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

Hail and Farewell

Jeff Cohen

So that was it. We hope you liked it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

 

Oh. And pitchers and catchers report in 44 days.

A Fond Farewell From DEAD GUY Alum Josh Getzler!

Josh Getzler

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

 

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. 

Declaration! The Musical

Jeff Cohen

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A country made by writers. What a concept. 

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

Flickers of Delight

Jeff Cohen

Lately, comedy has been the rule in my household. This time in my life (until summer, one assumes) is wide open to distraction, and anything cheerful is especially welcome. So my family has been indulging me with our choices for entertainment lately, and the decided preference has been comedy.

It was, therefore, not terribly astonishing that at some point we would spend a few nights revisiting an almost completely obscure British miniseries from 1980, because isn't that what one does?

The brilliant, overlooked  Flickers is a special favorite of mine and I do like to check in on it every now and again. When I'm teaching an advanced screenwriting class I will screen all six one-hour episodes, one per week, to school my students on such topics as character development, structure, style and the art of setups and payoffs.

Flickers is the rarest of rarities: A comedy that was made for Masterpiece Theater, a series typically showing off the rollicking humor of a bible reading or a concert of chamber music. It has the most familiar of premises: A man and woman who don't like each other are forced into a partnership--in this case, a marriage--due to their individual circumstances. And yes, you can see them develop a loving relationship as they progress. That's not exactly a spoiler.

The cast is impeccable: a young Bob Hoskins plays Arnie Cole, self-described con man who works at the tail end of the British film industry (such as it was) in 1912: He rents films from the people who own them and shows them at night in storefronts and empty halls. What Arnie wants is to make his own films, but he doesn't have the money to step out on his own. In a distinguished career, most of which followed this, Arnie is my favorite Bob Hoskins role. If you haven't seen it--and odds are you haven't--you owe it to yourself. He's a terrible person but you never stop rooting for him because he does have a heart and he is honest with those he trusts. Mostly.

Maud (the magnificent Frances de la Tour) has the money Arnie needs, but she doesn't see much in the grubby hustler her brother (Andrew de la Tour, and yes) introduces her to as a potential business partner. She fails to see past his rather coarse manner ("If it does the job, lady, it is the right knife and fork!") and dismisses him out of hand, intending never to see him again.

That is, until she finds herself pregnant. Then it seems like someone to essentially pose as a husband (this is all in Episode 1, so don't worry about major spoilers here) would be useful, and the only person she can think of who might be willing to fill that role is Arnie. Before you know it, they are married and starting to make silent movies.

The story is almost secondary to the richness of the characters and the wonderful, sometimes lightning-quick, asides that come from virtually every character. There is a sarcastic, edgy side to the dialogue here (by Roy Clarke, who gets top billing in the credits because the Brits actually know how to treat a writer) and it is delicious. Nobody is entirely without wit and there is no situation that does not invite it. When Arnie burns his hand (don't worry) late in the series and Maud, bandaging it, asks if it hurts, he tells her that of course it hurts. "That's it," his wife tells him. "Be brave."

I'm not quoting the best lines here, to be sure, because they should be found on their own. Watch the whole series, although in my opinion it is perfectly acceptable to fast forward anytime the Singing Brewer family appears on screen. It's not the actors' fault that these characters seem like filler; they just never really have much impact on the story. They manage some moments of genuine emotion, but in all, they grind the proceedings to a halt.

The focus is always on Arnie and Maud, but the supporting characters from Arnie's right-hand man Lewellyn (Fraser Caines) to the pretentious director Max Legendre (Granville Saxton) to Maud's cantankerous Nanny (Peggy Ann Wood) all get some screen time and do everything they can with it. No one is wasted. And I'm not mentioning so many who could be cited, just because a cast list can be found here. They're all great.

Clear the decks, though, when Hoskins and de la Tour are working together. They build that relationship that is a surprise to no one, but with six hours to do so, they don't have to rush. The changes are incremental and rewarding to an audience. The emotional highpoint of the entire series comes in Episode 5, one before the last, in a throwaway line during a speech that Hoskins hisses to de la Tour at 60 MPH. It's perfect, so you'll want to immediately back up and watch it again.

The point of this? Comedy is necessary and nourishing and when you have the chance to find something that might fill those needs, something you might have overlooked, that's not a loss; it's an opportunity. Flickers can be found on DVD but at the moment is not, to my knowledge, available for streaming. (You can rent the DVDs from Netflix.) So look it up and find a copy if you can. Because I'm not loaning you mine.

You never know when I might need it again.

 

The Major League Baseball season starts in 6 days.

Short Films and No Hair

Jeff Cohen

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

Opening Day is 43 days away.

Nothing of Substance

Jeff Cohen

• They play John Lennon's "Imagine" in Times Square right before the ball drops every year. I don't think anybody really listens to the lyrics.
• As is my family's custom, we watched the Marx Brothers on New Year's Eve. This year, one of the selections was DUCK SOUP. It was eerily prescient. ("If you think this country's bad off now, just wait 'til I get through with it.")
• I thought the Yule Log might be the silliest thing to watch on TV when I was a kid. Now I realize it's tuning in to watch time pass while a million people stand for hours in the cold with silly hats and no bathroom.
• Watching a marathon of The Twilight Zone on a holiday weekend based strictly on the passage of time is a little cruel.
• Baseball should have no offseason. After the World Series, an alternative Major League should begin for four months playing only in warm climates.
• Every once in a while I just can't play guitar. (I'm never really very good.) I can't make simple chords. I figure what little ability I had is leaving me. Then I cut my fingernails and go, "Oh yeah."
• At the end of each year I look for a wall calendar for my office and end up making my own on iPhoto. This year it's pictures of acoustic guitars. 
• Some people look at the beginning of the year as a chance for a sort of rebirth, an opportunity to take stock and make adjustments to improve themselves. I think there's something wrong with those people.
• Every year the Farmer's Almanac tells us in the Northeast that we're going to have a horrendously difficult winter. It's right about half the time.
• The Weather Channel has to stop naming winter storms. That's just stupid.
• People ask me what kind of music I have on when I'm writing. Right now I'm listening to Gerry Rafferty. 
• If I never have to go another wedding that doesn't involve one of my children, I'm fine with that.
• How happy are clams, really?
• Go see LaLa Land. It's an end-of-the-year movie that's not depressing. How often do you get one of those?
• I just read The Daily Show: The Book. I am more convinced than ever that Jon Stewart is a genius and while he is clearly happier, we are lessened by his absence on television.
• Hey. I hope you have a really good year. For the record, I'd like to do the same. Let's put some effort into that.

 

Pitchers and catchers report in 43 days.

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

Jeff Cohen

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

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

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

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

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

And above all, do what makes you happy.

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

It's Just My Opinion

Jeff Cohen

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

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

10 Positive But Unpopular Opinions

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

Signs That You Aren't Funny

Jeff Cohen

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

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

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

Signs You Aren't Funny

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

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

Questions? We've Got Answers!

Jeff Cohen

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Six.

John R. Rymer: Why is Trump still here?

Where?

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

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

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

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

Becoming An Olympian Writer

Jeff Cohen

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You're Stealing. Stop It.

Jeff Cohen

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I object.

In Defense of the Insufferably Smug

Jeff Cohen

It's been brewing for a long time, but I feel this Memorial Day is the time for me to finally come out of the closet and admit to my true self. Given the level of mockery, disdain and, yes, hatred directed toward my people, there is some risk involved in this revelation. But I am strong enough and sure enough to state it unequivocally and without reservation.

I own a Prius. No. That's not entirely accurate. I own two Priuses. (Prii?)

Comedians, politicians and people with very little tolerance for anything have been decrying the rise of a "PC culture" in America. And no, they don't mean that not enough people are using iMacs. They're complaining that it's not okay for us to use terms considered offensive to some groups, and that jokes aimed in the direction of an ethnicity, religion, disability or point of view are no longer acceptable to the general public.

Personally, I say boo-hoo to that, but it's beside the point.

There are still a few groups who, even in our supposedly too-polite world (has anybody been reading the newspaper lately?) are considered not off-limits. It's still okay, for example, to make fun of overweight people. It's not outside the realm to mock short men. (Stop me if you sense a pattern here.) You want to write characters from the South who are stupid and bigoted? Enjoy.

But undoubtedly one of the weirdest groups to deride is owners of the Prius. The little hybrid car from Toyota that looks a little goofy and isn't built for the Indy 500 is frequently sneered at by comedians. People on the road actually pass us when we're driving well above the speed limit because it's a supposed embarrassment to let a Prius drive faster than you. Owners of said vehicles are asked if it's "really like a regular car" and told that we're smug just for having purchased one.

Some Prius owners are smug. Not as many as those driving Mercedes or Audis, but some. When you sell enough of a product (say, more than three) the chances are good some of the owners are going to be smug. Yes, like to mention that we can get 51 miles to the gallon. Sure, we might feel we're doing more for the environment than a suburban dad driving a Chevy Silverado to his job at an insurance office. Imagine that. Is it possible we think of this dinky little machine as a status symbol? I won't say no. But I bought my first Prius when I was 48 years old. It was my midlife crisis car. Aren't there points for not getting a red convertible?

Worse, I own a Prius c, the even smaller, even weirder-looking version, that can be parked in the glove compartment of most SUVs. People see it, look puzzled, then see the "Prius Hybrid" plate on the back, and I can see their faces change to something approaching disgust. 

Are people subjected to disdain for driving a Honda Accord? Do buyers of Volkswagen Jettas have to justify their purchases on moral grounds? Is it assumed that because you tool around town in a Hyundai Sonata your very personality is in question?

Frankly, it gets a little wearying. The rolling of the eyes. The late-night TV jokes. The insistence of having decent pick-up when up-ramping on the New Jersey Turnpike. All I wanted was a car that would cost less on the weekly gasoline bill and maybe do less damage to the planet. 

Hath not a Prius a fuel pump? Hath not a Prius axles, steering wheels, brake shoes, windshield wipers? Powered with the same (though admittedly less) fuel, damaged with the same sideswipes, subject to the same bird poop, cleaned by the same car wash, warmed and cooled by the same heater and air conditioner, as a gas guzzler is? If you prick our tires, do they not go flat?

In other words, what's your problem?

All I'll say is this: my wife and I took a trip to presidential estates in Virginia one weekend not long ago. We drove from central New Jersey to Alexandria, Virginia (George Washington's Mount Vernon) and then to Charlottesville, Virginia (Thomas Jefferson's Monticello). Then back. Including a few short side trips for dinners and whatnot, that's about 650 miles. 

We filled up before leaving and once before the return trip. That was it. Total gasoline cost: Less than $40. I commuted to Philadelphia the day after we returned. I'm still driving on that tank of gas.

If I'm being smug, I don't want to be... what's the opposite of smug?

 

P.S. Today is Memorial Day in the U.S. It is a somber occasion that acknowledges and honors those who lost their lives in the conflicts their governments undertook. It's not just about barbecue and it's not Veterans Day, which comes in November and honors all those who fought in those conflicts and survived to tell the story. 

P.P.S. Wednesday will be the first day of June. What do you know, WRITTEN OFF by E.J. Copperman comes out in June! If you think I won't be posting about that the next few weeks, you're adorable.

Book-to-Film: Casting?

Jeff Cohen

(I'm currently on the road back to New Jersey from Charlottesville, VA. This was written before I left.)

I always get just a little bit amused when--and this happens much less frequently than it used to--a novelist (or playwright) complains publicly about the adaptation of his/her work for film or television. I live in the hope that some day I get to be as badly abused as some of these writers, because at some point we're going to need a new car.

In truth, it's the fans who tend to be more appalled at the "Hollywood treatment" (usually Vancouver) given their beloved books. We might recall the brouhaha that exploded when Lee Child's beloved Jack Reacher was played on film (and will be again) by a man who had the temerity not to be very tall. 

When I daydream about my works making it to a screen of any size--and I do--I never cast the movie in my head. I swear to you I have never given a moment's thought to who would play Alison Kerby or Samuel Hoenig or Duffy Madison (of the very-soon-upcoming WRITTEN OFF). The brains in the office buildings can cast anybody they like. I'd prefer it be someone who can act, but the writer has no control over this sort of thing and my hair is gray enough already.

No, I consider much more deeply who would write the screenplay for said venture. In a perfect world (my version), naturally that would be me. But the fact is, I've already written the story in another medium and there was a reason it was a book and not a screenplay. I've written screenplays. A LOT of screenplays, in fact. (Don't bother looking up my IMDb page because I don't have one--nothing's ever been produced.) If I wrote a novel it was because that story felt like a novel to me. I'd love to take a crack at an adaptation sometime, but I'm a realist and I know that even if I am hired for that job, there will be rewrites and there will be other writers. Aaron Sorkin gets his screenplays made verbatim. That's the whole list of writers who have that kind of respect.

So who would I want to write the screenplay (assuming I'm not the first choice and Sorkin is busy)? Well, I'm not going to name names, mostly because that's limiting oneself and besides, I still want to harbor the fantasy. It's the writer I care about, then maybe the director--especially if it's a theatrical film we're talking about--perhaps the producer (particularly in television) and then if one has time, the cast.

Personally, as long as nobody's wearing a Spandex costume and taking down CGI buildings, I'm okay with it.

I am not worried about people stomping on my books. Even if a miracle of luck were to happen and some producer wanted to adapt them, and even if that producer turned the novels into something I myself wouldn't recognize as my story, the books would still exist. I have tons of them and I'm about to get more. After WRITTEN OFF will come the Samuel Hoenig novel THE QUESTION OF THE FELONIOUS FRIEND in September (hi, Terri!) and then the Haunted Guesthouse book SPOUSE ON HAUNTED HILL in December. Shelf space in my office is somewhat limited already. 

So the books will be there, and readers can open them up and immerse themselves whenever they like. If you think the movie is going to desecrate your memory of a beloved story, here's what you do: Don't go. Don't watch it on TV. Re-read one of the books.

I am a dedicated fan of the STAR TREK TV series from my childhood. The real one, with Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock. When it was announced there would be new movies "reimagining" the franchise, I was intrigued. Then I saw the first movie.

Fool that I was, I saw the second one, too. There will be a third this July. I'm not going. I can watch the episodes and theatrical films I grew up on whenever I want. That can be the reality for me. And JJ Abrams and whoever Paramount has decided is next can make their movies and shovel in the money. Good for them. I'm not interested.

It's an honor and a compliment to a writer that someone wants to take the work s/he has done and create a new version of it for a wider audience. That's wonderful and any author should be pleased to see it happen. But just because something's on film or TV doesn't mean it's the "official" version of that story. You, the audience/reader, get to decide what is your version. Stick to it. Cherish it; it's yours. We write it for you.

If someone else has another version that works for them, that's great. You don't have to subscribe. This is a free country for at least the next six months.

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

Jeff Cohen

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

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

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

It's just not for me, that's all. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

Commissioner! Light the Jon Signal!

Jeff Cohen

In the current American election cycle--one which is almost awe-inspiring in its horrific weirdness--there has come to the forefront one truth that any thinking person from this country or any other must embrace in order to save the nation and possibly the future of humans on Earth.

We need Jon Stewart back.

Since the maestro of fake news left the airwaves last August, a number of substitute anchors have attempted, with varying degrees of success, to fill his spot. All of them are good and some approach the brilliance Stewart achieved virtually every day, four days a week, for more than 16 years. But none of them is filling the void. This election--and events in the world as a whole--are just too frightening for our rising terror to be assuaged by anyone except the master himself.

I'm not talking about the late-night talk shows with a band, a desk, a curtain and the host who makes the occasional topical joke during the monologue segment before asking the latest actor about his new television show. I'm looking for someone who can make an audience (mostly me) laugh uproariously on a reliable basis when acting as the country's steam valve, letting us feel the outrage and the absurdity at the same time. Someone who can leave me after a half hour actually feeling less bombarded by the events themselves.

That's happening now, but not enough. Let's examine the contenders.

In the wake of Stewart's abdication a number of his ex-colleagues have attempted to make their own mark on the state of fake news, and all of them have done a good job. A couple have done remarkably well, in fact. But not well enough. 

Easily the best of the bunch at this moment (these things are fluid) is John Oliver's Last Week Tonight, a Daily Show-esque endeavor from the British expat who was a longtime correspondent with Stewart and has not been at all shy about noting that in his work. Oliver has refined the process on his HBO show, delivering far more international stories than Stewart ever attempted and devoting a healthy segment each week to one issue that is examined in depth. It is the best example now on television of a program that can make you laugh helplessly while growing increasingly angry over something you might not have completely understood before. Last Week Tonight is sublime in ways that even Stewart's Daily Show could not be, and that is wonderful. The problem: It airs only once a week, and it takes long hiatuses between seasons. Once the half-hour is over, you have six days and 23.5 hours until you can feel this way again. Staggeringly great, but not enough.

Still, there is The Nightly Show with Stewart's "Senior Black Correspondent" emeritus Larry Wilmore. After a somewhat awkward start in early 2015, Wilmore has been steadily improving to the point that he now is a reliable source of necessary outrage and laughs. His ensemble of Nightly Show contributors includes some real gems in people like Mike Yard and Grace Parra, among others. Some of the sketches still go on too long and the panel in the third segment of each show remains kind of odd, but Wilmore himself makes dents in the lack of Jon Stewart, and does so, thankfully, four times a week, just as often as Stewart used to work. It's still a work in progress but it's one that's showing a lot of promise and is still pretty new. Very encouraging.

Much, much newer is Full Frontal with Daily Show alumna Samantha Bee, who has mostly abandoned her character from that show and sharpened her criticism to be more often straight on rather than constantly ironic. Both work for her, but she's in the first few shows of a new series and still has to work out some kinks. A lot has been made of her being "the only woman in late night," which is true but is not the point of her show, and that's good. While Bee's onstage rants are working, they're coming a little too fast to absorb all of it, and some of the sketches are not working as well. But the field pieces where she went to talk to actual Syrian refugees were informative and wonderful while still being funny. The show has to learn to skewer the politicians it gets in its sights (which it normally does) and not the "civilians" who might not be as involved in the problem (something it does occasionally). It's very promising, but too small a sample to know exactly how things will play out. Definitely worth watching every week.

And that brings us to what is, alas, the least impressive of the bunch so far. While still a good stage for satire and commentary, The Daily Show with Trevor Noah is not close to living up to its predecessor yet. And it's unfair to make the comparison, but everybody is doing exactly that. The styles are a study in contrasts: Where Stewart would be incensed, Noah is amused by the crazy Americans. Stewart was a participant, an advocate; he was one of us. Noah is an interested observer from elsewhere who rightfully finds us to be odd and irrational but isn't invested. He'll point out what's crazy, but it doesn't bother him. When Jon Stewart built up a head of steam it was a joyous thing to behold. Trevor Noah unleashes one-liners and many of them are clever, but they don't really build emotionally because he's not emotional about them. He laughs at his own jokes. Again, not bad by any means. The jokes are still funny and Noah is charming, even if he goes too easy on most of his interview subjects, something Stewart learned not to do. It'll be interesting to see how much different this show looks a year from now when the host is more comfortable with the job. My guess: It will be more aimed at people considerably younger than me and cover more international news. That's fine, but it's only a guess. Another guess: Trevor Noah will not be doing this for 16 years.

We need Jon Stewart back because none of these substitutes fills the enormous vacuum he created in leaving. And there is good, if somewhat vague, news: Apparently the man himself is working on short pieces that will be released by HBO, but digitally on various platforms that I, as an old person, will need help finding. There's no public timetable and no word on what the format might be, but at least there will be communication from Planet Jon and hopefully--dare one say it--he might make this election cycle just a tiny bit less terrifying.

If that's possible.

 

P.S. Opening Day is in 28 days. It can't possibly happen fast enough.

How The Maltese Falcon Illuminates Cozies

Jeff Cohen

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

It is 35 days until Opening Day.

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

Jeff Cohen

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

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

The money doesn't hurt, either.

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

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

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

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

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

That's where you come in, dear reader.

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

I Remain Not Dead

Jeff Cohen

A number of people have contacted me this week via email and social media to make sure that I'm not dead.

Spoiler alert: I'm not dead.

It seems that a man named Jeffrey H. Cohen passed away unexpectedly this past week and among other things, requested from beyond the grave that in lieu of donations to charity or flowers that people who wished to honor his memory might avoid voting for Donald Trump. 

Since I was not aware that Dr. Cohen (he was a chiropractor) had died, it was something of a surprise when I received an email from a friend that began, "I'm fairly sure this is not your obituary." Then when the story of Dr. Cohen's preference gained some traction in the news media, it was posted on Facebook. While I can't say the response was enormous, there was some concern over my welfare, which I found touching. I also had some concern that there were people who thought I was a 70-year-old chiropractor from Pennsylvania who wore cowboy hats and chewed tobacco. Granted, Dr. Cohen did also have a son named Joshua, as I do, but that and the name (my middle initial is not "H," by the way) were where the similarities ended.

Although I do admit I found the Trump thing pretty amusing.

As I touched upon last week, my name is not at all an uncommon one. I don't know how many people in the U.S. are named Jeffrey Cohen but I can tell you that I'm friends on Facebook with 22 of them and would have gone on to friend many more if Facebook had not sent me a message saying that they knew what I was up to and would not allow me to continue with it, leading me once again to believe that Mark Zuckerberg started the whole thing just to prove what a tremendous killjoy he could be.

Still, the idea that there were those who thought I might have passed on and were upset about it was oddly comforting. None of them were close friends or family, since they knew for a fact that I was alive and not a 70-year-old chiropractor from Pennsylvania, hats and tobacco or no. While the doctor and I do appear to have shared at least a somewhat similar sense of humor, I think I'd go beyond what he'd requested and stipulate that those who wanted to honor my memory should donate to one of Mr. Trump's rivals, preferably one from the other party.

Many of us have that fantasy played out in Mark Twain's Adventures of Tom Sawyer in which Tom attends his own funeral (everybody thinks he's dead) and hears what other people would say about him at that solemn occasion. I'd personally like to hold such a gathering before I shuffle off, mostly because I don't believe I'll be listening from beyond, but I doubt I will throw the soiree. For one thing, people would tend to be less honest with the guest of honor breathing and listening in the room. Also, it would absolutely reek of ego to do such a thing, and I hate letting anyone know that I have one.

So in case you were concerned, yes, I'm still a DEAD GUY but I am definitely not yet deceased, nor do I plan to be anytime soon. Of course, I doubt Dr. Jeffrey H. Cohen expected what happened to him either. There are no guarantees in life, not even the ones issued by the Sears company when you buy a new appliance. Sure, they say they'll fix your wall oven, but will they?

Anyway, in case you were one of the people who was worried, no. I'm not dead. 

Also: Yes, we made it through the blizzard of '16. Most loyal readers will recall that I hate snow unequivocally, so imagine what a great mood I've been in the past two days. But as such things go, we were lucky. No power outages, no water contamination, just lots and lots and lots of what TV weather reporters insist on calling "the white stuff" because apparently they've never heard of whipped cream. So much for El Nino giving us East Coasters a mild winter. 

 

P.S. Pitchers and catchers report in 24 days.

If Aaron Sorkin Wrote a Mystery

Jeff Cohen

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

If They Wrote Mysteries

A Series of at Least One Post

1: Aaron Sorkin

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

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

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

Jill: You said murderer.

Doug: Yes, I did.

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

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

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

Doug: Hideous, heinous and horrific?

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

Doug: You're missing the point here.

Jill: Am I?

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

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

Doug: Wait. Walk with me. 

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

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

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

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

Doug stops walking and stares at her. 

Doug: What?

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

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

Jill: If you say so. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They continue to walk.

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

Doug stops walking and faces her. 

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

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

Jill: That.

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

Doug: Wait. Did that mean...

Jill: You said it was obvious.

Doug: What?

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

Doug: Yeah, but just now--

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

Doug stands and thinks a moment.

Doug: Honestly, I can't remember.

 

 

Pitchers and catchers report in 45 days.

TV, Movies and the NYTimes Book Review

Jeff Cohen

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

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

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

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

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

On other topics:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We're Really Not Kidding. Help!

Josh Getzler

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

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

Our very own Erin Mitchell.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jeff Cohen

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

 

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

--John Cleese

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mi-chael Kay is On The Radio To-Day!

Josh Getzler

 

So now for a quick response to Jeff Cohen’s column from yesterday, since what I need to be thinking about as I go in for the most solemn evening of the year for the Jews is sports talk radio and traffic on the Gowanus. But sometimes you have a calling…(which reminds me—how ‘bout the traffic planned in NYC for the Papal visit—should be huge fun!).

 

Back when I was running the Staten Island Yankees, I drove to work every day, On the way out to SI I listened to Mike & Mike in the Morning on ESPN Radio, and after a couple of years I would know whether I was running late based on what street I was on when different commercials would come on. They were fun, had good guests (particularly during football season), and they were the alternative to Imus, Stern, and the Z Morning Zoo.

 

In the afternoon, when I’d go home over the Verrazano Bridge and through the Belt Parkway, I’d listen to the Michael Kay Show on the local part of the ESPN Radio day. And Jeff, while I think he has gotten a little stale, and obvious, I consistently found him to be smart, intelligent, snarky but not obnoxious, and much, much calmer and less condescending than Mike and the Mad Dog, his competition. Plus, he had a theme song by (JOEY SAL-VI-A!) that you could hum.

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w167-2k3Vwo

So while I prepare to ask for Forgiveness and forsake coffee (and only incidentally food), I suspect that while I’m hearing “Who By Fire” I’ll be humming “And every 20 minutes you get SportCenter with Don LaGreca, he's a heck of an anchor…” 

The Final Out of Michael Kay

Jeff Cohen

Just to follow up on some of the ideas I was discussing last week: I'm a lifelong fan of the New York Yankees. (You may despise me all you like, but I'm not changing my affiliation. Deal with it.) And, since I am not nearly wealthy enough to buy season tickets (and uninterested in making the two-hour hike to and from the Bronx 81 times a year), I watch almost every game on television, as the gods intended.

Hang on, writing fans. I'm getting there.

Seeing that number of games broadcast--and for us die-hards it's actually seven days a week for some stretches of the season--naturally we get to hear the announcers very frequently and pick up some of their verbal patterns. Each one has his own style (except Meredith Marakovitz, who has her own style). Some of the ex-players speak in such arcane detail about the swing of a bat or the release point of a pitch that I can feel I've never actually seen this sport before and must be watching it with the SAP button pressed on my TV because it's in a foreign language.

Others, the professional announcers who have not played the game themselves, are there to remind us there's a game going on sometimes (the ex-players tend to reminisce or explain a point for the next six plays). They usually provide play-by-play, telling you what you're seeing on the screen, rather than "color commentary," which is the inside story of the game, these days so overloaded with statistics it helps to be a mathematician to watch the Yankees play the Baltimore Orioles.

But the point to those of us who pay inordinate attention to words is that there are recurring patterns to the way people talk, particularly when they are required to do so for at least three hours at a stretch. Some of them are endearing (the genial and knowledgeable Ken Singleton shouting "Look out!" whenever a pitch gets a little too close to the batter), some are simply noteworthy (John Flaherty never says, "Joe Girardi should be pleased"; he says "If you're Joe Girardi, you're pleased." That would be fine, but I'm definitely not Joe Girardi). Some grate on the ear to the point of distraction.

And that brings me to Michael Kay.

The "TV voice of the New York Yankees," Kay possesses the voice we fans most often hear. Some adore him. Others want to run him out of town on a rail. The former must outnumber the latter, because he also has a radio show in New York talking about all sports, and he is certainly not in danger of dismissal from his TV job. I assume the same is true of the radio gig.

But he repeats certain words and phrases without mercy, and if you're listening closely, it can set your teeth on edge.

I understand the concept of signature phrases. Phil Rizzuto had "Holy cow!" (which was widely assumed to have been stolen from a previous sportscaster), and that never bothered me. Rizzuto was also the most idiosyncratic sportscaster in history and could be entertaining even --or perhaps especially--when he forgot there was a game going on. Which was not infrequent.

I get that every announcer is expected to have a home run call, although that seems odd to me. Why not just respond to the game as it happens? But okay, that's an industry standard.

The problem is, virtually every inning has a Kay trope. As the first pitch is being thrown, you can expect, "(Name of pitcher) is ready. (Name of batter) is ready. Let's do it!" Which is uncomfortable in and of itself. This is immediately followed by "and we are underway," in case you didn't know the game had started.

(Again, keep in mind that it's the repetition of the phrase, night after night, that grates. Doing it once would not be a problem.)

Each home run will be greeted with, "That's hit DEEEEEEP to (direction) field! Track! Wall! See ya!" Some of the wall scrapers, particularly in Yankee Stadium's right field, are not hit all that DEEEEEEP, but okay.  The reuse of the same phrase every single time makes the moment less special instead of more. It's like each home run is the same as all the others because they will all be described the same way.

The whole "see ya" thing is I guess a trademark. Every announcer likes to have a signature call for home runs. John Sterling, the radio voice of the Yankees, is famous--not necessarily in a good way--for his home run calls, tailored to each Yankee batter. (But then, John Sterling's description of a baseball game is a surreal affair from beginning to end, leaving the listener with the unshakable impression that he has somehow crossed the space time continuum and is now listening to a present-day baseball game being described by a fan of odd commercial segues and musical comedy from 1948. That's another issue entirely.)

Even in the obligatory statement of copyright (repeated each night so people can't pirate the broadcast of the game), Kay sometimes feels it necessary to insert himself into the announcement. He can't tell us not to use anything in the broadcast "without the written consent of the New York Yankees" and just read the words. He adds the word "aforementioned," as in "the aforementioned New York Yankees," presumably to alert the viewer to the face that he knows a four-syllable word. The one area where the words SHOULD be the same every night, and he wants us to remember who's reading the boilerplate.

When the team behind in the score has two outs in the ninth inning, Kay will say--without variation--"the (Yankees or other team) are down to their final out." Followed, when the batter has a two-strike count, with "the (Yankees or other team) are down to their final strike." It's the word "final" that grates here, because it's never anything else. There is no word "last" in Kay's vocabulary. There is just "final."

The repetition of words has an effect on the listener. It's not soothing and it's not congenial. It irritates. In writing (you knew I'd get to it, right?) quite often an editor will suggest a change in the manuscript when the writer uses a word too often, or uses it more than once in a short sequence. That's because reading is in many ways something we do with our mental ear--we hear the words as we read them--and that repeated word quickly becomes abrasive to the reader.

When that repetition--and the lack of spontaneity it represents--continues over 162 games in six months, it compounds itself. Too many final outs, too many tracks, too many walls, too many aforementioneds, too many let's do it-s. It becomes an illustration of why the mute button was invented.

For a writer, that's something to keep in mind. Don't irritate your audience. Use all the words you can without becoming a walking thesaurus. Mix it up. Reread your work and see if you might add more variety. Talking for three hours a night isn't the same as taking your time to write. Michael Kay can't go back and edit himself, and he has to keep an audience entertained for long stretches when not much is going on (and no, baseball is not a slow sport if you actually understand the game). 

But he still drives me crazy. "Last," Michael. It's a word. You can use it. Who knows; maybe you'll like it.

Quick Shots

Jeff Cohen

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

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

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

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

Don't Leave, Jon! We'll Be Good!

Jeff Cohen

No doubt you will be hearing much this week about the coming departure of Jon Stewart from The Daily Show with Jon Stewart, which would seem to be virtually impossible but is happening anyway.

I've posted about Mr. Stewart before, so if some of what follows seems familiar, please indulge me. In my house, Jon Stewart leaving our daily television viewing is tantamount to being told there will never be ice cream again. It's unthinkable, even given the months we've had to prepare.

I'm angry with him for leaving us without the outlet of wit that can guide us through the rough times. For taking with him one of the few bastions of honesty and intelligence left in television comedy. For aging just a tiny bit slower than I am and having the nerve to want to spend more time with his wife and children.

I sincerely believe Jon Stewart has helped keep me sane (if you call this sane). Events in the world can test a person, regardless of one's political bent. I happen to agree with him on most issues, but I also believe he has been considerably more "fair and balanced" than others who might try to aspire to such ideals. There were plenty of Clinton jokes. There were times when President Obama was called out by the host. So don't tell me it's just because I agree that I laughed--out loud--pretty much every night.

But when things got really frustrating or awful, we could count on Jon Stewart to find perspective, to speak truth to power, to vent our own boiling emotions and express them in ways that were almost always hilarious. Try doing that sometime. Try doing it once. Forget four days a week for 16 years.

In my house, watching Jon Stewart has been a communal, family activity. My children, who were 9 and 6 years old when he took over the show, started watching as soon as they could understand the issues he was discussing. It became unthinkable to watch Jon Stewart alone. If one of us had to be out for an evening, it was common practice to avoid watching the Daily Show from the previous night (we TiVo the show because some of us aren't staying up that late and besides you can zap the commercials) and having, the next available night, a "Jon-a-thon." We never missed a show. EVER.

From Jon Stewart came Stephen Colbert and Steve Carrell and Ed Helms and Jessica Williams (who is going to be a comic talent for many years to come) and Kristen Schaal and Rob Corddry and Lewis Black and... many more. Guests ranged from a sitting president to music legends to actors and authors (!) and politicians and activists. Each interview was about something, even if it was just getting Jon and Will Ferrell to crack each other up. The questions were intelligent and showed thought. The interviewer was rarely caught by surprise. Kudos to the Daily Show staff. 

The same for the terrific writers. Was every joke a gem? Of course not. That's impossible. But the ratio of winners to losers was ridiculously high. Seeing Jon Stewart work up a head of steam on something that really riled him up was a thing of beauty. 

So I'm mad at Jon Stewart for abandoning us in our time of need (an election next year; Donald Trump; conventions; waiting for Clint Eastwood's chair to come back), but then, when is a good time? There will ALWAYS be lunacy that will no longer be skewered quite so ably. I get that it had to end sometime; I just hoped I'd be dead 50 years before it happened.

I will be watching on Thursday (or maybe Friday because some of us get up early for work and that's why the gods invented TiVo) when he bids us farewell. I'm sure it will hit all the right notes and be classy and irreverent at the same time. I have no doubt there will be homage paid by numerous celebrities and I imagine--or at least hope--there will be an honest sign-off by the host at the end of the show.

I'll love every minute of it and then I'll despair. No offense to Trevor Noah, about whom I don't know nearly enough yet, but he won't be Jon Stewart.

That kind of thing happens only once.

 

P.S. Happy birthday, Joshua B. Cohen! Sorry Jon's leaving on your birthday. 

Why I Don't Read That Much

Jeff Cohen

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Since You (Sort Of) Asked...

Jeff Cohen

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

17. Where were you born? Newark, NJ.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

27. Always wear your seat belt? Yes.

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

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

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

31. Favorite Flower? The ones on birthday cakes.

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

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

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

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

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

37. Do anything spontaneous lately? Answered these questions.

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

39. Broccoli? If with cheese.

40. What was your favorite vacation? Rome.

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

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

43. What is your favorite color? Blue.

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

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

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

the second True Detective: blah

Jessy Randall

Are you guys watching the new True Detective series on HBO? I am, but I spend half of every episode debating with myself whether to quit. I get bored, my mind wanders, and I think, what if I just stopped watching? I could read my book instead!

The first series was so wildly different from a typical mystery show. We had untrustworthy narrators and a fragmented, flippy timeline. We had the joyous surprise of Woody Harrelson and Matthew McConaughey turning out to be really amazing actors, playing their characters both young (and hot!) and old (and not).

This new series, though, is no better than an okay Masterpiece Mystery series. And in some ways it's worse, with its derivative David Lynchian over-the-top depressing murk, such as Lena Lynn's performance of "This Is My Least Favorite Life":

I'm not the only one who thinks so. Todd VanDerWerff has cataloged the 31 most ridiculous moments in the premiere episode here.

If a homophobic cop turning out to be gay is the writers' idea of unpredictability, I should probably quit. I'm re-reading Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell right now, and even though I've read it before it contains more surprises than True Detective 2 so far.

Princess Spike and the Idiot Plot

Guest Post by Joe Newman-Getzler

Note from Josh:

One day last week, I was sitting calmly at home when Joe, my 16 year old son familiar to readers of this blog as my periodic stand-in (and current HSG intern), came in, outraged. “I can’t believe what happened!” I thought perhaps the Supreme Court had ruled on something. But it was better. “My Little Pony just used the Idiot Plot,” he said, sputtering, and then gave me a 10 minute explanation. It was fascinating and cogent. He has agreed to summarize it below, and I thought it has somewhat surprisingly strong relevance to our readership. JG

Before I begin, I should warn you: this is an essay about the significance of a writing trope found in My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic. Yes, the show about cartoon ponies with names like Princess Twilight Sparkle and Pinkie Pie going on adventures where they learn about friendship and being nice to each other. If thinking about this undermines the overall message of the essay for you, bear with me. I actually have something to say here. If it’s too distracting, turn back now. It’s only getting more ridiculous from here.

Of all the writing tropes and clichés that can be commonly found in media, the one I can’t stand the most is one called “The Idiot Plot.” The Idiot Plot, a name coined by the late film critic Roger Ebert, is the kind of plot where a misunderstanding arises that could be solved in minutes if the characters weren’t idiots. Say, in a romantic comedy, a girl spots her boyfriend from afar huddled up with another girl, making her believe he is having an affair. In actuality, he was just showing this other girl a video, and when he gets home, he is bewildered to see his girlfriend so mad. In the world of regular humans, a situation such as this would be resolved by him explaining the situation to her, with the other girl backing him up. It might be hard to believe at first, but if he’s sincere enough, they can hook up again and live happily ever after. But, being the Idiot Plot, he now has to jump through hoops to regain her love (ideally through several misunderstandings that make him look like a clod).

The biggest problem with The Idiot Plot is that it is so completely out of touch with how humans actually act. It can work in the right hands, but most of the time it’s just a frustrating cliché.  You feel as though the writer is shutting his brain off to prevent himself from thinking of a logical solution. Following The Idiot Plot’s logic in the real world would be, well, idiotic. If you accidentally send someone a text where autocorrect has made it say “Someone took my whale” instead of “Someone took my wallet,” you wouldn’t need to beg their forgiveness and stand outside their window playing Peter Gabriel. It can be dismissed with a “WALLET, not WHALE. LOL. Damn autocorrect” and forgotten.

That being said, let’s talk about Friendship is Magic…I kinda like it. Not just on a guilty pleasure level, either; I find this a genuinely well-crafted show with interesting situations and characters. I’ve been following the show for about 5 years now, and while it’s not the next The Wire or anything, it’s still perfectly harmless, and quite enjoyable if you allow yourself to be sucked into the world of Equestria and overlook the silliness for a while. That being said, I’m not treating this as anything more significant than what it is. But I hold it to a pretty high standard because of its solid craftsmanship, but I’m not trying to make it out to be the animation event of the century. Just a good show.

Part of those high standards stems from the writing. Despite having to deal with some pretty silly stuff (if I ever tried to write anything that contained a sentence like “Twilight Sparkle and her friends use their Elements of Harmony to destroy the evil Nightmare Moon and release the banished Princess Luna,” I’d probably lose my mind), the writers of the show make it all sound natural and interesting, building the world of Equestria and coming up with creative adventures to send the gang on, as the show is very inspired by Greek mythology and pop culture. The morals can sometimes be stupid (one episode says that you should blindly accept things if they satisfy a friend who believes the same thing) but they never talk down to the viewer, which might be why the show has such a large fanbase of adults. I often like examining the episodes for how the writers develop the plots and keep the characters developing, and it just makes the skill with which the writers balance out kid-friendliness with emotion and adventure all the more impressive, as it shows they have respect for the audience.

Of course, there have been missteps. The last episode I saw was particularly flawed. It’s called “Princess Spike,” and I must warn you that it has an unbelievably silly-sounding plot.

In the episode, the four princesses – Celestia, Luna, Candence, and our heroine Twilight – are holding a royal summit in Canterlot, where delegates from all areas of Equestria are gathered to discuss the important issues of the day. Spike, a little purple dragon and Twilight’s assistant, needs to make sure she gets her beauty sleep, as she has been preparing for the summit all night and is exhausted. When the delegates start bringing up problems they want Twilight to resolve, Spike tries to take things into his own claws so as not to wake her. Shenanigans ensue.  

While I was watching the episode, I slowly began to realize that it was an ideal example of The Idiot Plot. Kids’ shows in general thrive on The Idiot Plot, and “Princess Spike” has it in full force. Imagine you are in Spike’s place, and two delegates have just arrived to have a dispute settled over which one gets to have space for a conference. They demand to see Twilight and won’t take no for an answer. If it were me, I’d remember that there are three other princesses in Canterlot who are currently awake and perfectly fine at resolving conflicts, and I’d tell the delegates to see one of them because Twilight is asleep. Being reasonable adults, they’d accept these terms. Problem solved. It’d take about a minute. Any further issues could also be brought up to the princesses, such as the leaky water main whose fixing is prevented due to being too loud for Twilight to sleep.

This isn’t cool with The Idiot Plot. After all, there are 22 minutes to fill. So, rather than seeing the princesses, Spike has to make orders in Twilight’s place without conferring with anyone beforehand, which leads to disaster that can only be resolved with a heartfelt speech and a lesson about not getting carried away with responsibility. Is it worth all the mess? Who cares, problem solved. It pains me to have to use a show I enjoy as an example of a writing trope I really hate, but I feel it’s important to get this across: using The Idiot Plot is a bad idea. Unless it is a last resort, a story’s conflict should stem from an actual, legitimate problem. Hinging a conflict on something as light and easily-resolvable as a simple misunderstanding is silly. If we, the reader/viewer, are supposed to sympathize with the main characters, they should generally be intelligent. If your audience pities your character’s intelligence level rather than envies it, you’ve done something wrong.

That’s why it’s so odd that Friendship is Magic used it. These are smart writers! They’ve made great episodes that had smarter plots. I mean, what about “Pinkie Pride”? That was a great episode! Or how about “Sonic Rainboom” or “Sisterhooves Social,” those were very deep, interesting –

            Hey, where’d everybody go?

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

Jeff Cohen

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There is no Next Beatles. Be you.

Broadchurch, you had me at hello (again).

Jessy Randall

Previously, I mouthed off about how much I hated the ending of Broadchurch and how much of a betrayal it was after I'd liked it so much and how I could never trust the show again etc. etc. and then I told Lynne Patrick that I doubted I'd give the show a second chance.

Uh...

Then somehow my husband and I accidentally watched the first minute of the second series totally not on purpose and somehow we are now completely hooked. Well, I am. Ross says he isn't going to watch -- but then he lingers for a suspiciously long time in the living room while I'm watching. Sometimes he even sits down on the couch with me, not watching.

I can't STOP watching, though. Even knowing they're probably going to betray me all over again, I can't help myself.

Here's the Guardian's ambivalent response to the whole thing.

Not Fresh Off The Boat, But Enjoying the Diversity

Somewhat.  The first Asian-led cast of a television show in twenty years (even I thought All-American Girl was terrible) has been more or less well received, despite its inspiration basically smack-talking before it even premiered.  Based on the memoir of gangsta-wannabe chef Eddie Huang, Fresh Off the Boat chronicles the 80s upbringing of a Taiwanese immigrant family to Florida.

I’ve been sticking with the show, despite my uncontrollable impulse to want to smack the child actor playing Eddie.  It does capture a lot of familiar elements of my own Chinese-American upbringing.  My dad still yells at my mom to turn off the air conditioning because it’s costing him money, my grandmother kept the plastic covers over her furniture to protect them for probably fifteen years, and we do wear our bargaining skills and cheapness as badges of honor.

However, I also have a Caucasian mother, and my bi-racial status (even in the racial lollapalooza that is Hawaii) made life more than a little confusing.  I fully admit to being a “banana” (yellow on the outside, white on the inside), and I still remember the shock of visiting my mother’s enormous Fresno family and being the only Asian at the picnic.  I was lucky enough to have had amazing relatives who never treated me any differently, although that may have been helped by the fact that our family offered free housing for vacations to Hawaii.

Times have changed, and there are certainly more examples of racial diversity available to kids than I ever had growing up.  I mean, I had an Oriental Barbie, and I don’t remember anyone thinking that the term was offensive. 

            What I’ve always sought out, often with limited success, are books with characters who share my mixed-race upbringing.  More often than not, if the Asian characters have white parents it’s the result of adoption and not interracial marriage.  My parents were married in the late sixties, when interracial marriage was still illegal in some states, and the only well-known marriage between and Asian man and a Caucasian wife was Bruce and Linda Lee (which could perhaps explain my mother’s infatuation with the martial arts movie star. TMI?)

It was with joy that I first came across the books by Sujata Massey, which feature a Japanese-Caucasian heroine struggling with her identity in Japan.  These books wonderfully capture how Rei Shimura often feels like an outsider, whether while working in Japan or living back home in California. 

 

Naomi Hirahara’s new mystery series quickly became one of my favorites as well.  Here, a half-Japanese, half-Caucasian rookie LAPD bicycle officer attempts to navigate through a suspicious Asian community, as well as the treacherous ranks of the LAPD.  Ellie is mentored by her aunt, the highest-ranking Asian officer who has set the bar high, pushing through a glass ceiling and color wall.

 

Not surprisingly, I was immediately drawn to the Ken Tanaka mystery series by Dale Furutani.  They feature a Japanese-American man from Hawaii, who is enamored with noir mysteries and becomes an inadvertent amateur detective in Los Angeles through the fake PI agency he sets up for a bookclub.

 

 I was introduced to the Kimo Kanapa Hawaiian mysteries by author Neil Plakcy, whose Honolulu Police Department detective is a "poi dog" mix of Asian, Hawaiian, and Caucasian ancestry.  The book titles may raise eyebrows in Hawaii, but they are fun novels that accurately portray the Islands' diverse culture.

 

I have to admit, the 1950 mysteries by Juanita Sheridan are some of my favorites.  Lily Wu was probably one of the first Chinese-American female sleuths, and her life during post-World War II Oahu is astounding relatable even for today.  I adore these books.

 

So, until I get my Chinese-American female superhero, one who isn't an evil villain, I will be enjoying these mysteries. 

Win a Free Audiobook, and RIP, Mr. Nimoy

Jeff Cohen

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I never forgot that, obviously. 

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

 

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

Marvel's Agent Carter...so close to be great.

When it was announced that Marvel and ABC would be creating a spinoff of Captain America spotlighting Agent Peggy Carter, I…sort of cheered?  Fans had been hoping for a Black Widow solo outing, or any female superhero feature, but at least this would highlight a female-driven comic book movie.  The abysmal Elektra and Catwoman movies have made studios skittish about the lady superheroes, so with a Wonder Woman film tabled until 2017, and a female Captain Marvel not coming out until 2018, Agent Carter would be the first chance so see a comic book show centered around a woman.

            Origin stories are always rough to present, as fans already know how the hero came to be and generally just want everyone to hurry up and get to the smashing.  CW’s The Arrow bypassed this by getting right to his crime-fighting and unfolding his pathway through flashbacks, and then jumpstarted The Flash by introducing him there.  In contrast, the films of Superman and Spiderman forced audiences to yet another interpretation of their origin until we could get to the good stuff. 

            Ideally, Agent Carter could also have skipped past an origin story since she had already been introduced, fully formed, in the first Captain America movie.  Instead, what we received was a sidelined agent who had regressed from being a kickass partner to Captain America and saving the world to being a secretary who took lunch orders and filed the paperwork.  Of course, as we saw in the One Shot extra included on blu-rays, Agent Carter would soon be going out on her own to take down enemy spies, but within her own agency she was still treated as an inept girl. 

            I adored the two hour pilot of Agent Carter, but having the show back-pedal within her our office in order to protect her “identity” was a chore.  Peggy Carter was facing the same sexism faced by other women who lost whatever independence they had in the workplace once the war ended, but it was particularly grating in this setting after seeing her be so great.  Even Tommy Lee Jones respected her as an equal, so one would think that there would have been some run-off within the S.S.R.  As historically accurate it may have been to have Peggy Carter downgraded to being essentially a secretary, it was a bummer to watch.  By the finale she does finally get the respect of her office, only to have it undercut and stolen by the one agent who knew exactly how capable and extraordinary Peggy Carter was as an agent.

            That’s not to say that I didn’t enjoy the show or that there wasn’t a lot great about it.  I would definitely tune-in again if it gets a second season.  Carter’s relationship with Jarvis was great, and I especially loved how they never had her resort to “honeypotting” or using her “wiles” to seduce an agent.  Instead she was able to use her intelligence and stellar detective skills.  Then she smashed.  At this point, I guess it will have to be enough.

Lessons From the Mouse

Jeff Cohen

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We can all take a lesson.

Oscar, Oscar, Oscar

Jeff Cohen

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

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

The Academy Awards.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

Not Really!

Jeff Cohen

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

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

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

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

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

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

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

Crap. I forgot.

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

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

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

And replacing you? Not possible. 

Being Too Good

Jeff Cohen

Sometimes something appeals to your sensibility. It's a piece of art or entrainment that's aimed right between your eyes, and it doesn't happen that often, so you want to jump on the opportunity when it arises.

Such it was with me and Galavant. 

This combination swashbuckler/farce/musical/spoof/dessert topping was promoted as a "four-week event," which got me excited. For once, a television comedy miniseries. Something different that TV has been needing for a long time: A finite story with a beginning, a middle, and an end. When the reviews (in advance) indicated it had a "Mel Brooks-Meets-Monty Python sensibility," I settled in sure that the experience would be an enjoyable one.

For the most part, it was. Shot in eight half-hour segments, the story (with crazy musical numbers, asides to the camera, characters commenting on the plot) was presented two episodes at a time for four weeks. It started out promisingly and built nicely, giving the characters time to settle in and interact with each other.

Were the jokes often obvious? Sure. Like the campfire scene in Blazing Saddles was subtle. Did they all hit the target? Of course not. I can think of some clunkers in A Night at the Opera, too.

The songs? Usually clever. Sometimes a little overcooked, sometimes appearing a bit rushed. Alan Menken, who did the music for countless Disney movies starting with The Little Mermaid, was in charge there, alas without the genius Howard Ashman, who died of AIDS when Aladdin was being prepared. It was, as with all of Galavant, fun to see TV try to stretch a little. And most of the time it worked.

So when the last two episodes were about to air, I had a rush of anticipation. The ending would wrap up the story and provide a coda. It would be nice to see the experiment come to its logical, satisfying conclusion.

Then it didn't.

Apparently believing there would be a Season 2, the producers left any number of cliffhangers in place as the story evolved. All the characters were scattered to the four winds, quick changes in status and standing were made, and a final song indicated that you should tune in at some unnamed point to find out how this all plays out.

What a disappointment.

Just when you (or in this case, I) think someone's taking a chance on television and breaking the rules, the rules come and smack you in the face again. Convention rears its ugly head no doubt in anticipation of increased profits, Blu-ray sales and syndication deals. 

The weird part is that if it hadn't done what it did so well, I wouldn't have cared. Well, it was conventional from the outset and remained conventional.  That wouldn't have been so bad. But Galavant had actually exceeded my expectations, so its late decision to think inside the box was a let-down.

The audience is always secondary to what can be earned by networks and studios. Yes, there were risks taken with music and comedy in a Get Smart sort of sensibility. That's not to be discounted. But where there was the opportunity to do something really special, to do comedy for comedy's sake and show what a singular, joyful art form it can be, business won out over show.

It wasn't a huge surprise, but the specter of what could have been did loom. Well, I still hope to see you again sometime, Galavant. Good luck in your travels. Hope enough people watched you to encourage others to try and stretch the medium.

Or not.

P.S. You might have noticed that I didn't mention the Super Bowl. That is because there are only four things I care about less than the Super Bowl, and I care about them so little I can't remember what they are. 

What is important: Pitchers and catchers report in 18 days.

Selma and the State of the Union

 

Josh Getzler

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

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

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

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

 

Books Are Getting Nominated. Shouldn't Yours?

Jeff Cohen

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sunday Night Memories

Josh Getzler

This past weekend, two men died. Mario Cuomo and Stuart Scott were from different generations, with very different career trajectories, and other than both being fathers and public figures—a politician and a sportscaster—didn’t have much in common. Governor Cuomo was 83 and died of heart disease hours after his son followed in his footsteps and was sworn in for his second term as governor of New York. Stuart Scott, who has two teenage daughters, died of cancer—which he publicly fought for the past seven years—at 49.

I had a real reaction to these deaths. Not simply because they were figures in two of my longest-held pastimes, politics and sports. It was because Mario Cuomo and Stuart Scott, bridging decades, reminded me of Sunday nights.

When I was 11 or 12, I used to listen to a transistor radio under my pillow after lights out (c’mon, Mom, you knew). Most of the time I listened to whatever local New York team was playing, whatever sport. One Sunday night, though, it must’ve been football season, or the Knicks were on the West Coast, or the Yankees had played in the afternoon, because there was nothing on. As I flipped though the stations, I stumbled on a guy talking in this thick New York accent, not a newscaster. He said something like “This is Lieutenant Governor Mario Cuomo, taking your calls for the next hour. I’m here to help.”

The next thing I knew, it was an hour later and I was hooked. He was friendly to some callers, combative to others. He had a rough job—New York was going through tough times and lots of people were angry or depressed. But what I remember was thinking, in my pre-teen way, that he was smart and he was kind. Now certainly not everyone will agree with the kind part—read Jonathan Mahler’s masterful Ladies and Gentlemen the Bronx is Burning to see a terrific take on the complexity of Cuomo’s early political career navigating the cesspool of local borough politics—but everyone knew he was smart.

From that point, I was a fan of Governor Cuomo, even when he seemed to dither about whether to run for president; even when he occasionally descended into the muck of negative politics. I think my obsession with the political process started those nights listening to a young Mario Cuomo tell Florence from Brooklyn that he’d look into why her neighbor was allowed to keep chickens in the back yard.

After I graduated from college and moved into my first apartment—a studio with a lovely view of the Hudson River until Donald Trump built high rises directly in front of my building—I began to watch SportCenter on ESPN, almost always The Big Show at 11 PM. I spent several years watching Dan Patrick and Keith Olbermann revolutionize the highlight show, and it was as much a part of my night as listening to the radio under my pillow growing up.

Eventually ESPN started a second station, and Stuart Scott joined ESPN2 for a while, then shifted over to work The Big Show, mostly in those days with Rich Eisen. And while Dan and Keith and Berman and Craig Kilborn were in some ways the dorks who took over, with their catchphrases and snark, Stuart Scott was a whole different thing. He was as cool as the other side of the pillow, to use one of his own phrases. He brought hip hop to SportCenter, made it even quicker. And like Lieutenant Governor Cuomo, he was so clearly smart and, it certainly seemed, kind. Sunday nights as a twenty-something watching Stuart Scott on ESPN were like Sunday nights as a kid listening to Mario Cuomo on the radio. It was the end of the weekend. I was tired and a little tense because I knew the new week was beginning, but I wanted to listen or watch. I knew I’d be entertained, and I often learned something. After I got married, Amanda and I would watch SportCenter a bit less often (though I’m lucky to have married a woman who shares my twin obsessions), and we saw Stuart Scott’s health decline. We saw him a couple of months ago for the first time in quite a while and were taken aback by how gaunt he looked. But he still had a twinkle, still put over the catchphrases, still entertained.

Look, I didn’t know either Stuart Scott or Mario Cuomo, and my perception of their character was shaped completely by what I saw and heard and read about them. But I know that, decades apart, they affected me in similar ways, on Sunday nights.   

Comedy Is Dead. Long Live Comedy.

Jeff Cohen

(That's me on the right!)

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

But 2014 was a disastrous year for comedy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happy new year, everybody!

Pitchers and catchers report in 46 days.

I Make No Promises

Jeff Cohen

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

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

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

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

Things That Will Happen in 2015

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

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

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

Its a great time to be a comic book nerd

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

By Cynthia Chow

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

 

                       

Bill Cosby's Sad New Legacy

Jeff Cohen

There's what I want to think, and what I think. They're not the same thing.

Like many people, I have watched in morbid fascination over the past few weeks as allegations have multiplied against Bill Cosby. This past week, as they reached a crescendo, it was almost impossible to avoid the rising furor.

Let me say right off the top that I think sexual assualt of any kind is a horrendous, reprehensible crime that should be prosecuted and punished to the maximum extent of the law no matter who the accused party might happen to be. And at the same time, I have no knowledge whether the allegations are true or not. It is not for me to judge.

But it will be impossible to enjoy the comedy the same way ever again, no matter what. And that is what is personally hitting home right now. More than anything else, the Bill Cosby story now makes me sad.

A month of two after his son was shot to death Cosby gave an interview during which he said (and I'm paraphrasing) that people would see him and they would look sad. And that especially bothered him.

Imagine what he's seeing now.

That is not to in any way minimize what it has been said happened to a growing, seemingly large number of women over a very long period of time. If the allegations are true, their suffering is much more serious than anything that happens to fans of a comedian. For those women to find some measure of justice would be far more important.

For me, though, the accusations have damaged, perhaps beyond repair, a mental connection to an influence that helped formed some of the way I think. That's not easy to absorb.

I've posted here before about the way Cosby's stand-up comedy impacted me when I was a child, how it helped form some of the way I use language, which is (let's face it) a large component of what it is I do for a living, and even more, how I express every thought I have. I can't say I don't have some reflexive speech patterns that started when I first heard the man do comedy.

It's not the "America's dad" persona that is most destroyed for me. That was a period after I was an adult, when I could be more critical and had already formed my own personality. I'd seen the other iterations of Cosby before that. And he was one of those entertainers whose work I truly admired, a storyteller and observer with almost no peers at all. I thought Bill Cosby, if we were to meet, would understand me.

Now it would seem I, along with much of the culture, had misjudged him badly. Or that he was remarkably good at projecting an image that was completely contrary to his true character. If that is the case--and maybe even if it transpires that we never know for sure--the damage, on my side, has been done. 

Much as I'd like to say that one can separate the art from the artist, I'm not sure I'll be able to listen to "Go-Karts" or "Track and Field" again the way I once could. To admire the way the comedy was constructed like a piece of music, the rhythm and the pitch of it. To immerse myself in the amazing speed with which the comedian could create characters and situations, switch back and forth from one to the other and have them pay off.

If what is being claimed is true, a number of truly awful crimes were committed by a person we thought we knew. It is perhaps that idea--that we thought we knew someone most of us had never met--that is especially hurtful right now. There's a strange trust between an artist and those who connect emotionally with the art. And when that bond is broken, the art can be broken, too.

Selfish as it is, I'll miss the Bill Cosby I once really admired. Too bad he probably wasn't real.

so THAT'S why we read mysteries

Jessy Randall

In her new book Not That Kind of Girl: A Young Woman Tells You What She's "Learned", Lena Dunham includes a section entitled "17 Things I Learned from My Father."

Number 13: "Hitting a creative wall? Take a break from work to watch a procedural. They always solve the case, and so will you."

So that's why we read mysteries!

I'm serious. That might be why.