Stop me before I panic again

I sat down today to write a blog about what’s more important to readers, plot vs. character.  But I’m completely unable to focus on my planned topic because news bulletins about that erupting Icelandic volcano (I won’t even try to spell its name) keep distracting me. In fact, all weekend, I’ve been unable to read, write, or do much of anything because I’ve now got a volcano fixation.  Especially after a brief scare earlier today, coming from MSNBC, that a plume had appeared above a second Icelandic volcano, an even bigger one named Hekla. (Update: now MSNBC says that report of a second volcano was incorrect. Thanks a lot, MSNBC, for scaring the crap out of me.)  

I know a number of folks in the books biz who are personally affected by that spreading cloud of ash. Publishers couldn’t fly to the London Book Fair.  My UK editor is stuck in Italy. And I just got a Facebook message from fellow thriller writer Linwood Barclay, who’s stranded in Paris and won’t be able to join me at dinner this week.  That volcano is disrupting peoples’ lives, professions, and pocketbooks.  

But my obsession with the volcano isn’t about mere disruptions; it’s about what else could happen.  I can’t write because I’m paralyzed by visions of disaster.  Airplanes grounded for months, even years.  Nuclear winter, mass starvation, food riots, revolutions. I’m thinking of what happened in Europe during the disastrous Little Ice Age.  I’m looking out my window at the bay and wondering if we could live on seaweed once the food runs out.  Or would we be better off in the woods, hunting for game? What happens when all the deer starve to death? What happens when ravenous city folk from Boston and New York come up to steal what little we’ve got left?

Maybe it’s time to get a gun.

I’ve always been way too good at that game of “What’s the worst that can happen?” Give me a disaster, and I can do you one better.  That’s the downside of being a thriller writer; our imaginations take us straight to the dark and scary places.  But when those scary places are extensions of what’s actually going on around us, well, sometimes we wander into loony land.

I’m embarrassed to say, I’ve been there.

About a week after 9/11,  after you’d think the initial shock would have worn off, I woke up one morning in an inexplicable panic.  The world was ending, and I had to protect my family from starvation. I drove straight to my local supermarket and began buying boxes and boxes of Kraft packaged macaroni and cheese, something I’d never eat under normal circumstances.  But there I was, loading boxes of it into my shopping cart, along with jars of peanut butter and cans of tuna and cling peaches.  When I got home, my teenaged son looked at that bag of weird groceries and said, “Um, mom?  Are we actually eating macaroni and cheese for dinner?”

No, we did not eat it.  We never ate it. Those boxes sat in the closet for about a year, an embarrassing memento of the day mom let her imagination get the better of her.  Finally, I donated them to a food pantry.

Then there was bird flu.  Oh god, there was bird flu.  I had made the mistake of reading The Great Influenza by John Barry, a fascinating and alarming look at what happened during the 1918 pandemic. Just about the time I read it, outbreaks of bird flu were going on in Asia. I began clicking on the CDC website several times a day. I had frightening conversations with pandemic officials about how all social order would disintegrate.  No food delivery, empty supermarkets, failing electrical plants and water supplies, dead bodies stacked up on sidewalks.  I studied the worldwide migratory patterns of birds.  I worried about getting our sons home to Maine where I could look after them. 

And here’s another stunningly embarrassing confession I have to make: I bought supplies of Tamiflu.  Yep, I shelled out hundreds of dollars to make sure that my darling sons would have it available when the pandemic took hold and every drugstore in America was emptied of its Tamiflu supplies.  They probably still have their Tamiflu stuck somewhere in the back of their medicine cabinets, where it will be ready for when the end of the world happens.  Assuming the drug hasn’t already expired.

Then there’s the swine flu scare.  And the tsunami that will wipe out Maine when that volcano in the Canary Islands blows up.  And the Yellowstone volcano that will wipe out north America.  Oh, and don’t forget there’s an asteroid that’s headed straight toward us, though we don’t know about it yet.

A vivid imagination can be a crippling thing.  It can make you lie awake at night, obsessing over all the terrible things that can happen to the future of mankind.  Or even worse, to your kids.  But that same imagination is what fuels the stories we tell.  Without it, “the worst that can happen” would be a lot less alarming.  It would amount to a few thousand canceled flights, instead of worldwide Armageddon.  And how boring a book would that be?

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go check on my Tamiflu supply. 

 

 

 

You are what you read

by Pari

Have you ever heard the expression: “You are what you eat?”

Well, I’m beginning to believe that I am what I read.

I came to this conclusion last week when I decided to stop reading Charles Ives: A Life with Music by Jan Swafford. It’s a gorgeous book, magnificent prose, but it depressed the hell out of me. To say Ives was ahead of his time is about as obvious as saying the sun sets in the east. In spite of almost constant rejection, this American composer kept trying, kept beating his head against the wall, kept putting up with musicians and audiences that reviled his creative viewpoint.

Perhaps some of you would find inspiration in his story.

I didn’t.

Each night I read and felt bleaker and bleaker about creativity, the creative urge. In the mornings, I’d carry that despair around without even realizing its source. Then it hit me: the book, no matter how wonderful, was making me bluer than blue. 

So I returned it to my cello teacher and began reading The Soul of Money.

Ah . . . much better.

Up until that point, I’d never thought about how much books influence me while I’m reading them. And it’s not always the message; it can be the feel of the work or what I know about the author.

My first year in college, I was almost incapacitated when I had to read four Russian classics in a week. I remember sitting at a table in the student union and staring at my hand, curled around a glass of water, and getting caught up in this extraordinarily deep contemplation about the meaning of hands, of water, of life . . .

In grad school, it was St. Francis of Assisi by Nikos Kazantzakis. . .  and I couldn’t get enough feta cheese, Kalamata olives, pita bread and Retsina. Obviously I was responding to the author here and the gusto of his storytelling.

Alice Hoffman’s writing makes me see magic in the world. Jenny Crusie helps me find the humor. Thomas Eisner makes me look closely at the smallest creatures on the planet with awe and fascination. (Click on Eisner’s photos of butterfly wings; you can look at his bio later. I’ll wait.)

So  . . . am I a murderer because I read so many mysteries? Am I hero? Not exactly. But when I’ve connected with a book, it absolutely affects my day-to-day experience while I’m reading it.

Right now, I’m in a very interesting place; here are the books on my bedside table:

The Soul of Money – Lynne Twist

Rainbow’s End and Other Stories – John M. Floyd

Wicked Plants: The Weed that Killed Lincoln’s Mother and Other Botanical Atrocities – Amy Stewart

The Turquoise Shop – Frances Crane  (She happens to be one of our ghosts of honor for LCC Santa Fe)

Dying in Style – Elaine Viets

Occupation Writer – Robert Graves

A Gathering of Doorways – Michael Jasper

Writing Mysteries – edited by Sue Grafton

A little bit of this, a little bit of that . . . and I’m in a pretty good mood.

How about you?
Do the books you read influence your daily experience of life while you’re reading them?
Can you track similar responses?

Or am I utterly mad?

Voice

by Toni McGee Causey

It’s very late as I write this. I’m sitting in the gorgeous hotel suite in Scottsdale, AZ, as the Desert Rose Conference winds down to an end. It’s been a very full couple of days, and I’m utterly worn out. Rejuvenated about writing, but worn out.

I taught two sessions here today; one was on sex scenes (when to use them, why, how, what the point should be, pacing, tension, subtext, conflict, etc.), and another on voice (how to define it, how to recognize what is authentically your voice, and how to hone it). 

It will probably not surprise anyone that the first class was far far easier to teach. Teaching voice is a little like dancing in a minefield. 

I purposefully did not set out to teach someone a “voice” — I don’t think that can be taught because I can’t impose that from the outside. It is something one can learn about oneself. Some people say that “either a person has a “voice” or they don’t,” but I would disagree. I certainly hadn’t figured out my voice prior to my Bobbie Faye series. I could show you the two projects I’d written just prior to Bobbie Faye and you could pick up the hints of what would become my voice, but it was inconsistent, at best, and nonexistent most of the time. I was constantly writing, searching, trying to figure out what this voice thing was all about, and how the hell did I get one of those?

While I don’t think voice itself can be taught–I can’t take another person and prescribe for them a set of steps for them to take and voila, a unique voice will emerge on the other end of that process–I do think that we can define what voice is, and find ways to hone it. (After all, this is what we all do–we all work on honing our own voice.) 

But first, what it is not: it is not tone, nor cadence, nor syntax. It is not vocabulary, nor style, nor level of complexity of sentence structure. It is not the choice of POV character or characters, nor which type of POV to use (first, second, third, third intimate, omnipotent). It is not the setting of the world, the socioeconomic background of the writer or the subject matter.

It is, in a way, all of those things. Voice is every choice that a writer makes–what matters to them. How they want to approach the story. Where they will start. Who it will be about, and then all of the other things above.

Voice is the authority of the author. Confidence in their choices of how to tell the story. Infusing that story with their own unique personality, their own perspective on the world, the themes or issues that they care about, and communicating a goal specific to themselves. 

I couldn’t have had a unique voice if I was busy emulating others, or trying to write to a trend, or trying to stay within rigid guidelines, or trying to meet all of the necessary ingredients of a genre’s checklist. Emulation and prescription are the antithesis of “voice” — where “voice” is the unique view of the world.

No two people are going to tell the same story, even if they were given identical story prompts, and that’s because they’re writing from different experiences, and with different goals. Thematically, each person will focus on something relevant to their worldview, because different issues resonate with them.  Each story produced is going to have its own voice. (Some will be boring voices, because the writer wouldn’t take a risk on exposing themselves to the reader, making themselves vulnerable by chancing risky story-telling methods. They don’t want to show something that they are worried might reflect badly on them, so they hobble their voice, vanilla it up so it won’t be judged, and only accomplish the very judgment they were hoping to avoid.)

Voice is going with your gut instincts that this is how your story should unfold, and believing in your authority to tell the story. (That’s not to say there isn’t trial and error in that process–but ultimately, when it’s done, you have to go with your gut’s final choices.)

It’s the courage to be authentically you and to reach into your own experiences to write the characters authentically, even if you, the writer, haven’t lived their life. 

Once you believe in your own authority to tell the story, all of the other choices simply become tools to help create the story: tone, cadence, mood, language, theme, POV, style, etc.

We moved on from there to some exercises that I think might help the attendees to look at what they’re doing and help them hone what they think their voice is, and to get rid of what they think isn’t working for them. From the response, I think it might have actually been a successful class (which is always the hope and the fear), and I loved the moment where we ran over time and no one moved, they were so busy scribbling and asking questions and I wished we had another hour. This really should have been a two hour workshop.

Maybe next year. (grin) 

Thanks to many of my fellow ‘Ratis who sent their books, signed, as giveaways. Man, I wish y’all could have seen their faces light up when they received them.

I’ll be on a flight home–long flight and layover. I’ll try to check in, but meanwhile, I’d love examples from you of writers who you feel have a unique voice. Any genre.



That Kind of Week

By Cornelia Read

 

Okay, so this week I have completed both my taxes and financial aid forms for daughter Grace, and then I flew to Houston (via Cleveland, which I can’t help but remember was always referred to by my first stepfather as “The Mistake by the Lake,” even though the airport is perfectly fine.)

Here is what my bedroom looks like right now:

 

 

 (Oh, and “have a nice day” my ass, BTW. It’s mid-April, who are we kidding?)

 

Because A) I think doing taxes is a perfectly good reason to take to one’s bed and B) when you get to that point in the paperwork where the IRS asks you what form of accounting you use, I always wonder why there’s not a box to check that says “lightning rod for entropy in the universe.”

Or just a picture of this with an X next to it:

And here is what I would like to say to the IRS:

 

And here is about how well my brain is functioning:

 

 

 

Did I mention what my bedroom still looks like, since I finished the taxes and everything at the very last minute before leaving for the airport? Here’s another shot:

 

And here is what I feel like, after this week:

 

So, you know, having to post the day after Neil Nyren is making me feel kind of like this:

Even though I’m sure to the IRS I look like this:

 

 

And now I must turn my attention to book number four, which I think I just thought up a title for on the airplane (Crash and Burn, considering it’s about an arsonist and my marriage falling apart and stuff). Though even though I  had a fabulous time in Houston, I am still feeling as though this should be my theme song right now:

 

 

 

But mostly, because it’s all over with, I feel like singing this:

 

 

Or maybe doing this:

 

 

Although, hey, I would like to sing this to the IRS on behalf of all taxpayers:

 

 

‘Ratis, what song would you pick to illustrate this week?

 

(p.s. For Chris and Louise, the Shonen Knife version:)

 

 

The 4th Annual State of the Industry Interview

Please join me and the rest of the Murderati crew in a warm welcome back to our favorite editor, the Legendary Honorary (Honorary Legendary?) Neil Nyren! Neil is the Senior Vice-President, Publisher, and Editor in Chief of Penguin Putnam, and edits some of my all-time favorite authors, including John Sandford and Daniel Silva. 

Neil has been kind enough to drop by and share his wealth of knowledge and expertise with us every Spring for the past few years, and I’m so excited to have him back again today for our 4th Annual State of the Industry interview.

If you’ve missed any of our previous interviews, feel free to indulge in their excellence here (2007), here (2008) and here (2009).

Without further ado – here we go!

This is our fourth sit-down in as many years, and I’m always struck by how much the industry changes from year to year. But from our chat last year to now, the changes have been exponential – at least on the surface.

Let me ask the question that’s on everyone’s minds – will eReaders kill physical books?

No, e-readers will not kill physical books. I know that some digerati like to think so, but that’s their own particular ax to grind. Right now, ebooks are still a very tiny part of our business – but obviously that percentage is going to grow. That’s why you saw so many new devices being introduced at the Consumer Electronics show in January, some of them multi-use, some of them dedicated e-readers, and that was even before the iPad. (Of course, only some of those devices will survive – I guarantee you some of them won’t be around in a couple of years). It’d gotten to the point where the electronics people could finally see enough of a future profit to make it worthwhile to put some r&d money into it. Now what’s going to happen is that the whole market will shake down, the major players will emerge – and ebooks will come into their own, side by side with the other formats. Some people will prefer them, just as some people prefer to listen to audio books. The more formats that exist, the more ways that books become available, the more books people will buy. So, really, I’m pretty happy about it.

Do you think that eventually there will be two separate publishing models – the traditional hard/soft or mass-market original releases, and separate authors doing exclusive ebooks?

I certainly think there’ll be more authors trying out ebooks on their own, and why not? It’s a new format, a new market, a new opportunity. As to how big or important a model it will turn out to be, I can answer that in three words: No. Body. Knows. Everybody’s figuring it out as we go along, and we’ll have a much better idea in a year or two. I think most authors are still likely to prefer the benefits of the traditional publishing program, but there’ll be others who still make some very good money from ebook originals, and of course others who’ll do a bit of both. It’ll be exciting to watch, that’s for sure!

Has the new technology changed the way you do your job? For example, have you moved to Kindle to review manuscripts?

If you’re talking about ebook technology, then it hasn’t changed things much for me personally. However, a lot of our editors and assistants do use e-readers to read submissions – it’s just much easier than toting home briefcases full of manuscripts. And all of our sales reps have them as well – instead of sending them manuscripts and sell sheets, we post them all on a server and they can download whatever they want. It’s a great deal more efficient, and they actually get a lot more read, which makes them even better at their job (and they’re pretty damn good already!).

The recession has hurt everyone – from huge publishing houses to new authors looking for their first deal. It feels like things are coming back. New authors are being offered contracts, established mid-list writers are re-upping. Are you buying?

Are we buying? We’ve always been buying! Recession or no recession, you’ve gotta have books to publish. Were we careful about what we bought, did we look hard at a book’s prospects, did we give a lot of thought to what we thought it was worth in today’s market? Of course! And we did that five years ago, and we’ll do it five years from now.

Have you seen a shift in editorial perspective over the past year? Are publishers looking for a different kind of book – blockbusters, niche, non-fiction – to break out and maintain (read: fund) the remainder of the list? Freeing you up to buy smaller books that will satisfy your taste and allows the authors to build over time?

The same answer applies to the question of what we’re looking for. Each publisher has different requirements, a different mix of titles and specialties and interests – and that really hasn’t changed, recession or no recession. We’re all basically just looking for good books, and books we think we can do something with – at whatever level that turns out to be. It doesn’t mean it has to be a blockbuster. I work for a commercial publisher, and obviously I try for the big books, too, because…I’m not stupid. But I spend much of my time working on less than blockbuster books, because that’s where the bread and butter of the industry lies, that’s where a lot of the good writers are, and that’s where – one hopes – some of the prize-winners and bestsellers of tomorrow will come from.

What common mistakes do you see authors make over and over again?

I guess the mistake that often bothers me the most is when authors get consumed by irrelevancies: this guy’s sales, that guy’s advance, why another writer gets more review space, why one reviewer never seems to like you, why another writer got higher on the bestseller list than you did, and so on. It’s your life, your career – not his. Let everybody else pay attention to themselves – you just do what’s right for you. See also some of my comments on the next question.

The dreaded BSP – Blatant Self-Promotion – has become a daily part of almost every author’s marketing plan – we are expected to maintain a website, participate on Facebook and Twitter, do blog tours, attend conferences on our own dime. Carolyn Haines wrote an article last week in the LA Times wondering if it was “smart” for a new author to drop her social networking in favor of working on her book. How do you feel about authors having to shoulder so much of the load?

Ah, yes, BSP. Painful (for some), but necessary. There’s no question that one of the essential ingredients in selling books is word of mouth. Good reviews, the recommendation of a friend/colleague/family member, hearing about a book through traditional print/electronic media or on the web – as M.J. Rose always says, if people don’t hear about a book, they ain’t going to buy it. And the author is an essential part of that process. The publisher will do whatever the publisher’s going to do, and sometimes that’ll be a whole lot and sometimes it won’t. But the plain truth of it is, no matter how much the publisher loves the book…nobody’s going to love it as much as the author. It’s your baby. As a writer, you are the CEO of your own business. You should make it a point to learn that business and to do whatever is necessary to make that business succeed.

That said – you still need to find the right balance. Because a big part of that success rests in writing damn good books, and it’s tough to do that if you’re spending all of your time on promotion. Not to mention that some authors are better suited for some kinds of promotion than for others. Not everybody is born to Twitter. Find out what works for you – it’s going to be different for everybody – and learn as you go along. Observe, experiment, be flexible, don’t get hung up on trivia. And remember: The book comes first.

Vampires. Zombies. What’s the next big thing?

The next big thing, huh? If I knew that, do you think I’d be working for a publishing house? I’d own a publishing house. But, yeah, I think vampires still have some life in them (oh, give me a break, I had to make that joke!). Zombies, I never thought they had much staying power. Vampires are just sexy – zombies, with all that rotting flesh, ugh, not so much. I have heard that angels might be a coming thing, as heralded by the success of Angelology. But, kids, that doesn’t mean you should all go out and start writing angel books. By the time you’ve written it, and it’s been submitted, and somebody’s bought it, and it’s been published, it may all be over (if it ever began, of course). They may be fallen angels. Paradise Lost: if it can happen to them, it can happen to you.

In my experience, many readers (ones who don’t write books) don’t understand the vital role editors play in a novel, hence the self-published industry growth. Two parter – what does an editor do? And will that need ever be supplanted?

Oh, man, an editor does everything. His first job, of course, is to find the book, and then make it the best book it can be. That means finding out what the book wants to be, and helping it get there – and that could mean anything from reshaping the whole text to just line-editing to, in rare cases, nothing at all. The editor is the crucial professional outside eye. Everybody needs one of those, no matter what you’ve written or in what format you’re publishing it.

But after the book is done – polished and perfect and glowing like a little gem – that’s when his job really begins. Because the book has to be published successfully, and every editor has to be a mini-publisher.  He has to be aware of every aspect of its publication and what every department in the house needs to know and needs to do to make that book successful – and that’s true no matter what level of sales you’re aiming at. The editor is the liaison between all the departments in the house – publicity, sub rights, production, everything. He always has to be thinking: what does the publicity department need to do something with this book? Is there a particular hook, is there something that can get the author media, does the author have contacts to draw upon to give us quotes, write an article, set up an autographing, buy quantities – anything to help things along? What’s the author’s track record? Sales has go to know. Has he published in magazines or newspapers? Sub rights has got to know. Is there any particular look for the jacket that might help? The art department has got to know. The editor has to think about all this, in conjunction with the other departments, and act as the conduit between those departments and the author.

So will the need for all that ever be supplanted? For the editorial, never. For the other parts, we all know examples of self-published authors who have been such dynamos that their books have gone on to significant and well-earned success. That’ll continue to be the case, whether we’re talking about paper books or ebooks. But being that dynamo requires a lot more time, energy and talent than most people have, which is why (among other reasons) most self-published books don’t have that kind of success. And that’ll continue to be the case, too. Allison Brennan had an interesting post partly on this very subject last Sunday on Murderati, so check it out here.

We’ve talked before about the book that got away – your white whale. Have you ever wanted to write your own? Fiction or non-fiction?

Have I ever wanted to write my own book? Well, the thought has crossed my mind, and knowing my own propensities, I’m sure it would be crime or suspense of some kind. But I know where my talents lie. I’m very good at helping other people achieve the best from their writing. If I wrote my own, I suspect it would turn out to be…downright adequate. But you never know. One day, when all the meetings and phone calls are behind me….

On to the impossible questions:

Your favorite book last year was?

I liked too many books last year to pick a favorite. I think the one that impressed me the most, however, was Dan Chaon’s AWAIT YOUR REPLY. (Everyone reading Murderati today, be warned: it’s very dark – but breathtaking.) I also had a blast with Charlie Huston’s THE MYSTIC ARTS OF ERASING ALL SIGNS OF DEATH. And Sophie Littlefield’s A BAD DAY FOR SORRY had me at its title.

Your favorite movie last year was?

For movies, the same caveat. But I was knocked out by THE HURT LOCKER – I thought it deserved all the awards it got. AN EDUCATION was a complete delight all around. And any year that Hiyao Miyazaki releases a new animated film is a banner year – last year’s PONYO wasn’t his best, but wondrous all the same.

Who’s going to win the World Series?

When it comes to baseball, let’s put it this way: Last year, when I celebrated my 25th anniversary at Putnam, my author Randy Wayne White sent me a present. It was a custom-made Red Sox jersey with my name and the number “25” on the back. I have Red Sox memorabilia strewn around my office, and a Red Sox symbol on my office door. So I think you can guess where I’m coming from here.

And finally, what did you do with the pink feather boa you earned at Sluethfest?

For the uninitiated among the readers, every year the women at Sleuthfest vote for the winner of the Flamango Award. This year, the five finalists included Barry Eisler, David Morrell and me. Eisler won, of course – really, it wasn’t a fair contest (and I still say there was something wrong with the returns from Palm Beach….). But all five of us were draped with boas. Alas, we didn’t get to keep them – they were on loan only and will bedeck next year’s honorees. I must say Eisler, Morrell and I looked quite fetching – not everybody can carry off that look, you know. And if people search really, really hard, they might just find some video online.

As always, Neil, it was a true pleasure having you here. Thank you!!!

Neil Nyren is the senior vice president, publisher and editor in chief of G.P. Putnam’s Sons. He’s been involved in the careers of many of today’s leading authors, including Tom Clancy, Clive Cussler, Jack Higgins, W.E.B. Griffin, John Sandford, Dave Barry, Daniel Silva, Ken Follett, Alex Berenson, Randy Wayne White, Carol O’Connell, James O. Born, Patricia Cornwell and Frederick Forsyth. His non-fiction list reads like a who’s who as well: Bob Schieffer, Maureen Dowd, John McEnroe, Linda Ellerbee, Jeff Greenfield, Charles Kuralt, Secretary of State James Baker III, Thomas P.M. Barnett, Sara Nelson, and Generals Fred Franks, Chuck Horner, Carl Stiner, Tony Zinni and Wendy Merrill.

In and Out of Shadow

by Zoë Sharp

As a photographer, shadows interest me, but as a writer, they fascinate me. Darkness has a tendency to be absolute, but shadows are open to such interpretation according to mood. Take this picture, for instance, which I took a couple of years ago. It’s of a giant (well 66ft high with a 178ft wingspan) contemporary sculpture by Anthony Gormley called The Angel of the North, just on the outskirts of Tyneside in the north-east of England. Ever since the first time I saw it, this has seemed sinister to me, and I deliberately took this photograph to highlight that feeling. But to the people clustered happily round the statue’s base, it clearly had no such overtones.

 

 

And here’s the same statue, taken by Echostains on a totally different day, which gives a totally different view to my own. Blue skies, bright sun. What sinister air?

 

 

Everything we do and say is open to interpretation according to the mood of those witnessing our words and actions. Confidence to one person is arrogance to another. One person’s joke is another’s insult. I’ve been guilty for making an offhand remark that was probably somewhat thoughtless on my part rather than purposely cruel, just as I know I’ve made the occasional pointed comment that went straight over the intended person’s head. Many years ago I once wrote an entire comic column gently mocking someone, and they apparently read and enjoyed it without the slightest inkling that they were the target of my dubious humour. (Perhaps this simply demonstrates I’m not very good at that kind of thing…)

Written words are open to far more interpretation than spoken ones. Somebody once told me that there are six ways to read a letter, depending on tone and inflection. I don’t know if that’s true, but I’ve certainly gone into pits of despair reading more (or less) into a brief email than was ever intended by the sender. The immediacy of email and text is causing a real problem, I think. How many people who now email and/or text on a daily basis were ever prolific letter writers before such media came along?

Emails are dashed off, sometimes in anger and haste, only to be regretted later. I have, on numerous occasions, written a vitriolic email and put it in Drafts for a suitable cooling-off period. Quite often, the email never gets sent, but the act of writing it at all has enough of a therapeutic effect.

Because, sadly, the Internet has made it a lot easier to be nasty to people without consequence.

In the past, I’ve been on the receiving end of both death-threat letters – carefully cut out of newspaper like a ransom note – and abusive phone calls left on my answering machine. Both instances involving calling in the police, although there was no satisfactory follow-up prosecution. Now, if I get an email I don’t like, I have a tendency to simply delete it, so the consequences for those who send such poisonous missives are so much less.

Authors, these days, have moved far more into the spotlight. A few short years ago, the only way to contact an author was a letter via their publisher, which was often opened in the office beforehand, just to make sure it contained nothing too outlandish. Or you could approach them at an event, which takes a lot more bottle. Authors could hide in the shadows if they so desired, because there wasn’t the opportunity for self-promotion. Authors were expected to write a good story and that was the beginning and end of it. The only thing the public knew about them was the brief paragraph in the front of the book itself.

Now, of course, an author has to have a website, and most likely a Facebook page and Twitter account, and take part in blogs and online discussions, most of which we are happy to do. Writing is a solitary business and sometimes it’s nice to emerge, blinking, into the light.

We are encouraged to reveal more and more of ourselves, our personal lives and our thought processes, because our readers like to know what makes us tick. Not only that, but we are also encouraged to be performers. We are moving further and further out of those comfortable shadows, while some of our audience is retreating further and further into them. People can open up a dialogue with an author and receive replies, without ever revealing their real name or location.

Pay-As-You-Go mobile phones, and instant email addresses make it hard to trace the senders in any case. I’ve had weird emails from people posing as fans (mainly blokes, I have to say), who lull me into a false sense of security with relatively normal questions to start with, and then start asking coyly if I’m married and what I’m wearing. The awareness of being somehow a ‘public figure’ prevents you from telling them where to get off in no uncertain terms, because you know that would cause more problems than it would solve.

I wonder if the written word is to blame for this. People ask inappropriate or invasive questions without being able to directly gauge the reaction of the person they’re asking. But, having said that, writer friends have reported amazing behaviour from people at conventions. Following an author into the restroom and pushing a book to be signed under the wall of the stall while they’re otherwise engaged is not unheard of.

So, what are your views on this, ‘Rati? Should people be a little more open about themselves before they ask for more information about their favourite author? Do you like the anonymity of the Internet, or does it freak you out just a little? Have you any scary stories to relate?

This week’s Word of the Week is mishguggle, which is a lovely Scottish word meaning to bungle.

How to Seduce Your Readers

by Rob Gregory Browne

I’m sure everyone’s sick of hearing me talk about the CBS pilot, so I’ll try to avoid that today, other than to say that if you’d like to see some photos of my visit to the set last week, click here.

And because I seem to be on a perpetual deadline, I’m once again taking the easy way out:

Let’s talk about sex.Those of you who are uncomfortable with the subject, feel free to bail out now. I’m likely to get pretty raunchy.

Still with me? I thought so.

When we make love, most of us have a particular goal in mind: that moment when our entire body seems to stem from one central point, when every nerve-ending tingles wildly as fireworks assault our brain.

That moment, of course, is orgasm, and anyone who has experienced one (or two or three), — especially with a willing and enthusiastic partner (or two or three) — knows that it can be an exquisitely pleasurable sensation.

But are all orgasms created equal?

Of course not. The quality of our orgasms is directly related to the quality of the fun and games that precede them, not to mention our emotional bond with our partner, and our willingness (or unwillingness) to surrender ourselves fully to the moment.

Orgasm is the cherry on top of the sundae — and that cherry wouldn’t taste nearly as good if we forgot to eat the ice cream first.

So what, you’re probably wondering, does any of this have to do with writing?

YOUR WILLING PARTNER

Writing is an extremely intimate act. In his book, On Writing, Stephen King describes it as a form of telepathy. We put our thoughts on paper, and days, months or even years later, someone literally reads our mind.

Think about it. With a simple arrangement of words, we have the potential to pull our audience into our mind where they can be stroked and fondled and toyed with — sometimes gently, sometimes rough.

The result is often a partnership so strong and emotionally satisfying that neither of us ever wants to let go.

Who of us here can forget those times when we’ve read a book or watched a movie we didn’t want to end? And when the end did come, we felt drained, elated and thoroughly satisfied, much like we do after a night of unbridled passion.

Getting to that place wasn’t an accident. The writer of the book — at least in most cases — didn’t merely fumble his way toward climax. If he (or she) did his job, every step was carefully choreographed to lead us around the third act corner toward the final pay-off. And the quality of that pay-off is related to one important thing:

THE GENTLE ART OF LOVEMAKING

We’re often reminded in how-to books that the typical story is broken into three acts: Set-up, Confrontation, and Resolution. Sounds pretty cold and uncaring, doesn’t it? Not to mention dull.

But what if we were to beat the lovemaking analogy into the ground and refer to the three acts in this way: Seduction, Foreplay, and Climax.

Certainly puts a whole new slant on things, doesn’t it? And if we’re to have a successful story with a successful and satisfying ending — one that keeps our partners wanting more — we must pay careful attention to these three words.

Seduction.

The beginning of a story, any story, cannot and should not be referred to as anything other than a seduction. It is our job to make our audience want us.

How do we accomplish that? First we start with character. We must create characters that our audience won’t mind, figuratively speaking, getting into bed with. Particularly the lead. Is he or she someone we find attractive? Does he have a problem or flaws we can relate to? Are his life circumstances universal yet unique enough to pique our interest?

The next element is mystery. Every story should be a mystery. Remember the girl in college the guys all wanted but knew so little about? A big part of her allure was the hint of mystery she carried. No matter what genre you’re writing in, you should never, never, never put all of your cards on the table at the beginning of the game. Instead you must reveal them one at a time, each new card offering a clue to the mystery of our characters and their stories.

The third and most important element of seduction is giving your characters a goal. And not just your lead. Every single character you write should have a goal of some kind. Put two characters with opposing goals in a room and you have drama.

But the goal of your hero must be compelling enough to intrigue us and hold our interest. In The Fugitive, Harrison Ford is wrongly convicted of killing his wife, escapes to find her killer, and soon discovers he’s being hunted himself by a relentless cop who doesn’t care whether or not Ford is guilty. All three elements of seduction are satisfied and guess what? We’re hooked.

Foreplay.

Once we get our audience into bed, however, we certainly can’t let them down. As you would with a lover, you explore and tease and make new discoveries — which can often lead your partner (in this case, the audience) to discover something about his or herself that, until that moment, remained dormant.

The foreplay in the second act is a continuation of the seduction but on a deeper, more intimate level. This is when we really begin to understand and root for the characters, and when their stake in the outcome becomes more and more important. Surprises are sprung, secrets are revealed, and our emotions and feelings build with each new scene, gradually working us toward the moment we’re all waiting for:

The Climax.

And this is why we’re here today, class, to talk about that most crucial of Act Three moments: the time when all of the work you’ve done for the last three hundred or so pages comes together like the pieces of a puzzle, where plot and subplot intertwine to create the only ending that makes sense within the context of the story you’ve told — a thrilling and, hopefully, explosive orgasm of emotion. The final kiss; the final death; the final revelation that sends your audience soaring.

But you can’t get there without laying the proper groundwork.

A wise writer once said that the first page of a novel sells that novel and the last page sells the next one. This is certainly true, but what he doesn’t say is that what comes between is what sells that last page. Without masterful seduction and foreplay it is virtually impossible to reach a satisfying climax.

Act Three is a culmination of all that came before it, and if the preceding two acts are anything short of spectacular, you’ll be lucky if your audience even sticks around for number three.

It’s all up to you.

Every time you sit down to write, you must remember that your audience is your partner, your lover, and in order to make them happy you must seduce, thrill and, most importantly, satisfy.


The Dash

 

By Louise Ure

                    

 

Bruce A. Goronsky, a much admired television commercial producer, died Monday, March 29, in San Francisco of cancer. He was 61.  A native of Seattle, where he worked his way through the University of Washington playing drums in a blues band, Bruce moved to San Francisco in the 1970’s to pursue his career in advertising and broadcast production. A Clio and Emmy award winner and founder of Fleet Street Pictures, Bruce also worked at Foote, Cone & Belding Advertising in San Francisco and Ogilvy & Mather/Los Angeles.

 

My husband, Bruce, died two weeks ago yesterday. I wonder if every Monday morning at 8:00 a.m. will be as difficult. I’ve only had two of them now, but the world goes slow and quiet, my breath catches and I try to reorder my mind, once again, to face a Monday alone.

God help me, when I think of him, I can still only picture him that last night in the hospital. The medical staff was exquisitely compassionate. They gave us a private room with a lot of space. I got to sleep next to him and hold him the last eighteen hours.

He was unconscious by then, but I’m convinced that he could still hear me, that he was still nominally aware of what was happening, and that he recognized the race was over. He was simply taking a cool down lap.

Friends and family swooped in but then hesitated – shuffling in their indecision – fearful of intruding. They should not have. Death was the intruder. Cancer was the unwelcome guest at the table.

I have focused on tasks since he died and there are many to be done.

Here’s what I have learned:

For the same reason that doctors do not operate on their relatives, writers should not have to write their spouses’ obituaries. Our skill is unnecessary here, the knife cutting too close to vital organs along the way.

 

 

 

With a laugh that would enter a room before he did, Bruce had a love of senior Golden Retrievers and Maker’s Mark, and took particular joy in vintage car racing with his Shelby Mustang. He often said his only goal was “to be half the man my dog thinks I am.”

 

The financial documents – from the deed to the house to the paperwork to get the credit cards and bank accounts solely in my name – come to me for signature with the line under my name already filled in as “Louise Ure/Survivor.” I do not want to sign a line titled that way. I want “Wife” or “Lover” or even—in recognition of our quarter of a century together—“Widow.” I have not “survived” this.

I picked up his ashes yesterday afternoon, buckled them into the passenger seat, and talked to him all the way home. I’m lucky that he was always a man of few words.

There are many who miss him as much as I do, and last Thursday they showed me that when they put together a celebration of his life. There were more than 150 people there, some from his racing world, many from film production and some of you writerly sorts who never met him but who came to wrap your arms around me. His brother and 88-year old father were there even though they were so infirm that they had to fly in with a nurse in attendance. I thank you all. The event ended with all of us trying to recreate Bruce’s laugh. Magical.

 

He is lovingly remembered by his father and brother, Ade and Paul Goronsky of Seattle, Washington, by his wife of 25 years, Louise Ure, by the children of his heart, Brian and Maya Washington of San Francisco, and by many friends and colleagues.

 

One of Bruce’s old advertising colleagues RSVP’d for the event but did not show up. I would have been surprised if he had; there are arrest warrants out for him in two countries and he was reported to have died in the Indian Ocean tsunami of 2004, but it looks like even that was a scam. In any case, he sent a note with a video called The Dash. It has stuck with me these last two weeks as a raft to cling to in these high seas.

 

“It’s not the date of birth or the date of death on the tombstone that matters; it’s how you live the dash in between.” That dash represents all he was, all he gave, and all the people he loved and who loved him. That’s what counts.

 

 

 

Bruce had a good dash.

 

Thank you, my Murderati family, for the flowers and plants, the emails and phone calls and charitable contributions, the arms around me at the memorial. You have my heart.

 

Hey, I know that place!

by Alafair Burke

Last night I glimpsed a new neighborhood in New York: Bay Ridge.  I know, I know, Bay Ridge has been around for-evah.  It’s also nothing new to creative types.  Tony Manero lived there in Saturday Night Fever.*

So did Peggy from Mad Men, announcing, “I’m from Bay Ridge.  We have manners.”

But nearly a decade since I left Oregon for New York, I am still learning about this city.  Last night the subject was Bay Ridge.  I was there for a book event (terrific store in Bookmark Shoppe, by the way), so took some time to check out the neighborhood.  I even made my local friend, Jeff, show me the home several customers referred to as the “gingerbread house.” 

Rumor has it that the garage floor rotates like a turntable so the owner doesn’t have to back the car out.  Pretty sweet.

Do I know the ins and outs of Bay Ridge as well as Jeff?  Of course not.  Could I set an entire novel there with authenticity?  I doubt it.  But I saw enough of 3rd Avenue, 83rd Street, Shore Road, the Fort Hamilton Athletic Field, and the gingerbread house to set a scene there. 

But what if I hadn’t seen the place?  I could read about it on Wikipedia.  I could stroll its streets on Google Maps.  I could also make it up from whole cloth.  Would it really make a difference?

For reasons I haven’t fully identified, I’m uncomfortable writing about places I don’t know.  I mean, really know.  Ellie Hatcher’s backstory is in Wichita, Kansas, where I spent fourth through twelfth grade.  Ellie works for the NYPD, and her life takes place almost entirely in the pockets of Manhattan I know best.  Her apartment is in the same spot as my husband’s former place.  Her latest homicide case occurs in the fancy new condo building across the street from me.  Samantha Kincaid is a prosecutor in Portland, Oregon, where I lived for nearly a decade (and worked, yup, as a prosecutor). 

Why do I make these choices?  Maybe I’m just lazy.  Research, after all, is not my favorite part of the fiction gig.  But I think there’s more to it.  After all, starting a second series set in New York (the Ellie Hatcher series) was definitely not a lazy move.  I had plot, character, and procedural reasons for doing so.  But that move was also about place.

Five years after leaving Portland, I was starting my fourth Samantha Kincaid novel and wrote a scene I knew just wasn’t right.  I went for a run to figure it out.  Sure enough, I had Sam hailing a cab outside a witness’s house in the West Hills.** Homey don’t play that. 

I not only caught the mistake, saving myself from the “you’re-an-idiot” emails that surely would have followed upon publication, but I also took it as a strong hint that my imaginary life in Portland was growing dusty.  At the same time, I realized I had finally become (gasp) a New Yorker.  I decided to try my hand at this new town of mine, at least the Manhattan parts, and think I’ve managed to capture the place pretty well.  I even named my most recent novel 212 (the original Manhattan area code) to highlight Manhattan as a main character.  My writing will get back to Portland when the time is right, but I’ll probably only jump in after rekindling my relationship with the city. 

I do, however, realize this is likely a whole lot of ridiculousness on my part.  Plenty of writers continue to capture the magic of places they’ve long left behind.  Michael Connelly no longer lives full-time in Los Angeles.  JLB wrote the first four books in the Dave Robicheaux series from Kansas.  Even the miraculous Lee Child can’t possibly live in all those Jack Reacher stops (or can he?).

What do you think: When a writer truly knows a place, does it make a difference on the page, or only in the writer’s mind?

 * I have so much love in my heart for Saturday Night Fever that it took incredilble restraint not to insert a 400-word digression here about the brilliance that is that film.  Please tolerate this footnote instead.

** Lest you’re wondering, these are the same West Hills referenced in the Portland band Everclear’s “I Will Buy You a New Life.”  No cabs there.  Trust me.

P.S. I’m out on tour still, this time in Washington DC (Borders, Bailey Crossroads, 7:30 PM).  I’ll be checking in as I can, but forgive me if I’m slow to acknowledge your comments.  I want to see them though, please!

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E-books, Publishing, & Piracy

By Allison Brennan

I have taken a strong stand against piracy here and elsewhere, as many other authors have done. While I disagree with the contention at this point that a pirated copy is a lost sale, I also disagree that a pirated copy isn’t a lost sale (because they would never have bought the book in the first place.) Why? Because at this point in time, I think that the majority of pirated books are stolen by people because of the convenience, and they would never have bought them (thus no lost sale) or by people who can’t purchase them because of where they live.

However, ebooks will become more popular among readers and thus there will be more lost sales–people who used to purchase print copies who learn about “free” (illegal) downloads and stop buying. (As a format, e-book sales are still a very teeny percentage of print books sold–meaning, if a book is available both for print and e-book, the print books will generally sell in far greater numbers. My own e-book sales have slowly risen over time, to about 1% to my total sales.) Joe Konrath had a very interesting blog about the success of his Kindle experiment–that by pricing the books rejected by traditional publishers at a low price point, he is able to make a goodly sum of money–more than through traditional publishing as a midlist author.

There are many pros and cons to Joe’s experiment. The pros include the fact that he’s one of the first to self-publish through Amazon (and I also assume through the other e-distributors, though that wasn’t explicitly stated in his column.) By virtue of being early to the game, he’s able to garner a name among e-book readers as a reliable source for reading entertainment. He’s already published, and I would assume far above the average self-published author in terms of editing ability–he can tell a good story, knows how to edit it, and put out a clean book.

He gets to keep most of the money, price the book what he wants, and build sales through providing his readers with more of what they want.

As e-book sales grow–both in terms of print books available in e-format and self-published e-books–readers will be inundated with more choices than they have now–which are an incredible number. I don’t have the latest per year or per month releases, but I know it’s staggering. According to a May, 2009 article by Publishing Central, Bowker’s reports there were 275,232 new titles and editions in 2008, and a historic (over doubling from 2007) self-published/on-demand books published.

(One comment to put the numbers in perspective, of the 275,232 titles, 47,541 were fiction. Non-fiction still dominates the total number of books published. Also included are textbooks, college publications, etc.)

The Bowker’s report (pdf) has other interesting data. While books published (not self-published) declined from 2007-2008, they have still increased from 2002-2008. In addition fiction showed the highest percentage increase from 2002-2008, 89% of titles published, and is still the largest percentage of categories (17.27%) For our purposes here at Murderati, I think we’re most interested in the fiction numbers.

According to a 2006 article, 93% of books published (this is all published, not self-pubbed/on demand) books sell less than 1,000 copies. 

Joe Konrath has proved that he can and will sell more than 1,000 self-published e-books–a rarity among print-published books. But at his price point and already having a fan base through his traditionally published books, it’s almost a no-brainer to try this with books he hasn’t sold.

Authors with an established fan base may do well in this new e-book world because they are a known quantity. Readers have already sampled them, so they trust the author to tell a good story. Authors who are new to this world may have a shot because they can price the books on the cheap side where someone might be willing to sample a story by an unknown author if it doesn’t cost a lot.

The problem becomes volume. There were 285,394 on demand/self published books in 2008 and it is still growing exponentially (now maybe we can understand the vanity press business–there is a huge market for them to make money from writers.) The overwhelming majority of these books are not available through traditional outlets, they sell few copies (there are exceptions of course, but by and large most sell poorly and only through the hard work of the writer) and even on Amazon and other sites, they rank low. As more people self-e-publish, there are more choices–and as we know from the self-published world as it stands now, many of those books will be poorly edited and not very interesting. I’m not dissing self-published authors–there are many who have published great books for a niche market. But as it becomes easier and cheaper to publish in e-format, even more people will do it, making it even harder to stand out as a new author. 

Some other downsides include paying for professional editing (unless you’re already a fantastic grammartarian and self-editor), marketing (on-line, which right now isn’t hugely expensive, but it’s growing as more people spend more time on-line), and design. That comes out of your profits (as opposed to the publisher–who pays an author less money per book but eats the cost of publication.) A professionally edited and presented book gives comfort to a reader who knows that based on his experience with that author, they’re going to get a good story.

But I’ll admit I am intrigued by Joe’s “experiment” and how it will both succeed for some and fail for others–very similar to print publishing. Readers are going to gravitate toward the people they know, so authors who are already bestsellers may fare exceptionally well with this model. Midlist authors like Joe will also do well because they usually have a loyal fan-base (and thus keeping a higher percentage even on a lower price, you’ll earn more per sale.) Unknown writers? Not so much. As the titles increase, name ID will become even more important, as readers aren’t going to want to sift through thousands of books in their favorite genre. That means endorsements, marketing, or already being an established author.

I don’t believe print publishing is dead. I do believe that more people will choose the e-book format. I believe that sales will remain relatively level for each individual author (all other things remaining equal) but the percentage of format sales will change (such as I do see within the next 5 years my e-format sales increasing to 10% of my total sales.)

I also agree with Joe that publishers need to becoming more innovative in this Brave New Market. While I don’t think devaluing stories–it is the STORY that has value, not the platform it is delivered on–is the answer, I do think that e-books should be discounted from the print copy. (For example, my Kindle books are 20% less than my print books full retail price.) I, personally, like the idea of where a reader can buy a print book and get a coupon to purchase the e-book at a greatly reduced rate. I also like the idea of added value for e-books–author interviews, exclusive short stories, photographs, pictures, or perhaps include a free backlist title. So you pay the same as the hardcover, but you get more. 

There are lots of options and ideas for this expanding market. I’m both excited and apprehensive–excited by the possibilities, but apprehensive about how much time exploring the possibilities will take from my writing.

But all that aside,  more than anything, I believe that authors should be united against piracy.

As e-format books increase, so will piracy. And e-book exclusive authors are hit the hardest because theirs is more a “lost sale” than a print published author. In the romance community, there are many e-published authors who fight tooth and nail against piracy because see it affect their bottom line and their ability to make a living.

Piracy is stealing. Even the pirates don’t really dispute that. They simply think there’s nothing wrong with it. They justify it to make themselves feel better. Dan Brown is already a multi-millionaire. Another author is an asshole, I don’t want to give her any money. I can’t afford to buy the book (and don’t want to go to the library, don’t have a library near me, don’t want to get on the waiting list, etc.) I’m not hurting anyone. I wouldn’t have bought it anyway. I just want to try out the author, but not pay for it or stand in the aisle of a store.

What makes this all so much worse, and hugely frustrating, is when reputable people stand up and announce that it’s okay to steal. When Randy Cohen tells someone that it’s okay to steal an illegal pirated copy of a book because they already bought the hardcover, it gives everyone the sanction to do it. Generally law-abiding citizens now breathe a collective sigh of relief, because they can steal with a clean conscious. Randy Cohen, The (so-called) Ethicist for the New York Times, has deemed that while it is illegal to steal an e-book, it’s not unethical if you already bought a hardcopy.

Soon, no one is going to think they need to buy a hardcopy. That it’s their right to read any book for free (which it is–if they get it from a library.) As it becomes easier and easier to download illegal copies, more people will do it without buying the hardcopy. (And honestly? I doubt there are many people similar to the reader who wrote Cohen–that they buy the book and download a “free” illegal copy.)

So I would ask Randy Cohen this: If I buy a ticket to Clash of the Titans, is it okay for me to download a pirated copy when it comes out on DVD? After all, I already paid to see the movie . . . why should I have to pay twice?