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?

On this end of the writing game, it’s easy to have your feelings hurt.  Writers hold their stories very dear to their hearts.  Just see my piece Wetting the Baby’s Head from a couple of weeks ago. A tongue-in-check piece, yes, but no less true.  A writer’s body of work is very precious.  So like I say, it’s easy to take things personally and go vigilante on someone’s ass.

Someone trashes your book on Amazon.  Another author belittles you in public.  A bookstore disrespects you.  Your mum tells you to clean up your room.  You, Johnny Author, what do you do?  The temptation to let them have it is overwhelming, but you have to take it on the chin if you want to last in the writing world.

The examples I used above have happened to me.  Yes, mum never stops telling me about the mess I left behind at home.  She called me up last week to ask when would I be flying home to clear out the attic.  Soon, mummy, soon, I told her.  Instead of, get off my back, woman.  I’m 38 now and you can’t boss me about.  I’m a writer with literally a dozen fans out there.

Hmm, I’m showing little too much leg there, aren’t I?  My point is that there are two ways of handling criticism—the right way and the wrong way.  The wrong way will get you blackballed quicker than you can say, sorry!

The rule of the game is simple—play nice.  It doesn’t matter what people say about you, play nice.  Say you get into a slanging match with a big name author or toss out insults about an editor, bookseller, etc.  The upshot won’t just be pistols at dawn with the person you’re arguing with, but a thousand pistols against your one.  The problem with answering back and getting dragged into a flame war is that people will pick sides.  Maybe you’ve said some author is a hack and anyone who reads him/her is a moron.  You’ve not only incited the author, but all the author’s fans who will be willing to stand by their fav author.

At a signing last week, the bookstore owner told me about an author who came into the store and saw an advance reading copy (ARC) on the bookshelf.  The author told the owner to remove it from the shelf or he would sue.  It’s a fair enough point, ARCs aren’t supposed to be available for sale.  A triumph for the author, but the bookseller admitted, “I took the book down, but do you think I’m ever inviting him in the store for a signing?”  There was a bridge burnt in a matter of minutes.

I’m not saying don’t get angry or develop a thick skin, because unless you are the Dalai Lama, you aren’t going to take it lying down.  I’m saying get it out of your system.  Get angry, kick a ball, bitch about it to your cats, whine to your best friend or wife, but don’t express those feelings in the public domain for all to see.  I’m with bestselling horror author Doug Clegg who says if you’ve got nothing nice to say, don’t say it.  Personally, I write a sternly worded email about the offending subject then hit delete.  No one is any the wiser and I’m over it.

The problem is that word of mouth works both ways.  If you say something nasty and one person didn’t like what you said then it’s likely that person will tell ten people and those ten people will tell another ten.  Soon your name is dirt.

This isn’t high school or the gym locker room after work.  What you say out loud is liable to hurt you.  A writer, no matter how small their readership, lives in a public forum and will be judged by the public.  Just consider how many actors or sport stars are disliked because of their antics.  Johnny Author is in there with ‘em.  You don’t have to be super nice or fake.  You just have to be professional.  Because as a writer, you are not only an artist— you are also a professional.  So act like a professional, as you would in any other line of work.  It doesn’t take much to torpedo a career.  Don’t make it yours.

Simon Wood

Deni Dietz

I was going to blog "funny waitress stories" this week, but I’ll save it for next week and, instead, find my old newspaper editor’s hat…ah, here it is, on the top shelf; a black-leather John Lennon cap…and write a "Happy Obituary."

No, that’s not an oxymoron.

After a bravely-fought battle with a rare form of cancer, author Katherine Shepherd succumbed Sunday morning. Most of you have never heard of Katherine Shepherd, and that’s understandable. As the author of two mystery novels — Fraternity of Silence and Betrayed by Silence — co-starring a mini Schnauzer named Bowie Aloysius Dog [B.A.D.], Kathy never made the N.Y. Times or USA Today bestseller lists. She never sold a movie option. She never even wrote a blog <thud>.

But Katherine Shephard epitomized everything that’s good about the book biz, everything that’s positive about small press publishing. And for the record, she never felt she was "second cousin" to the big guys — the authors who win prestigious awards, the authors who get 400 reviews [in a row] on DorothyL.

Au contraire. If you look in the dictionary under "enthusiasm," you’ll probably find Katherine Shephard’s name. I don’t know how Kathy felt on the inside, but on the outside she was a star.

Kathy paid her dues. She had a degree in Criminal Justice and she was a political speechwriter. She attended political fundraisers. She truly researched first-hand the politicians who peopled her novels. And best of all, she never said, "Someday I’m going to write a book." She wrote one. And then another. And had she not become sick, she would have kept on entertaining her fans.

Her husband Bob said, "Kathy enjoyed the friends she made during her days as an author.  The people she met on book tours, at speaking engagements, at conferences and while working on and researching her books, as well as the fans she developed, were all benefits she had not previously considered.  She enjoyed all of them."

The last time I saw Kathy, her eyes twinkled and her smile lit up the room. She was so excited because she had a big surprise for me. Seems she’d mentioned my fictitious dog "Hitchcock" in her latest B.A.D. book [Betrayed by Silence].

For those who will miss Katherine’s smile as much as I will, I’ve included a
picture of her ("and her little dog, too").

Rest in peace, Kathy, free from pain. You will live on in your books, and how many people can say that?

Over and Out,
Deni

Pari Noskin Taichert

Yesterday morning when the hotel alarm clock screamed at 5 am, I felt hostile. I’d only gone to bed a few hours before, and had had a few more scotches than advisable, and, um, well . . . had read before I went to sleep. Had the trip to Mayhem in the Midlands (which, btw, is a great con) been worth it?

By the time I got to the airport, I knew the answer was "yes."

During the convoluted airplane journey home from Omaha via Phoenix to Albuquerque (get out your maps, this makes no sense whatsoever), in the middle of a particularly unsettling batch of turbulence, I began to think about why I go to mystery conventions . . . and why I like them so much.

Sure, I could write another article similar to the one about book signings — but most of my reasons would simply echo that earlier piece ("Il Faut Cultiver Votre Jardin"–Murderati, May 22). That’d be a cop out.

Instead, I want to share some of the things I do to make my convention experiences so consistently enjoyable — and worthwhile. I’m framing these ideas into suggestions — tips, if you will — that I hope will enhance your experience, too.

Physical

1. Get out of the host hotel.  Give yourself the pleasure of breathing nonrecycled air; you’ll feel healthier for it. Plus you might get to go dancing at a blues club — like I did in Omaha.

2. Find the gym. If you know where it is, you might even decide to use it. Hey, I did . . . once.

3. Get some sleep/take naps. Darn! I knew there was something I forgot to do at Mayhem this weekend.

4. Drink enough water. I’m talking about the stuff with no color or flavoring. Coffee doesn’t count. Neither does scotch — or wine. What was I saying? Oh, yeah, "drink water." You’ll feel better if you do.

5. Travel with food. Oh, I know this sounds as obvious as the water one but, believe me, traveling with a little decent food — and this doesn’t mean chocolate and Smarties (I use a good trail mix and turkey jerky [for protein]) — can keep you from being exhausted before you even arrive at the event.

Professional

1. Find the bar. I’m not saying you have to drink alcohol here — (remember the water? Well, you can get in a couple of gallons while hanging out). Many of my best exeperiences at conventions have happened in the bar when a group of people gather and I get to meet, and get to know, folks that I wouldn’t have had the opportunity to speak with in another context.

Etiquette point: schmoozing — while in the audience — during panels and presentations is gauche.

2. Prepare for panels. If you’re an author, think about the subject before you walk into the room, puh leeze. If you’re a reader, have a couple of questions in mind. Everyone will benefit.

3. Curb your desperation. Okay, authors, if you want people to read your books, don’t badger them (either on a panel by only talking about your work or in the bar when it’s socializing time).

Readers? You’ll get to meet the writers you want to meet — and spend pleasant time with them — if you remember they’re just people, too.

(Reality check: I’ve never actually had anyone fawn over me, so I don’t know if this is unpleasant or not . . . um, maybe one of you out there could give me a sort of test fawning experience and I could tell you, really, if it bothered me. I’ll be at Murder in the Grove in  . . . oh, waitaminute, I think I’m missing my own warning at the beginning of this section. Sorry.)

4. Don’t worry about attending all the panels. Authors, you can’t (unless you plan to ditch your own panel — and that’s usually ill-advised).

Readers, you’ll be miserable if you obsess too much about getting to all the panels. Some of the best experiences at conventions happen spontaneously and it’d be a shame to feel compelled to stick to the program simply because you think you have to.

5. Be thankful. Yeah, I know it sounds groovy, but it makes so much sense.

Be thankful for the volunteers who put on the convention — people like Sally Fellows, Evelyn Whitehill, Doris Ann Norris (all pictured below), Lori and Tim Hayes and many others who give their time so freely so that we can all enjoy ourselves.

Be thankful for booksellers for carrying your books — and for carrying books you like.

Be thankful for readers (we’d all better be readers) for sharing their enthusiasm, buying books, talking about books . . .

Be thankful for authors for attending conventions, sitting on panels, and NOT hiding in their rooms (or being mean or snobby or whatever . . .) and for offering their perspectives.

Related to this is: Be nice (to hotel staff and others. It’ll just make you feel so good.)

6.  Take the time to listen. This relates to the desperation warning in #3 of this section. No one has to be "on" all the time. Plus, you might learn something important.

6A. Remember that other people are listening to you. Gossip can be so damn fun, so, go ahead and do a little of it. Don’t get too carried away with spreading nasties about other people though. If you do, you’ll become known for being mighty nasty yourself (okay, "nasty" can be cool in some contexts — just not this one).

7. Take time to debrief after the convention. I think it helps to tell someone about the time spent at a particular convention soon after the fact. It gives the adventure substance and brings order to the chaos of this overwhelming experience. That, in turn, allows our brains to synthesize and own the moments we cherished and want to remember.

Conversely, if we did something stupid — like gossiping too much, for example — this might be the perfect moment to see if we can repair some of the damage.

La Politesse (Politeness)

1. Talk with people you don’t know. Hey, we’ve all been there — strangers in a strange land. It feels horrid. Once you’ve got a group of friends, why not expand it by one or two?

2. Be inclusive. See #1 in this section. When a group gets too clique-y, it has the effect of hurting others, of making them feel less important. Do we really want to do that to each other (authors? readers?)?

Of course, several of the previously-mentioned points could go in this section as well — it’s always wise to be thankful, to listen rather than badger, to give other people a chance to speak — but I’ll assume that being polite comes naturally to most of you.

That’s it for the tips.

Below are a few photos taken at Mayhem. Pardon the quality — I’m just learning how to use the digital camera . . . and am even more challenged when it comes to inserting pix in this blog. But, someday, I’ll be as competent as Ms. Hirahara and Mr. Wood. I promise.

At Mayhem, I had two panels. The first one — Hooks & Gimmicks was sparsely attended in the beginning, but that didn’t stop us from having fun — or me from demonstrating one of Sasha’s odd flaws.

  Yeah, I know it’s dark, but you can see from l. to r. — Doris Ann Norris (moderator and librarian extradordinaire), Lee Killough, me with whipped cream, and Maureen Robb. Not in this picture is the wonderful Radine Trees Nehring. (I think her hubby, John, took this picture. Thanks, John.)

From l. to r. — Donna Andrews, Sally Fellows (reviewer and Mayhem volunteer) and Susan McBride.

You can just feel the merriment in the air, can’t you? This is taken in the bar. See what I mean?

L. to r. Maria Y. Lima and Evelyn Whitehill (Evelyn is an active volunteer at Mayhem and one great lady).

I was terrified of blowing the interview with Toastmaster Denise Hamilton. My worries faded the minute she opened her mouth and started telling all of her fascinating stories.

Jeffrey Cohen

It’s the summer movie season. I used to get so excited about this.

There was a time when I really cared about the movies that came out during the summer, thumbing my nose at the pretentious claptrap Hollywood released at Christmas to lure shiny gold statues and show how important it all was. I’d get there first, stand on line, sit in the center of the center row, hunker down with a box of Milk Duds and let it all wash all over me. Even the slide show before the movie (which wasn’t anywhere near as elaborate as the “pre-show” they do today) got me right where I lived. It was my time of year, and I was going to spend it all in a dark room with strangers.

Not anymore.

Maybe I’m indifferent to the summer movie fare offered these days because I’m older now, but I don’t think so. I still have a fine appreciation for things that are well-made nonsense. I still love stupid movies, when they’re intelligent stupid movies. I think the last honest-to-goodness comedy I saw in a theatre of my own volition (when my son, in particular, wasn’t making the programming choice for the day) was Galaxy Quest, a Tim Allen movie about a bunch of actors who save the, well, galaxy. I thought it was well written, well directed and well acted, and I wish I’d relished the experience, because it hasn’t been duplicated since. That was in 1999.

I think the problem is that while technology has undeniably improved in the moviemaking business, storytelling has fallen by the wayside. Most “action” scenes are edited to the attention span of a hummingbird on Ritalin, and half the time, you can’t tell what’s going on, but you’ve got to figure it’s really exciting. The writing (you wondered when I’d talk about writing, didn’t you?)? Well, that editing really is impressive, isn’t it?

So far this summer, I have attended, semi-willingly, three stupid popcorn movies, the kind that used to get my heart pumping weeks in advance. The first, Mission: Impossible 3 (and I’m not the first to tell you to beware movies whose last name is “3”) was a nifty little entertainment that shouted and sweated as if it were the opening bell in a new Renaissance of action. It wasn’t. It was Tom Cruise, frothing at the mouth (which is what we’re used to with Tom these days, alas) about how much in love with some woman or another he was, and how he’d do anything to save her. It’s been a number of years, I know, but wasn’t that what Mission: Impossible 2 was about? What happened to THAT woman?

Then, of course, came The Da Vinci Code, less a movie than an obligation. As the last person on the planet who hasn’t read the novel on which the movie was based, I can’t compare the two, but Tom Hanks is certainly a good actor, and Ian McKellen (sorry: Sir Ian McKellen), with his two canes, has such a good time there are pieces of scenery caught between his teeth by the end of the film, but didn’t it all sort of add up to not much? Couldn’t most of the big “surprises” be seen a mile away, wearing irridescent paint and waving their arms?

There is a certain hazard to being a mystery writer who attends action movies or reads mystery novels. We think like mystery writers while we’re watching the movie, and we often figure out the plot ahead of “civilians.” I nudged my wife 20 minutes into The Sixth Sense to ask if she’d caught on yet. She started talking to me again a couple of weeks later.

We have a story sense, because if we didn’t, we’d be in the plumbing and heating business, and actually making a living. So, when a story isn’t executed so well that we’re distracted from the mechanics of the writing, well, our story muscles are exercised. Don’t hate us because we can see the plot twists coming.

Yesterday, both the kids were determined to see X-Men: The Final Stand (whose last name was “3” before Ellis Island, I’m guessing), which despite the critical lambasting it has taken wasn’t all that bad. It actually includes a villain whose point of view is defensible, even if his tactics are not, and he’s played by Ian McKellen (pardon me: Sir Ian McKellen) in a very silly hat. Again, not an awful movie, but like each of the first two in the series, the details of this one will have entirely left my memory within a week of having seen it.

A large number of movies will open this summer. I’m sort of interested in seeing Superman Returns, as an old fan of the flying guy. But do I have to go the first weekend it’s open? Nah. I can wait. Others that I would have stood on line for in years past will have to wait until they’re available on Netflix. I’m not spending that $12.95 a month for nothing, you know.

I don’t even eat Milk Duds anymore. They helped make me the man I am today, particularly around the middle.

My daughter, however, is counting the days until the latest Pirates of the Caribbean movie. She can barely wait. And her enthusiasm, finally, is something that I look forward to seeing.

By nature, a writer works in isolation.  Not literally, but when it comes to connecting with the public, bookstores, publishers and editors, the writer is isolated from people’s reactions.  And as such, it’s difficult to know where you stand.  Is my standing in the community growing?  Am I on the way up or the way down?  If the publisher tells you that they’re dropping you, then that’s a very good indicator that your personal stock is on the slide, but there are some subtle indicators to take note of.

One such indicator is what I call the “And Many More” syndrome.  This occurs in the magazine and anthology markets.  The magazine or anthology cover screams, “featuring stories by …” and it lists half a dozen names then tails off with the dreaded “…and many more.”   “And many more,” a breed of people who fill up the pages while the big name people take all the glory.  As you’ve probably guessed, I’ve been in the “and many more” or “and others” bucket for quite a while, but things are changing.  I’m slowing rising above the parapet to be a name in my own right.  As much as it sucks to be relegated to the “and many more” side of the tracks, it’s quite a lift to see my name appear on the magazine cover. 

It first happened a couple of years ago.  I’d sold a story to a mystery magazine and it was quite a shock when I received my contributor copy to find my name third on the cover.  Recently my name received second billing in a horror magazine and they had some pretty well known writers in that particular issue.  My last article for Writer’s Digest was mentioned on the cover.  The editor quoted from it in her editorial and the piece got a very nice spread with lots of glossy stills to illustrate.  Yay, me! 

One spot still eludes me.  I’ve never been the headliner.  My stories haven’t been the inspiration for that particular issue’s cover.  I hope to get there soon.  I can handle it.

On the downside, I’ve not totally risen above the minutia.  Depending on whom else I’m sharing page space with; I get the bump back down to minors.  I returned to my “and many more” status for the promotion of the anthology, Eulogies.   I haven’t achieved the rip-roaring status of sitting pretty on the cover of every magazine or book I appear in, I’ve got to work on that. 

So what can I take from my on and off status as a name on magazine covers?  I’m a bubbler on a low heat.  I’ve yet to reach the status where I’m so damn hot that I boil over onto every cover I grace.  That’s good.  I’ve got work to do—I’ve always got work to do—but I can live with that.  My purpose is to keep on keeping on and doing my best to break through.

And I’ll know when I’ve done that when my name isn’t, And Many More.

Simon Wood (who appears in issue #10 of Book of Dark Wisdom—but not on the cover L)

PS: I’ve joined the MySpace revolution recently.  If you want to buddy up, come see me.

Deni Dietz

Beatrice is busy writing what she calls "chick-lit erotica," so she begged me to tell you that the link she gave you last week for her book JAMES DEAN AND THE MOONLIGHT MADNESS SALE is wrong, wrong, wrong! (Actually, she said "wrong" 6 times!) Bea says the best way to find James Dean is to visit Deni’s website and hit the link for Beatrice Brooks.

I [Deni] was planning to blog about gender preferences–do readers prefer books written by men or women, or does it matter?–but Jeff Cohen did a much better [and much funnier] job with that subject. All I’ll add is that, at one point in my career, I wrote horror stories under the pseudonym "King Stephens." Those stories are Out Of Print [also known as OOP, an acronym I love], but maybe some day I’ll resurrect them.

And so my subject this week will be. . .

[MORE] MISSED-CONCEPTIONS ABOUT THE PUB BIZ

1) My son and his partner, a chef at the 5-star Broadmoor Hotel, wanted to open a restaurant. The woman who owned the building didn’t want to lease to a kid with hair down to his butt [my son]. But when she heard that I would co-sign the lease, she was ecstatic. She had read my first two published mysteries and figured I was . . . what’s the expression? Oh yeah, rolling in dough. Hahhahahahaha.

2) I was a lecturer for Weight Watchers when I had the idea for THROW DARTS AT A CHEESECAKE—killing off dieters when they reached their goal weights. At which point, I quit my "real job" and started waiting tables so I’d have more time to write. This is just temporary, I thought. I’ll sell my book to a major publisher (I liked kangaroos, so that meant Pocket) and soon I’ll be rolling in dough. Seven years later, I sold "Cheesecake" on a two-book contract and wrote BEAT UP A COOKIE.

3) In the beginning of a waitress career that spanned 17 years [I kid you not], I looked for PR opportunities–a way to slip my author’s status into the conversation. But early on I figured what the…heck.

"How’s your lasagna?" I’d ask. "And by the way, I’m a published author."

Across the street from The Olive Garden—the restaurant where I worked when my first book came out—a B Daltons carried Throw Darts at a Cheesecake. The manager, Richard, ordered 100 hardcovers from my publisher, Walker. The first month he sold 98 and I made my first bestseller list. So now I could quit waiting tables, right? Surely you jest!

My "guests" [the people I served] would almost always say, "If you’re a published author, why are you working as a waitress?" I’d respond, "Shhhh, I’m undercover, planning to write the quintessential restaurant exposé."

When I began writing EYE OF NEWT, I worked at a restaurant in Manitou Springs, Colorado, where you can find Covens in the phone directory under ‘C’. People would oft ask what book I was working on. When I said a mystery starring a witch, they’d reach for their wallets and hand me a business card. "Call me if you need any advice," they’d say. Eye of Newt takes place in the fictitious town of Manitou Falls, Colorado, nestled between Manitou Springs and Green Mountain Falls.

I can sell you a map, if you like. It’ll supplement my writer’s income.

Since I run an editing service – Stray Cat Productions – next week I’ll tell you some funny editing stories.

Or would you rather hear funny waitress stories?

Over and Out,
Deni

PS- Here are my answers to some of the blogtag questions Pari asked last
week:

4 Movies You Would Watch Over and Over:

Diggstown
The Lion King / Beauty and the Beast [tie]
The Shawshank Redemption
Johnny Depp [in anything]

4 Places You Have Lived:

Colorado
Wisconsin
New York City
Houston

4 TV Shows You Love To Watch:

House
Medium
Cold Case
NFL Football (Go Broncos!)

4 Places You Have Been on Vacation:

Australia
L.A.
Indiana
Florida

4 Of Your Favorite Foods:

Cheesecake
Custard-filled doughnuts
Shrimp with lobster sauce
Pizza

[And I’ll add] 4 Authors Who Made Me Want To Become a Writer:

• William Goldman
• Anya Seton
• Susan Isaacs
• John Steinbeck

Pari Noskin Taichert

The title of my post today is in French. I figure a little erudition might start the work week off right. Voltaire put the above famous words into the mouth of Pangloss, an extraordinary optimist, in his book CANDIDE. It’s the character’s stock response to all trials and tribulations: "You must cultivate your garden."

I’ve been thinking about how so much of marketing involves this Panglossian focus — especially when it comes to book signings. I read the debates on listservs and blogs about their merits and disadvantages and am disturbed. Frankly, signings have gotten a bad rap because we’ve got our heads screwed on at a lousy angle when it comes to this subject.

Ah, let me put on my therapist’s hat for a minute . . . (For those of you who don’t know me, I actually have a nice chapeau ["hat" in French] with a tassel from the University of Michigan School of Social Work where I trained to be a therapist in grad school.)

To put it plainly, I think most writers who dis signings — specifically at bookstores — are victims of their own inflated sense of self-worth.

Ouch! I can hear the slings of anger already. But think about it. We’re perfectly happy to let other people sell our books for us at stores. Aren’t we? So why do we get pissy if we have to do it ourselves?

I think it’s because we expect to be worshiped. On some level, we buy into the idea that we’re special, that people should be impressed — that our work should zip to the cash register simply because OH, MARVELOUS WE have written it and are deigning to make a divine visitation somewhere.

Come on. The world’s a big place and, face it, most of us are little sprouts.

Somehow, though, our egos are the size of redwoods.

The reality is, when we get to bookstores, the majority of people there don’t care. They haven’t heard of us (this often includes the staff) — even if the bookstore has sent out notices, newsletters — even if we’ve gotten local coverage on television, radio or in print.

It’s a slap to our egos. Hence the raging discussions on the internet. We hide behind complaints to salvage our self confidence: My feet hurt. The taxi is dirty. My time is worth more than this. I only sold three books. Wah.

If it’s a formal signing — one with a presentation — we get upset if only a handful of people show up.

If it’s the sit-at-the-front-of-the-store variety — we moan and groan about having to peddle our wares to strangers; it feels like we’re shysters or hucksters.

We’re never really satisfied. We often forget to be grateful.

"Why bother?" we whine.

Well, grasshoppers, Il Faut Cultiver Notre* Jardin. That’s why. And, no garden grows without work and a vision. Book signings are among the hardiest seeds we can plant — the marketing seeds — to further our careers.

1. They help us know — and be known by — booksellers who then hand-sell our work long after we leave.

2. They introduce us to those folks who don’t care about us . . . but might, if given a reason.

3. If we get media attention, book signings help increase our name recognition so that someone might want to buy our books in the future.

And then there’s the YNK (You Never Know) factor that fertilizes possibilities beyond our wildest imaginations. YNK is my favorite part of the book signing process. It’s the sure knowledge — based now on tangible experience — that someone with whom I speak at a signing might become a friend, a reader, or a person who’ll go out and champion my books better than I can.

Okay, okay . . . I have a bit of a disclaimer: not every author should do signings. Painfully shy people should avoid them and concentrate on internet efforts. Intrinsically nasty, mean writers should decline offers, too.

But, for most of us, they remain effective. It’s time to stop the unbecoming whining and the sniveling short-sighted debates. Let’s get past our egos and cultivate relationships with our audiences (booksellers, readers) in personal ways.

If this sounds dreamy — too optimistic — I can only say that my steady efforts continue to grow my readership. Signings are part of the package — they’re a long-term investment like preparing and planting cherry pits with the hope of growing good, solid trees.

I see the seedlings gain strength everyday.

Cheers,

Panglossian Pari

* FYI: "notre" means "our"– just in case you noticed the change in the phrase the second time I used it.

—————– Speaking of optimism: here’s an uplifting website to check every once in a while for good news in the world ———————–

Steps to Peace