Personally, I’d rather run with the bulls of Pamplona than read in public.  It takes me back to my school days where every pupil in the class had to read a passage out loud from the current class book.  Since I’m dyslexic, this was torture.  Needless to say, these were not my finest school hours.

But now as a writer, I don’t have a choice.  Reading passages from my books or short stories is expected.  I put this task off for as long as possible.  I could adlib and riff off a question for ages, but read a prepared statement—Danger, danger, Will Robinson!  It got to the stage where some bookstores demanded in their best Tony Soprano voices, “You will read.”

With the gauntlet thrown, I got my act together.  I never read from the book.  I print out the passages first in a big, bold, friendly font.  I tend to make fewer screw ups that way.  Smaller fonts mean too many words, which makes it hard for me to read.  I rehearse my passages.  I don’t learn them all by heart, but I know it well enough that I know how things flow.  With my reading issues, I have a tendency not to read what is on the page and read what I think is on the page, so if I know where the passage is going then I won’t to stray far from the actual story.

Now these things sound like useful tools for me, but they are also good tips for any author who has to read to his/her (hopefully) adoring public.  Reading aloud is all about preparation.

The above tricks got me only so far.  Reading is one thing, but making it entertaining is another.  I attended author readings to get ideas about what worked and what didn’t.  I went to some good ones and I went to some dire ones that made me think, “Oh, God, do I sound like that?”  From these readings (the good and bad ones) I learned a lot that I’ve incorporated into mine.

Always read something that’s going to be intriguing or interesting.  A reading is a hook that you hope to snag readers with.  Read something that will grab the listeners’ attention.  This doesn’t have to be your opening chapter.  Pick a passage or scene that gives a feel for the book’s tone.  And if you aren’t going to read from the beginning, don’t forget to fill the listeners in on the back story.   

Read something interesting!  This might seem like an obvious tip, but you’d be surprised how many authors forget this.  I can’t tell you how many authors read passages where nothing happens.  At the end of it, I’m left wondering, “Why should I buy this book?”

Less is more.  Don’t read too much.  I know people can listen to audio books for hours without a break, but that’s at the listener’s discretion and comfort.  When your reader is stuck in a store, unable to do anything, it’s amazing how short their attention span is.  I estimate that I can get away with 15-20 minutes of reading at a stretch.  After that, listener attention wanes.  So don’t read a 40-page chapter.  Instead, read two 10-page passages and in between give the listeners a flavor of what they’re missing.

Don’t give away the ending.  I know you don’t have to read the beginning, but don’t end your reading with the unveiling of the killer.  It’s a surefire way to kill your sales.

Voice.  I find this is a tricky area.  Very few authors have the ability to read as well as a professional reader or actor.  It is difficult to pull off the various characters, accents and inject real energy into a reading.  If you can’t pull it off, then read the piece straight, putting the tone and voice that you put into the story when you wrote it.  A lot of people like hearing the author read because they want to hear it the way the author wanted it to sound.  Any author can do that.  You wrote the piece and you’re passionate about it.  When you read, your natural voice will carry the tale.  Warning: You can’t be timid.  Too many authors read too quickly, too quietly, or overcompensate by being overly dramatic.  This will come with practice and time. 

You may never feel 100% comfortable reading aloud, but with a few tips and a little effort, you’ll get a lot closer.

Simon Wood

Deni Dietz

When I was waiting tables at the Red Lobster in Colorado Springs, I ran into a psychic who was standing in the restaurant lobby, next to the live lobster tank. He was called "The Cowboy Psychic," and that’s no lie [I know it’s true because he handed me a business card]. He stared at me and said, "You have an energy that tends to scare people." Before I could say, "Excuse me but table 2 is waiting for her strawberry margarita," he added, "But deep down inside, you have a fragile ego."

So this week my Quibbles and Bits is: FRAGILE EGOS R US

Upon meeting a stranger–and in most social situations–the conversation frequently goes like this:

"What do you do, Deni?"

Several interesting images flutter through what’s left of my mind but I usually say, "For a living?"

"Yeah."

"I’m an author."

"Are you published?"

"Yes."

"How many books have you written?"

Written or published? "My 14th book will be out next spring," I reply.

"Have I ever heard of you?"

What I want to say is: "Sure, if you track the N.Y. Times bestseller lists, peruse airport kiosks, and read the ‘from a book by Denise Dietz’ in the credits of a popular movie starring Tom Hanks or (be still my heart) Johnny Depp."

What I do say is…

Well, to be perfectly honest, after 20 years in the book biz, I haven’t doped out the quintessential response yet.

Writers tend to have fragile egos. Yes, I know that’s hard to believe. But all you have to do is attend a mass booksigning and note the line in front of…oh, say, Mary Higgens Clark, and then look at the expression on the face of Mary Midlist.

Surprisingly, my most successful mass signing was at Houston’s Murder By The Book. To my right and sitting across from me was Sue Grafton. The line for Sue wended down the aisle of the store, out the doorway, down the block, around the corner (and for all I know, all the way to the Astrodome). As a fan, I was awed to be in the same room as Sue Grafton (for the record, Sue is very, very nice). As an author, I decided to make lemonade…

When the people in line halted in front my table, I said, "Why don’t you read this while you’re waiting?" and offered a copy of my latest book. Bravely, I added, "If the first page doesn’t make you laugh, don’t buy it."

I sold out in less than an hour. Thanks, Sue, sincerely.

During a lengthy layover at the Ft. Worth/Dallas airport, a young woman noticed my T-shirt–dark green with FOOTPRINTS IN THE BUTTER in white letters on the front, an Ingrid Beaumont Mystery co-starring Hitchcock the Dog on the back. The young woman commented on the shirt–a surpisingly large number of people do that in airports. I explained that I was an author and she said, "Have I ever heard of you?"

I had been traveling since 5 a.m. I was tired. I said, "Probably not."

She said, "What have you written?"

I said, "Well, my first mystery series stars a diet club leader. The titles are ‘Throw Darts at a Cheesecake’ and—"

"’Beat up a Cookie’!" she exclaimed. "I loved that book. But I had to wait until my dad finished it. He loved it, too."

She asked for my autograph.

The above happened 5 years ago (6 years this November, but who’s counting?) and I’m still living off (and high on) the ego gratification.

Some authors may not have fragile egos, but I compare my ego to Humpty Dumpty’s cracked shell.

One "shattered ego experience" resulted in my funniest booksigning anecdote. I was scheduled to sign at a bookstore in California. The store owner had advertised in the L.A. Times. He’d handed out fliers (for weeks) with every book purchase and had a professional MEET AUTHOR DENISE DIETZ sign at the front of the shop. Refreshments included real wine, non-alcoholic wine, cookies, punch, brownies, and various hors d’oeuvres.

I arrived early to find the store empty, except for the owner and his assistants. I was scheduled to give a talk before the signing. The hands on the clock moved as slowly as the hands on the clock in an Orson Welles flick. No one showed. Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. The store owner began to sweat. Then apologize. Profusely. I tried to ignore my shattered ego, but all I kept thinking, over and over, was: All the king’s horses and all the king’s men, couldn’t put Denise Dietz together again.

Suddenly, from a small office in the back of the shop, a voice said, "C’mere, you guys. You’ve got to see this."

Inside the office was a tiny, portable TV. On the screen, in living black and white, L.A. cops were following a white Bronco…

Unlike Mr. Dumpty’s shell, I carefully glued my broken ego back together and subsequently wrote the following:

       THE NIGHT NO ONE CAME

       I’m really sorry, Deni dear,
       I cannot fathom why no one’s here.
       We put the date in ‘Main Event’
       And hundreds of invitation were sent;
       The wine is chilled, the cookies baked,
       Your books are stacked, the yard’s been raked!
       Oh wait, there’s John at the TV;
       He’s calling us to come and see
       A car chase…cops…a celebrity.

I have other "shattered ego stories" — if you want to hear ’em — but I’ve been thinking of contacting several authors and putting together an anthology.

Maybe Mary Higgins Clark and Sue Grafton would like to contribute.

Maybe Johnny Depp will star in the film version.

Why yes, I write fiction.

Over and out,
Deni

Pari Noskin Taichert

Les, the cab driver, gunned it. We were going to Nampa, ID — a town at the other end of the Treasure Valley. The sky was dark and the highway empty, save our car’s lights on the bumpy asphalt. I clutched the whipped cream can and prayed we’d make it in time.

You see, I hadn’t looked closely at the television station’s address. KIVI–Channel 6 (find Heather Skold and Eric Harryman) wasn’t in Boise at all. That’s not something you want to find out at 5:10 a.m. when you’re dressed — complete with make-up — and expected to knock on the security door no later than 5:40.

We made it. I just wish I’d remembered to recharge my digital camera’s battery. You would have seen me grinning with the two fun — and mighty cute — anchors of the morning news show.  Instead, you’ll have to trust me on this, I’m big in Boise.

It started with the article in the Idaho Statesman, my mug gracing a feature about the upcoming Murder in the Grove conference. Then came the television interview (including a link on the station’s website to my website). Then, came the radio interview on KBOI (I spoke with Chris Walton).

Wow. That’s a ton of media for any person (and, by extension, the conference) in any town. Still, no one stopped me on the street. I wasn’t asked for my autograph at the Basque (Leku Ona) or Japanese (Koi) restaurants I enjoyed so much.

But, I am taking some credit (along with the hardworking PR folks I’ve hired and UNM Press) for some of the crowd at the mass book signing at the Barnes and Noble, and, maybe, for a registration or two more at the conference.

That’s the thing about public relations though — I’ll never be sure how much any of this coverage affected, and will affect, sales or heighten my visibility in a meaningful way. Yes, I did have a couple of people tell me they came to the signing because they’d seen or heard of me through the paper/tv/radio — but beyond that, well, it remains to be seen.

Still it was a pretty cool ego stroke . . .

About Murder in the Grove

Right now, I’m writing this post after too little sleep and too much mirth, but I wanted to comment on Murder in the Grove.

If you’re looking for a smaller conference in an absolutely wonderful city — this is a good option. MITG has more of a writers’ focus than other cons I’ve attended (it’s similar in this way to the Hillerman Conference in Albuquerque). There are indeed a few nonwriters there– the pure readers — however they’re in the minority. If "fan" conventions are your thing, I’d suggest you stick with events like Bouchercon/Malice/Murder in the Magic City or LCC.

For me, MITG was a great opportunity to hang out with good friends and spend time with authors that I’ve seen at other events but have never really gotten to know well. I also spoke with many future authors and certainly hope to be reading some of their works soon. Spending time with them reminded me how fortunate I am to have a good publisher, a great agent, and two books under my belt so far.

Among the authors with whom I had enlightening/fun conversations were the ever marvelous Deni Dietz. Aside from having a blast with her myself, I admired her willingness and ability as an editor (yep, she does this as well) to encourage new writers. Speaking of encouragement, Jo Grossman is a new agent actively looking for clients. She’s just started on this side of the business but already exhibits an impressive savvy; she’s also nice and wants to treat each and every query with respect. I’ve had enough rejections in my career to know that many agents don’t make this a priority.

I had a fab dinner and drinks at a Tapas restaurant (Tapas Estrella) with Kirk Russell, Con Lehane, and J.D. Rhoades — and am grateful to get to know these three fine authors better. Other highlights in an intense and interesting conference were talking with Twist Phelan, seeing Deborah Donnelly, Ann Parker, Anne Perry, C.J. Box, Carolyn Wheat, Sylvia Hubbard, and sharing the panel stage with Mary Buckham, Kelly Jones, Joanne Pence, Catherine Mulvaney and Denise Swanson.

A word about Boise: This is a great city. I was really surprised at how cosmopolitan it was. I don’t think I’ve eaten better in any town in decades. The downtown area has beautiful art deco buildings — along with older ones — plenty of public art and a very lively feel. I was absolutely impressed.

In all, I’d recommend MITG without hesitation.

Below are a few pix — I forgot to run them through the red-eye filter. Just pretend we all really look this tired . . . we probably are.

Agent Jo Grossman and author/PR pro
Robert Weibezahl mug for the camera.

Deborah Donnelly has been living in Boise for the past five years — but a move might be in her future. She’s posing at the Barnes & Noble event. I’m amazed she’s smiling; she had a horrid sinus infection this weekend.

Meet Valerie Acosta, a private detective and "spy mom."
The goofy lady on the right is me.

l to r. Carolyn Wheat, Twist Phelan (twisting, of course), Con Lehane and J.D. Rhoades

Doesn’t J.D. Rhoades look proud? I think this was just before he went to get us some brownies. If you look directly behind him, you can see Denise Swanson, Twist Phelan and Anne Perry (she’s in green).

This image was taken from the airplane at about 6:45 am. It’s the island in the middle of the Great Salt Lake. After flying into Salt Lake City for the first time today, I now understand where this body of water got its name; it’s an astounding geographic feature . . . just gorgeous from 15,000+ feet in the air.

Jeffrey Cohen

Where do you get your ideas?

I’m not exactly Stephen King–people don’t know my name, my frightening visage is not seen in the front row of Yankees/Red Sox games, and oh yeah, millions of people don’t buy my books based on the byline alone–but I get asked the above question relatively often. Readers, radio interviewers, the guy at the dry cleaners who pressed the lapel on my sport coat wrong: they all ask The Question, because at least some of them know I’m an author (I’m not sure about the dry cleaning guy–he’s just learning the language, and I think he might ask everybody where they get their ideas) and they find the process of creating fiction to be weird, otherworldly and inexplicable. All of which it is; don’t get me wrong.

Where do you get your ideas?

I am far from alone. I’m willing to bet that everyone who has ever dared commit their fantasies to the page, from Edgar Allan Poe to Edgar Rice Burroughs to Edgar Klymowitz, who used to live down the street from me, has been asked about the origin of their ideas. Which is kind of a bizarre concept: where do you get the idea for anything, really? Don’t they all, finally, stem from the same source?

To be fair, not really. Yes, your ideas all come from your brain, but that’s not what the person is asking. They don’t really mean, “geographically, where does an idea originate in your body?” If they’re actually asking you that question, you need to call someone for help, and make sure the sharp objects have been locked up.

No, when you hear The Question, you’re being asked about your creative process. And since there are few things writers like to do more than talk about how brilliant they are, it’s not unusual for the answer to The Question to be longer than the Questioner might have hoped. In fact, it’s possible the answer will go on for weeks if left unchecked.

Honestly, it used to irritate me when someone would ask me The Question, but in retrospect, I think it was really because I couldn’t answer truthfully. I don’t always know the genesis of my story ideas. Sometimes, they just sort of happen when I’m not trying to think about such things, like in the shower, or when I’m writing the book that someone has actually asked me to write. You know, down time.

So, my stock answer to “where do you get your ideas” used to be, “the Lillian Vernon Catalog. If you order three ideas, the shipping is free.” That was sort of a snarky response (and who would expect such a thing from me, right?), and it might have been a tad unintentionally insulting (“how stupid are you to ask such a thing?”), but it was really a deflection from the fact that I had no idea what the real answer might be.

These days, given that I have more time for reflection (because when you have two teenagers about to end a school year, an actual book deadline, no fewer than three classrooms full of students expecting you to say something pithy, and the need to drum up new freelancing work, you have tons of time for reflection), I don’t say that anymore. I try to answer honestly about the story in question, about what train of thought led to the book, about how my process works, but in reality, it’s still a dodge. I haven’t got a clue where my ideas come from, mostly. That’s what makes them ideas. As Captain Kirk once said, “you can’t wake up one (insert Shatner pause) morning and say, ‘today I will be brilliant.'”

“You should write about this in your next book.”

People, particularly people who have never written a word in their lives, love to tell writers this one. They like to point out an amusing, or unusual, situation, and suggest that said author should use it in a fictional setting. I suppose it’s a natural impulse, but boy, it ticks me off.

There are two reasons I don’t suffer this particular comment with grace. Well okay, three reasons, given that it’s my nature not to suffer things with grace. The two reasons in particular that this comment annoys me:

First, do I go around telling the plumber who comes to my house, “hey, you should solder this pipe next?” Do I suggest to my doctor that perhaps I’ve found the next treatment he should consider trying–on someone else? Do I inform the State Trooper who stops me for speeding about some new reflector sunglasses I think he ought to try out? No, I don’t. I assume that these people are professionals, they know what they’re doing, and I should stay out of their business.

But the problem with writing is a contradiction: everybody thinks it’s a mystical, paranormal process, an art, a piece of witchcraft–and they all think they can do it, but they don’t have the time. I don’t think I’m a carpenter, an upholsterer, a mechanic or a dairy famer, but everybody, deep down, thinks they can write. For evidence, I refer you to my post about memoirists that appeared here a couple of weeks back.

The other thing that sets my teeth on edge when I hear this particular comment is that it usually comes from someone who knows I’m a writer, perhaps has read one of my books, and then refers to a real situation as something I should immediately base a novel upon. This, for those of us searching desperately for something to be insulted about, is a double hit: it assumes that we didn’t make up the fiction in our previous work, but that it came from life experiences, and it assumes that I’m too stupid to recognize a ripe situation when I see one. Two put-downs for the price of one!

There’s nothing wrong with talking to an author about the writing process–in fact, it’s our favorite form of procrastination, which is the writer’s chief occupation. And most authors I know–in fact, almost all excepting myself–are very gracious about such things. Even I am perfectlly nice to people I don’t know when they ask me The Question or comment on what I should write next (to be fair, it’s rare to hear that comment from someone you don’t know–strangers rarely stop you in the street and suggest future plotlines), because they might want to buy my books, and I want them to like me. It’s only those near and dear whom we can lambast for not knowing what it’s like.

People shouldn’t be at all hesitant to approach a writer and talk about writing. I love it, as does every other writer on the planet (well, the ones I’ve met, anyway–can’t actually vouch for Mr. King). And I’m not suggesting you should change one word of what you’d say to your favorite author when you run into him/her at a convention, signing, or in line for a hot dog at Nathan’s. Readers are the people who make the publishing industry viable, and we are all in debt to them.

But don’t be surprised if I suggest the next book you should read. It’ll probably be one of mine.

So… where do you get your ideas?