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January 06, 2009

The Spoken Word

 JasonBickerstaff_EarCompLarge

By Louise Ure


"Just because you ran over him doesn't make you guilty."

- Man to man, overheard at Starbucks in Belmont by Harry Smith


There's something special about the spoken word that sets my heart a-thumping. That's true for dialogue in crime fiction, but also for the casual eavesdropping I do in coffee shops, at cocktail parties and in line at the bank.

Take the example above. It's part of a daily offering in our San Francisco paper, where hapless bystanders phone in the most bizarre conversation they've overheard that day.

Is that a story starter or what?

Maybe they're talking about running over a dog. Maybe a little kid darted out from between two cars. Or maybe the second man used his car as a battering ram in self-defense when some guy was attacking him.

Whatever the case, if I opened a book to find those words on the first page, I wouldn't be able to put it down.

It's a hook, certainly, as well as a glimpse into a character and a life. And it's all fodder for our work. Maybe that line will define a character I create (someone with the morals of a weasel, methinks).

Maybe it will become the basis for a plotline (a father telling his adopted teenage daughter that it was okay to leave the scene of the accident because he knew he couldn't afford to have the cops get her name, photo and fingerprints. Hmmm.).

Here are a few more "Pubic Eavesdropping" mentions from the paper that made their way into the Ideas Folder on my desk:

"Check it out, dude. those are isotopes."
                                                     -Young men overheard at the BART station by Robin Sutherland


"I am really attracted to people with hyphenated names. It shows extra effort."
-Uncredited Public Eavesdropping, SF Chronicle


"My parents' biggest disappointment in me is that I'm not a lesbian."
- Woman in clothing shop in San Francisco, overheard by Mike Pincus


"A marshmallow saved my dad's life."

- Man to woman, overheard at Longs in Oakland by Elyanna Snyder


We all do it. Pretend to be consulting your iPhone, but your ears are trained on the conversation of the two people in front of you in line at the grocery store. Stop to dig around in your purse, but you're just killing time so you can listen in on the fight in the car parked next to you in the lot.

A friend of mine proudly wears a sweatshirt that reads "Be nice or I'll put you in my next novel." I'd never announce my intentions  that way. It's too much fun to sit back unobtrusively and jot down the random craziness I hear in the next booth at the coffee shop.

Here are a few more from my own eavesdropping efforts:


"Unidentified transient odors are not enough cause for a warrant."

- Man in a suit to a cop, overheard at coffee shop in San Francisco


"She treats him like a flying carpet. Walks all over him and still expects him to take her places."
- Young woman to young woman, San Francisco Galeria


"If he touched my leg one more time I thought I'd have an organism."
- Preteen girl to preteen girl in Nordstrom's, Seattle


"I used to be your mother once."
-Middle-aged woman to teenage daughter wearing headphones in MacDonalds on I-5


"How would you know it was a real hot flash and not just July?"
- Woman to woman at Fry's grocery story in Tucson, Arizona in July


"Why don't you buy a slipcover for it?"
"Because then it would look like a couch wearing a condom."
- Well-dressed woman and man in line at Wells Fargo


"I think she was a Weather Girl in another life."
- Said with a sneer by a middle-aged woman in line for a movie


"I thought Greenwich Mean Time was the hour I was allowed to be obnoxious."
- Teenage girl to father in food court


And my current favorite:

"No, no. If you're famous before the trial, you get acquitted.
If you're famous because of the trial, you get convicted."
-Lawyer to gangbanger at a lunch counter next to the Hall of Justice, San Francisco


We couldn't make this shit up. And isn't that grand?


Sorry for the short post today, 'Rati, but I'm knee deep (along with Co-Chair Judy Greber) in the final programming for Left Coast Crime in Hawaii. Who to moderate this panel? Can we shift the time so that folks can get to see the lava flow? Is she arriving Saturday or Sunday? If you haven't signed up yet, please do so soon, or you'll miss out on the very best panel placement opportunities. This is going to be a blast.

And in the meantime, what's your very best "overheard" conversation?

LU

January 05, 2009

Our Shrinking Language

by Pari

Am I Cassandra? I wonder. I find myself worrying in broad strokes about our culture. The questions I ask are big. Even the ones that appear trite feel huge to me. None have easy answers.

For example: What impact do thesauri in word processing programs have on contemporary language?

Yeah, I know. Weird. But I really do think about these things.

Consider this:

In the MS Word thesaurus, the word mystery yields these choices: (n.) secrecy, anonymity, obscurity, ambiguity, inscrutability, vagueness. (adj.) unknown, anonymous, unidentified. (n.) whodunit, detective novel, thriller, crime novel.

Without getting into the question of whether "mystery" is ever really an adjective, I will say that the above alternatives are perfectly serviceable. There's nothing wrong with any of them.

However, when I look up mystery in my old Roget's International Thesaurus (circa 1977), something very different happens.

I'm forced to think.

I can imagine Dr. Peter Mark Roget sitting across from me. He's wearing those square glasses that Benjamin Franklin wore; they're halfway down his nose. He puts down his quill and shakes his head. "Mystery? What do you mean, Mrs. Taichert? Are you considering enigma or fiction? Are you referring to occultism or perplexity? Inexplicability or wonderfulness? Please clarify that I might offer assistance."

Merely by looking at the options in the book's index, my way of thinking about the word has expanded. I go to the enigma entry and find: enigma, mystery, puzzle, puzzlement, Chinese puzzle, crossword puzzle, jigsaw puzzle. Hmmm. Some of those might work. But there's more: problem, puzzling or baffling problem. I like the word baffling. Haven't thought of it in years. On I continue to question, question mark, vexed or perplexed question . . . Oh, I like this: mind-boggler, floorer or stumper, nut to crack, hard or tough nut to crack; tough proposition. How cool are those?!

Right below the enigma entry is one for riddle, conundrum, charade, rebus, logogriph .  . .

What the hell is a logogriph?

So then I look up to the larger idea category and see that it's Unintelligibility and I start to think about that in relation to mysteries and the mysterious.

Wow.

All that thinking: the consideration and discarding of irrelevant words; the grouping of ideas and expansion of their meanings; the stumbling into different concepts I'd never thought about in relation to the word "mystery;" the meeting of old friends -- words I'd forgotten I liked; the curiosity kindled by words I'd never encountered before . . .

This was no mere collection of synonyms; it was an intellectual exercise. After those few minutes of searching, I felt enriched. I grew and made connections that stimulated my mind and sparked creativity.

I wonder how many people take the time to do this anymore? I know that most kids who compose on their computers don't bother with what I think of as a real thesaurus. The quick approximation is good enough for them. I can tell this is happening in popular literature as well. Words that are a little different stick out; they're becoming obsolete.

Is it because they're anachronistic? Or is it simply because they don't pop up in our computer programs?

I don't know. These questions nag at me.

Are we bankrupting our vocabulary, our language, because of convenience? What price will we pay for this laziness? 

What do you think?
Do you have a favorite word that seems obsolete now?
Is there a word you'd like to bring back into usage?
Am I looking for problems where there are none?

January 04, 2009

I believe

by Toni McGee Causey

Cornelia and I must be in hive-mind mode--I wrote this post and then went and saw her (much better) post from Saturday (today, as I write this). I, however, am not sitting in a cottage in a ski resort--I can't even pretend to have something as cool as Cornelia. Instead, I am sitting at my desk, wondering if I sever my head from my shoulders so I could quit coughing, if I'd miss it much. (I'm thinking no.) [You know you sound really incredibly crappy when you talk to a complete stranger on the phone and the first thing they say to you is, "Ohmygod, you sound so terrible!" Why thank you, AT&T, I wasn't quite suicidal yet, but I appreciate the nudge.] [It is just a common cold. How in the hell our forefathers survived colds without Kleenex (the soft kind with Aloe) and vaporizers and hot toddies, I just do not understand. It is probably a good thing I didn't have to discover the new world or we'd all be happily ensconced in France or Scotland.][Of course, with enough of the whiskey part of the toddy, I mighta jumped on the first ship over and not given a damn.]

I digress. Anyway.

Short probably rambly Declarative sentences are probably safest today.

I believe that the only real benefit to cold medicine is that it makes you just fuzzy-headed enough to not be aware of how disgusting you really are when you're full of phlegm.

I believe that the worst curse word in any language is the word "stupid" -- particularly when aimed at a child.

I believe it's easy and lazy to be a cynic.

I believe hope is a fine, fine thing, but it doesn't do a damned bit of good if I'm not willing to work for that which I hope.

I believe our society will be judged two hundred years from now on how well we took care of our children and elderly.

I believe the only way we'll be around to be judged two hundred years from now is to learn to take better care of our children and our elderly.

I believe the likelihood of my tripping and falling and making a complete fool out of myself is directly proportionate to how many people are standing there to witness it. 

I believe the sole purpose of yearbooks is to warn you just how fashion-disastrous your kids are going to eventually be.

I believe the label "temporary storage unit" is a misnomer and a gateway drug for packrats the world over.

I believe if you've succeeded at everything that you've tried, then you haven't reached far enough yet and you're wasting time.

I believe that Americans often treat whining as an Olympic sport for the masses.

I believe no one's figured out everything, and anyone who tries to imply they have is either a really good actor or so full of crap, it's blocking their brain functions.

I believe Eleanor Roosevelt had it right: no one can make you feel inferior without your consent.

I believe that not a single person who died yesterday was worried in their final moments about whether or not their hair looked nice or whether or not they wore the most stylish clothes or had the latest gadget.

I believe we are what we do. Period. 

I believe that if we were as worked up over the institution of marriage as we'd like to claim, then there would be no murderers, pedophiles or rapists allowed to marry. 

I believe one requirement for graduation from college should be a bad-paying menial job with a funny hat, particularly if one is going into politics.

I believe we often miss what's right in front of us because it's not what we think we should be looking for.

I believe teachers are on the front lines of a war and we're doing everyone a serious injustice if we don't better equip their armories. 

I believe that people occasionally screw up even when they don't mean to, and if we love them, we see where their heart is and let it go.

I believe that there are about three people on the planet who look good in orange and that the fashion industry hates the average woman.

I believe anyone who says they don't have someone to love hasn't visited a nursing home, hospital or food bank lately.

I believe cops [all types] and firefighters put their lives on the line every day and are far far under-appreciated and under-paid.

I believe we're meant to laugh at ourselves, otherwise how do you explain mullets, poodle perms and shoulder pads? 

I believe that laughing is sometimes the only thing that keeps us from crying over the fact that some of these people can vote.

I believe that when all is said and done and I'm gone, the love I gave will be the one thing that mattered.

I believe the statement "look Ma, no hands" is, 99% of the time, going to end up being uttered by a Darwin Award nominee.

I believe this is going to be a good year, in spite of the financial nightmare of the economy.

I believe you can tell a lot about a person by how fully they laugh.

I believe in listening.



How about you? What do you believe?

January 03, 2009

My 2009 Manifesto-ette

By Cornelia Read 

I am currently in the Sierras, on the shore of Lake Tahoe with a really bad internet connection, slightly goofy from altitude. This is not so great for trying to post something to Murderati (apologies for any formatting screwups, I’m composing in Word because we’re illegally piggy-backing on the wireless account of someone in a nearby abode who apparently went to UC Berkeley, as the connection is called GO BEARS). 

U_of_CA_Berkley

For trying to get work done on my third draft, however, it’s been a blessing. Okay, not so much the goofiness... more the lack of wireless.

Everyone else but my mother goes skiing every morning, and I hunker down on this beige chaise thing down in the living room and spend the day immersed in New York City in 1990—most of this week mentally wandering around the oldest cemetery in Jamaica, Queens, with the fictional doppelganger of a real-life distant cousin of mine named Cate Ludlam and a fictional female homicide detective from NYC’s precinct one-oh-three named Skwarecki.

Prosp7

Detective Skwarecki got named two years ago, during an auction at my daughter’s middle school. A very kind parent donated some money to the scholarship fund and she has since become a near-daily companion of mine, in an attenuated sort of way. (Is attenuated the right word? They don’t have a dictionary in this condo. Other than that it’s a remarkably amenable and non-tacky place, which is especially nice since I remember Tahoe as being the place bad Seventies architecture goes to die.)

A_FRAME_HOUSE_4a

I’m still pretty enmeshed in the first half of the book, at this point. On this third pass, I know Skwarecki a lot better—my version, anyway. She’s speaking too formally in the early chapters for a former kickass varsity field hockey player from Queens, so I’m fixing that. 

In fact, she and my protagonist bond in the book because they both swear like drunken tanker captains, and enjoy the hell out of doing so.

FL000019

I’m stealing a bit of backstory for her from a real-life former cop in Queens, who started out in the late Sixties when female police officers still had to wear skirts and little stewardess caps, and were equipped with regulation purses as holsters. 

DSC01390

This lady, her first day on the job, got sent out to some intensely sketchy precinct house in Brooklyn, and the guy at the front desk started swearing a blue streak the minute she reported for duty, at 7 a.m., saying he didn’t want to have to take care of any little girls, etc. He ordered her to go outside and march up and down the sidewalk, “and don’t make any trouble! Don’t even talk to anyone!”

So she did that, this lady named Georgie—age nineteen or so—and after the shift-change ruckus was over, she noticed a man sitting on the curb, head in his hands. She walked back and forth for another hour, and the man didn’t move.

Finally, he began to weep, and she could ignore him in good conscience no longer. She approached him and asked if there was anything she could do to help, only to discover he spoke only Spanish. As there was a small bodega across the street, she went over there to see whether she could find someone bi-lingual to interpret for her, shortly returning with a twelve-year-old boy who spoke English and Spanish.

Bodega

“Ask him what’s the matter,” she said, and the boy did.

“Mrs., he says he killed his girlfriend.”

“Ask him when,” she said, and the boy did.

“Three o’clock this morning, he says.”

“Ask him where her body is now.”

The boy did, and said, “Mrs., she’s in that Pontiac, across the street. Under a blanket in the back seat.”

OC_Booneville_494

“Ask him,” said Georgie, “how he killed her.”

The boy did, whereupon the man pulled a gun out from under his shirt and offered it to her.

Taking a handkerchief from her holster-purse, Georgie took the gun from him.

“Ask him,” she said to the boy, “whether he’d come inside with me.”

The man stood up and followed along with her into the precinct house, whereupon the desk sergeant began yelling at Georgie for disobeying his orders not to talk with anyone or make any trouble.

“I’ve got a guy right here who shot his girlfriend to death five hours ago," Georgie said. "The murder weapon’s in my purse, and the victim’s body is in the Pontiac across the street. I figured you might want me to bring him in to discuss it with you.”

And then, in the words of the fictional Skwarecki (because this is about cops in New York, after all) “the boys upstairs stole that fucking collar right out from under me.”


Standard-spiked-dog-collar

I met Georgie in the office of the Queens District Attorney, where I heard the story from an admiring colleague of hers, a great college pal of mine named Eric Rosenbaum, who prosecuted Special Victims cases for over a decade—cases of horrific rapes, unconscionable child abuse—the kind of grim, awful, stomach-turning acts we would all of us like to believe our fellow humans incapable of. And Eric took a seventy-per-cent pay cut from the white shoe firm he started out at, just after law school, to do it.

Here is a random thing... last night I had the strangest dream (cue Pete Seeger). I was wandering through this bamboo forest in Big Sur with a gang of people, 

Bamboo_forest_with_path

and we were lost, trying to get back to the river, and at some point someone in the dream said to me, as we were climbing up this really long bamboo ladder through all that green, “you need to go read Romans 10:10.” 

Which is kind of funny because I knew they meant the bible passage, when I heard that, but at the same time thought of 1010 WINS AM in New York, the news and traffic radio station (which reports on so many homicides and stuff during the morning commute that my soon-to-be-ex once said “it was a whole year before I realized ‘bodega’ was NOT the Spanish word for crime scene...”)

And I remembered the thing about Romans 10:10 when I woke up at five a.m. (even though in the rest of my dream I lost my car on a mountain in the rain in North Carolina and had to scramble across a slimy river bank with a flood coming in the middle of the Big Sur bamboo forest {have I mentioned they don't actually HAVE bamboo forests in Big Sur? I'd morphed it from one I used to hike through as a kid above Honolulu} and meanwhile keep my little brother’s towel from falling off {he was about five years old again} and then ended up back in Syracuse at my old apartment {though of course it didn't LOOK like my old apartment at ALL}, where my soon-to-be-ex had thrown hot coffee all over my family china. And,well, hey, as my soon-to-be-ex once said, "dreaming is surrealist television."). 

Lunevillepl2a

So, being suddenly wide awake at five a.m.--the sun not yet up over the peaks of the Sierras and with my internet connection working, mirabile dictu-- I Googled "Romans 10:10" (because, hey, who am I to look a surrealist-television horse in the mouth, right?) 

Here it is, chapter and verse, King James version:

For with the heart man believeth unto righteousness; and with the mouth confession is made unto salvation.

So, you know, I’ve thought about THAT all day.... even though from a New Testament POV, that sentence is telling you it’s not enough to have faith in the resurrection of Christ in your heart, you have to step up and say it out loud, which is not really where I'm coming from, in a theological sense. I think for me it resonates as something I’m trying to do with writing crime fiction, which is speak up for justice—for fairness—the kind that's all too uncommon in real life.

When my friend Eric went home and told his family that he was going to become a prosecutor in the DA's office, his dad said, “so, you’ll be busting poor mostly black and Hispanic people in Queens,” and Eric said, “No, I’m going to be seeking justice for poor mostly black and Hispanic victims in Queens--especially children--and I can live with that.”

Justice_1_lg

I’m writing this novel based on a real-life case that happened in Queens in 1990. A three-year-old boy was beaten to death by his mother’s boyfriend, in a welfare hotel near LaGuardia airport. They put his body in the motel-room mini-fridge for a week, before hiding it in the abandoned jungle of Prospect Cemetery, the oldest burial ground in the borough—dating from 1660.


Henryludlam2

Twenty years ago, my cousin Cate Ludlam was clearing brush there with a group of high-school volunteers, and they discovered little Andrew’s skeletal remains. She ended up testifying at the trial.

I would like to make some confession from the mouth about what that crime has meant to me, since the first time I heard Cate describe what had happened, twenty years ago during a party at my friend Ariel's parents' apartment--or at least a confession from the keyboard. 

I can’t do what Eric does, or Georgie, or even the fictional Skwarecki. 

I don’t know how to keep hurt like that from happening to any other children. I don’t know how to make it right—how we can change things for good so that the defenseless aren’t hurt. But I want us all to talk about it... think about it... speak up about it. I want our passion for justice to go from our hearts to our mouths to reality.


C

Question du jour: What kind of justice would you most like to see in the new year? And I mean something that's what your heart believeth unto righteousness, not politics. Give us the utmost message would you most like to speak from your conscience to the universe's ear, and see made manifest.

Here's mine: 

Happy, happy, happy 2009 to all of you and everyone you love. May it be the best year ever, and may all of your wishes come true. 


And that’s the news from Lake Tahoe, where everyone skis but me.

January 02, 2009

A Toast to 2009

by JT Ellison

Happy New Year!

I've been casting about for days trying to decide how to open the year. New Year's Resolutions - been done, and then some. Reflections on 2008 - ditto. Revamping the writing process - DONE, DONE, DONE. Then it hit me. What I wanted to talk about today. It's something I've been missing.

Killer Year.

You've heard me talk about the group ad nauseum, and with the paperback release of our anthology, we've come full circle. No more debuts. No more anticipation of releases. We've all moved on - into our second, third, fourth books. Our debut year is well and truly over, and our post-debut year is behind us as well. It's hard to fathom, actually.

One of the random biographical details that I share with my main character Taylor is the fact that I was a semi-reluctant debutante. (She was a completely reluctant debutante, but that's a different story.) During that time, my reluctance disappeared and I embraced the reality wholeheartedly, because it was flat out fun. We had a two-year commitment - our debut year, and our post-deb year. The debut year was full of classes and parties -- midnights hiding behind statues in foyers, sneaking kisses with boys who had "potential," afternoon teas at lovely estates, slick boats, fast cars, darkened subways and sleazy bars, broken hearts, torn dresses, too much liquor and a few emergency room runs. It was a blur of silliness and fun, the last moments before we became "responsible" adults.

The post-deb year was when we made that transition. We were expected to mentor the upcoming debutantes - teach them all the little tidbits that we'd learned from the post-deb class before us -- not to get throwing up drunk when in the presence of royalty, don't sleep with the escorts unless they give you a ring, write your thank you notes within twenty-four hours so you don't forget, start practicing your curtsy a few months before the big night, because the incidence of pulled hamstrings and quadriceps muscles is higher than during pro football season. You know, the little things.

Killer Year was surprisingly similar to my real debut. There were lifelong friendships made, secrets shared, help, support and never ending kudos for the smallest accomplishments. There was a real sense that we were doing something special, unique, and we all benefited. All of us.

But the most exciting part is the fact that the spirit of the organization continues. ITW has made Killer Year's concept into a permanent reality - helping all their debut authors realize the wonderful dream that is cooperative marketing, friendship and support, all under one umbrella organization- The ITW Debut Authors.

So instead of looking back to 2008, I'm going to channel the spirit of the post-deb. I thought I'd take my very first Murderati post of 2009 to give a shout out to this exceptional group of debut writers. The ITW Debut Class of 2009, to be exact. These are the upcoming writers who you may not have heard of yet, but you most definitely will by the end of the year.

And away we go...

Kay Thomas - BETTER THAN BULLETPROOF, (Harlequin Intrigue) January 2009; BULLETPROOF TEXAS (Harlequin Intrigue) April 2009

Roger Smith - MIXED BLOOD (Henry Holt) March 2009

Kate Carlisle - HOMICIDE IN HARDCOVER (NAL) February 2009

Don Helin - THY KINGDOM COME (Medallion Press) March 2009

Robert Rotenberg - OLD CITY HALL (Farrar Straus and Giroux) - February 2009 (UK), March 2009 (Canada & U.S.)

A. Scott Pearson - RUPTURE (Oceanview) February 2009

Bob Burke - THE THIRD PIG DETECTIVE AGENCY (The Friday Project / Harper Collins) March 2009

Paul Tremblay - THE LITTLE SLEEP (Holt Paperback) March 2009

Rhodi Hawk - A TWISTED LADDER (Tor/St. Martin's) April 2009

Jaye Wells - RED-HEADED STEPCHILD (Orbit) April 2009

Rebecca Cantrell - A TRACE OF SMOKE (Tor Forge Books) May 2009

Christy Reece - RESCUE ME (Ballantine Books) - May 2009; RETURN TO ME (Ballantine Books) - June 2009 ; RUN TO ME (Ballantine Books) - July 2009

Stuart Neville - THE GHOSTS OF BELFAST (Harvill Secker) July 2009

Grant McKenzie - SWITCH (Bantam Transworld UK) July 2009

Jeremy Duns - FREE AGENT (Viking) July 2009

Sophie Littlefield - A BAD DAY FOR SORRY (Thomas Dunne) August 2009

Diana Orgain – POSTPARTUM DETECTIVE (Berkley) August 2009

JJ Cooper - INTERROGATED (Random House Australia) August 2009

Hank Schwaeble - DAMNABLE (Berkley/Jove) - September 2009

Norb Vonnegut - TOP PRODUCER (Thomas Dunne) - September 2009

Sharon Potts - IN THEIR BLOOD (Oceanview) September 2009

Cynthia Robinson - THE DOG PARK CLUB (Thomas Dunne/St. Martin's) Fall 2009

Pretty amazing group of authors, huh? Talk about a force to be reckoned with. I can't wait to see what they do.

I'd be remiss if I didn't include two more of 2009's debuts. My friend Andrew Grant - EVEN (St. Martin's Minotaur) May 2009, and a fabulous book that I'll be blurbing: Stephen Jay Schwartz - BOULEVARD (Tor Forge) Unknown Release.

So tell us, 'Rati faithful. What books are you looking forward to this year???

Wine of the Week: Since I took a trip down memory lane for this post, I'm going to make a general suggestion this week, Lambrusco, a wine that's gotten a bad rap in the past. We had a bottle of Lambrusco over Christmas, and it was excellent - tart and fizzy, just the right compliment for a heavy turkey second-coming (that's our redux of the traditional Christmas feast.) We had the old faithful, Riunite, almost as a joke, but it was quite good. Eric Asimov has some more suggestions for you here. Salut! 

-----------------------------

R.I.P Donald Westlake

Such incredibly sad news. The many tributes can be found here.

January 01, 2009

Hello 2009

By Brett Battles

So the easy thing today would be to do a list of resolutions. Yeah, well, I can't think of any so maybe it's not that easy.

Since today is New Years Day, I seriously doubting there's more than a couple people even reading this today. Honestly, I might even forget to go and check. I don't blame anyone. A lot of us will have hangovers and/or will be spending the day watching football and/or will be doing things with our friends and family. Who wants to spend New Years reading blogs? (That's no diss on blogs, just, you know, it's a holiday.) So if you're not reading this, I forgive you. Of course, you have no way of knowing that.

So I'll start with a question for those of you who are reading along. A question written in the form of a request:

If you are reading this today, New Years Day 2009, in the comments below please mark yourself present. As a bonus, feel free to add a resolution you have for this year. Seriously, if all you want to do is leave a comment that says only "Present", that is a-ok with me. Think of it as taking attendance.

And since this is bound to be a bit of a light day, I thought we'd go for some entertainment instead of a lengthy post. Sound good to everyone?

Great. Bring on the music!


First up:
And the Snow Falls by James Wetzel


An old favorite of mine that I first heard while working in Berlin in 2001:
On More Time by Daft Punk


Love this next band, but they're independent enough to probably hate the fact I love them:
Teddy Picker by Arctic Monkeys


Enjoyed this video and song, some of you probably have to:
I Will Follow You into the Dark by Death Cab for Cutie


Just ran across this and loved the singer's voice:
Pressure by Paramore


And one of my all time favorite bands and songs:
Beautiful Day by U2


HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE! HERE'S HOPING WE ALL HAVE A TERRIFIC 2009!

December 31, 2008

Random B.S.

by Rob Gregory Browne

Be warned.  Whenever you see a blog post of mine that has the word RANDOM in it, that means I have absolutely no fucking idea what to write about.  Usually I can slog through and come up with something at least a notch above coma-inducing, but today I'm stumped.

I know, I probably shouldn't admit that.  But it's the eve of a new year and maybe if I'm honest at least one day out of the 365, I won't burn in Hell.

HA.  Dream on, Rob.

Speaking of new years...

I went to sleep last night and when I woke up this morning an entire freakin' year had passed.

WTF?

How exactly did that happen?

I was planning to do a "best of" for the year 2008 today, but the problem is that I can barely remember 2008.  Of course, I can barely remember what I had for dinner last night, so that tells you something about me.

But, seriously, where the hell did 2008 go? Or 2007 for that matter.

I can remember 2005 very clearly.  That's when I got my first publishing deal.  And a few weeks later, when I spoke to my editor, he told me the release date for KISS HER GOODBYE would be February of 2007.

And I gotta tell you, it took forfuckingever for that particular month and year to roll around.  I grew to be a very crotchety old man in that time.  My kids grew up and their kids grew up and their kids' kids -- oh, you get the point.  I waited several lifetimes for KHG to be released.

But get this.

Because of scheduling conflicts, by the time my second book (WHISPER IN THE DARK) comes out, an entire TWO YEARS will have passed since the release of the first one.

Yet those two years seem to be a mere blip on calendar.

Again, I say, WTF?

(That is, by the way, an actual question.  So please include your answer to WTF? in your comments below.)

The Power of Validation

I have been struggling, struggling, struggling with my fourth book, which is tentatively titled DOWN AMONG THE DEAD MEN.

This one has truly been killing me.  Almost as much as the second one did.

Which is why it's been very nice to have validation of that second book.  After great reviews in the UK, I just got my Publisher's Weekly review for WHISPER IN THE DARK and there's a nice little red star next to it.

Now, I've gotta tell you, getting a starred review from PW has made my year.  Ask anybody.  Really.  I can't stop talking about it.  I've grown even more obnoxious than I was before, if that's possible (shut up, Brett.  You, too, Bill).

But having that little bit of validation has done a wonderful thing for me.  Suddenly the new book is going like gangbusters.  Words, paragraphs, pages, chapters are flying out from under my fingers.  And I know I shouldn't say this either, but they're pretty damn good.

PW has given me a much needed kick in the ass and for the first time I'm actually WANTING to work on the book.  It took me forever to get here, but here I am.  Eee-haaa.

And On a Totally Unrelated Note...

When you're writing a sex scene, what word, if any, do you use for penis?  What about vagina?

I could give you a twenty page list of slang terms for each, but somehow none of those terms seems appropriate.  When I come across such words in a scene, I can't help but start laughing.  They just take me right out of the story.

Sure, you can actually use the words penis and vagina, but those have to be about the two most clinical, unsexy words in the world.  So, tell me, what's a good substitute?

His burning hammer of love?

Her forbidden cove?

Seriously, how does one write this shit without pitching a giggle fit?

And on that note...

I'm outta here.  Sorry for the suckfest, random or otherwise.  There's a new year coming, so go out and celebrate it and I promise to do better in 2009........

Uh-huh.  Sure, Rob.

December 30, 2008

Writer's block at the signing table

by Tess Gerritsen


When I'm sitting in a bookstore, autographing a book for a customer, I dread hearing these words:

"You're the author. Why don't you sign it and write something clever?"  

There's nothing that kills my creativity faster than having a fan staring over my shoulder, waiting for me to spontaneously write "something clever" on the title page.  I've heard that many men are unable to pee in public restrooms while other people are around.  They stand at the urinal and strain and strain, but just can't get things flowing.  I have the literary equivalent of shy bladder syndrome.  I just can't seem to produce the expected stream of clever words while anyone else is watching. 

In the privacy of my own office, I do a lot of hair-pulling and pacing and muttering and grimacing when I write. It is not a pretty thing to see.  In fact, I think writing is sometimes a grotesque affair, and one that should remain out of sight of the public. But when you're sitting at a signing table in a bookstore, you're performing in public, and you're expected to smile, not grimace, while you try to come up with something clever to write in every book.  It's always a relief when a customer says,"Just sign and date it, please."  

I've learned to come prepared with stock phrases to accompany my autographs.  On my first book tour, for HARVEST, I wrote "thrills and chills" on just about every book I signed.  It was my fallback phrase, pithy and appropriate and somewhat clever.  It allowed me to face a line of customers without panicking that my brain would suddenly go blank.  

On later tours, I began to vary it a little, just so I wouldn't write the same thing for every customer standing in line.  I wrote "Enjoy the thrills!"  Or: "Many thrills!"  or "Great to meet you!"  If the book was for a special occasion -- say, a birthday -- I"d write :"Happy Birthday!  May it be thrilling."  But I still fall back on tried and true phrases that don't require me to wrack my brain for something spontaneously clever.  

Every so often, a customer will ask me to write something specific, and will even have the words written out on a sticky. I'm usually delighted to comply because it means I don't have to think up something myself.  A few have asked me to simply quote a sentence from the book.  

Then there was the naughty man who asked me to write "Thanks for the great night!" And I did.

Over the years, I've paid attention to how other writers sign their books.  Most, like me, seem to fall back on the tried and true: "Warmest wishes," or "Enjoy!", or "Happy reading!"  Every so often, I hear about one that's a little different, and memorable.  One reader told me how delighted she was when Dave Barry signed a book to her, and wrote, "This one is for you."  Now, I suspect that he probably wrote that phrase many times, to many customers.  But for that particular reader, those words seemed directly personal, and she was thrilled.

A media escort told me about a signature phrase that's one of the sweetest I've ever heard about. I'm sorry I can't remember which author came up with it.  Whoever it was, I hope you don't mind that I've "borrowed" it a few times:

"Every reader is an author's best friend."

I'd love to hear what other authors have used to accompany their autographs.  What's the cleverest phrase you've ever written?  (And can I borrow it?) 

 

 

      

December 29, 2008

Occupational Hazards

by Pari

Writing is a dangerous profession. Neither Kevlar nor Teflon, fire retardant nor bubble wrap, can keep us ink-stained wretches from harm.

In spite of the peril, Dear Reader, we pursue our craft because we must . . .
and because we love you.

Over the years, I've maintained a private catalogue of a few of the potential hazards of this deceptively sheltered job. I hope, by mentioning them here, that I can in some small way make the world a safer place.

Papier Slitus
You've heard the expression, "blood, sweat and tears." Well the blood comes from folding, grabbing or pulling a piece of paper too quickly. The sweat and tears are self-explanatory if you're dripping all over a full manuscript or galley.
Prevention:  Wear gloves. Latex works better than wool.

Lingus Slitus
Who knew that licking envelopes could be fraught with danger? Lingus Slitus is always painful. The fact that so many agents still insist on snail mail queries is a crime. It puts would-be scribes at peril every day.
Prevention:  Wear a condom on your tongue. Even this isn't 100 per cent effective; abstinence is the only sure way to prevent this injury.

Scrivitori Spasmaticus Minorus
A spasm of the wrist or fingers wherein excruciating paralysis inhibits motion for brief moments of time. A secondary feature of this injury is numbness.
Prevention:  Rotate wrists and wiggle fingers for a few minutes during each hour of writing.

Scrivitori Spasmaticus Majorus
A more serious condition than its cousin above. This is a spasm of the writer's creativity: A.K.A. deep brain freeze, writers' block, creativity interruptus. Often accompanied with groans, moans, posturing and dwelling past successes, this injury can also result in extreme head banging against hard surfaces.
Prevention:  Show up. Write through the spasm, but take the pressure off. Remember, not everything you create must be brilliant during the first, or even eleventh, go round. Poe and Doyle had their bad days too.

Lardus Butticus
From lithe to pear shaped, writers' glutteuses become maximus from sitting long hours each day.
Prevention:  Get up, damnit! Take a walk. Dance. Jog. Pace in your living room. Just do it for at least 30 minutes daily.
(Caution: Worry is NOT a form of exercise.)

Onlinititis
An excessive attachment to blogs, social networks, computer games, virtual worlds, email, iPhones (and other telephonic devices), text messaging, websites, internet research, listservs -- resulting in diminished creativity, literary lack of resolve, paltry productivity.
Prevention:  Turn off the f*cking electronics! ALL of THEM! Go ahead. Be inaccessible. It's all right.
Relish the quiet. Give your mind the peace to hear its own music.

Ego Bombasticus
The pernicious condition of being self-impressed.
Prevention #1:  Read other writers.
Prevention #2:  Read all of your reviews.

Ego Inthepitsticus
A potential side-effect of the above-mentioned preventions for Ego Bombasticus. This condition results in a total lack of confidence in one's own abilities.
Prevention:  Get over it and WRITE. If you're right and your work is crap, the only way to get better is to keep at it. If you're wrong and your work is good, you'll find out soon enough.

Today, I implore you. Please do your part.
Help identify other hazards so that all writers may benefit from your experience.

Forewarned is forearmed.

___________________________________________________________

Happy New Year to all of you who've made my experience here at Murderati such a tremendous joy. May 2009 surpass your highest hopes and never descend to your deepest fears.

December 28, 2008

After Creating

By Allison Brennan


Writing a story is about creation. Writers write. We put to paper stories that play out in our heads. Some authors hear their stories, some authors see their stories. Some even feel the story and put that emotion to paper. I'm a visual author. I see the story unfold and write what I see through the viewpoint character.

When I first started writing, I didn't have a viewpoint character. The narrator was me, the author. Only through writing--practice, practice, practice!--and discovering my natural voice did I fall into my rhythm. I learned to become my viewpoint character. So if I'm in the heroine's POV, I see, think, and feel as the heroine. Ditto for the villain. Getting into character is part of creating the story. And since I don't plot, I learn a lot about my characters as the story unfolds, until the end of the book when I finally see them as complete, whole individuals with full backstories.

I love the creating part of writing--the discovery, the frantic typing, showing everything that's happening as I try to figure out what's going on within my imaginary world. This is the part of writing where errors don't matter, where the right word is the first word that comes to mind. It's meeting a new best friend, or a worst enemy, and learning everything about them and more. I see it all and do my best to get it down as clearly as possible.

I'm done with that part of FATAL SECRETS, my June book. A few days late, but done. The story is all out there, the good, the bad, and the ugly. Now comes revising.

Before I sold--well, to be honest, up through book five--I always edited before I sent the book to my editor. I had the time, and I didn't know how to do it any different. Dump the story out, then clean it up--finding those right words, cutting repetition, smoothing transitions, deleting subplots that went nowhere, adding scenes to better tell the story. But because my publication schedule was moved up for the No Evil trilogy, I had to write the last book of that trilogy on a tight deadline, giving me no time to edit. Essentially, I was forced to change my process.

I thought it would be hugely difficult for me to change. I contemplated plotting but the thought of plotting out a book before writing it causes me to break out in a sweat and all ideas quickly disappear. It was with that book, FEAR NO EVIL, that I started editing as I went.

I write a net 5-20 pages a day, five days a week (seven when in crunch time.) The next day, I edit what I wrote the day before--sometimes deleting huge chunks, sometimes just tweaking, sometimes adding in a complete scene. It can take an hour, it can take four hours. But the result is a tighter manuscript . . . which is important because I now only write one draft before I send the book to my editor.

I suppose one draft is a misnomer because I often write (and rewrite and rewrite) the first 100-125 pages (what Alex would call the First Act) three or four times before I can move to the rest of the story. (Damn that Road of Trials! It delays me every time.) The first quarter of the book takes me as long to write as the last three-quarters. Some people will claim it's because I haven't plotted my book out, but I'd argue that I'm simply trying to find my characters unique voices and backstory. Once I have a sense of character--essentially, once I've been in their shoes enough to truly know them as well as I know myself--the rest isn't as difficult. (I will never say "easy." It's never easy, and every book is in many ways harder than the previous book. I now see my weaknesses more clearly, but don't always know how to fix them.)

This is why after creating the story I'm comfortable sending it off, flawed, to my editor. She knows I don't have a critique partner or first reader--she's my first reader. It's tight, it's clean, but it's flawed. Some of the problems I can sense, but some of them I can't--I'm so invested in the story and the characters I can't even see that there is a problem.

I always do revisions. I WANT revisions. If my editor told me something I wrote was perfect or the problems so minor I could fix them in copyedits, I would panic and fear they were abandoning me. My stories are not perfect, I can always make them better. This is why I don't read my books after they are published--I know I would see flaws or want to change something or cringe at using the same adjective on two consecutive pages.

A good editor, in my opinion, will show you the problems in the story without telling you how to fix them. She will see the overall story, the direction, the characters, the feeling and then look at each scene and character in context and point out where the strengths of the story are and the weaknesses. Then let you, the author, fix the problems with your own voice and style and solutions. Often, editors are brilliant in seeing the problems but can't see the solution.

Case in point: during my editorial conversation on THE KILL, my third book, my editor commented that the climax was too short--that there was all this great build-up, but then they captured the bad guy too quickly. During the scene, my heroine is being held at gunpoint and forced to drive the car to help the bad guy escape. The hero and another cop are following. My editor suggested to prolong the scene, my heroine should go for the gun.

The thing is, my heroine would NEVER go for the gun. It's not in her character and to have her do so would, IMO, have be unrealistic. But I tried. I took a water pistol and role-played with my husband. Me driving, him holding the gun on me. No matter WHAT I did, I ended up dead (or soaked, since we were using a water pistol.) I fretted over this scene because now that my editor mentioned that it was anti-climatic, I saw the flaws as she saw them--but her solution wasn't working.

I played the scene over and over and put myself in Olivia's shoes and . . . it came to me. What was her goal? To escape. She was in the car with a psychopath and she knew that she would be dead. This man killed her sister and dozens of other girls over thirty years. He was disciplined and focused and he would kill her because she'd thwarted him. And she's not an FBI agent. She's a scientist, a lab technician, not a cop. 

So being Olivia, the thing she WOULD do is slam on the brakes to throw the bad guy off balance and jump from the car, planning on rolling away so that if he shoots at her there's less chance of being hit. And she knows that there are two cops in a car right behind her, so the chances that the bad guy would get away were slim to none.

So she slams on the brakes while opening her drivers side door. The bad guy is thrown against the dashboard. He drops the gun with the impact. She leaps from the car . . . and he grabs her, pulls her back inside, and has a knife in his hand. The knife goes to her throat and he nicks her, the sharp cut burning, her blood dripping down her chest, onto her white shirt. And the scene, instead of ending, has really just begun.

I've started my revisions for FATAL SECRETS, which are pretty straight-forward. But that doesn't mean they're easy. And, though the story is staying exactly the same, I'll need to touch every scene--from minor tweaks to major deletions and additions.

There are four primary problems I need to address: 1) my heroine's backstory is too dense and unclear. I need to lose some of the history and make the rest clear and focused and germane to the current story. As we discussed her character, I saw the flaws then everything clicked into place and I "got it." Ironically, it's all there in the story--I just need to bring it to the surface. 2) Sub-plots. There are three sub-plots, but only two tie in nicely with the main story. The third was going someplace, but it never got there . . . yet I didn't see it. My editor did. When she pointed it out, I had two choices--I could make it tie in (which would have been forced) or dump it. I'm choosing to dump it. For the other two sub-plots, they have all the elements there I just need to tie up the loose ends better. Since I tend to write much faster as I turn into the third act, I sometimes neglect wrapping up the subplots. It's a flaw of mine that I know exists, but I can't seem to see it even when I KNOW it's there somewhere. 3) Villain. My editor loves my villains and always wants more of them. She brought up a great point that this story really has two villains, and I did a "bait and switch" in the middle which she felt cheated her. She wants my bad guy's POV sooner. It's already "there" just off the page--I have the aftermath of a brutal double murder. She wants to see it from the killer's POV. And add in another scene if possible. As I've looked at the story, I see where I can cut and add to weave in his POV earlier. 4) Ending. Every book--EVERY book--no matter how good or bad I think my ending is (and I knew this one was rushed, so I expected this) she wants me to draw it out, expand it. Sort of like in THE KILL, I build up to a great confrontation, but in my excitement that I FINALLY have everything figured out, I often miss the details.

So there you have it, revisions. I honestly love revisions and believe that all stories are stronger under the tutelage of a good editor. Some writers hate revisions, or fight them. I have friends who never have revisions, and I wonder if they are just better writers than me. And that's fine, seriously. I happen to love the revising part of writing as much as the writing part of writing. After creating the characters and the story, going back and making them everything they can be . . . well, it's quite a heady experience. 

But the other thing about a good editor is that when you don't agree with a flaw--if she can't convince you that there is a problem--you can keep your original vision. In my acknowledgments for THE HUNT, my second book but the book that had the most revisions of all mine to date, I wrote:

"Football coach Ara Parseghian said: 'A good coach will make his players see what they can be rather than what they are.' I would be remiss if I did not first thank my editor, Charlotte Herscher, who not only showed me the potential of this story but let me find my own path to The End."


But my way doesn't work for everyone--I know some people would be apoplectic if they submitted material they knew wasn't the best they could make it. Before that crunch book #6, I had a process that worked very well for me. Because I have more time with the first two books of my Seven Deadly Sins series, I'm going back to this process after finishing the Sacramento FBI Trilogy.

1) Create. Write the book, dump it out, warts and all. (Because I have been editing as I go, I doubt I can completely give that up, but I'm going to do less of it.)

2) Sit on the book. Take at least a week away from the story and work on something completely different--a short story, an article, a proposal, or the first pages of the next book.

3) Revise on hard copy--edit, clean, hone, delete, add, tighten. 

4) Put all the changes into the computer copy and further tweak and tighten the story.

5) Send to my editor and eagerly await her editorial letter. Because I know that whatever I write can be stronger.

Some other editing tips:

1) Edit in a different format from how you created the story. If you type in 12 pt courier double-spaced, print it out in TNR and edit on hard copy. If you wrote long hand, edit on the computer. Sometimes just changing the font and leading on the computer screen helps when you're in editing mode.

2) Let time pass between creating and editing. This helps take you away from the story (writers tend to get really close to the story and characters and read things on the page that aren't actually there . . . ) and gives you the distance to edit with a more critical mind.

3) Read the book out loud. At the minimum, read the dialogue. In the page proof stage--the final time I see the book before it gets printed--I read the entire book out loud. Because I see the story more than hear the story, doing this final "listen" helps find flaws I'd never see otherwise. What "sounds" right might be different than what is technically right. This is also where I find slippage in character voice, repetitive word use, and awkward phrasing that I didn't catch in the copyedits (or inadvertently added during that process!)

4) Find your ideal reader. This may be your editor, your agent, your best friend who isn't a writer, or your closest writing buddy. Someone you trust, someone who will look at the overall story and tell you what works and what doesn't work for them. Even Stephen King sends his books out to a group of readers (all friends) . . . but he trusts one of them more than anyone else (his wife.) In the end, though, YOU, the author, must make the final decision, even if your reader(s) disagree. Because it's your name on the book and it's your story. Weigh the advice, but trust your instincts. 

The book that took me the longest to write (a year) had the most revisions. Time isn't necessarily your friend because you CAN revise the heart and magic out of your story. You have to know when to let go, when to send the puppy off. It's not easy. You want to tweak, you want to make it perfect, you want your best shot. And no matter how many times you go through the manuscript, you worry and fear that it is a piece of shit. We all do. I panic every time I send my book in. It's not until I read the page proofs that I even THINK that it book isn't complete garbage. 

When you have a deadline, it's a lot easier to let the book go because, well, they're paying you to let go. But before you sell? Not so easy. Because there isn't a deadline, you're not being paid, and you're thinking . . . one more read through. There might be more typos, there might be a poor word choice . . . but you'll tweak and edit and tweak some more and the story will be so familiar to you that you may start cutting the heart out of it.

I revised my first manuscript completely six times. It was . . . pretty damn bad from the very beginning (stalker--TWO stalkers, one for the hero and one for the heroine-- a rapist, espionage, a psychopath, a couple hostage situations, financial fraud, kidnapping, a frame, murder . . . it was really thee books in one, and then some!) But it was better after the first edit than it was after the sixth edit. I never sold that book, and I'll never go back to it. But I learned so much from that experience that it certainly wasn't a waste of time. 

Someone said, and I can't remember who, that "writing is rewriting." I completely agree.




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