2010 Annual Review

by JT Ellison

For the past two years, I’ve been doing annual reviews of my life and work, based on the format from Chris Guillebeau’s wonderful Annual Review on his blog, The Art of Non-Conformity. Chris’s system is exceptionally detailed, more so than I really need, but the gist is there. It’s a great system for those of us who are self-employed and want to do an assessment of our work for the year. I don’t know about you, but I like accountability. I like the feeling of accomplishment I get when I look back over the past year’s worth of work and see what worked, and what didn’t. (Here’s the link to the actual post. Go on over there and take a read. I’ll wait.)

My editor gave me the best Christmas present this year. Time. I turned in my book at the same time as four of my compatriots, and my deadline is later than theirs, so I got bumped to the end of the line. For the first time in four years, I had the week between Christmas and New Year’s off. My reward? A week without Internet.

I really did it. I left my laptop at home. I didn’t go online from December 24 – December 30. It was shockingly hard for the first few days (and a family emergency necessitated a couple of quick checks through Randy’s computer) but when I got home, I realized I didn’t want to go online. I liked not having to answer email. I liked not having to check Facebook. I still haven’t been back to Twitter formally, though my feeds are up and running. I guess I needed the vacation, huh?

What I did spend my time on was reading – AMERICAN GODS by Neil Gaiman and HOW I BECAME A FAMOUS NOVELIST by Steve Hely. I hung out with my family, watched too much football to be healthy, played a couple of rounds of golf. I did an accounting of the past year – word counts, goals achieved and missed – and set my goals and intentions for 2011.

The Year in Review – 2010: The Year of Evolution

I was struck on Monday by Lee Child’s comment that he gets melancholy on New Year’s Eve, because the past year has been so wonderful that he can’t imagine how the new year can top it. That’s how I felt about 2010. It had several big lows, as all years do, but the highs – oh, the highs! Blessings abounded in the Ellison household this year. It actually became a family joke – we’re having a good year. A very good year. And it wasn’t about money, or tangible items. As a matter of fact, we gave half of our household to Goodwill. Literally, half. 15 years worth of materiel that had accumulated. No, the reason 2010 was so good was our happiness level. We’ve both found what we’re meant to be doing. We work hard, and we play hard. We’ve reveled in each other’s company, and given thanks daily for our blessings. It allowed me to reach out to others and lend a helping hand too, which made the year all that much better.

And strangely congruent to that happiness, I think 2010 was the first year that I felt my mortality. So much happened to so many of our dear friends, so many tragedies, so much loss, that I realized how very short this life is, and found the keys to making the most of what I have left. Things that used to matter don’t anymore. They’re mostly topical, clothes and makeup and worrying about how people perceive me. Professionally, obviously, I have to care about those things, or else I’d never get better as a writer. But on a personal level, I let it all go, and found my bliss. So in a deeply private place, I achieved the overarching goal for the year. I feel I did evolve, and that translated over to both my professional and personal lives.

More importantly, I achieved many of my professional goals for the year. I even got to check off a five-year career goal. There were many things that went wrong, but twice as many that went right. On the bad side, I discovered writer’s block, true block, for the first time, and managed to overcome it. That taught me too many lessons to count. I missed my first deadline, only by two weeks, but still. Like everyone, sales took a hit across the board, but e-sales increased. Time will only tell if that’s the exception or the trend. I spent too much time talking about writing and not actually writing.

The highlights included a new contract for three more Taylor books, 7-9 in the series, a new audio contract for books 6-9, the release of All the Pretty Girls, 14 and Judas Kiss into multiple countries, and a sale of the first three TJ books to Turkey. I wrote two Taylor Jackson books, and launched two Taylor Jackson books, with attendant tours and publicity, including a trip to the UK. I also put out a collection of my previously published short stories called SWEET LITTLE LIES. I wrote over 20,000 words on proposals for new material. All in all, though I think I can do better in 2011, I’m pleased with my accomplishments this year.

There’s one more terribly special item that I can’t go into, but will in time, that rounded out a pretty exceptional professional year. Now you see why I’m wondering how in the world 2011 could top 2010.

The Nitty Gritty (AKA Nerdology)

Numbers-wise, I did much better than last year. Here’s the top-line breakdown. All figures are approximate, mostly because I don’t count what was trashed and rewritten, only final word counts:

2010 Word Total: 618,383
Fiction Total: 198,383
Non-Fiction Total: 420,000
Fiction Percentage: 32%

I wrote on average 544 fiction words per day and 1150 non-fiction.

Last year, my fiction percentage was only 27%. I wrote 112,445 more words this year, 62,645 of them fiction. I wrote 11,500 less non-fiction, and (TRIUMPH!) dropped my Facebook and Twitter word counts by 34,500 words. I achieved that by automating all of my blog entries to go straight to the social networking sites, and by closing down my personal Facebook page in favor of the Like/Fan/Reader page. My emails increased, from an average of 6 per day in 2009 to 7 per day in 2010. I attribute that jump to using email to make more personal connections, rather than the fly-bys on Facebook and Twitter. My non-fiction was managed much better, with the totals growing by 40,800 over last year due to publicity interviews and essays I did for AOL and my personal blog.

If you want to get even more detailed, see the chart below. (remember, OCD chick here…)

The Year Ahead – 2011: The Year of Depth

2011 started off as the Year of Love. That goal seemed too amorphous for me – I love. I love a lot. Passionately. People, life. I didn’t see that it would achieve the kind of transcendence I’m looking for. So I’ve altered course. 2011 is now the Year of Depth. I want to dig into the things that interest me, and leave the parts that waste time and energy behind. From my Planner:

A renewed focus on education, learning and expanding my horizons. Spending more time on pleasurable pursuits like reading, Italian and golf, and much less time on the Internet. More exercise, better eating and more cooking – savoring every moment. Working toward a more Zen attitude toward negativity. Increase fiction percentage to 50%.

I want to write two novels, and start a third. I have two short stories to write for anthologies, and a third I’d like to finish and place. I’m judging a couple of contests, and I want to work hard at reading the books I already have instead of bringing new ones into the house. I have three conferences planned: Left Coast Crime, RWA and Bouchercon. Sadly, a family wedding is interfering with Thrillerfest.

Personally, I will continue to chase the elusive dream of becoming a 16 handicap. It’s going to take some time, but I’m willing to give it all I’ve got. I will finish my Rosetta Stone Italian lessons. I will read the books I have instead of bringing new ones into the house. I will read more non-fiction, and be open to new experiences.

And I will continue to track myself. There is something truly satisfying about setting goals and seeing them through. I wish all of you the same peace and joy that allows us all to be productive and happy.

If I could only find a way to track the words that come out of my mouth, as well as my fingers…

So am I crazy for caring about this level of detail? Do any of you do the same?

Wine of the Week: Veuve Cliqout, specifically at midnight on January 1. A must have.

Fiction
	The Immortals	3,000
	So Close	75,541
	Where All the Dead Lie	88,000
	Random	10,000
	Proposals	21,842
Fiction Total		198,383

Non-Fiction
Essays		8,000
Interviews	15@1000	15,000
Murderati Blogs	27@1500	45,000
Tao of JT Blogs	85@500	16,000
Twitter	2100@15	31,500
Facebook	1500@20	30,000
Tumblr		5,000
Non-Fiction Subtotal		142,500
Email	2775@100 words per	277,500
Non-Fiction Total		420,000

Total 2010 Word Count		618,383
Fiction Percentage		32%

Total Words increase from 2009-2010		112,445
Total Fiction Increase		62,645
Total Non-Fiction Increase		40,800

Travelling Light

Zoë Sharp

I wasn’t going to do a post about New Year, resolutions or plans or anything else this week. Once it’s over, for me it’s over, and there’s no use clinging to it. I hate that people leave Christmas lights up on buildings all through January. (Probably even more than I hate Christmas lights going up in October, but that’s another story.)

We took down our tree, our lights, our cards and decorations on Monday, the last Bank Holiday day. I enjoyed the holidays, but it’s time to focus forwards for me. I have a couple of deadlines coming up, and a tour to plan for the US launch of FOURTH DAY in March. Not to mention the new UK Charlie Fox, FIFTH VICTIM, at the same time.

Plus I have a load of email to catch up on. I managed to drop a particularly sharp carving knife through the side of my index finger between Christmas and New Year, which bled profusely and stopped me being able to operate a keyboard or mouse with any kind of ease. Thank goodness for SteriStrips!

We used some of the time on the run-up to the holidays getting some finishing-off jobs done on the house. You know, the kind of things you think you’ll get around to when you’re building, but actually get left and left and left. It feels good to finally have some order.

We’ve even used up some scrap lengths of 4x1in timber to make some outside planters for the garden, thus not having to either get rid of the wood, or buy expensive planters. That’s my kind of recycling.

This early spring cleaning has inspired us to have a thorough de-clutter, going through piles of paperwork that have been gathering dust bunnies to rival a German Giant in corners of the office. And for those of you who’ve never seen a German Giant Rabbit, here is one:

I suppose I’m just at the stage where travelling light is starting to look very attractive. I don’t want any more STUFF. In fact, getting rid of a lot of stuff seems like a good idea. Actually, I’ll qualify that. I only want useful stuff – and by that I mean stuff that I have a regular need for. Thus the cast iron sizzling plates somebody bought us as a gift about seven or eight years ago, and which we’ve never actually used, can go. Over the next few weeks and months, we aim to shed clutter, mental and physical, a little bit at a time.

Wait a minute, this is sounding dangerously like a resolution, isn’t it?

I hope not, because I read a news report that said the average New Year’s Resolution lasts about a week. Today’s the 6^th. That means by this weekend the vast majority of good intentions will have tottered their last few steps and collapsed in a pool of apathy. Which is rather sad. I suppose the best time to talk about NYRs is the end of January, to see which ones have survived a month at least. But in fact we just tend to look back at the end of the year and mourn the ones that didn’t make it through.

And all that does is create dissatisfaction and discontentment.

I’m not a religious person, but ever since I discovered Max Ehrmann’s remarkable poem, Desiderata, many years ago, it has struck me as a good guide to life. If I can try and follow it some some extent this year, I’ll be a happy bunny.

Desiderata

Max Ehrmann

Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons. Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even the dull and the ignorant; they too have their story. Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexatious to the spirit. If you compare yourself with others you may become vain and bitter; for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself. Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your own career, however humble, it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time. Exercise caution in your business affairs; for the world is full of trickery. Let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals; and everywhere life is full of heroism. Be yourself. Especially do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is as perennial as the grass. Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth. Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness. Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be. And whatever your labours and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul. With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.

This week’s Word of the Week (for no other reason than I like the sound of it) is stumer, which is a Scots slang term for a counterfeit coin or note; a forged or worthless cheque; a sham; a dud; a failure; bankruptcy; a horse sure to lose; a stupid mistake; a clanger; a stupid person.

Perchance to Dream

by Rob

Okay, so I know it’s the new year and folks here on Murderati are thinking about what’s to come, and making resolutions—or plans—for the future.

But being the contrarian I am, I thought I’d take a look backwards. Not at this past year, however, but waaaaay back, to the point in time when this photo was taken.

Yes, believe it or not, that’s me. Somewhere around 1974 or 75. I can’t be sure. The photo was taken by my future bride, although at the time no proposals had been made or accepted and the two of us were simply trying to enjoy life as much as two people in their waning teenage years can.

When I look at the guy in that photograph, I remember all the dreams he had. They were elusive, like most are, rooted in a kind of deluded optimism that youth seems to provide us in massive quantities.

That kid was determined to be a rock star. Or, more accurately, a singer-songwriter of the James Taylor/Dan Fogelberg variety. He was rarely without a guitar in his hands, was constantly writing angst-filled songs, and girls would sometimes swoon when he played and sang.

He probably also drove his neighbors crazy at four in the morning.

My dreams back then weren’t limited to music, however. I also wanted to write. After reading the work of Donald Westlake and Richard Brautigan, I tried my best to emulate both, and probably failed miserably. I don’t know, because I no longer have the manuscripts I attempted to write.

There was a third dream, too. Movie director. The Rob of those days was a rabid movie fan with a Super Eight camera who thought he knew what it took to put together a film—even though those cameras didn’t have sound.

But the only real strategy I had to achieve any of these dreams was to take each day as it came and try not to worry too much about the future. It would all work out, I thought, and for the most part it did. I obviously never became the next James Taylor, and the whole movie director thing seemed more trouble than it was worth, but when I finally grew up enough to know that I actually had to do something in order to make any of these dreams come true, I actually succeeded in getting noticed as a writer.

Now, thirty-something years after that photo was taken, I’m making a living writing novels. So I can look back at that young man and say, hey, kid, at least you got part of it right.

It’s quite possible that I might never have achieved my dreams. And you know what? That would be okay, too.

So my question to all of you today is, what dreams did you have when you were nineteen, and did you manage to achieve them? Do they even matter to you anymore?

———–

I want to thank those of you who took the time to comment in my last post to give me reasons to stick around. I approached today from a different POV, so maybe I’ll be around for a while…

Dog Daze in Oz

By Louise Ure

Happy New Year, ‘Rati.

Here in the Hunter Valley, overlooking vineyards and the spine of the Brokenback Mountains, I’ve come to realize that I have been living in the wrong time zone for the last nine months since Bruce’s death.

In San Francisco, I was in self-induced solitary confinement. I spoke rarely and went outdoors even less often. I didn’t sleep well, or eat well and I measured my good days by whether the nausea and hand tremors would allow me to raise a glass to my lips.

Here in Australia, I’ve found peace. No jet lag, no nausea, no tremors, no sleepless nights. I can sit on the back porch in a sleeveless shirt in the evenings – something that can be done in San Francisco only one day every two years. I’m sheltered here under the wings of a dear friend, Maggie, who has walked this path of widowhood before me, and a half dozen other old friends who remain strong, caring and exciting women whether in states of singleness or marital bliss.

I can feel my bones knitting.

We had a glorious Christmas dinner with turkey, ham and pork served after a five course seafood tasting platter. I haven’t cooked that much in a year. New Year’s brought the Harbour Bridge fireworks and then a bit of stargazing with a bottle of champagne. I’ll be off to the Gold Coast and Queensland in a few days for coastal breezes and more friends.

Rather than tell you about all these wonderful people and days that have brought smiles even if no laughter yet, I thought I’d tell you about their dogs. Everyone I’ve met here, every old friend I’ve connected with, has their dog with them. And the dogs tell you more about this trip than any travelogue I could do.

Saffi

Let me introduce Saffi. That’s Saffi as in Bombay Saphire Gin, of course. She’s Maggie’s dog, an elegant ten-year old Rhodesian Ridgeback with eyes like a cheetah and the regal demeanor of a dowager queen. She does not lie on the floor; no, that would be too doglike. Instead, she perches on the edge of a seat with her long front legs still on the ground. She keeps her ankles together like a proper lady and disdains to notice if there are any other dogs around.

Kelman

Then there’s Kelman next door. A sturdy boy, full of bluff and swagger until you call on him to prove it. Then he fesses up to just how much he’d really like to be friends. He’s half Cavalier and half Shar pei, a combination that’s given him the heart of a lion and the face of a loveable old man. Kelman’s owners are new friends to me but they have been the heart and soul of welcome and warmth. I think we’ll be friends for a long, long time.

Digger Dog

Miss Lily

Next come Ian’s mates, Digger Dog and Miss Lily. Digger is an Australian Cattledog, a stolid plodder who does as he’s told and never says no. He’s always up for a game of ball or a ride in a car and understands perfectly well why he has to spend the night outside on a tether. Miss Lily (full name: Miss Lily Marlene) is his partner and his boss. A Kelpie Coolie, she’s the brains of the operation, herding Digger with nips and barks as he brings the ball back, streaking in from a tangent to take the ball away from him and take credit for the retrieval. She’s smarter than most people I know and she has her owner, Ian, trained beautifully.

Teddy (and Santa)

New Year’s weekend brought Di and her Teddy, a Bichon Frise who taught me more about my old friend than I ever knew before. Twenty years ago when Di and I worked together, I knew her as a daring, flinty young woman who rose to all challenges and took no guff from anyone along the way. Then came the first Teddy (she’s had several, and each has been named Teddy. A good system for both dogs and husbands it seems to me) and Di’s heart melted like good chocolate. She bought him fancy dog outfits. He has more jewelry and dines better than she does. Now I see the softer side of my old friend.

I have more friends to catch up to, more new dogs to meet. But I’m loving these Dog Daze in Oz.

Have any good dog tales/tails for me today?

P.S. A special thank you to whichever of you wonderful ‘Rati commenters suggested I read Peter Temple. He’s my new author-god; each sentence so sleek and necessary that it is a knife cut with language.

Writers and the New Year

by Alafair Burke

It’s another Monday, but today we kick off not just another week, but a new year in a new decade. I thought it would be fun to check in with some writer friends to see what was on their minds as we said goodbye to 2010.

Lee Child, author of Worth Dying For:

Well, I kind of share Reacher’s super-pedantic nature and feel that every day is the start of a new year. Calendar? We don’t need no stinkin’ calendar! And because I’m a generally contented guy I often feel … kind of gloomy about Jan 1, not because I’m down, but because usually the old year was so great I can’t see how the new one can be anything other than worse. It usually isn’t, of course, which merely reinforces the cycle twelve months later.

I’ll be up late, probably watching NBC, and I’ll get into the moment. But then I’ll go – 2011?? WTF?? How old am I now??? I’ll take the day off on the 1st, and then be back at work on the 2nd, laying bricks, trying to get the new book done.

Lisa Unger, author of Fragile

Since Ocean was born five years ago, we’ve spent our New Year’s Eve at home. When she entered the scene, focus really shifted to our domestic life. The idea of partying as the clock strikes midnight has somewhat lost its appeal. Last year we had a sitter scheduled. But Ocean got sick, so we stayed home with her and made marshmallow s’mores in our chiminea. Then Jeffrey and I celebrated with cosmos by the pool after she went to sleep. It was probably one of the best New Year’s celebrations ever. This year, our long-time sitter is sort of on call. She knows we might go out after Ocean goes to sleep for a little while, just to say we had a date night on New Year’s Eve. But we’ll likely be home way before midnight. I am married to my best friend, and our home is my favorite place in the world. So it’s hard to imagine a better place to start the new year! Chances are that’s where you’ll find us when the ball drops.

Karin Slaughter, author of Broken

Okay, well, I am pretty boring. I always have a book due at the end of the year, so I spend the week between Christmas and New Years polishing the hell out of it so I can have it in my editors’ inboxes when they get back to work. This is to say that I am so exhausted by the time the new year rolls around that I am generally in bed by ten. Hey, it’ll still be next year when I get up.

Jonathon King, author of Midnight Guardians

My New Year’s will be grand celebrating in Ocean City, NJ and this year will start off with a new job at 8 am in the warm city of Pompano Beach, FL. Back to the world of paid employ, the writing may slow but never stop. Let us all be optimistic in 2011 and let a storm of reading break out everywhere!

Laura Lippman, author of The Girl in the Green Raincoat (to be published Jan. 18). And, fingers crossed, Unnamed Lippman #16, slated for August and now staggering toward completion.

For several years now, I’ve been doing the one-word resolution challenge at my website. This year, I chose “be,” recognizing that I am destined to fail. I think writers, by temperament, suck at being in the moment. They’re always rewriting the encounter that just happened (“I SHOULD have said”) or thinking about the work ahead. It’s a crazy way to be. Or not be, I guess.

But for personal reasons that you’ll understand even if I don’t want to broadcast them to Murderati readers — because I am trying very hard to have a hard, bright line between my personal and public lives — I’m trying to find some moments to be in the moments. It is, as the Zen masters promise, pretty great. Still, I suck at it.

And here’s a story I haven’t told: A few weeks before David Thompson died, I had a very brisk IM conversation with him via Facebook. I was working, I have so little margin for error in how I spend my time now that I am often forced to be brisk. Polite, but brisk. That turned out to be my last contact with him. I know I am supposed to turn this into an object lesson about how we never know and I should feel awful about the fact that I didn’t put down my work that morning and have a long, chatty conversation with David. Except, the great thing about David is that he totally understood that I was working and couldn’t do that. He understood what writers’ days were like, he understood why I was having trouble deciding whether I could come to the store in October. He was understanding personified. So instead of beating myself up for not stopping work that morning, I celebrate the fact that I knew someone like David.

I lost two friends and my father-in-law this year. I have never had a year of such extreme highs and lows, and I wonder if it has to be that way. And if it does have to be that way, what would I choose — a year of highs and lows, or a muddle through the middle? I honestly can’t decide. So I’m just going to try to be and roll with what comes. Almost every novel I write centers on one basic idea: Anything can happen to anyone at any time. I control nothing. Maybe that’s why I became a writer, where I get to enjoy the illusion of control over my pages and my characters.

Val McDermid, author of Trick of the Dark (UK) and most recently in the US, Fever of the Bone

I will be celebrating Hogmanay in traditional Scottish fashion. I’ll be up in my home town in Fife at my mother’s house, where we start the evening with one of the finest fish and chip suppers in the world. We’ll sit around and blether (that would be “chat” to you…) then when it gets close to midnight, we’ll charge our glasses — whisky for me and my mum, Diet Coke for the American teetotal wife, and apple juice for the kid — listen to the bells ring out on the TV, get tearful and drink our toast to the New Year. We’ll make some phone calls and texts to friends and family, then my mum and the kid head for bed while the wife and I go out to party. (She still feels bewildered at the notion of leaving the house to start partying after midnight. I guess they don’t do that in Michigan)

The party we go to is the same party I have been attending for 35 years. So, lots of auld acquaintance, whisky, Scottish country dancing and general catching up. We usually make it to bed these days by five or so. I guess I just don’t have it in me any more to stay up drinking whisky all night then end up at my friend Donald’s house to eat bacon and eggs around nine. Later that day we’ll visit friends and family. Next day is the traditional football (ie soccer) match. It’s always a local derby and we will sit in the director’s box (a very posh word for a little enclosure in the main stands, open to the elements and in line with the prevailing wind…) and freeze as we cheer on Raith Rovers to victory. It’s what we always do. On the rare occasions I’ve missed out (mostly because of seasonal illness) I’ve felt out of kilter all year. So I guess it’s a very important ritual for me.

(Ed. note: I love Val’s Scottish-isms but thank her kind soul for translations. I grew up in Kansas!)

Jan Burke, author of The Messenger

On New Year’s Eve, we’ll happily spend time with friends. Then I become a curmudgeon, because the evening is a finalist for Least Favorite Holiday, one during which too many people try too hard to have fun — especially one of neighbors, who will probably make her annual attempt set someone’s roof on fire with a bottle rocket. I treat that evening — Amateur Drinkers’ Night — as if an announcement has gone out declaring that zombies will be migrating through my neighborhood: I stay inside after sundown.

Michael Koryta, author of The Cypress House

I have little excitement and less wit on New Year’s Day, it seems. Beyond making a resolution to get in better shape and then promptly falling asleep on the couch with a beer in my hand, my only consistent ritual is in totaling up the number of books read and words written. This year’s totals are disappointing: 76 books read versus the 103 I finished in 2009 (including a riveting thriller titled 212) and 228,037 words written. I topped 400,000 words in 2009, so that’s a big drop, and, since the vast majority of them end up on the cutting room floor, it’s a little alarming. I’ll try to find someone to blame immediately. Or maybe I should just get back to work…

(Ed. note: 228K words is disappointing? Good thing he snuck in that plug for my book, or I would really hate this guy.)

Jonathan Hayes, author of A Hard Death

My life – as a New Yorker, as a forensic pathologist, as a writer – always feels like it’s teetering on the brink of total collapse. I try to use New Year’s as an annual brake, as an opportunity to slow down, to actually concentrate on something. I like the tradition of a clean slate for the coming year, but my best resolutions have involved working on mindfulness, or developing a skill.

For example, when I was a contributing editor at Martha Stewart Living, I decided to work on my sense of smell. I kicked off the fresh year with a collection of beautiful essential oils, and a stack of books on scent and perfumery. The benefits – a more focused palate, a greater awareness of the olfactory world around me, a richer sensuality in my writing – have been long lasting.

This year, I’ve decided to learn about magic – street magic, not stage or fantasy magic. I’ve bought some decks of cards, a book and an instructional DVD; I expect I’ll be crap at it, but the discipline of reading, trying and practicing will be good for me. At one level, this is about becoming conscious of my hands again, about the mechanical pleasures of touch and proprioception. At another, it’s about trying to understand how illusions work – the art of managing expectation, of direction and misdirection. Mostly, though, it’s about sheer goofy fun.

Lawrence Block, author of A Drop of the Hard Stuff (coming in May) and 40 (Ed. note: Damn him!) backlist ebooks just out from Open Road.

Lynne and I will have a wonderful time New Year’s Eve, thanks to the Power of Diminished Expectations. A nice early dinner at the bistro around the corner, then a little time in front of the TV, capped by some network’s annual necrology, an irresistible combination of sweet sadness and delight at still being here. And so to bed.

Then the New Year begins with a January trip to Taipei and Beijing to meet readers and publishers, and from then on I’ve got a book to revise and another to write, and pub dates in May and September, and more ebooks coming out, including a pair of e-riginals in the spring, and I’ll tell you, I’ve got too much on my plate to leave room for any New Year’s resolutions. Except one, which I expect to keep, and commend to you all—to do as Warren Zevon advised, i.e. to enjoy every sandwich.

SJ Rozan, author of On the Line

I kicked off the new year as I have for over a decade now: a very long walk. This year, 7 miles, through lower Manhattan. I get up early, no matter when I went to bed, and just wander. At first the streets are empty except for people still staggering home; then they come alive. I do this every year, wherever I am. (One of my favorite New Year’s Day walks was through Queens.) It sort of reboots my head for the year to come.

Rosemary Harris, author of Dead Head

Like the Marx Brothers I’ll be kicking off the new year with a night at the opera – La Traviata at the Met, then a late dinner at Gabriel’s and a trek to the roof to watch the fireworks in Central Park. My husband claims that this year he’ll let me drag him to Marie’s Crisis Cafe to sing show tunes with the boys until the sun comes up but it hasn’t happened yet. Will keep you posted.

Megan Abbott, author of The End of Everything

I spent my youth determined to make every New Year’s Eve unforgettable–and while I remember none of them now, I’m sure they were memorable at the time. In more recent years, I’ve spent my New Year’s Eves hammering out resolutions–and while I remember none of them now, I’m sure I carried them out and they changed my life in critical ways. This year, I’ve decided to take the pressure off entirely. And I’m hoping what that means is not what I fear it means: trawling TruTV while savoring some fine Trader Joe’s prosecco. … Happy 2011!

Michael Connelly, author of The Reversal

I only have two real goals in the new year. Break a hundred on the golf course and write the best Harry Bosch book so far. I think at least one of these is attainable.

(Ed. note: I have seen this man golf, so the next Bosch must be a real doozie.)

And finally, moi:

At midnight, 1/1/11, my husband and I celebrated our anniversary at the same party where, five year earlier, we quietly exchanged vows and rings by ourselves in the basement at midnight. We made it legal the next day with paperwork, a witness, and a “nondenominational minister” we found on the internet, but our non-wedding is still the thing we celebrate. I rang in the new year grateful that my husband is still my best friend, thankful for having two pretty kickass jobs as a law professor and writer, and blessed with generous, talented friends who helped make this post special.

So tell us: How’d you ring in 2011? And what author do you plan to read this year for the first time?

Be it not resolved

By Allison Brennan

I don’t make New Years resolutions.

If I set the goal too high, I fear I won’t make it. If I set it too low, I fear that I’ll only attempt to achieve the bare minimum, and never really know if I could have done more.

Why set myself up for failure? Why set myself up for mediocrity?

I don’t like comparing myself to others, because either I’ll fall short or feel superior. I don’t like people comparing themselves to me because they usually have no idea what being in my shoes is like. Some may be a better “me” than me, and others may drop dead after a day.

I write fast, but I’m not the fastest writer. I’m a decent storyteller, but I’m not the best storyteller out there. I’m diligent, but there are writers more focused than I. All I can plan to be is the best me.

So I don’t make resolutions.

I make plans.

I know I have to write at least one more book this year, because I’m contracted for one more book. I want to write another book, so I hope to be contracted for it – but if I’m not, I’ll write it anyway because I’d be looking for the contract and need to have a book to go out (or at least a proposal.) So I plan to write two books this year, and part of a third.

I want to write three short stories—one I’m contracted to write, and two I’m submitting blind. I plan on completing at least two of these, and hope to write the third.

Family is the most important thing, therefore, I plan to attend at least 90% of my kids sporting events. That means not making outside plans in the Fall unless it’s crucial, because four of my five kids are involved in Fall sports. I plan to have a large, family dinner every Sunday. Plan, because I’m not the only person involved in the event and sometimes, other people’s plans interfere with my own.

I plan to be patient, considerate, and tolerant in my daily life. Plan not resolve, because some people just tick me off and then I lose patience and tolerance all at once.

I plan to read one book a week (before I was a professional writer, I read 4-5 books a week.) This is difficult, because when I’m deep in the zone, I can’t read anyone else’s books. That means that between books, I go on reading binges, a book or more a day for a week or three.

I quit my trainer in August because of conferences and deadlines and general stress. I gained 12 points. I will go back to my trainer starting the second week of January. I’m not going to resolve to lose weight because I know me, and I know I’ll disappoint myself; but I will exercise a minimum of three days a week. Exercise will get me in shape, and if I lose weight that’s incidental to my plan to get back in shape.

All these are plans I would have made simply because I’m done with one book, and starting the next. They happen to coincide with the New Year. But they’re not resolutions. They’re plans, and plans can change.

What do you plan to do this year? Other than, of course, buying LOVE ME TO DEATH if you haven’t already–it’s on sale now. 🙂

Intentional New Year

by Alexandra Sokoloff

Rabbit rabbit – to JT and everyone else. (Click through if you have no idea what I’m talking about. And please think about starting off the year virtuously by donating to Wikipedia while you’re over there – they’re asking for just $5).

Hmm, wow, I get to blog on New Year’s Day. That’s a lot of pressure! Or not. Maybe everyone will love me if I just speak very softly and in words of fewer than two syllables.

First of all, can I just say (for more than just myself, I know) –

THANK GOD IT’S 2011.

I wish everyone here at Murderati, and all our families and friends – and while I’m at it every sentient being on the planet – a joyful, ecstatically fulfilling, and transcendent year.

Okay, so the timing of this clearly means I was actually meant to do some actual resolutions. But let’s say intentions, instead, because that word is more focusing for me and doesn’t remind me so much of dieting.

What – (that is suitable for public posting) – do I really desire for this year, in the obvious main areas of my life?

– Living: Be more conscious.

Of everything – but what I mean by conscious is paying attention to what my life is telling me, and the Universe is telling me. On good days I believe that the Universe is speaking to us all the time, even or especially on the bad days, and that the most fulfilling way of living is to listen for that guidance and be as much in the flow as we can be. Unfortunately, most days I forget all that entirely as I get caught up in all the stuff, you know, the STUFF, and if you forget it too many days in a row you tend to start not believing it. So I will pay attention to the synchronicities, and those small, insistent pushes, and those overtly symbolic dreams that scream at you in multileveled Technicolor Stay away from that one you idiot or if you live you will regret it every day of the rest of your life – and do my best to live every day as if I really have a purpose in life and even more importantly – that life has a purpose for me.

– Relationships: Hmm, all right, without going into detail…

Love everyone more – but with better boundaries. Look to recognize the god/dess in everyone. As for the rest, sorry, but I did say only what was fit to post publicly.

– Dancing: Dance more. Period.

I’m just a better person when I dance every day. It makes everything better.

– Teaching: Keep growing as a teacher, finding new ways to inspire people to tell the best stories they can.

But also, be more integrated about living my writing in my teaching and my teaching in my writing. I think what I mean by this is – there’s no reason to compartmentalize. It’s all part of the same process. You only really teach by doing.

– Writing…

Hmm.

Yes, this is my living, but I’ve got to say it’s terrifying to think of how many books I’ve committed to write this year. Scary doesn’t begin to describe it – I must have been insane. Actually, I think we’ve already established this. But it’s too late to panic, now – I am just going to have to take it one day at a time, and learn how to not fight the process. Writing is always going to be exhausting: I like how Joe Landsdale puts it: “You never really rest; the synapses are firing all the time.” But I am starting – starting – to believe I can be more gentle with myself about it and get just as much done, probably more. Or better. I have an inner slave driver that needs to get over itself. I’m going to be more aware of when that self-punishing impulse in me starts to take over and just not let that happen. I hope.

My writing intention is to write better books.

Right – but how? I think it has to do with committing even more to each story and the process – to recognize fear when it comes up and instead of pulling back and doing things to distract myself, treat the fear as a signpost that I’m on to something important and treat it as an opportunity to go deeper. Again, this seems to be about being more conscious.

– Career: Well, not like you can separate this from writing, but –

At Bouchercon in San Francisco this – I mean last! – year, I was in the bar – I mean lobby – bitching to Our Rob and Marcus Sakey: “I need to do something DIFFERENT.” And Marcus said, “Honey, we’re all there.”

Hearing him say that was a huge reality check, because I realized he’s right in every way. In fact, that’s always going to be the state of a writer’s career, or any artist’s. We are always going to feel like we need to do something different – which means not just different, but also doing it differently. And in fact we HAVE to always be doing something different, and differently. It’s a good thing.

What I want to keep for every day of this year was the total inspiration I felt at Bouchercon – my sense of awe and pride about being able to live and work in the incredible worldwide community of mystery and thriller writers, to be constantly inspired and encouraged and often blown away by the creative risks my colleagues are taking, and to learn from their skill and commitment and passion to bring more depth and power to my own stories. Lee Child says: “As crime writers we are all constantly building the genre with the work we do.” My intention is to be more conscious that I am helping to build the genre, and to do my part with the work I do this year. I think if I stay focused on that, the career will take care of itself.

I wish everyone here whatever is that inspiration for you.

So, um, anyone conscious out there who wants to share some intentions?

– Alex

Oh, almost forgot – starting kind of today, but really more like Monday, I’m doing a New Year jump-start online writing workshop, 2 weeks for just $15 (we’re running 2 days over to accommodate hangovers. I mean, the holiday.) Come get motivated!

Details and registration here.

IMPATIENCE

By Stephen Jay Schwartz

I’m not a marathon man. I’m a short-distance runner, a sprinter.

When I was a kid I was in AYSO and I always played center halfback, the hard position, the running position. It wasn’t the glamour spot—I rarely made goals. The forwards got the glory. But the team knew they lived or died by the strength of their halfbacks. The entire field was mine and at any given moment I might be supporting the fullbacks defending our goal then sprinting up-field to help the forwards penetrate our opponent’s defense. It was a fast-run position and I was fast.

But put me on a paved track and tell me to run for an hour and I’m done for. I just don’t have the stamina.

And yet, what is a novel if not the longest marathon a writer ever faces? A single thought sustained over an entire year. Bits and pieces of ideas coming together over many months, interrupted daily by the millions of thoughts and actions required to keep us living our lives.

What really drove this home was a recent thought I had for the climactic conversation between my protagonist and antagonist set to take place in the final, climactic scene of a book I’ve barely started. I realized I’m going to have to tuck that conversation away for a long, long time. Put it in a drawer. Think of it from time to time, build moments towards it as I write what precedes it. Foreshadow. That’s stamina stuff and it drives me crazy. I’m a “now” kind of guy. It makes me crazy that I can’t execute an idea as soon as I’ve conceived it. I’d make a terrible scientist. If I spent half my life figuring out how to get to the moon, there’s no way I’m spending the other half waiting for the materials to be built to accomplish the task. I have zero patience.

And yet…somehow I’ve managed. Against all odds. I’ve managed to hold and sustain a thought over many months, even years. I’ve managed to place the pieces of the puzzle into their spots despite the terrible lag in time.

I think the trick is that I see a novel as a series of sprints. Each time I sit down to write, whether it’s for two hours or eight, I’m sprinting. I put all my energy into one powerful burst of writing and, when I’m done, I crash. There’s no passing the baton. I cross the finish line and fall over. And then, the next opportunity I have to write, I pick up from where I left off, a new race, a new sprint.

Occasionally I need the relief of writing a short story. Or a poem. A blog post. I never blogged before Murderati and, although it can be maddening having to find a worthy subject every other week, it’s also refreshing to start something and finish it in a few days’ time. Getting immediate feedback is validating. I’m sure that’s the reason film actors slip away to do Broadway every now and then. I know, I’ve done some theater and there’s nothing better than feeling the vibe of the audience, hearing the laughter or holding the tenor of a silent pause in the palm of your hand. And then there’s music performance, playing with others, communicating musically, sax to guitar to piano to drums. Cause and effect. Instantaneous connection. Try dragging that song out over a year, see how fun that is. Try writing a symphony. Long-term shit again. That’s what we’re in for when we write novels. We take a good concept and, over the course of months, sometimes years, we bury the thing in more gobblygook than we knew we could muster and after a while we don’t know if it’s gold or if it’s crap and the only guideposts we get are the comments of friends or family or an editor if we’re lucky. It is torture and don’t let anyone say it ain’t so.

And yet, God what a neat thing it is to sprint through a passage. Just one passage. A perfect three pages. Surrounded by weeds, a patch of green. It might be crabgrass, but it grows, and it’s green, and it’s…pretty.

I’m never really happy with my work until the third pass or so. That’s when I take the story I’ve written and tighten it down to the thing I really wanted to say, from the start, with great attention placed on the placement of words, and movement, and punctuation. And if it takes nine months to get to that third pass…that’s nine months of not really being happy with my work. Who lives this way? Why do we do this? Maybe it’s that big financial pay-off waiting at the end. That was definitely a motivator when I wrote my first book. It even teased me through the second.

Now that I’m not so goddamn naïve I realize there’s another reason I put myself through it all. I do it because it must be done. I do it because, when you get right down to it, I LOVE IT. I love being a writer and I love writing and I’ll do it as long as I live whether there’s a chance of financial success or not. Because if I added up all the money I’ve made as a writer I’d have enough to buy a car and a year’s worth of gas. Or maybe six months of health insurance for my entire family (the premiums only, not the deductibles). The point is, it’s not about the money. I’m sure that, once I start getting paid a lot of money it’ll be more about the money, but the truth, the godawful truth, is that I’d write whether I got paid for it or not. Hell, half of us would pay for the opportunity and I bet, in one way or another, all of us have.

So, let it take a year. It takes as long as it takes. I’ll be pushing myself in 2011 anyway – tackling a screenplay and two novels. But it will be easier than ever before, because I won’t be balancing it with a day job. But that’s a blog for another day.

All writing, all the time. Sprinting every day. Before I know it I’ll have run a marathon. (Or two).

I want to thank Brett and Rob for recommending William Goldman’s “Marathon Man,” which I tore through in two days. Ah, the lessons I’ve learned!

And, oh, I think there’s a holiday coming up. Happy New Year to All!

I Wish, I Wish, I Wish

By Brett Battles

You’ll excuse, I hope, if I keep this brief. The New Year is nearly upon us, and I’m spending the week with family.

I have tons of goals for 2011 which will involve more hours than I want to think about right now sitting in front of my laptop. So instead of talking about those, I thought I’d share something I wrote for AOL News that is up this week.

I was asked to write about my wishes for the New Year…(not goals, but wishes)…please forgive me for asking you to click on the link, but I do hope you will read it, then come back here and share your wishes for 2011 with all of us.

My Wish for 2011

Happy New Year, everyone! I hope 2011 is even better than you expect.

The Best of Times, The Worst of Times

by J.D. Rhoades

“Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to retake History 11 in summer school.”

-Graffitti on the wall of a Chapel Hll, NC library rest room.

In Roman mythology, Janus is the god of gates, doorways, beginnings and endings. He’s most often depicted as having two faces, one facing forward, the other looking back. His most obvious influence on our culture is in the name of the upcoming month, after the New Year begins at midnight Friday.

Some people recommned that we spend New Years Eve and Day as a time for reflection on the year just past and resolutions for the year ahead. But let’s face it, those particular days are often pretty hectic, and the ony real resolution a lot of us can make on January 1st is “Well, I’m certainly never going to drink THAT again.” So I generally use the other days in the dead zone between Christmas and New Year’s for that purpose.

Looking back at the year gone by…well, it’s been a hell of a year for us here at Murderati, in both the good and bad senses for that word. Some of us lost loved ones, some of us had career setbacks. Some of us saw things that looked like they were going to be awesome turn out to be…not so much. But some of us had things happen to us that WERE pretty awesome.

For instance, I saw a book I’d really put a lot of myself into, the book I’d been thinking about doing for a long time and finally got up the nerve to write, get passed on by just about everyone, always with that infuriating “This is a really good book, but…” response. It shook me, I confess. The recession continued to hammer my business hard, just as I’m sure it did many of you.

On the other hand, I saw my son graduate from high school, get into the college he wanted, and overcome his own serious anxieties and fears to the point where he’s thriving, and (if I may be permitted a little bragging) he nailed a 4.0 average.

And…I wrote another book, which as I mentioned a couple of weeks ago, is out on submission. To quote Steve McQueen in the movie Papillon: “I’m still here, you bastards.”

2010 was, like every year, the best of times and the worst of times. So ‘Rati, share with us, if you feel so inclined: what were your best and worst times of 2010?