Author Archives: Murderati Members

A TRACE OF SMOKE

I met the lovely and talented Rebecca Cantrell at last year’s Bouchercon in Indianapolis. But I’d seen her picture before on the ITW Debut Author’s website and I’d heard wonderful things about her novel, “A Trace of Smoke,” which was nominated for RT Best Historical Mystery of 2009 and the 2009 Bruce Alexander Memorial Award. It was also listed as one of the Top Ten Novels of 2009 by The Mystery Bookstore’s Bobby McCue. I picked up my own autographed copy of “Smoke” and read it with relish.

“A Trace of Smoke” is a richly-textured period thriller set in 1930s Berlin during the Nazi rise to power. Protagonist Hannah Vogel is a journalist investigating the murder of her brother, a renowned homosexual cabaret star who has many admirers. One, in particular, is a very powerful officer in the Nazi Party. Cantrell’s lens captures the transition from Berlin’s free, tolerant society as seen in the cabarets, to the xenophobic nightmare of things to come. The subtle rise of anti-Semitism is seen in every chapter. And hypocrisy abounds. Cantrell creates a beautifully visual world with images so specific that I sometimes wonder if I read her book in print or saw it unfold on screen.

Rebecca is on a blog-tour for the paperback edition of “Smoke” and I’m honored to present her to our Murderati gang today.

Rebecca, you’ve developed a striking and unique character in Hannah’s brother Ernst. Why did you choose to portray an openly homosexual character in the setting of 1930s Berlin?

I wanted to set a book just before the Nazis came to power, and 1931 was the last year I could do so. Looking back, we know that 1931 was the year that Germany was lost to the Nazis. But they didn’t at the time.

The late 1920s and early 1930s in Berlin was a time of intellectual and social freedom mixed with grinding poverty and violent protests. Berlin was a center for modern art, cinema, writing, and music. And yet within a few years it would all be gone: the artists fled, in camps, or in hiding. Just like that an incredibly vibrant part of a modern European city vanished to be replaced by the horror of the Nazis. How could such a transition NOT be a fascinating time to set a novel?

Once I had my time, and did my research, I was delighted to find there was such a vibrant gay culture in Berlin. I’ve since read that there were more gay newspapers and magazines in Berlin in 1931 than in New York City in the 1970s. This was lucky, because I knew that Ernst Vogel would be gay, out, and flamboyant.

Who was the first character in your book that came to you and why?

Ernst was the first character to come to me. In the mid-1980s I went to Dachau for Spring Break (I was weird even as a teenager). I was transfixed by a stark wall with a row of colored triangles worn by actual prisoners: yellow, red, green, blue, purple, pink, brown, and black scraps of fabric. Above each now faded triangle, thick Gothic letters spelled out the categories: Jewish, political prisoner, habitual criminals, emigrant, Jehovah’s Witnesses, homosexuals, gypsies, and asocials (a catchall term used for murderers, thieves, and those who violated the laws prohibiting Aryans from having intercourse with Jews).

Even though I was just a teenager, I’d read enough to know what the Nazis did to the Jews, the Communists, the gypsies, and those who disagreed with their ideology. But I’d had no idea they’d imprisoned people for being gay. At that time I lived with a host family and my host brother was gay, flamboyant, and out. We often went clubbing in Berlin until the wee small hours of the morning. The subways stopped running around midnight, and if you missed that last one, you were out until five unless you caught a night bus. Then you were on the night bus for hours as it wended its way through every tiny street imaginable. Without much adult supervision, my host brother and I spent what in retrospect was probably too many nights leaned up against each other like puppies sleeping on the top front seat of the night bus or on the benches at the subway station.

We would snag a table at Metropol where we would both drink a Berliner white beer (his with a red shot of syrup, mine with a green) and then dance with an endless array of GIs. At the end of the evening, we’d hook back up and start our long journey home, talking about guys. Forty years before those innocent evenings would have been enough to send him to the camps.

That stuck in my mind and all these years later, I wanted to write about the people who lived in that long ago world, and what happened to them.

Hannah Vogel is such a warm and intelligent character. I found it hard to turn the last page knowing that I wouldn’t be part of her world anymore. How much of you is in Hannah?

Thanks, Stephen! The good news is that Hannah will be in at least three more novels: “A Night of Long Knives” (set during the 1934 purge, comes out in June 2010); “A Game of Lies” (set in the 1936 Olympics, comes out in June 2011); and “A City of Broken Glass” (set in Kristallnacht, comes out in June 2012). And I have ideas for a total of nine books that go up to 1950.

How much of me is in Hannah is a complicated question. I think the truth is: more than I’d like to admit. She has my strong sense of right and wrong and irritating habit of trying to do the right thing, even when it’s inconvenient. On the other hand, I’m not as tough and would probably not be jumping around so soon after being shot, stabbed, and just in general roughed up the way she is. I like to think I’m better at relationships too.

You write Berlin with the authenticity of someone who lived there. How much time did you spend in Berlin?

I lived in Germany for three years. One year near Dortmund, two in Berlin (West) and six months in Göttingen.

The first year, I asked to be sent to a small rural German town, something similar to my Alaskan home town of Talkeetna (population 250). They sent me to West Berlin, a city of two million people surrounded by a giant wall in the middle of communist Europe.

I fell in love with Berlin: its sights, sounds, tastes, and historical burden. I lived in the cold shadow of the Soviet wall, toughing it out with my gay host brother, sarcastic artists, scrappy old timers, and German draft dodgers. On any given Friday night, more flirting teenagers, guest workers, and GIs danced to Starship’s “We Built this City” in the Kuh-Dorf disco than lived Talkeetna.

I’ve only been back for short visits since, but I think one of these days I’ll be able to stay awhile and see what it’s really like post-Wall.

What drove you to write this story? What truths did you want to convey?

I set out to tell Hannah’s story in such a way that the reader would be transported there, able to see what she saw and hear what she heard. I wanted to go to places that I had never seen in fiction: Berlin’s vibrant gay subculture, the life of a woman crime reporter living alone, and an imaginative little boy. Hannah is going to some dark places in future books too, as she sees what the rise of Nazism did to the mothers and sons of Germany. I’m hoping that she can go in there, shine a candle around so we can see it, and then bring the stories back out. That’s where the truth lies.

What’s in store for Hannah in the future?

I just finished the rough draft of “A Game of Lies” last night. But first she has to get through the Röhm purge of 1934 (know as the Night of the Long Knives) after she and Anton are zeppelin-jacked back into Germany. There is film interest, so perhaps we’ll get to see her walking across the big screen too.

What’s in store for Rebecca Cantrell in the future?

I’m hoping to get a chance to write the nine Hannah Vogel novels in my head. For now, I have three written and four total contracted. I also have a short story set on a train transferring prisoners from Dachau in the late 1930s called “On the Train” in the “First Thrills” anthology that comes out in June 2010. Plus I have a YA series that I can’t talk about yet, but hopefully next week!

So, Murderati, please join me in welcoming Rebecca to our enclave, and make her feel at home! To read more about Rebecca and her adventures in the writing trade, check out her website at http://www.rebeccacantrell.com.

Thank you, Rebecca!

DO THE RIGHT THING

By Brett Battles

I’m a strong believer in doing the right thing. From the little to the big, some times the choices we need to make aren’t necessarily the easy ones nor the ones that will benefit ourselves, but they are the right ones. We knows this deep inside.

I am, by no means, perfect at this. But I try.

I’ve been thinking a lot more about this because of several things. First, it’s a theme in my next book NO RETURN due out in early 2011. Second, the amazing response to the disaster in Haiti. And third, because of an email I received from the son of an old friend of mine. An old friend of mine’s son recently spent a month in Ghana teaching kids how to play soccer. While he was there, he saw what conditions the kids had to live and play under, that he decided to do something about it. With the help of his parents, he raise enough money to buy things for the kids they would have never had otherwise. His name is Tony Albina, and here is the letter I got from him thanking me for my donation – which was nothing compared to what he was doing…

Thank you so much for your donation to the children with whom I worked in Ghana Africa this fall. I want to express the gratitude that I felt from the children and send you a few pictures so you can see the difference that you helped me make. A positive difference in the lives of the children and a positive affirmation that, given an opportunity, people will help those who need it – and that the boundaries of geography, culture and politics are certainly no barrier to human compassion and generosity.

I’d like to tell you about my trip, share with you my experience and help you understand how much your gift meant to these children. I spent a month in Ghana Africa, helping underprivileged children in the city of Accra with a non-profit organization called Projects Abroad. I have been playing soccer since I was 4 years old and was the Captain of my varsity high school soccer team for the last two years of my high school career. In Ghana, I would be learning soccer coaching from a semi-pro team and then using those skills to teach in the under 12 children’s program. The city of Accra is located along the southern coast of West Africa.

When I arrived in Accra I was greeted by the unrelenting heat, followed by a tour through the city from my placement coordinator with Projects Abroad. When I sat down in the taxi, my coordinator turned to me and said, “Tony you may see some things that you are not used to seeing back home. Ghana is a much different place than where you are from”, and on that note we headed off into the city. First, we drove to the home of my host family where I would be living for the next month. After introductions were made, we stepped back in the taxi to go see the soccer field where my placement was to be, and I use the term “field” lightly. The pitch they play on was in the worst shape of any field I have ever seen. Instead of grass, the field was made up of a mixture of sand and clay, and was hardly flat. There were large raises and dips all over the field. Very different from the level, lush green grass I have played on since I was a kid. I can remember complaining about the condition of the fields in high school if mid-field was a little bare and worn down late in the season. However, as I soon found out, the condition of this field in Accra made no difference at all to the children here.

The next day I hopped on a tro-tro, which is a glorified mini-van, held together with bailing wire, that runs on a fixed route, and headed to the field. Riding in a tro-tro, you can never be sure that you’re actually going to make it to your destination. To say the ride is harrowing would be an understatement! When I arrived at the pitch, I met up with the semi-professional team with whom I would be training to learn the coaching skills I would be using to train the children. After seniors training, I headed back to my host home as the under 12 year old children’s training did not begin until the evening. Ghanaians try to avoid the mid day heat, for which I was very thankful! That evening I went back to the field for the kids training session. I was expecting young kids in cleats and shin guards ready to play soccer. I was mistaken; some kids wore cleats three times too big, and others played barefoot. A few of the kids had half decent cleats, without too many holes – which, I found out later, were donated by past volunteers. Most of them wore the same clothes every day and the majority of it was donated clothing that was passed down as children grew. The condition of the field, the garbage dump that bordered it, the raw sewage running in troughs through streets, the ill-fitting cleats and torn balls didn’t seem to matter to the children. They played with the same joy and excitement of any child. They seemed blissfully unaware of their circumstances. They were just happy to be playing soccer today.

The next few weeks went on like this. Senior training in the mornings, and under 12’s training in the afternoons. One day I was speaking with Ramma, the captain of the senior team, about some of the under 12’s children. He explained to me that nearly 10 of the kids were homeless and without families. Ramma went on to tell me that he has 5 of the kids currently living at his house, and 3 live in the team’s equipment shed located near the soccer pitch. Many of the children were abandoned at a very young age and were left in Accra with literally nothing but the shirts on their backs. Luckily, Ramma was able to take some of them in. These kids have gone through so much at such a young age but if you met them, you couldn’t tell that they have suffered more in 12 years than most of will in our whole lives. They look and act like regular fun loving kids with a truly amazing passion for soccer and life!

After learning what these kids go through, I wanted to help them somehow. That is right about the time when my parents called me and told me that there were people who wanted to donate money for the kids. I had no idea that friends, family and many people that I’ve never even met could be so generous! In just a week, $1,300 dollars was donated. I was so excited – so much could be done for the kids. I started throwing around some ideas with the coaches and we all agreed that personalized team bags and new soccer balls would be a great help. While they were coordinating to have the bags made, I took some of the senior players out into the market with me buy some new balls, and professional jerseys, shorts, and socks for each child to put in their bag. The bags arrived during my final week in Ghana. I took them back to my host family, and put the gear for each child in each of the 22 bags. Looking down at this massive pile of bags and gear, I was amazed at how much I was able to buy for the kids.

With the money left over after purchasing all the equipment, I organized with some of the coaches, a trip for the kids to go to a professional soccer stadium. I called a security guard that the coaches knew at the stadium and organized a tour. So the next day, I arranged for a mini-bus to pick us up and take us to the stadium. The kids were told they had a game that day, so they thought that’s where they were headed. But when the mini-bus turned into the stadium entrance, the kids went crazy! We met up with the security guard and he led us inside the stadium. We went up into the VIP seating section, and he told us about the history of the stadium. The security guard then said to everyone “Ok lets head on down to the field so you can take some pictures, then we’ll take off”, but I had different plans. As we were walking down to the field, I asked the security guard to let the kids actually play a little on the field. After some monetary convincing, a way of life in Ghana, he accepted my offer. When we got down to the field, I took out a ball I had been hiding and kicked it onto the field. “Get on the field! Go play!”, I yelled –and I didn’t have to say it twice. The kids, in total disbelief, sprinted onto the field with huge smiles stretching across their faces. For most of them, it was the first time they had stepped foot inside the stadium, and it was definitely the first time any of them had played on real grass! They ran, carefree as children do, jumped, laughed and played in bare feet on the cool grass probably for the first time in their lives. I wish you could have seen their faces light up with joy. It was a tremendous gift from you to them.

The next day was my last in Ghana. Half way through the under 12’s training session, I rounded all the kids up, and told them to follow me. Ramma came with us as well. We got to the equipment closet where I was hiding their bags of gear, and I turned the kids and said, “As you guys know I’m leaving tomorrow. But I have a surprise for you all. There are a lot of generous people back home that gave me donations for you and with that I was able to get you all some gear. Some things that will make you look more like a team.” I pulled out the first bag and tossed it to one of the children. He caught it with a look of astonishment on his little face, and realizing what it was, let out a shriek of joy. I grabbed another bag, and threw it out to the group of now jumping, excited children. Then another, and another until all the children had one. It was joyful chaos as all of them rifled through their bags pulling out a jersey here, and a pair of socks there, some shorts waved in the air. All of them were smiling, and cheering the whole time – happy for themselves and happy for one another. One young boy came close and said a quiet thank you to me, and through teary eyes, I told him he was very welcome. Ramma turned to me and said, “In all of my years working with this team, and seeing volunteers come and go – I have never seen so much generosity towards the children. I can’t find the words to describe how happy I am right now.” He reached out, gave me a hug and said, “Thank you. Thank you so much. Thank you.” I said, “Rama I can never give these kids what you have given them. I gave them a jersey and shorts, you gave them food. I gave them a bag with socks, you gave them a home. I should be the one thanking you.” He gave me another hug, and said, “I’m going to really miss you Tony, and I know that the kids will too. You will never be forgotten.” And with that, I picked up my bag, and walked away. Tears rolling down my face, I looked back, to see all the kids waving good-bye. I gave one final wave, then turned back around and headed for a plane that would take me home to New Hampshire. Never to forget the little faces, the friends, the memories. I will never forget your generosity and neither will the young lives that you have touched. Thank you.

Gratefully yours,
Tony Albina

I know Tony’s dad Adam must be immensely proud of his son. But I also know there are other “Tonys” out there, people who are doing the right things both big and small.

In the comments, feel free to share some of your stories about people doing the right thing.

…And I Feel Fine

by J.D. Rhoades

Dear Readers, I know what all of you really wanted to see today was yet another post about e-books and piracy. You really wanted to see more fretting about whether we as writers are all doomed by this new technology to a life of penury, or even worse, having to go out and get what our loved ones often refer to as “real jobs.”

Well, I’ll meet you halfway. I’ll give you the post, but I can’t do the fretting.

See, the thing is, I don’t see the sky falling here.

The people prophesying “the end of the world as we know it”, as Tess somewhat ironically put it yesterday, make a couple of assumptions. First, that that e-books will become, not just a method of delivering stories, but the only one. The second is that piracy will drive out actual buying. Neither is necessarily the case.

Let’s address the first assumption. Go to any blog or website about books or literature where comments from readers are allowed (which is to say, most of them). Look for posts where someone brings up the topic of e-books. I guarantee you, within the first five comments, someone will assert that they prefer paper books. They like the feel, the look, even the smell of a paper book. Watch as more and more people chime in. These people are not going away. Here on Murderati, even the most enthusiastic e-book adopters aren’t giving up paper books. Think about the last new technology for delivering stories, namely the audiobook. Have people stopped buying paper books because they can listen to the same story on a CD or MP3? No. There may be less paper books sold, but I don’t see this venerable technology dying out any time soon.

Really, though, when we talk about ‘loving books,” is it really the physical object we’re in love with? If we held in our hands a beautifully bound volume on rich fancy paper, a volume whose very aroma took your mind back to the many happy hours you spent in the library when you were a kid…but the actual words in the volume were complete gibberish, would you really say “I love this book?” Doubtful, unless you have some sort of fetish, and if you do, well….bless your heart.

No, “I love books” is a misnomer. What we love are stories. And the e-book, like the audiobook, is just another delivery mechanism.

The question then becomes: in a world filled with pirates, how do we make a living telling stories? Well, we aren’t going to do it by sitting around crying about how hard everything’s going to be. Back when the Ice Age came aroiund, there were undoubtedly some cavemen who huddled around the fire that was getting increasingly hard to keep lit, complaining about the awful weather and how the damned sabretooths were making it impossible to make a living. There were others who wrapped themselves and their families up in the nearest handy mammoth pelts, sharpened their spears, and lit out for someplace where the hunting and gathering was better. You know, our ancestors.

Like those hardy and resourceful cavemen, there are writers who are managing quite well in this brave new world, and they’re doing it in ways you might not expect.

One of these is writer, blogger, and tech correspondent Cory Doctorow. If you haven’t read his book LITTLE BROTHER, I cannot recommend it highly enough. Doctorow has an interesting way of combating piracy of e-books: he gives them away for free. Not only that, he does it on the day the paper book is released. And, get this…he encourages readers to copy them into new formats and pass them along.

What is this guy, crazy? Isn’t this like resolving a standoff by having the cops shoot the hostages? Well, maybe. But maybe Doctorow’s crazy like a fox. He asserts that the free e-books help him sell paper books:

For me — for pretty much every writer — the big problem isn’t piracy, it’s obscurity…Of all the people who failed to buy this book today, the majority did so because they never heard of it, not because someone gave them a free copy.

Further, on the subject of e-books vs. paper books, he makes this point:

…the more computer-literate you are, the less likely you are to be reading long-form works on those screens — that’s because computer-literate people do more things with their computers. We run IM and email and we use the browser in a million diverse ways. We have games running in the background, and endless opportunities to tinker with our music libraries. The more you do with your computer, the more likely it is that you’ll be interrupted after five to seven minutes to do something else. That makes the computer extremely poorly suited to reading long-form works off of, unless you have the iron self-discipline of a monk.

In other words, you may like reading on your iPhone, but a paper book doesn’t ring, and it doesn’t distract you with other stuff. The bottom line, for Doctorow:

…ebooks sell print books. Every writer I’ve heard of who’s tried giving away ebooks to promote paper books has come back to do it again. That’s the commercial case for doing free ebooks.

Doctorow’s not alone in finding that a free e-book bumped sales of the paper book. Sci-fi writer Tobias Buckell noticed a significant sales bump for his book CRYSTAL RAIN after his publisher, Tor, released it as a free e-book. Sales of the sequel, RAGAMUFFIN, also increased. Buckell admits that, due to the myriad of factors affecting sales, he can’t say definitively that the free e-book ws the reason for the sales jump, but it’s worth noting that another Tor author, John Scalzi, saw a 20 pecent jump in sales of his book OLD MAN’S WAR after it was released as a free Tor download–and sales of the sequel jumped 30 percent.

Another experimenter is my good friend Joe Konrath. Joe uses free downloads to sell his paper books. But more and more recently, he’s been putting stuff up exclusively in e-format. And, he claims, he’s making money at it, even though he’s pricing his work at what a publisher would consider a scandalously low price, usually less than two bucks. So the pieces serve not only to promote the paper books, but become a profit center in themselves.

As for piracy, Konrath figures that same low price takes care of the problem all by itself:

The rules of supply and demand don’t work in a digital world, because the supply is unlimited. You don’t fight piracy with weapons. You fight piracy with cost and convenience…If there were a central hub, where you could easily search for ebooks and get them at a reasonable price, there would be no need to pirate books.

Apple, Konrath points out, finally figured out that 99 cent songs and no DRM is the way to go. But it took them way too long to get to that point, and as a result, we have a healthy, active piracy community.

Hopefully, the publishing industry won’t create the same public relations disaster as the music industry. As one tech website observed:

The challenge for publishing is to avoid being seen as greedy. In music, the debate quickly became characterised as The Man versus The Kids, where The Man was Bono, his celebrity mates and their filthy rich record companies…when [Bono] drew parallels between file sharing and illegal porn and accused ISPs of stealing all his money, the entire internet torrented U2 albums out of sheer spite. Probably.

It is, as I’ve observed, possible to be completely morally and legally in the right and still shoot yourself in the foot.

So, back to the question: how are we going to earn a living in this new world? We’re going to do it by seeing innovations in technology as opportunities for expansion rather than as threats. We’re going to do it by experimenting, by questioning assumptions, by keeping our eyes and ears open, watching what works and what doesn’t, and using those successes and failures as springboards for our own new ideas.

Some of these experiments will pan out and make someone a pile of money. Others will crater in a big way. And it’s impossible at this point to say which will be which. As another information guru I’ve quoted before once put it:

The importance of any given experiment isn’t apparent at the moment it appears; big changes stall, small changes spread. Even the revolutionaries can’t predict what will happen. Agreements on all sides that core institutions must be protected are rendered meaningless by the very people doing the agreeing.

It’s not the end of the world. It’s just the end of the world as we know it…and I feel fine.

the end of the world as we know it?

by Tess Gerritsen

Last week, after I blogged on my own website about e-book piracy, the post garnered some reactions elsewhere on the web. A few commenters felt that my fears of piracy are overstated, and that we authors should look on piracy as a good thing because, hey, it gets us more readers. Even if they’re not paying us for our work. It is far better to be popular than to pay our bills, and theft is the highest compliment one can pay you. If your work wasn’t worth it, no one would be stealing it, so cheer up! Someone thinks highly enough of your stories to swipe them!

It’s a strange new world for authors, and I’m struggling to figure out just what to expect next.

Recently I had a fascinating conversation with a man who offers paid editorial and design services to authors who want to self-publish their work as e-books. Over drinks, we got into a lively discussion about what the future holds for authors. He predicts that e-publishing will level the playing field for all authors, everywhere — and in a good way, he believes.

Every aspiring writer, he said, whether talented or not, will be able to bypass the traditional publishing route and get his own work published online, at minimal cost. Amazon.com, Scribd, plus a variety of other online booksellers will allow you to sell your poems, memoirs, recipe books, what have you, direct to the consumer. All you have to do is turn them into pdf files and upload them to the bookseller. You can also go here for further guidance. It sounds so tempting. Within hours, you could have your work available for sale, and be earning royalties. And the royalties are a hefty percentage of the cover price — a far higher royalty rate than you could get with a traditional print book from a traditional publisher. Why would anyone want to brave the gantlet of traditional publishing — the rejection letters, the dismissive editors, the astronomical odds — when all you have to do is upload your work and presto! You’re making money!

He made the whole prospect sound so tempting that I couldn’t help wondering, just for a moment: hey, why not? What author in his right mind would turn down a 70% royalty rate?

But then my logical mind clicked back in place. E-publishing has not been known (so far) to produce a James Patterson – level bestseller. I mentioned that particular detail to him, and he responded that e-publishing is just the entry point. Those authors who have really strong sales in e-format will end up attracting traditional publishers, and then they can become James Patterson.

In other words, his definition of true success really isn’t any different than what it is now: print publishing. In his heart of hearts, he still believes that e-publishing is really just the try-out for the big leagues. And the big leagues, even for this enthusiastic e-publishing advocate, is the old-fashioned printed book. A book with real pages.

From the author’s point of view, e-publishing your own book does sound enticing. It gives you a direct connection to the consumer. You are both creator and manufacturer. You cut out the publisher as middleman, and take home a bigger share of the profits. No longer will some pipsqueak editor keep you from your goal; you are in total control. And with the expanding share of readers who’ve moved to digital books, the whole world is your audience. On the face of it, it sounds like traditional publishers are doomed.

Then I came across an article in January’s Fortune Magazine. “The Plan to save the Music Biz,” by Mina Kimes, is about how the music industry has struggled, and how major recording companies appeared doomed.

When iTunes and other Internet music providers exploded onto the scene, the worry was that bands would bypass the four big music companies — EMI, Sony, Universal, and WArner Music — and earn their bling by self-publishing on the web. And indeed, more artists than ever are putting out albums online — there were 106,000 new releases in 2008, compared with 44,000 five years ago, according to Nielsen SoundScan. Precious few, however, ever break through. Of the 63 new releases that sold more than 250,000 copies last year, 61 were issued by major music companies.” Yes, occasionally a singer-songwriter like Ingrid Michaelson, whose self-released hit album, “Girls and Boys”, has sold 286,000 copies since 2006, makes it big. But as the story of Hollywood Undead suggest, the record labels will continue to play a major role, albeit a new one.

Even rebel bands who launch themselves on MySpace or YouTube still aspire to the old-style definition of success. They want to be picked up by a traditional record label. They want their work available in traditional formats.

So much for being a real rebel.

In the book world, I suspect this is also the secret desire of even the most successful e-pubbed author. Authors still want to see their book in actual print. They still want that deal with Random House or Simon and Schuster.

There’s another reason to desire traditional publication. The strictly e-pubbed author is frighteningly vulnerable to piracy. If your book is released solely in digital form, pirates can have it copied and available for free within 24 hours (as Dan Brown’s experience shows.) Which gives you only a 24-hour window for actual sales before your book turns into a freebie. Think about it. The book you spent a year sweating over has only a day to turn a profit, and then it’s dust.

Luckily, we still have a healthy audience of readers who prefer print books. But within a generation or two, that audience may be migrating to e-readers. At which time the book market could look very, very different.

How different?

With easy e-publishing available to every aspiring author, there’ll be a glut of content that’s never been winnowed down or edited. Online bookstores will be overwhelmed by the very material that now sits in the slush pile of literary agents. Some of it may be wonderful; most of it will not be. The consumer won’t be able to tell which is which, because there’s been no screening process to weed out the good from the bad. It’s going to be anarchy out there.

Then piracy will make it all free, anyway.

In that overwhelming sea of novels, though, a few writers will stand out and develop a fan base. How? My guess is, they’ll distinguish themselves not through word of mouth (which is going to be difficult to build when you’re competing with a million other novelists, all of whom start on an equal footing in the e-publishing morass). It’ll be because they’ve been anointed by — surprise! — a traditional kingmaker. A real print publisher. Or Oprah. Or a TV or movie deal.

In other words, everything old will be new again.

In the meantime, as the world spins crazily toward the future, what can we writers do?

Those of us who are now traditionally published are the lucky ones, because we’ve already been anointed. This is our chance to solidify our brand and build our visibility, before everyone in the world is self-published. By virtue of having made it through the obstacle course of traditional publishing, we’re ahead of the pack. When publishing swings to mostly digital, when everyone and his uncle can call himself an author, we’ll be known as the authors who were vetted — and found worthy of reading.

Piracy

by Pari

“Piracy.” It sounds so romantic, doesn’t it? The high seas. Adventure . . .

But there’s nothing romantic about the case in Minnesota where a woman was fined $2 million for illegally downloading 24 songs and sharing them with others. Last Friday, the judge slashed her fine dramatically – by more than $1.8 million — saying the initial punishment was too much.

However, he still fined her.

And guess what? She’s fighting against paying even the much reduced amount.

Piracy has been on my mind lately because of the Google Settlement deadline. (It’s Jan. 28, Kids, in case you still haven’t decided what to do.) And the fact that I think the terms are so iffy and squirrely that it verges on a landgrab.

And then I read about the Minnesota case in Huffington Post. Last Friday’s decision stimulated an interesting conversation in the comments. Many readers implied that the woman was a victim of corporate greed. Indeed, they asserted, she was the one wronged.

Wait a minute . . .

Am I missing a crucial piece of information here?

Was she forced to download these songs?

Did someone hold a gun to her head? Threaten to kill her children?

No.

The woman willfully took items that didn’t belong to her. She took them because she didn’t want to pay for them.

Um . . . correct me if I’m wrong, but the last time I looked that was called “stealing.”

If someone walked into her house and took 24 things she’d spent months or years making, do you think she would’ve stood for it? Or would she have called the police to report a robbery?

My bet is on door #2.

So why is piracy tacitly condoned in many circles? Why do normally intelligent and considerate people think that it’s perfectly okay to pilfer someone else’s work? (I’m talking about taking it. Owning it. Often sharing or selling it . . .)

Some of you might be thinking, “Pari, chill out. Each song would’ve only cost her a few cents, maybe a dollar or two.” I can see you shaking your head at me in pity. “Don’t we have bigger problems in the world than a couple of bucks?”

Not if you’re a novelist.

And if you are a novelist and you’re not paying attention to piracy, you’re worse than the proverbial ostrich. By not standing up against it – and by pirating other’s works yourself – you’re helping destroy your own career.

Simple as that.

Every day I hear of – and see — more and more sites that are distributing full copies of our works for free. Without our permission. Without our publishers’ permission.

In my case, I own electronic rights to my works. That means these people are stealing directly from me. And my children.

Theft.

Punishable by law.

Yes. It may be only a few cents per work, but it’s my effort on the line. Here’s a little secret: I didn’t expend so much time and energy to get published so that someone else could feel entitled to rip me off.

I might not have this reaction if novelists and other writers were paid one-time high fees for their work. But most of us aren’t. Our money comes from advances and then royalties tallied against actual sales. Wholesale, mind you. Not net. As far as I’m concerned, every time someone downloads one of my books without paying – it’s an active slap in the face. It’s wrong and needs to be stopped.

I’ve had discussions with my creative friends – writers, photographers, painters, songwriters – and we constantly come to the conclusion that creativity in our society is horribly undervalued. It’s as if people seem to think that anyone could write Jane Eyre or The Raven. That once a book – or other creative endeavor – is produced, it should enter the public domain.

But how are creatives supposed to live in a society that doesn’t want to pay for their work?

I don’t know. Can you tell me?

And why would anyone think that we should work hard . . . for free?

What’s going to happen to our culture, our society, if the most original and creative people decide it’s not worth the trouble? I wonder.

This takes me back to piracy.
It’s not innocent.
It’s not okay.
It’s not cute.

It’s stealing.
It’s theft.

It’s fucking wrong.

And I’m sick of it.

____________________________________

What about you?
Do you think it’s all right? A act against “the MAN?”
Do you think I’m being unreasonable, that it’s a brave new world and I’d just better get with the program?

I look forward to this conversation.

These Be the Verse(s)

By Cornelia Read

Since I just found out I’m supposed to be driving to Vermont TODAY and not tomorrow, this is going to be a bit of a drive-by post (I’m going to Aunt Julie’s benefit auction for Haiti, to donate a character name in my WIP.)

I have been thinking about poetry lately. Here are some current (and perennial) favorites of mine:

This Be The Verse

by Philip Larkin

They fuck you up, your mum and dad.

They may not mean to, but they do.

They fill you with the faults they had

And add some extra, just for you.

But they were fucked up in their turn

By fools in old-style hats and coats,

Who half the time were soppy-stern

And half at one another’s throats.

Man hands on misery to man.

It deepens like a coastal shelf.

Get out as early as you can,

And don’t have any kids yourself.

(of course, now that I’m a parent myself, I also like Judith Rich Harris’s rebuttal:

How sharper than a serpent’s tooth

To hear your child make such a fuss.

It isn’t fair–it’s not the truth–

He’s fucked up, yes, but not by us.)

The Book of My Enemy Has Been Remaindered

by Clive James

The book of my enemy has been remaindered
And I am pleased.
In vast quantities it has been remaindered.
Like a van-load of counterfeit that has been seized
And sits in piles in a police warehouse,
My enemy’s much-praised effort sits in piles
In the kind of bookshop where remaindering occurs.
Great, square stacks of rejected books and, between them, aisles
One passes down reflecting on life’s vanities,
Pausing to remember all those thoughtful reviews
Lavished to no avail upon one’s enemy’s book—
For behold, here is that book
Among these ranks and the banks of duds,
These ponderous and seemingly irreducible cairns
Of complete stiffs.

The book of my enemy has been remaindered
And I rejoice.
It has gone with bowed head like a defeated legion
Beneath the yoke.
What avail him now his awards and prizes,
The praise expended upon his meticulous technique,
His individual new voice?
Knocked into the middle of next week
His brainchild now consorts with the bad buys,
The sinkers, clinkers, dogs and dregs,
The Edsels of the world of movable type,
The bummers that no amount of hype could shift,
The unbudgeable turkeys.

Yea, his slim volume with its understated wrapper
Bathes in the glare of the brightly jacketed Hitler’s War Machine,
His unmistakably individual new voice
Shares the same scrapyard with a forlorn skyscraper
Of The Kung-Fu Cookbook,
His honesty, proclaimed by himself and believed in by others,
His renowned abhorrence of all posturing and pretence,
Is there with Pertwee’s Promenades and Pierrots—
One Hundred Years of Seaside Entertainment,
And (oh, this above all) his sensibility,
His sensibility and its hair-like filaments,
His delicate, quivering sensibility is now as one
With Barbara Windsor’s Book of Boobs,
A volume graced by the descriptive rubric
‘My boobs will give everyone hours of fun’.

Soon now a book of mine could be remaindered also,
Though not to the monumental extent
In which the chastisement of remaindering has been meted out
To the book of my enemy,
Since in the case of my own book it will be due
To a miscalculated print run, a marketing error—
Nothing to do with merit.
But just supposing that such an event should hold
Some slight element of sadness, it will be offset
By the memory of this sweet moment.
Chill the champagne and polish the crystal goblets!
The book of my enemy has been remaindered
And I am glad.

Frustration

By Dorothy Parker

If I had a shiny gun,
I could have a world of fun

Speeding bullets through the brains
Of the folk who give me pains;

Or had I some poison gas,
I could make the moments pass
Bumping off a number of
People whom I do not love.

But I have no lethal weapon-
Thus does Fate our pleasure step on!
So they still are quick and well
Who should be, by rights, in hell.

Provide, Provide

By Robert Frost

The witch that came (the withered hag)
To wash the steps with pail and rag,
Was once the beauty Abishag,

The picture pride of Hollywood.
Too many fall from great and good
For you to doubt the likelihood.

Die early and avoid the fate.
Or if predestined to die late,
Make up your mind to die in state.

Make the whole stock exchange your own!
If need be occupy a throne,
Where nobody can call you crone.

Some have relied on what they knew;
Others on simply being true.
What worked for them might work for you.

No memory of having starred
Atones for later disregard,
Or keeps the end from being hard.

Better to go down dignified
With boughten friendship at your side
Than none at all. Provide, provide

Plague Victims Catapulted Over Walls Into Besieged City

by Thomas Lux

Early germ

warfare. The dead

hurled this way look like wheels

in the sky. Look: there goes

Larry the Shoemaker, barefoot, over the wall,

and Mary Sausage Stuffer, see how she flies,

and the Hatter twins, both at once, soar

over the parapet, little Tommy’s elbow bent

as if in a salute,

and his sister, Mathilde, she follows him,

arms outstretched, through the air,

just as she did

on earth.

Natural Music

Robinson Jeffers

The old voice of the ocean, the bird-chatter of little rivers,

(Winter has given them gold for silver

To stain their water and bladed green for brown to line their banks)

From different throats intone one language.

So I believe if we were strong enough to listen without

Divisions of desire and terror

To the storm of the sick nations, the rage of the hunger smitten cities,

Those voices also would be found

Clean as a child’s; or like some girl’s breathing who dances alone

By the ocean-shore, dreaming of lovers.

What’s your favorite poem?

Feeling A Draft

by Zoë Sharp

I’ve had several experiences recently that were very interesting for me as a writer.

The first one was going to a readers’ group meeting at a small local library in Knott End in Lancashire. The tremendously enthusiastic librarian, Anne Errington, had been unable to get enough copies of one of the Charlie Fox books for everyone in the group to read, so they’d all read different ones in the series, often out of order. This meant that they asked more than the usual kind of questions. They wanted to know a lot more about the character of Charlie herself, and her motivations, and whether I’d ever tell the story of what really happened to her in the army.

Something that came up was that many people assumed I’d already told that tale somewhere, and they simply hadn’t yet read the particular book in which it was contained in full. The experiences of Charlie’s past form an integral part of who she is now, and although the character has progressed, I’ve only ever referred to her army days as back story, dribbled in as a bit here and a bit there, in order not to bore either the readers, or myself.

I’m not even sure I ever want to tell that story over the course of an entire book. It’s a period in Charlie’s life when she is beaten and utterly defeated. I introduced the character and began the series at a later date, when she has clawed her way back up out of that defeat. And when her life is again threatened in a similar way, this time she reacts differently. Possibly in a way she would not have been able to respond, had she not suffered in the past.

Back story is a funny one to include, and if you have a series character who never changes, is there any need to include it at all? The late great Robert B Parker rarely alluded to past cases of his iconic PI, Spenser. In fact, the guy didn’t even age. Lee Child’s Jack Reacher is very much the same. You’re told how Reacher acquired the scar on his stomach, from a Marine’s exploding jawbone back in his army days, but you’re not told what happened in the last book, and there really is no need for you to know this in order to enjoy the ride.

The second thing that happened was that I received an email from a student in Copenhagen, asking a specific question about a short story I wrote a little while ago called ‘Tell Me’. The story was written for a Crime Writers’ Association (CWA) anthology called I.D.: CRIMES OF IDENTITY and the whole thrust of the story was a conversation between a crime scene investigator and a victim, with the CSI trying to discover the background and history of the girl that has brought her to this point. The story was turned into a short film, and also included in a Danish school text book, which asked readers to interpret it in ways that, frankly, even I would have struggled to provide answers for.

Who or what does the girl symbolise?

Comment on the dialogue. How and where does the real dialogue take place? Where in the story is the truth behind the dialogue revealed to the reader?

Analyse the use of ‘tell’ throughout the story.

Comment on the theme of gender roles in the text.

OK, this is me sidling away quietly at this point, muttering, ‘But it was just a story …’

The third thing that happened was last night. I found a well-established writing group in Kendal, which is not quite as far as I’ve been travelling, and somewhat larger than the very small group I’ve been to over the last few months. The Kendal group asked for three or four people to email pieces round beforehand, and the purpose of the meeting was for everyone to be able to comment in detail on those pieces.

I sent in the first chapter of the new Charlie Fox book. I didn’t explain particularly who I was, or my writing experience, and I didn’t include any kind of introduction for the book or the character. It’s another flash-forward opening, which I’ve used previously, so it drops the reader straight into the thick of the action. I wanted gut reactions to the writing, without any preconceived ideas.

And when I attended last night’s meeting and we all introduced ourselves, it was a little like a group of addicts. ‘Hi, my name is Zoë and I write crime fiction.’ The only difference was that I didn’t get a round of applause for this shameful admission.

And the questions here were different again.

I’d mentioned the word ‘principal’ meaning someone my bodyguard main protagonist was previously tasked to protect. One person thought this might refer to the principal actor in a theatre company.

The action starts on a beach in Long Island, with Charlie and her boss, Parker, excavating a grave. I don’t pinpoint this, but because of the mentions of digging in hot sand and the vague military tone brought about by Charlie’s army background, someone else assumed the story was a thriller set in Iraq.

Several people thought Charlie was male.

The use of metric measurements threw someone else. They queried whether an American character would think in terms of 40mm plumbing pipe, sticking a metre out of the ground.

I realised that when I sent the initial chapter out, I should also have included the flap-copy synopsis, which I always have at the back of my mind when I write an opening for the book, because I’ve always written that bit first. I take my jumping off point for the story itself after that, because it has already explained who and what the character is, and where the book’s set. To me, it would seem very stilted in a first-person narrative to jump into an action scene and have to explain about her being a ‘her’ for a start, and a bodyguard, and being on Long Island. And I also realised that if this had been a short story, without that brief synopsis, I would have tackled it in a completely different way.

And, obviously, during the discussion I ‘fessed up to being already a published author. But right at the end, one of the organisers asked me why, in that case, I wanted to come to a writing group? It’s a good question, and I think a lot of it has to do with the way I write.

I don’t dash off a very rough first draft, then rewrite the whole thing again and again in order to polish and hone it. I edit furiously during the writing process. Therefore, by the time I finish what is, in effect, my first draft, it’s not too far off finished. In order to get it to that stage, I fiddle a lot as I go, often feeling that I can’t go forwards until I’ve got the bit I’m working on right. Having ongoing criticism – the harsher the better – is extremely useful to me in order to make minor course corrections as I go.

And this, having someone approach my characters cold, as it were, was an illuminating experience.

So, ‘Rati, when it comes to questions this week, take your pick. If you’re a writer, do you self-edit or just get the words down and worry about fixing them later? Have you ever had a question about your work that really made you stop and think, or that confused you completely?

And, regardless of writing or not, what’s the best piece of constructive or destructive criticism you’ve ever received?

This week’s Word of the Week is rident, meaning laughing or smiling radiantly, beaming.

Take The Words Right Out Of My Mouth

By Louise Ure

The trade paperback edition of LIARS ANONYMOUS comes out in just two weeks, and with a brand new cover.

Isn’t that gorgeous? Equally eerie as the hard cover design but perhaps more ominous. As it should be.

In preparing for that launch, I was going back through some of the final paperwork on the novel and the plans and decisions made when it first came out. And what I found set me laughing so hard that it made up for a week’s worth of worry, stumbles and rain clouds.

I found a list of comments on the manuscript made by some unnamed copy editor at St. Martins.

Now, I adore copy editors of all shapes and sizes. In FORCING AMARYLLIS one copy editor discovered as we were going to press that I had set a pivotal courtroom scene on a Sunday. In THE FAULT TREE, one eagle-eyed editor noticed that I had moved a character’s cowlick from the front of his head (page 39) to the back of his head (page 225).

These are mistakes up with which readers should not put. I am forever grateful for the tireless efforts, intelligence and thinking that got those errors corrected.

But there’s another kind of copy editor, too. The kind who lives in a bubble of small thinking and even less curiosity … the kind of copy editor who would write this:

From Page 38: I walked farther north, toward a massive cottonwood tree that listed toward the arroyo like a dowsing rod. It stood fifty or sixty feet high, proof that this dry wash had once run full and that there remained enough water under the sand to sustain life. The tree had branched into three separate trunks down near its base, giving it a wide and low canopy of leaves like a sombrero.

(Note to author: Are trees in the southwest even big enough to climb?)

Response to copy editor: Yes, you imbecile. Please reread that part of the sentence where the tree is described as being right on the back of a once water-filled arroyo. And trust the word of someone who grew up there.

From Page 50: I spiked my hair with American Greaser, the only beauty product I use, and put on my favorite “keep your distance” t-shirt: “Some days it’s just not worth chewing through the restraints.” The tattooed jacks around my biceps were clearly visible.

(Note to author: Is it possible to say something this long on a t-shirt?)

Response to copy editor: Yes, you cretin. Especially the size I wear.

From Page 52: “¿Como está Felicia?” the woman beside me asked of the bartender.

(Note to author: “I don’t speak or write Spanish but this looks wrong to me.”)

Response to copy editor: Oh, really? Then maybe you should ask someone who speaks and writes Spanish.

From Page 72: I parked around the corner with a clear view of the back door through a tiny slice of space between a tree and a three-bay body shop. Felicia probably wouldn’t recognize my truck from here and, parked behind the tree the way I was, she wouldn’t be able to see my face either. I’d been there a half hour when the garage closed.

(Note to author: Three-bay body shop? Is this a brand name? I don’t drive so I don’t know.)

Response to copy editor: No, it’s not a brand name. And by the way, I don’t eat tofu but I still know what it is.

From Page 100: Beverly was just as petite as I remembered from our high school days — soft, rounded curves and pouter pigeon breasts — but her face had become that of a disappointed adult, with a built-in scowl and the onset of gray where she parted her hair.

(Note to author: “What kind of breasts do pigeons have?”)

Response to copy editor: Oh, my. Where to begin?

From Page 107: He put my keys and purse down on the concrete slab porch and stepped over to an ice chest near the sliding glass door. He pulled out two bottles of beer, opened them with a hinge on the side of the Igloo and held one out to me.

(Note to author: Are you calling the ice chest an igloo as a joke or is it a brand name of something?)

Response to copy editor: See above-referenced note about tofu. And the one that asks “where to begin?”

From Page 160: I heard the throaty roar of a big V8 outside, bragging on its horsepower and torque. I pulled the curtain to the side.

The black low rider came around again and this time the song blasting from the windows was about the hazards of smuggling. The four bandanaed bobbleheads in the car nodded and swayed to the beat. The guy in the front passenger seat stared at the house, then finger-shot me the way he had at the intersection on Friday.

(Note to author: I cannot verify the meaning of “bobbleheads.”)

Response to copy editor: Well, there you go. I guess there are some mysteries in life that just aren’t meant to be solved.

From Page 198: The setting sun turned the sky to persimmon then to bruise.

(Note to author: Is bruise a color?)

Response to copy editor: In my world, yes. And a noun. And a verb. And a threat.

From Page 216: “I’m telling you, man. I only just heard about it. I was in Nogales when you and the chica came in. I heard you asking about Carlos. That’s why I called.” The kid was flop sweat-nervous, but I didn’t know if he was afraid of Guillermo’s temper or the Braceros’ retribution.

(Note to author: Flop-sweat? What is this?)

Response to copy editor: It’s that unique combination of chills, stinky sweat and light-headedness that overcomes you when you see your career as a copy editor disappearing before your eyes.

From Page 319: Cambria Styles hadn’t changed much in the three years since I’d seen her. Dishwater blond hair, poker-straight almost to her waist. Sallow skin like she was an underwater creature. I reintroduced myself.

(Note to author: What color is dishwater?)

Response to copy editor: Oh, to be so young and innocent.

Of course, I didn’t really write all those nasty replies. But I did use my favorite four-letter word. Often.

STET.

What about you, ‘Rati? Any copy editing horror stories to share?

Author Bios: What’s Missing from the Back Inside Flap

by Alafair Burke

I promise this next sentence is an honest intro to today’s post, not just BSP: This weekend I officially joined the board of directors of Mystery Writers of America and became President of the New York chapter. (Pause for applause.)

In preparation for the annual MWA board funfest (aka orientation day), the unparalleled Margery Flax requested a biography to distribute to fellow board members. I sent her the usual jacket copy:

A formal deputy district attorney in Portland, Oregon, Alafair Burke now teaches criminal law at Hofstra Law School and lives in New York City. A graduate of Stanford Law School, she is the author of the Samantha Kincaid series, which includes the novels Judgment Calls, Missing Justice, and Close Case. Most recently, she published Angel’s Tip, her second thriller featuring Ellie Hatcher.

Her response was polite, quick, and resoundingly clear, something like, “Are you sure that’s all you want to include? This is usually a longer fun one, only for internal board distribution.”

In other words, Yawn, Snore, Zzzz….

I can take a hint, so I gave it another try. Borrowing in part from my website, I allowed myself thirty minutes to hammer out something that would give those who hadn’t met me yet some sense of who I am and where I’ve been. Margery’s assurance that this was purely internal was freeing.

After I submitted my specially-designated “MWA board bio,” I couldn’t stop thinking about the sterileness of those book jacket author bios, scrubbed clean of all personality. As writers, we’re committed to exploring the human stories that lurk beneath the superficial, but when asked to describe ourselves: Yawn, snore, zzzz…..

I’ve spoken a few times during author appearances about a hypothetical world in which books (like the law school exams I grade as a professor) would be published anonymously, their authors known only by a randomly assigned number that readers could use to “identify” the authors they consistently enjoyed. After all, what separates reading from television and film is the active role of our mind’s eye. To read books without knowing an author’s age, gender, race, religion, region, education, attractiveness, or work experience might truly unleash our imaginations.

Despite my musings about a utopia of anonymous publishing, I’ve come to realize why publishers emphasize (and readers desire) personal information about authors. The most delightful unexpected benefit of writing has been meeting some of my favorite authors. I already read these folks religiously before I met them, but I’ll admit that I read them differently — and more richly — now. I recognize the wry winks in Laura Lippman’s most leisurely paragraphs. I hear Michael Connelly’s quiet voice in Bosch. I think I really know what Lisa Unger means when she writes on Ridley Jones’s behalf that she’s a “dork.” And those short, little, maddeningly frustrating sentences from Lee Child are now sexy as hell.

But I didn’t get any of that from the book jackets.

As the traditional print media and personal appearance opportunities for authors to introduce themselves to readers continue to dry up, many of us have taken to the Web. We do that not only to get our names out there, but also because we recognize that readers are more likely to experience our written work as intended if they come to it with a sense of who we are. (For example, an online reviewer once dissed a line of Ellie Hatcher’s, something like “kicking it old school.” The fact that it’s corny to talk that way is of course precisely why she’d say such a thing. And if the reader “got” Ellie or anything about my work, he’d know that’s — ahem — just how we roll.)

So as we’re knocking ourselves out to convey our souls to readers, maybe we should take another look at book jacket bios. The publishers are going to type something beneath that favorite photo: It may as well be interesting. And so, even though Margery promised to keep this unsanitized bio a secret, I’ve decided to blast it out to the world:

Alafair Burke is the author of six novels in two series, one featuring NYPD Detective Ellie Hatcher, the other with Portland prosecutor Samantha Kincaid. Although reviewers have described both characters as “feisty,” Alafair might accidentally spill a drink on anyone who invokes that word to describe her or anyone she cares about.

Alafair grew up in Wichita, Kansas, whose greatest contribution to her childhood was a serial killer called BTK. Nothing warps a young mind quite like daily reports involving the word, bind, torture, and kill.

From Kansas, Alafair dreamed of fleeing west. Fearing their daughter might fall prey to a 1980’s version of the Manson Family (um, Nelson?), her parents prohibited her from attending school in California. Ironically, she ended up at Reed College, where the bookstore sold shirts that read “Atheism, Communism, Free Love,” and Alafair found herself (lovingly) nicknamed Nancy Reagan and The Cheerleader.

From Reed, Alafair went to the decidedly less hippy-ish Stanford Law School. Although she went with dreams of becoming an entertainment lawyer so she could make deals at the Palm and score seats at the Oscars, she eventually realized she had watched “The Player” one too many times, and instead decided to pursue criminal law because she was obsessed with the Unabomber.

Most of Alafair’s legal practice was as a prosecutor in Portland, Oregon, where she infamously managed to tally up a net loss on prison time imposed during her prosecutorial career. (Help spring two exonerated people from prison to put a guy called the Happy Face Killer behind bars, and it really ruins your numbers.) As hard as it is for her to believe, she is now a professor at Hofstra Law School.

When Alafair is not teaching classes or writing, she enjoys rotting her brain. She runs to an iPod playlist with three continuous hours of spaz music (think “It Takes Two” by DJ Rob Bass, “Smooth Criminal” by Alien Art Farm, and “Planet Claire” by the B-52’s). She insists that Duran Duran, the Psychedelic Furs, and the Cure hold up just as well as the so-called classics. She watches way too much television, usually on cable. She wants Tina Fey to be her BFF. She likes to drink wine and cook.

She discloses TMI on the Interwebs, blogging regularly at Murderati and logging teenage-territory hours on Facebook. She will golf at the drop of a hat even though she’s bad at it.

Most importantly, Alafair loves her husband, Sean, and their French bulldog, The Duffer. She also loves her parents, but if you ask her about them, she’ll ask you about yours.

What do you think? Should all authors let loose on their jacket flaps? Would it affect that crucial decision of whether to purchase? Would it change how we read? If you’re a writer, what should your author bio REALLY say? And if you’re a reader, what would you like to know about some of your favorite writers?

P.S. As a follow up to my last post about my sometimes odd marketing attempts, I brought a video today for Show and Tell. Not the usual literal movie trailer, the clip is intended to evoke the themes, setting, and tone of my new book, 212, out in March. It also allowed me to bop around to Lady GaGa for countless hours and tally it mentally as work-related. What do you think?

No Man Is An Island

By Allison Brennan

Late last night I finished the last of my Thriller Best First Novel entries. Reading three books in one day wasn’t fun, especially since I’m in the middle of revisions that are due now. Well, it wasn’t exactly three full books, because I had started each of them long ago, but these were the three that I really had a hard time with and thus kept putting aside because I just didn’t want to finish them.

But I’m sure other people loved them. I know at least one person did–the editor who bought the book. I’m rarely critical of books because I know that my tastes are not everyone else’s tastes, just like I know that some people love my books–and some people don’t.

Editors buy books they love. They have to love them–they’re going to be reading, and re-reading, that book many times. They’ll be fighting for that book in editorial and marketing and sales and art meetings.

For me to love a book, and give it a high score, there has to be three things present.

3) An interesting story. Whether a romance or a mystery or a thriller, or a blend of all three, I need to be interested in the story itself. This is what I’m really looking for when I read cover copy–the basic plot. Most books I put back on the shelf because the plot doesn’t sound interesting to me.

2) Voice. Voice is an interesting story told well. It’s what makes the multitude of similar plot lines fresh and unique. Voice is the rhythm an author “speaks” on the page. There’s some voices that hit us and we cringe; others that are like music. Voice is what has me falling in love with an author.

1) Characters. I have to care about SOMEBODY. I have to want the hero to live and not strangle him because he’s an idiot or toss the book because he’s a jerk. The plot is important–what are the stakes, why are they important, what will happen if the bad guy wins? But I need at least one character I can believe in. He can be flawed. He can be imperfect. But he has to be more good than bad, and his bad can’t be evil. Maybe I’m too simple in my tastes, but I want a good guy.

There’s also the matter of getting into the character’s heads. Some authors are incredible this way–I feel like I’m in the POV character’s shoes. There’s a depth of character, inner conflict, personal strife, that I can feel as the story unfolds. If I’m there with the characters, and care that they survive, and the author’s voice is music to my ears, and the story is interesting–I’ll always score the book high, even if the writing itself isn’t brilliant or there’s a plot problem or two. Why? Because if my personal criteria is met, I can read without sensing the passage of time. And if I can lose myself in a book, it’s like living a completely new life for a few hours. It’s quite a heady experience.

The television show HEROES had me greatly worried for awhile. It still has me a little worried. There is one Good Guy and lots of nearly good guys and lots of nearly bad guys and a Very Bad Guy. Peter Petrelli is the Good Guy. (We won’t go into Claire because she often annoys me and sometimes does TSTL things, but because she regenerates she always lives.) I need Peter to stay the Good Guy. He can do the wrong thing for the right reasons, and he can make mistakes, but his goals must remain noble. For a few episodes, I feared that Peter was being sent down the wrong, dark path. Which would have been completely against his character and tick me off. Fortunately, he ended up making the right choices.

Some of the characters I met in my contest reading were cardboard cut-outs. The book may have been a thriller–and usually met my “interesting story” criteria–but I didn’t care about the characters in the the story, and thus didn’t care what happened to them or the world.

Before I was published, I never put a book down unfinished. Even if it was awful, I’d finish it (albeit I might skimread it!) But now I have far too many unread books, and I don’t have time to waste on a so-so book, or a book that just doesn’t do it for me.

But I made the commitment, so I had to finish these books.

I discovered that they all had one fatal flaw, for me at any rate. I didn’t care about anyone in the story. I didn’t care about the hero, the villain, the victims (if there were victims) or even the stakes. The books were well-paced and technically well-written, but, as Rhett Butler would say, “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.” Without the depth of character, I felt like I was observing a black-and-white B-movie with no subtext. There was no color, no emotion.

I thought I was done with contests, but my RITA books are on their way. Fortunately, I only have to read seven books (two of which I’ve already read) and I have two months, as opposed to thirty books in three months. Much, much easier!

I’m presenting a class on Rule Breaking this month. It’s one of my favorite subjects 🙂 . . . one of the things I talk about is passion in writing. That you have to love what you’re writing. You have to love your characters–even the bad guys. You also have to challenge your characters, hurt them, make them suffer. In unpublished contests I’ve found that too many authors pull their punches. Well? What’s interesting about characters who are just like everyone else?

I’ve been reading Donald Maass’ FIRE IN FICTION. I like Maass’ books because they’re straightforward and “talk” to me in ways that other writing books don’t. He wrote some things that struck me as I was in the middle of writing ORIGINAL SIN last year:

“Is your protagonist an ordinary person? Find in him any kind of strength. . . . Without a quality of strength on display, your readers will not bond with your protagonist. Why should they? . . . So what is strength? It can be as simple as caring about someone, self-awareness, a longing for change, or hope. Any small positive quality will signal to your readers that your ordinary protagonist is worth their time.”

A protagonist is different than a hero, to which Maass says:

“Is your protagonist a hero–that is, someone who is already strong? Find in him something conflicted, fallible, humbling or human. . . . Be sure to soften the flaw with self-awareness or self-deprecating humor . . . What is a flaw that will not prove fatal? A personal problem, a bad habit, a hot button, a blind spot, or anything that makes your hero a real human being will work.”

And perhaps the most valuable point:

“The effect of one character upon another is as particular as the characters themselves.”

These last two points is where I found the most problems in the recent books I read. Heroic characters whose flaws weren’t integral to the story, they were forced or worse, there were no flaws–or the flaw was seen as something positive by the character, i.e. they had no sense of how their actions affected those around them. The characters often seemed to act and think in a bubble–as if everyone was a catalyst, and no one changed by the end of the book.

There was one book I read that I scored very high that wasn’t the best written book in the pile. But from page one I was sucked in because I cared about what happened to the characters. They grew over the course of the book and I could absolutely feel the impact they had on each other, not just the main characters but the other characters they met on the way.

“No man is an island.” We all affect the people we meet. Characters should, too.

What are some of the more powerful characters you’ve seen recently in fiction or film and why?