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

Hail and Farewell

Jeff Cohen

So that was it. We hope you liked it.

This is the 3464th post on HEY THERE'S A DEAD GUY IN THE LIVING ROOM, and unless someone else parachutes in and decides to add some thoughts, it is the last. We've had quite a good run here but it's time to shut off the lights and lock the doors before we stop saying anything anyone wants to hear.

For me DEAD GUY has been any number of things. It started when Deni Dietz and I defected from Murderati a long, long time ago and thought we'd start our own blog, but we didn't want to examine crime fiction strictly from an author's point of view. So we recruited editors, publishers, readers, librarians, reviewers, agents and booksellers, among others, to provide perspective we as writers couldn't offer. 

I'll continue to post blogs every now and again (look next Tuesday for sure) and hope you'll look for those moments, but as for DEAD GUY, this is the end of the line, and that's because we have all agreed it's better to go out while we're still wanted and not overstay our welcome.

But it wasn't all about publishing. The rule among us at DEAD GUY was that there were no rules. If you wanted to post about your section of the crime fiction world, great. If not, go for it. I have personally posted about digitizing my vinyl record collection, interviewed my daughter, had my dog write a guest post, talked about my health issues (ad nauseam), ranted about having to master barre chords, introduced a pseudonym, shamelessly promoted my work, bragged about blurbs, discussed the importance of making attractive letters when filling in a crossword puzzle, mentioned comedians I especially admire and occasionally made dives into such popular subjects as religion and politics. I recall once explaining how to deal with the atheist on your Christmas card list.

This blog has been more than a simple repository for my random thoughts. I've made good friends here. I've managed to blow off steam or express emotional truths when I had to. It served as a steam valve when I needed it. And a couple of times it served to let me write silly song lyrics. 

The most gratifying part of the weekly post was to connect with those who decided to visit us here. Hearing from readers and other writers, among many others, was a great comfort and sometimes an ego stroke when it was most needed. Writers write because we want to communicate something. Knowing that people were taking notice was a very large help at times.

For me the schedule forced me to write whether I had a great idea in mind or not. Some of my favorite posts were those that came when I was backed against a deadline wall. 

Everyone who has ever posted here will tell you that coming up with a post every week could be a trial. It's not easy to keep going and not repeat oneself. There have been nights that I've sat here looking at a blank screen for an hour wondering what would appear on the blog page at 12:00 a.m. that Monday. The closest I've ever come to believing in "Writer's Block" has been related to these posts. But I still don't believe.

The people with whom I've been part of DEAD GUY are amazing, smart, funny, warm and dedicated. I am grateful and honored to have been associated with each and all of them. I won't mention all the names here because I'm certain to forget some and that would bother me deeply even if it wouldn't rankle those I failed to cite. But assume if you've read a post here and it wasn't one of mine that it was written by someone I admire greatly, someone who inspires awe in me. I thank each of them. 

For those who have chosen to check in here every day or every week or once a year, we can't possibly thank you enough. It has been wonderful being part of your lives. Don't mourn the DEAD GUY. We stopped because we didn't want to disappoint you. You deserve our best. We hope we've given it to you. Thanks for everything.

 

 

Oh. And pitchers and catchers report in 44 days.

A Fond Farewell From DEAD GUY Alum Josh Getzler!

Josh Getzler

As I have four or five times in the past, I am writing this post from Florida, where I spend my winter break each year. In previous years, I’ve used my final post before New Year’s to look back at the year, and to project where I might be next year this time.

This post, however, is a bit different, and somewhat bittersweet, because this is the last time I’ll be writing for Hey, There’s A Dead Guy in the Living Room. I think the decision to end the blog was correct—it’s hard to find something new to discuss every week, particularly when trying to keep it at least vaguely within the box of crime fiction or publishing, and I know all of us have deviated at different times over the years.

But for today, I’d like to discuss not the past year, but rather the past eleven. And while Jeff tells me that 2,500 words is awfully long for a typical blog post, given that it’s the second-to-last entry of the whole thing, I hope you will indulge me. So sit down, y’all, as my 14 year old daughter says; it’s Story Time With Josh.

I re-entered publishing in January of 2007, and at that time I thought the industry had been revolutionized by technology since my first foray into the business of books a decade earlier. In 2007 submissions and edits had all become digital, and conversations among agents, editors and authors had become rapid-fire exchanges of emails. As an (aging) assistant, I was no longer spending days Xeroxing manuscripts and putting them into boxes, but organizing inboxes and learning to use electronic databases to monitor editor moves.

Then, as I thought I was getting the hang of the new paradigms, another innovation/disruption happened: Amazon decided to turn its gaze to publishing, and created the Kindle. The decisions Amazon made in entering this world have certainly had the most affect on the publishing industry in this past decade—far beyond any other single aspect of the business. From the pricing models, through its competition with Barnes and Noble and WalMart, through its Agency Model contracts and legal battles with publishers to its decision to enter the scrum as a non self-publishing publisher (and its systems of paying royalties), Amazon beats out Publisher Consolidation and the near-demise of browsing in brick-and-mortar bookstores as the Biggest Thing of the 2010’s.

From a personal standpoint, I started in 2007 as an assistant to two (outstanding) agents, having just leapt from a business where I’d been the boss, with three children 8 and under, where I woke up every morning at 5:00 to read queries, and where I spent four months line-editing a 700 page thriller (that never saw the light of day).

As 2017 ends, I’m a partner of the six-year-old agency I co-founded in 2011 with Carrie Hannigan and Jesseca Salky. We have all seen our books hit the NY Times (and many other) best seller lists, including Carrie’s client Vashti Harrison’s amazing middle grade book about black women who made history, Little Leaders, which was #3 last week. We are up to seven people in our agency, and have reached financial stability. I represent more than 60 authors, and hit my 100^th deal announced on Publishers Marketplace this past year. My oldest child (who’s contributed to Hey Dead Guy several times) just completed his first semester of college, while my toddler girls from 2007 are now both in high school. If I tried to wake up at 5 AM to read a manuscript, I’d be asleep by 8 that night, which isn’t practical.

When I started back at Writers House in 2007, my expectation was that I’d be The Mystery Guy. I’d edited mysteries in the 90s at Harcourt, read more of them than any other kind of book, and figured I’d find my lane in that world. And while I’ve done that (expanding into pretty much all aspects of crime fiction, from cat mysteries to horror to historical thriller to contemporary spy novels to near future dystopic police procedurals), I realized pretty quickly that I needed to expand my sights to…Anything That Will Sell. But nine years after starting to take on clients, I’ve been able to consolidate into a few different genres that make up most of my submissions. As a way to discuss the past decade in publishing, I’ll include commentary while discussing each part of my list.

• Crime fiction, as above. This takes up probably half of my energy—or more, at different points when I’m flush with projects. I’ve sold more crime fiction than anything else, and it remains dear to me. I’m also seeing the most extremes of highs and lows with it at the moment. The low points began a couple of years ago, when Berkley and St. Martin’s Press—two of the most significant mystery publishers in the business—contracted their lists by ¾ and ½, respectively. Now on one hand, that was probably necessary: The shelves at B&N were filled with donut shop mysteries and knitting mysteries and knitting mysteries set in donut shops (with cats, of course), and the market was so glutted that it was difficult for many new authors to find their audience and break through. Additionally, while we thought that ebooks were going to replace mass market paperbacks--where mysteries typically found their audience--on a one-to-one basis, that didn’t happen AND the lower price of ebooks didn’t make up for the lost revenue (and many publishers began to release their mysteries in hardcover and trade paperback, which caused its own pricing issues and lowered sales figures—but that’s a whole different discussion for another time.) So there needed to be a bit of a correction. We are just beginning to see the light at the end of the tunnel now, though not without quite a bit of pain. Many well-published authors found themselves without homes after many books. Many well-seasoned editors found themselves out of work after many years at a home. This caused a great deal of backup in the ability of the fine publishers still (or newly) publishing crime fiction (like Midnight Ink or Crooked Lane or Severn House or Henery House) to take chances on new writers, as they were populating their lists with veterans.

The upside was that these publishers DID work very hard to take up the slack. Additionally, for the first time, we were able to see digital first or digital only imprints of the big publishers begin to get traction. Whether Witness (HarperCollins) or Alibi (Random House) or Thomas & Mercer (Amazon) or several others, we have started to see real sales come from these imprints. (Of course many of these imprints compete very strongly on price deals, which sacrifice revenue per sale for quantity of downloads adding up to a decent stream. 1,000 books downloaded at $1.99 with a 25% of Net Revenue rate don’t match up to 1,000 books sold at $7.99 with a royalty rate of 8% of list price. ($250 vs $640, after a number of assumptions.))

Also, we are beginning to see the re-emergence of the mass market paperback, which will come as a boon to mystery readers who don’t like to use e-readers. The market, I suspect, won’t have the same share as it used to, but there are clearly many readers and large number of terrific writers, and even an industry as difficult to shift as publishing will respond to those needs.

Finally, we are seeing an increase (as all content providers are) in unusual deals in mystery stories, particularly where production is concerned. The number of new outlets for video has allowed mystery and crime fiction stories to be optioned, produced, and even reverse-engineered in record numbers. Hallmark Mysteries and Movies has become the Berkley Prime Crime of television, and Acorn TV (or ITV3) its source for British cozies and procedurals.

OK, so that’s a bit of a digest on crime fiction. For me, that’s a significant amount of my energy. The others are:

• Middle Grade children’s books. When I started back in 2007, I had a kid just entering the middle grades, and two bosses who represented terrific middle grade novels. But it took a chance conversation with a film producer who knew a guy with a book described as Harry Potter with Pirates (which turned out to be more like The Princess Bride with 13 year olds) to start me on the road to a strong list of books for tweens. I’ve grown to love these books, with their spunky heroes and heroines who are not yet jaded (much) but still can Get It Done. I like the humor and the Feels, and the fact that there is a greater breadth of story permitted there than in almost any genre. Funny thing to me was that I thought that once I got the hang of middle grade books, I could also rep Young Adult, but I found out that I simply didn’t have the same eye. So I now rarely look at books for older teens, but am definitely actively continuing to work on the middle grade.

The frustration on this side is that it is INCREDIBLY difficult to market these books. The intended market does not buy its own books, but needs to have parent approval and participation. And the lack of brick-and-mortar bookstores is preventing the kind of browsing with kids that led to finding the book NEXT to the book one is looking for (whether as an adult or a kid). And the old way for authors to get to their audience directly—by visiting schools and libraries—has been discovered by everyone, and it’s now more difficult to get those gigs and be considered special.

• Historical Fiction. I realized a couple of years ago that I was at a place in my career where I could start to concentrate on the kinds of books I really love. And being married to a history teacher for 21 years has made me more and more interested in learning about times and places I don’t already know about. And so many historical novels either cross over into crime fiction or deal with either politics or Royal Courts or Ecclesiastical issues that so I’ve spent a considerable amount of time finding and working on books set in times and places as disparate as 12^th Century Ireland, 16^th Century England AND France, 19^th Century Italy, pre WWI Russia and pre WWII Vienna, as well as Israel, Mongolia, Japan, Pre-Revolutionary New York and…you get the idea.

The issues here are that historical fiction is either crowded with titles (Henry VIII) or “too strange for the market” (even if it’s in the same location 100 years later). There is also a tendency for publishers to get gun shy when they have taken a big risk on an historical novel that doesn’t pan out, when there is popular wisdom that only a certain number of these titles will hit in a given year, and if one flops then every other book seen by that publisher will be compared to that one. Additionally, I’ve found in the past year that the pacing of so many of the historical novels I rep make for somewhat long books—it’s necessary not only to set the place but the time and where it is in history, and often a different voice. And as a result, editors will need to spend a longer time reading than they might with shorter books in other genres (or proposals in nonfiction). As a result, there is often a longer than comfortable time between submission and response to these books, which can play havoc on the rhythm of a sale. I’ve had more long-wait submissions in historical fiction than in any other genre, and it’s become a source of terrible frustration to my authors. Doesn’t mean it’s not worth it in the end, but it requires more patience and fortitude than in most kinds of books.

• Nonfiction: I got into nonfiction for two reasons: One old friend of mine came to me with her Work-Life Balance proposal, and because my authors tend to be both smart and in possession of day jobs they can write clearly and compelling about. These are the most straightforward books to work on, and their submissions tend to be of more reasonable length. If you had told me ten years ago that I would have a vigorous list of prescriptive books for (mostly) women about professional satisfaction, parenting, and small-I-inspiration, I would have been surprised. But not as surprised as if you’d told me that I would be pitching a proposal about the mission to Pluto—by the brilliant scientist who ran the mission—on the DAY his spacecraft flew by the Heart of Pluto and a photo of his mission would be above the fold on the front page of the New York Times.

So that is my list, with some relevant commentary on the market.

The past ten years have been fascinating. When I entered Writers House, after being in Baseball—with the Yankees (for God’s Sake), many people asked whether I was going to find publishing as exciting or interesting. And the truth is, while there were many great moments in baseball, the everyday life of my career in publishing has been more consistently happy and satisfying, even when I may be frustrated with a submission or displeased with an offer or wanting to tell off someone who may deserve it. The variety of books I’ve read, the fascinating people I’ve been able to interact with, the talent of the writers and editors and publicists and other agents. Man, it’s just so impressive.

And one of the places I was able to find a voice and meet people in has been Hey, There’s a Dead Guy in the Living Room. Even if there were times I had to throw together a quickie couple of paragraphs on Tuesday at 11:30 after a long day at work and a night out, I had a great time talking mysteries and writing and business (and occasionally Bruce Springsteen). I get queries that talk about my columns, and I use both my own archives and some from my fellow Dead Guys in my class on publishing at NYU. So to Lynn, and Jessy, and Terri, and the many others, and most of all to my friend (and client) Jeff Cohen (hey, I get to acknowledge YOU for a change!), thanks so much for letting me be part of this terrific experiment in multiple-contributor blogging. I can’t wait to see what the next ten years bring—maybe we’ll have to have a reunion run, like an 80s metal band, and see where we’ve all landed. We can call it Mostly Dead. Which, as we all know, is still, if you work on it, alive.

The Year That Wasn't, In Advance

Jeff Cohen

Wow. 2017. Won't be sorry to see this year go, will we?

It's December, and you know what that means! (No, DON'T cue the Christmas music.) That's right: This is the last month of new DEAD GUY posts. And while we're still processing the end of our favorite crime fiction blog, we are seeing some light at the end of the tunnel.

I'll be discussing my own blogging plans before we go, but given that there won't be DEAD GUY next year, I thought I'd give you a look at what I would have been saying if I were still the regular Monday blogger here. So here are things I most likely would have posted here in 2018:

There's no such thing as writer's block. Stop it.

Hey! THE HOSTESS WITH THE GHOSTESS came out January 9! Here are all the reasons you should buy it! (And the places you could have pre-ordered it...)

Think about your characters first. Your plot serves your characters; it's not the other way around.

It snowed here this week. The first person who tells me how beautiful and fun snow is will be obligated to come to my house and shovel the driveway.

It's been a year since I began chemo. I'm doing much better now (insert picture of me with hair).

Here are my picks for the short subject Academy Awards...

Can you believe that thing he said yesterday????

Baseball season starts this week. Do not try to contact me on opening day. I will not be available.

My lovely wife and I are taking 10 days and driving the Pacific Coast Highway from San Diego to San Francisco (and a little beyond). Here are some photographs!

The only way you can pull yourself up by your bootstraps is if you're hanging by your feet. (An oldie but a goodie.)

How do you add humor to mystery? You don't. The humor has to come naturally from the situation and not layered on like frosting.

BIRD, BATH AND BEYOND, the second Agent to the Paws mystery, is coming out (fill in release date)! Here are 10 reasons you should buy it!

After what happened this week, what else can I possibly post about?

Yeah, I don't watch GAME OF THRONES. So the hype is a little irritating.

THE QUESTION OF THE DEAD MISTRESS is being published this week (hi, Terri!)! Here are five reasons you should buy it (but they're really good reasons)!

That was a heck of a World Series, wasn't it?

Isn't it time to rename the New Testament (another from the archives)?

In the wake of recent events, I'd like to point out that I'm not that kind of a man and neither are most of the ones I know.

Yeah, Thanksgiving. Great food, but just a harbinger of the "holiday season" and who needs that?

Stop with the Christmas music. Seriously. I get that there are a LOT of Gentiles, but this goes beyond the pale.

Wow. 2018. Won't be sorry to see THAT year go, will we?

 

Pitchers and catchers report in 71 days.

Call Me a Chicken. I Don't Care.

Jeff Cohen

Tomorrow, for those of you who never turn on a television or go to a grocery store, is Halloween. Which sends some adults into a frenzy of glee about ghouls, goblins and "sexy" costumes, and others into a genuine state of wonder. We wonder what the heck those other people are all bent out of shape about.

When I was a kid I totally got Halloween. But I'll admit my focus was not exactly on the symbolism of the whole thing. I liked dressing up in some persona or another and I was especially fond of the idea that people I didn't even know would give me chocolate. Which just now typing it out sounded to me like something you should definitely teach your children not to accept.

In the neighborhood where I grew up Halloween meant we could get free bagels at Watson Bagel (still the best I've ever had in my life). We knew to go to a certain house on a certain block early because our classmate's mom would make--I'm not kidding--fresh cider doughnuts and give them out hot. That was a stop not to be missed.

Just to be clear: The dressing-up part was okay, and required a good deal of planning after I'd outgrown the just-go-to-the-store-and-buy-a-costume phase (the best of which was the Superman one and there is no arguing with that). Weeks, perhaps months would go into determining just the right persona and figuring out how it would be implemented. But if you're asking me to remember a specific costume in the way I can instantly recall the bagels and the doughnuts, you are in for a serious disappointment.

Halloween helped make me the man I am today, and not in a good way. Although one day a year can hardly be blamed. 

 Now we buy candy every year and often come close to handing out all of it, although recent Halloweens (since Chris Christie decided he could move it after Hurricane Sandy) have seen fewer customers. Might have something to do with our demented dog who barks whenever the doorbell is rung. Some little kids get scared even at a tiny beagle who actually loves everybody.

And that brings me to Stranger Things. 

The latest binging obsession on Netflix is the second season of a show that aspires to bring back the Spielberg-ish films of the 1980s with a tale of a town beset with a lab where for some reason scientists--and you can't trust them, can you?--are striving to create or at least summon monsters. Don't ask me why. The show is seen through the eyes of (mostly) boys in the 11-13 age range. (Adults, by the way, are seen as either oblivious or powerless when they're not being evil scientists.)

It takes a fairly light tone but this is a horror show. Children are menaced, sometimes abducted. Teenagers are at least seemingly killed. Bad stuff happens to people quite a bit. 

Everybody loves this show. Except me.

I went through my horror phase around the time I was the age of the kids in Stranger Things. I loved me some monsters in the classic tradition, but mostly I liked the ones who had a conscience. The Wolf Man was tortured and tried to get himself locked up every night there'd be a full moon (at which time he ended up looking nothing at all like a wolf and probably could have found himself a good place to spend those nights if he'd stopped traveling around so much). The creature in the Frankenstein movies--hardly a shadow of the same entity in the novel--didn't understand his power. He was an innocent child trapped in a massive body and had impulse control problems. The dominant vampire of my youth, Barnabas Collins on Dark Shadows, didn't enjoy drinking blood. He had guilt issues.

Those I could relate to. By the time horror movies had become slasher movies and the villains were just evil because they were evil (and because the emphasis was on how to show as much bloodletting as possible), I was out of the game. I'd discovered the Marx Brothers by then and who needed horror when you could laugh yourself silly?

Stranger Things doesn't overindulge in gore. I don't want to give the wrong impression. But I don't enjoy watching people suffer and I don't like watching children be frightened. So go ahead and enjoy, but count me out.

I'm an old codger now and I don't get horror movies. I don't need help being horrified; I can do that just by reading the newspaper every morning. Horror is something I actually try to avoid (except that I still read the damn paper). Go figure.

So when Halloween comes around tomorrow, I'll be glad to hand out candy to children (if you're a teenager, go buy yourself a chocolate bar, seriously). I'll admire some of the more inventive costumes. I'll try and keep the dog calm, a losing effort but a sincere one. Just don't ask me to binge on horror movies or TV shows. I don't for a second begrudge you the right to indulge if you like. I hope you enjoy it.

Don't expect me to join you, that's all. There's comedy somewhere and I'll be seeking that out. 

Don't Be Sad... It's Just a Blog

First: Our most fervent hopes that everyone in the path of the recent terrible storms is okay and that life will return to normal soon.

But now a bittersweet announcement: Every day here at DEAD GUY we try to bring you something that can add to your day. Most often that something has to do with crime fiction publishing, as our lineup of bloggers has been constructed to know about that category. And over the past 10 we have done our best to provide every possible viewpoint on the subject.

But, as they say, whoever they are, all good things (and the rotten ones too, truth be known) must come to an end. 

As much as we've all loved being DEAD GUY bloggers, we've agreed it's time to close the proverbial doors around here. Coming up with useful, entertaining content every day has gotten to be a little too much after all this time and we want to go out while we're still at the top of our game. 

So the December 31 post will be the last one here at DEAD GUY. While it's a little sad to think this is coming to a close, we prefer to focus on the idea that we've done good work here, people have enjoyed it, and we've kept it going since January 2007, which ain't bad. 

The cast of characters has changed over the years, but never the mission: To provide perspective on writing, publishing, reading, editing, promoting and enjoying books, mostly in the crime fiction area. We're all still committed to that concept and we'll keep expressing our opinions when we feel they're relevant. Just not here at DEAD GUY after 2017 becomes 2018. 

In the ensuing months, please know we'll keep posting as we have before, so don't tune us out of your daily web scan just yet. And along the way, we'll be hearing from some DEAD GUY alums who have graciously agreed to come back for one more visit before the lights are put out and we group-hug our way to the end of the Mary Tyler Moore Show. 

Keep reading. That's what this has always been about.

Declaration! The Musical

Jeff Cohen

Tomorrow, for those who have not bothered to check a calendar, is July 4, designated as Independence Day here in the United States of America. And while many things have changed in this country recently--and I will refrain from listing them here--there is still an absolute halt of activity on that day. No mail is delivered. Most people do not go to work (sorry, those who must). Many stores are closed. Sales of hot dogs go through the roof.

In my house we will observe the holiday as we have come to do every year: by watching the 1972 film of the Broadway musical 1776, a movie as historically accurate as you can expect when it includes scenes of Benjamin Franklin, Thomas Jefferson and John Adams dancing through Independence Hall, which as you can expect was called something else then.

Although not critically acclaimed on its release, 1776 earned a place in our hearts through its depiction of the Founding Fathers as men, not, as Franklin puts it, "demigods." (Yes, I can quote numerous passages from memory. So I'm a geek.) Yes, enormous liberties (you should pardon the expression) are taken with history. Members of the Second Continental Congress who did not oppose American independence are seen doing so. Dramatic license is taken throughout, as when the entire Southern delegation walks out over Adams's refusal to remove a clause abolishing slavery in America. That never happened, and the debate did not take place until after the resolution declaring us free from Great Britain had already passed.

Which occurred, by the way, on July 2, 1776. You read that right.

Yes, there is singing and dancing in 1776. There are wisecracks that in all likelihood were not uttered at the time. But a good chunk of the dialogue, particularly between Adams and his wife Abigail (and there needs to be a movie just about them) comes from letters exchanged at the time. There is some attempt, albeit a theatrical one, to be accurate when it doesn't get in the way of a good story.

But the people in the film are what bring us to the DVD every year. It's not out of a sense of duty that we view 1776 every July 4 anymore than our tradition of checking in on the Marx Brothers each New Year's Eve. We like to visit with the men (and very occasionally women) at the center of the patriotic drama.

Chief among these is William Daniels's brilliant turn as John Adams, a role I wish I could become an actor to play. Short, overweight, viewed universally as "obnoxious and disliked": I was born to play the part. Alas, I lack the talent and Mr. Daniels could act me out of town while just sitting in a chair.

We understand exactly why Adams is seen as abrasive (even if in real life he was not such a social pariah before his rather disastrous presidency). He is bossy, arrogant, egotistical and obsessed--and those are his good qualities. But we also get to see Adams as dedicated to a principle we can all embrace, the need for a people to follow its own destiny and not have one imposed upon it. Yes, the founders made enormous mistakes, particularly toward people of color and women, but they did what they could and this movie doesn't ignore that. It celebrates the attempt and it revels in the necessary compromises. Would America be born today in the political climate of the moment? It's a really good question.

Is 1776  a great cinematic achievement? Not really. It contains some terrific performances and it strives to entertain, to move and to provoke thought. It has some snappy dialogue and a few catchy songs. That's not bad. It's not Hitchcock, but hey, he was British and who knows what alterations he'd have made to the historical record? As entertainment and food for thought, it's good enough for me.

So enjoy your backyard barbecues, Americans. Have a great time at the fireworks (ours were on July 2, and not for historical accuracy so much as low costs and lack of competition). Maybe take in a ball game or go to the movies. It's a day off. You should have fun.

We'll be watching John, Ben and Tom create a country. Not all by themselves and far from perfectly. But hey: so far it's lasted 241 years and it was created by people who wrote their ideas down. 

A country made by writers. What a concept. 

And if that ain't a lesson for today's political age, I don't know what is.

Now With a New Bald Picture!

Jeff Cohen

 

This is me now.

A dear friend came to visit the other day (just tell people you're a cancer patient and they start to show up). He's also a writer, although in a different field, so naturally the conversation eventually turned to the process. And my friend was, as he has been for some years, astonished at my process.

"You write mysteries," he said in the usual breathless tone, "and you just make them up as you go?"

Well, yeah.

I've posted here before about the difference between plotters and pantsers and I have identified myself as being strongly in the latter category. If I have the whole story plotted out in advance I'm going to lose interest during the writing process and the work will suffer for my lack of enthusiasm. So yeah, I told my friend, I just start off and see where it goes on any given day.

He couldn't believe that because his own writing process runs counter to what I was telling him. And we were both right. Except that he should believe that's what I do, because it is.

Writing is a hard enough job without imposing uncomfortable restrictions on yourself. If you're a plotter, you should undoubtedly work out as much detail as you need in advance. Use the 3x5 cards if you need to. Take notes. Write on cocktail napkins (has anybody ever really done that?). Draw diagrams. Whatever you need to make the creation of something from nothing possible, do that.

If you are, as I am, a pantser, be ready for anything. Have a basic premise and then start writing. Don't plan too far ahead. Figure out what will happen as it happens. Write yourself into a corner. See how you can get yourself out. Do that.

The point is that your process is exactly that--yours. I can't tell you how to write in the way that's best for you because the odds are I don't know you well enough. I can tell you that this is a hard job. Anything that works for you, that makes the impossible slightly less daunting, is what you should do. It's exactly the right thing for you. 

Now, if you think you'd like the try the other person's process, that's fine. Give it a shot. The things you haven't tried might help you; there's no way for you to know until you dive in and try. If you try and writing is not easier, stop doing that and go back to what made you comfortable before.

Writing is not a natural thing. Virtually no other species does it, as far as I know. Most humans don't do it, and fewer do it professionally. Don't ever pretend it's just something that comes easily to you because it's not. So what works for you is the thing that is right for you. 

Do that.

 

Opening Day is 36 days away. 

Short Films and No Hair

Jeff Cohen

"Health" update: For those anticipating some information on my treatment, I'll be giving you periodic updates here. Feel free to skip them if you just want to get to the other stuff. 

The first infusion of chemo and immunotherapy went well, with one tiny moment when I reacted to the first drip of immunotherapy with an itchy throat. That had no effect but to set me back about a half hour and then everything went fine afterward. I wrote 1000 words of the third Mysterious Detective novel while hooked up. It's been about 12 days since then and the side effects have not been as horrendous as some stories would lead one to believe. This can be because it was only the first treatment or because that's the way it's going to be. Please don't tell me based on your experience or that of your third cousin Arthur who went through something similar to this what you're sure I should expect. Everybody's different, and I'm willing to find out on my own.

One thing is for certain: The tumors are definitely shrinking.

For those who have been offering kind thoughts, thank you sincerely. It does help and it does make me smile. So far, so okay for now. Next treatment is March 1, and shortly after that we can expect to see some major hair loss. I'm not looking forward to that other than it bringing me one step closer to being done with this. And that's where we are now.

The Academy Awards will be distributed next Sunday, so this is my last chance to weigh in before all the votes are counted and all the tears are shed and all the agents are thanked. But this year I think I'll forgo the "major" categories for a number of reasons (I didn't get to see all nine nominated films and don't intend to see a couple of them, so I can't have an informed opinion). I intended to talk about the nominees in the writing categories but didn't see all those films either. All I can say is whoever voted to nominate The Lobster for best original screenplay was on some serious drugs.

There is one category--or specifically, two--that are often shoved to the side and deserve some more attention, so I thought I'd get to those this year. Every January after the nominations are announced, my family waits eagerly for the subsequent listings of theaters that will show the nominated short films in live action and animation. And every year we find one of the "artsy" theaters doing so and freeze our butts off one Sunday in February standing in line to get in. For the past three years since my daughter has been living in New York City, our theater of choice has been the IFC Center, and there we were again this year, one of us slightly worse the wear for going through chemo four days earlier. No matter.

Overall, this year's crop of shorts is of very high quality. It was an unusual year in that the animated shorts are actually a little more downbeat than the live-action, which I don't think has ever happened in our experience before. Here are my impressions on the nominees:

Animated--Blind Vasha: The style is very interesting but the story is a little thin. From some Eastern European folklore, a girl is born with one eye that sees only the past and the other seeing only the future. You can imagine that this causes some consternation and is very metaphorical. The visual style is cut-outs and impressions rather than literal and specific. Interesting, but eh.

Borrowed Time: A Western, of all things, about father-son relationships, loss, guilt and recrimination (and I suppose redemption, somehow). A strange juxtaposition for the style of animation. It's beautiful, particularly in its landscapes, but I felt did not especially well take advantage of the medium and could have been shot live-action with no changes. At dinner expressing this opinion, I was shouted down by my children. Beautiful, but a downer.

Pear Cider and Cigarettes: A short film in that it was not two hours long. A very long "short" at 35 minutes, it's the memoir, of sorts, of a man who watched his friend Techno (whose name is mentioned easily seventeen million times in the film) destroy himself over a period of years. This is presented in a graphic-novel style of animation with incessant voiceover narration from the filmmaker himself who never lets you forget that Techno was incredibly self-destructive. My least favorite of the bunch.

Pearl: Essentially dialogue-free, a musician dad raises his musician daughter mostly in a beat-up old car. It's musical and touching as Pearl grows up, rebels as teens do, and reunites with her dad through their shared love of music and the beat-up old car. My daughter and I teared up a bit.

Piper: The requisite entry from Pixar. Gorgeous, of course. Touching, of course. A baby sandpiper learns to feed herself with the help of friends and a tough but fair mother. Very Pixar. 

My choice: Pearl. Probable winner: Borrowed Time or Pear Cider and Cigarettes.

Live-Action: Internal Enemies: A French film (no Americans in this bunch and English is spoken only sporadically) touching on hot button issues of the moment: An Algerian man who has lived in France virtually all his life is applying for French citizenship after a time in prison. His interrogator, also of Arab descent, insists on his giving names of possible terrorists before acceptance can be offered. Intense, two-men-in-a-room movie, but not all that subtle.

La Femme et la TGV: Based on a true story, this Swiss film relies on its central character, a quirky middle-aged (seen as old) woman who waves a flag at the train that passes by her window every morning. She receives some correspondence from the engineer of the train, starts a friendship and wonders if it can be anything more than that. Charming, if slight.

Silent Nights: From Denmark, a woman with no discernible means of income volunteers at the Salvation Army and forms a relationship with a refugee from Ghana. He's not telling her a good deal about himself and she's not asking. Issues of racism are raised. Things are resolved. It takes a while getting where it's going but the characters keep the movie going.

Sing: A Hungarian film about two girls forming a friendship in the choir of one of the girl's new school. But there's competition in the choir, the teacher is not necessarily as lovely and kind as she seems, and the kids might just have revenge--against somebody--on their minds. It spins its wheels, but the payoff is nice.

Timecode: From Spain. A man and a woman work separate 12-hour shifts at a parking garage and only know each other through their momentary interactions at the time the shift changes. Then the woman has to check the video log of her counterpart's previous shift and finds out something she wasn't expecting. Their mutual solution is a great deal of fun to watch.

My choice: Timecode. Probable winner: Internal Enemies or La Femme et la TGV.

 

Opening Day is 43 days away.

See Ya, 2016! (And Don't Come Back!)

Jeff Cohen

A quick post today because it's the day after Christmas, there are five days to New Year's Eve (or as my daughter Eve calls it, "New Year's Me"), and almost everybody's off work today.

It's been an exhausting year and it ain't getting any easier as it draws to a close. Personally, there have been ups and downs. Externally it's been mostly downs, but that's a topic for another time and place. And there's no point in recapping all that's gone on.

Let's just end this day, this week, this year with the hope that things will improve. I know; it doesn't really seem like that's a realistic expectation right now, but it's possible. And keep in mind that we have some small say in our conditions if not our destinies. We can make our voices heard. We can disagree when we disagree and do so loudly. We can demand. 

Some things will be beyond our control, surely. But a new year represents, metaphorically, a re-beginning despite it actually being a continuation. You will not feel that much different next Sunday than you do the day before, depending on how much celebrating you do Saturday night. It's like your birthday--you're technically a year older, but you worked your way up to that moment by living through all the other ones--and you'll be pretty much the same when it comes. Time is a concept we have created to ensure we can be late for meetings.

So here are my wishes for everyone who writes or reads this little blog we've put together: May you get all you deserve and maybe a little bit more. May you stay vigilant and conscious. May you enjoy your work and cherish those you love. Have a little fun. See at least one comedy. Read a book or four. Do all you can to enjoy yourself, but do no harm to yourself or anyone else. Pet a dog. Have a piece of cake. Try to understand, if not agree with, the other side of an argument. Care about people you don't know. Watch a baseball game. Go to the movies and DON'T TALK. See a live play. Listen to music, some maybe that you haven't heard before. Stay out of the hospital but maybe go to the gym. 

And above all, do what makes you happy.

Here's to 2017. We don't know what it'll be. But there is hope in the idea that it could be anything.

It's Just My Opinion

Jeff Cohen

After reading Erin's Friday post I was... well, inspired is probably going too far. But I did take her point about the "unpopular opinions" fad going around Facebook. Yes, people were looking at that prompt and thinking they had to post things that were inherently negative: I hate this, I think this thing everybody likes is stupid, and so on. I have in fact contributed to the problem (saying that I can't stand The Wizard of Oz, an opinion I have expressed here).

And since I think we have rarely been in a situation that required positivity more than the present day, I'd like to be part of the solution. So here are 10--mostly unrelated to crime fiction publishing--positive opinions.

10 Positive But Unpopular Opinions

1. I actually like the Electric Light Orchestra. "Serious" listeners to pop music think Jeff Lynne's 70s band that mixed classical strings and occasionally horns into the arrangement is silly and a sign that one is easily misled. I disagree. Trying something different often resulted in some spurts of genius (There has never been an arrangement besides Lynne's of Roll Over Beethoven that included actual Beethoven) and even though the later years were fairly disposable as Lynne lost interest ("The music plays/so loud and clear/but somehow I can't make you hear/the dream is gone") much of what is there is still worth listening to.

2. I think baseball is infinitely more exciting than football. "Baseball is a slow sport." Sure. If you're not paying attention. You want to be a casual fan who only has to look up every once in a while when 22 men try to knock each other down? Enjoy American football. For a "fast sport," I've never seen an activity that has so much downtime. But hey, to each his own. For me, the fact that something can happen at any time in a baseball game, and the situations that develop around each pitch make it a nail biter from beginning to end.

3. I think there should be cursing in cozy mysteries. I get it--many readers want a clean, safe space to read about violence, death and avarice. That's fine. There should be such a thing without question. But when I write a character who stumbles over a murdered corpse and has to say, "Oh, drat!" I think there should be an alternative. Perhaps two versions of each book should be issued: One with "bad" language and one sanitized for your protection. I don't think people who want a "clean" version are wrong. I just don't think they're all the readers.

4. I'm all for saying "happy holidays." People already think I'm a lefty liberal idiot, so I might as well go the whole way. What's wrong with acknowledging that not everybody celebrates Christmas? What's wrong with noting that not everybody celebrates ANYTHING? Those who rail against "political correctness" are missing the point. It's about accommodating those not in the majority to make everyone feel more comfortable. Where's the problem with that? 

5. I still think Superman is the best hero. Keep your dark brooding types. Think of a better argument in favor of fair immigration: A being from another place comes here, has enough power to take us over and make us do his bidding, and instead decides to use his unique abilities and help in any way he can. There are lessons here and they aren't about who has the best things.

6. I think the Beatles are better than Beyonce. This is not to diminish Ms. Knowles at all. I thought the Beatles were better than Michael Jackson, Elton John and whatever other act was supposed to surpass them. Come up with better songwriting, better musicianship, more innovation and... you can't.

7. I think newspapers will survive. Yes, there will be massive changes and there will be downsizing. But I'm encouraged by the fact that the best investigative, in-depth reporting done during this past election cycle (about which no more will be said) was done by Newsweek and the Washington Post, followed by the New York Times. And in the week after the election, 41,000 people bought subscriptions to the New York Times.

8. I think independent bookstores can prevail over online sellers, and will. Sure, you can buy anything--literally--online and have it at your door within two days. But when you need a suggestion for your next read, do you want it to come from another reader, or from a algorithm? I once had a site recommend a certain DVD to me because I had bought a vacuum cleaner from them. The signs are there. Independent bookstores rule.

9. I think comedy is about to have a renaissance. And I don't mean just because political satire will be EVERYWHERE. I think the tide is turning in comedy and there will be a wider range of product to take in. It doesn't all have to be raunch or children's animation and nothing else, and soon we'll see that it's not. The recent Ghostbusters wasn't a great movie, but it did show off a tiny sample of the talents of Kate McKinnon, and she's going to be huge.

10. I believe the next four years will lead to something good. It'll take a while and it won't be fun, but activists will be born. Already the actor Michael Sheen has announced that he is no longer the actor Michael Sheen and is now the activist Michael Sheen. And the thing about activists is they're the people who get stuff done. Because they're, you know, active.

 

Last positive note: Pitchers and catchers report in 56 days. Happy holidays, to those who celebrate!

the houses of The Haunting of Hill House

Jessy Randall

According to Ruth Franklin's excellent new biography Shirley Jackson: A Rather Haunted Life, several houses may have served as the inspiration for The Haunting of Hill House, the novel Stephen King called one of the top two pieces of supernatural fiction of the 20th century (the other being The Turning of the Screw). Jackson collected postcards and photographs of spooky mansions, but Hill House is her own invention -- she drew her own interior plans for it, some of which are reproduced in the biography. And of course the Hill House in the reader's mind is almost certainly scarier than any real place. Nevertheless, I found myself yearning for a visual compendium of all the inspirations for Hill House. (Click on the links for sources.)

Hill House, "not sane," may have been inspired by:

The Chateau de Monte Cristo in Port-Marly, France

 

Neuschwanstein Castle in Bavaria, Germany

 

Grim's Dyke in London, England (now a Best Western hotel!)

 

Jennings Hall in Bennington, Vermont

 

The Everett Mansion in Bennington, Vermont

The Crocker House in San Francisco, California, designed by Samuel Bugbee, Jackson's great-great-grandfather

 

The Winchester House in San Jose, California

 

On a related note, the houses used for the two film versions of the novel are:

Ettington Park Hotel in Stratford-Upon Avon, England (The Haunting, 1963)

 

Harlaxton Manor in Harlaxton, England (The Haunting, 1999)

 

The 2002 TV miniseries Stephen King's Rose Red is a sort-of kind-of remake of and/or homage to The Haunting. King said in an interview that the Winchester House, above, was an inspiration for it. The house used for filming was:

Thornewood Castle in Lakewood, Washington

 

Happy Halloween!

 

Addendum, October 2018:

The 2018 Netflix series house exterior shots were filmed at Bisham Manor in Lagrange, Georgia.

Sed-a-give???

Jeff Cohen

Many people of my heritage are spending today and tomorrow in solemn reflection of their past year's transgressions and the possibility of a better year to come. I don't do the spiritual thing so much, but I do have a religious holiday this week and it comes Wednesday night. Please don't call me that evening.

For the first time in many years, the 1974 classic Young Frankenstein will be shown in theaters around the country. Mel Brooks (if I have to tell you who he is, just come back next week) has said he requested the showings as a tribute to the late Gene Wilder and Brooks will deliver a live (on-screen from, the 20th Century Fox lot in Los Angeles) introduction to the film.

It's a lovely gesture and a reminder of quite possibly the best comedy ever made. With a 1927-Yankees kind of cast and a script by Wilder with contributions from Brooks, it's a lovely, faithful homage/lampoon of the great James Whale Frankenstein films of the 1930s starring Boris Karloff (first just "Karloff") as the Creature (later "the Monster"). And if ever a film could be said to exist as a labor of love this is that film.

Brooks was never as clever a director, framing things as Whale would have, playing each joke--and there are tons of jokes--right to the limit but never past it. It's a loving film and staged like a real horror movie except that everyone in it is very silly. 

And wow, was there ever a better-cast comedy? I don't think so. Wilder of course takes the part of the young doctor, so disgusted with his family's history that he pronounces his last name "Fronk-on-steen." His assistant (henchman), upon hearing this, insists his name is pronounced "Eye-gore," and given that he's played by the sublime Marty Feldman, the name sticks. The creation (because it wouldn't be a Frankenstein movie if there was no man made of previously-used parts and lightning) is played by Peter Boyle in what might be his finest performance. I could go all the way down the cast list--Kenneth Mars, Madeline Kahn, Cloris Leachman, Teri Garr and almost unrecognizably Gene Hackman--and there isn't one who isn't perfect. Not good, not great, perfect. Every one.

Wilder was perhaps the master of playing comedy through character. Feldman is the wonderful character who comments on the action because he doesn't have to care. Boyle is the enormous little child trapped in a hulking dangerous body. Leachman plays menace and heart. 

Every situation is set up and executed with care and thought. Every scene is framed and shot with intelligence. It's not just about being funny, although it is always that. It's about being true to the subject matter. That's Mel. It's about being hilarious but with heart. That's Gene. It's about a group of comedy all-stars that know they're doing something special and are clearly having a great time they don't want to end. That's all of them.

So Wednesday night, if you get the chance, go see Young Frankenstein in a theater with an audience. It's where comedy is supposed to be, and this is the greatest comedy ever filmed, I've decided.

And don't look for me then because I will be with my people, after a celebratory dinner, worshipping at our collective temple and hoping for a miracle, that something might be this good again.

It doesn't seem possible, but religious holidays are all about faith, aren't they?

Signs That You Aren't Funny

Jeff Cohen

I have often, in this space and elsewhere, urged those who are not funny to avoid trying to write comedy. This is not stated from a superior point of view, in that I am actually quite incapable of writing an entire story that is serious. I understand the impulse to do the other, but I'm here to warn the humor-impaired off the impulse. It won't be good for you and it won't be good for anyone else.

But the question that might arise from that statement is clear: How can I be sure I'm not funny? It's a reasonable query and one that should be addressed seriously. Alas, if you read that previous paragraph, you know I'm not the man for the job if those are the criteria.

So let's consider it: You think you might not be funny, and that's a problem because you'd like to write a funny story. How can you be certain? Maybe you're hilarious and you don't know it. Or, conversely, it's possible you are the least funny person on the planet but you believe yourself to be the reincarnation of Groucho Marx. Either way, you need a little guidance, and I'm here to help.

Signs You Aren't Funny

• You say something in the spirit of humor and nothing happens. Crickets chirp. People look uncomfortable. If anyone's still wearing a wristwatch, s/he looks at it. This is a clear signal. Think of writing a tragedy. You're suited to it.
• Someone asks you how you're doing and your impulse is to respond, "As well as Donald Trump." Now you haven't just not said something funny, you have waded into a political statement and worse, nobody knows what you mean. The only thing you've demonstrated is an ability to annoy people on both sides of the aisle. Think about becoming a speech writer. For Donald Trump.
• You say something you think is hilarious and people take you seriously. "Lou Gehrig died of Lou Gehrig's disease," you say. "What are the odds?" Your friend explains patiently that the condition is called ALS and it just took on the name of the famous Yankee AFTER he passed away from it and... Never mind. You're not funny.
• You, a rabbi, a priest and a minister walk into a bar and nobody thinks that's at all amusing. 
• Your favorite comedian of all time is Señor Wences.
• Your idea of a riotous comedy film is something directed by Ingmar Bergman.
• You wish W.C. Fields had just gone to an AA meeting. Just one. That poor man.
• You try to charm a woman you just met with your wit and find out from a friend later that she was listening to a hockey game in one ear.
• You think Seth Rogen should option Franz Kafka's Metamorphosis as a starring vehicle for himself. Wait. That's not a bad idea. Scratch that. Forget I said anything. Get me Seth Rogen's phone number.
• Someone asks who your favorite Marx Brother is and you answer, seriously, "Karl."
• Worse, "Gummo."
• Your idea of a gag present is a Target gift card.
• You walk into a party ready to slay them all with your ready wit and before you can speak everybody asks, "What's wrong?"

I hope this has proven to be the public service for which it was intended. Meanwhile, keep in mind that THE QUESTION OF THE FELONIOUS FRIEND isn't just out there buying itself. Same is true of WRITTEN OFF. And I'm just getting ready for SPOUSE ON HAUNTED HILL. Stay tuned.

Here's Why I Hate Rain Man

Jeff Cohen

I'll start this by saying that the third Asperger's mystery novel, THE QUESTION OF THE FELONIOUS FRIEND, will be officially published on Thursday, September 8. That's one day after my brother Charlie's birthday, which is entirely unrelated to the book or anything I'll be posting about today. Happy birthday, Charlie.

Of course I'd love it if you purchase a copy of said book on the day it's published, if for no other reason than the fact that publishers look at numbers right after the book comes out and make predictions about total sales, which affects the possibility that future contracts will be drawn necessitating further books in the series. So there's that.

But this installment in the series (and you don't have to start at the beginning, but you can) is a little different, and the reason for that is that I hate Rain Man.

When the Tom Cruise/Dustin Hoffman movie about a slick Hollywood Yuppie (you could say that then) who finds out he has an autistic older brother was released in December 1988, my wife was pregnant with our son Joshua, although we didn't know him yet. I thought it was a pretty good movie that was somewhat predictable, that Hoffman and Cruise were both very good and that it would win a bunch of awards and people would talk about the "courage" necessary to make it, both of which turned out to be true.

And then I didn't think much of it until sometime in 1994.

It took a while for Josh to be diagnosed with Asperger's syndrome, a high-functioning (and even that term is demeaning) disorder (see previous parenthetical statement) on the autism spectrum. He was about six years old when we finally got that official diagnosis after the first psychologist we met told us our son was "eccentric." I had told him we weren't wealthy enough to be eccentric and that Josh therefore needed to be talked down to neurotic, and the doctor clearly believed he had found the genetic link he'd been looking for.

But it wasn't until he was starting kindergarten that we started dealing with other parents on a regular basis, and at various points Josh's Asperger's, which was not a well-known term at the time, would be brought up in conversation. And since nobody had heard of Asperger's, the term "autism" would invariably be mentioned, and that's when you'd hear it.

"Like Rain Man, right?" they'd say with a knowing nod.

Well, actually, no. Josh isn't a bit like Dustin Hoffman in Rain Man. He doesn't dress in the same clothes every day, he is not a "savant" who can tell you how to win at blackjack or how many matches have fallen out of the matchbox, he does not fly into a rage if he misses a particular television show (although that might have more to do with TiVo), he does make eye contact now and again, he is charming and conversant and it has never once been suggested that he be institutionalized because he poses a threat to the safety of his younger sibling, because he never has.

Are there people with autism who are like the character Raymond in Rain Man? Sure there are. Are all people with autism like the character? Good lord, no. And that's the problem.

The general public hears autism and they picture Hoffman in that movie. The more literate think they know what autism is because they read or saw The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time, which I know many very smart people loved a lot. 

When I created the character of Samuel Hoenig for the Asperger's mystery series (which I was calling the Questions Answered series, but that was then and this is now), I was keenly aware of the danger and the responsibility involved in presenting a fictional character with a disorder on the autism spectrum. What I feared--although I knew my audience would not be anywhere near that of Rain Man or Curious Incident-- was that people with little knowledge of the spectrum would read a book from Samuel's point of view and say, "Now I know what autism is like."

Well, there's a reason it's called a "spectrum." Because the condition affects so many people and affects each in a singular, unique way, it is dangerous to suggest that one depiction, or even five, cover the range of what it entails. The last thing I wanted to do was create a character whose depiction by extension excluded the vast majority of those who would be defined as he was defined.

So that brings us to THE QUESTION OF THE FELONIOUS FRIEND (you thought I'd forgotten?). It has always been my intention to write a novel in which Samuel encounters a number of other people diagnosed with some form of autism so I could depict it as being more than one thing. I believe the first book in a series should engage the reader (they all should) and set up the premise for the series as a TV pilot episode does. The second should reinforce what the first did and settle the main characters' relationships so the reader knows what to expect. That way you can do what they DON'T expect at any time for the rest of the series.

The third book, in my opinion, is where the characters become whole. It's where you can write about them and not the mystery of the week (year). And in this case, it was where I could illustrate a very small section of the autism spectrum. 

In THE QUESTION OF THE FELONIOUS FRIEND, Samuel's client (Samuel runs a business called Questions Answered, which does just that) is a young man diagnosed with autism. Because he is aware of his condition and his personal issues with it, Tyler Clayton can't trust that a guy he knows from the convenience store, Richard Handy, is really a friend. He asks Samuel to confirm that fact.

During the course of his research, much happens that complicates Samuel's work, like Richard Handy being shot to death and Tyler being arrested for the crime. But it will also bring Samuel into contact with a number of other people diagnosed with autism, and hopefully the reader will notice that each one acts differently from the others. That's what this book is about for me.

You might find it's about something different for you. Because even the neurotypical are not all the same. 

 

P.S. Yes, today is Labor Day in the U.S., but hey, I have a book coming out on Thursday. If you want to read my comments on the holiday, please see what I said this time last year.

Gene Wilder. Hero.

Jeff Cohen

I don't often post twice in a week, but I lost a friend yesterday, a friend I never met and never spoke to. Many of you might feel the same way.

Gene Wilder was a true hero of mine. I don't have many. There are people whose work I admire greatly and people who I might try to emulate under select circumstances, but not many heroes. I define a "hero" as a person who does something so extraordinarily well, and who lives by all credible accounts an admirable, respectable life, that I look up to that person as a model. I never try to be anyone  other than myself, but sometimes we all need an ideal to which we can aspire.

For me, one of those people was Gene Wilder. I never actually met the man, although we were in the same room twice. When I was the arts editor of the Rutgers Daily Targum back in the Middle Ages, I made sure to attend a screening of Wilder's film The World's Greatest Lover, a movie he wrote, directed and starred in. Wilder was going to be there, and I wasn't going to miss it.

He came out after the film--which isn't great but isn't bad--had shown and answered questions. I might even have asked one. I honestly don't remember. I do remember having a feeling I occasionally have when confronted with someone whose work I believe truly stands alone--that I don't want to ask a stupid question and sound like a fawning idiot. I guess I didn't do that, because I'd definitely remember.

Wilder himself was charming and personable. He didn't treat college reviewers as the minor league team. He considered each question, gave credit to others--I especially remember him pointing out Harry Nilsson's song for the film--and no doubt suffered some fools patiently.

Many years later, my wife and I attended a session at the 92nd St. Y in New York City when Wilder, who had pretty much retired from acting and rarely spoke publicly, had agreed to be interviewed in depth by Wendy Wasserstein. He was gracious and shy, took a while to warm up to the idea of entertaining an audience, but eventually ended by explaining the origins of the theater expression "break a leg" and how it has been misunderstood for decades. Questions from the audience could be submitted on paper. Mine, regarding his performance in a not-great movie in which he gave a great performance, was not selected.

Like almost everyone else, my real experiences of Gene Wilder were from his astonishingly good screen work. His acting in classic comedies--The Producers, Blazing Saddles, Young Frankenstein, Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Sex, among many others--was extraordinary among comic actors. Wilder never played the joke. He always played the character. There were no winks to the camera. There was no false move. There would never be a moment that didn't feel real, even in the most outlandish circumstances.

When The Producers was done as a Broadway musical in 2001, it was a work of genius and a phenomenon that can only be compared today to Hamilton, the only other musical to win almost as many Tony Awards. And everything about the show was wonderful, but on our way out of the theater, I said to my wife, "I loved it, but there's just one thing." 

She looked at me. "No Gene Wilder," she said.

Matthew Broderick, who took over the role of Leo Bloom a mere 34 years after Wilder had done it on film, played the part well. But he played it as a timid nerd and nothing else. Wilder played it with so much emotion and so much heart that the viewer could extrapolate a complete backstory for the character. We knew how he'd been treated in grade school. We felt the cold shoulders of the women who had repeatedly rejected him over the years. We knew the beating heart of the beautiful butterfly inside that bland caterpillar. 

Many people will now remember Gene Wilder--justifiably--as Willy Wonka in the first, real film made from Roald Dahl's novel Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. That's not my favorite Wilder film but it is a staggeringly great performance. A man who could be seen as heartless and cruel comes across as impish and good-humored because the man playing him had such enormous humanity.

In his last years Wilder took to writing books, and while it wasn't his best work, his writing showed more areas of his soul that had gone unexplored in many of his movies. He appeared--I can't know the real man--to have been a man intrigued by human behavior who wished that everyone would just treat each other better.

There are few things a person deposited on this planet can do for his fellow Earthlings nobler than to provide others with a laugh, a smile, a warm feeling. I can't think of anyone who ever did that more than Gene Wilder.

He was one of a kind. We will not see his like again, but luckily we can still see him whenever we choose to do so. That is a great gift. He was a great gift. If that's not a friend, I don't know what is.

Rest in peace, my friend. You are already being sorely missed.

Questions? We've Got Answers!

Jeff Cohen

First: I am very sorry to note that last Thursday marked the final airing for The Nightly Show with Larry Wilmore. Having inherited the time slot of a phenomenon it was unfair of Comedy Central to believe the ratings would be maintained, particularly after another phenomenon left The Daily Show leading into this program. But I'm glad I got to know Mike Yard, Grace Parra,Holly Walker, Robin Thede and Jordan Carlos and saw some of the wonderful work they could do. Mr. Wilmore, don't let anyone tell you your show wasn't good enough. If this year has taught us anything, it is that quality is rarely the defining factor in popularity contests.

On to business: This week I opened the discussion to those on Twitter and Facebook this week to see if there were questions readers/visitors/total strangers might have for the author (that's me). There were no rules posted. So I should have known what to expect.

A quick word: I'll be updating throughout the day, so if you want to add a question, feel free to comment below and I'll get to it sooner rather than later.

Keep in mind that the opinions expressed here are those of the author and not people who aren't the author. Because that would be silly. So with the upcoming release of THE QUESTION OF THE FELONIOUS FRIEND  now only a few (2) weeks away, let's begin there.  

Jack Getze: Do you and E.J. do things together--besides writing books, I mean?

What are you implying, Jack? Must E.J. and I have our seconds contact you? (I've been listening to the Hamilton cast album too much.)

Arlene Cassidy: What's the best opening line ever?

It used to be "come here often?" but now I believe it's something on the order of, "I saw your profile and just couldn't resist."

(Actually it's probably, "Call me Ishmael." Everybody knows that one. Best one I ever wrote is likely, "The guy in Row S, Seat 18 was dead, all right.")

Bill Davis: How many times have you considered bumping off Elliot?

I assume Bill refers to Elliot Freed, protagonist of the Comedy Tonight (Double Feature) mystery series. I never considered bumping off Elliot, Bill. For one thing, he narrates the books, so that would leave a lot of empty pages. (Elliot fans: There is news forthcoming. No, not a new book, but news. I'll tell you when I can.)

Jack Getze (who apparently can't get enough): How do you keep track of all the characters in your several series? Any charts or special files?

I actually keep a "Bible" file on the Asperger's, Mysterious Detective and Agent to the Paws series because I tend to lose track of details like number of siblings and type of car the character drives. I never had to do that when I was writing just one or two series.

Ken Cohen (no relation--he's my cousin): How many roads must a man walk down before you call him a man?

Six.

John R. Rymer: Why is Trump still here?

Where?

Robert Walker: What is the cosmic explanation for how Jeff Cohen came into being?

I could ask my mother but that would probably lead to some very uncomfortable images in my head and who needs that?

Dawn: How do you write such spectacular dialogue? When I write, dialogue always feels painful and stilted, to the point where I feel like I must have a bit of Aspergers because I don't know how to have a normal conversation!

Thanks for the lovely compliment! For me dialogue is the best part of writing. I just come up with a first line and then let my characters have a conversation. The better you know your characters, the more effortless and realistic the dialogue will seem. (I say "seem" because it's never effortless!) I write as much dialogue as I want and then cut out the parts I don't need. 

Becoming An Olympian Writer

Jeff Cohen

I'll confess I haven't been watching a ton of the current Olympic Games, particularly since my daughter left for a weeklong trip to Oregon. She's the one with a real interest. It's not that I don't find the competition worth attention. It's that there's only so much beach volleyball you can watch before coming to the conclusion that there's a reason they wear bikinis, and it's not athletic. (Same is true of men's swimming and diving, by the way, minus the bikini tops.)

Nonetheless, from the broadcasts I have watched it's clear the coverage of the Games is devoted to our understanding of the hard work each champion undergoes to reach his or her goal. Obviously, there is a tremendous amount of training necessary to becoming an athlete worthy of competition in the Olympics, and we are invited to join along via the ever-present video camera every step of the way. The message here is clear, and it's a similar one to that we are fed in many movies, television shows and, yes, books: Hard work and determination will overcome any disadvantage and lead one to glory.

Well, I'm here to tell you it ain't like that really.

I don't know, well, anything about being a fantastic athlete. I could play a little second base when I was 15 and even then would have been easily outmatched by anyone with real talent. And maybe that's the point. Because I played most days and worked very hard on improving. I have been playing acoustic guitar for, no kidding, 45 years. And yes, I've gotten better and I have practiced many hours. I have worked very hard and been quite determined. 

I am not yet at the Jimi Hendrix level. I'm not holding my breath.

The fact is, hard work and determination will help--but you have to be born with some talent to begin with. If not, you're just going to get better at not being as good as those who do have the genetically communicated ability. That's just how it is. 

I was born with some facility for language and communication. I can write, and I always could. So I've been doing that professionally for a now-impressive number of years. I have put in the work and I have practiced and studied and worked very hard for many hours. And I have indeed gotten better, thank goodness. I know a lot more about storytelling, character development, dialogue and the work of writing than I did when I started writing my first (dreadful) screenplay at the age of 20. 

But if I did not have that initial talent, would I be able to make my living doing this today? I argue I would not. I'd have found another line of work more suited to the abilities I did have under those circumstances, which could have been pretty much anything. 

I do some teaching at the college level, and my students are always required to do a good deal of writing. Some of them are endowed with the ability to manipulate words in an entertaining and perhaps enlightening fashion. Most can just communicate thoughts through words. There's no shame in that. Some people play in bar bands. Some people gave up the guitar after college because they no longer needed to meet girls. Only one person is Paul McCartney. 

I grade all my students by the same standard, and that is what they do with the talent they possess walking into the first class. I don't penalize people for not having the skill of an Olympic athlete. If you can play pickup basketball and do okay, the key is what you do with the knowledge you're being given. Does it make you a better pickup basketball player? Great. If you pay attention and apply what you learn, you'll get a good grade. I don't expect every student to become a successful professional writer because they're not all born with that talent. They have others. That's fine.

So if you're an aspiring writer, stop being that. You're either a writer or you're not. It's something that's part of you. Everyone can learn to be a better writer. No one can learn to be a writer. Being published doesn't make you a writer. It makes you a published writer. That's great; it's reason for celebration. 

Just forget the myth that determination and grueling practice can turn you into something you're not. If it's not inside you, something else is. Chase that.

There is something legitimately, verifiably inspiring about watching Olympic athletes like the USA women's gymnastic team. There is a genuine uplift for all of us in seeing them do things we could never dream of doing. But the lesson to take away from it is not that if you work hard enough, you can be a gymnastics champion. The lesson is to take what you are given, what makes you undeniably you, and run with that. Because you already have that within you. 

You're Stealing. Stop It.

Jeff Cohen

There are a multitude of disturbing trends in today's society. One of them is running for president, but that's not the point here. The bottom line is, it's virtually impossible, no matter what one's point of view might be, to watch the news, read the news or download the damn news without being upset (often horrified) about what you see.

And the political or global issues are not the only sources of outrage and anxiety, not by a long shot. There are some wonderful things about the current version of the modern age, and I'd list them here but right at the moment I'm having a hard time remembering what they are. Trust me, I know they exist. I'll think of them tomorrow.

What concerns me at the moment that won't upset people whose ideologies are not in line with my own? The decline of simple rules of grammar, punctuation, usage and syntax, to begin with. I teach people at the college level who can't tell the difference between you're and your. I see posts and documents indicating that even those who have completed advanced degrees don't bother to use apostrophes properly. You'd be amazed how many people think the sentence, "Lots of woman do the same thing" is perfectly acceptable.

And then there is the odd sense of entitlement among those--and I do not limit this to millennials and young people, as I have seen done--who believe that entertainment is a right. These are individuals with working brains who don't see the problem in downloading music off "free" sites, who will buy bootleg copies of movies before they are released to DVD, who steal a cable TV signal and believe they are somehow completing a victory over "the system."

Well, I'm "the system." Nice to meet you.

There are any number of online sites that right now, today, will let you read books that I spent months writing and to which I own the copyrights and they will not charge you for those books because they themselves did not pay for them. The site might charge visitors a fee as a "subscription," but trust me, when they send you the file with my name (or my other name) on it and you read the book, I am receiving a grand total of nothing for it.

The idea that somehow this is a victimless crime, that no one is losing out when you "beat the system" by getting free entertainment, is crap. I hear the argument all the time that there's no harm in a bootleg download of a movie because "Tom Cruise already has enough money." Maybe so, but guess what--the key grip doesn't. The Foley artist needs a salary, and if revenues go down, she won't get any. The guy who cleans the recording studio isn't getting paid when the artist can no longer afford to book the place because nobody is paying for the art.

I have close friends and relatives who see no harm in finding "free" entertainment. They seem to feel they're being clever, winning a victory over a corrupt system. I see them stealing. Period. 

Right now, I am contracted to write four separate mystery series which some of you read and hopefully enjoy. If sales don't hit the right numbers--and no, I have no clue what those numbers might be because the publishing industry changes its standards about every 20 minutes--I will no longer be releasing any books at all. Because I need to make a living and pay the bills. This is true of every author, every singer, every filmmaker, every producer, every actor, every screenwriter and all the people who serve the industries they inhabit. 

If you're taking copyrighted content from a source that doesn't compensate the creators of that content, you're stealing. Pure and simple. You're not being a Robin Hood outlaw. You're robbing from everybody and keeping everything. At most the only concerns you're keeping alive are the ones that steal from artists. 

I object.

If Something Gives You Joy...

Jeff Cohen

So let me get this straight: According to a book that has become the latest in a series of "sensations," I am to de-clutter my house by following one simple rule: I hold every object in my house next to my body, and if it doesn't give me joy, I get rid of it.

Now, I haven't read the book (I barely read anything I didn't write anymore because I just don't have the time, but I am listening to The Three Musketeers in my car), so I'm willing to bet the method has been somewhat simplified in the press. Those devious bastards. First they create a presidential candidate out of an orange rind and a bird's nest and now they're telling me to hold my dining room table against my body to determine if I should keep it.

The idea here is that one needs to divest oneself from the amount of clutter that fills the modern home, and I couldn't agree more. We have more junk in this house than in most third-world countries, and they wouldn't want most of it either. But this particular method of neatening seems a little... let's say inefficient for my taste.

Since I am in essence a simple man (stop laughing!), I would like to question the logic of this particular philosophy. I think there are flaws that would benefit from my input, perhaps for the inevitable sequel, Maybe Joy Was Too Strong a Word.

1. If I'm only keeping objects that bring me joy, what am I going to use the next time the toilet is backed up?

2. There are objects that bring me great amounts of joy that I can't physically hold against my body. My refrigerator is just too damn large, and if you think I'm going to cozy up to it myself, well you don't understand exactly how I get joy out of that thing.

3. I don't get any particular feeling when I hold the dining room chairs next to my body, but I'm definitely going to need to sit on something the next time we invite people over to eat.

4. Do I have to hold every single vinyl record I've ever owned close to me, or can I just hug the cabinet they're in and move on?

5. There's a bottle of Joy under our kitchen sink. It doesn't exactly elate me. What to do?

6. I read an article last week saying dogs don't like to be hugged. We've become so attached to Gizmo. Do we have to discard him, or can we just call that one a draw?

7. Do I have to hug everyone who walks into the house really tightly and then decide whether they can stay? I mean, I don't know where the plumber's been.

8. Hugging each kitchen knife seems not only odd but dangerous. I'm not sure they give me joy, but eating an entire turkey without utensils would be messy and selfish.

9. Just because something doesn't give me joy now doesn't mean it won't at some time in the future. Right now my Yankees cap is giving me anything but joy. Is that always going to be true? (At the moment, frankly, it seems that way.) Note to all who might want to gloat right now: You are just being mean and should be ashamed of yourself. I don't trash talk, ever.

10. If I'm joyful all the time, how the hell can I write anything?

 

P.S. Listen to Circe Link.

The People Vs. O.J.? Nah. I Saw the Original Cast

Jeff Cohen

I am very clear about this: I make things up for a living. That is to say, nothing you'll read from me (with the possible exception of this blog and my two non-fiction books) is true. None of it happened and none of those people--again, with one exception I used with permission--is real. My job, as I see it, is to amuse and entertain. Reality just gets in the way of that.

That's why I have not seen any episodes of The Making of a Murderer or The Jinx. I have not listened to Serial, either "season." I'm not watching any of the current The People vs. O.J. Simpson. I'm not even a fan of In Cold Blood in any incarnation.

True crime honestly doesn't interest me. I understand that some people love the details of the case and want to know whether the accused (there always seems to be an accused) "did it," whether the victim will--despite remaining dead--get justice. I'm not saying those people shouldn't find all this stuff absolutely riveting. It's a perfectly legitimate form of storytelling and for those who find something in it, more power to you.

It's just not for me, that's all. 

I do tend to read non-fiction, partly because fiction reading has become something of a busman's holiday for me. I've always said that I don't read much crime fiction because I don't want someone else's voice in my head when I'm writing (and these days, luckily, I'm pretty much always writing), and I do mean that. Even subconsciously there should be no plot point seepage into my own work. I wouldn't ever steal an idea from another writer on a conscious level but I don't want even the possibility to exist.

Also, one of the reasons a person gets into this game is that nobody's writing the book you want to read, so you have to write it yourself. And that is not insignificant. I do write the kind of book that keeps me interested, largely because you deal with it for a few hours but I have to live with the story for months. I trust that by not boring myself I will hopefully not bore the reader.

But the non-fiction I read tends to be in the areas of historical profiles or biographies. True crime never enters into the mix. Frankly, it's a little depressing for me to begin with and I'm not interested in speculating (as so much of the current crop seems to expect the consumer to do) on whether the party at the center of the investigation is guilty or not. One of the things I've always liked about crime fiction is that we pretty much always get to find out who the culprit is at the end of the story. There is rarely a question left open. In fact, editors have been very clear with me about not leaving anything dangling at the end of a book, even in a series novel. So you get your closure no matter what.

Also, true crime tends to deal with the sensational events, almost always murders, that are meant to pique the public's imagination through the hideous nature of the crime and/or the spectacularly bizarre personalities at the center of the issue. In that way true crime is not all that different from crime fiction. We focus on strange, or at least unusual, crimes (almost always murders although I'd love to write one without) and oversized personalities. The problem is, as Joseph Mankiewicz once noted, "the difference between life and movies is that a script has to make sense and life doesn't".

I'm not interested in getting that close to a sociopath. I prefer a little humor in what I use to fill that "free time" I keep hearing about. For me, the idea of getting that deep into a situation in which someone actually lost his or her life is deflating: Maybe the guilty party is caught; maybe not. Either way, the victim stays dead and I find that disturbing. Yes, people should be exposed and punished when they do something wrong, especially that wrong. But does it make everything okay? Not really.

In fiction, we can make the victim someone nobody liked or someone inconsequential. If we want, we can invite the reader (audience) to care about the victim and offer some idea of restoration in the criminal's comeuppance. A writer can focus on any aspect of the story (I prefer to emphasize character and hopefully humor) and downplay others (like death and terror). That's me. I'm not suggesting it has to be you.

So I won't be checking in on any of the real-life murderers on TV these days. In fact, I don't watch any "reality programming" because I can't think of one that's not insulting to my intelligence or simply uninteresting. Again, this is a matter of personal taste. I will watch some stuff I can't even call a "guilty pleasure" and wouldn't recommend to you at all. But it fills a need for me (and no, I'm not talking about porn). 

That's why I'm not a fan of the true crime genre. So if you refer to whomever that murderer who was made might be or some other "famous" killer and I look blank, you'll know why.

In my head, I'm busy making up something else.

 

P.S. Opening Day is 7 days from today.

How The Maltese Falcon Illuminates Cozies

Jeff Cohen

If you have not read or seen The Maltese Falcon, there will be some spoilers ahead. But you should read it and see it.

Thanks to the good people at TCM, last week I was able (as was anybody else who felt like ponying up enough for a movie ticket) to see  The Maltese Falcon (1941) on a movie screen for the first time in my life. I've read the novel more than once and seen the movie on TV screens more times than I can recall, but it had been a while and never in its intended venue before. 

As always, the story was damn near perfect. The cast from top to bottom couldn't be better. The screenplay is essentially the book in movie format (there's an apocryphal story that John Huston threw the novel on his secretary's desk and said, "Type this up.") and it's wonderful. There are a couple of very minor false notes (Whose voice is that saying, "It's a fake! It's lead!"? It's surely not Sydney Greenstreet's) and they make absolutely no difference. If you can see this film in  a theater, do it. If not, watch it on the best TV you can find.

But there's a common fallacy about crime fiction writing that this novel and this film do their very best (and that's really good) to debunk. There is a dirty little lie going around that cozy mysteries focus on character while other, more "serious" crime novels are devoted more to deep themes, complex plot maneuvers, airtight investigations and story mechanics.

Well, try to imagine  The Maltese Falcon with a different set of characters. Imagine that we got Harvey Lichtenstein, newly minted PI straight out of Stamford, rather than Sam Spade. Assume that Casper Gutman was instead Jack LaLang, fitness buff. Consider Joel Cairo gone and place Biff Springfield, womanizer and feed salesman in his stead. Brigid O'Shaughnessy? Nah. We've got Shirley Smith, cosmetics clerk at the local five and dime.

The characters are what make any story work; without them you might as well simply issue a list of plot points as a Facebook post and wait for the comments to pour in. Characters are the brain, heart and soul of the story. Whatever you're writing is dependent on them for the humanity your story needs. 

And The Maltese Falcon is chock full of characters. Over the top? You bet they are, and thank goodness for it. If you saw this crew walking down a street, you'd either double over in laughter or hurriedly cross to the other side. But you'd sure as hell notice them, and that's what makes this story the great fun it remains to this day. Yes, a fun noir. Imagine.

The idea is supposed to be that hardboiled noir (of which this is perhaps the prototype) should be depressing, full of cynicism and hopelessness, that every step the main character takes brings him closer to the inevitable doom he probably deserves. Is Sam Spade a glittering, white-horse hero? Good lord, no. The conversation in my car after the movie was about what a complete jerk he is most of the time, and you root for him anyway. He's the only character in the whole story who'll tell you the truth whether you want to hear it or not. He's actually enjoying the work most of the time, and he's almost always in complete charge of any situation he enters. I am crazy about Sam Spade as a character and know I couldn't possibly write anyone like him.

Part of the appeal in the film is that Humphrey Bogart is just so damn good at being Sam Spade that it's impossible to think of him as Rick in Casablanca or Captain Queeg in The Caine Mutiny. Yes, they look and sound the same, but the character at the heart is always more important to Bogart than being himself on screen. Here, he's tough and vulnerable, deadly serious and playful, tender hearted and absolutely cold-blooded. Yet he never seems contradictory; the character is just nuanced and written so well it makes an author's ego feel stomped upon. Nobody's that good. 

Sam's supporting cast is so full of personalities it's almost embarrassing. Casper Gutman alone should have his own series of novels. Huge (in every direction) and of a bygone era, he actually believes he is acting within a set of rules, that he is a gentleman. Even when he's ordering people to be killed and threatening torture. He is the armchair Indiana Jones, a man who searches for rarities because he wants them for himself. 

Usually "the girl" in such stories is either a flat-out femme fatale who is clearly leading our hero through her own plot only to discard him ruthlessly once he is of no use to her, or a dimwitted damsel who will surely need to be rescued at some point or another.  Hammett's Miss Wonderlay/Leblanc/O'Shaughnessy has major elements of the first and pretends to be the second, but she's really neither. One of the great joys of the film is watching Mary Astor talk about how she's "been bad" and watching Bogart enjoy her discomfort. He's on to her from the first minute, and the movie's last few minutes of him trying to explain his code to her are among the best scenes appearing in any movie anywhere ever. The dialogue is almost verbatim from Hammett.

I'm not even mentioning Cairo or Wilmer Cook, Effie Perrine or Iva Archer, Tom Polhaus or Lt. Dundy. Each has a purpose and a personality, something lacking in the by-the-numbers books whose authors think character is simply something that facilitates plot points. They are people who would have their own stories to tell, and that's the point. Each of your characters is the star of his/her own book. They believe the story is about them, and who are you to argue?

So having experienced the 1941 Maltese Falcon as it should be seen, I can tell you confidently: Don't you dare believe character is only for cozies, or even that the "gimmick" in cozies is more important than their population. Pay more attention to plot than people at your own risk.

 

It is 35 days until Opening Day.

One Last Chance (That Goes on Forever) to Get "Guesthouse" on TV!

Jeff Cohen

You--yes, you--can make a difference. No, this is not about the Iowa caucuses or anything involved with this bizarre election cycle. I'm referring here to the near future... of television. And your chance to shape it. A tiny bit.

Most authors, let's be honest, dream of having their work adapted for the stage, film or television. It's not that we aren't happy writing books, because the vast majority of us are. But adaptation, with all its dangers (the author's sensitive work gets turned into a fratboy comedy with a talking walrus), brings with it vastly increased visibility and that means more people end up reading the books, and that's good because well, remember how I just said we're happy writing books? We'd like to keep the gig.

The money doesn't hurt, either.

While there has occasionally been interest in some of my work from production companies over the years, nothing yet has gotten especially serious in that area. But lately there has been an increase in the number of series and movies on TV that one might define as "cozies." Many of these are now being seen on the Hallmark Channel, where one might rightfully expect some coziness with the brain teasers and central female characters.

I confess I have not yet seen any of the Hallmark mystery movies or shows, but I hear good things about them. Care appears to be taken and viewers will get an enjoyable ride, I'm told. But there seems to be something missing from the current lineup and I think something could be done to provide it.

That's right. We need to get the Hallmark Channel to adapt the Haunted Guesthouse mystery series for television.

Seems logical, right? A whole cable channel devoted to fun, light, possibly heartwarming stories that has shown an interest in the cozy mystery genre especially of late. Match that with a series of fun, light cozy and occasionally heartwarming mystery novels with a central character who is female, smart, funny and intrepid (I'm just relaying comments from others). What's not to like?

My belief is that the fly in the ointment here is simply a problem of profile, as in the low one the Guesthouse series currently has. Hallmark just doesn't know there is a Haunted Guesthouse series or that a devoted readership exists that could turn into an even more devoted viewership if only the opportunity arose. There are innumerable cozy mystery book series and Hallmark can't be expected to be aware of all of them. So this is the area that needs to be, let's say, attended to.

That's where you come in, dear reader.

For the record, I am not asking you to send an email to Elizabeth Yost, the vice president of development at Crown Media, which owns the Hallmark Channel. I would never suggest that you send her an email (at [email protected]) suggesting that as a fervent reader of cozy mysteries, you believe the Haunted Guesthouse series--in which the ghosts are not at all frightening but are instead funny and friendly while Alison Kerby is an admirable and accessible heroine--might be a perfect fit for the current TV lineup Hallmark is offering. But if, entirely on your own, you were to decide to contact Ms. Yost without any encouragement from me whatsoever, you would do well to follow the suggestions below on how to write such an email:

• Be very respectful. Don't ever suggest Hallmark has been doing anything but a bang-up job producing cozy mysteries.
• Encourage more such development. Don't suggest other book series per se, but say you've seen things like the Flower Shop Mysteries and would like to see more.
• Don't (under any circumstances) say that the author suggested you write to her. 
• Don't lie.
• Explain that Guesthouse is a fun series, not a horror series. Maxie and Paul, the main ghosts, are not at all frightening. But they help solve the mystery.
• You might want to mention that Alison is a likable character who would be appealing to viewers in Hallmark's viewership and that she does develop a romance in the course of the series.
• Say you've read a number of books in the Guesthouse series and see how they could develop successfully into a TV series or series of TV movies.
• Be clear that if such a show were produced, you would be anxious to watch it. In fact, you wouldn't miss it.
• Make sure you say how much you like the Hallmark Channel (if you don't already, you might want to check out one or more of their mystery shows).
• Don't demand. Request. Suggest. Make it sound like you're trying to alert Ms. Yost to something she might not have heard about yet that could perform well for her and Hallmark.
• Keep it short, to the point, and helpful.
• Thank Ms. Yost for what she's already done and for taking the time to consider your suggestion.

Okay? So those are just suggestions of things you might want to keep in mind if, all by yourself, you were to decide to send an email to [email protected]. 

Remember: This is how the original Star Trek got renewed. Tell your relatives. Tell your friends. Tell your enemies. Tell your book club. Your library. Your Facebook friends, Twitter followers and Pinterest... uh... pin pals. Tell people in the street. Encourage them--completely on their own--to write emails to Ms. Yost as well. Television responds to numbers. Let's get them--assuming I were encouraging this, which of course I'm not--a good number of emails so they might feel it's necessary to find out more.

And hey, you might have a hand in helping an author out and seeing something you might like on your TV one day. Win-win.

 

P.S. Pitchers and catchers report in 17 days.

If Aaron Sorkin Wrote a Mystery

Jeff Cohen

Note: Aaron Sorkin didn't write ANY of what is to follow. That's just to be clear and to stay clear of Mr. Sorkin's attorneys, who are no doubt far more numerous and expensive than my own. He didn't write it. At all. This is intended as an affectionate homage.

If They Wrote Mysteries

A Series of at Least One Post

1: Aaron Sorkin

Doug Fiedler, special agent of the FBI: It's obvious now who the murderer is.

Jill Whitcomb, Doug's ex-lover and superior: Murderer?

Doug: I said, it's obvious. What?

Jill: You said murderer.

Doug: Yes, I did.

Jill: Like it's a profession. Murderer. It's not like there's a "murderer" table at the ninth-grade job fair, Doug.

Doug: Yes, thanks, I'm aware of that, Jill. Now I was saying...

Jill: I mean, what's the point in glorifying such a hideous, heinous, horrific act with a term that makes it sound like a specialty?

Doug: Hideous, heinous and horrific?

Jill: I'm a fan of alliteration. Sue me.

Doug: You're missing the point here.

Jill: Am I?

Doug: You are. Someone has been murdered. The person who did that murdering is the murderer. I'm not trying to organize a union for them, Jill.

Jill: I'm just saying, it's the kind of thing that makes the crime sound mundane, like it's something a specific kind of person does routinely. We should make murder scarier, more repulsive, so people will sit up and take notice when it happens.

Doug: Wait. Walk with me. 

They walk out of the room and through a hallway, a LOOOOONG hallway, past many office doors.

Jill: I'm only trying to make the point--

Doug: That you think people are blasé about the idea of murder because we use the term "murderer" to describe the person who does it. You think the average person walks into a room, sees a dead body on the floor and yawns because oh well, this is just the work of a murderer and not someone really frightening. What term would you prefer? Disemboweler? Life-taker? Grim reaper? What works for that brain of yours?

Jill: Is this still about the affair your father had?

Doug stops walking and stares at her. 

Doug: What?

Jill: Your father. How he was carrying on with his secretary for seventeen years and your mother never knew. Is this about that?

Doug: No, it's not about... can we just... what are you... this is about a murder!

Jill: If you say so. 

They continue walking. Doug opens a door and they enter a shooting range. Both Doug and Jill immediately put on noise-canceling headphones, pull guns from their shoulder holsters and fire, in separate booths, directly at targets at the other end of the range. The targets move forward when they are finished shooting and each pulls the paper from the arm of the machine.

Doug looks at his target. There are seven holes in the "heart" area and one in the head.

Jill walks over to him and holds out her own target. All eight shots have hit the head.

Doug shakes his head slightly and removes the headphones as he walks out, Jill behind him.

Doug: This has nothing to do with my father. It's about your trying to control every situation in your life when you know that's impossible. Other people get choices, too.

Jill: Stop trying to make everything about our relationship. We ended because the Bureau wouldn't allow it to go on.

Doug: You could have accepted the decision a little less happily, is all I'm saying. 

Jill: You think I caved in? You knew the rules.

Doug: Yeah, and you didn't mind breaking them until you were up for a promotion.

They continue to walk.

Jill: How dare you? Do you realize what you're calling me?

Doug stops walking and faces her. 

Doug: Look, it comes down to this: Every day I get up in the morning and put on a suit to come to this office and work for you because this is what I am supremely qualified to do and you happen to be my boss. And every morning I put on that suit I do it with the knowledge that I'm crazy about you and you're crazy about me but when it came time to either fight for that feeling, for what we had together, or not, you decided to follow the rules and end it all. Well, guess what: I never stopped loving you, Jill, and I don't suppose I ever will. Now I'm sorry if that messy little detail interferes with your perfectly organized day plan but there isn't a thing I can do about it. Just remember that I would have happily quit this job and worked for some other law enforcement agency to keep what we had but you never gave me the chance. I think of that every day when I put on that suit. What do you think of when you get dressed in the morning, Jill?

Without missing a beat, Jill kisses him with enormous passion. 

Jill: That.

She turns and walks out. Doug, stunned, follows. They continue walking and end up back at the office where they started.

Doug: Wait. Did that mean...

Jill: You said it was obvious.

Doug: What?

Jill: The murderer. You said it was obvious who the murderer is. 

Doug: Yeah, but just now--

Jill: So who's the murderer, Doug? Who shot that guy in the head?

Doug stands and thinks a moment.

Doug: Honestly, I can't remember.

 

 

Pitchers and catchers report in 45 days.

TV, Movies and the NYTimes Book Review

Jeff Cohen

I should just stop reading the Crime column in the New York Times Book Review.

This week's, as always written by Marilyn Stasio, included a view of a book that features "the most original amateur sleuth I've come across all year." The character has Asperger's syndrome. He's not named Samuel Hoenig. I'm asking you.

Yes, there is envy in crime fiction, as in every other aspect of life. Now, I haven't read the book in question and don't doubt for a minute that it is very worthy of praise. It might, for all I know, be brilliant. I'm not denying the author anything. But "the most original amateur sleuth" of the year? With Asperger's? Yeah, I'm envious. It's hard not to feel just a little overlooked.

Envy is not an irrelevant thing. It exists in the best of us, and as long as we control it and don't let it govern our actions, I don't really see much wrong with that. Yeah, it's one of the deadly sins or something, but as a practicing atheist that's not one of the dozens of things keeping me awake at night. I think envy helps drive us. Ask a writer which books "inspired" him or her to pick up the word processor, and you're asking which authors they envied. Don't think otherwise. 

Does that mean I begrudge any other author any praise, award, contract or reward of any kind? No. I know how hard it is just to be published; anyone who got to that level deserves what they get. But do I see myself in that area, getting those awards or that praise? You bet your butt I do. That might be delusional, but it's a motivator for sure.

On other topics:

Saw the latest James Bond movie, Spectre, over the weekend, and it disappointed badly. Holes in the plot you could pilot a battleship through. Scenes that make no sense at all (lots of people in the dining car at the beginning of the scene, NOBODY there when the fight starts a minute and a half later?). Dialogue that actually embarrasses. "Surprises" that aren't least bit surprising. People surviving things it's not possible to survive. And a score that invites headaches, including a truly dreadful theme song. This after Skyfall, the first in the series I'd liked for a long time. Very disappointing. Hope they shake things up again before the next one.

Also been watching Jessica Jones because our household includes a person who absolutely can't not watch something based on a Marvel comic. This is a 13-episode series with maybe eight episodes of story to tell. Slow moving, most episodes having not much going on until the last 10 minutes. It's getting all sorts of acclaim. It's not bad, but I don't see what the big deal is. No doubt Season 2 is in the works. Hope there's better pacing.

But Spotlight, the story of the reporting at the Boston Globe's reporting on the pedophilia scandal in the Catholic Church, is really good. Great ensemble acting without anyone trying to hog the spotlight (as it were) except Mark Ruffalo just a little. Emphasis on process without melodrama. Very All the President's Men, and well done. My early favorite for Oscar consideration.

And I'm seeing nothing but ads for the new Star Wars because apparently there are three or four people on the planet who don't know it's on its way. My bet: it's going to be annoying. But that's not based on much of anything except guesswork.

By the way: I'll be seeing our very own Cathy Genna tomorrow night at a mystery book club meeting that I totally don't understand at all, but I guarantee it'll be tons of fun! If you're in the central Jersey area and want to join a mystery book club, you might want to ask Cathy about that.

I'll be discussing GHOST IN THE WIND, the book that inspired a review on Amazon reading (I am not making this up) "Haven't read yet." You can't buy that kind of publicity.

If you felt this week's post was a disappointment, you should have read the one I wrote and discarded about guns. Written because I feel deeply about it and discarded because I'm not going to change your mind and you're not going to change mine.

We're Really Not Kidding. Help!

Josh Getzler

I'm away from my desk today, so I asked Jeff to put up again his post looking for support for our fellow Dead Guy, Erin Mitchell. It's plenty important enough that you can wait a week to hear about why you shouldn't write in the passive voice or curse in middle grade books, or whatever else I was coming up with today. Back next week. Go Mets (Yes, I said that--maybe my next post will be defending my right to say that after having worked with the Yankees for 9 years--or maybe it's obvious from that!)

We here at DEAD GUY are taking today to urge you to donate to what we believe is the worthiest cause on the planet.

Our very own Erin Mitchell.

As she has documented quite eloquently, Erin's been having some pretty serious health issues, and as anyone in the United States knows about such things, it has not been inexpensive. She is self-insured, so the bills are mounting pretty staggeringly. We believe Erin should not have to shoulder the burden alone while she's dealing with so much at the same time.

So there is a grassroots (that is to say, crowdsourcing) movement to try and help, which was set up by Ellen Clair Lamb. Many have contributed (including some on this blog), and if you are able to do so, we'd urge you to send what you can.

Anyone who has read Erin's posts here or encountered her elsewhere know she is an amazing woman, one whose wit and general good humor coexist with strong views and a sense of right and justice. She is being dealt a hand she doesn't deserve, and the overwhelming cost of health care in America should not be something she has to contend with when she's fighting a much more important fight. 

If you can spare a few bucks, we'd appreciate it if you would take a look. If you can't, why not comment below and let Erin know how much you like reading her here on DEAD GUY or elsewhere. In fact, why not do both?

She's already overwhelmed with a situation. Let's overwhelm her with how much people care.

We do. You get well soon, Erin. We want you back here on Fridays.

Writing Laughs, A Get Well Wish, and a Book Plug

Jeff Cohen

First and most important: Our very own Erin Mitchell is under the weather (as opposed to the rest of us, who apparently are over the weather, but doesn't that mean we're outside the atmosphere?) and we all at DEAD GUY are wishing her the speediest and most complete recovery in history! You can read Erin's own chronology of her travails here, but our message is simple: GET BETTER NOW!!!

 

Worst advice ever given: “When people say, 'Don't worry, John, you'll make it funny.”

--John Cleese

It always worries me when someone asks me to write something funny. I don't get angry, not ever, but I do get nervous. Suppose I can't think of anything funny? What if I'm in a serious mood (hey, it could happen)? What if I write something I think is funny but the person who asked doesn't?

Those of us who traffic in humor do so because we want to; don't misunderstand. We see enough misery, hypocrisy, injustice and horror in the world without feeling the need to contribute. Maybe we want to provide distraction or in some way illuminate the problem without making it seem hopeless. But when put on the spot--be funny now--any confidence in the talent within retreats to its hiding place and sits this one out.

So yes, I like to write things that are funny, and I try to do that for 1,000 words every day. But I know I'm going to do that, and I can hang the humor on a story, which gives you something to riff on. Just stare me down with "say something funny," and I might even come up with something that works, but I'll be sweating to get it done.

Comedy is a talent. Some are great at it. Some have no capacity for it at all and they should never attempt it under any circumstances, like tightrope walking without a net. Others, like me, have some capacity for the art but aren't going to play the big room, and that's okay. We can still contribute.

It was said of Groucho Marx (who many believe was the most complete and perfected comedian to date) that he was at his funniest when he absolutely should not have been trying to be amuse. When prevailed upon to be hilarious on the spot, he would speak seriously or refuse to participate at all. He could be funny at will, and often was, but it was his choice, not yours, when he'd find it worth his while.

Lucille Ball, on the other hand, was said to have no sense of humor at all. She could perform comedy with anybody (and did). She could take what others created for her and take it to another level of hilarity with her capacity to bring reality to an absurd situation. Off-screen, Lucy was a serious and sometimes brusque presence, never the life of the party.

"No, I'm not going to be your monkey."

--Jon Stewart, when asked to say something funny on "Crossfire," which was subsequently cancelled

The key to writing is not necessarily to stay in your comfort zone--there's a lot to be said for walking the border between comfort and danger. In other cases, it's best to stay within the area that brings you most confidence because then you can break your own rules, sure in the knowledge that you've done it before and the world didn't end.

But the one absolute rule of writing comedy is that if you're not a person who understands how to make something funny, or can't tell what is or is not funny, you should never try to create it from scratch. It'll be painful and frustrating for you, and a serious drag for any audience you manage to reach.

I can write funny. I can talk funny. I'm not bragging; that's just something I can do. Maybe you can dunk a basketball, dance with grace, play the saxophone or solve complex problems with calculus. I couldn't do any of those things on the best day I ever had. People have different talents; it's what makes us interesting.

But walk up and tell me to say something funny, and I'm here to tell you, I have no idea what you're going to get. It would be a good time, however, to buy stock in GlaxoSmithKline.

They make Tums. And I'll be taking some.

P.S. Just a quick reminder (or a first notice if you hadn't heard before) that THE QUESTION OF THE UNFAMILIAR HUSBAND, the second in the Asperger's Mystery series by E.J. Copperman/Jeff Cohen (whatever that means) will be available starting October 1, which is... THIS THURSDAY! So, you know, get one. Read it. Say nice things. If you don't like it, keep your mouth shut. But remember--Thursday.

Quick Shots

Jeff Cohen

For reasons that defy explanation I spent some time going back over my own Facebook and Twitter posts last week. Don't worry; I haven't been hacked and nobody's suing me (as far as I know). But it did lead to a few short pieces I sort of liked that didn't show up anywhere else and didn't have another forum until now.

In other words, I didn't have a post for this week.

So here are a few highlights in case you're not connected with me on Twitter or Facebook. (If you'd like to be, click here or here!):

• It weirds me out when people post Happy Birthday wishes to dead celebrities. How happy is it going to be for them, really?
• The Man From U.N.C.L.E. movie opens next week. As a fan of the original series, I'm going to start not seeing it now.
• Bruce Springsteen: "I'm sick of sittin' 'round here, tryin' to write this book." 
  Me: "I'm sick of sittin' 'round here, tryin' to sing this song."
• After decades of careful observation and deep thought, I have come to an irrefutable conclusion: People are crazy.
• In keeping with current trends I'm releasing a new Aaron Tucker novel, Go Set Your Watch, in which it is revealed that Aaron is really a six-foot-tall Protestant with no sense of humor.
• What bothers me is more people seem to believe in a zombie apocalypse than in a climate change crisis.
• I have never considered Mickey Mouse an interesting character. Give me Bugs Bunny every time.
• This Wednesday will be my 30th anniversary as a freelancer. I wonder what I'm getting me as a gift.
• I have as much self-discipline as the next guy, assuming the next guy is Bart Simpson.
• I don't care how many years it's been, Ferris Bueller was a smug spoiled rich entitled brat who deserved comeuppance, not lionization.
• You're making a western about a guy and his three sons on a ranch called the Ponderosa. So where does BONANZA come from?
• I don't drink whiskey. Anything that tastes that bad should at least make you stop coughing.
• I have determined after exhaustive research that "Sunrise Sunset" is the most depressing song ever written.
• The only way you can pull yourself up by your bootstraps is if you're hanging by your feet.
• I mean, who names their kid "Opie," anyway? "Opie Taylor for the defense, your honor." Just not a good idea.
• Today I attended a faculty retreat. I wanted to make it a faculty advance, but apparently there weren't any other colleges we wanted to invade.
• The movie I'm REALLY waiting desperately to see? ISRAELI SNIPER: The Dr. Ruth Story.
• I get emails from the chief of the Rutgers police department every now and again. His name is Kenneth B. Cop. I can't tell you how happy that makes me.
• Most baffling movie title ever: Beach Blanket Bingo. What does that even MEAN?
• After the shark eats Robert Shaw in JAWS, he doesn't get the guy stuffed and mounted on a piece of driftwood to hang on his wall. All I'm sayin'.
• I'll listen to an audiobook of the Bible, but only if it's read by the author.
• Whatever happened to Centigrade?
• I don't believe in dumplings. I've never seen anyone dumple.
• Why aren't they called "bakies"?
• Yes, you said that out loud. Can we retire that joke now?
• I don't get a wax museum. I've always wanted there to be a wick coming out of each of the statues' heads.
• I'm not good at living in the moment. I can live in the epoch.
• You can't become a writer. You either are or you're not. You can become a GOOD writer.
• Can we have a list of Republicans NOT running for president? It would be so much quicker.
• Cheap horror movie idea: VILLAGE OF THE DARNED. It stars sock puppets.
• We should acknowledge that anyone who thinks s/he is qualified to be President of the U.S. must be crazy and is therefore ineligible.
• Has it never occurred to anyone else that Santa Claus is Jewish? Who else works Christmas Eve?
• It's hard for me to respect any man who voluntarily wears a tie every day to work.
• If there's anything older than yesterday's news, it's yesterday's sports news.
• Do you think anyone ever called Vincent Price "Vinnie"?
• Radical idea: How about we commemorate Memorial Day by considering the idea that maybe there's a better way to solve our problems than war?
• After the war on terror, can we go after melancholy? I hate that emotion.
• I had this great tweet I was going to use last night. But I've forgotten it. Trust me, it was hilarious.
• Quite frankly, anyone who can't believe it's not butter needs to try butter.
• He sees you when you're sleeping. He knows when you're awake. I think there's a case to be made that Santa Claus works for the NSA.
• People have to stop saying, "Merry Christmas Eve." I'm sure my daughter Eve is flattered, but we're Jewish.
• The analysis just came back. As it turns out, Soylent Green is actually made from kelp. Sorry.
• Stop trying to change the world. The world is fine. Change the people. They're the ones messing everything up.
• Nobody has a normal life.

Why I Don't Read That Much

Jeff Cohen

When I was small--no, wait. I'm still small. When I was young, like seven or eight years old, my grandmother, who lived next door, would walk me, my brother and our cousin (who also lived next door) to the local candy store some three blocks away, on Chancellor Avenue in Irvington, NJ.

The lure was not candy, although we had no particular prejudice against it. No, the trip was initiated to obtain for each one of us a comic book of our own choosing. There was a well-stocked rack of them at one end of the store--I can picture it to this day--and we'd troop over to make our selections because Grandma was not clued in on the comics scene and couldn't do that for us.

My brother and my cousin would walk up to the rack, take down a title (I honestly don't remember what books they were into) and be back asking for the dime or in rare cases (for a special issue or double issue) quarter to purchase their choices.

I'd stand there for a half an hour trying to decide.

It wasn't that there were so many titles I was desperate to read that I couldn't possibly choose among them. I'm not that kind of a reader. No, the problem here was that I was looking for exactly the right comic book, and would not settle for anything less. Run-of-the-mill issues just weren't worth my time and my grandmother's money, in my opinion. If it wasn't something that was going to engage my imagination and stir some feeling, what was the point?

Usually, I'd light on one title or another (it would be a couple of years before I'd take out subscriptions to Baseball America and Mad Magazine) and dutifully bring it over for approval. But there would be times when nothing would hit the spot and I'd choose to go home empty-handed. My brother and cousin were, at least the first couple of times, astonished and I believe a little bit appalled. A free comic book was offered and I was leaving with nothing? How was that even possible?

But my grandmother understood. I can hear her Yiddish accent to this day: "If you don't see something you want, you don't have to get something." And it was not saving a dime that made her feel that way.

The thing is, that's still how I operate. A few weeks ago I wanted an audiobook to listen to in the car on long drives to Philadelphia every week. So I accessed my wife's Audible account (with her permission) to use a credit. I searched for at least an hour and was unable to find anything new I really wanted to read (hear). I ended up settling for the audio version of a favorite I've read a number of times and am about halfway through it now.

The same thing is true with movies and television. My wife says I "don't want to see anything," but the fact is that I don't want to see something I'm unlikely to find interesting. The older I get, the more I realize our time here is limited. I don't have enough to waste.

I'm not trying to be difficult and I don't think people who read, see and watch everything they can get their hands on are wrong. I'd like to be more like that, but then I'd like to be taller, too. Genes will out.

I don't read much in the way of mysteries or crime fiction. I sometimes tell people that's because I don't want to even subconsciously pick up a plot point or voice, and that's true. But I'm also not all that interested in most of what I see.

To some extent, that's why I write books. It's not because nobody else is writing anything good; many people are doing that and much more. But sometimes I feel like nobody's writing precisely the books I want to read, so I have to do it myself. 

Maybe there's someone out there staring at a shelf in a bookstore right now trying to find exactly the right mystery novel. And maybe that person will take a look at one of mine or E.J.'s. And maybe--just maybe--it will be just the book that person wants to read.

My grandmother would be very happy if that were the case.

Since You (Sort Of) Asked...

Jeff Cohen

In response to Terri's post last week, I thought it was just too much fun not to play along, so here are my answers (and we hope you're feeling much better very soon, Terri!). Your mileage may vary:

1. What time did you get up this morning? About 7. Don’t sleep like I used to. 

2. How do you like your steak? Medium well.

3. What was the last movie you saw? The Wrecking Crew (documentary).

4. What is your favorite TV show? The Daily Show with (for the next few weeks) Jon Stewart.

5. If you could live anywhere in the world where would it be? Maybe the San Diego area. Maybe Oregon. But I love New Jersey except the winters.

6. What did you have for breakfast today? I never eat breakfast.

7. What is your favorite cuisine? Italian. I’m from Jersey.

8. What foods do you dislike? Fish. All fish. Yes, even that one.

9. Favorite Place to Eat? The kitchen. Or Brother Jimmy’s in New Brunswick.

10. Favorite dressing? Isn't that covered under #12, below?

11. What kind of vehicle do you drive? Prius c. Yes, I’m that smug. (51 mpg!)

12. What are your favorite clothes? Jeans, t-shirt, sneakers.

13. Where would you visit if you had the chance? Paris, Australia, Florence, maybe Japan. I'd drive cross country if I had the time and the money.

14. Cup 1/2 empty or 1/2 full? No. If it's full I'll drink it and if it's empty I'll fill it up.

15. Where would you want to retire? Retire? Writers don’t retire. We keel over at our keyboards.

16. Favorite time of day? When my wife gets home.

17. Where were you born? Newark, NJ.

18. What is your favorite sport to watch? Baseball. Only. 

19. Bird watcher? No. I don't watch anteaters, either. Animals deserve their privacy.

20. Are you a morning person or a night person? Night. It's when I usually write.

21. Do you have any pets? Yes, a beagle named Gizmo.

22. Any new and exciting news you'd like to share? More books coming!

23. What did you want to be when you were little? Taller. I still do.

24. What is your best childhood memory? Playing at the swim club with Dad.

25. Are you a cat or dog person? Dog.

26. Are you married? Only for 28 years. So far.

27. Always wear your seat belt? Yes.

28. Been in a car accident? Yes, but not a serious one. Never anyone hurt.

29. Any pet peeves? The dog is a brat.

30. Favorite Pizza Toppings? Peppers, onions, meatballs, garlic.

31. Favorite Flower? The ones on birthday cakes.

32. Favorite ice cream? Chocolate chip cookie from Thomas Sweets in New Brunswick, NJ.

33. Favorite fast food restaurant? Closest I get to fast food is Tastee Sub in Edison, NJ.

34. How many times did you fail your driver's test? Never.

35. From whom did you get your last email? That I actually read? I think Josh.

36. Which store would you choose to max out your credit card? Ticketmaster.

37. Do anything spontaneous lately? Answered these questions.

38. Like your job? Love my job. Want to keep my job. Buy some books.

39. Broccoli? If with cheese.

40. What was your favorite vacation? Rome.

41. Last person you went out to dinner with? My wife, son, daughter and daughter’s friend.

42. What are you listening to right now? Mr. Dieingly Sad by the Critters (iTunes is on shuffle).

43. What is your favorite color? Blue.

44. How many tattoos do you have? None. I don’t get it.

45. What time did you finish this quiz? 11:10 pm.

46. Coffee Drinker? Decaf iced coffee from Dunkin Donuts. Never hot coffee.

Would Magic Mary XXL Be Okay?

Jeff Cohen

I must very respectfully--VERY respectfully--disagree with my colleague and friend Cynthia Chow. If you don't know what I'm talking about, scroll down and read Cindy's post from yesterday. I'll wait. 

Back now? Good. While there are many points brought up on which we are in complete harmony (the gross objectification of women's bodies in almost every Hollywood film ever; the need for society to lighten up a bit; the therapeutic power of bonding with friends of either or any gender), I do not buy her argument that the film (as in "a thin layer or coating," according to the Random House College Dictionary) Magic Mike XXL is a harmless excuse for grown women to behave like teenagers. Well, wait. Yes, I agree with that. It's the marketing for the film that I find distressing.

After all, that same argument could be made for grown men regarding such cinematic classics as Showgirls or Striptease, but I also believe in the idea of equal treatment. Does that mean I think the movie industry should turn out more movies about hot guys parading around in as little as possible to even the balance? Um... no.

If this movie had been made with the genders reversed, about a group of female strippers who do so out of the sheer joy of the act, and because it helps them to fund their art or their pizzeria or their Ph.D. ambitions and the marketing campaign was exactly the same, women would be lining up in front of every theater showing this film.

To protest. And they'd be right.

Consider the print ads. A shirtless guy with abs that can probably stop a scud missile spreads his legs and points at his crotch (whereupon is emblazoned the word "coming,"). Subtle, huh? To find a poster from a mainstream studio film that offered that kind of exploitation of a woman (by which I mean a poster that screams "Hot babe! And that's all we have to talk about in this movie!) you'd probably have to go back to the days of Raquel Welch. (What? Cavewomen DIDN'T shave their legs and armpits and wear eyeshadow?)

Now, again, let me be clear: I am not for one second suggesting that women haven't been exploited far more often and far more severely than men in this area. That's not even up for debate; it's a fact.

What I am saying is that if it's wrong for women, it's wrong for men, too. You can't look me in the face and say, "Hey, look what damage is being done to the body images and general world view of girls by all this sexism," and that look at Magic Mike XXL--come on, even the title!--and tell me, "Aw, it's just a little fun; what's wrong with that?"

What's wrong with that is it creates yet another in a miles-long series of double standards, which leads to confusion. It communicates the idea that we'll get mad if you reduce women to body types, but it's okay if you do that to a man. If men were to be judged strictly on appearance--keep in mind the idea of tall, dark and handsome--I would be living in a broom closet somewhere shunned by society.

As a writer, I quite often speak through the voice of a female character, and I'm going to start doing that a lot more in the coming months. I like to think that I treat those characters as fairly as possible. Nobody's perfect, and I'm probably less close to perfect than most, but I try. Kind emails and reviews have occasionally reinforced that belief. And it sure doesn't hurt that I've had female editors work with me on those books. (See last week, please.)

Saying you have to be respectful of women but not of men--or the other way around--is the wrong message to send. I do not by any means think that's what Cindy was saying; she was arguing in the name of fun, and I'm all for fun. I agree with her that this one film is not a trend; it's an anomaly. In the vast majority of cases the sexist exploitation is pointed firmly in the other direction. And I'm not offended by the ads or the existence of Magic Mike XXL. I'm a little disgusted, but that's not the same thing.

None of the offensive stereotypes of women--the dumb blonde, the cold professional, the scheming temptress--have been completely banished. Maybe they shouldn't be, depending on the story being told. But there are offensive stereotypes of men--the stoner dude, the ineffective "girly man" who dares to have feelings, the "ladies' man" who needs taming, the "bad boy" who can be saved by the right woman--that aren't even being addressed. My daughter tells me that's because men are in power and are therefore the class that doesn't need protection. She's a lot smarter than I am, and her argument makes sense, but that doesn't stop me from being pissed off over the double standard. 

I don't believe in censorship; I believe in being discerning in my choices. I did not see, read or otherwise engage with 50 Shades of Gray because, frankly, life is short and I don't have that kind of time. The same is true of Magic Mike and its apparently XXL sequel.

So I'm not suggesting a boycott or a ban. That's stupid; the market will bear what it wants to bear and that's the way it should be.

I'm saying instead, enjoy what you enjoy. But don't for a second pretend that it's right sometimes and not others. Unfair is unfair.

In Which I Relive My Worst Work Ever

Jeff Cohen

Every writer, every actor, every director, every poet--in short, everyone who has ever tried to do anything creatively--has a dirty little secret. It's something the "artist" did, probably in his/her youth, that is without question the worst piece of writing/acting/directing/poeting that has ever existed on the planet. It is a source of embarrassment to the point of humiliation, something so execrable it must never be seen by the public lest the creative type be banished from doing anything other than working at a Goodyear Tire store for all eternity.

Mine is called "Marriage Contract."

The most amateur of all possible amateur films, this was a movie (on Super 8 film--remember that?) made by my best friend Jeff Pollitzer and I (and a whole bunch of "volunteers" we recruited) just as Jimmy Carter was giving way to Ronald Reagan, for you history buffs. It was, truth be known, our fourth film, following the classics "The Yeoman", which was made about 20 minutes after "The Omen" was released and had nothing to do with that film, "Lust in the Dust" (which contained a film-within-a-film called "Unseen Enemy" because we didn't have enough people to show an enemy) and "House of Halvah" (the first--we believe--detective-horror-musical-comedy).

We made these things for the sheer joy of it, although in retrospect the process was rarely joyful. I did the writing, if you want to call it that and Pollitzer, who actually understood mechanical stuff, ran the camera, the lights, the sound equipment and did the editing (with a pair of dull scissors and a light bulb). We shared director credits, although there is no evidence from the finished films that there was any direction going on at all.

"Marriage Contract" was going to be our next step up. It would be an original story and not a series of skits based around a theme. I wrote an actual screenplay (arguably my first of many unsuccessful ones) and was told by Pollitzer that this time, I would be the director. I tried to protest, but was outvoted by Pollitzer, who is twice my size and therefore gets two votes to my one.

The premise is terrible, but not incredibly terrible. A woman breaks off a relationship with her boyfriend because he's too timid and conventional. He decides to show her how dashing he is by hiring a hitman to ALMOST kill her, so he can rescue her and be seen as a hero. That doesn't work out so well and pretty soon an actual assassin and the police are involved.

Hilarity, theoretically, ensues.

We cajoled and begged pretty much everyone we knew into playing the characters involved or helping out in some other way. The budget was a hefty $1000, most of which went into buying a sound projector and processing sound Super 8 film. The stakes were high.

And the film was, objectively, awful.

It would be easy to blame the cast, none of whom even wanted to be an actor. But they are so ineptly directed that Dame Judi Dench, Meryl Streep and Tom Hanks would have ended up looking downright foolish in these roles. It didn't help that the screenplay was pretty horrible as well, so even with a good director, there would have been little for the actors to do.

That's right. I wrote and directed, and did both very badly. Just be glad I didn't decide to act in it as well (as I had in the previous three movies) because I would have been much, much worse than anyone who was brave enough to stand in front of cameras and recite this drivel.

Don't even start. You haven't seen this thing. I'm being easy on myself.

We "premiered" the film at my "Cousin" Ken Cohen's (Kenny was the "star" of the film) house sometime in 1980, I think. We invited virtually everyone any of us had ever met, and many of them, alas, showed up. The film unspooled and I began to realize--despite the crowd whooping and hollering, mostly at seeing people they knew on screen--exactly how hideous a thing I had made. 

I still wake up screaming thinking about "Marriage Contract" (for which I had also written and performed the title song, a source of sufficient mortification all by itself). But over the years, I had managed to mostly forget about it. I wrote many, many more screenplays that weren't produced, all of which were better than that one. Pollitzer and I stopped making movies even as our next epic, "Far Trek," was in pre-production, because he had the audacity to get married and actually wanted to spend time with his wife and new daughter.

Unfortunately, I had not burned the only existing print of "Marriage Contract" when I had the chance. For 35 years. Because Ken called me up a number of months ago asking if I knew where it was--and since it was about three feet from where I was sitting, I told him I did.

He wanted to have the film converted to DVD, he said. My stomach dropped into my shoes, and I argued vehemently, against doing so, asserting that humans have done enough to foul the environment and there was no way seeing that thing again was going to help. But he called Pollitzer, they had the temerity to recruit my wife to the cause, and by then it was a done deal. I had only one unbreakable provision: They could have the film and do with it as they pleased as long as I never, EVER, had to see it again.

They agreed and I, idiot that I am, believed them.

A couple of months ago, we all got together for dinner--Pollitzer and his girlfriend (following divorce), Ken and his (see previous parenthetical expression) and my wife and me. And the looks being passed around the table by anyone who wasn't a small bearded Jewish man alerted me to the danger. Ken had received the DVD of "Marriage Contract" and they wanted to go back to Pollitzer's house after the check came to watch it.

I refused. Unconditionally. This was a violation of our agreement, I was not in any way prepared to be absolutely disgusted with myself, and besides, our dog needed to be walked. I was out. Definitely.

So later, back at Pollitzer's house, we all sat down to watch "Marriage Contract." And I want to tell you, the terror I felt was absolutely unfounded. The script had some laughs, the direction didn't get in its own way, and the performances were at least adequate.

That's what I want to tell you.

The truth is, it was every bit as horrifyingly bad as I remembered it, and that was almost exclusively my fault. But we--or at least I--found a blessing in one thing: The sound transfer was not very good at all, so much of the film was inaudible. It added to the experience tremendously, in my opinion.

My point here is: Everybody who has ever had a creative impulse has done something just godawful. Everybody. The Marx Brothers made "Love Happy." The Beatles let "Revolution 9" appear on an album bearing their name. Alfred Hitchcock made "Jamaica Inn." Bugs Bunny made "Space Jam." Probably Picasso had a day where he put eyes on either side of the subject's head.

What you do is twofold: You try to learn from the experience, and then you do your level best never to see that horrid piece of humiliation ever again.

I wish you better luck than I had.

Khaaaaaaan!

Jeff Cohen

In for Josh, whose back is making it difficult for him to sit up and type (feel better soon!).

I will spare you the epic tale of selling my mom's house this week because I respect my readership and wouldn't subject you to such tedium, pain and raw human emotion (everybody's done being pissed off now). But instead, let me tell you about a trip to the movies on Sunday.

The beautiful Loew's Jersey City, a once-magnificent movie palace that's been in a state of restoration for the past 28 years, shows classic films one weekend a month except during the summer (air conditioning has not been among the upgrades). Over the years we've seen a lot of my favorites on the big screen, from Horse Feathers (1932) to Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981) with stops at Jaws and North By Northwest, among others.

But this past Sunday, on short notice because the non-profit that runs the place was busy in court trying to keep the right to do so, the Loew's ran a special, guilty pleasure favorite.  Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan.

Now, I have been a fan of the original (and to many, only) version of Star Trek since I was roughly nine years old. The positive vision of the future, the relationships of the core characters, the multiracial, sexually integrated crew, the idea that anything was possible--these all fed the fire. As a teenager I would watch the syndicated reruns daily. As a young adult, I wasn't so much obsessed as sincerely interested. I wanted to know how it was done, as I want to know how Beatles music or Marx Brothers comedy was made. If I find special value in a work, I am interested in its origins and its creation.

So when the huge (in every way) disappointment of Star Trek: The Motion Picture was followed with Wrath of Khan in 1982, there was jubilation in the streets. At last, the movie people had gotten it right.

I saw that movie more times than I care to divulge (and I honestly don't know). But seeing it in what wasn't the best print but with an audience again after at least 30 years, it was something of a revelation.

Yes, there is silliness. But director (and uncredited screenwriter) Nicholas Meyer, who also contributed to the other "good" even-numbered Star Trek movies, knew exactly what he was doing and he made the emotions real. 

There were laughs among the audience when some of the more ludicrous lines of dialogue ("Jim! This is incredible! Have you ever seen the like?") were uttered. When Ricardo Montalban took off his shirt, there was applause. 

When William Shatner, at the height of his scenery chewing, held his communicator like he wanted to squeeze the semiconductors out of it and bellowed, "Khaaaaaaan!" I worried about the structure of the theater standing up to the cheers.

There are certainly better films in history than The Wrath of Khan (but the awful mistake semi-remake Star Trek Into Darkness is unquestionably not one of them). There are better scripts (although this one holds up pretty well), better actors (hit or miss), and perhaps even better science fiction. But is there another movie that can kill off (at least for a couple of years) a beloved iconic character and still send you out of the theater with a smile on your face? Not sure there is.

It's a movie that has action, it has comedy, it has sadness, and it's actually even about the acceptance of aging and dying, and yet it pleases its intended audience and might even have created a few new believers. The audience in Jersey City included a good number of people younger than that movie. Is that a bad thing?

And there's nothing like seeing a real crowdpleaser when you're in a real crowd. At one critical juncture the Loew's somewhat slapdash projection equipment lost the sound on the film for a few moments, right before the screen went black. A few awkward moments passed in the dark, and then a shout came out of a section a few rows behind us:

"Khaaaaaaan!"

I'm No Ringo. And Neither Are You. (Unless Ringo is reading this which would be awesome!)

Jeff Cohen

In 1968, when I was a wee lad, Mickey Mantle decided not to play baseball anymore. Since I was indeed a wee lad, and Mantle was my idol of the moment, this was a huge thing. 

Less than two years later, it was announced that the Beatles were disbanding, and would no longer record or perform as a group. And if you thought the Mantle thing was big, this was universe-sized. We were stunned. No Beatles? How was that even possible?

Immediately, in both cases, the speculation began: Who would be the next Mickey Mantle? Who would be the next Beatles? I recall reading an interview with Ringo Starr in Rolling Stone (back when you could trust what they said) where he was asked the question: Who's going to be the next Beatles?

Ringo was diplomatic about it, as ever, and even suggested a few people (I think Elton John was among the names mentioned), but he knew the truth, and pretty much said so:

There is no Next Beatles. There is no Next Mantle.

What there will be is someone who is who they are. Is that too oblique? There's no point in trying to duplicate something that moves you. It can't happen the same way twice. 

There never was a Casablanca II but there was Star Wars. There never was Back With the Wind but there was To Kill a Mockingbird. No new Peanuts but Doonesbury and Calvin and Hobbes. Nobody ever managed to recreate I Love Lucy, but instead we got The Dick Van Dyke Show. Which, I'm sorry, was better.

So when writers try to emulate or piggyback on the enormous success of some phenomenon, when they try to be the next Harry Potter or the next James Patterson or the next Gone Girl, they're asking for trouble. Is is possible to achieve some popular success based on something that has been immensely lucrative before? Certainly. Remember that 50 Shades of Grey allegedly began as Twilight fan fiction.

But can a writer really take something that preceded his/her work and create a new phenomenon? Particularly, one that has the same emotional and societal impact as what came before? It's unlikely, because writing something that isn't what you chose to write, what moved you enough to sit in that chair and type all those words, is a losing proposition.

Instead of a new Mantle, there came (only 30 years later) Derek Jeter. A totally different type of player, but a wonderful one in his own way. 

Instead of the Next Beatles, we got Elton John and Michael Jackson and Carole King and Fleetwood Mac and Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young and Adele. Depending on your taste, you got NWO or Eminem or Wu Tang Clan or Josh Groban or Justin Bieber, if he's your thing. There is no Next Beatles, but there are people expressing themselves whose work you might take to your heart.

If you're writing, write for yourself first but keep an audience in mind. Don't write something because that's what publishers are looking for now or because some great big huge phenomenon just hit and you think you can change a few details around and make it something new. Write what you would write even if nobody was going to read it. ESPECIALLY write what you'd write if nobody was going to read it.

Writing is an art form, a craft and a job. But before anything else, it's a form of expression. What's the point of expressing someone else's thought, particularly when they've done that already?

There is no Next Beatles. Be you.

That's a Bad Word!

Jeff Cohen

Terri and Erin quite eloquently posted last week about Clean Reader, an app which apparently "cleans up" any work of literature--that is, anything that contains words--to best appease the sensibility of those who feel some parts of our language should not be employed. I do not intend to address that subject directly, mostly because I think everything Terri and Erin said was so dead-on I don't need to add to it.

But.

I do think we've regressed somewhat in our use of language. In fact, we've regressed a number of decades, to the point that simply using certain words can be considered scandalous or politically inappropriate. I grew up on the idea that words were tools, that they could express any thought if used properly. I grew up on George Carlin, and to tell the truth, I thought we were over this stuff.

People remember the classic Carlin discussion of Seven Words You Can Never Say on Television, but they miss the point for all the cursing. Yes, he goes out of his way to use all seven title words. But he doesn't do that just for the joy--which must have been palpable at the time--of saying them in a public forum. He's talking about the use of words, and why some have been segregated from the others.

It's a question of sensibility, and that's fair. The problem is when one sensibility decides to impose itself upon all others, which is what everybody thinks "the other side" is doing to them.

I believe in all words. I think each one has a use, and a specific one. Writers have been known to spend hours agonizing over a particular usage. To set aside some because they might offend others seems to me to be a poor use of resources. Some words are meant to offend. It's not the word's fault you're insulted. It's the thought behind it.

For the past 15 or so years I have been writing mystery novels and many of those fall into the "cozy" sub genre. The parameters of the "cozy" have been fairly well debated and I will not attempt to redefine the term here. But it is pretty universally understood that "bad language" is something that should be avoided in such works.

I don't have a problem with the idea of language fitting the form. I knew what I was signing when those contracts crossed my desk. I'm writing for a particular audience and that audience prefers not to see certain words. If I felt--as I did in my first published novel--that one of those words (often referred as a "bomb," which is sort of bizarre--does the word lay waste to entire city blocks?) was necessary to the story, I'd use it. Otherwise, I could find other ways to express the idea. I'm a writer. That's what I do.

(This is where I should say that I don't consider what I do to be "self-censorship." It's not like I'm dying to curse my brains out but rein it in for the sake of commerce. And my editors have never once asked me to change a word in order to appease anyone's sensibility. The changes we've made have been to make the book better. Period.)

But in some cases the whole breadth of the English language is necessary to the work. What has happened, particularly in comedy but certainly not limited to it, is that the giddy freedom Carlin, Lenny Bruce, Richard Pryor and others helped create led to overindulgence. People swear without making a point just because they could. That's lazy. I'm not offended, except as a fan of comedy. Work harder. If the joke needs the word, use it. If it's just to show off how daring you are, I'm bored. It's 2015. We've all heard that before.

I don't believe in "bad words." As Carlin said, "There are bad thoughts. Bad intentions. But words?" He had a point. And that's the point.

Win a Free Audiobook, and RIP, Mr. Nimoy

Jeff Cohen

It was difficult this past week to hear of the death of Leonard Nimoy. Like so many others, I was a pretty serious fan of Star Trek from its first airings (yeah, I'm old), and Spock always appealed more than the other characters to me. 

He had that conflict between his natural tendency to see everything in terms of cold, objective logic and the need to understand his human side, which would react to things more emotionally than the character might want to admit. He was a beautifully conceived character, but he wouldn't have worked half as well if he'd been played by another actor (as we've seen in recent years).

The need to keep raging emotions in check while understanding their importance was what kept the character interesting. And Nimoy, who must have understood him on a basic level, once told director Nicholas Meyer (Wrath of Khan and Undiscovered Country, among others) that he never played Spock as a character with no emotions.

Instead, he played the alien as a man trying to keep his emotions in check. That makes all the difference.

Yes, some of the plots were downright silly and the special effects on a TV budget and schedule in the 1960s could be laughable. But Spock was never anything but dignified and in the parlance of the time, cool. He could outperform humans on almost every level, but was content to live among them and observe. 

Leonard Nimoy brought that to the role. Did he bristle at being thought of as Spock and nothing else? On occasion, he did; it's true. But he did not disparage the role or the people who had embraced it, sometimes to the point of embarrassment. 

Hey. I was nine years old and it was Star Trek. Cut me some slack.

Many years later when I was going through my unsuccessful screenwriter phase, I wrote a screenplay that had some connections to Star Trek, although it took place in contemporary America and didn't use any of the original characters because I wasn't stupid. I'd probably shudder to look at that piece of work today, but at the time I thought it was pretty good and I was hoping to get it noticed somewhere in Hollywood.

So I sent a letter to Leonard Nimoy asking if he'd like to consider directing the script.

To my astonishment, I received a letter (this was back when there were letters) from Mr. Nimoy's company saying he'd very much like to read the script. And you can believe that a copy was in the mail that very day.

I don't remember how long it took to receive a response, but I'm sure at the time I thought it was an eternity and I did my best not to pester anyone at Nimoy's company about it (I'm sure Josh can picture me waiting by the phone, only younger). But eventually another letter did arrive.

It's probably not a huge surprise that Nimoy passed on the script, since when you scan my IMDb page, you'll see I don't have one. But he did send a personal note.

He wrote, "I read your script with great interest, and your fondness for the material is evident. Although I am not going to proceed with it, I'd advise you to keep writing." I quoted that from memory.

It was a time when I needed any little bit of encouragement, and getting Mr. Spock to tell me I should keep writing did the trick. It was something he didn't have to do--most other Hollywood types would have sent a form letter or gotten an assistant to write the note--but he clearly saw that the script meant a lot to me, and wanted to connect personally. 

I never forgot that, obviously. 

Rest in peace, Mr. Nimoy. You were a good actor who had one iconic role, which is more than most get. You were a talented director, a good writer and I don't know much about photography, but I'm willing to bet you had some talent there too. You were kind to me at a time I needed it, and even though I tried to explain that the one time we met for about a half a minute, I don't think I sufficiently communicated that thought. Thank you. You will be missed.

 

P.S. There's a new contest going on! Win a free download of the audio version of  The Question of the Missing Head by E.J. Copperman/Jeff Cohen! See details here or here.

Lessons From the Mouse

Jeff Cohen

There's a lot to be learned for any kind of entertainer by visiting the theme parks in Orlando, Florida. And that's exactly what I'm going to tell the IRS when they ask how a dinner at the Sci-Fi Drive-In at Disney's Hollywood Studios is a business expense.

It's true: A day spent last week at Universal Studios Orlando and then two days at Disney parks (Hollywood and the Magic Kingdom, which is a slightly intimidating name for a theme park), were more than instructional in the art of keeping a mass audience entertained, enthusiastic and wanting more. The two large corporations behind these resorts have done a great deal of research into what works and what doesn't, and it shows.

If you're a writer, a performer, a director, an editor... you get the idea... take heed. The experts are leading by example. Pay attention, and you can find a way to link the ideas to what it is you do.

First: Always create anticipation. There's a reason there are all sorts of distractions on theme park ride lines, and it's not just that the park operator wants you to forget you're on line for over an hour to get on a three-minute ride. No, the idea here is to plant in the mind of the audience the idea that this is going to be  awesome, so the wait is worth it. Entertainment along the way is part of the package--it makes you feel like the host cares about you, and builds up the experience to come.

Also: Make the audience member feel special. This still pertains to the line only. Both Universal and Disney have systems in place to make the guest feel smart and privileged by passing most of the simple peons on the line to more popular attractions. The differences in the systems are significant, but they have the same goal.

Universal Orlando allows some guests to bypass most of a line at especially busy rides (particularly in the Harry Potter sections, where traffic is highest), but you have to pay more for tickets that do so. It is sometimes possible to get nearer the front of a long line if you're willing to ride by yourself (without the rest of your party), but you then often bypass the pre-show described above, and in some of the rides, that the best part.

Disney's system, as usual, is better thought out. A Fast Pass option is available to all ticket holders. Special scanners at the entrance read the card. You can (if you have the Disney World app on your phone) select three rides the day before your trip and designate them for Fast Pass. Available times will be shown, and you choose. No more than three. If you don't have the app, you can do the same thing at the park at Guest Relations or Fast Past stations, usually near the really popular attractions.

The takeaway: I can feel like a big deal and save time and I don't have to pay extra. It's about pampering (at least in their minds) the audience. 

A quick last note on lines: The wait times are posted outside each ride at both parks. They are almost always overestimated, giving the guest a treat when the wait doesn't actually take quite that long. Another pleasant experience that cost nothing.

And: You have to deliver an experience. The audience is primed and ready for something to happen after all that waiting (or, not waiting). Just the build-up won't satisfy. Make sure your product is superior, because all the smoke and mirrors in the world won't mask the fact that you haven't been trying hard enough.

For the author, this means not letting plot get in the way of character. Not writing dialogue that simply delivers story points and no personality. Constantly entertain.

Say what you want about the theme parks--they're garish, some of them are getting a little ragged around the edges, the commercialism is as blatant as it can possibly get. All that is true. But do they entertain? They sure do. And if I earned in one year what one of those parks takes in for french fry sales in one day...

We can all take a lesson.

Oscar, Oscar, Oscar

Jeff Cohen

WINTER GARDEN, FL--I'm taking a few days to enjoy not being in New Jersey in February with my family, so this dispatch is being typed a while early. If somehow it has become irrelevant in the interim (like if the film business suddenly vanished this week), my apologies.

So the world is going to Hell in a Buick Regal, Jon Stewart has left us bereft, Brian Williams... I don't really care... the presidential election (U.S.) is a mere 21 months away, you should just get your kids inoculated for goodness sake, and the publishing business is no doubt preparing to lose its collective mind over some new tome that is, invariably, not mine. Okay. Let's discuss what's really on our minds.

The Academy Awards.

Six nights from tonight, the Academy of Motion Pictures Arts & Sciences will hand out some trophies and there will be the inevitable overuses of words like "courage," "amazing," and "best crew in the business" in acceptance speeches.

I have no desire nor ability to accurately predict the winners of said statuettes, but I will be riveted to my couch, loving every minute of the interminable ceremony. I love the spectacle and the sheer goofiness of it all, so don't call my house during the Oscars. We're occupied. Or pre-occupied. Or something.

While I still object to the idea of more than five films nominated for the best picture category (that's just pandering and it's silly), I did make more of an effort to see those movies than I normally do. Eight films, and I saw seven, since I have no interest in the sniper thing, mostly because I've never seen a Clint Eastwood movie that didn't need a half-hour cut out of it simply for pacing.

So here are my impressions, for the remarkably little they're worth. Your opinions may certainly vary:

Birdman: I'm told that one either loves or hates this film, and I firmly fall into the latter category. What others saw as bold and inventive I saw as pretentious and showy. I didn't care about any of the characters, thought the shot-in-in-one-take gimmick was distracting, and had to take painkillers to undo the damage of the almost-all-percussion soundtrack. I have no problem with Michael Keaton winning for his performance, because I really like Michael Keaton and think he should have won for something else.

Boyhood: A snorefest of the highest order. Again, a gimmick that's impressive, but does not necessarily translate into the great film others believe they've seen. Instead, we get people just sort of hanging around for no particular reason and they get older as it goes on. Okay. The 7-Up documentaries are considerably more compelling, and those people are real.

The Grand Budapest Hotel: I am actually not a fan of Wes Anderson because there's only so much arch I can take before I go into painful withdrawal symptoms. But I liked this one better than most, the cast is came and it's nice the Academy is recognizing something that at least tries to be a comedy once in a while. Like most films, this one suffers from not having enough Bill Murray.

The Imitation Game: Biopics are a rough genre. If it's not a documentary--and by definition it isn't--the filmmakers will be criticized for inaccuracies that are inevitable when trying to make a piece of popular entrainment (in other words, a good movie). So this one is better than most, and suffers from the same problems as others: It's reverent without being absolutely accurate, is really made to show off a performance rather than a story, does so well, and ends up being fairly forgettable when all is said and done.

Selma: Another biopic. Sort of. The first movie to portray an actual human Martin Luther King Jr. and that is admirable. It tells a specific story without trying to be a one-stop-shop for the Civil Rights movement. It has a distracting cameo by Oprah Winfrey (probably to help it get made) and only pays a certain amount of lip service to Dr. King's flaws, which isn't a huge problem. It's compelling and watchable, if a bit slow in spots.

The Theory of Everything: Biopic. The last one on this list (again, no sniper here), and very much of a type. See everything I said about The Imitation Game above, and it'll pretty much be true. Eddie Redmayne gives a remarkable performance, as did Benedict Cumberbatch. He probably deserves to win an award. But Michael Keaton. And in this case, the odd thing: Not enough science. We're not really clear on what makes Stephen Hawking the phenomenon he became.

Whiplash: In my mind, the best of the bunch. I'm no fan of modern jazz (particularly when they try to play it too darn fast), and would rather face a firing squad than a prolonged drum solo (See: Birdman), but this film made me care and put me on edge. It's really a monster movie, with J.K. Simmons as the monster, and doing a remarkable job. Miles Teller as his terrified and singleminded protege is equally good in a less flashy role. I'll be rooting for this one knowing it has zero chance of winning the prize. 

My family also, as has become our custom the past few years, saw the animated and live-action short films (but not the documentaries) nominated in those categories. (They're probably playing somewhere near you, and you should go.) It's not as interesting a bunch as last year's, but the consensus around the homestead here is that the Disney animated short Feast will win, which is okay but not as good as if  A Single Life would. In live-action, we're rooting for  Boogaloo and Graham, knowing that something more depressing like The Phone Call has a better shot.

Either way, after this all-too-brief sojourn into warm weather and theme parks is over, we'll be back at home, wearing lots of clothing and watching the far-too-long awards ceremony. 

It's one of the best nights of the year.

 

P.S. If Jon Stewart's Rosewater had been nominated, it would have come in second after Whiplash. I certainly liked it better than whatever's going to win. You should find it on Netflix or elsewhere.

P.P.S. Pitchers and catchers report in four days. Spring is almost here.

Not Really!

Jeff Cohen

And then there's the news you only wish was fake.

It was announced and confirmed today that Jon Stewart will be leaving The Daily Show sometime this year. And while I see the logic and good sense that goes into that decision, my initial reaction was the same as most others I've seen.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

For the better part of two decades, Stewart has been the safety valve holding the sanity of thinking America from blowing off and putting someone's eye out. And as he's grown into the job, he's become simply the best at something others have tried to do and never come close to equaling.

Plus, there goes the tiniest hope I had of ever being interviewed on The Daily Show.

It seems somehow unfair that Stewart will leave but Fox News gets to stay on the air. One can only hope that there will be a replacement host for The Daily Show, and my vote is in for Jessica Williams. Be bold, Comedy Central.

But whoever comes next should be very different. There's no point in trying to duplicate what Stewart has accomplished. It's as if Derek Jeter isn't going to be the shortstop of the Yankees anymore and someone else would have to step in to... what?

Crap. I forgot.

The world is going to be a less funny place soon. While one wishes Mr. Stewart well in whatever it is he decides to do next, it's hard to believe he'll be the best in the world at it. To watch that man build up a head of steam on an issue and then let loose with some of the smartest comedy on the planet was (and still is, for a while at least) a thing of beauty.

If you're incredibly lucky, you get to do that once.

So here's the thing: Thank you, Jon Stewart. You did something important and you did it amazingly well. You kept it going for a long time and it never wavered in quality. You were fair (yes he was, right wingers--there were Obama and Clinton jokes), you were honest and you were hilarious. That ain't easy.

And replacing you? Not possible. 

Selma and the State of the Union

 

Josh Getzler

Last night, Amanda and I took the whole family—eyes a-rolling and smartphones in hand, to see Selma in commemoration of MLK Day. And for two hours we were all gripped. There are all kinds of discussions and online complaints about what was added or emphasized or neglected in the story of the conflict, marches, and violence in that period of the Civil Rights Movement. But honestly, they were beside the point, and I think one of the real strengths of Selma the Movie was that the decisions Ava DuVernay made ultimately cast great relief on the biggest of the issues. It’s a big, broad, statement movie, and it works.

One of the most powerful scenes was when President Johnson appeared before both houses of Congress to urge them to pass the Voting Rights Act of 1965. The kids understood extremely intensely what had gone into getting the President into that room to make that speech.

As we were leaving the theater, one of the kids mentioned that this evening was going to be the State of the Union Address. They know that Amanda and I watch it every year, talking to the television, keeping score of the points the president makes (ANY president) and when he falls flat. How often the Speaker or the VP falls asleep, how often one side or the other stands and claps. But this time, we’re watching a little differently, thinking about how inconceivable it would have been to both the majority of the marchers in Selma in 1965, and the people within and without politics trying to stop them, that a president who looks like Barack Obama could be giving a State of the Union Address.

Now it’s time for us to go watch. We’ll get back to publishing next week.

 

Books Are Getting Nominated. Shouldn't Yours?

Jeff Cohen

The Golden Globe awards (ha!) were given out last night , and Oscar nominations will be announced Thursday, so the usual group of self-important fun-free flicks will gather up all the honors on the way to a glittering night of unremitting bordom relieved occasionally by a funny comedian (but Robin Williams is dead, so that's a problem) or the anticipation of a jaw-dropping faux pas. I love the Oscars, but this is not an especially interesting year. I'm writing this before the nominations are announced, but I'm already bored. Imagine.

But that led to another train of thought, which is the real reason I asked you all here today. 

Believe it or not, Hollywood is not the only place where awards nominations are being pondered by anxious people placing far too much importance on their chances. Yes, it's nomination season in the mystery book world, too, and if you think people like me (that is, any author who actually managed to get a book--or two--published in 2014) aren't thinking about such things, well, you are adorable. 

There has been much made in various social media outlets (that's what we communicate on these days, kids--outlets) about the proper etiquette for authors to "remind" readers (and voters, we love voters!) that their brainchildren (books) are eligible for various honors. And it's a sensitive issue, seriously.

On the one hand, we don't want to appear to be relentlessly blowing our own horns, to be campaigning outwardly (is there a way to campaign inwardly?) for a crass pat on the back and an ingraved something or other. We don't want to alienate readers, who are kind enough to read our work and hopefully to like it, by becoming annoying one-note singers constantly blathering on about how you should vote for our stuff.

But on the other hand, we really want those nominations.

Writers work in a vacuum. (I'll leave a space here for the inevitable Hoover joke.) We work by ourselves, basically for ourselves, laboring away at a story that didn't exist until we decided to make it real (ish). It can take months. Or years. And all that time, we have precious little, if any, feedback. We honestly don't know if what we're devoting our time and creative energy to might actually be any good. Or not.

So yes, we crave a little ego stroke now and again. And again. We even get one, occasionally. The complimentary review. The thoughtful email from a reader. The Amazon sales number we check with some regularity (is every 6 minutes "some regularity"?). 

The awards? Well, you have to be nominated, and that at least allows the writer imagine, for a few weeks, what it might be like to win the contest. Some actors remove their names from eligibility because they say artists shouldn't compete. I say, bravo to them. But my name--both my names--are staying right out there because I want to get that affirmation. There, I said it.

So here's how I have decided to deal with the campaign-but-don't-campaign conundrum: I will mention in this forum--because I'm guessing you decided to read this blog of your own free will--that both THE QUESTION OF THE MISSING HEAD, by Jeff Cohen and E.J. Copperman, and INSPECTOR SPECTER, by Copperman alone, if such a thing is possible, are indeed eligible for the Agatha Awards given at the Malice Domestic conference, and my personal favorite (because it recognizes humor), the Lefty Award from Left Coast Crime, this year held in Portland, OR. If you are a nominating voter for either of those presitigious awards and have read and enjoyed either or both books, I would greatly appreciate your consideration.

But because I really do want to be fair about it and because I really don't want to seem incredibly avaricious and self-centered, now I'll invite other writers whose books might be eligible for an award this season to comment here and tell us all about it/them. Please do so. I'm sure everyone who reads this blog would be interested in knowing. We'll look below for your comments.

I encourage all those who can to fill in those spaces on the nominating forms. Whether or not one of the books pictured (subtly) above is included in your choices. Because this is about what the readers really like.

Of course, I would like to know if I have a chance at an award to put on my mantle. Because I don't have a mantle, and would have to price one in the coming weeks. That would be okay, believe me. I've always wanted a mantle.

So let's get the game started. Who's going first?

Comedy Is Dead. Long Live Comedy.

Jeff Cohen

(That's me on the right!)

Personally, I have little to complain about with the year just ended. Yes, there are tweaks I'd have made here and there, not everything was perfect, but professionally and personally, I'd have to rank it among the better years, particularly of late.

But 2014 was a disastrous year for comedy.

In the course of those short 12 months, we lost (among others) Sid Caesar, Harold Ramis, Joan Rivers, Jan Hooks, Mike Nichols, David Brenner, Rik Mayall and possibly the most painful of all, Robin Williams.

Living comedians weren't exactly having the best of times, either. Ask Bill Cosby (who in all likelihood has not deserved to have great times for some decades now). 

The Colbert Report ended its nine-year run. Craig Ferguson left The Late Late Show with no immediate announcement that he will be continuing his incredibly subversive take on a talk show anytime soon. 

And late in the year, a relatively stupid stoner comedy from the guys who brought you Pineapple Express actually started a real international incident, to the point that the President of the United States had to answer questions about a Seth Rogen movie at his year-end press conference. There were threats of violence, although to date none has been perpetrated, thank goodness.

There were no comedy films (particularly non-animated ones) in the Top 10 of the year's box office grosses, according to a web site devoted to such tallies. There were all of three in the Top 20. Then you have to drop down to #34 to find another, and get to Dumb and Dumber To, which is a comedy technically in the sense that it isn't a drama.

Things were somewhat better on television, as has been the case for a number of years now. Discounting popular (if somewhat predictable) tired standbys like Two and a Half Men (who's the half-man now?), TV comedy has settled into a sort-of uncomfortable but sporadically interesting groove with such cool-but-funny shows as Veep and Transparent. 

But as with most things, once the TV business settles on what is the new exciting thing, it replicates that thing mercilessly until you're sick of it even when it's done well. Veep  begets Alpha House which is a variation on House of Cards which in turn leads to... who cares by then? I believe it was the radio comedian Fred Allen who once said, "Imitation is the sincerest form of television."

So with the end of 2014 comes a sincere plea: Let's hope there are more laughs this year. With everything else that's going on, we could certainly use them.

Happy new year, everybody!

Pitchers and catchers report in 46 days.

I Make No Promises

Jeff Cohen

It is that strange time, that limbo between Christmas and mid-January, when the only thing that's going to happen is that nothing is going to happen. One can debate the merits of a system that creates a de facto period of inaction in virtually every industry, but what I know is that the brilliant pop duo Everything but the Girl wasn't just talking about one day when they said about Christmas, "it's cold and there's nothing to do."

This is a natural time to reflect, to look back on the past 51+ weeks and try to determine what it all meant. Since so little progress is being made in most areas, this is when people compile Top 10 lists, write retrospectives on those who have died since last January 1, and overwhelm us with instant analysis of the past year even before it has completely passed.

I say, the hell with that. Let's look forward.

Life offers no guarantees. I could get hit by a bus tomorrow despite my having plans to watch the Marx Brothers on New Year's Eve. So with that in mind, the following is not a list of things that will definitely happen beginning on Thursday. It suggests that things don't change as much as we'd like to believe, so the best security we can anticipate is to know that things that have happened before are likely to keep doing so until something drastic forces them to alter their behavior.

Things That Will Happen in 2015

• There will an unexpected, overwhelming phenomenon in publishing, and I won't read it. I haven't read Gone Girl. I haven't read 50 Shades of Grey. Hell, I still haven't cracked the cover on The DaVinci Code. This stems from what some people (okay, my wife) refer to as a "pathological need not to jump on the bandwagon." And I suppose that's true, although I remain to this day a fan of the most popular band on the planet, and have been since I was six years old. But I do not own a copy of Michael Jackson's Thriller.
• Film will continue to not be much fun. I like to go to the "serious" movies at the end of the year in order to root for someone or something at the Oscars in February. This year, It's going to be a tough slog. Birdman is a pretentious, indulgent headache (not helped by the almost-all-percussion soundtrack) despite my admiration for Michael Keaton and the terrific cast. The Imitation Game is  a standard biopic with a nice performance. Into the Woods... well, I don't like Sondheim anyway but those around me who do say it's a disappointment and goes on too damn long.
• Jon Stewart will remain brilliant. Of the Oscar-bait movies I've seen, my favorite is definitely Rosewater, Stewart's screenwriting-and-directing debut. Which for fans of his astonishing work on The Daily Show leaves us with a conundrum: Do we hope he makes more movies?
• Late night TV will remain a white boys' club. Yes, change is relative and that applies to some people in my family. But David Letterman will give way to Stephen Colbert next May, and Craig Ferguson (whose subversive, hilarious talk show will be badly missed) is stepping out of the way for the Baker from Into the Woods. People of color? Well, Larry Wilmore will take over Colbert's slot. Does that count? Women? Not so much, yet.
• Crime fiction will continue to be good. Yeah, some things--hopefully not mine--are going to be overly safe and familiar, but even those might require a brain for the author and the reader, and that's not a bad thing. Respect? No, we don't get it, but should we care? Readers tell the story in a way. What they read is what should be held in esteem.
• Television will continue to do better work than film. The best drama and comedy now being produced is not in your theater. Television, given its much broader possibilities now, is offering great examples of each, even if a lot of it still shows its lower budgets and shorter schedules. Film? We just went through a period when a Seth Rogen movie was a political cause. That should say something right there.
• I'll write two books. That's the pattern now. They'll come out in October and December. Too close together? People who know more about publishing schedules than I do say it's not a problem, and I trust them.
• The baseball team I follow will not have a great year. This has been the case for two years. It is not likely to change very soon. It will still be a joy to see the guys out on the field every night. Baseball season is just better than other seasons, and that's all there is to say.
• I will continue to be grateful that anyone at all reads the stories I write.

Was any of that coherent? I'm on about seven different kinds of cold medication in what will undoubtedly be a futile attempt to get me into some kind of shape before the ball drops on Wednesday--or Thursday, depending on how one measures such things.

Thanks to all who read DEAD GUY and have a lovely 2015!

Its a great time to be a comic book nerd

This week we welcome our newest DEAD GUY! Every other Sunday you'll be hearing from Cynthia Chow, branch manager for the Hawaii State library system, who'll be offering perspectives on pretty much everything from her viewpoint. And you're going to love it. Trust us.

By Cynthia Chow

Comic books have been around for decades, but it has been a long journey for them to be accepted as legitimate forms of literature.  The eighties had their Watchmen, Persepolis,and Maus, but even those groundbreakers were still considered to be part of a niche market.  That is finally changing.  Comic book superheroes have become a part of pop culture, with millions of “average” people - whose previous experiences with comics may have extended only so far as to the perusal of the Sunday newspapers (what are those?) -  being able to list off characters from the Avengers, Guardians of the Galaxy, and X-men.  Now that Hollywood has realized just how much money we are willing to spend to see our icons brought to life, there is a virtual smorgasbord of superhero movies scheduled all the way through 2028. Turn on the television virtually any night of the week and you will see some version of a comic book; the broodily overacted-without-Batman-Gotham, the very fun Flash, the how-could-they-not Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., the cigarette-smoking-but-probably-going-to-be-cancelled-anyway Constantine, and my favorite, Arrow (more shirtless training montages, please).  These shows take their comic inspirations seriously and are as far from campy as you can get, unlike various incarnations from the past, when Adam West apparently couldn’t be bothered to do a sit-up.  These superheroes do not wear tights.

My love of comics began decades ago, when I was stealing into my brother's room to rifle through his Batman and Spider-Man collections. It seems only fitting that my first summer job was working in a failing bookstore/comic book store, and I managed to become one of those people who collected comics sealed in plastic bags. I still have the black armband included in the Death of Superman promotion (spoiler, he's not dead). 

Comics – loosely defined as graphic novels when published together as a continuous story arc- are also what led me to my actual career.   I was a new Young Adult Librarian who actually saw value in putting them in my library, and when a teen loves one comic he/she will only want to read more. 

And graphic novels have gotten GOOD. Just like any genre, some writing is better than others, but now established and "respectable" writers have entered the playing field. I thoroughly recommend that you give these a try:

• Batwoman, Queen and Country, and Whiteout by Greg Rucka. Although he has always had roots in comics, the author of the Atticus Kodiak and Jad Bell thrillers is incredible at crafting kick-ass female heroines.  He has created a wonderful Batwoman – don't mistake her for Batgirl – series.  Rucka’s Queen and Country series features an awesome female spy agent and led to a series of novels expanding on the same storylines.  His graphic novel Whiteout is essentially a locked-room mystery that has a U.S. Marshall trapped in the Antarctica with a murderer. 
• DC’s Identity Crisis by Brad Meltzer.  The bestselling mystery and thriller writer depicts how a criminal act enacted on a superhero’s wife, and the Justice League’s response, completely divides the team.  It’s absolutely brutal - in a good way.
• Wonder Woman: Love & Murder by Jodi Picoult made waves - and received mixed reviews - when the fiction writer took over an entire Wonder Woman storyline. 
• Castle: Richard Castle’s Derek Storm.  Yes, he’s a fictional author on ABC’s Castle writing fictional mystery novels, but ABC produced thrillers that are actually enjoyable and the graphic novelizations of the Derek Storm books are very fun.
• Buffy the Vampire Slayer Season 8.  Joss Whedon continued his awesome television series in comic form, freeing him from studio production and budgets.  It gets wonderfully weird.
• These are just the graphic novels written by authors specifically to be comics.  Janet Evanovich, Patricia Briggs, Richard Stark/Donald Westlake, and Laurell K. Hamilton have all had their series turned into pretty impressive graphic novels that take their novels into illustrated realizations.
  
  It's never been a secret to teachers and librarians that comics are the gateway drug to getting reluctant readers to read.   My suggestions here are just the tip of the iceberg, but I hope that these graphic novels written by skilled mystery and fiction writers will tempt adult mystery lovers into delving into the world of comics.  Never let it be forgotten that Barbara Gordon, the original Batgirl, was the secret identity for a truly heroic occupation. In her “real life,” Batgirl was… a librarian. 

 Oh, and if you doubt my love of comic heroes…That’s me as a very green Gamora from Guardians of the Galaxy. 

 

 

                       

A Shameful Confession

Jeff Cohen

I'm going to get into so much trouble for saying this.

The fact of the matter is, I did not grow up as a fan of mystery books. I didn't dislike them or anything, but they weren't my driving force, my obsession. I did not devour Christie and Hammett and Chandler without stopping for lunch. I didn't envision myself as the next great mystery author when I grew up (which turned out to be an ironic term).

Most mystery and crime fiction authors, when you ask them about their childhoods, will regale you with fond memories of Nancy Drew or the Hardy Boys. The more ambitious will mention Sherlock Holmes and Miss Marple or Poirot. They'll explain their love of the form, the neverending search for the responsible party, the thirst for justice, the desire to see the guilty punished and the righteous rewarded.

Not me.

I was--and remain--a comedy geek. My mind was blown the first time I heard a Bill Cosby album. I saw Abbott and Costello meet Frankenstein more often than I met my own Cub Scout leader. Some kids looked up to Dr. J., I had Bugs Bunny. 

When we reached adolescence together, many of my friends went off on quests for spiritual elightenment because they'd heard Ravi Shankar or other kinds of enlightenment because they heard Pink Floyd. I sought the secret of life from another source after the first time I discovered the Marx Brothers in Horse Feathers.

Some people's lives were changed when they first encountered a book by J.D. Salinger or a thriller by Ken Follett. My existence has never been the same since the time I found a copy of The 2000 Year-Old Man by Carl Reiner and Mel Brooks at Vogel's Records in Elizabeth, NJ for $2.67. I still have it (although I have digitized the album, like all my vinyl records, in case of catastrophe).

My wife finds it... limiting that I rarely want to see a movie with no sense of humor at all. I figure I have a limited amount of time to spend in this existence and can easily get depressed on my own with no help from filmmakers, writers, actors, playwrights, musicians and especially politicians. Give me a laugh or give me a nap, I say.

No doubt none of what I've said will come as a shock to anyone who's read my work. I get a good number of emails from people pointing out that there are occasional gaps in the plot logic of some of the Aaron Tucker books. Once in a while a timeline error might make it past the virtual army of editors who work on my writing, and it is always my fault. I do sometimes have to scramble for a character's motivation, although the effort is always there and we do try to tie up all the loose ends.

But for me, if you smile or laugh when you're reading my work, I've succeeded. My favorite communications from readers are those where a particular line of dialogue or side comment that made the person laugh is cited. I love hearing that; it makes me feel like the effort I put in was worthwhile.

In THE QUESTION OF THE MISSING HEAD (you knew I'd bring it up, right?), the challenge was more complex than ever. Samuel Hoenig, the main character and narrator of the book, has Asperger's Syndrome and sees things in what might be considered an unusual way. He is not trying to make the reader laugh.

But I didn't want to be exclusively serious, so finding the humor was a little bit more work than usual, and not as obivous (one hopes). But the challenge was--from a writer's standpoint--exhilarating, and doing it again for next year's Asperger's mystery was better. I'm never as happy as a writer as when I'm painting myself into a corner.

So please, if something I wrote makes you laugh, don't hold back. Let me know. As my mother used to say (and probably still does), "It just encourages him."

The Man Who Never Lived and Will Never Die

Marilyn Thiele

I want to thank Dani, my intrepid assistant, for filling in for me here last week and for keeping the shop running efficiently in my absence. As to the blog post, when one says to an employee “Will you?” one is never sure that it’s not being heard as “You will,” but either way I think she enjoyed the opportunity to write about her convention after listening to all of the mystery fans here go on about Bouchercon. I’m sure she also enjoyed being free of me for nine days.

The holiday was our annual trip to London to visit our son, who lives and works there. Dedicated Anglophile that I am, I am happy to have this excuse to get to the UK regularly. Kevin and his partner, Claire, always manage to plan a “little” side trip that turns into an exciting excursion. They could have careers as travel planners if the energy industry begins to bore them. Last year it was Scotland, and the opportunity to meet our own Lynne Patrick on the way. This year it was Provence, as Claire wanted to show us her country. Having just arrived back two days ago, I am still full of the sunshine and warmth of southern France, and could go on about the scenery, the ancient hill towns, the beaches, and finding in Claire’s mother a fellow book and mystery lover. I knew there was some reason those two found each other. I got clued in to several French mystery authors, so you may find a switch from the Scandinavians in my future posts.

One pleasant surprise was arriving in London on October 15 and learning that October 17 was the opening of an exhibit at the Museum of London: “Sherlock Holmes: The Man Who Never Lived and Will Never Die.” There was time to see this exhibit after our return from France, so instead of boring you with the glamor of the Cote d’Azur, I will linger a bit in Victorian London.

The best term to describe the exhibit is “atmospheric.” In addition to some of Conan Doyle’s original manuscripts and the original lithographs of Sidney Paget’s illustrations, there were photos and paintings from the period, depicting the “dense yellow fog settled on London.” One began to feel the shadowy world in which Sherlock’s villains operated.

Entering a door numbered “221B,” one is treated to examples of the forensic tools available to Mr. Holmes, with appropriate references to the stories: an early typewriter, for the unique imprint of each letter; newspapers, open to the crime stories and personal ads through which sinister plots were uncovered by the genius detective; hats, shoes, and clothing of the times which the master of disguises used to go undercover; and chemical apparatus for determining the origin of clues such as mud or ashes. A display of codes was particularly fascinating; included were examples of Pitman shorthand, with the English Book of Common Prayer “translated.” Commentary about the army of young women who found employment through typing and shorthand skills was food for thought. There were also the requisite violin and drug paraphernalia, along with other evidence of a Bohemian existence.

One section was dedicated to the stage, film and television versions of the Great Detective, ending, of course, with Benedict Cumberbatch’s incarnation of Sherlock. Throughout the entire exhibit, there were screens with clips from early films alternating with clips from the current BBC interpretation. Seeing Basil Rathbone in the role again, I was reminded of the late nights I spent while young watching the Sherlock movies. It occurred to me that at the time there were only three stations to choose from, but always something good to watch. Why is it that now, with hundreds of choices, I can never find anything that I want to see?

Sherlock Holmes could not have gotten around London without the hansom cab. At one point, there are three maps of London with moving arrows showing his route in a particular chase or investigation. Next to each is a screen showing the same route from a car-mounted camera in today’s city. The city is brighter and cleaner, but no less crowded.

In a section on Arthur Conan Doyle’s life, there is much made of his admiration for Edgar Allan Poe, and of the fact that Doyle tried to kill off Sherlock because he felt it was distracting from his “serious” writing. My thoughts went to recent posts here about Wilkie Collins and Anna Katharine Green. I had to admit to myself that Collins and Green may have been the pioneers of the detective novel, but it was the short story writers who really got the genre going. And that, even then, the “fun” writing was belittled by many, including its creators. But it sold! Doyle ultimately had to resurrect Sherlock.

The subtitle of the exhibit is “The Man Who Never Lived and Will Never Die.” As I left the museum, I realized that I felt for the first time as if Sherlock Holmes was, and is, a living person. It’s time to reacquaint myself after many years. Basil? Benedict? The stories? Where to begin?

Note: The exhibit is on until April 12, so if anyone of our readers is in London during that time, I would highly recommend a visit. Even if you get to London after this show, the museum is well worth a visit. The history of the city from its primitive beginnings to today is displayed over several floors. On my first foray, I got only to the Great Fire. This time it was Sherlock Holmes. I want to go back to again … and again.  

 

Don't Do As I Say OR As I Do...

Jeff Cohen

Note: For an update on the MISSING HEAD CHALLENGE, see below. You'll want to read this.

Seriously: Have I ever given you any indication that I know how to get thousands of people to look at a blog piece? On a good day, I get 200 people to visit here.

You're a little ticked off now, right? Think I misled you?

But marketing is a necessity to the author. (Don't ask, "The author of what?" Just go with it.) It's not about trickery and it's not about lying to the reader. Do those things and you might get someone to take a look. Once. What are you going to do now that you've annoyed them? What have you accomplished?

I can't claim to have the magical formula that will bring the thundering hordes to your blog post, your Facebook page, your web site or your front door. Anyone who tells you they know for sure is lying or mistaken. But I can tell you what certainly DOESN'T work, and I can say so with confidence, since I have tried each one and watched it fail in a spectacular fashion.

1. Promising a visitor something you can't deliver. (See above.) This is especially good at getting people mad at you. Because the intelligent ones will realize immediately that you're a fraud, and the less intelligent ones will try what you advocate, fail, and blame you.
2. Making general statements based only on your experience. If you want to blog about yourself, that's fine. I do it sometimes, and posts about my daughter, my dog and my wife have attracted some of the larger audiences I've gotten here. But don't try to extrapolate your experience and make the reader think it will definitely apply under any circumstance. You don't know, because your experience is just that--yours.
3. Stating something without doing the research. If you want to make a statement, make it. But be sure you're right. I have gone off on a tear at times here and made statements that, when I was typing them, felt great--only to find out I was astonishingly wrong. Colossally wrong. I mean, wrong. Check first.
4. Politics, religion--what could go wrong? Everything. Write about the "forbidden" topics if you want. That's your right. But go in knowing for sure that your opinions are definitely going to piss some people off. And maybe you know in your heart they're just wrong, and what the hell--maybe they are. It won't convince them of anything and it won't make them less mad. It's fine to do if that's the kind of blog you want, but don't be naive about it--you're going to annoy. Be prepared to deal with the consequences.
5. Making your post a flat-out sales pitch for your book. I have done this one (see two weeks ago, sort of) and I promise you I will do so again. That's perfectly fine--this is a forum about crime fiction and I write crime fiction. The reader is always free to click elsewhere. But doing nothing BUT hawking your book is just going to bore and irritate. The fiction you write isn't the only place you have to worry about entertaining an audience. And by the way, I have a book that came out last Wednesday and another coming in less than two months.

This week's reminder: The MISSING HEAD CHALLENGE is now extended to this Wednesday, October 15! Before then, buy a copy of THE QUESTION OF THE MISSING HEAD by E.J. Copperman/Jeff Cohen and take a photo of yourself with the book (or title page of the ebook). Post said picture on Facebook or Twitter for all (especially me, so tag me on it) to see. For everyone who does that on  I will donate $3 to ASPEN, the Autism SPectrum Education Network, and our own Josh Getzler's HSG Agency will match the donation. And our own Terri Bischoff's Midnight Ink will match THAT donation. And our very own Marilyn Thiele will add $1 each, to bring the total to $10 per picture! That pledge is good for the first 100 people to post--be one of them! 

Also: I'll be at the Barnes & Noble in East Brunswick, NJ on Tuesday (Oct. 14) at 7 p.m., talking (because try and get me to stop), signing and taking MISSING HEAD CHALLENGE pictures with anyone who has a copy of the book. Come by if you can--Cathy Genna of the B&N there really knows how to put on a show!

How Many Missing Heads Will We See Wednesday?

Jeff Cohen

Not to belabor the point, but the fact is that THE QUESTION OF THE MISSING HEAD , the first Asperger’s Mystery from Midnight Ink, will be published Wednesday, and you should buy it. In order to better entice you to do so, please consider the following list of dire consequences that might—just might—occur if you choose to skip this book and wait for the movie.

Quick side note: The MISSING HEAD CHALLENGE is set for Wednesday, the publishing day for THE QUESTION OF THE MISSING HEAD. Take a picture of yourself with the book or the title page on your e-reader and post it. For everyone who does on Wednesday, $9 will be donated to the Autism SPectrum Education Network (ASPEN) helping families touched by autism spectrum disorders. So don't forget to post that photo!

Possible—Just Possible—Consequences

1. There isn’t going to be a movie. Buy the book.
2. You might be the only one in your book group who hasn’t read it, leading to ostracization (that is, you can get ostracized) and possible expulsion.
3. You might fail to catch the first adventure of Samuel Hoenig, the borderline genius with Asperger’s Syndrome, and Janet Washburn, his newfound associate. This could lead to terrible feelings of regret when Book #8 in the series is published and you have to catch up.
4. Your bookseller, who knows your taste, might look at you funny.
5. It’s possible you won’t be laughing enough. That’s bad for you.
6. You won’t be helping to contribute to the MISSING HEAD CHALLENGE, and will therefore miss out on getting $9 contributed to the Autism SPectrum Education Network (ASPEN) without spending any extra money yourself. So you don’t want to help support families touched by autism, huh?
7. Your local bookstore might need to sell that one more book to make the rent this month. You want that on your head?
8. If you don’t buy the book, I might have to get a regular job. At my age? Please.
9. That short leg on the kitchen table? This book is the exact right thickness to prop it up level. If you don’t buy it, you could drop hot soup in your lap.
10. You might very well miss reading a book you’ll like a lot, that Publishers Weekly called “delightful and clever.” Do you really want to skip something that’s “delightful and clever”?

 But hey, no pressure.

On the other hand, here are a few things that might happen if you do buy a copy of THE QUESTION OF THE MISSING HEAD this Wednesday (or even now on your e-reader!):

Benefits of Buying the Book

1. There’s the slimmest possibility it will change your life. Preferably for the better.
2. Maybe if enough people buy the book (like, for example, you), there will be a movie!
3. Smiling is good for your face.
4. You could get a slightly better understanding of what it’s like to be a person with an autism-spectrum disorder. You might treat such people better afterward.
5. As previously noted, the MISSING HEAD CHALLENGE will see to it that for every person who posts a picture of themselves on Wednesday holding THE QUESTION OF THE MISSING HEAD in some form, $9 will be donated to ASPEN, and it won’t be your $9, but you can claim responsibility for it.
6. You could be seen reading THE QUESTION OF THE MISSING HEAD on the subway. Someone whose attention you might want to attract could see you’re reading an intelligent, witty (or "clever and delightful") book and strike up a conversation.
7. You might learn something about cryonics or the probability of hitting a ball fair out of Yankee Stadium. But it won’t feel like work.
8. If you figure out who the culprit is, you’ll feel smart. If you don’t, you’ll be delighted when the culprit is revealed. It’s a win/win.
9. Reading helps keep your mind agile. Even reading this post is good, but THE QUESTION OF THE MISSING HEAD is much longer, and provides more benefits over time.
10. Let’s face it: You want to know what question could be asked regarding a missing head. What better way to find out?

So there you have it: Scientific evidence that you should buy and read THE QUESTION OF THE MISSING HEAD. Do you want to argue with Science?

What We're Watching (and Reading) Now

Marilyn Thiele

Now that the summer rush is about to end, it’s time to think seriously again about ordering books for the shop in a less frenetic fashion. In the spring, thoughts are about what will be popular for vacation reading. Laying hands on copies of the summer reading lists of the local schools is another chore; the schools’ websites are becoming inaccessible to outsiders, and curriculum planners may or may not take the time to respond to a request for a list. Customers with kids turn out to be the best resource. Once the season begins, it seems more time is spent restocking  (“We’re out of Maze Runner again!”) or ordering items you didn’t think would be big, but turned out to be.

Only a few years ago, I could peruse the biannual New York Times Sunday section listing films to be released in the next several months, and feel comfortable that stocking books on which forthcoming films were based would satisfy demand for those who want both the written and visual versions. I just had to be careful to get the right book cover; most of my customers hate (as I do) the “media tie-in” covers. The physical book looks dated in a very short time, whether it’s still on my shelf or in the customer’s library. When I have tried having both versions on display, the non-media copies are the ones that sell. I have had customers say it cheapens written work , and I agree.  A while back, the standard cover for As I Lay Dying was temporarily out of stock, and so I went with the movie tie-in cover. I overheard a customer saying that he wanted the book, but couldn’t stand looking at James Franco. He was willing to wait for a “real” copy.

More recently, I find that being aware of upcoming film releases is only half the job when it comes to ordering for media-related books. The burgeoning  number of series television shows on HBO, Netflix, STARZ, and who knows how many other outlets  has created a huge market for the books on which they are based. The Game of Thrones series was always popular with fantasy fans and a steady seller. It has now become mainstream, has moved from my Fantasy section to a more central display area, and requires a quick inventory check whenever I am placing an order, especially if a new season is beginning. Outlander is beginning to follow the same pattern.

I am not a big TV or film fan. What leisure time I have is usually spent reading. I am tempted by some of the ongoing (and completed) TV  series, but will probably wind up “binge-watching” if we have another bad winter. Thus I have to rely on written sources to find out what’s happening. With the advent of the mini-and maxi-series trend, I find myself making notes while reading the newspaper or magazines so that I can anticipate which books will be in demand.

My totally unscientific observation (and from one who is not a filmgoer) is that there has been a steady increase over the last few years in the number of movies based on bestselling (or classic) books, and more recently, based on young adult fiction. I feared for a while that this trend would decrease the interest in books. I have heard the comment, particularly from young visitors to my shop who are being encouraged by a parent to choose a particular book, “I saw the movie. I don’t need to read the book!”  Fortunately, this sentiment appears to be the minority view and is usually expressed by reluctant readers. Film and TV versions of books are increasing sales. Some want to read the book before seeing the film. Others love the film and realize that the written version probably contains character development, subplots, and details missing from the visual version. (I wonder how the upcoming film of Gone Girl can possibly contain all the plot reversals of the book, even if it is 2 ½  hours long.)

Certainly the Game of Thrones and Outlander television shows have introduced book series that have been ongoing for years, but limited to audiences of Fantasy or Time-Travel Romance fans, to mainstream readers. Both are deserving of this wider audience and offer much more than their previous “genre” classifications implied. Readers who never read fantasy and have completed the Game of Thrones volumes are looking for more books in a similar vein: Thus the increase in sales of Patrick Rothfuss’s Kingkiller Chronicles.  More important, readers are expanding their horizons and discovering that this “genre” stuff might be every bit as good as the “literary” works they have limited themselves to in the past.

Keeping up with what’s happening in the film, television, and on-line entertainment worlds means a little more work for the bookseller who wants to offer the consumer the print versions of their favorite shows or movies. But if these other media are leading readers back to books, showing them the advantages of the written word, and causing them to seek out more books, even if they haven’t been filmed (yet), it’s well worth it.

RIP, Mr. Williams

Jeff Cohen

When my daughter texted me on Monday evening with the words "Robin Williams!" I thought she had just seen him on the street. Eve moved into Manhattan a couple of weeks ago, and that's the kind of thing that happens there. 

What had actually happened was unthinkable.

I will not claim to be a friend of Robin Williams; the fact of the matter is we never communicated in any way, not even the way one occasionally interacts with a celebrity's assistant on Twitter. We never met. I never so much as wrote him a letter to tell him how much I admired what he could do. 

But if you don't think Robin Williams was important to me, you don't know me. Or Robin Williams.

Right now on social media people are debating what the best Robin Williams movie was, whether he was funnier on his breakthrough sitcom Mork and Mindy or in film. They're missing the point.

The finest performances that man ever gave were in his original medium, as a standup comic who could operate like none other who ever lived. See if you can find his perfomance at the Metropolitan Opera (originally on HBO) on YouTube now. Check out any other performance of his, on the amazing Comic Relief specials with his accomplices Billy Crystal and Whoopi Goldberg. Early bits on improv specials or later opportunities to play on Whose Line Is It Anyway.

Take a look at the riff he could do with a scarf, unprepared on Inside the Actor's Studio. 

Robin Williams was a genius, and like too many geniuses, he was his own worst enemy. He had well-documented substance abuse problems, and now we know he was battling depression, a battle he finally lost.

I'm terribly sad tonight, and so is my daughter. And so are my wife and son. We were all fans. We all saw the honesty in the man and the willingness to share himself with us. And we are very, very sorry we will never see that again.

But I'm angry, too. At the disease that took him, just as surely as if it had been cancer. He was sick and he fought for a long time, but the disease was stronger, and that makes me mad. The world should not be deprived of a quick, childlike, brilliant mind like that prematurely, and now that has happened and there is nothing that can reverse it. 

I've always believed that depression needed to be better understood and that it needed to be brought into the open to be conquered. Maybe now that will happen and that will be his final legacy.

Unfortunately, I'm too sad to think about that tonight. And even putting on a Robin Williams DVD won't make that better.

Rest in peace, sir. If only you had found some in your life.

RIP?

Lynne Patrick

Apparently publishing as we used to know it is dead. Or suffering from terminal asphyxiation which will see it off sometime in the next few years. I know this because I keep reading it in the book trade newsletters the good old internet drops into my e-mail in-box most mornings.

The only thing is, I seem to have heard the same thing before, though not about publishing.

Back in the 1950s, live theatre was in its death throes, and couldn’t possibly survive the decade.

Then it was the turn of film.

Online news, it’s claimed, has very nearly put paid to print newspapers, and all the various ways of watching stuff on a computer screen instead to a pre-arranged schedule on TV make a nonsense of the way they used to count viewing figures.

More recently, the demise of the novel has been announced on a pretty well annual basis. And of course print books are a thing of the past, as are bricks-and-mortar bookshops.

Yet as far as I can tell out here in the real world, theatre, film, newspapers, TV, bookshops, and especially the novel are alive, well and positively thriving; in fact, every now and then, one or other appears to enjoy a resurgence of popularity. Earlier this week, alongside yet another article on the death of publishing I read one about a new bookshop that’s just opened in London, and one about a revival in the fortunes of small independent bookshops where the staff actually know something about what’s on the shelves. For the time being at least there are enough of us who like the feel, look and smell of real books to ensure that that keeps right on happening.

Sure, technology marches on – but the impression I get is that, rather than the latest development heralding the end of the previous one, we’re simply offered more choices. Erin’s post a few days ago is the living proof: she likes print and eBook versions, because they serve different purposes in her life.

When I was a kid, shopping was a matter of going to a couple of places and choosing between two or three versions of the same item. Nowadays retail parks and designer outlets proliferate, there are half a dozen major supermarket chains and the average town is awash with small and large shops. And that’s before you start thinking about online shopping. Not that I do; on the rare occasions I shop at all, I like to see what I’m getting.

And so, I suspect, do the majority of aspiring authors. Yes, there are more options than there used to be for getting your book out there. Yes, you can get someone to turn your peerless prose (or poetry) into an eBook, and make it available online within days of typing THE END, instead of waiting months for an agent to respond, then sending it to another agent who also takes months to say no, and maybe, just maybe, after a seemingly endless process, find a conventional publisher who shares your vision of it and is willing to invest time and money in making it a success, or at least a physical reality.

And yes, I do know that it’s frustrating and dispiriting to have to go through that process with only a small chance of success. And that people sell millions of copies of self-published eBooks. Some people. A few people. Actually, let’s be realistic: a very, very few people. But it does work for some people. It’s another option. Not the only option: just another one.

Sometimes the amount of choice that’s available is overwhelming. I have a vivid memory of my daughter, aged about five, on her first visit to a large bookshop. She learned to read when she was three, was a regular visitor to the children’s section of the local library and had already accumulated a sizeable book collection of her own – but faced with quite literally thousands of books to choose from, her brain went into overload and she burst into tears.

But as we grow up we all develop the mental filters that help us cope with the world and deal with the vast amount of choice it offers us.

I think maybe we’re conditioned by the way technology works. Upgrades and new versions appear so often that anything new is out of date before it leaves the shop, and the old version soon stops working or ceases to be compatible. But it doesn’t have to be like that; the arrival of something new doesn’t necessarily mean an earlier version becomes redundant.

Change and progress aren’t synonymous. Sometimes the new way is just another way.