.

 

In one book, I had a large number of people crowd into a room that had been described, in three books running, as extremely small. And I was called on it by a reader who believed that the square footage would not hold that many human bodies. I referred the reader to the stateroom scene in A Night At The Opera. 

 

Those are the clips I've chosen from the year 2011. If you had favorites I might have overlooked, feel free. Otherwise, we'll be back next week with an ALL NEW show!

Pre-publication Schpilkes

Josh Getzler

In 23 days, my client Nancy Bilyeau's Tudor-era thriller The Crown will be published. It's been some ride for this debut novel, which I've talked about here before both explicitly and obliquely (please see "bad-ass nun" from last week).

Things are starting to come together. Reviews are beginning to stream in, bloggers are requesting copies of the book for future mentions. Nancy, who has been in the magazine world for years but is still a newby at this part of the business, is being advised how to behave when interviewed or reading in public or blogging or tweeting or commenting or breathing.

We received our finished copies of the book last week and inhaled the incomparable aroma of freshly-baked novel--I almost felt I needed to buy the book flowers after I caressed it gently for...well, longer than I should have.

Nancy and I have become inveterate refreshers of the Pub Lunch Book Tracker (emails fly--"Hey, did you see that you dipped below 6,000 in ebooks for 15 minutes last hour--High Five!"), and worriers that someone's going to miss something. ("Hey, didn't they send out ARCs to that independent bookseller in Wisconsin? Why didn't we hear from them?" "Oh, you mean the one behind the strip mall 60 miles out of town?" "Right." "Oh damn, you're right--we should get on that--could affect our standing.")

This is not, incidentally, a column about neurotic authors. Hardly. It's actually about my own pre-pub jitters. I'm using The Crown and Nancy as examples because The Crown is one of the books happening now (and because I know Nancy reads this blog and will laugh at me--(and you were at 6,435 on ebook when I started this, btw)). And because she's been very active in the best possible way in helping herself build up to publication day.

But I will tell you, every time a book I represent comes out, I get what my grandmother called Schpilkes. I'm looking over our blog lists, making sure I've retweeted appropriately whenever my author mentions casually that it would, you know, be nice if you pre-ordered her book, maybe, if you feel like it. I start asking editors (casually, of course--which is Agent for "transparently") if they've gotten any pre-pub buzz from the sales force.

Oh, and I have to do this while being the very Rock of Gibraltar to the author, who is either freaking out or pretending not to be freaking out, particularly when every high school classmate and third cousin is coming out of the woodwork asking, not WHETHER the author is going to go out on tour (which they almost always are not--tours are expensive, often sparsely attended, and quite inefficient, unless you are Stephanie Meyer and can sell tickets), but rather how many stops. "Oh, no? You're not? My sister's boyfriend went to 37 cities with his xeroxed shapeshifter erotic memoir and said it was...blahblahblah." (Slaps forehead).

And now, in this particular situation, I am about to go to Florida for Christmas week with my family and come back in the homestretch (which is actually nothing compared to this spring, when my client Geoff Rodkey's middle grade debut Deadweather and Sunrise will be published three days before my son's Bar Mitzvah). Most of publishing is either shut down (publishers) or consumed with holiday specials (retailers).

But there is one place that doesn't sleep, and where conversations continue and reviews land and jitters can be allayed, and that's the online world. For all its faults, the internet is always open. It gives us something to do, another blog to comment on, another reviewer's opinion to analyze (is "stately" good when referring to pace?). We'll have plenty of time to obsess in the 10 days leading up to pub--and then beyond, when we'll be able to stop speculating and deal with real data!

And yes, Schpilkes happens all the time, to varying degrees. And in the end, I rather love it. It's like the hot stove league in baseball, or the presidential campaign (which I love less these days)--an opportunity, before the fact, to speculate, to worry, to almost vibrate with  excitement. To have Schpilkes. We'll see what happens on January 12. I feel pretty good.

Happy Chanukah and Merry Christmas, and next week from Miami for a year-end wrap-up.  

 

Herding Cats

Jeff Cohen

It's that week again.

Every year, my family--that is, myself, my wife, and our children, who are now young adults--look forward to Christmas. This is because it's a day we set aside (you should pardon the expression) religiously for two things: Chinese food and a movie.

We're Jews. It's the law.

And as the children got older, there were two evolutionary effects to this tradition: First, we could stop going to the current "family" film, which quite often was charming and just as often excruciating for the parents attending. Second, each year it gets a little more difficult to find a film everyone will agree to see.

No, I'm not asking for suggestions. We do know what films are available and no, we're not just going to stay home and watch a video. We're Jews. It's the law.

This year is no exception. Negotiations similar to those which averted the fictional government shutdown have been going on since roughly August. December 25 is, as of this posting, six days away, and no agreement has been reached yet. Keep in mind that a single "nay" vote, unless the voter is swayed to changing it, can eliminate a film from consideration.

Here are the choices, and the dramatis personae involved:

1. Me. 

2. My wife.

3. Our son.

4. Our daughter.

Films:

The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo. No. I never drank the Kool Aid on this series, saw the first Swedish film made from it, thought it was an okay, fairly standard thriller, and am not the least bit interested in seeing this one. Do me a favor and don't comment about how "yummy" Daniel Craig is, or I'll have to banish you from the blog.

Voting against: 

War Horse. I'm a Spielberg fan, so I'll follow him almost anywhere, but the ladies in the family are concerned that the horse of the title--not the people, mind you, who cares what happens to them--might be mistreated in the story. 

Voting against: 

Tin Tin. Again, Spielberg. Action, adventure, in an Indiana Jones kind of mood. Sign me up. But there's a holdout against motion capture animation who thinks it looks "stupid." Move on.

Voting against: 

Sherlock Holmes: Game of Shadows. Saw the first one a couple of Christmases ago and thought it was an okay action movie, more "James Bond Wakes Up in 1886" than Sherlock Holmes. No problem with waiting for Netflix on this one. Feel like we've done it already.

Voting against: 

The Artist. A black-and-white, almost entirely silent, drama about the beginning of the sound era in film. Gotten great reviews. Sure Oscar contender. Might even be interesting to watch.

Voting against:   and the film's distributor, which has not made it available in the state of New Jersey. Apparently we here in the provinces are too stupid to understand it until next year.

The Iron Lady. I'm not going to see a movie about Margaret Thatcher or J. Edgar Hoover. I don't care how good the performances are. I'd be squirming in my seat for two hours. No.

Voting against: 

Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close: A 9/11 movie in which Tom Hanks, although his name is above the title, plays someone who doesn't make it out of the towers. How much do you think Tom is in the movie? I'm sure it's very uplifting. Pass.

Voting against: 

Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy: An adaptation of a John LeCarre novel that Alec Guinness already did really well on television decades ago. Great reviews, impressive cast, possibly not the most uplifting ever made, few laughs. Also might not be available in the Garden State.

Voting against: 

We Bought a Zoo: Good for you. Cameron Crowe. Treacly family "fun" about a widower who's so distraught he unwittingly buys--yup--a zoo. Luckily, Scarlett Johansson lives next door.

Voting against: 

My Week With Marilyn: Never been a huge fan of Marilyn Monroe. Don't really care what it was like to spend a week with her. Think the guy who wrote the book is trying to cash in on 15 minutes (or 7 days) of fame.

Voting against: 

Mission Impossible--Ghost Protocol: If I don't even understand the title, what chance do I have with the movie? Didn't care much for the first three. Am indifferent toward Tom Cruise. I like movies that have characters. Call me crazy.

Voting against: 

Young Adult: I don't like Diablo Cody.

Voting against: 

New Year's Eve: Don't be ridiculous.

Voting against: 

Already seen (by at least one family member): Hugo, The Descendants

The Chinese food is the easy part.

The Paradox of the Strong Female Protagonist

Josh Getzler

 

My assistant Maddie tells me that every time I tell her I'm loving a submission, she looks at it and assumes she's going to find a strong female lead. I've got a 16th-century nun, a 17th-century midwife, a post-apocalyptic 15 year-old zombie killer, an unhappily-virginal 18 year-old zombyre lover, as well as a lawyer, a slayer, a trucker, a dog trainer, a bargain hunter and an innkeeper (and I've left some out!).

 

You could get into why I like strong women so much (hello mother, wife, daughters, partners, etc), but that's not challenging. What I find interesting is something Maddie said to me this afternoon as we were discussing yet another manuscript with a strong female voice:

 

"Why is it," she said, "that so many of these girls and women, regardless of age and also regardless of competence or capability, tend to the unsympathetic?" (Note to clients reading this--it's obviously not about all the female characters we have :))

 

Hmm...now that made me think, particularly in the context of the crime and adventure novels I work on. Then she continued:

 

"And why is that not a problem with most of the male protagonists we work with?" Even better. A real gender studies question, and not manufactured, and without agenda.

 

What's it all about? Is it a question of writers trying so hard to make their female protagonists hard or strong that they make them unfriendly? Or is it that they are concentrating so hard on plotting (which is often fast-paced and frenetic in the kinds of procedurals and adventures we work on) that character development and personality might sometimes be sacrificed. And possibly because--particularly in historical novels--in order for a woman to rise above her typical place and be the kind of person who would solve crimes or take part in adventures she would need to be very strong and possibly threatening to the men who would deal with her. Are authors overcompensating, then needing to dial back some of the aggression? Are we, as readers, equating feminine strength with being unsympathetic or unpleasant, while we are more accepting of a male protagonist exuding machismo; or think of a quiet, brooding...unpleasant man as darkly sexy?

 

Ultimately it simply doesn't bother me terribly much. I like the strength of my bad-ass ladies and don't apologize for them. I understand the need for a reader to root for a heroine, but I don't like weak women any more than I like incompetent men--and I don't think you need to sacrifice strength for attractiveness. I have two daughters who love Cappie Pondexter, the shooting guard for the WNBA's New York Liberty. Cappie is hard and she's aggressive and she fights and she takes over games and runs the offense. My girls think she's awesome, and don't care that she fouls overly hard sometimes, or whines to the refs or yaps at the opponents or pouts when she doesn't get the call. She's our bad-ass heroine, and we love her.      

 

My Fellow Americans--Buy My Book

Jeff Cohen

There was a Page One story in the New York Times last week suggesting that one candidate for U.S. president (I'm not naming names, but the candidate in question is named for something John Cleese once claimed to have been turned into by a witch) was in fact squeezing the whole running-for-office thing in around his book signings. It was also speculated earlier in the campaign (when a certain ex-pizza-executive was still in the running) that another was selling books while making stump speeches and doing national TV interviews.

What a brilliant maneuver. You sell your books while making a half-hearted effort at running for office, getting your name, your face (and your book) all over the media and selling a whole bunch of hardcovers in the process. You face ridiculously high odds against ever taking office, but your book will hit the bestseller list in no time flat.

So today, my fellow Americans (and those dropping in from any other point on the globe, or Venus, or wherever), I am announcing my candidacy for the presidency of the United States. And while we're at it, why not take a look at the Haunted Guesthouse Mystery series and a few others? You can find them here at the official campaign site. 

My platform is simple: I have no chance at all to win. Part of the problem (beyond the fact that I've never held any elected office nor sought one, and that nobody on the planet has ever heard of me, and that I am uniquely unqualified for the job) is that when asked a question, I will generally answer, and that apparently is taboo in the politics biz. I also have actual positions on issues, which I will not detail here because people get prickly about such things, but I'll tell anybody who asks exactly what they are.

Some planks in my platform:

1. Buy my books.
2. Everybody should be treated fairly.
3. Bad people shouldn't be treated as fairly as everyone else.
4. Buy my books.

Simple, understated, and yet without substance whatsover. But like I said, I have no chance of winning and don't really want the job, so it's no harm, no foul. Also, unless they move the White House to New Jersey, it's unlikely my family and I will move. My daughter goes to Rutgers, and we need those in-state tuition rates.

At every campaign stop, I will be happy to sign any copy of any of my books that anybody wishes to buy. And please, if you feel the need to donate to the campaign, go ahead and buy some books. You won't just be helping the future of our great country--you'll be contributing to the American higher education system. Believe me.

It's about time we had a president with a stronger sense of humor. I like the current guy but hey, his books don't need any help. So I'll be starting off my campaign in February--a trifle late, but publishing is a tricky game--once OLD HAUNTS (and you can read the first chapter here) is published. Date and time to be determined. 

God bless you and god bless the United States of America. (When you're running for president, you have to say that wherever you go: "Here are the keys, valet. God bless you, and god bless the United States of America").

Baker's Dozen, properly spaced

Josh Getzler

I spent most of my day today involved in one of the more fun publishing events of my year: Authoress's Baker's Dozen agent auction. It's a pretty simple idea: Ms. A puts out a call for submissions on her ridiculously well-monitored blog, Miss Snark's First Victim; gets too many so has to spend a couple of weeks culling a few hundred to sixty roughly half adult, half kid); then asks (politely--she's very polite) 13 agents to look at the first 250 words of each and bid on how many pages we'd like to see.

The auction, which started today, lasts two days and the winner of each of the individual auctions receives an exclusive on the pages for a while. The fun of this auction, apart from seeing a pretty wide variety of projects (more on them in a moment), is the interaction (read trash talk!) among the agents.

I enjoy it because I get to write emails, comments, tweets, etc to a number of colleagues I know mostly from their deals on Publishers Lunch and their Twitter Avatars. I see whose taste is close to mine; who is particularly competitive; what kind of strategies folks use.

This was my second time participating in the auction, and I found that a significant change from last year was the fact that much of the posturing among agents happened on Twitter. It was a little more public than writing smackdowns in the Comments section of the blog, and it got a lot of people talking about how the process humanized us a bit (one writer said she had never even heard of Baker's Dozen before, but was watching the bicker-tweets like Game of Thrones. I was honored. But doesn't, like, EVERYONE die in Game of Thrones? Just asking...) The other thing that I enjoy is seeing What's Out There in a concentrated space.

Admittedly this is not precisely reflective of the entire market because Ms A has her own biases (particularly toward YA fantasy and unhappy girl teen lit), and the writers skewed overwhelmingly female. But I can tell you that there are a LOT of suburbs with girls who have the ability to kill with a kiss, or are really faeries or succubi or doxies or demons. Fewer sparkly vamps than usual, but that market may finally be saturated. And no zombies that I can recall. Adult books were much more all over the place.

So over the course of the first day of bidding, I won 3 auctions. Two were manuscripts I knew I wanted from the beginning for their settings and set-ups, while the third was one I liked because of a particular turn of phrase in one paragraph. I will be interested to see if any of these turn into passion projects. I certainly hope so--one of the things a Tweeter said today was that she was very happy to see so many agents so excited to FIND things. It's very true. And it's nice for the mask to come off sometimes, and let us reveal ourselves for the excited, optimistic, enthusiastic supporters of books we are. Best of luck to everyone on day 2, and I look forward to more trash talk (politely, of course!)

And Your Little Dog, Too!

Jeff Cohen

I have always hated The Wizard of Oz. There. I said it.

When I was little, I didn't look forward to the annual showings (on NBC) of the 1939 "classic" the way my brother and our cousin from next door did. They thought it was an amazing event, something to be thought about and savored and experienced as close to the TV screen as possible.

Frankly, it scared the living crap out of me, and I dreaded it.

But as I got older, and the prospect of finding a green scary witch in a crystal ball when one was expecting a protective parental figure (that was the moment that got me most) was no longer as frightening as it had once been, I realized I still couldn't stand that movie. When I got married and had children, and the inevitable "need" for them to see the thing was pressured upon me by others, I got it over with as quickly as possible and never took the tape out again.

I consider it one of the most overrated films of all time, and I honestly and truly don't understand why it seems everyone else believes Oz to be a cherished film they could--and do--watch over and over again. If I never have to see it for the rest of my life, I'm totally fine with that.

From a storytelling standpoint, let's analyze:

1. We start out with a "little girl" who appears to be about 20. She's living on a farm in Kansas with her aunt and uncle (the parents we never even hear about), and we can tell it's drab because Kansas is in black and white. Oddly, actual people from Kansas don't see this as a slight to their home state and have embraced this movie. Go figure people from Kansas. 

2. The girl is upset because some hag from down the road is going to take her dog away. This is accomplished with the consent of the aunt and uncle, who are such dishrags it's hard to understand why the girl is so attached to them. She goes out in the back and sings a rather tedious song about how she can't fly up into the sky and change her life. Since her life consists of hanging around in black and white, arguing with nasty women about dogs and singing tedious songs, it's easy to understand why.

3. Waddaya know, the girl gets her wish. Kansas is beset with a "twister," which you think means everyone has to put their left foot on red and their right hand on green (and that's going to be a problem, since Kansas is in black and white), but no, it's a tornado. The aunt and uncle flee to safety, but the girl isn't bright enough for that and endangers her dog and herself by staying in the house, which goes for a ride in the sky. Helen Hunt is nowhere to be seen, but the house lands somewhere the girl doesn't recognize. You'd think she'd sing some less tedious song about how happy she is now to be out of Kansas. No such luck. She's going to complain the whole movie.

4. Once she opens the door (to an "effect" that's as special as a guy changing the reel of film in the camera to color), she is beset upon by exposition. Characters pop out of every nook and cranny to explain what's going on and set out the plan for the rest of the story. You'd think there'd be a great song to go with this. Instead, they chant about a road made of yellow bricks until you want to throw yellow bricks at everybody to get them to shut up. Worst part: They never even tell you why they built a road out of yellow bricks to begin with. Overacting abounds. There are also unfortunate jokes about short people.

5. The girl, who has apparently committed negligent homicide, is told to go to the nearest city and seek out an authority figure who will fix all her problems. The idea that she solve her problems herself is never raised, nor is she given bus fare--she has to hoof it. She does meet three compadres along the way, each with a lugubrious scene in which the compadre of the moment sings an identical song complaining about something he doesn't have. Once again, the plan to go to the deus ex machina and ask for magical solutions is put in play, and nobody says, "Suck it up and work out a solution yourself." There are also unfortunate jokes about gay lions.

6. The midpoint is reached when the group of vagabonds arrives at the big city. You'd think the three guys would go off in search of tin, straw, and lionine women (or men), but they stick with the girl and get dolled up--three guys in a makeover scene while the girl looks exactly the same--to go see the authority figure who apparently runs the place. This is sort of like sending a girl and three oddballs to Chicago in the 1920s to see Al Capone, who would grant them clemency in the bootlegging wars. 

7. Problem: Capone's not so quick handing out favors. You want something from him, you've got to show your loyalty first. And how does a mob boss define loyalty? He puts out a contract on an enemy, and orders the girl and her pals to do the hit. THEN they'll get what they want, he implies. So you think the girl and her posse in this children's film would tell Al to forget their requests; they'll work out their own solution that doesn't involve bloodshed. No chance--they set out to liquidate the Boss' competitor, another purveyor of magic.

8. This is accomplished with the oldest trick in the screenwriting book: The accidental murder. The girl gets mad enough to splash the witch--who looks suspicously like the old hag who wanted to put her dog to sleep--with a bucket of water, and waddaya know, she's allergic to water and melts into the floor, all the while complaining. This leads one to believe the witch is made of sugar, because my mother always told me that I could walk through the rain and it wouldn't kill me because I wasn't made out of sugar. You'd think the powerful sorceress would use her last moments to lash out with some magic aimed at her assassin, but no, she just whines and complains like everybody else in this movie. And you have to wonder why someone who can die from water would have a bucket of the stuff lying around within flinging distance in her own home. Does Superman keep a Kryptonite room in the Fortress of Solitude? I think not.

9. The girl, her dog, and the three odd men trudge back to their capo's hideout, and demand all the stuff he said they'd get after they whacked the old lady. Sure enough, he goes back on his word, is shown to be a fraud, and tries to buy them off with Seaside Heights boardwalk prizes he says are special because of the thought behind them--the very argument every kid is asked to swallow when given socks as a birthday gift. You expect them to fling all this garbage back in the guy's face, but no, they thank him for the wonderful gifts of self esteem. 

10. The girl, who has been complaining the whole time about trying to get to black and white Kansas, is now told--by someone who could have said something 20 minutes into the picture and saved us a lot of grief--that she's been able to do that whenever she wanted by clicking her heels together and chanting that she wants to go home, clearly a pitch for some Hollywood religion of the time. Once again, a reasonable viewer might expect that the girl would pull off one of those shoes and beat the speaker senseless with the heels after all the tsuris she's been through, but she thanks her "benefactor" and follows the instructions.

11. The cheapest trick in the screenwriting book--the "it was just a dream" cop-out. This ENDS the movie. No song, no big twist, just "What you just saw all took place in the fever dream of a 20-year-old pretending to be a little girl." There is some hogwash about not looking for your dreams anywhere but in your own backyard, which is apparently meant to dissuade children from ever going out on their own and following their dreams. People should be throwing popcorn at the screen.

Instead, it's considered one of the great classics of Hollywood. People dress up in costumes. They go to actual theaters for singalong revival showings. They buy the props from the movie for exorbitant fees. Some of them find "alternate takes" on the story and make bad Diana Ross movies or blockbuster Broadway musicals.

Not me. I think it's a lousy movie, and I don't care who knows it. Demand more from your storytelling, people. You deserve it. Flying guys in monkey suits? Please.

NaNoEdMo Edited, Not On iPad (sorry for version 1!)

Josh Getzler

 

So NaNoWriMo is coming to an end. Thousands of lawyers, barristas, stay-at-home moms, teachers, chefs, students and financial analysts who woke up early and went to bed late every day for the last month are tapping their way through their last entry in November. They will type their final periods, save their work, and...what?

It's a fascinating psychological moment, this. First of all, if you've made it through, congratulations! It's a terrific feat of persistence, stamina and resolve to write every day (or nearly every day, from what I understand) for a month. You can get an awful lot done; learn about yourself, understand a bit about what it takes to write a piece of long fiction, perhaps work through a story that's been burning or percolating its way through you for months or years.

Some people can finish a whole novel (or at least a draft) in the course of the month. Most don't, and are left with half or two-thirds of a story and a new calendar page with a puppy dressed in a Santa costume. What to do?

Well, the first thing NOT to do is send it out on submission, as almost assuredly it's not really done. But that's not even a particularly interesting statement. Really, what most people who haven't done this before need to do is take a deep breath and simply soldier on. The purpose of the November Exercise is to kickstart your writing. It's not really to actually go start-to-finish in a month. Now the goal should be to finish a draft and then set out to edit like crazy (and then have more objective people than your spouse or sister read it). Then, eventually, after even more sweat, you can think about whether your germ of an idea in October could turn out to be Water for Elephants, a famous NaNoWriMo success.

A great example of the benefits of NaNoWriMo is a young writer named Samantha Sweeney, who's studying at Simmons College in Mass while writing for Metro newspapers out of Boston. Sam decided to try her hand at NaNoWriMo, and her editor not only let her write about the process, but syndicated her columns around the country.

I read about Sam on the subway on the first Tuesday in November, got in touch with her, and we've been talking and emailing all month as she's been writing her novel. It's a family drama set in Queens (think Brothers McMullen) and explores many domestic themes (with a particular emphasis on abandonment). As November winds down, the story isn't complete, but Sam has made great headway in taking an idea, a character, a mood, a setting, and beginning to shape it into a novel.

It's been a fascinating process for me to follow (and, I suspect, for Sam to write), and I hope that there will be a lot of emails, drafts, edits to come as November transitions to December, and the weather gets chillier and then turns again. Because as anyone who's sat down and sweated out a book (whether in stores or in storage) knows, this is a long and difficult road, where the first month is barely a prologue to the months (and at time years) that make up the entire creative arc of a successful novel. So if you've made it this far, congrats and good luck on the rest of your journey, and when it's ready--really ready!--then I hope to read it, love it, take it on, and see it through to great success.

Sit On It, Fonzie

Jeff Cohen

The time comes in every author's life, and it is one that we try to put off as long as possible. It's not something we like to consider, nor to talk about, but it is inevitable, and never convenient.

I need a new writing chair.

Now, you might be thinking, "That's not much of a problem. I can't see why this guy would devote an entire blog post to a chair." And you'd have a point. But there are mitigating circumstances that, you know, mitigate this situation:

1. A writer spends an inordinate amount of time in his/her chair;
2. Those of us past the age of, let's say, 40, are susceptible to back ailments, carpal tunnel and other serious maladies when we spend too much time sitting in a position that is not properly aligned;
3. A writer thinking about discomfort will not write as well;
4. Bottom line: I had nothing to write about this week.

I'm not one of those authors who gets all weepy and nostalgic about objects, at least not the ones I use for my job. The chair I'm in has served well and long, but it has a ripped armrest, a squeaky base and a very clunky lean-back feature. It needs to go.

You'd be amazed how difficult it is to find a decent writing chair these days. Or perhaps you wouldn't. I have no idea how long it's been since you tried it. For all I know, you're in the chair business full time and are much better versed on the subject than I am. You're probably just waiting for me to make some sort of chair-related factual error, so you can pounce on it and prove how hideously ill-informed I am.

I'm sorry; what were we talking about? Oh yes. A chair.

This is not the kind of thing one can buy online. A chair has to be at least momentarily test driven before a purchase. Something seen in a picture on a website could look just fine and fit into the budget, but might be so hard, so stiff or so generally uncomfortable as to make all the other things irrelevant.

Aesthetics are secondary. When I asked my wife and daughter about a second model of a chair I was considering, one that was $40 less because it was a different color, each of them said, "Who cares what it looks like? It's a chair."

I spent the afternoon before Thanksgiving stalking chairs with my children, who were along for the ride and (what was for them) a free lunch. And we went to one of the office supply chain stores where I had a credit account. The place (which shall remain nameless--it was Office Depot) was fully stocked in the "executive chair" section.

 It took some major sitting to finally settle on one particular chair, which admittedly was a close facsimile of my current one. The price was reasonable, assuming that one's definition of "reasonable" is stretched to the late-2011 level. They even had one in stock. I handed over my Unnamed-yet-Office-Depot card to pay for it after the obliging store employee showing me the chair had handtrucked it to the front of the store.

And then my card was declined because I didn't have a balance on it. Apparently, I don't use my card enough for them to bother giving me credit when I actually want to buy something from them. I didn't have another card I wanted to use, so we're back to square one.

A writer's workspace--like anyone else's, when you think about it--is a huge part of the work day. My chair is important because I don't want to notice it; it should not distract me from what I'm doing. Same as my mousepad, my clock (does anyone actually use a regular clock anymore?), my file cabinets and my completely inadequate shelf space. It's not that I wouldn't be able to write without them; it's that the right ones make the task less diffused. It becomes easier to concentrate.

So once I find the right chair, I can finish this next book. 

Yup. That's the excuse I'm using today. 

On Rejuvenation

Josh Getzler

I had a long, interesting discussion this afternoon with one of my clients, about a manuscript I'd read that he'd written several years ago. He'd left the manuscript after an aborted set of submissions, written the book I'd taken on (which is currently on submission itself)...and another...and another, but couldn't get the first one out of his mind.

Every so often, when we'd be discussing his current manuscript, he'd say "One of these days I really want you to take a look at the first one--it's really interesting, and I feel like it could go somewhere." And every time, I'd nod and say "yes, yes, when we're done with the first one--don't want to confuse the issue!" 

And that's generally true. When I'm working on one manuscript by an author, I typically don't like working on another one parallell-ly.(There are some exceptions--you know who you are!) I don't usually submit more than one project by an author at any one time--don't want to confuse the editors and have two projects by the same person show up at an editorial board simultaneously (bad submissions etiquette!). But my author was quietly persistent, and I finally agreed to take a look at it. I did, had comments, and arranged to speak with the author. He said he'd look through his previous notes and compare them to what I had to say.

When we got on the phone, he started by saying "Thank you."

"What for?"

"For letting me read my book again like a fan, rather than like an author."

It was great, he said--it had been such a long time since he'd simply sat down and gone through it A-Z that he didn't remember where scenes fit in, when particular turns of phrase appeared, when characters  appeared and surprised and behaved in certain ways. It's a dark book, and not terribly hopeful, really, but the author said the following to me which I think is so striking that I'm copying it verbatim:

 It was as if I was a reader, reading someone else.  Too often writers, never ever get that opportunity because they are in the middle of the shit.  It’s impossible to be distant enough to really enjoy it, and forget suspense, because there are no surprises.  In a weird way, despite all the work that needs to be done, I felt a surge of optimism because I liked what I read.  Too often, we work, and work, and work, and don’t have the ability to enjoy the writing, the story.  I found my jaw clenched and my hands perspiring when there was confrontation, and I felt joy when (Character X) killed (Character Y).  The whole experience kind of rejuvenated me with respect to my writing, my ability, and my future. 

I feel like this kind of thing happens all the time during the process of working in the different aspects of publishing, whether as agent, author, editor, designer...whatever. We get so close to the project, wrapped up in the minutia of drafts, corrections, copy, contract language and terms, marketing plans and sales figures that we forget what it's all about. I got into publishing because I love to read books, and now I have the opportunity to make a living dealing with them in the most intimate way. And there are certainly many times, when my day is spent trouble-shooting and problem-solving, when that fundamental raison d'etre gets lost. It's a lovely thing when someone can slap me in the face a little and remind me what this is all about. It can be (as it was today) the first time I open a box and see an advance readers edition--all the romantic schmaltzy words about the feeling you get are ABSOLUTELY TRUE! It can be when a review comes in that absolutely gets the book. Or (as happened a week or so ago) when a bookseller Facebook-chats an author and says that her book is the one the bookseller is going to evangelize about all winter.

But I still come back to my client today, and feel like his words were thoroughly inspirational:  The whole experience kind of rejuvenated me with respect to my writing, my ability, and my future.

I hope that everyone out there who's feeling a little worn out or jaded or raw can spend the next few days, as you experience Thanksgiving with your families, trying to feel rejeuvenated and excited and hopeful as we enter the holiday season.

Happy Thanksgiving!

No, These Are NOT Opinions.

Jeff Cohen

1. Best Enterprise captain? Kirk.

2. Best band? Beatles.

3. Best Bond? Connery.

4. Best director? Hitchcock.

5. Best team? Yankees (I'll allow for bias here, plus 27 championships).

6. Best Yankee? Gehrig. Seriously. Look up the numbers; they're frightening.

7. Best computer? Apple.

8. Best state? The one you live in.

9. Best religion? No such thing.

10. Best political party? Independent.

11. Best American president? Lincoln.

12. Best stand-up comedian? Cosby.

13. Best television comedy? The Dick Van Dyke Show.

14. Best writing method? Yours.

15. Best American novel? That's a stupid question.

16. Best novel ever? See previous answer.

17. Best movie? There are literally hundreds.

18. Best Beatles album? Rubber Soul.

19. Best Marx Brother? Harpo. 

20. Second best (very close to being best) Marx Brother? Groucho.

21. Best Marx Brothers movie? Any from ANIMAL CRACKERS to DUCK SOUP.

22. Best current screenwriter? Aaron Sorkin.

23. Best screenwriter ever? Bill Goldman or Ernest Lehman.

24. Best action movie? RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK.

25. Best STAR WARS movie? STAR WARS. No, there's no such thing as A NEW HOPE.

26. Best sport? Baseball.

27. Best sexual position? In favor.

28. Best actor? Bogart.

29. Best actress? Not sure there's just one. Hepburn (K.), Jean Arthur, Blythe Danner... I could go on. 

30. Best TV drama? The West Wing.

31. Best Hitchcock movie? NORTH BY NORTHWEST.

32. Best ice cream? Why, is there a bad one?

33. Best current TV show? The Daily Show with Jon Stewart.

 

I'm sure no one disagrees. Right?

The Pit of Email Despair

Josh Getzler

I need to change my email routine. It is obvious. I spend my day facing my computer looking at my inbox. Certainly when I’m writing another email or talking on the phone or going to a meeting or reading, I’m not always seeing the inbox, but my subconscious takes in the relentless rectangular flashes at the bottom right corner of the monitor, and I know the list is building.

It used to be that I’d get an email every few minutes, here and there, and the vast majority were Fresh Direct ads or news aggregations or unsolicited queries, where I was able to filter them to a folder to read and discard (aggregations), read and respond (queries), or just discard (ANOTHER offer to transfer my credit card balance). A few times a day I’d hear from an editor or a client or another agent or a friend or my wife or mother (or now, surreally, my son, which really freaks me out). Those I’d answer right away, then continue what I was doing.

The other day, though, I realized that I had email-surfed for three straight hours without stop. Every time I’d finish responding to someone, three more appeared on the top of the inbox, frequently responding to another email in the thread, and therefore needing further response.

So this is what it feels like to drown.

Look, on some level it’s a good thing, that there is enough on my plate to keep me occupied steadily—frantically!—all day long when I let it. It also certainly becomes addictive, as any spouse of an email-beholden person will tell you, and you don’t want to let ANY time elapse before responding. But that kind of instant gratification very rapidly becomes counterproductive and incredibly stressful when not managed appropriately.

I have two wonderful clients, Cali Yost and Whitney Johnson (actually I have many more than two, but I’m only going to discuss these ones—the rest of you will have your turn!), who are truly remarkable at managing this kind of chaos. Cali is an expert in work-life fit management (which barely scratches the surface of her genius), while Whitney, who has a varied business resume ranging from venture capital to Harvard Business Review blogging, has become a remarkable advocate for disrupting your routine. You see where this is going? I clearly am stuck in workplace quicksand with this never-ending email procession, and need to disrupt my behavior in order to accomplish my own daily agenda, rather than finding myself at 5:30 with half my to-do list open and falling further behind.

This is going to be a process, I can see, both because it’ll be tough to change what’s been a very ingrained habit—I get an email, I look at it, I respond if I can, and then I move on (and it’s however many minutes later). Whether it’s pressing on with my list and only going to non-agenda emails at certain times of day (except emergencies); or giving myself a certain number of minutes per hour; or setting up a new filtering system; or…something I haven’t thought of (and I’m certainly open to suggestions), I still need to accomplish the following:

1)      I still need to service my clients—be responsive, as timely as possible, be THERE for them.

2)      I need to figure out how to be nimble enough to simultaneously trouble-shoot and press on with the agenda for the day.

I’m not ADD—In fact I really hate multi-tasking, even though I need to do it all day. I’d much rather write a long list, start at A and go to Z, and go home. But this job is more interesting than that, and more spontaneous, so I have to balance it all. These are fascinating problems. They have less to do with publishing than with business or life in this incredibly fast, always connected world. They’re not unique, and they may be simplistic. But they’re not simple, and I’ve got to fix them. We’ll see how it works.

 

 

 

Love Letter to Quotation Marks

May we live in interesting times, indeed. This has been something of a fascinating week, thanks in large measure to our friend, the Quotation Mark.

First, we learned that while imitation might well be the “sincerest form of flattery,” theft of words does not imitation make.

See how I used quotation marks there? Wasn’t going to…style-wise I don’t like how they look…but that turn of phrase is Charles Caleb Colton’s, not mine.

Then, we saw an icon of aggregation apparently toppled (or not, depending on your perspective) by the mighty Quotation Mark.

I’m not going to opine (much) on The Markham Affair, except to say that I agree with everything Ben says here. And to add in my support for the good people at Mulholland Books. I’m not using “good” euphemistically here; I know some of them and can attest that they are good, conscientious people. They care about what they’re doing, about bringing great stories to readers. They are not at fault here. Could they have done some things differently? Sure. Will they learn from this experience? Absolutely.

What really kills me about this? If Markham was not a, idiotic, dishonest human, he might have gone about this project in such a fashion that created something interesting and/or valuable. He’s obviously read quite a few spy novels. If he had not been absent, asleep, or too hopped up on his own self image to pay attention, he might have learned during his doubtless illustrious education that plagiarism is not ok. That writing is hard, and stealing is unacceptable.

Yeah, I’m mad. I don’t like seeing readers insulted, by someone who part-owns a bookstore, no less.

Quotation Marks reared their cute little heads again this week when Jim Romanesko and the Poynter Institute parted ways. In case you’ve never heard of either Poynter or Romanesko:

The Poynter Institute is a non-profit educational organization devoted to promoting and preserving quality journalism. They’re a school, and they also own the largest newspaper in Florida. They were established by Nelson Poynter, a fascinating guy in his own right.

Jim Romanesko is the granddaddy of news aggregation for reporters. Under the auspices of Poynter, he blogged about the news for some 12 years. His posts adopted a style that did not involve the use of quotation marks when he was quoting a news story. His readers knew when he was quoting, though. The thing is, Poynter has specific guidelines outside of which these posts fell.  So long, painful story short, Romanesko and Poynter have parted ways, which has cause what could charitably be called an uproar.

I’ve long been as much a fan of Romanesko as anyone, but I have to agree with Poynter here. They can’t teach one thing and practice another, nor can you purport to be an ethical watchdog if you’re straddling ethical lines. On this one, I agree wholeheartedly with Eric Deggans, whose excellent post on the subject is here.

And the lesson from this week’s drah-ma? Don’t steal something someone else wrote and present it as your own. I know we all know this, but given all that’s happened, seems worth repeating.

Long live the quotation mark!

More on NaNoWriMo (and a PS on Backspace)

Josh Getzler

Well, instead of wrestling with the iPad this week and getting to the same awful place as last Tuesday, I'm doing it right on the Dashboard. In deference to Jeff Cohen, I will only say that I told that Pleasuring machine to go Pleasure itself any number of times. (Incidentally, for a great--and likely out-of-print--book which needed to self-censor what was clearly more colorful language, check out the Late Dick Schapp's wonderful diary of the '69 baseball season, The Year the Mets Lost Last Place. Beside all the cursing, Schapp also slips into Quebecoise French when discussing Les Expos (RIP), describing a pitcher who learned to throw his curve "a Philadelphie, which means the Hard Way." That's become my family's shorthand for anything hard--my son got a lousy grade on a test and wasn't allowed to go on the computer, he was learning about consequences a Philadelphie. But I digress.)

So we're now in week #2 of NaNoWriMo, and as I look through the Twitterverse and FB reports, I've seen a lot of initial excitement of "OK, I've always WANTED to write a book" turn into "Wow, this is HARD." It certainly is. But I think that part of what I'm seeing, particularly from new authors who've never done this before, is the frustration borne more out of a lack of planning than the lack of the germ of a good idea. That's because so many writers sit down on November first, hear an imaginary shotgun go off, and start writing on page 1, with only a vague idea of plotting, character personality, or voice. That's why NaNoWriMo is fundamentally a sucker bet.

What you really need to have done is spent October planning and storyboarding in order to be ready to write in November. Otherwise, there is a good chance that the whole beginning of your project is going to be world-building or meeting your characters before actually exploring their lives. It's novel-writing a Philadelphie. 

I'm not saying that you need to actually outline everything. That works for some people, doesn't for others. But I think that a good  deal of thinking--whether it's actually writing up backstories or a basic synopsis or sketchy outline of point A to point Z, or staying up at night going through scenes in your head--needs to go on before you start writing November 1. Yes, I know it's Nov 8. But it's not too late to do some of this work. After all, you still have 22 days to write (21 if you are human and take Thanksgiving off!)

And then...it's not over! That's one of the great things about NaNoWriMo. It's entirely artificial. It was started as kind of a kick-start for writers who need to get rolling on projects they might have thought about writing but never got around to starting. So while it pays to sweat for the month (butt on chair, as Ben said, or words to that effect), once it's over, it shouldn't be the end. Keep going. Finish writing. EDIT. Think of the ways to improve the writing/plot/characters etc. It's unlikely that a full, clean draft can be completed in just 30 frantic days.

Then think very hard about whether it's ready-ready. It's a pity to write the beginnings of a good idea, wrap a messy bow around it, and submit it to agents. Some will work--don't get me wrong--but most feel half-baked.

OK, I'm off my soapbox. I've got another topic, so bear with me. (I know I usually have more of a unifying theme, but I also usually don't have a draft eaten by a device.)

I spent one day last week at the Backspace Writers Conference in NYC, talking to both a lot of talented and well-prepared writers and a wonderful array of agents taking advantage of the local site. I spent part of the morning on the general agent panel, and then had what I suspect was a harrowing couple of hours for the authors, where another agent and I (Jason Allen Ashlock in the morning, Meredith Barnes in the afternoon) workshopped either query letters of the beginnings of manuscripts. We discussed everything from length of query to different standards of length of letter, from the very basics of structure (The Hook, Book, Cook method, per Barbara Poelle among others) to long discussions of what makes a memoir big enough to warrant acceptance (Janet Reid's Act 3). 

But one of the best parts was hanging out in the Teacher's Lounge, which was where the agents went to  check emails and drink water between sessions. It was a relaxed, fascinating, and incredibly collegial bunch of real book lovers who were all excited, overworked, slightly apprehensive about the future, but fundamentally positive. A terrific, productive conference.