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

Short is beautiful... isn't it?

Can someone enlighten me, please, about short stories? Why has their popularity waned so far?

Once upon a time, not so very long ago, though possibly in the days before the internet invaded our lives, there were short story magazines galore, some catering to specialist tastes including crime, others more generally targeted; they contained a dozen or more well crafted, beautifully written small gems of fiction which warmed the heart or made you think. And for pure entertainment, there were shelves-full of women's magazines which carried two or more stories each. Then one by one the short story magazines went out of business, and the women's magazines started to focus on soap plots and real-life triumph-over-tragedy stories. The market for short stories shrank, which seems to imply that the demand for them had done likewise. Nowadays the main market for short stories is competitions. It's always been there; I've even organized and judged a few myself over the years. But more recently, as the magazine side has faded, competitions seem to have raised their profile.

I do have one theory about why people don't want to read them any more, and it's not just because they'd rather play Angry Birds or Candy Crush on their phones. I think the downward slope began when television soaps kicked in. A four or five thousand word short story takes about half an hour to read: exactly the length of Coronation Street/EastEnders/Emmerdale/insert American or other soap of choice. It's a lot less effort when you come in after a day at work to kick off your shoes, collapse in a comfy armchair and point the remote at the TV for something familiar than to remember where you left the book or magazine, find your glasses and start getting involved in the lives of a whole new set of characters.

People still love to write them. A novel makes huge demands on an aspiring writer's time, and not everyone has the staying power to develop a few thousand words into a few hundred pages, especially when real life makes even more huge demands. A dozen or so pages in which the action is begun, developed and brought to a satisfying conclusion is a lot more achievable. I used to do it myself; time was when one of my short stories appeared in print every month or so. Those days are gone now; that particular muse took a hike when other things began to fill my time.

In the interests of keeping the genre alive for a while longer, because I think it's worth saving, let me ask a question. Is it possible to create a viable piece of crime fiction in three thousand words or less? And if so, is it also possible to include that essential ingredient of 99.9% of crime novels, the murder and its detection? Or is it too big an ask to set the scene, create a handful of suspects, turn the cop or other sleuth into a real human being and solve the mystery in such a short space?

Any thoughts out there?

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.

Back from the wilderness

First of all an apology. I really thought that with a little help from my friends this post was going to appear last Thursday. But, well, technology and I simply don't get along, and somehow it didn't. So here it is now. Better late than never? Not for me to say.

And talking of friends... Sometimes things happen which make you find out who your real friends are. Things have happened big time in my life over the past few weeks, and one of those real friends has been Chris Nickson. He's finished writing a new novel, organized a launch for another, engaged in discussions for two big events due to take place in the next few months and a whole lot more besides – and he still found time to fill my Thursday Dead Guy slot five times while my own life has been more than a little pear-shaped. And he's done a brilliant job; I've made sure there was time to read his posts, and they're far more interesting than anything I could come up with. Thank you doesn't begin to cover it, but I'll say it anyway: thank you, Chris; you're a star as well as a good friend.

The undulating pear-shape seems to have settled into something a little more stable and circular, at least for the time being (though no doubt I'm invoking the wrath of the gods by daring to voice that thought) so I'm afraid you're stuck with me again. And one of the several factors which ganged up to fill my life with rush and chaos was a ton of paid work which all arrived at once (see earlier posts for what happens if a freelance isn't available/turns work down/doesn't deliver to deadline despite the depredations of Real Life), and it provided me with something rather interesting to post about. Well, I thought it was interesting; let's see if anyone out there agrees.

Some people claim that crime fiction and thrillers are formulaic. My considered view of those people is that they can't possibly be reading enough of either to come up with an informed opinion, but that's a whole other post, and not what I want to delve into today. This claim came into sharp focus the other week, when I was asked to supply feedback on a thriller.

The setting is often – I'm tempted to say usually – makes a thriller different from every other one I've read. In this case it was a world I knew little about, but it was clear from the outset that the author knew a lot. That was fine, excellent in fact; I love a book which tells me things I didn't know. There was a tad too much detail now and again, but nothing a good editor couldn't deal with. The biggest problem was the ending. Now, I would challenge anyone who tried to argue on the side of formulaic; I read a lot of crime fiction, possibly not as many thrillers but still plenty, and no two are ever alike. But there are certain conventions. Not many, but they exist, and for good reasons.

This is where I set myself up to be knocked down; feel free to throw the ball at the coconut, but be ready with some justification, because to me, what I'm about to say is stating the obvious. It's this: at the final face-off, the hero/protagonist has to take centre stage; it's up to him – or her; no reason it can't be a her – to take the bad guy down. The protagonist can't be unconscious, incapable, or worst of all, dead; it's his/her story, and s/he has to be the one to take it to its conclusion.

So, when I reached the face-off and found the protagonist played no part whatsoever, I felt cheated. All the more so because he was a great character who had developed as the narrative progressed, and surprised himself by what he achieved. The effect wasn't the climactic finish to the adventure which every good thriller deserves; there was plenty of action, but somehow it felt flat. The reason was it all happened without this intriguing guy who I felt I'd come to know, and who deserved the chance to take down a villain who had wrecked his life. He didn't need to develop brand-new fighting skills, or become a crack marksman at the eleventh hour – but he did need to be there, and even if it happened by accident, his finger had to be on the final trigger.

That's not formulaic; that's just a basic convention of the genre, and it's a genre which doesn't have many. You might just as well send the beautiful heroine off to marry someone else in a romance.

And of course now, having argued my case so strongly, I'm starting to feel a little insecure. Someone tell me, please: am I right about this? Or are there other ways to end a thriller?

I Hate Playing. I Love Having Played.

Jeff Cohen

"I hate painting. I love having painted."

"I hate singing. I love having sung."

"I hate acting. I love having acted."

"I hate dancing. I love having danced."

You never hear those phrases, do you? I don't recall ever hearing a creative person profess the absolute detestation of the process in favor of the outcome. People who strive beyond all reason to achieve success in a creative profession never tell you they can't stand doing it, but are thrilled they went through the process in order to have the finished product.

Except writers.

Among those of us who make a living with words, the statement, "I hate writing; I love having written" is now something of a universal axiom. In popular culture the depictions of those who write for a living, in addition to being almost universally wrong, are close to uniformly torturous. When I told a trainer I was working with that I wrote for a living, he said the first image that came into his mind was of me, probably wearing a fedora, sitting behind a typewriter with a bottle of cheap whiskey at hand.

Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not suggesting for one second that writing is more difficult or requires more self-analysis and psychological manipulation than any other creative form. I couldn't paint a decent square if there were a gun to my head. (To be fair, I think I'd have a rough time doing anything well other than weeping if there were a gun to my head. But I digress.) I sing as well as anyone as long as nobody's listening. I couldn't act or dance my way out of a paper bag, although it's hard to come up with a plausible scenario under which I'd be required to do either of those things while imprisoned in a paper bag.

The point--and I'm sure you're relieved to know I have one--is: other creative types seem to expect a level of enjoyment that will accompany their endeavors. Even tortured artists like Vincent Van Gogh (and find me a more tortured guy than that, or better yet, don't) find some solace in their talent, in the process. I'm told painting is a relaxing activity. Actors will sometimes say they can lose themselves in a character and that releases their inhibitions. Dancers... I don't know any dancers, but I figure they leap around like that because they really want to.

Writers? We sick bastards do something we will readily disclose is the least enjoyable part of our days and we keep doing it even when nobody is making the slightest move to encourage us. I spent 20 years writing screenplays. Look up my page on Imdb.com. You'll find that I don't have one. Nobody wanted me to write screenplays. But I didn't quit doing it until I stumbled into writing a novel and found some level of success and approval with it. So now I do that on a daily basis. 

Is it fun? People ask me that. "Are you having fun writing this book?" Geez. No. I'm not having fun. I don't look forward to writing today's 1,000 words any more than I look forward to exercising (I hate exercising) or making dentist appointments. I do those things because I have rational reasons to do them. Writing is something I do because I feel like I have to get these stories out whether anyone wants to read them or not, and because--this is important--I literally don't know how to do anything else that will provide me with even a rudimentary living.

But having written? I couldn't love that more. Holding that first book in your hand, the one that just came off the press, is about as satisfying an experience as I can imagine. Having people tell you they read your work? And enjoyed it? Doesn't get better than that. Makes the dreaded 1,000-a-day bearable.

So yeah. I hate writing. I love having written. The only thing I can't figure out is what keeps the painters going.

more iPad games for poets

Jessy Randall

In 2013 I compiled a short list of "iPad games for poets." Here are a few more. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Full Pipe

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Frostrune 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Monument Valley (duh)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Year Walk (I was late to this party, not sure why I resisted -- it's a lovely point-and-click.)

 

Broken Age

 

Rusty Lake / Cube Escape

 

 

Snakebird

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Love You to Bits

 

Games along these lines that everybody likes except me: Samorost, Machinarium, The Room, Inner World.

 

Secrets of My... Success?

Jeff Cohen

Those who have visited this blog previously might notice the change in design. Yeah. It's really green. We get that. The thing is, this is the result of making preparations for the sign-off of DEAD GUY at the end of the year. It's something TypePad did when we downgraded to a free account before we could be billed for next year. So yeah. Green. It's not more ecological or anything, just green. We understand that's what happens when you stop paying. Let's move on.

I honestly don't like to tell people about my writing process. It's not that I think anyone will be stealing my secrets because I really don't have any. It's not that I'm so invested in my ways of doing things that I can't adequately articulate them. It's certainly not because I don't like to talk about myself, because let's be real. 

The fact is I don't like to discuss my own process because I'm afraid I'll make it sound like it's too easy and people will resent me. 

I have gone on the record at nauseating length about my lack of an outline. I don't like to plan ahead because for me that kills the creativity. If I know what's going to happen all the time there will be no surprises for the writer (guess who) and that leads to boredom. If I'm bored writing it, what are the odds you're going to enthralled reading it?

But that's not the point. I also don't spend the day thinking about the next amazing (one hopes) plot twist or the solution to the mystery. I start with a premise and then sit down at whatever time that day is convenient and start seeing what happens next. Early in the story it's about compiling clues that aspire to entice the reader into turning the next page. My quota each day is at least 1,000 words. That's the goal. 

And the fact of the matter is, it usually takes an hour or less to produce those 1,000 words. It's not that I'm such a gifted or talented author. I'm a working writer like everyone else who does this. It's a question of concentrating on where I left the story the day before and setting a plot point--generally the end of the current chapter--that I'll be shooting for. How I get there is anybody's guess, definitely including mine.

So during the average day, I spend most of my time doing things other than writing novels. I take care of the family's finances when necessary. I pay bills. I do the New York Times crossword puzzle because I can't make it through a day without doing that. Sometimes I even go to the gym, or a guitar lesson. I spend part of most days being Professor Cohen and grading papers or emailing with students. And at some point when I have an hour I change gears and write 1,000 words. Hopefully they'll grow into something good.

That's it. I sit down, think about the story and start writing. If I'm stuck I'll get the characters to talk because I can always write dialogue. If I'm not stuck I might get them to talk anyway but either way I'll crank out out those 1,000 words.

I told a writer friend lately that I'm a hack but a good one. He disagreed, but I don't see the word as having a negative meaning. A hack is someone who writes even when there's no amazing inspiration at hand. Someone who sees this as a job and feels it's necessary to keep at it and do it to the best of his ability, but never to not do it. But the key to a hack is writing to get paid. If we don't think there's a possibility of reward for the work, we can find something else to do.

So I think I'm a hack, but I don't think that makes me any less a writer. I'm a pretty good hack, I believe. I hope you think at least that well of my work, even after finding out it doesn't occupy my thoughts for 23 hours out of most days.

 

P.S. Pitchers and catchers report in 85 days.

Nine Additional Musings About Public Libraries (Dale Spindel!)

Today we welcome back former DEAD GUY Dale Spindel, one of our library bloggers, as part of the DEAD GUY farewell tour! So glad to have Dale back one more time!

Dale Spindel

I was invited back for one last turn as Sunday blogger on Dead Guy, and I decided to write about what I know best, so here goes…

1. In spite of the popularity of e-books, predictions of the imminent demise of print are still very much exaggerated.   E-book purchasing has more or less leveled off and people still enjoy reading books in the same format that has worked so well for the past several centuries.   Not that I think technology will come to a grinding halt – I’m just waiting for the day when I can have a chip implanted in my brain that will enable me to “meditate” books written by other people. I’m not sure how that’s going to play out at the circulation desk, but I’m confident that someone will figure it out.
2. Library circulation is going to take a hit as more and more people abandon DVDs and turn to streaming services for video content.   Libraries that can afford it have started to turn to services like Hoopla and Kanopy to provide downloadable video and audio content (as well as e-books) but the pay per view model has the potential to wreak havoc on library budgets unless defined limits are placed on patron access.
3. I don’t know where people get the idea that recent immigrants to the United States are not interested in learning English.   What I do know is that for most people, learning a new language becomes exponentially more difficult the older you become; I have often said that I do not know how well I would fare if, out of political or economic necessity, I suddenly found myself needing to live someplace outside of the English speaking world.   I do know that I would do everything I could to ensure that any grandchildren I might have would be fluent in the language of the place we came to. In the library where I now work, some of the children who come regularly to our preschool story time sessions are being brought by grandparents whose ability to speak English is limited or nonexistent.   Many of these older immigrants, having come here from different parts of the world, are unable to chat with each other (which makes me sad) but I am heartened by the fact that they are doing what they can to make damn sure that their grandchildren won’t have that same problem here in America.   On the weekends, these same children are back in the library – this time with their parents – spending valuable family time looking through picture books and working with educational software. The reality I see is at direct odds with what is coming from the mouths and pens of some pundits
4. The type of assistance that people seek from reference librarians has changed over the past 40 years due to the Internet, but not just because people are able to look up so many things for themselves online.   What brings some people to the reference desk these days is their inability to fill out an online job application, print out a boarding pass, or scan and attach a print document to an email.     What is needed in these cases is not so much a professionally trained librarian as a concierge or personal assistant.     Forty years ago, if someone (usually male) approached a librarian (usually female) and asked her to type a letter for him because he didn’t know how to type, she would huffily explain that it was not her job to perform secretarial services.   Today, however, when someone equally likely to be male or female approaches a librarian (only a little less likely today to be female) and asks for help in formatting a Word document, many of us eagerly jump right in.   I’m not sure what the difference is between someone not wanting to bother to learn how to type and someone not wanting to bother to learn how to develop minimal computer competency, especially when the library offers free individualized training sessions.   But why bother to learn as long as the librarian is willing to do it for you?
5. Some larger library systems engage the services of social workers to assist people in the library who are homeless or otherwise in need of assistance in dealing with a variety of health or economic issues.   I consider this to be a very good development since librarians are not trained as social workers but would have trained as social workers rather than as librarians if that was the kind of work that they actually wanted to do.   Unfortunately, in smaller libraries or library systems, it is left to a librarian to deal with situations such as the ones I have handled at various times during my career. Here’s just a small sample:
6. Dealing with the daily presence of a mentally ill individual who made vaguely threatening comments to members of the library staff and who was eventually jailed for physically attacking a family member.
7. Explaining to the police why a woman who had defecated on the restroom floor and then later soiled an upholstered chair should be removed from the library.   The police were reluctant to do this because the woman “seemed nice” and told the officers that she hadn’t been feeling well lately.
8. Being yelled at by a regular patron because he was not hired for any of the jobs I had helped him apply for, recognizing even as I was helping him that his appearance and manner of communication were going to dissuade anyone from hiring him.
9. Forty years ago, library programming for adults was pretty hard to find and was not ever mentioned as part of my professional education.   Today, public libraries offer a wide variety of activities including movies, musical performances, classes, crafts, discussion groups, and gaming (both digital and non-digital), and that’s just for the adults.   Children’s programming has expanded from story time and summer reading activities to include all types of crafts, STEM (Science, Technology, Engineering, Math) activities , jugglers, magicians, musical performance, live animals, and pretty much anything else out there that creative librarians can think of and track down.  
10. Many in my profession have jumped on various bandwagons out of a fear of not remaining relevant.   This has caused some librarians to spend valuable resources on such things as maintaining a presence on Second Life and posting QR codes throughout the library.   We were also told not that long ago that Pokémon Go   was going to be the next big thing to bring people into our libraries.   I think it’s great that librarians are not afraid to try new things, but I wish that a little more critical thought would go into the process beforehand.
11. I’m going to get flack for this one but I’m going to say it anyway. Too many people have fallen victim to our society’s willingness to require advanced degrees for positions that people used to be able to obtain by working their way up the proverbial ladder.   Institutions of higher education are the obvious beneficiaries, in collusion with professional associations seeking what would appear to a foolproof way of raising the social and economic status of their memberships. According to a chart posted by the website Statistica at https://www.statista.com/statistics/185160/number-of-masters-degrees-by-gender-since-1950/ the number of master’s degrees granted in 2018, will rise to approximately 790,000 which is nearly five times as many as were granted in 1975 when I received the first of my two master’s degrees.     There’s been a major reshuffling of the deck in terms of what librarians are called on to do and while, in some cases, the skills required by the job have become ever more high tech dependent, some of the tasks that librarians are performing today, if looked at objectively, really don’t require a master’s degree.   I will also be the first one to say that the vast majority of the skills I use as a library director were picked up from twenty-five years on the job and not from anything that I learned in graduate school.
12. A referendum in New Jersey calling for 125 million dollars to be bonded for public library construction and renovation projects passed easily on November 7 with 60% of the votes cast. This should give the people who claim that public libraries are no longer wanted or needed, something to think about.

It has been a real pleasure to be a part of “Dead Guy” and I wish Jeff and everyone else who has been a part of it the best of everything.

Yes, sorry to tell you, but it’s Chris Nickson in for Lynne yet again.
For the last couple of weeks I’ve been banging on about the book launch I’d been planning. Well, it happened, in the very best surroundings any writer could imagine – a library that’s more than 200 years old – and about 50 people showed up, in spite of there being another literary event and the switching-on of the Christmas lights. I’ll happily take that.
Was it a success? Yes. People were taken by surprise by the mix of words and music, and by the song at the end (performed by musicians, not me, to everyone’s joy). Eerie. Atmospheric. Good. That was what I wanted.
My bit of it – the words over the music – lasted about 25 minutes, and all the rehearsal paid off. I think. I sold a fair few books, at hardback prices, and that can’t be bad, can it? Give people something to remember. Mach Schau, the audience used to shout at the Beatles during their formative year playing clubs in Hamburg. I habe Schau gemachen.
In fact, you can judge for yourselves. Over the weekend I did a quick recording of the words over the soundtrack. After all that work, I wanted some kid of permanent record. I owed myself that. You can listen here:

https://soundcloud.com/chris-nickson-5/free-from-all-danger

And, of course, if you like what you hear, Free From All Danger is now available in the UK, and coming to the US and ebook in February.
I’m just saying…

An Open Letter

Jeff Cohen

Dear All Women:

No. Not every guy is a sexual predator or an unbelievable jerk who believes he is entitled to belittle, humiliate, revolt and violate you because he's a man and you're not. It's not normal, it should NEVER be accepted and it is not pervasive to the gender. Most men are not like that, but there are an awful lot of men and an awfuller lot of them, more than most guys ever imagined, are that bad.

What the rest of us want you to know is that those men disgust us. They anger us. They make us want to walk door-to-door and apologize for their behavior to every woman on the planet. Do some of us act as enablers by saying nothing and doing nothing when we hear of or witness this reprehensible behavior? Alas, some of us do. Those guys piss off the rest of us, too. 

The stories that have been coming out for the past month or two have astonished those of us who are appalled by what we've heard. It's the number of them. We knew such things happened but because we didn't engage in such disgusting behavior we never realized the scope of it. We like to tell ourselves we would have done something if we'd known what was going on. And some of us would have. But others would not, and do not. And until it happens in our sphere of experience, we don't really know which type we're going to be.

We apologize for that, too. We should have had your backs. I promise you we'll try to do better.

The #MeToo posts we've seen have knocked us for a loop. We knew this kind of thing went on and we've heard rumors for years about some of the famous names who have been mentioned lately. But the breadth of it, the fact that it seemed to be commonplace, that's what surprised men. I suppose it shouldn't have, but enough women have been intimidated into keeping silent and we haven't heard about as many of the incidents as we should have.

So on behalf of the men left who are like me in this regard, I'd like to make you a few promises. First, we sincerely hope nothing of this nature ever happens to any of you again. Seriously, not one. But since that appears to be unfortunately unrealistic, we want you to know you can talk to us. Tell us what happened. We'll bear witness for you. We'll stand behind you when you tell your story. We will not look the other way, we will not let others call you liars and we will believe you. 

We promise not to hear other men tell these horrific stories and laugh them off as "boys will be boys." This is not normal or acceptable behavior. We won't allow it to cross the line into  something that "always happens" and therefore shouldn't be roundly condemned. 

We pledge to listen to you when you speak out, not to try to defend your attackers because they've always been okay to us. We promise not to dismiss you as someone trying to "get something out of it" because you name the names of the men who have abused you verbally or physically. We know you're taking an incredibly difficult step and we will not belittle it. We will applaud your courage and do all we can to remove these men from positions of power. 

We will try very hard to understand the awful experience you've been forced to have. We will not see you as lesser than we did before. We will definitely not suggest that you were "asking for it" based on your wardrobe. Clothes don't make it okay to treat you so badly. We know that. We will not suggest you secretly wanted this to happen. That's ludicrous. We know it's not true.

We promise to hear your suggestions about how you think we should act when we hear of these terrible incidents. We will not "mansplain" such actions away. We want to hear from you. We want to help when we can. We want to definitely not hurt through our own actions.

And, most of all, we swear to you that we will do our best not to be the problem. We will never treat you like that. Not under any circumstances. Never.

Because most men aren't like that.

 

Stranger Things -- stupid kissing scene -- advice for next season

Jessy Randall

Yay, Stranger Things added another girl to the gang, so along with Eleven, we got Mad Max, skateboarder, Dig Dug champ, sister of very scary dude Billy, family with a mysterious past. Cool!

But then, not cool.

SPOILERS, duh.

Why, WHY, do the girls have to be romantic objects or nothing? Can't they just be part of the gang? The Snow Ball scene really bummed me out. I wanted all six kids to go to the dance together in a big group, probably getting a ride from Steve, probably one or two stuck in the way-back so everyone can fit in the car. They should've been all goofy and hyped up on generic soda, together. They should've mostly hung out on the bleachers of the gym but maybe at one point done some awkward slow dancing. Maybe Eleven and Mike could kiss, but COME ON. Instead, they're all divided into couples?! Eleven sees Max as a rival (so lame, Duffer Brothers!!) and apparently she's right, in a way, in that the girls can't exist in the gang as equal partners, but instead must be fought over like a certain video game princess. Ugh.

While I'm at it, Duffer Brothers, let me tell ya something else. I am SO SICK of shows that end in a big battle with the big bad. BORING. So here's my idea for season three: the Mindflayer isn't evil, but misunderstood. He/She/It is from a different dimension, after all. We already know that the demodogs aren't pure evil -- they can be won over with love and Three Musketeers, and they can be loyal to those who treat them well. So, obviously the US government is going to want to weaponize all creatures from the upside-down. They've probably got a frozen demodog to torture already. The gang will come to understand that the true evil is human -- an abusive dad yields an abusive kid (Billy), and an abusive US government yields an abusive Mindflayer. So, what to do? El needs to go on a short tour of nearby dimensions and find one that's unoccupied, cold, and Mindflayer-friendly. She can open a gate to it so the Mindflayer can be safe. If any government baddies happen to fall in, sans armor or guns, so much the better for all.

 

Chris Nickson here for Lynne again (please stop groaning at the back).
It’s tonight.
A big book launch for me, as I send my new novel, Free From All Danger, into the world. For several years I did the usual book launch stuff – explain a little, read some extracts, a q&a. But, well, it’s boring, isn’t it? After you’ve done it several times, it loses its relevance.
I’ve always liked to push things a little, to play with ideas. So for one launch I had an actor dressed as one of the characters deliver a speech from the book as she descended the stairs, appearing from nowhere. That was good, it was different.
This time I asked an old friend to compose and record a soundtrack. And I’m giving a performance, a little over 20 minutes in total. Some of it specially written, others small extracts from the book. I’ve been rehearsing for a month. And to close, a duo will perform their take on the traditional song that gives the book its title. I’m going way out of my comfort zone on this. Which will be interesting. And it will be held in the oldest subscription library in the British Isles (www.theleedslibrary.org.uk if you’re interested), one of the loveliest spaces I know.
If you can’t do something that piques curiosity, why bother? A launch is a sales pitch, so make it enticing.
I have another book, The Tin God, due to be published next year. The launch for that will be part of an exhibition, The Vote Before The Vote, about the votes women had in Britain before 1918 and the offices they could hold. It’s central to the novel. For that one, fact and a little fiction will blend in the exhibition. Along with the real history will be my character’s campaign, as if it actually happened.
And why not?
Ultimately, I suppose, it’s all marketing, an attempt to grab a fleeting moment of attention and a few book sales. But if you can be creative doing it, well, why not?
And I’m certainly open for other leftfield ideas.

The Plight of Cop #3

Jeff Cohen

I've discussed characters here before and one of the points I've made was about the writer's need to understand that the people with whom they populate their stories don't know they're in books/movies/plays/television commercials. They think they're living their lives and some incident just happens... to them.

That's the thing. Each character you write believes the story is his and his alone (I'm saying "his" rather than "his or hers" to speed things up and not to make a point about gender. Feel free to read "hers" and I promise you I'll be making the same point.). Each one of them is going to go home tonight and tell the wife/husband/child/uninterested bystander, "Guess what happened to me today."

So let's consider the plight of Cop #3.

In a screenplay, Cop #3 is the one brought in probably just to slap on the handcuffs and begin (they never get all the way through) to read the suspect (let's face it, guilty party) his rights. From a story function, that is all Cop #3 is going to do. He'll never appear in the story again and doesn't even merit having a name.

The same can certainly be true in a crime novel. Cop #3 isn't identified that way, but serves the same purpose: He cuffs the villain and leads him out of the room, just so the reader knows the killer has been properly arrested and removed from the premises. It is incredibly easy to think of Cop #3 as a plot function and forget him.

But you shouldn't. There is always some bit of emotion or color you can get out of Cop #3 if you try hard enough. Because in a film, TV show, stage play or Christmas pageant (and the seasonal music is already starting, just to drive some of us mad), that role will be played by an actor who is almost certainly going to be a human. That person has spent years working on his craft and this is as far as he's gotten so far. He's going to be thinking about how to read those Miranda rights all night before shooting and how to be noticed in a part that was written by someone who thought of him as Cop #3.

So if you consider the character that way--as a person--you might consider what reaction Cop #3 will have to entering the room. Will he be earnest and serious? Amused by the situation? Revulsed by what he's found in the space he's entered? Annoyed that his donut break has been interrupted? All of these, and a thousand more, are completely legitimate possibilities. Any one of them will give your scene more humanity than simply sending in a stick figure with a pair of handcuffs.

I'm not suggesting that a novelist needs to write into the chapter Cop #3's complete backstory, his unhappy childhood and desire to serve the community to spare others the awful experiences he had to endure. You don't even need to know what Cop #3 had for breakfast before walking in unless he's going to be so nauseated we'll all get to see it, which I don't recommend. 

What you should be able to decide is the attitude Cop #3 brings to the situation, whatever that might be. That will lend him some reality and some possibilities to make your scene more interesting. And that's always a good proposition.

So get to know Cop #3. Just a little bit. It'll make your writing better. 

This is Chris Nickson, in for Lynne again.
I received a couple of lights raps on the knuckles after last week – including one from Lynne – for talking about promotion and then not doing any of it on here.
Weeell…it’s true. I didn’t. And I know, you should use every single opportunity to promote your work. Guilty as charged.
But in mitigation, I didn’t know this blog was a platform for that, and as a guest I certainly didn’t want to overstep the proprieties of the place. I’m just here to fill in for one of the regulars, nothing more.
Having been chastised, though, I’ll do the little bit of promotion. After all, this week has seen the publication in the UK of my new novel, Free From All Danger. It’s the seventh in my series featuring Richard Nottingham Constable of Leeds in the 1730s. And Richard was a real person, although these stories may be just the tiniest bit fictional.
I write historical crime, much of it set in Leeds, my hometown, and the place to which I returned four years ago. My books cover a span from 1731 to 1957. Different series, different portraits of a place that features as a character. I do also have novels set in medieval Chesterfield and 1980s/09s Seattle (where I spent 20 years and worked as a music journalist).
Did I mention that you can buy these books, as well as borrowing them from a library? No? Well, you can. There are 22 of them out there. Traditionally published, not indie, for whatever that matters.
The full list is available on my website, www.chrisnickson.co.uk – and they’re all globally available. Free From All Danger will be available in the US, and everywhere on ebook, from February 1, 2018.
Did I say you can buy them? Oh, yes I did.
So that’s the promotion bit done.

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. 

Colorado College's Own Harvey Weinstein

Jessy Randall

When I accepted a position as Colorado College archivist in 2001, many small mysteries awaited me: had Mathias Hall been designed by prison architects? (No.) What happened to the statue of Winged Victory in the old Coburn Library? (Nobody knows, but I suspect it broke into a million pieces during the library move.) And ...

Why was William F. Slocum pushed out of the CC presidency in 1917? Was it because of financial improprieties? Was it because of a rivalry with some of the faculty at the time? Or was it because he was a serial sexual harasser before that term existed?

The answers may lie in the James Hutchinson Kerr Papers at CC Special Collections, which contain copies of some of the women's statements against Slocum. When the Harvey Weinstein story broke this month and people at the college got curious about Slocum, I wanted to make it easier for researchers to find the women's statements, which until now have not been the main focus of any scholarly activity around the Slocum story:

https://libraryweb.coloradocollege.edu/library/specialcollections/Manuscript/Slocum.html

Over the years, students have occasionally floated the idea that campus dormitory Slocum Hall should be renamed. I have a nice long list of potential new names if this idea gets any traction.

 

There’s so much noise out there. Too much noise.
It seems as if every book that’s published arrives with a fanfare – as the author would want, of course. But it’s also there for every cover reveal, sometimes you feel there’s an announcement of every breath the writer takes.
I’m no better than any of them. I create my book trailer, my ad and put them up on social media to try and prime the pump before publication day (as an aside, writers these days need to be well-versed in Photoshop or Gimp, editing videos and sound; does anyone remember when writers just wrote?).
And why? Because the window to be noticed seems to grow shorter and shorter. So many books find their way out there, week after week after week. Publishers advertise where they feel it will do the most good, but everyone – where traditionally or independently published – uses social media as a tool to let people know that HEY, WE’RE OVER HERE! It’s free, it’s what we all have.
The result is a timeline or news feed that’s jammed with bits and bobs on new books.
Information on blog tours.
And the restless, haunted souls of writers looking for attention.
I did a short blog tour last month. It felt worthwhile, and I’m grateful to the blogger who organised it. I think it helped sales, at least for as long as it was going on, that first week of publication. It put the book in front of a wide range of people who might never have known about it.
But without a friendly, well-connected blogger, it’s difficult to do.
What are the choices?
Honestly, I wish I knew. We use the tools at our disposal. I advertise some of my books on a crime fiction blog. I’m not certain it makes much difference, but it doesn’t cost much. Apart from that…it’s the same as everyone else, to get out there and make some noise of my own, to add to the Tower of Babel.
Suggestions gratefully received.

This Has Got to Be Offensive to SOMEBODY...

Jeff Cohen

A couple of days ago I named a gay couple Adam and Steve.

I was going to add, "I couldn't help it," but let's be honest. I could have chosen not to do that because it might offend gay people. It might offend people who think gay people shouldn't be married. It might offend those who despise cliches. But I went right the heck ahead and did it anyway.

I'm just starting a new novel (Guesthouse #10!) and this is the time when invention is at its most rampant. The writer has to start from scratch, or in the case of a series novel, close to it, and create a whole story with fleshed-out people who have real challenges to overcome. Names are assigned. Character traits become evident. There's a plot and stuff to work out.

Sometimes there is the temptation to indulge oneself and I will cop to doing that every now and again. While Faulkner (or any one of 16,000 other authors misquoted) said, "In writing you must kill all your darlings," the fact is you should only kill most of them. Some are worth keeping. 

This one began because I have a daughter named Eve. And she's an adult now but believe it or not she wasn't always. A good number of years ago we were talking and I asked if, hypothetically, she were to--in the future--meet a nice guy named Adam who asked her out on a date. Would she accept?

She took a moment and looked at me. "I'd really have to think about it," she said.

It occurred to me the same was true for a gay man named Steve. And since I was writing the couple from the start and could address the issue in their relationship, I decided to plug the names in and see if I liked them. I'm only six pages into the book so there's no verdict yet, but don't be surprised if they make the cut.

What this comes to is whether a writer needs to be completely circumspect about his/her beliefs. I have tried to stay on the sidelines politically and have failed miserably, to the point that I don't really try at all anymore. I understand this alienates a percentage of my potential readership and I'm not happy about that. But I also believe that everyone--even a writer--has the right to have and express an opinion, and I have some I wish to express.

I have been mostly quiet on the topic of religion because I truly am committed to the idea that everyone (including atheists) is entitled to believe as he or she is inclined. But sometimes that sneaks out too because I'm more offended by unfairness than anything else and I see a good deal of inequity in the discussion. I'll leave it at that.

Naming the two men Adam and Steve, then, was a fairly ham handed attempt at tweaking those I see as on the wrong side of the issue. I think bigots need to know they're being bigots and if it makes them uncomfortable, well, then I've had a good day. 

But it's also a fun small plot detail to use and that's really the point in what I write. I'm not expecting to change anyone's mind about anything ever. I do hope that everyone will read the work and find it entertaining. If it makes them think about something in a way they didn't before, well, where's the harm in that?

What do you think? Should I keep the names?

I’m sitting in for Lynne for a few Thursdays as she needs to take care of some family problems, so I trust you’ll bear with me.
I’m a writer and so, of course, I create female characters. But as a male writer I can only hope that I come up with some who are convincing. For a long time, it feels as if crime novels have tended to have two types of female – the victim or the hunter seeking some kind of vengeance.
People die. People of both sexes. I’ve always been very careful not to portray women as victims, as helpless. Nor do I have them as the bounty hunter. Either way, unless it’s done very, very well, it’s playing into a stereotype, and very few human beings are so simply defined.
I like characters to be rounded. I like strong women. I said create earlier. That doesn’t feel quite true. These are the people who come to me, who feel as strong and real as anyone I talk to on the street. I don’t know where they’re from, but they’re too solid, too formed, to be my creations. They have substance, opinions, strengths, weaknesses.
People are a mass of contradictions. It’s our nature. And to have a character come alive on a page, we have to push all those things into a form. A few years ago I read a novel by a self-published author who’s now gone on to sell a million books. Her characters were summed up by the brands they wore, from scent to shoes. I looked at another of her more recent books. The descriptions haven’t changed much. But obviously she’s doing something that appeals to readers.
And I’m not, at least not in the same way.
But while I’d love to sell that many books, I’d rather have the people on my pages seem real and whole. With loves and fears, and everything in between.
And that leads on to a question. How do you create your characters? Or do they arrive in your head fully-formed, too?

A Visit From Robin Agnew!

Robin Agnew

I have fond memories of blogging for “Dead Guy” – and I am delighted to be able to claim being one of the original bloggers. I love the wide view of this blog – it’s always included a range of authors, publicists, agents, editors, librarians and (where I come in) booksellers. All of us have been united by the love of the mystery genre and the passion of Jeff Cohen, who tirelessly promotes the genre we love along with writing great books.   And I am not sucking up! I keep trying various series…Jeff writes MANY …and all of them are good. That E.J.Copperman guy is great too.

Aunt Agatha’s Bookshop is celebrating 25 years this October and one of the tasks I took on as we approached this milestone – and OK, it was kind of a demand by the book club – was assembling a list of the books the club has tackled in the 24 years we’ve been meeting.   The most read author…no kidding…is Jeff Cohen! (Four titles).

The book club is one of the great things about owning our bookstore. Once a month a group of us meet to thoroughly dismantle or appreciate (as the case may be) whatever the book happens to be that we’ve chosen for the month. I send out a choice of 3 or 4 titles the month before and the group votes. Sometimes it’s a tie and we have to have a vote off!

Some of the liveliest discussions through the years include Sharon Bolton’s Sacrifice; Sarah Caudwell’s Thus Was Adonis Murdered; Raymond Chandler’s The Big Sleep; Robert Crais’ Suspect; Tana French’s Broken Harbor; Leslie Glass’ Killing Time; Michael Gruber’s Tropic of Night; Julia Keller’s the Killing in the Hills; Alex Marwood’s The Darkest Secret; Val McDermid’s A Place of Execution; Ruth Rendell’s A Dark Adapted Eye; Peter Robinson’s In a Dry Season; and Julia Spencer-Fleming’s In the Bleak Midwinter.

I’d hardly be a bookseller worth my salt if I didn’t recommend seeking these books out – highlighted because the discussion was so vivid, the views on the books were so diverse, and in some cases (especially the Rendell , Marwood and Bolton titles) the plots were so complicated they had to be discussed.

Another great thing about owning our bookstore has been meeting authors, some at the beginning of their careers – Steve Hamilton (who we met before A Cold Day in Paradise was published), William Kent Krueger, Louise Penny – or joining them in mid career and watching their career continue to blossom like our buddy and neighbor Loren D. Estleman. That part has been an absolute joy.

When we turned 20, we had a blow out of a party, with many authors and multiple book signings. Luckily the space next to our store was vacant at that moment and we were able to spill over to accommodate the hundreds of folks that showed up.

As we turn 25 and are to some degree looking back, I wanted a quieter and maybe more profound experience. So I invited William Kent Krueger and Julia Keller to join me at the library for a conversation. I think it will be as memorable as our 20^th anniversary celebration – I am really looking forward to it. If you’re in the Ann Arbor area Thursday, October 19, please join us at the downtown library at 7 to meet two of my very favorite writers and people, and to share in a discussion of the genre we love.

A Hair-Raising Gallery, in Sequence

Jeff Cohen

 

Getting there.

Big Book Move of 1962

Jessy Randall

In the spring of 1962, Colorado College students, faculty, and staff moved books and other materials from the soon-to-be-demolished Coburn Library to the new Tutt Library in what became known as the Big Book Move. Boxes traveled down a conveyor belt from an upper window of Coburn and were then hand-carried to the new building. This one-minute silent video is extracted from a 20-minute DVD (a conversion from reel-to-reel), donated to CC Special Collections by Oscar Soule, CC class of 1962.

Warning: contains explicit content

Every TV drama I watch these days seems to come with a warning about 'explicit content' or 'scenes some viewers may find distressing', which I have to say I find more than a little patronizing. Most TV sets come equipped with an off-switch, and most viewers know how to operate it; surely they can decide for themselves?

Fortunately publishers haven't adopted the same policy; they trust their readers to make their own minds up. And mostly, my mind leans towards just enough description to feed my imagination, and no need at all to spell out violence or other nasty behaviour in graphic detail. TV is different on that score, of course; it's all about pictures, so they have little choice about how much detail to show. And when imagination needs to be triggered to enrich a reading experience, that can actually prove useful.

I'll try to elucidate. When it comes to scene-setting, few authors think they need to spell out every detail in the way Dickens used to; many of his readers had never travelled far beyond their home village, whereas nowadays we can travel thousands of miles in our imaginations, having had images planted there by TV and film. So when it comes to explicit content, why doesn't the same apply? It's there on TV, and therefore in our minds; why not leave it to the imagination when it happens on the page?

But some authors can't do that; they feel they have to spell out the nasty stuff. For me, reviewing books can be a bit of a problem in that respect. I wouldn't choose the graphic stuff, but if it crops up I have to deal with it and still try to be as objective as I can. For instance, I've just finished a book which had a strong horror element; if I'd known about that in advance, I might have let someone else have the pleasure. The book passed the 50-page test, and I was quite enjoying it – then I reached page 120, and found myself reading very quickly, and not because I was keen to know what happened. There were a few more episodes I wanted to get past in short order, and the big climax near the end was especially horrible.

I found myself wondering, as I always do when that happens, why it was necessary to be so up-front stomach-churning. Maybe the author thought it was period detail (the book was set in the 18th century), and he needed to lay it on thick to make sure we knew he'd done his research. But I've read plenty of historical crime fiction, and mostly it was laid on thick enough to progress the story, but thin enough so I didn't turn away, and that was absolutely fine. Which, in its way, is trusting the reader, much as I wish TV producers would trust the viewer.

Any thoughts, blog-followers? Do we really need every gory detail? Or can we use our imaginations to join the dots and fill in the background colour?

A Visit From Barbara Poelle!

As we count down to the end of DEAD GUY on New Year's Day, we've asked some of our wonderful alumni to visit us one more time. Today we're thrilled to welcome back Barbara Poelle, vice president at the Irene Goodman Literary Agency. Barbara's wonderful humor and honesty about the publishing business always made her a favorite here at DEAD GUY. Welcome back, Barbara!

Barbara Poelle

…Hm? Oh you’re right! I did wander off there a bit. But I’m back! Now what were we talking about?

Ah yes, books! I love ‘em. Don’t you? Sometimes when I am reading a really good book I jam my nose in the pages and sniff really deeply. Don’t you? And sometimes I hide from my children in a bathroom or a pantry to steal a few more pages of reading. Don’t you? And sometimes I get them tattooed on my body. Don’t you?

Did I lose anyone?

Okay, lemme paint the picture: last year at Bouchercon in New Orleans, I was with several authors, and Jamie Freveletti was handing out temporary Jane Austen tattoos because all of us were sober and it was the best idea anyone had ever had. Ahem. Anyway, I loved my temporary tattoo so much that the very next night I found a tattoo parlor and had those lovely artists do the exact same tattoo on my right forearm. It is a straightforward outline of a single, nameless book. Just a book. But I love it.

This is, in fact, not Barbara's tattoo

Because, really, is ANY of them “just a book”?

Books are many things: time travel machines, therapists, camouflage, chick magnets, dummy repellent, doorways, mirrors, portals, best friends, worst nightmares, greatest surprises, biggest let downs, secret loves and booming proclamations. When I hear my children sounding out words in their beginning readers and feeling frustrated, I very helpfully bark in their face “YOU’LL SEE! BOOKS ARE THE GATEWAY TO ADVENTURE!” careful not to slosh any wine on them while I do it. Because Mother of the Year nominations are coming up. And if no one remembers the “Poelles Don’t Quit” speech hissed into my five-year-old’s sweet and darling face at karate then maybe I have a shot at the long list. (Oh man. I am maybe averaging a steady 37% competence on this mom thing. But I’m trying.)

But I really do mean it. Uh, that Poelles don’t quit part, yeah, but also BOOKS ARE THE GATEWAY TO ADVENTURE! Books give us the opportunity to see lives and places we couldn’t have imagined on our own, yet still feel such a connection to the journey of the characters. And this is why the diverse movement in books is so very important. I am a heterosexual white woman with two kiddos and a full time career, but I have seen myself in a boy in Iran with a kite. I have seen myself in a drifter with an old shrapnel wound. I have seen myself in a dog who loves racing, a young man who grew up in Baltimore against the backdrop of gunfire, a detective in Botswana, a housewife in Australia. I have seen myself in a neurologically atypical teen. I have seen myself in Death in World War II. In an impossible- and illegal- love in 1972. As a lead detective in South Central. I have seen myself serving tea to royalty, field dressing a squirrel, burying a body, being unloved, running a marathon, burning down a house, betraying a husband, fighting a system. Because with great diversity comes great connection. It is our responsibility as human beings to connect to one another in order to move forward through calamity and chaos. The first steps are the simplest in this case. They come with giving our children opportunity to read diverse and varied books and challenging ourselves to do the same.

Thus, I leave you with this: make a list of the last ten books you read. Did they all come from similarly described authors with similarly described protagonists? If so, head to your local library or bookstore, pop on line to an Indie or even a goliath and get a book that is outside of your usual read, that asks you to see yourself in a new experience, a new character, a new backdrop, a new set of stakes that you never considered before.

It has been a joy to connect with you all through this blog over the last decade. I wish all of the contributors and readers a happy, healthy and safe journey through the many gateways to come.

See you at the tattoo parlor in 2019.

Two Authors (?), No Waiting!

E.J. Copperman/Jeff Cohen

It's not easy to collaborate with yourself.

Actually, if I'm being honest, if you can write, you can collaborate with yourself. There's pretty much nothing to it.

I have the ability to speak with some authority on the subject having now collaborated with myself on four novels in the Asperger's mystery series. The latest, THE QUESTION OF THE ABSENTEE FATHER, is still warm off the presses and was released (after having been in a pent-up state of maddening anticipation) yesterday. (Hi, Terri!) 

You'll notice that the cover illustration, helpfully provided to the left, indicates there were two authors for this particular tome, E.J. Copperman and Jeff Cohen. Or one author, E.J. Copperman/Jeff Cohen, depending on one's reading of the byline. Either interpretation is true. I don't want to burst anyone bubble--I'm just not that kind of a guy--but if you see "E.J. Copperman" on a book, Jeff Cohen wrote it. Or the other way around.

When the Asperger's mystery series was first proposed to Midnight Ink (Hi again, Terri!) in 2012 or so, the publisher wanted to list the author as E.J. Copperman. That's entirely understandable, as books like the Haunted Guesthouse series under that name have sold considerably more briskly than, say, the Double Feature mystery series, which had the disadvantage of having Jeff Cohen's name on the cover.

So I got why Midnight Ink wanted to have the Copperman name on the Asperger's series. But this project was a little more personal to me, and I have written some non-fiction on autism spectrum disorders that gave me a bit of cred in the community, so I wanted to have Jeff Cohen on the cover of the books. 

We compromised, and my collaboration with myself began in earnest.

To be blunt, there is no difference in my writing process when I'm working on a Copperman book or a Cohen book. That's largely because when I started writing as Copperman I had no idea my original name would not be on the cover. That was a development that came later, and is entirely another story. The point is, I was writing the way I always write when I started NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEED, and have continued to do so since. Frankly, I have no idea how to write another way, but I'm more than willing to try if I ever figure it out.

The Asperger's books are a departure from the Copperman "brand," if such a term applies. They're not quite as cozy as, say, the Guesthouse books or the new Agent to the Paws series (which began in August with DOG DISH OF DOOM), but certainly not a blood-and-cursing extravaganza, either. There is a male narrator, Samuel Hoenig, who has personality traits he says the neurotypical community identifies as Asperger's syndrome, although Samuel himself acknowledges only that he thinks differently than most other people. He sees it as a strength and thinks people without such behaviors are very odd.

Samuel has opened a storefront in Piscataway, New Jersey and hung a (from all reports, very rudimentary) sign in the window that reads, QUESTIONS ANSWERED. If a person has a question s/he can't answer, they can bring it to Samuel and he'll do the necessary research and deliver the proper response--assuming he finds the question interesting.

In THE QUESTION OF THE ABSENTEE FATHER, Samuel has an unusual dilemma: The question he's being asked is one he does not find especially interesting and one he'd rather not research. But the person asking the question is his mother, and she wants to know where Samuel's father, who left the family when he was four years old, is living now. She believes the matter is urgent, and Samuel, who has great respect for his mother, is at a loss for a way to refuse the assignment. So at the urging of his associate Janet Washburn (with whom Samuel is developing a personal relationship very slowly), he accepts. The question will lead him to places he has never been and doesn't want to go, chiefly Los Angeles, California. By plane. Something Samuel finds absolutely petrifying to consider.

It's going to be a long week. 

For the two authors, however, it's life as what has become usual. "We" will get to work on a new Guesthouse novel, grade a lot of homework, teach two classes and probably not watch any baseball, as we expect (this being written Sunday morning) that we'll have no reason to care until next February. But we could be wrong.

In any event, we'll be watching for reaction to THE QUESTION OF THE ABSENTEE FATHER, and both of us are interested in seeing what our readers think of it. Don't be shy--let us know! If you don't, the only people we can discuss the book with will be each other, and that sort of thing gets people talking.

Maybe collaborating with yourself isn't all that easy after all.

Available TODAY!

 

 

A life without books

The biggest mystery in my life at the moment is what's going on inside my 94-year-old mother's mind.

One thing is certain: she can no longer hold information in her head for long enough to make reading a novel a viable proposition. Which is a huge pity, because she always loved to read, frequented her local library, um, frequently, and was always a willing recipient of books as birthday and other seasonal gifts. Not any more, alas; these days she struggles to get to the end of a newspaper article, and I'm not talking inside pages of the heavier-weight broadsheets.

And as my siblings and I prepare to pack up the apartment she's been living in and move her into a very pleasant care home (before anyone thinks badly of us for not taking her to live with us, none of the three of us owns a house which would offer suitable accommodation for her), I'm moved to ask myself, how would I cope if I couldn't read?

My house is practically lined with books. Every available wall space in three rooms out of five (I don't keep them in the kitchen or bathroom) is covered in bookshelves, and half the closet space in the fifth room is full of books too. And that's not counting the trunkload in the loft space, or the boxloads in my workroom. I've read maybe ninety per cent of them (some are husband and daughter's taste rather than mine), and I probably shan't read most of them again; mostly they're there because I can't bear to part with them. And I keep acquiring more. One of the very few things I have in common with my mother, at least as she used to be, is that a book is always a welcome gift; I'm incapable, probably at gene level, of coming out of a bookshop emptyhanded; and I review for an e-zine. So the books keep coming.

Meanwhile, my mother has always had a propensity for decluttering, and her previously bulging bookcase now contains a few ornaments and family photographs. I doubt we'll find many books in the apartment. I don't even know where they went; I just hope it was to good homes.

Me, I couldn't live like that. If I couldn't read, I might just as well not be breathing. And that's the only circumstance under which I'll be abandoning my books.

SONGWRITING: Or an Essay on MUSE Radio and Wild Horses

Since the post on Sept. 25 discussed Circe Link and her songwriting I thought it only fair she get a fair chance at presenting her own point of view. Circe is a wildly talented musician, singer and songwriter (among many other creative things) whose music is well worth knowing and who writes songs pretty much on a daily basis. I'll leave the rest to her:

Circe Link

First off let me say I am honored and delighted Jeff reached out and asked me to guest post about one of my favorite things in the world, the creative process and more specifically songwriting.

I am constantly inspired by my fellow artists, mighty wielders of the pen, Jeff included of course, and the community we form in support of one another is essential to keeping the arts alive!

Onward….

It seems the Muse is a fickle creature and when she so deigns to appear at your shoulder either in enchanted indigo night or red eyed hung over jittery morning, one must obey her whispers to get your lazy ass out of bed take a notes.

Some strange places I have written songs: 

Traffic jams, airplanes, bank lines, bathrooms - many many bathrooms, movie theaters, museums, hotels, subways, back stage, and inappropriately during many social events such as intimate dinners … you get the  idea.

My mind is like a pit-bull with an idea (probably nicer and less dangerous…probably), or a squirrel with a nut. Once I have captured the inkling, it’s almost an obsession that lurks no matter what I may be trying to accomplish elsewhere. I’ll admit it’s a pleasurable obsession and turning the various rough and rocky stones of ideas over and over in my mind until they are smooth, effortless and compliant is not so unlike sucking on a nice hard candy. Yum!

To say I don’t have many concentrated hours at my desk with my guitar in hand would be untrue because naturally that is a huge part of the endeavor. However, the spark, the ribbon, the ephemeral smoke, the invisible butterflies that I seek that many find hard to find at all, are everywhere if one is listening. Or looking. And if you don’t have that, you ain’t got nothing.

I have known many a songwriter, and generally speaking most artists are in kind in this way, that complain they can not find the place to start. They say that words and lyrics are the most challenging thing, and that they feel inspired by the musical aspects of their songs but what to say is a torturous thing that keeps them from even starting. To that I say, just give up.

Give up and get over trying to be perfect, because that little voice that we all have deep inside, some not so deep inside, is full of shit. It’s not usually that they can’t think of an idea or theme to illustrate with their song, it’s the devil, a priori assassin saying “This had better be good pal… you’re no McCartney or Lennon.” Essentially it’s not that you can’t think of something, it’s that you think what you think isn’t good enough. And it definitely isn’t if you never try.

Some silly ideas I have come up with to writes songs about: 

From the perspective of a stripe on a shirt of a man whose wife is a volunteer for a homeless shelter, about a girl who makes her old love letters into paper boats and sets them in the water, a divine hotel where drunks find salvation or suicide, a dandelion on the freeway, a woman who obeys her husband just like their pet dog with slippers and newspaper, luggage, a matinee theatre ticket taker who wants to be a great film director… you get the idea.

And then there is practice. Write all the songs, the good ones, the bad ones, the ones you don’t like, the ones that sound like someone else should be writing them, because it’s all good practice. Not that I’m a baseball nut (I miss you Vin Scully The Cotton Candy Haired Poet of Chavez Ravine) but lose the games you gotta lose, so you can win the ones you can. I don’t spend an inordinate amount of time anymore writing songs I don’t care for, but as the Muse requires I absolutely write them down and get them out of the way so she has more room to breathe, I guess it’s pretty crowded in there. I had a friend who was a personal assistant for Neil Simon, and she asked him one day how he did it? How he was so amazingly good? And he told her that he writes every day, gets up goes into his office or study or whatever the room was, closes the door and writes. Even when he doesn’t want to, and it presupposes even when he has nothing to say. Just keep pushing that rock up the hill li'l Sisyphus.

As far as the musical aspect is concerned I have always heard what I like to call a Cosmic Radio Station that is broadcasting endlessly in the expanding universe, and all one has to do is find the best spot on the dial (I’m having visions of myself with a tinfoil hat on next time I play guitar)

If I want to I can sit down and tune in and hear a hundred melodies, a thousand, an endless supply of aural offerings that bubble up from this most likely unconscious collective of places. Once one has tickled my fancy I pull her in like a wild pony, walk her around the pen for awhile as I hear her story, or sometimes try and force one on her, then I bring in the song whisperer. My partner in both life and music is the musical phenom called Christian Nesmith and he can tame just about any creature I dredge up from the Lovecraftian depths where my Muse often hangs out. We collaborate upon the basic foundation I have pulled together, sometimes it’s like sculpting where we take things away, sometimes we add, and sometimes we even scrap the whole thing and move on, and on and on. But we have found a dance that works for us, and while sometimes the songs are all my own creaky and weak on new born legs I’ve learned a few things from him about horses err …. songs! The effect he has had on my writing has been profound and he has made me a better writer and musician for which I am evermore indebted.

Some things I have though about while writing this:

Who the heck will even read this? Will anyone be benefited by it? I hope Jeff will help me correct my punctuation, I should have a glass of water, I really love using images and metaphors maybe too much which is funny, it’s time to go write a song… you get the idea.

Two books I would advise any writer or artist to read:

The War of Art by Steven Pressfield

Songwriters on Songwriting by Paul Zollo

 

 

How I Spent My 60th Birthday

Jeff Cohen 

Hair's the latest picture

How to turn 60: First, live 59 years and 364 days (give or take, with leap years). Then wait.

If you're lucky and smart (mostly lucky), you'll do what I did this past Tuesday, and leave the rest to your family and friends. I promised I'd tell you about my milestone birthday after this post, and so I will. Suffice it to say everything worked out exactly the way I would have wanted without my having to do anything at all.

My lovely wife Jessica had obviously been cooking up a number of plans for a while, but I had decided not to try and decipher the clues. Guessing correctly would have led to a slight letdown, and guessing incorrectly would simply make me look stupid. Neither of those things was desirable so I decided, against my nature, to go with the flow.

A few things I knew in advance: First, Jess, our son Josh and I would be traveling into New York City. That's where our daughter Eve lives and there wasn't a chance this day was going by without seeing her. She wasn't coming here to New Jersey because Tuesday is a working day and she takes that seriously. I also figured there would be a walking tour of some kind because Jess told me to wear comfortable shoes. Which was silly, because she knows I refuse to own any uncomfortable shoes.

There were other mumbles here and there but I ignored them. Go with the flow. 

Sure enough on Tuesday morning I was greeted with warm wishes and gifts, the coolest of which was a set of Beatles guitar picks (not used by actual Beatles but with various images of and about the band on them). Then I was instructed to find a parking garage on my app that was near a particular address on E. 8th St. in Manhattan (Jess gave me the coordinates), and we were off.

It's not a long drive and there isn't much traffic at midday. Less than an hour after leaving our home and dog we were on the lower end of Manhattan island and parking in the garage my app had found. The trick was that we weren't staying in that neighborhood and needed to catch a subway to get where we were going. This was hardly our first time in New York so we found our way to Bowling Green fairly easily.

There, in front of the Museum of the American Indian (I don't name these things) we were met by a very nice man named Bruce who, sure enough, was to be our guide on a tour I'd surmised against my will (because Jess said that turning onto Lafayette St. was "appropriate") would have some mention of Alexander Hamilton.

And so it was. Bruce was to take us around Lower Manhattan and point out various spots where George Washington and Hamilton had been present at significant moments during the American Revolution, and we learned a great deal. Did you know that Washington at one point came in possession of General Howe's dog... and sent him back to the general in the middle of a battle? That Washington spoke very quietly because he was afraid his false teeth (not made of wood) would fall out? That Hamilton didn't actually rap?

The tour was very interesting if a trifle hard on the feet (comfortable shoes or not) after more than three hours. It was time to meet Eve and go back to the subway stop where we'd started because that was near the restaurant where we had reservations. There we were met by two of my cousins who live in the neighborhood and a lovely meal was eaten.

But the best part came around dessert. Jess reached into her large purse and pulled out a gift (I thought we'd done gifts already), which I unwrapped. Inside was a photo album.

She, Josh and Eve had conspired to get as many friends as possible to send photographs containing birthday messages, and they'd compiled them in the book with the help of my closest friend.

I have looked at that book every day since then, at least once. I can't sufficiently articulate how it makes me feel except to say it's the best present I've ever gotten. 

So that's how you turn 60. If you're lucky--very lucky (like I am)--and smart (debatable).

And there were a bunch more. I can't include them all. It was a very fine birthday, and thanks to all who took part!

Tomorrow: A visit from Circe Link on the creative process of songwriting!

library prank

Jessy Randall

 

Borrowing from myself over at Library Shenanigans ...

 

The best thing about this shenanigan, to me, isn’t that it takes place at my own library (I’m in charge of Special Collections at Colorado College). No, the best thing about it is that my new library director, JoAnn Jacoby, sent this link to the whole library staff saying it had gotten almost 4 million hits on youtube, whereas this other video — of JoAnn talking about libraries — has gotten — well — somewhat fewer (99 as of this moment).

Both videos show the newly renovated CC library, inside and out, including the very popular "pod" chairs, the Herman Miller orange rockers, the roof gardens, and more.

 

Visit From Abby Z: The Secret to Publishing Success

As we count down to the end of DEAD GUY on New Year's Day, we've asked some of our wonderful alumni to visit us one more time. Today we're thrilled to welcome back Abby Zidle, associate director of marketing and senior editor at Gallery Books. Our sincere thanks to Abby for coming back to DEAD GUY and making us smile one more time!

Abby Zidle

The Secret to Publishing Success

It’s great to be back for HDG Homecoming—this was my first foray into blogging, so I thought it only right to come back here to share what I’ve learned after nearly 20 years in publishing. That’s right, I’ve discovered The Secret To Publishing Success.

I know, I probably should have told you before now. But it takes a long time to build one of those cool evidence boards with the string and the pushpins and everything! I mean, you have to admit, that looks great. (J/K, that’s not the board I used to find the SPS—that was just me looking for my last apartment.)

Where was I? Oh, the secret. OK, you ready? Lean in a little closer—after all, we don’t want everyone to know.

Adaptability.

Huh?

Adaptability!

That doesn’t mean to write for the market or deny your true self or whatever the little voice of resistance in your head is objecting to right now—it just means that publishing goes where the money is, and sometimes that feels like following the Acela track straight down the Eastern seaboard, and sometimes it feels like you’re trapped in a Family Circus panel.

The REAL SPS, but you have to promise not to tell anyone else, is that we’re all just guessing, like, 78% of the time. And the faster publishing evolves, and the more technologies become available to writers, and the more entertainment channels arrive to compete for audience hearts and minds (and eyeballs), the higher that percentage goes.

There’s freedom to be found in this chaos, though—the freedom to launch a new series, or to split your efforts between traditional and self-publishing, or to start a podcast and plug all your writer friends. There are lots of opportunities for failure, sure, but also many more opportunities to pick yourself up and try again.

I’ve done it myself—after 17 years of being an editor, last year I was facing a few hard truths: the kind of books I loved working on were not the kind that enough people were clamoring for, and the parts of the editorial job I loved the best were no longer what people really needed me to do. I could either chug along until they kicked me out, figure out how to completely transform into someone who was great at negotiation and self-promotion and chasing the next hot thing (spoiler alert: not a winning proposition), or I could take a leap.

One small part of my job had been running a blog for our romance program…and because of the work I’d done there, and my enthusiasm in talking to people about it, my publisher offered me a chance at a new role. Now I’m the associate director of marketing and my conversations are all about ad rates, social media metrics, video scripts and whatever craziness Amazon is up to this week…and I love it! This old dog, it seems, enjoys learning new tricks, and I’d never have guessed it if I hadn’t been willing to adapt.

So start that new series, join that publishing collective, or make your next book a graphic novel—look around at what seems new and exciting, and don’t be afraid to jump on it. Your next chapter might be the best one yet.

A big thank you to Jeff Cohen and all the Dead Guys past and present for this opportunity, and for the years of wisdom and wit shared in the Living Room.

Things to feel guilty about... or not

Guilt seems to be part of some people's psyche, and they feel guilty about the oddest things. A friend fessed up the other day that she feels no guilt at all about buying a dozen bottles of wine – but if she spends the same amount in a bookshop, it tugs at her and she feels she has no right. It took a while to get my head round that, and the only explanation I could come up with was childhood conditioning about sharing and not being selfish. A bottle of wine is usually a shared pleasure, but a book is a world in which we shut ourselves away from the real world and take no one with us. Maybe we'll recommend, or even lend, the book after we've read it, but the pleasure of reading it isn't something to share. So, for people who do guilt, I suppose there's maybe just a vestige of logic there.

Me, I gave up guilt a long time ago. I came to the conclusion that beating myself up because something might be my fault doesn't really achieve a lot; much better to accept it, feel bad about it for a while, do what I can to make amends, then move on. And a lot of the time it wasn't my fault anyway, either partly or entirely. I suppose to believe in guilt you also have to believe in sin, and that's another concept I'm uncomfortable with. Sure, there are things you shouldn't do, and some people do them anyway, with or without the accompanying guilt. But a baseline of trying not to hurt other people seems pretty sensible to me (though I reserve the right to take a dig if someone takes a dig at me first!), and if I do it inadvertently, I may not like myself much for a while, but, well, see above.

And feeling guilty about reading, or buying books? I've had a good look around that psyche of mine, and I think I can honestly say that's something I've never felt guilty about in my life. Not even reading D H Lawrence, or whoever was feeding my soul at the time, instead of doing my history revision homework a week before a big exam – and boy did I get flak for that! And these days, if I had enough money in my pocket for a bottle of wine or a book and had to to choose between them, the wine wouldn't even be in the race, and guilt would be the last thing on my mind.

Also these days, when most of my reading matter is crime fiction, I struggle to get my head around the idea of crime fiction as a guilty pleasure, or worse, guilty secret. What is that about! It's a claim I've heard from people who are otherwise straightforward and intelligent – as if Reginald Hill is in some way inferior to Ian McEwan, or Val McDermid to Margaret Forster. Different, maybe, but that's all. Doesn't it depend on what you need at the time?

And as for guilt... purr-lease!

I Can't Do That But I'm Thrilled You Can

Jeff Cohen

This is my last DEAD GUY post... while I'm in my 50s. Today will be a special day for me. It's probably best if you don't call.

It's said that every actor wants to be a rock star and every rock star wants to be an athlete. Not sure what every athlete wants to be, but it's probably an actor. Not me. I've always wanted to be a writer. Which lucks out for me because my guitar playing is matched in mediocrity only by my singing. And let's not discuss songwriting. Because I can't do that.

But I have a friend named Circe Link who is a very talented musician and songwriter and she says she writes songs every day. Multiple songs. Every day. 

That feat--and I have no doubt about Circe's word--is remarkable. Because songwriting isn't the same as writing a novel. I write 1000 words every day and some people find that amazing (I don't). But it still takes me at least 80 days to write a novel, and let's face it, Phileas Fogg made it all the way around the world in that space of time without the help of airplanes. 

In other words, the maximum number of times I have to come up with a new idea for a novel is four a year, give or take. And I write series, which means after the first one is completed I have a family of characters and a situation set up that can at least spur some thought in the direction of the next story.

Writing more than one song every day? Getting a new idea both lyrically and musically 365 times a year (more, really)? Already my head is starting to hurt.

Every time I talk to Circe I'm struck by the way our minds consider each other's work. All I ever want to ask her about is music. She wants to know about my process writing novels. It's about envy versus awe: If I were to meet another author working roughly in my field I might be distracted by envy. Is this author more successful than I am in some way? It's not about being threatened, because I can't write what someone else would and they can't write my work. But I might wonder about his/her process and compare every detail to my own. 

With Circe I don't think about that because she writes songs and I absolutely can't do that. I've written five songs in my life and two of them are essentially the same song with different lyrics. None of them is exactly a classic, or even within driving distance of professional quality. So I can be in awe of her talent because I don't compare it to what I do. 

But here's the thing: Writers of any kind are in awe of writers of every other kind. Circe thinks my being able to write three or four books a year is amazing. I think it's a matter of financial necessity and perseverance. It's the ideas that are the hard part.

I have friends who are screenwriters and they can't imagine writing something as long as a novel--so many words! I look at their work and marvel at the ability to write in images, to wring emotion out of characters (and audiences) without anyone speaking a word. That's really something.

No matter what a creative person might do, and no matter how galaxy-sized one's ego might be, we never lose the ability to appreciate the talent and hard work others put into their output. That's a good thing; it means we're not so far into our own situations that we can't see what's going on outside our own heads. I love songwriters because they provide something I can't find on my own. I admire good screenwriters because they create the blueprints for movies that move me to laughter or tears. 

I love my fellow crime fiction writers mostly for themselves, but also because they write books I couldn't begin to imagine. It's healthy to live in awe. As long as it doesn't stop you from doing your own thing. 

Meanwhile: Coming Next Week--

Let's get on trend

Isn't it interesting how words move on? Back in the 1960s and 70s, which, yes, I'm old enough to recall quite well, things became trendy if they were popular, or perhaps more accurately, the new big thing. There are those of us who still use the word to mean exactly that, but it kind of fell into disuse, or went out of fashion, which I suppose is much the same. And then it came back, in a slightly different form.

On trend has sort of replaced trendy, though the meaning is subtly different. And then there's trending, which I understand is a thing that happens on another thing called social media, and is therefore a concept which doesn't touch my life at all. Someone on the radio this morning claimed he never looked at social media, and when pressed, confessed that he did sometimes look at the screen over his children's shoulders. I can go further than that. I have never looked at a Facebook page, wouldn't know how to get to Twitter, and haven't a clue what things like Instagum, WhichApp and Snipchat mean.

So I suppose that makes me no longer trendy, definitely off trend and certainly not trending. But I can still use the word, albeit in the pre-technology sense which I rather hope will outlive all the trend-prone usages of it.

I'm talking about trends in fiction. Themes which keep recurring. Sub-genres which pop up, enjoy their moment in the sun, then fade away again. I'm not sure how or why it happens, though I suspect marketing has something to do with it. Many years ago I was in touch with an agent over a novel I was hoping he would represent for me. It was set in the early part of the 20th century, and a lot of it took place during, and in the middle of, the First World War. In his first flush of enthusiasm (which, sadly, never translated into a subsequent flush, and reading over the novel a few weeks ago, I understood why, though I wanted to batter him at the time) he told me, 'You've chosen exactly the right time for this; the Great War is a strong trend at the moment.'

I explained I hadn't chosen it, at least not consciously; the setting just seemed right for the story I wanted to tell. So he told me, with a note of cynicism in his voice about the huge success of another novel set in and around the same war. Now, he said, every publishing house wanted its own bestseller on the same theme. And whaddya know, a rash of novels set around the First World War appeared that year. Not mine, alas; but that's a whole different blog post.

We've seen it happen so many times. Women in jeopardy – remember that? Chicklit, and its male equivalent. Books for kids set in a magical environment – though, ironically, wasn't J K Rowling told firmly that wizards and witches wouldn't sell? Doorstop books for kids, even though anything over 50,000 words was a no-no for a long, long time.

In crime fiction there was a huge trend for serial killers not so long ago, but that is one which is inevitably becoming self-defeating. The problem with trends is that each new addition has to be a little different from what's gone before, which can mean outdoing the competition – and the only way with serial killers is to add more and more gore and bodies, until eventually the readers can't stomach any more, or worse, credibility is stretched too far. Whatever the reason, people say enough. So of course the trends come and go. Sometimes they last a few years; other times a season is all they can support.

So – what does a debut writer do? Follow the current trend, or try to predict the next one? Following is a little pointless; publishing works to long lead times, and this year's trend could easily be history by the time even the most brilliant debut is scheduled. Predicting? Isn't that a little mechanical?

The answer, of course, is to set the next trend. Become it. March out ahead of the pack, and be first with the next great idea.

Hm. Now, how do I go about that?

Writers Talk Money - Jess Lourey and Shannon Baker

Terri Bischoff

 

This week - a guest post by Jess Lourey and Shannon Baker:

 

“I don’t really like talking about money. All I can say is that the Good Lord must have really wanted me to have it.” –Larry Bird

That’s two more things Larry Bird and I don’t have in common. I love talking about money, and the Good Lord has yet to get around to dousing me with it (I await patiently). I know talking about money is supposed to be tacky, and apologies to you if you’re in that camp because that’s exactly what Shannon Baker, author of the latest Kate Fox mystery, Dark Signal, and me, author of the recently-released humorous mystery March of Crime, are here today to talk with you about.  (Shannon here: Yikes! Jess is yanking me so far out of my comfort zone my repression shorts are chafing me.)

  

Shannon, do you remember how much your first advance check was for?

Shannon: It’s like sex, you always remember your first time. You ought to sit down, because this will shock you. My first advance was for Ashes of the Red Heifer, a thriller I published with L&L Dreamspell in 2010.  It was $200. That’s two hundred whole dollars. I went back and asked them to please make it $250 because then I would qualify for the published author’s group for Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers.  They graciously did.

Jess: So that stereotype about all writers being rich is obviously true. My first advance was $1500 for May Day, my 2006 inaugural Murder-by-Month mystery, and I tell you what, I would have sold that book for $10, that’s how happy I was to be offered a publishing contract. Why you think writers are so loathe to talk about how much (little) we make? Wouldn’t having that information help us to be better negotiators?

Shannon: It’s like if you ask a rancher how big his ranch is. He’ll likely say, “Big enough to run the cows I have.” Ask how many cows he owns, and he’ll tell you, “Enough to eat the grass I’ve got.”  For writers, it’s probably two-fold: shame, because if pay reflects quality we don’t want people to think we aren’t valued very highly, or, self-preservation, because if you’re making a bunch, everyone expects you to pick up the bar tab.

Then there’s just natural squeamishness. I mean, in polite company, you don’t ask a stranger at a dinner party how much they earn. If they’re a doctor or teacher, you put some clues together and ball park it. With writers, though, there’s no ball park. It’s a vast wilderness.

Jess: That is so dang true. Well said. Can I ask what your biggest writing check to date has been?

Shannon: *Gulp* I just… well. Sorry. I feel comfortable saying my latest contract was five figures.  It is not enough to live on, especially when you factor that a good chunk of that went right back into promotion and conferences.

Jess: Fair enough. I received a $11,517 royalty check in 2012 for my Murder-by-Month mysteries. That was fantastic and unexpected. The highest advance I’ve ever received was $6000 for Salem’s Cipher, and it’s my understanding that that’s a pretty standard advance for midlist authors such as myself. Or am I lowlist? Today, I’m just lowbrow.

Shannon, how much do you think a writer needs to make, and for how long, before they can quit their day job?

Shannon: I never imagined I’d make money from writing. Like you with your first book, Jess, I just wanted someone to offer me a contract. With every book, every contract, I get a little more successful, my expectations rise, and I take the money side of the business more seriously. I am lucky enough to be aged-out of the day job so I can keep writing AND eating.

Jess: Yep, I need a sugar daddy. But I would prefer to be a sugar momma. I refinanced my house in 2013 so I could afford to take a year off and write full-time. Based on that experiment, I’d calculate that I’d need to make $60,000 a year for three years, plus have that much in savings, before I could risk quitting the day job, at least while I still have kids living at home.

How about you, dear readers? Do you see full-time writing in your future, and if so, do you have an income threshold you’d need to meet before you’d be willing to quit your day job?

Please join Shannon and Jessie as they continue their blog tour. They will each be giving away three books this tour, and every comment you leave at a blog stop gets you one chance to win. For another chance to win a book, sign up for Jess and/or Shannon’s newsletters on their websites (links below).

Jess Lourey (rhymes with "dowry") is best known for her critically-acclaimed Murder-by-Month mysteries, which have earned multiple starred reviews from Library Journal and Booklist, the latter calling her writing "a splendid mix of humor and suspense." She is a tenured professor of creative writing and sociology, a regular Psychology Today blogger, a sought-after workshop leader and keynote speaker who delivered the 2016 "Rewrite Your Life" TEDx Talk, and the author of Rewrite Your Life, the only book out there which shows you how to turn your facts into healing, page-turning fiction. You can find out more at www.jessicalourey.com

 

 

 

 

Shannon Baker is the author of the Kate Fox mystery series (Tor/Forge). Set in the isolated cattle country of the Nebraska Sandhills, Kirkus says, “Baker serves up a ballsy heroine, a colorful backdrop, and a surprising ending.” She also writes the Nora Abbott mystery series (Midnight Ink), featuring Hopi Indian mysticism and environmental issues. Shannon makes her home in Tucson where she enjoys cocktails by the pool, breathtaking sunsets, a crazy Weimeraner, and killing people (in the pages of her books). She was voted Rocky Mountain Fiction Writer’s 2014 Writer of the Year. Visit Shannon at www.Shannon-Baker.com

RIP, Ross Hugo-Vidal

Jeff Cohen

Ross Hugo-Vidal died of metastatic melanoma on September 12. He was 59 years old, almost exactly three weeks younger than I am, and that was not nearly long enough. Not by decades.

Some of those interested in crime fiction might have known Ross as the husband of the brilliant and wonderful Julia Spencer-Fleming, and surely he thought of himself first as Julia's husband and father to their three children. He was right to think so, but he was also much more than that.

Ross was a veteran of the U.S. Air Force. He was a trial attorney with a degree from Georgetown University and a law degree from George Washington University. He eventually became litigation manager at People's Heritage Bank, which eventually merged with Banknorth Group Inc. (It is possible I'm cribbing some of this information from other sources like this one.)

When that job was eliminated after the merger, Ross became himself. 

He became the George Carlin of Maine education, leaving behind his AM side for his FM side (comedy nerds will know what I mean). Eventually, after letting his hair grow and beginning what would be a prodigious red beard, Ross began working for the Gorham (Maine) School District as an education technician, working often with students who had special needs. He also immersed himself in his wife's writing career, not just encouraging her but taking on the task of promoting her work vigorously, enthusiastically, joyously. Ross knew more about how to promote a book than almost anyone I've ever met. (No offense, Erin--I said "almost"!)

He was also, despite living hundreds of miles away, a dear friend.

I can probably count on my fingers the number of times Ross and I were in the same room at the same time. But almost as soon as we met he was a friend, and not just the type of friend one sees at book conventions and then has to refer to a "Hello My Name Is" tag to recall a year later. He was interested in people and perhaps didn't understand just how fascinating he was himself.

We kept in touch after meeting at a Bouchercon perhaps 13 years ago (I think it was one of the Toronto years). Ross took it upon himself to help me with promotional advice and he was always right. But I liked him a great deal anyway.

Mostly we talked about having amazing wives and astonishing children, an area on which we could easily find common ground. Ross was not the least bit modest about Julia and their three kids, all of whom are now wonderful, interesting young adults. We talked about his students who might have had autism spectrum disorders because he knew I had some background in the area. And we discussed our blood feud over baseball teams, as I am a lifelong fan of the New York Yankees and he was from New England, so do the math. But we never talked trash and we never got angry. It was just too hard to be angry at Ross.

He had one of the best laughs I've heard in my time on this planet and he employed it often. He could be funny himself but he wasn't intimidated, as many funny people are, by others who could make him and others laugh. He took delight where he could find it, and he could find it better than most. He was as genuine a person as I've ever known.

Ross Hugo-Vidal died last Tuesday and I hope my cozy friends will forgive me, but that is as fucking unfair a sentence as I've ever been obligated to write. My heart goes out to Julia and his family, and it aches personally for my lost friend. I am infinitely glad I got to know him and terribly heartbroken he's gone. Perhaps that is the best tribute a person can hope to get.

For those so inclined, his family has suggested donations to:

Narragansett Elementary School
c/o Gorham School Department
75 South Street
Gorham, ME 04038

New Dante editions at Colorado College

Jessy Randall

Colorado College Special Collections recently acquired five editions of Dante's Commedia for use alongside the 1491, 1536, and 1822 editions (and others) already in our teaching collection. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Above, an image from a facsimile of the 14th century "Dante Gradenighiano," named for Giacomo Gradenigo, the man who curated, copied, and commented on this version of Dante's Commedia. Gradenigo's name appears in an acrostic on the front pastedown of the book (not shown).

 

The 1568 edition, edited by Bernardino Daniello and published in Venice by Pietro da Fino, has an inverted wedding cake illustration of Hell prefiguring the one in our 1822 edition.

 

The 1575 edition, published in Lyon by Guglielmo Rouillio, has the commentary of Alessandro Vellutello.

The 1596 edition, published in Venice by Bernardo Sessa, is edited by Francesco Sansovino and contains two full commentaries: both Alessandro Vellutello's and Christopher Landino's.

The 1928 Nonesuch edition, published in London, was limited to 1475 copies and has text in Italian and English. It contains 42 illustrations after those of Sandro Botticelli (that is, the illustrations are based on Botticelli's but are not perfect reproductions).

Also available: comic book versions by Hunt Emerson, Christos Gage, Seymour Chwast, and Stefan Petrucha.

 

Indispensable?

Dare I say it's been a quiet week on the home front? If I do, the phone will ring, my mother will have had another crisis, I'll need to head forty miles over the moors with an overnight bag in the back of the car, and everything will go pear-shaped again. But what the heck, I've said it anyway, and my life is pretty pear-shaped at the moment whether or not I tempt fate.

Many years ago I chose to work freelance. It was partly because I'd always wanted to give writing a serious try and the opportunity arose when my daughter was little. Another large part was so that I could be around when she came home from school, and also work the flexible hours which suit my body clock. I am not a morning person! And a lot of the time it was fine. I took on some commitments which tied me to certain times and places, but they didn't happen every day, and mostly home and the work dovetailed.

The biggest problem was other people. I didn't go out to work every morning. A lot of the time what I was writing was speculative, so I didn't even have to meet deadlines. I worked to my own schedule. And some people thought that meant I didn't have to work at all, so was available for coffee, lunch or a heart-to-heart whenever they liked. Or even more annoyingly, that what I was doing wasn't work, but a self-indulgent hobby which should take second place to their needs. And if you're a writer, at some point in your career you've been an aspiring writer, so I kind of think you'll get exactly where I'm coming from.

Some of those people eventually got the message; others... yeah, well, it's unlikely they read this blog anyway. It still happens. It happened a few weeks ago. My presence was demanded at a meeting, arranged to suit other people's convenience. The meeting was important, but I was chasing a very tight editing deadline, and it didn't suit me at all. Nothing was said to me, but there were black looks and mutterings, and a little later I picked up that I'd been accused of seeing myself as 'indispensable' and therefore selfishly unwilling to arrange my life to suit the other people. I actually went to the meeting. I would have minded that reaction less if I hadn't.

So excuse my hollow laughter when people say I have delusions of being indispensable. It's so hard, when people have a regular salary paid into the bank, paid vacation time, health and pension benefits, to make them understand how precarious a freelance life is. It should be simple to understand: if you don't work, you don't get paid. So you have to do everything you can to make sure the work keeps coming in. Far from being indispensable, a freelancer is the most expendable person on the payroll – or more accurately, not on the payroll. And a speculative freelancer... I wonder how a lot of writers survive.

These days I do a lot more editing than writing, which means that when someone does give me some work, I can be fairly certain of a fee at the end of it. And while that money isn't essential to my survival, it is earmarked for those little things that make life a tad more comfortable. We're not just talking about holidays and my chocolate habit here. I mean things like running a car. We have a good local bus and train service, but, well, those emergency trips across the moors (see first paragraph), not to mention the regular non-emergency trips, would be impossible without it.

I learned the first rule of freelancing very early: never turn work down, because if you do it may never be there again. In my line of work, there are freelancers on every corner, and most of them have worked in-house and know the right people; there's always, always, someone waiting to take the job I reject, and the next one and the next. The second rule is deliver on time. Those same ex-in-house editors know all about deadlines, so I have to know too. There are other rules, like do exactly what the client wants, and ask just enough questions but don't hassle; but the first two are crucial, because that's how to create the best chance of repeat business. They add up to providing a reliable service: being there when you're needed, and delivering to deadline. And if you don't... well, go figure.

Indispensable? Don't I wish!

The Joys of Acquisitions

Terri Bischoff

 

As I mentioned previously, I was out of the office for a sales conference. I flew on Thursday night and the conference ran through Sunday afternoon. Since I lost my weekend, I took Monday and Tuesday off and spent it with friends in Denver. I had a great time. I came home to an overloaded inbox and a bunch of tight deadlines which has created a stressful day today. BUT, not all is work. You see, in my inbox there was an email I was quite excited to see. Jeff Cohen and some weirdo named EJ Copperman submitted Samuel Hoenig #5. Oh my goodness. I have been good. All day I have been good. I did the work that needed to be done by tomorrow and Friday. That means that nothing is going to stand in between me and that manuscript tomorrow. And may the good Lord help anyone who tries to interrupt me tomorrow. 

It might seem like I'm being a little silly. Ok, maybe I am a little. But honestly, this is the very best part of my job. Finding manuscripts I want to share with others. Then getting super excited when those new manuscripts come in. I'm a fan and I love what I do. :)

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.

Sorry, guys...

I hate flunking out of a Thursday, but a crisis with my 94-year-old mother (which turned out to be a storm in a teacup) has eaten most of my day. Back next week, unless there's another.

A Really Good Not-Birthday

Jeff Cohen

Well, that was a surprise.

I arrived home from my new home-away-from-home, the RWJ Fitness and Wellness Center (heretofore known as "the gym") on Friday expecting nothing out of the ordinary except that my wife, who was taking a couple of days off from work, would be home.

When I saw a sign in the window reading, "Happy 60th Birthday!" I imagine my suspicions should have been activated. For one thing, my birthday was, at that point, 25 days away, so the whole sign thing seemed a touch premature. Once inside, my wife and son informed me there was something I needed to see. Now. And they seemed very excited about it.

To be fair, I was not entirely naive about what was going on. I'd suspected for a few years that when my birthday hit a year with a 0 in it there would be a trip to Yankee Stadium and the tickets purchased would be for seats considerably more desirable (and pricey) than the ones I usually buy, which are in the absolute last row of the nosebleed seats behind home plate, backs literally to the stadium wall, players more a rumor than a reality on the field. 

But it had never occurred to me I'd be getting seats to a Yankees/Red Sox game weeks before the actual date itself. 

So plans for the day--which mostly included getting started on the next-next Haunted Guesthouse book (the next one, HOSTESS WITH THE GHOSTESS, is scheduled for release on January 8, 2018), were scrapped. A trip to the Stadium is an all-day affair, and the whole family was going. It would be easier for my daughter, who lives in the Bronx anyway, to make the game.

After two hours of trains (NJ Transit from New Brunswick to New York, then the NYC MTA subway system from 34th St. to 161st St., we met at Gate 2 and found our way to our seats.

Keep in mind, I'm used to the nosebleeders. When I saw the vantage point from here, with the players actually life sized (except Arron Judge, who is the size of the Chrysler Building) and all visible at one time, I was spoiled for the rest of my life. I imagine I'll be back to the upper reaches again sometime, but it's going to be a comedown. 

I've been a fan of the Yankees--and you can say what you like about them, but not to me--since I was 7, which I have now let out of the bag was close to 53 years ago. It's my one true obsession and the thing about which I am least rational. Say what you want about my writing, my politics, my taste in music or movies, and I'll try to see your side. Suggest that I should root for another team and you will be banished from my Twitter feed.

So the game was a terrific spectacle. Turns out the noise from the insane scoreboard is not as loud and jarring downstairs as it is up among the cheapskates in the 68th tier. Things that had soured me on seeing the game in person in recent years did not seem to be as important. And the team I root for managed a victory after a little suspense, which is the best way to win. Ask Alfred Hitchcock.

In short, we had a splendid day and I'm still shaking my head at the shock of it all. (We had a server bring us food at the ballgame!) 

Now, I'm told the celebrations are not over. Something occurring on or near the actual date itself is in the works. I'm sure it will be lovely. I'm in the hands of three wonderful people who have great instincts. 

I can barely wait to be 60.

James Patterson isn't usually actually James Patterson...

Jessy Randall

James Patterson doesn't actually write the majority of his books! You guys probably already knew this, but I didn't.

My 13-year-old daughter recently got into Patterson's books (or should I say "Patterson's" books), both the Maximum Ride young adult series and the books for grownups. I was in a bookstore recently, a wonderful independent bookstore, and I bought a couple of Patterson (or rather "Patterson") books for her as a treat (we usually just borrow from the library). The bookstore manager commented on my purchases, saying "oh, I think my wife wrote one of those."

WHUT?!

He proceeded to inform me that many "James Patterson" books are written by others -- much like the Edward Stratemeyer Nancy Drew syndicate. And that his wife had been paid to ghostwrite at least two Patterson books -- maybe more -- my brain was reeling at that point. But indeed, it turns out it's a known fact that Patterson currently authors only about 20% of his books. The Telegraph reported on the situation in 2014, and the Independent did a piece this year. 

 

This fact might explain why Patterson would think it's okay to blurb his own books -- even if Stephen King makes fun of him for it.

 

 

 

So now perhaps you'd like to know how to get a job writing "Patterson" books. I'm not sure anyone gets hired as a Patterson ghostwriter, but a good first step might be signing up for his classes for a scant $90.

 

 

Too darned hot!

Over this side of the pond they use the Centigrade scale these days, though those of us old enough to remember real money still double it and add thirty to make it sound more impressive. But however you count it, the temperature down in south-west France last week was off any scale I've experienced before. And if by some chance you were in the Arizona desert or the plains of Canada at the same time as I was, you'll know that's pretty hot, especially when you factor in a level of humidity those places never see. Too darned hot, as the immortal Mr Porter once put it.

Still, with a wide-brimmed hat, a pair of shades and plenty of sunblock, there was plenty to see and otherwise experience. Wine, for instance. And chocolate. Both together, on one occasion, made all the more luscious by the addition of very efficient air-conditioning. And a lovely boulangerie just two minutes' leisurely amble from the house we rented. (Even at breakfast o'clock a leisurely amble was all we could manage in that heat.) And then there was Pizza Eric, which became our landmark whenever we raised the energy to leave the town and had to negotiate the rond-points and narrow streets to get back again. (When I say narrow... think of the smallest car you ever saw and tuck the wing mirrors in; you'll just about avoid scraping the walls on either side, especially if you drive like I do.)

Where was I? Oh yes, Pizza Eric. It was really called Pizz'Eric, (you have to say it with a French accent) but we're crass Brits. It was maybe three minutes' leisurely amble. And it wasn't all pizza, though they were pretty darned good, and according to the menu there were over a hundred topping variations to choose from. They also offered brochettes, kebabs to you or me, cooked in the same wood-fired oven as the pizzas and served with fries and a generous helping of salad. Well, that took care of three evening meals. And I haven't even started on the ice cream. After the bounty of Pizza Eric, we couldn't; that was another night.

You could say it was a holiday of memorable moments, interspersed with lolling around being too hot, with a stack of great books at the ready. I got through five – well, four and half; I finished the fifth on the train journey home. I knew four would be great, because I took them with me. The fifth was a surprise, and a total delight.

The four were an early Reacher which I unexpectedly found I hadn't read; the fifth in Peter May's delicious Enzo series, which gets better and better, and I can hardly wait to read the sixth; the most recent E J Copperman in my collection, which is a long way from being the most recently published, as it's been a while since I was in the US and s/he unaccountably doesn't have a British publisher; and a Mark Gimenez, which made me exclaim, 'That's the best thing of his I've read!' just like all the others have. Every one the kind of read you don't want to end.

The fifth... One of the many manifestations of my daughter's genius is finding unexpected gems, and this one was one of her sparkliest. The London Eye Mystery by Siobhan Dowd. Technically it's YA, bordering on children's; the protagonist/narrator is just twelve years old. But it's subtle, complex, beautifully written, a great read, all the things I love about a book and more besides, like all the best books aimed at kids. It also offers a definition of Asperger's syndrome which, although I have zilch experience in that department, struck me as so perfect that I have to share it. Ted, the narrator, describes his brain as 'a different operating system from other people's'. A little like working on Unix when most people use Windows? Feel free to shoot me down in flames, Jeff, and anyone else who actually knows about Asperger's, but to me that sounded kind of right. Anyway, Ted solves the mystery when everyone else is baffled.

Siobhan Dowd sadly died before she could write a follow-up, but I'm reliable informed the characters have been picked up by another author. I'll report back; watch this space.

So now, here I am back in the good old British summer. Temperature in the mid-teens, or low sixties for us throwbacks; light rain falling outside my window; autumn raspberry crop coming along nicely. It's lovely to go away, but it's nice to be home.

PS Thanks a million to my good friend Chris Nickson for rising to the occasion in my absence, as he so often does.

writers conferences and acquisitions

 

Terri Bischoff

In a week I will be headed out to Colorado for the Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers Gold Conference. I am so excited! 

For my job, as an acquiring editor, I don't actually need to go to conferences these days. I get so many submissions through agents that I don't have enough time to read them as they flow in. My publication schedule for 2019 is already pretty full. I guesstimate that I will only need to acquire 10 or less titles for the 36 slots I need to fill. But I still go to conferences.

Why, when they are physically and mentally draining? Because networking. Publishing is all about networking. You never know when you will make a connection with someone that will help advance your career. That goes for both the writer and the editor or agent. As an editor, I meet other editors and agents. I also meet writers who might write for me some day. And some writer might introduce me to someone in their critique group that has a fantastic manuscript that is waiting for the right editor to come along and buy it.

I also get to talk about publishing and answer questions that hopefully will demystify the process. It's cool to learn how we do things differently from other publishing houses. Or maybe we do it almost exactly the same way. It's talking shop, but with people who are eager to learn. I'll even tell you the things we aren't good at! When a writer attends a writing conference, they are getting access to people who are normally off limits. That is pretty cool. So it's a win-win, right? I also personally love to sign authors that I have met previously. It just makes the whole process more fun and rewarding.

I'm especially looking forward to this conference because I have signed a lot of folks because of it. Off the top of my head I can think of seven authors we have published who live in Colorado. (And I have to say, a ton of friends.) RMFW is a well run conference and the writing is really top notch. It's sold our for this year but keep it in mind if you are looking for a conference that will teach you a ton in a very short time.

And for any attendees out there I'm always looking for all kinds of crime fiction, from cozy and traditional to suspense and serial killer. I am always looking for marginalized voices as well. 

See you next week, Denver. 

 

Don't Wait. Change Now.

Jeff Cohen

Okay, so I promised I'd tell you about the guitar lesson. And then the whole Nazi thing got in the way, as it unfortunately will these days, and it took a week longer than I anticipated. Sorry about that.

But now that the chemo adventure appears to be over I'm taking some time to reassess. While people tell me the new "hairstyle" I'm sporting is in some way becoming (what it's becoming they never say), they're missing the point. It's never been about whether I thought I looked good--it's about whether I think I look like me. And so far I'm just beginning to come back. I'm certainly a long way from where I started, but I have a much longer way to go. I'm prepared for that and am fine with it as long as progress is being made.

(People have been telling me to "keep up the good work" and things like that, which is interesting seeing as how growing hair requires remarkably little effort. I don't do anything and now that the toxic chemicals are out of my body the hair pretty much takes care of the rest on its own. But I digress.)

Part of reassessment is living with the wakeup call that cancer can be. This is no dress rehearsal. We ain't here forever, friends, so now's the time to do what you've always wanted to do, and make the changes that you've been putting off for a moment when you "have the time." You have the time when you want to have the time, and if you don't, maybe you don't want the change all that much.

So I've joined a gym. I have an extra 30-40 pounds on me that need to go elsewhere. And while I have addressed this particular issue many times in the past, this time I'm considerably more determined than all but maybe once before. Again, it's about looking like me. That guy in the mirror with the Marines haircut has a face I recognize but everything above the forehead and below the neck seems grafted on from another person. The gym (affiliated with the medical facility where I had my chemo and am doing my every-two-month maintenance) seemed a logical choice. The rather inflated price it will charge me the first of each month will act as extra incentive and the people who work there don't seem to let you just wander in and hop on a treadmill for 20 minutes, then call that your "workout." This is going to be serious. 

Changes will also have to be made to the way I eat. By this I do not mean that I'm going to stop taking nourishment by mouth or refrain from chewing my food. No, I'm going to have to rethink the entirety of my diet and the times I eat (whether they are for legit reasons or because I'm distracted, bored or just feel like chocolate). This will be more gradual, but the change will be made.

And I'm starting to take guitar lessons. I've been playing acoustic guitar for a disgusting number of years now and plateaued at slightly-below-adequate decades ago. The chemo presented a strange opportunity in that it caused neuropathy in my hands and feet. The feet weren't that big a deal because the neuropathy was very mild and didn't affect my walking or anything else I do with my feet, especially when wearing shoes.

My fingers, on the other hand, were more severely affected. They're much better now, but at its height it was difficult for me to hold a glass, to open jars, to start a flame (with a lighter) when I was getting ready to grill dinner, and at times it was hard to work because typing was a challenge (I still managed--the 1000 words a day wait for no man).

Making a D chord was pretty damn near impossible. 

Now with the neuropathy almost gone, I saw the chance. I was going to have to teach myself to play guitar all over again. Why not break some of those bad habits I'd had for 40 years? Why not learn to do it right this time? In short, why not not teach myself, and let someone do it who actually knows how to teach?

So I've had one lesson so far. This is going to be hard but maybe a year from now I'll play better than I ever have before. After all, this is no dress rehearsal. 

In the meantime, I think it might actually be time to retire the collection of hats I accumulated during the chemo months. No, I'm not giving them away--each one has a meaning tied to the person who gave it to me or the reason I got it myself--but I've never been a hat guy and now that I don't have to worry about scalp-burn or excess cold, I'm going back to not being a hat guy again.

It's time for some changes. More on that as we go.

That new book feeling. Not cracking open a novel you’ve read before, but starting to write. The feeling that the words can’t tumble on to the page quickly enough.
But let me backtrack for a moment. A couple of months ago my publisher accepted my new book. It was one of those gifts that just wrote itself, where every scene fell into place, where every single character was gloriously alive.
Since then I’ve been writing; it’s what writers do, of course. I’ve picked up things I’d worked on before and pushed and prodded them along. I’ve tried something new. But after you’ve created something special, something so right, anything less feels like failure. We always have the need to be better than we were before, and yet make it seem effortless.
I’d given up the work in progress, never mind that I was 45k in. It was good, it had a few excellent scenes. But it just wasn’t good enough to satisfy me. The only thing I was doing in carrying on was fooling myself.
At the end of last week I came on a reference to the Hanging Psalm, the one spoken to convicts at the foot of the gallows. And that sent sparks fizzing round my brain. A story began to take shape. Not just the tale itself, but the main character. The next day I started to write.
600 words the first session, and I knew. I just knew. This hit it like a punch in the gut. It fired on all cylinders. I had a powerful opening, but already the character was leaping off the page (That opening is now on my blog. You can read it here, if you wish).
The words are still coming, and they still feel right. That’s no guarantee it will last, I know that. But for now I’ll take it. It has its own shape, its own hard edges. Like all I write, it’s historical crime, and like most of my stories, it’s set in Leeds. But it has its own sensibility to set it apart from other eras, its own take on the shifting growth of the town. It’s alive.
My partner asked a perceptive question after she’d read the first few pages.
‘How many of the books you’ve decided to work at have you actually finished?’
I thought for a moment.
‘None.’
And that’s how it goes if we’re honest critics of our own work. But when the wave comes, we’d better be prepared to ride it. Maybe it won’t go all the way to shore. But then again, maybe it will.

New Hair Picture!

And when I say, "new hair..."

Back By Popular Indifference: How To Tell If You're a Nazi

Jeff Cohen

Since the horrific events that took place in Charlottesville, VA (a lovely town I have enjoyed visiting a number of times) we've seen a rather baffling trend: People (let's face it, men) who marched in that demonstration complaining loudly on the internet that because their pictures have been circulating showing them carrying torches and screaming under various disgusting banners, everyone now believes they are Nazis.

Thats because you are, dude.

What this puzzling phenomenon indicates is that there are people (yeah, men) out there who honestly don't know whether or not they are Nazis, white supremacists, racists, anti-Semites, Confederate apologists or, just for emphasis, Nazis. So I'm here today, breaking from the crime fiction tradition, to try and offer some assistance.

10 Ways to Tell if You're a Nazi

1. If you're marching during a white power rally, there's a pretty decent chance you're a Nazi.
2. If the swell fellas you're marching with are wearing swastikas, you need to assume you're a Nazi.
3. If at any point you scream out the word,"Jew" for any other reason than to invite someone to a seder, yes, you are.
4. Look to your left. Look to your right. Are the men on either side wearing khakis and white polo shirts and carrying tiki torches? Bingo, my friend. You're a Nazi or the best LL Bean sales rep in history.
5. Have you shown up to "protest the removal of a Confederate monument?" You might not be a Nazi. You might only be a racist. That's bad too, in case you're wondering.
6. If your only quarrel with our current president is that his daughter married a Jewish man, stop reading now. You're a Nazi.
7. Everyone you're marching with is male? It's possible you're not a Nazi, but the smart money is betting you are.
8. You've come to a "peaceful protest" carrying six firearms and a hunting knife? Maybe you're a Nazi and maybe you're not, but I don't want to hang around with you.
9. You thought the problem with The Producers was we didn't get to see the rest of Springtime For Hitler? Check yes off on the card next to "Nazi."
10. If you think anyone who isn't exactly like you is inferior, remember that Indiana Jones was a white dude and he said, "Nazis. I hate these guys."

Just in case you looked this over and suddenly realized, "Oh, no! I'm a Nazi!", don't worry. The one thing about being a Nazi that's good is that you can stop anytime you like. Take this opportunity to reconsider your choices, you alliances and your beliefs about ethnic groups. By this time tomorrow you could easily NOT be a Nazi!

The events in Charlottesville were deplorable (to coin a term) and inexcusable. The ideas being espoused there were equally awful and need to be addressed and condemned by everyone. Everyone. The best disinfectant, it is said, is sunlight. Good. Let's shed some light on these misguided, uninformed, angry humans who have chosen the worst possible outlet for their frustration. Evil is something that is cultivated. We need to stop this evil before it grows any larger.

Next week, no more Nazis or preaching. But I needed to say it.

Adieu, Tuttlet!

Jessy Randall

My past month has been taken up with the big library move at Colorado College. My department, Special Collections, moved from Tutt South (colloquially known as "Tuttlet") to the newly renovated Tutt Main (soon to be just plain Tutt). 

The image above shows some anonymous graffiti written during the move on a wall of the soon-to-be-demolished Tutt South. It was quite an odyssey getting the books and other materials, including a huge heavy map case, from one building to the other.

     

Pictures of our new digs to come when it’s a bit more photogenic.

On September 1 I’ll undertake my first blog tour. It’s a small one, just five stops, generously set up by a friend who likes my books. I’ve thought for a while the blog tours can be a very good tool for getting an author’s name out there.
But…
A friend of mine did a long tour recently. It included a book giveaway, and she ended up with around 2,500 entrants, a very handsome number. At least that many people were at least aware of her and her work there. Yet there were problems, some posts not appearing when they should, a few bloggers who seemed flaky. Not all good.
And there are simply so many of these tours now. I admire bloggers, I’m grateful to them. They do a better job than most newspapers in helping to publicise books. But they’re deluged. Overwhelmed – certainly in the crime genre, and probably in many others. I wonder if some take on too much.
The friend who’s organising my tour is incredibly on top of things. She has it all under control. And with this being small, it’s easy to manage. For me, it’s a toe in the waters, to try and judge how effective it might be.
Because, as every author knows, or at least those without the hefty weight of a big publisher putting money behind us knows, it’s hard to break through the noise. Social media is helpful, but it’s so cluttered. Making your voice heard is almost impossible.
Of course, the situation isn’t helped by the fact that I have three books appearing in two months (not my fault – it’s the publishers), and one of them is a very big deal to me. I’m proud of all my books, of course, but some mean more than others. So I’m going to end up making enough noise to drown myself out. And I’m just one of so very many voices.
It strikes me that although a book or series can find an audience over time, that initial chance to make an impact is very short – the next new things is always coming round the corner. So I’ll be very interested to see what impact that blog tour has.