Are literary agents necessary?

This is the kind of question that can get a person into trouble, isn’t it?

After months of going back and forth with my agent about my new manuscript, a little frustration comes naturally. After rewriting said manuscript completely at least once more, revising it again, and cutting out nearly 60 pages from the original work, I’d have to be brain-dead not to wonder if I was doing the right thing.

Why did I listen to many of my agent’s suggestions?

Well . . . some of his points made incredible sense to me. On top of that, I respect his knowledge and sensibilities about the genre. And I’m hungry to be a better and better and better writer.

The members of my critique group thought I was insane to do all that to a manuscript that they thought would’ve sold anyway. They urged me to send out the book myself. I’m sure several of my cohorts on the ’Rati would’ve had the same advice.

Yet, I made the decision to listen. In the end, will all that mishmoshing result in a sale?
I’m waiting to see.
My agent has had tremendous success with other writers; we’re both hoping he will with me.

In the meantime, my question remains: Are literary agents necessary?

When I was learning the business side of writing, everything I read and learned about the industry would’ve answered, “YES!”

It seemed like an immutable law, as much a given as the sun rising in the east and dogs liking liver treats.

Sure, there were tales about people who’d gotten published without an intermediary, but those were the exceptions, the stuff of myth.

Then came 9/ll, the anthrax scares, and the word on the street was that publishers wouldn’t open anything from anyone they didn’t know. In this new and paranoid environment, agents became even more essential.

However, quiet success stories continued to make me wonder about conventional wisdom. One that comes to mind right away is Pati Nagle who negotiated a three-book deal with Del Rey. She used an entertainment lawyer after the contract was offered.

Her answer to my question would be “NO!”

So which answer is right? Which would benefit the many writers — the ones reading our blog for advice — that are striving for publication right now?

IMHO, people need to really weigh the pros and cons of seeking literary representation in their careers. As Toni wrote yesterday, they need to look at what makes the most sense for them.

Below are two lists to begin the conversation. I note the pros and cons in no particular order — and am sure I’ve missed many in both categories — but hope that we can examine this question frankly for everyone’s benefit.

Pros

Contacts: access to — and attention from – editors who make the real decisions in publishing
Business advice
The abililty (to potentially) negotiate larger deals than a writer might do on his/her own
An advocate for the author to the publisher—editors and accounting
Legal and other specialized knowledge about the industry and trends therein
Up-to-date knowledge of the good, bad and the ugly about the publishers themselves
Current knowledge of the movements of editors across imprints and houses
Editorial advice (at least I like that in my agent)

Cons

It’s often more difficult to get an agent than it is to get a publisher
Time wasted researching and querying to find a good, reputable agent
Another block between the writer and the publisher/editor
Loss of income to a “middle man”
Potential pressure to write what you don’t want to write
Dishonesty/lack of transparency in money/editor querying
Lack of enthusiastic representation or, worse, misrepresentation
Personality or ethical conflicts

What do you think?

Are agents necessary?

Why?

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A program note:

Tim Hallinan will be my guest at Murderati next Monday, August 17. He’s written a provocative piece “Bleak is the New Black” that I think will spark a fascinating discussion. Please stop by and make him welcome.

To Vegan or Not To Vegan…

by Toni McGee Causey

Is alcohol vegan?

See, it started innocently enough. Not long ago I was at a conference, where I met up with a dear friend who’s recently become vegan. And let me tell you, she looks gooooooooood. Like ten years younger, thinner, prettier. She glowed, people. All glowy with the good. I, being no dummy, immediately asked what in the hell had she done? Who had she sold her soul to and where could I line up?

Then she told me she’d become a vegan.

Now, at this point, I had had exactly one (1) appletini.

(It was my first, ever, and let me just say for the record that it is a damned good thing I am too lazy to learn how to spell “appletini” much less make them, because otherwise? This blog would be brought to you by the letters J A I and L.) Anyway, in the warmth and happiness of said appletini, “vegan” didn’t sound so scary.

It was the second appletini where I sort of lost my mind, because “vegan” actually started to sound easy. I could feel better and get healthy and lose weight and be proactive, all in one move. Lots less choice of things to eat, but hey, that just simplifies life, right? Simplification is good. Smart. I even hauled out my iPhone and started recording her suggestions of what I could eat and in that moment, I knew I could pull this off. This was going to be great! I only sort of worried when “tofu” featured prominently on a couple of her menu suggestions, but I then realized (and this was the part of my brain which was suggesting I have another appletini) that hell, I eat crawfish. How traumatizing could tofu be?

I was allllllll the way back in the hotel room before I had the epiphany: Cheetos are not vegan.

I think I might’ve broken the world record for “fastest failure of a diet.”

The thing is, it works for her. Really works.

But it would never work for me. I don’t have the same inclinations, the same desire, or enough patience. [I am not exactly the most patient of people.] [I know, I know, that comes as a HUGE shock to you all. Buck up.]

I do know what works for me: plain old exercise. Boring, non-glamorous, just-do-it walking and weights. Doing these things consistently.

Oh, but that other method was tempting, partly because she’d had quick, amazing results. Partly because it seemed kinda cool to be able to say, “I’m vegan.” Like wearing a costume or stepping into some other role.

It’s tempting, isn’t it, to try to fit into a slot that someone else does well, which is clearly successful? It’s like, “Well, since they know what they’re doing and that works, maybe that’s what I should be doing, too.”

Trying to be “like” someone else, trying to write like someone else, trying to write “to the market” – are probably the most destructive choices a writer can make.

It’s great to learn from others. It’s a smart move to see how someone else accomplished something and analyze what they did and why. But the next step after that is to then see how it fits you—your life, your experiences, your style. Your voice. And then choose what works for you. Not how you can contort yourself to fit into what others do, but what you would like to use of what they do to enhance your own voice.

What do you bring to the table? Who are YOU? Value that. Look at it carefully and appreciate it, because it is your gift. It is what will make your characters and your story and your plot unique. Your take on the world, how you see it, your perspective.

Me? I am, at my best, a hopeful cynic. I am pretty sure that there are people out there who are not only going to shoot themselves in the foot, but they’re going to reload and aim at the other foot. I am hopeful, however, that they will miss at least one of those times. It is the suspense of watching that in action which fascinates me. It is how I frame the world, how I make sense of what is happening around me, how I communicate and function. [If it helps, I had written two books before I was able to explain that.]

Be authentically you. That’s who we’re going to want to get to know. That’s who we’ll value.

In the meantime, tell me at least one thing you’ve done in your life which just did not “fit.” (C’mon. I cannot be the only person who’s tried a diet or [and no, I am not posting a photo] gone blonde.) What harebrained thing have you done?

Pilgrims! SCREE!! SCREE!!! SCREE!!!!

By Cornelia Read

So last Sunday I moved to New Hampshire, which is kind of a trip. This means I have lived in seven states in my life, officially (NY, HI, CA, MA, VT, CO, and now NH–not necessarily in that order.)

I kind of have a thing about New England, though, in that I think my Puritan ancestors are going to rise up from the mists and get me for not being all Pilgrim-y and shit. I mean, those people had a serious attitude problem.

(well, okay, maybe these ones are just pissed off because they’re not sure whether they’re supposed to be Pilgrims or leprechauns–or maybe they’re more worried about how much better-endowed the Indians are– but whatever.)

I once had to write a paper in college about William Bradford’s Of Plimoth Plantation, and the shit seriously freaked me out (Although I did like my line about how when they executed the teenage boy who had had sexual congress with {if memory serves} a cow, a horse, a goat, two sheep, and a turkey, and then buried him with the also-executed cow, horse, goat, and two sheep, that “one could surmise the turkey did not survive the initial encounter.”)

Ahem.

I flew east with no furniture and only a couple of duffel bags full of stuff, so I’ve been thinking a lot about what makes someplace feel like home. I did bring five pictures with me… menus from a South American cruise line illustrated with a bunch of people in “native” garb that used to hang in my Smith grandparents’ kitchen. My favorite one is the Nicaraguan chick, who’s pulled her skirt up so she can roll a cigar on her thigh. If I’d packed a scanner, I’d reproduce that here, but I didn’t oh well.

Oh, wait… I totally have my iPhone, so here:

And I also brought the dessert menu from this really cool funky restaurant in Carmel Valley which only operates on Monday nights at the Cachagua General Store (50 points to the first person who spots why I saved it):

Okay, yes, I ALSO like the Marcus Aurelius quotation.

Other than that, I threw out about half my clothes and just brought sneakers and stuff. It’s been fun hitting garage sales to stock up on the usual crap, and my pal Candace just left her third husband and so offered me some of her furniture from their house in Vermont, now that she’s in Texas. This includes a truly hideous purple naugahyde sofa, which feels really karmic since I once had a purple naugahyde sofa in Syracuse, which even made it into chapter one of my first novel. It’s really a tossup which one is more hideous. I’m hoping someone buys my house in Berkeley so I can light this one on fire and go to IKEA. Seriously.

(if it were this one I might not mind so much. Sigh.)

Yesterday I drove three hours to go to a church sale in Vermont with my Aunt Julie. I scored four chairs, two tables, an old floral print, a pitcher, a salt shaker, and the ever-important cocktail shaker (take *that*, pilgrim scum!!)

What’s really cool about being here so far is that I scored an astonishing apartment, right on the Squamscott River in an old mill building. It’s about twice as big as my house in California and has twice as many bathrooms, for about a third of my old mortgage payment. This may seem like less of a bargain in February, of course.

Here is a bird’s eye view (look for the smokestack):

Here is a closeup, as of yesterday rather than in 1864:

Here is what it looks like on the inside:

(This is the living room, pre-purple-sofa. Note distinct lack of furniture. Mom found the rug in the dumpster. For a sense of scale, the windows are about twelve feet tall.)

So what’s kind of weird about all this is that I’m in a completely new-to-me town, and I’m going to be writing a novel about moving to Boulder, Colorado, fifteen years ago. Right now I’m in about the same state of mind as I was in Boulder–figuring out where the drugstore is, and whether or not they have decent Chinese food (which is my gauge of a locale’s level of civilization. Also Mexican food, but hey, it’s New England. Pilgrims definitely still trump decent salsa up here.)

I know this is a very scattered post, but I’ve driven 900 miles in the last two days, I’m not fully unpacked yet, and I can’t figure out how to make Candace’s TV work, except for channel three, which is a really boring channel.

How about you guys… what makes a place feel like home to you, and what makes a place somewhere you can feel settled enough to write? I’m already missing going to my writing partner Sharon’s house every weekday, and desperately missing my writing group, and my Bay Area mystery peeps.

Also, if you live in this neck of the woods, what’s the best thing about being here, and how do you survive February? All suggestions most welcome…

In the meantime, I am hoping to run into Squanto.

I have a feeling he knows who delivers the primo Szechuan around here.

And if any Pilgrims ask where I moved to, tell them Vermont.

Also, if anyone wants a house in Berkeley, I’ll trade you my old one (click here to see it) for a decent sofa.

p.s. that is SO not my furniture–the broker brought in a stager. But the blue stove is awesome and the built-in espresso maker speaks thirteen languages. Pinky swear. Open house tomorrow, I think.

What the F**k is Ladylike?

by JT Ellison

The indefatigable Sarah Weinman did a Dark Passages column for the LA Times a couple of weeks ago about female characters with dark histories. She cited some great examples of authors who use their female protagonists to tread into the traditionally male territory of overwhelming violence: Karin Slaughter, Mo Hayder, Gillian Flynn.

There is a common denominator in all of these fabulous authors’ characters: the woman has a tortured past. They are damaged goods. Abused, debased, yet, like the phoenix from the ashes, rising above their beginnings to become strong, compassionate female leads who step in where even males fear to tread.

But here’s my question.

Why does a strong female lead have to have a tortured background? Can a female protagonist make it in the fiction world if she’s not been broken first?

I daresay the answer is no. Because it just wouldn’t be ladylike for the female lead to have an unrequited bloodlust, now would it?

I know this isn’t a female-centric phenomena – it’s a crime fiction phenomena. There are plenty of male characters who are driven by a tortured past. John Connolly’s Charlie Parker comes to mind: if Parker’s wife and daughter hadn’t been brutally murdered, would he have ever become the man he is today? Of course not. But, and here’s a big but, for the most part, the male characters who are driven by despair didn’t have the violence done to them. To those around them, yes. To their loved one, (who many would argue are an extension of ourselves, and as such, what you do to them, you do to me.) The reality is, though, there aren’t a lot of male characters in crime fiction who’ve been raped or tortured, then struck out to find vengeance by becoming a cop, or a PI, or a spy.

To me, this ultimately harkens back to the archetypal female mythos – the soul eater, the strong woman who devours men because of our magical abilities – we bleed and don’t die. Therefore, we must have some inherent evil and that evil must be contained. Generations have tried to tamp down the Lilith that resides in all of us, just waiting to be freed.

So it seems goes the strong female lead in fiction. If, and only if, she has been raped or beaten or otherwise horribly misused, has lost a sibling or a parent to violence, will she be allowed to acknowledge her bloodlust. The violence done to her unlocks the deep-seated resentment, and society understands—not condones, mind you, but understands—because of what she’s been through.

In other words, society has conditioned us to tamp down our feminine wiles, to stow away our power, to hide behind our men and only emerge once we’ve been raked over the coals through some unspeakable violence.

Bullshit.

Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit.

What in the hell is that all about???

Why can’t a woman be strong because she’s strong? I know we’re talking about fiction here, and we need to have a weakness that’s apparent in order to “relate” to the characters, but I’m always amazed at just how many female lead characters fall prey to this. Mind you, and this is an important caveat, there are instances of this that mold the character into who they become that won’t work any other way.

Karin Slaughter’s Sara Linton is a perfect example. She is so touched by the evil that’s done to her that it’s now imprinted itself on her psyche, and we know that evil begets evil. They can smell it hopping around in the veins, whispering the siren’s call filth vile exremous hate that emanates from the very cells of the blood they’ve permeated. She has no choice but to go forth and battle evil, because it follows her everywhere she goes, sensing her weakness, and her strength.

Our Zoë Sharp’s Charlie Fox is another that can be cited here as an appropriate product of an unspeakable violence. Zoë’s books work for me because there’s an unanswered question that rides through the series. On the surface, Charlie becomes a monster, a killer, because she has been forced to become one through the monstrous act that’s done to her. But did she? Or was there latent evil in her system? Would she be who she is despite the despicable actions of her teammates? There are many people who don’t turn into a killer after violence is done to them. I think there resides a small possibility that Charlie would have ended up exactly where she was regardless of her rape. Charlie is my favorite kind of character, the moral person who does immoral things. Her struggles with her new reality are some of the most nuanced in modern fiction today.

But many, many writers take this path—the tortured backstory—as a shortcut to give their women depth, and it can fall flat.

On the surface, it’s a psychological windfall. We cheer because it’s the underdog syndrome, the need to root for a character who has glimpsed the depths of hell and can come back to tell us all about it. Don’t get me wrong, some of my favorite books have female characters who’ve had some roughness in their past. I’m not saying this is wrong, or bad, or you shouldn’t do it. It’s just a phenomenon that I find fascinating, a trend that I’m not sure is a good one.

Why?

Because we’re victimizing our heroines to make them appear more heroic.

When I was first writing Taylor, something was very one-dimensional about her. Looking back, I understand now that she was too perfect. I asked an old English professor for advice and she said something vitally important: she needs to have a weakness. That was an a-ha moment for me. Oh, I thought. She needs to have a weakness. Okay. I can do that. Now what would that be????

You can see how easy it would be, at this particular point in time, to insert an unspeakable evil into her past that makes her what she is. Weakness, though, bespoke weak to me, and that was exactly the opposite effect that I wanted. My girl wasn’t going to be weak. She was going to be kick ass, and not because she was driven by a demon, it’s just who she was. So in the first book, Taylor smokes. That’s her weakness, her humanizing factor. And it works for me. She doesn’t have a big secret in her closet, a tragedy that drove her to become a cop. She chose that route because it was the right thing to do. Many might find her boring because she is a moral person doing moral things because of an overarching desire to rid the world of evil. I don’t know.

Just for the record, I am not a feminist, by any means. I’m happy in my role in life, being the wife, being the nurturer. I do hate that women aren’t paid equally for their work, and I will become highly annoyed if you suggest to me where my place is or neglect to treat me like a lady. But I’ve worked in male dominated environments before, and I learned very early on that there were two ways to get a leg up. One, sleep your way there. Two, earn the respect of your team. Guess which route I took?

And I’ll tell you, earning the respect of your team means showing absolutely no weakness. So when it came time to write my female character in a male world, there was no chance she’d be showing any either. I just don’t know how to program that way.

So. Am I completely off base here? Would you rather see the damaged soul find redemption? Or is it okay for women to finally come into their own in crime fiction? Look at the double standard that exists when it comes to sex: I know if there was a female lead who acted like the men, we’d all get into trouble. It’s not ladylike to have desires and act on them – that makes you a slut. But a male character can screw his way through the book and no one bats an eyelash.

How is this any different?

Wine of the Week: 2007 Feudo Arancio Nero d’Avola Sambuca di Sicilia paired with a hearty puttanesca sauce.

(Oh come on, you knew that was coming….)

Working It Out …

by Zoë Sharp

First of all, I’ll start with an apology. I’ve been kinda quiet these last couple of weeks. (Oh, so you hadn’t noticed I was missing …?) Put it down partly to rushing about the country, going to Harrogate, and Caerleon, and partly down to needing some time to reflect on a lot of things. One of which is how we deal with people, and therefore how our characters interact and deal with each other.

Every now and again, somebody explains a theory to me and it just clicks. A little light bulb comes on in the brain and some abstract concept finally takes shape and form. So it’s been this week with something called Transactional Analysis. Not something I’d come across before, but once I had, I realised I was seeing it everywhere.

Now, I know it doesn’t exactly sound enthralling, but stick with me on this. Transactional Analysis, known as TA for short (although that still means Territorial Army to me) is a theory of psychology developed in the 1950s to explain how people are put together and how they relate and function in a group. Don’t worry, I’m not going to get all psycho-babble on you. (I’m blonde, remember).

TA works on the basis that everyone has three ego-states – Child, Adult, and Parent. These are present regardless of age and actual status as a parent. They govern your reactions to others. Most of us, most of the time, function on an Adult to Adult basis, but it’s very easy to slide into another response, forcing the other person to also alter their stance. Wikipedia gives the following examples.

Straightforward Adult to Adult exchange:

A: “Have you been able to write that report?”

B: “Yes – I’m just about to email it to you.”

Child to Child would be:

A: “Would you like to skip this meeting and go watch a film with me instead?”

B: “I’d love to – I don’t want to work any more, what should we go and see?”

And finally:

A: “You should have your room tidy by now!” (Parent to Child)

B: “Will you stop hassling me? I’ll do it eventually!” (Child to Parent)

These fall into fairly set patterns of behaviour and can go backwards and forwards like a tennis match. The problems occur when people cross from one ego-state to another during an exchange.

So, what starts out as an Adult to Adult exchange is altered by the response.

A: “Have you been able to write that report?” (Adult to Adult)

B: “Will you stop hassling me? I’ll do it eventually!” (Child to Parent)

and will often force A into a suitable Parent to Child response:

A: “If you don’t change your attitude, you’ll get fired.”

Equally, you can break this cycle, so:

A: “Is your room tidy yet?” (Parent to Child)

B: “I’m just about to do it, actually.” (Adult to Adult)

Of course, it may not be comfortable for someone who is in a Parent ego-state, and expecting a Parent to Child/Child to Parent reaction.

A: “I can never trust you do to things!” (Parent to Child)

B: “Why don’t you believe anything I say?” (Adult to Adult)

The trick, of course, is to be measured in your response, otherwise what should be reasoned argument comes across as petulance, which is not quite the same thing.

Of course, within these ego-states are other sub-states. Parent has the controlling aspect, and the nurturing aspect, which can both be negative and positive. Everyone wants to be encouraged and praised when they do well, but sometimes this can turn to smothering. Everyone wants to be guided, but not to the point of oppression, or being lectured to.

Likewise, the Child ego-state is either adaptive or free. Everyone needs, at some time or another, to follow instructions and do as they’re told, but being too adaptive can lead to submission, and too much freedom goes beyond confident, outside-the-box thinking into just plain rebelliousness and displays of temperament.

The more I think about these automatic underlying responses to the behaviour of others, the more sense it makes. For example, have you ever been in the situation where you’ve watched the reactions of a colleague, boss or friend towards another person, and thought, ‘If I’d said that to my colleague/boss/friend, they would have bitten my head off …’? If this is the case, perhaps that other person is not allowing your colleague/boss/friend to force them into playing the Child to Parent role, and your colleague/boss/friend is reacting accordingly by going for the straight Adult to Adult response. It’s probably completely subconscious rather than directed at you personally, and you have to react very carefully to turn this around and not head instantly for rebellious Child mode.

TA reasons that everyone’s psyche has these three ego-states and we naturally slide between them in all our dealings with other people. The problem comes when the balance becomes upset, either because you feel you’re being bullied by another person – constantly falling into the Parent to Child mode – or even because you feel you have to bully someone to get them to respond as you believe they should.

The answer depends on your temperament and self-confidence, to a certain extent. If you feel lectured by someone close to you – as often happens in a relationship where one partner Always Knows Best – then making a gentle joke of it is often the best way forwards, so they recognise what they’re doing and it’s not being pointed out to them in such a way as to provoke an angry response.

In a business relationship, sitting down and calmly explaining to the person that you have a problem with them and asking how best to solve it is the only way forwards – forcing an Adult to Adult exchange and not letting it degenerate into a Child to Parent slanging match. (Cue cries of “It’s SO unfair!”)

Anyway I found all this stuff fascinating, because it gives me plenty of food for thought about the way my characters interact with each other. And as I’m just planning the next book where Charlie has to bodyguard an immature girl, there will be plenty of scope for Parent to Child interactions.

So, my questions are, does this make any sense whatsoever? Have you ever felt yourself reacting to others in the ways described and not been aware of it? Do you think this is a useful character-building tool from a creative writing point of view?

OK, lesson over, now to have some fun!

I came across these pix this week, wonderful examples of creative stupidity or ingenious bodges, all of them, and I thought you might enjoy them.

This week’s Word of the Week is suppedaneum, which is the support under the foot of a crucified person. I’m not sure what bothers me most about this – the fact that such a footrest was devised to prolong the agonies of crucifixion, or that it has a special name.

Hooptedoodle and The Barbossa Principle

by J.D. Rhoades

When you’re a beginning writer (and for a long long time thereafter) it’s enlightening, and often comforting, to read books and articles on the craft, especially by writers you already admire. And when those nuggets of advice are distilled into nice tidy lists of numbered or bullet-pointed rules, you begin to get a sense that maybe you can actually get a handle on this thing. I for one, still pull out and read Elmore Leonard’s New York Times essay entitled “Easy on the Adverbs, Exclamation Points, and Especially Hooptedoodle” at least once a year. After all, who the hell am I to argue with Elmore Leonard, especially when he’s offering advice like “try to leave out the parts that readers tend to skip”?

I’m also quite fond of Kurt Vonnegut’s “8 Rules for Writing Fiction“, which contains gems such as “Give the reader at least one character he or she can root for,” and “Start as close to the end as possible.”

Most recently, I’ve gotten a kick from Joe Konrath’s cranky and hilarious list “How Not to Write a Story,” a cri de coeur which sprang from Joe’s experiences wading through the dross of a short story contest he was judging.

But here’s the thing. Once you internalize these rules, you begin to notice more and more writers–good writers, mind you–who break them and get away clean. For instance, both Leonard and Konrath say you should “Never open a story with weather.” And yet, Orwell’s 1984 opens with just that: It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen. Chandler’s short story Red Wind begins with a description of said wind:

There was a desert wind blowing that night. It was one of those hot dry Santa Anas that come down through the mountain passes and curl your hair and make your nerves jump and your skin itch. On nights like that every booze party ends in a fight. Meek little wives feel the edge of the carving knife and study their husbands’ necks. Anything can happen. You can even get a full glass of beer at a cocktail lounge.

Leonard and Konrath warn against starting stories with prologues. Prologues would also seem to violate Vonnegut’s dictum “start as near to the end as possible.” However, two books I’ve read recently which I absolutely loved (Neil Gaiman’s NEVERWHERE and John Connolly’s THE UNQUIET) both have brilliant prologues. So do Lehane’s A DRINK BEFORE THE WAR and Michael Connelly’s ECHO PARK, to name just a couple randomly plucked from my nearby bookshelf.

Vonnegut tells us “Give the reader at least one character he or she can root for.” But Tom Wolfe’s THE BONFIRE OF THE VANITIES is full of characters I found myself wishing heartily would all die in a fire. Even so, I couldn’t put it down.

Konrath warns against the narrator directly addressing the reader, and both Konrath and Leonard warn against lengthy character descriptions, especially at the beginning. But Twain’s THE ADVENTURES OF HUCKLEBERRY FINN begins and ends with Huck addressing the reader directly: You don’t know about me without you have read a book by the name of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer; but that ain’t no matter. THE MALTESE FALCON begins with a memorable description of Samuel Spade (who can forget the image of Spade as a “blonde Satan”?) and Megan Abbot’s QUEENPIN begins with the narrator addressing the reader with a lengthy description of the title character, particularly her legs.

All that said, the “rules” are there for a reason. While some people are prone to chafe at the idea of rules for writing in general, the fact remains that many works of fiction that flout them do, in fact, suck. They suck with great vigour. Lest we forget, “It was a dark and stormy night” (opening with weather) has become an archetype of the lame opening.

So what are we to do? Are there no signposts to guide us on our way? Are there rules or aren’t there?

Over the years, I’ve developed an attitude towards “The Rules” much like that of Captain Barbossa in the movie PIRATES OF THE CARRIBEAN. You may remember the scene where the plucky Elizabeth Swann tries to talk her way off the pirate ship and back to shore by rule-lawyering the Pirate Code, which she apparently knows only from books. Barbossa just smirks and tells her, “The Code is more what you’d call “guidelines” than actual rules. Welcome aboard the Black Pearl.”

Most of the time, though. the pirates DO follow the Code. Because it makes sense. Except when it doesn’t, and then they don’t.

So look at it this way. Go ahead and learn the rules as set down by more experienced writers. But when you come across a situation in which you want to break a rule, think once. Then think twice. Then think again. If after three thinks, you still believe it’s a good idea, then go ahead. It’s your story, after all.

You should still leave out the parts that readers tend to skip, though.

So here’s today’s exercise: tell us a rule you’ve read, either at the linked lists or elsewhere. Tell us about a work you’ve enjoyed that breaks that rule succesfully and tell us why the story still works. Writers, tell us about a rule you’ve consciously broken and why.

And for more discussion on this subject, check out the quite spirited debate at Steve Mosby’s The Left Room, which was the inspiration for this post.

Blurb Etiquette

By Louise Ure

I recently saw a quote from Dennis Lehane who, when asked why he liked working with beginning writers, said “I’m a Roman Catholic. We believe in sending the elevator back down.” I’m more of a Roaming Catholic, but I agree with him. And some of that “sending the elevator back down” comes in the form of providing blurbs.

Tess Gerritsen was absolutely right in her blog post last week when she said that none of us got here without standing on someone else’s shoulders. Each of us has some other writer up there who pushed the button and sent the elevator back to help us up move up more quickly.

But it’s a big ask of an author to take the time to provide a blurb.

There’s only one writer I know who gleefully admits that he scans the first few pages of the manuscript to get the main character’s name and situation, and then writes the most glowing, over-the-top rave review he can come up with.

The rest of us don’t do it that way. We read the whole thing and try to write something fitting, appropriate and positive. It’s not easy. You want to focus on the novel’s most intriguing elements or style, imagine what the target audience for this novel will relate to, and then express that thought in an articulate, colorful way that will please publisher, author and reader alike.

Some publishers still do the work of putting together a list of potential blurbers and sending out the ARC’s. More often these days, the author herself is asked to compile a potential list and contact those authors. And that can be a daunting task.

So how do you do that?

In my continuing desire to debunk those heretofore unexplained mysteries of the publishing world, here’s my list of do’s and don’ts about how to ask for a blurb.

• Start with people you’ve actually met, or whose work you’ve actually read. If you already have a relationship with the author through MWA or ITW, or you’ve met at a conference, or you’ve corresponded with him about how much you love his work, it makes the sale easier.

• Do tell the author why his comment is important to you. Flatter us. Am I one of only three authors you’re contacting? Have you read my work and so identified with my style of writing that you felt compelled to ask? Come on. You’re asking for six hours of our time. Suck up a little.

• Do give the author enough time to read the book. We all have more busy/less busy times of year based on our own deadlines, so giving me a book that has to be read within thirty days limits your chances of being taken on. It just might be my busiest time of year. Ideally, you should allow 3-5 months. (I got a request from a young woman recently who asked me to read her book and then said she only had ten days to get the quote in. “Just scan it enough to give me a great blurb!” she suggested. Can you count how many things are wrong in that approach?)

• Do give the author a way out. Many authors will not blurb a book at all if they don’t like it. I think that’s fine. After all, it’s our name and reputation on the line. And it doesn’t mean your book is bad (although that’s sometimes the case). It just means it wasn’t to our taste. But please recognize how uncomfortable it would be for an author to have to tell you that. In your request, let her know that “if you can’t get to in within this three month window I’ll understand completely.” That leaves her with a gracious way out.

• Do contact more authors than you think you’ll need. Some will inevitably not be able to get to the reading. Some will dislike the book and not want to offer a blurb. I’d suggest a list of six or eight authors should fill most publishers/marketing department needs and still give you the opportunity to focus on the few you really want to feature.

• Do follow up once if you haven’t heard from the author when 75% of your time is up. He might have the wrong contact information for you, or the email might have disappeared into the spam folder. Both have happened to me.

• Do send a thank you note afterward. A thank you email is fine, and if you don’t have their email address, just go to the contact page on their website. However, if you mailed them a galley or an ARC, you’ll also have the snail mail address and an old-fashioned, handwritten thank you note is always appreciated. (PS: I’ve sometimes received thank you gifts like chocolate or a bottle of wine afterward but it’s truly not necessary. We’re happy to help aspiring authors even without the graft.)

DON’T

• Don’t ask for a blurb until the work is sold to a publisher. This one’s controversial. I’ve seen a disturbing trend recently where new authors and their agents are seeking blurbs earlier and earlier. At first, blurbs were secured when the galleys or ARC’s were available, and they were intended for use on the covers and in promotion when the book came out. But I’ve had more than a dozen requests this year alone from authors who had just retained agents and the agents want the blurbs to help sell to a publisher! I’ve even had debut authors ask for blurbs to include in their query letters to agents. (A better idea: if you know me well enough to ask for a blurb before you get an agent, you’d be better off if I sent that agent a private letter extolling your virtues. Take one step at a time.)

I don’t know if this practice will now move into the mainstream. My hope is that debut authors, as they begin sending out their query letters, will also put together a list of potential commenters and ask, “when this manuscript sells to a publisher, would you be willing to consider offering a blurb?”

• Don’t promise how you’ll use it. Sure, the blurb may wind up on the front cover with your title, but don’t promise that. It’s really up to your editor, the marketing department and the cover design artist to make the decision of how best to use the author comment. Later, however, as your final plans are made, it might be thoughtful to write back to your author and tell them how pleased you were to be able to use their quote on your website or in your promotional material … especially if the quote didn’t make it onto the book cover.

• Don’t ask for specific language in the blurb. This one should be self-evident. None of the “if you could focus your comments on the emotional depth of my work” etc. Feh.

• Don’t ask the author to print out an electronic version of your manuscript unless it’s absolutely necessary. The author may actually offer to receive your manuscript electronically. If at all possible, do not take them up on it. They won’t read the work on screen and you’ve just cost them twenty dollars worth of paper and ink to print it out. Multiple that by the Lee Child-number of inquiries coming in and author blurbs start to look like their own separate cost center.

• Don’t send out your manuscript until it’s absolutely perfect. That draft of the ms before you got around to a final check for typos will not reflect well on you. (My two favorite typos from recent reads were: 1) the woman who said she “was going to have an organism” if he touched her leg one more time, and 2) the man who ordered a “Crap Louis Salad” for lunch.)

See? It’s no different than that ideal query letter you sent to agents:

1. Perfect your work before you send it out

2. Identify the target audience (which authors) you want to contact

3. Tell them why their blurb is the one that’s important to you

4. Don’t feel bad if they turn you down; they weren’t the right person for the job

5. Tell them thank you.

Okay, ‘Rati, how about you? Your chance to crow. What’s the best (or most unusual) blurb you’ve ever received or given? And readers, what’s the blurb that made you pick up that book you’d never heard of before?

PS: Happy Birthday Obama, you Hawaiian-born son of America!

I am a writer

Enter the moment when now becomes yes
when dreams fly free, unbound from gravity and logic.

I sit in this place
in the second, the minute, the hour of possibility.

A woman looks at her lover;
I’ve got the introduction to a story.

A child screams in a store;
I’ve imagined whole chapters: the angry mother, the abusive husband, the lost job.

An old man coughs;
I’ve decided on the poison he imbibed.

All this in an instant.

Then comes the work
the butt in chair, pedal to the metal
BEWARE the cliché
SHUN the formula

WORRY about the industry
the agent
the publisher
the editor
the distributor
the bookseller
the future reader uploading scanned stories, downloading pirated novels on a cellphone/computer/mini-mobile-office.

DAMN my computer! It’s crashed again.
FUCK YOU, reviewer! How dare you take my baby and shred it so?
WHY did she win that award?
WHY did he get that incredible deal?
Options?
Co ops?
Paid Book Tours?
Televisionradiornewspaperswebsitesblogsbooktrailerspostcardsposterspens.

no.

I won’t do it.

NO!

I go outside.

I breathe, let my shoulders relax.

The warm air is velvet in my lungs, smooth and soft and elegant.
Above me the sky is the most amazing blue.
I’ve never seen anything like it.
Do you know . . .
I think this blue isn’t of the Earth.
It’s magic.

Yes.

A magic blue from another world.

Or another time.

Perhaps it’s . . .

Discovering Voice

By Allison Brennan

On Monday, Pari wrote about honesty in writing. Her post, specifically her question at the end, really stuck with me because I have been thinking about this exact thing lately, but without a name for it:

“What the heck is ‘honesty in writing’ anyway?” she asked.

Honesty in writing is authorial voice. It’s staying true to yourself, writing to discover your voice. We talk about the market a lot, but truly the market is so big that no author should write to the market but instead should write to their voice.

But what in the world is ‘voice’ and how do you find it?

Two days after Thrillerfest officially ended, I had a call from my editor about revisions for ORIGINAL SIN, the first book in my Seven Deadly Sins series. We’d scheduled it ahead of time, because I wanted to jump on revisions quickly. I’d turned in the book without an ending because I honestly didn’t know how it would end. Being the first book in my first series with continuing characters, I’ll admit I was nervous (still am. And no, I still don’t have an ending, but I have two weeks.) I know how to write a climax and finish a story, but how to end a book while keeping interest piqued for the next book?

Fortunately, I planned on revisions, so I sent my editor my first draft. (Caveat: since I edit as I go, my first drafts are pretty clean. I didn’t send her complete crap. Just slightly stinky crap.)

The first thing she said was that when she started reading the manuscript, she was unnerved. It sounded “just like an Allison Brennan novel” but it was paranormal. She went on for several minutes about how odd it was to “hear” me in the story but have something so different than I’ve written for twelve books . . . different yet it was the same.

My editor told me during our first conversation after she bought me, that I had a “commercial voice.” I didn’t know what it meant, and while I won’t say I was insulted . . . I didn’t take it as a compliment at that time. Now, I understand what she meant. At least I think I do—I write in an accessible voice using universal themes. To entertain, not educate.

I rarely talk about voice because you can’t teach it. You can’t tell someone what their voice is or how to write in their voice. “Voice” is one of those ethereal elements in writing that is hard to define. One definition I’ve heard in the past is that voice is the author’s fingerprint on the written page, similar to a singer’s musical voice and a speaker’s talking voice.

Voice is a combination of everything that makes an author unique. Tone, style, and most importantly, the rhythm of the written story. Voice is not genre or theme, though those elements could be part of an author’s voice. When an author is told they have a “strong voice” it generally means that readers love them or hate them. But either way, their voice hits the reader emotionally in both extremes.

I believe it was Lori Foster who said at an RWA workshop several years ago that she hated 3-star reviews. 3-stars meant “blah” or “just okay” or “average.” She’d rather have a bunch of 5-star and 1-star reviews because that meant she hit all the right notes—even if someone hated the book. I tend to agree, because no one wants to be average. No one wants their book to be blah. We may not be writing the Great American Novel, but whatever we DO write, we want our voice to be memorable, so readers will be excited or scared or amused or sad or happy or angry. We want the reader to FEEL SOMETHING, to bring out their emotions, so they become part of the story, not a disinterested third party.

And that connection is what makes a strong voice. When the writer connects with the reader in such a way that the reader is sucked in, whether the book is commercial or literary, a thriller or a romance, a coming-of-age novel or an epic saga. The words themselves should almost disappear as the reader absorbs the story, becomes part of it, immersed and invested, through the strength of the author’s voice.

I’m of the mind to believe that every voice is unique, like fingerprints. I also believe that most—or all–writers have one, strong voice. Toni and I have discussed this many times and she disagreed with me up until recently (she can share the story if she wants!) My argument is that a writer’s natural voice is, well, natural. It’s how we best tell a story on paper. When we try to write using an unnatural voice—one that doesn’t “feel” right to us—we are then writing for the market or for someone else, fighting our natural rhythm, forcing words and phrases and ultimately the story out onto the paper. It’s stiff, artificial, phony. Dishonest.

One of the biggest hurdles for unpublished writers is a lack of voice. It’s not that they can’t write—they could be technically perfect—but their voice is weak, or it’s not natural to them. Weak voices—and I’ve seen it a lot in contests—tends to be stiff and labored, as if you can actually see the author thinking about what to put on the page. The voice is blah, a 3-star voice, it doesn’t stand out as anything different, even if there’s nothing you can pinpoint as being wrong.

When starting out, some writers mimic their favorite authors, thinking that if Stephen King is successful then they need to write like Stephen King. Since an author’s rhythm is part of voice, to write against your natural rhythm is hard and frustrating. Some new writers also grow scared that their voice is not strong enough, so they pack gimmicks into the story—usually plot devices—to hide a weaker voice.

As most Murderati readers know, I wrote five books before I sold. My first four books I wrote I was still trying to find my voice. I wrote what I thought I should write without letting my natural voice take over. They were all romantic suspense, but I held back, hesitating, and the reader could see the hesitation on the page. I was scared because I didn’t know what I was doing or how to do it, but I was trying to find something–something that I couldn’t articulate at the time.

It was with THE PREY that I let myself go, so-to-speak. I have said I “discovered” my voice writing that book, and that’s as close to an accurate description of what happened as I can get. I literally found my voice in the writing. I let myself write without constraint, without fear of the market, or whether it sounded good, or whether it would sell. I was excited, even when I was stuck. I just knew this was it, this was me. While in writing THE PREY I found my voice, I don’t think I was truly comfortable with it until I wrote my fourth published book, SPEAK NO EVIL. And while every book is harder to write than the last, it’s not the writing itself that is hard. (Which sounds like another blog post on another day!)

You recognize authorial voice just like you recognize a singer on the radio. It’s distinctive, it’s strong, it’s natural.

When you pick up a book by one of your favorite authors, you read the first page and feel like you’re coming home. It’s comfortable, familiar, and you let the rhythm of their story carry you to the end.

Alex’s post yesterday discussed who we are as part of our voice. She didn’t exactly say that–and maybe she didn’t mean it, I just inferred because I’d already written most of this essay. Voice is more part of us than we realize, which is why when a writer discovers her voice, when the writing—though not easy—becomes natural, comfortable, seemingly effortless—at least on the final draft; we physically yearn to write. We couldn’t not write, because the storytelling is as much a part of us as our verbal voice.

I’d argue that even if you’re switching genres, your voice is unique and moves with you. As in my supernatural thrillers and my romantic suspense novels, I “sound” the same—even though the subject matter is different.

I give a workshop called No Plotters Allowed every year or so. One question I ask people, “If you knew today that you would never sell, would you continue to write?”

I believe that if you answer yes, you’ve found your voice—because it’s so much a part of you, that you could no more stop writing than stop breathing. And once you find your voice, you’re halfway there. You might need to hone it, strengthen it, practice it, but when you find it you know.

Think about one of your favorite authors. What about their voice resonates with you? Would you recognize them in whatever genre they wrote because of their “fingerprint?” Would you follow them wherever they went because you love the way they “sound” in print?

All the Murderati authors have strong voices–but Toni McGee Causey is truly unique. Perhaps because she’s humorous as well, something that is not only difficult to write but rare in a thriller. I find myself attracted to comedy because it’s something I can not do. I’ve tried. My agent told me I’m not funny. (She denies it, but it’s the God-honest truth.) So I particularly enjoy authors who write with a humorous voice–dark or light.

I flipped open the first Bobbie Faye book, CHARMED AND DANGEROUS, and found this opening for Chapter Seven:

Bobbie Faye had barely turned toward him when Trevor took her gun–so quickly, she hadn’t even known he’d done it until he waved it at her.

“You can decide to shoot me later.”

“Oh, sure, make promises you won’t have to keep after I’ve drowned already,” she said, hugging herself, trying to sustain the snark in order to fake the calm while the water rushed into the truck and crept up her calves. She was calm, damnit. Of course she was calm. She was so one-with-the freaking-calm that after she had drowned, they were going to call her St. Bobbie Faye, Patron Saint of the Calm People. There was a big drawback to that, because calm people don’t really need any help and only the crazies would be haranguing her in the afterlife. Fuck.

Trevor snapped his fingers in front of her face and she lasered a glare at him.

“Am I interrupting something?” he asked, leaning past her, grabbing the flashlight from his glove box.

“I’m a little busy working out my afterlife schedule, thank you very much.”

So last time Murderati regular Billie won books from Toni and me, and to celebrate our dual release month of August (Toni’s WHEN A MAN LOVES A WEAPON comes out this Tuesday, and my CUTTING EDGE came out last Tuesday) I’m giving away more books. Yeah! Free books! So comment about voice–or anything for that matter!–for a chance to win SUDDEN DEATH (by me) and CHARMED AND DANGEROUS (by Toni) both firsts in a trilogy.

Life is a pitch meeting.

by Alexandra Sokoloff

I spoke to a college screenwriting class the other night, and I realized something that I guess I’ve known for a long time, but I’ve never actually put into words.

Life is a constant pitch meeting.

There were about a dozen kids in this class. Okay, not all kids. I talked for about forty-five minutes, my whole story of breaking into the film business and what the job is really like and how it’s different from being an author, all the usual, and the rest of the two-hour class I was just taking questions.

Out of the whole class, only five of the students asked questions, although more did answer when I asked them questions to draw them out. And out of those, only two people actually voluntarily told me what they were working on, in detail. And those were two out of the three who continued to ask questions throughout the class.

Guess which students I remember from the class?

If I were an executive handing out jobs or assignments, guess which ones would get the job?

Not only that, but these two guys caught my attention from the very first moment they walked into the class. They are attention whores. One walked in with a Nerf – Uzi, it looked like, in violent neon colors. At the slightest prompting he pulled that puppy out of his backpack, loaded a clip of Nerf bullets with awesome efficiency, and fired several lethal rounds into the whiteboard at the front of the class. It was a thing of beauty.

The other shuffled in, collapsed into his seat in a posture of abject and total martyrdom, made sure everyone could see the bruise under his eye, and proceeded (again with the most minimal prompting) to tell a woeful tale of being assaulted by his girlfriend over the weekend. She subsequently harassed his roommates and was arrested by the cops.

Now THOSE are entrances. THOSE are characters.

I don’t know if either of those guys can write worth a damn; I don’t know if they’ve got the drive and dedication to do what the job is, but I would give them a chance to show me more, just because they’re standouts – and because in two hours I learned so much more about them and their writing than I did about anyone else in the class. They moved themselves to the top of the theoretical list just by being forthcoming. They put the spotlight on themselves.

Furthermore, the guy with the nerf Uzi draws and writes comic books, and the guy with the out-of-control love life is writing a wacky romantic comedy.

Do we see the pattern here?

They were ILLUSTRATING the kinds of writers they are, in clothing, props, actions, and their entire personal presentations. They were pitching their writing with everything that they did last night. And oh, do film executives love visual aids. Who doesn’t?

At twenty-two or whatever, these guys already have it down.

In screenwriting, because so much of the job is pitching, you have to stand out for simple job survival. Film executives will take six or seven or ten pitch meetings in a day. OF COURSE you have to have a great story to tell, but you equally have to make sure they’re actually awake enough to pay attention.

It’s a lot the same if you’re an author. The more interesting character is going to get more attention from the media (essential for our job survival). You will get more attention from your publisher if they sense you will get extra attention from the media. That’s just reality.

Take a look at successful authors you admire. There’s something beyond their amazing writing, isn’t there? They’re also fascinating people. They have star power in person. You can always find them in a crowded room, and once you spot them, it’s hard to take your eyes off them. (Have you ever watched Lee Child smoking a cigarette, for example? Now, tell me that’s not a living advertisment for the Reacher books.)

Now, that is not at all to say that you can’t make a bestselling career as a recluse. It’s happened throughout the ages. Great writing finds a spotlight, even when the author can’t. But I suspect it’s a lot harder to make a career that way, especially these days.

Even though I wasn’t handing out jobs in that class last night, I am a highly connected industry professional who was right in front of them, at their disposal, for two hours. That’s an opportunity that doesn’t get handed to most people every day. There is no reward for being shy in that situation. You need to milk an opportunity like that for all it’s worth.

But the fact is, the Universe is ALWAYS handing us chances to get exactly what we want. It’s a matter of whether or not we’re prepared enough, professionally and emotionally, to TAKE the chances we’re given.

Sometimes we’re just not ready.

Those two guys I’m talking about didn’t know who I was or that I was going to be in class that night. They didn’t put on those little performances for me. They are clearly people who are ALWAYS performing. But the point is, you never know when someone who can help you is going to be watching, or who might take an interest in you and your career simply because you’re interesting.

II you are ready… and that’s a big if – you need to put yourself out there so that people can see who you are. You need to talk passionately and specifically about your work. My friend and literary idol Margaret Maron calls it “sparkling”, and Margaret truly does. You have to sparkle.

I know a lot of us have just been out there at conferences, it’s the season. Think back over your conference experiences. Did you make the most of the HUNDREDS of opportunities that presented themselves to you over the conference weekend?

You aren’t ever going to be on all the time, let’s just be realistic about that! But were you on most of the time? Did you talk passionately and specifically about your newest projects so that editor or agent on the sidelines of the group made a mental note (“Read that author” or “Keep track of that person”).

Did you sparkle?

And if you didn’t, do you maybe not present yourself at full power because somewhere inside you don’t feel ready?

I think that’s an important question for all of us to consider, and regularly. Because when it feels like we’re being held back, it’s usually something inside US that is putting the brakes on.

So those are my questions for the day, and also – who are some examples of authors who sparkle, for you?