by Pari Noskin Taichert

Every once in awhile, it’s good to get back to basics.

As I’ve wandered through websites and listservs lately, I’ve seen alot of worrying about trivia (what to put on a business card, which bookmarks are the best, what is the most effective giveaway, what to say at a booksigning  etc. etc.)

So, this might be a good time to backtrack and think about the bigger concepts.

Before you do anything else, please take a few moments to answer these five questions. They’ll save you bodacious bucks and valuable time.

1. What’s my product?
Boy, this one seems simple to answer — but look closer.
Your product is the thing you’re trying to promote. Is it you? Is it your book? Is it a series? Is it a feeling — a sensation? Is it entertainment? Laughter? Thrills? I think many authors forget to define this at the beginning of their PR efforts — or they get confused — and it affects their success from the get-go.

2. What is its story?
This is called your message. Determine what you really want to say about your product right after you figure out #1. What’s important about your product? What’s fresh? What’s different? Why should anyone in the world care?

Guess what? You can have multiple messages.

3. Who am I trying to reach?
Who do you want to care about your product/message? These people, known as customers, are your audience. Customers don’t always buy your product, but they help you promote; they affect your efforts in a positive, active manner.

Most products have more than one audience. For example, some of the audiences for my Sasha Solomon series are traditional mystery readers, reviewers, booksellers, women’s fiction readers, baby boomer women who like to laugh, New Mexico and SW enthusiasts, people who are curious about NM, reform Jewish lit readers, radio stations, television stations, newspaper features reporters, librarians — and so on.

4. Does my message matter to my audience?
Look at the big picture here.

One of main messages about the Sasha Solomon series is that it presents a different vision of New Mexico — one that goes beyond cowboys & Indians and the weird idea that people here don’t speak English. Okay, that’s great.

But, if I’m trying to sell that message to baby boomer women who like to laugh — they simply won’t care. And it won’t matter how I package that message — on a book mark, a brochure or on custom-printed whipped cream cans; they won’t care. (Okay, maybe they would care with the whipped cream — they might realize that my books have humor with that last approach — but it’d be another message. That’s my point.)

5. Do I need to rethink my message or target audience?
If the answers come hard to questions 3 & 4, you may need to rework something. Better to realize this during the concepting stage than to spend money and effort on ineffective media campaigns, giveaways, events and so forth.

Knowing — What you’re selling, who you’re selling it to, and what matters to them,

all goes hand-in-hand. You can start anywhere in the process, but you need to get those three down before you worry about the specifics.

For me, sometimes, it helps to develop a few answers to the What–Who and What-Matters, formula. That way I can play with possibilities and see which ones are the most fun for me to pursue.

Whatever you do, use the five questions above to guide your thinking.

If you work through this process honestly, you’ll find it easier to set course and navigate your PR and Marketing campaigns.

(Again, note that this PR advice is just as useful for non-author businesspeople, too.)

Jeffrey Cohen

It is an interesting thing to be a mystery author. People you meet will automatically assume you have a macabre streak, that you are an expert in exotic ways to dispose of corpses, and that you are using your imagination to get back at all those people who have in some way wronged you. (And even while that last one is true, it’s funny how they know it in advance.)

It’s even more interesting to be a Jewish mystery author in America. By "Jewish mystery author," I do not mean an author who writes mysteries that are about Judaism or includes characters who are Orthodox Jews, as someone like Rochelle Krich does so well. I mean an author of mysteries who happens, by happenstance and genetics, to be of Jewish descent.

For the past four years (and counting), I have been a Jewish mystery author. This is especially ironic, as I am not particularly observant–okay, I’m not even a little observant. But people I meet through the books generally expect me to have some authoritative knowledge of the Talmud, what Tu Bishvat might be, and where one can get especially good whitefish on a Sunday morning.

I don’t have a clue, I can assure you. But I’ve known all my life that people will look at my last name (and let’s face it, my face) and think, "Jew." This can be a positive thing or a negative thing (or a completely neutral thing), depending on whether you are reasonable person, or Mel Gibson.

What, you may be thinking, does this have to do with writing and marketing? A good deal, in fact.

One of the first things the publisher suggested to me when my first novel, For Whom the Minivan Rolls, was about to be printed was that I look into "the Jewish market." He said that I could find Jewish book fairs and Jewish book groups that might be interested in the book, and I could go there and talk about the book, and they would buy the book.

"But it’s really not a Jewish book," I told him. Yes, the main character is a secular Jew, much like myself, but it’s not much of an issue in that book. In fact, it barely gets a mention.

"That doesn’t matter," he said.

"But, if they expect it to be about Jewish issues, or for the character to be really Jewish, they’re going to be disappointed," I argued. I’m really good at arguing with people who are trying to help me sell my books to more people. It’s a gift.

"They don’t care if the character’s Jewish," he said. "You’re Jewish. That’s good enough."

Well, try as I might to hide my light under a bagel, there was no arguing. So I attended a few Jewish book fairs, and a few more book groups and book clubs whose members were predominantly Jewish.

They were lovely. And they couldn’t care less that my books weren’t about the "American Jewish experience." Which is a good thing, because while I could go on for days about my experience as a Jewish man in America, I don’t by any stretch represent more than… myself, and I’m no spokesman for Americans, Jews, men, or authors. I’m one example, and not an especially good one, at that.

But the groups simply wanted to hear about the books. They laughed when I hoped they would laugh, and they did, indeed, buy a good number of books. I felt a little odd about it, as if I were taking their money under false pretenses, as I’d never considered myself a Jewish Author (I was, in fact, just getting used to the idea that I was an author at all). Nobody seemed to mind.

Since then, I’ve gotten many very generous emails from some members of these groups, and people to whom they’ve recommended my books. They’ve become fans, proving once again that I have no idea what I’m talking about most of the time.

In the second Aaron Tucker novel, A Farewell to Legs, I included a scene in which Aaron runs into a woman whose opinion of us Semites was, let’s say, not especially tolerant (there’s nothing a member of ANY minority group in this country loves more than being tolerated). I did not include the scene in the book to appeal to Jewish book clubs or groups; I did it because it helped the scene, it gave Aaron a little more depth and maybe it exposed the tiniest fraction of anti-Semitism, something that even those of us who live in especially tolerant areas confront once in a while.

By the time the third book, As Dog Is My Witness, came out, I felt comfortable enough to let Aaron talk about what it’s like to be Jewish in America during what has euphemistically become known as the "Holiday Season." Once again, it was not an attempt to pander to one audience–I hope my books will appeal to everyone. But it was a subject ripe for jokes, and that’s what Aaron is about: making people laugh.

So maybe I am a Jewish Author after all.

When my new series begins next year, with Some Like It Hot Buttered: A Comedy Tonight Mystery, it will once again feature a main character who is, at least by birth, Jewish. The first book in the series has almost no reference to his ethnicity at all, as it’s not something that comes up every day. But there are always possibilities.

I have to go now and decide on a murder victim for my next book. I’m considering a movie star, but that could change…

My stories are being used in the classroom environment to teach students about literature.  Wow, can you say, a feather in your cap?

It’s quite a compliment to learn that my work is being used for literary study, especially at the university level.  It’s weird that my stories have made it into a university classroom when I never did.

The stories are being used in an honors English program in a class for interpretive reading.  The students select a piece from a bunch of stories and remark on the symbolism in the story and the crux of what the author intended to say.

Seeing as I’m alive and not dead, the professor asked if I wanted to see a summary of what the students had found in my work.  Furthermore, the professor asked if I wanted to remark on their findings because the students wanted to know if they were right with their interpretations. 

I wasn’t sure at first.  These were students (with an education) viewing what I write on an academic level.  I don’t write that way.  I write stories because I’ve thought of a great idea for a story and I want to tell it.  I write genre fiction, because I like genre fiction.  I’m not trying to be literary.  I’m trying to be entertaining.  Even though the thought of clever minds picking through my stories sounded as appetizing as hearing about an analysis of my stomach contents, I said sure.  Deep down, I was flattered by the fact the university was using my stories and I wanted to hear what they thought.

“Bring it on,” I said.

Hmm.  The results weren’t what I was expecting.  Their analysis was very complimentary.  They said some very nice things, but boy, did they read a lot into those stories.  They formulated theories and concepts that sounded so convincing that I almost believed them.  It sounded great.  I came off as a genius.  But they read far more into the pieces than I had intended.

I know it’s said for truth, read fiction.  Animal Farm was an allegory for Stalin’s corruption of communist Russia and not a child’s fairytale, although it can be read as both.

Students saw a heavy Christian message because of the perceived Catholic symbolism in one story and detailed a compelling argument for it.  The problem is that I’m not a Catholic and it had nothing to do with the story.  When another of my stories was selected, I asked the professor if they’d made a connection between the story and the war in Iraq. 

“They did,” the professor said.  “And was there one?”

“No,” I replied.  “I could just see where they might get that idea.”

It’s made me wonder if these interpretations say more about the reader than the writer.

This isn’t to say their interpretations are wrong or that my stories are entirely shallow, escapist fun.  It’s just that my inspiration for a story comes from strange places, personal experiences, half conversations, backhand remarks, other people’s lives, or a sandwich I had last week.  From that I’ll think of an interesting premise and inject a conflicting character into that situation.  And from that I hope to have an interesting tale.  I try not to inject an agenda into my stories, because when I read them all I see is the agenda and I’ve crossed the line from entertainment to a sermon and I don’t want that.  I’m a storyteller, not a politician or a preacher.

This experience has made me a little self conscious about the lines I read between when I’m reading other people’s work.  Do my assumptions go beyond what the writer intended?  Because sometimes, a story is just a story and nothing more.

Happy reading,
Simon Wood

by Pari Noskin Taichert

"If Hell exists, it’s filled with old boyfriends . . . and a cat."

So begins the manuscript I’m editing right now in which Sasha Solomon, my protagonist, is plagued by nightmares about relationships gone bad. Because I’m thinking so much about her life, I’m remembering fragments of my own.

Many years ago, I had a boyfriend who was an artist. Since our first interactions neglected talking in favor of aerobics, we didn’t get to know each other much until we were well into being "a couple."

One day, he showed me his art.

I broke up with him that night.

You see, I didn’t get it — his art, I mean. He spent hours with pastels and watercolors creating images of flying chairs. These weren’t chairs with wings; I think I would have liked that. No, his renditions were chairs moving through the air — white background, slightly bent chrome or wooden legs, and blah upholstery. Like I said, I didn’t get it.

I broke up with him because I felt our relationship had no future if something so important, something that tagged his essence as a human being, evoked mocking emotions in me.

As writers, we know writers. Every convention, every trip to the bookstore or library, offers oppportunities to read friends’ works.

What do you do when you care for the person, but not for his story — or craft?

I’m not thinking of anyone in particular here — not when it comes to mystery authors — but I know it’s happened to me. I’ve picked up a book by someone I like, wanted to love it, and haven’t.

It’s an uncomfortable, incomplete, and slightly treacherous response — and it needles me when I see that person later.

Right now, I can imagine several of you are wondering if I’m writing about you.

Don’t go there.

I’m not thinking of anyone in particular.

Honest.

I simply want to explore this uneasy subject because it’s one of those things we don’t talk about — and it stymies forthright communication and makes us cringe internally.

So, I want to know: How do you handle it when a friend asks you to read his book — or expects that you have — and you have . . . but you don’t want to talk about it because you couldn’t get past p. 40?

Me?

I’ve begun to search for the good in every work — something I can praise or admire. But it can be difficult and I still feel like a traitor for not adoring the entire tome, the baby that it took a friend or acquaintance so much effort to create.

Has this ever happened to you?

How have you handled it?

Jeffrey Cohen

I am a bad mystery author.

Quite often (okay, once every few months, but for me, that’s often), I’m asked by a reader, an interviewer, or just this guy who always follows me into the Stop & Shop, “what do YOU like to read?” The guy at the supermarket asks everybody that question, so I’ll discount his participation, but the others seem to think that, as a published author, my taste in reading is in some way more relevant than their own, which it’s not.

Because I have a reputation, and a very minor one, for including humor in my writing, I can get away with a snappy comeback like “I read graffiti,” “I read my wife’s moods, in order to stay alive,” “who said I could read?” or “I read grocery lists,” which really only works on the supermarket guy. But the truth is, I’m embarrassed to say what I really read, because it’s not what they want to hear.

I’ll confess it here: I’m a mystery author. I don’t really read mysteries all that much.

It’s not that I don’t find the form interesting. It’s not that I don’t ENJOY the odd mystery book here and there. But the sad fact is, after a day of toiling away at my own meager work, it’s depressing to read someone who does it better, and whose book is, after all, finished. It all seems so easy for those other authors–even though I know it’s really not, their work is between covers and has a copyright date on it, and everything, so it feels like they’re just flaunting their success at me.

Besides, I’ve seen enough words for one day. Spending hours staring at a screen with words on it, I believe, has a finite capacity. After a certain number of words, my brain goes into a fetal position and gives up for the day. I just can’t deal with any more, especially if the words are actually challenging.

And the sad fact is, when I do read for pleasure, I tend more toward non-fiction than fiction. I’m currently listening to an audiobook of Manhunt, a description of the assassination of Abraham Lincoln and the pursuit of John Wilkes Booth, by James L. Swanson. Booth has just gotten to the home of Dr. Samuel A. Mudd to get his broken leg set, and at the rate I’m going, it’ll be a lot more than twelve days before they shoot him in a barn in Virginia.

Why don’t I read more mysteries? Well, for one, I don’t want to steal stuff inadvertently (or even advertently) from other authors, and there’s sure to be some morsel of plot that will make me go: “oh yeah, that would work perfectly with the story I’m working on now!” I’d have to suppress that impulse, and would do so, but it’s just too upsetting to go through the process.

There are certain authors I can’t read when I’m writing. For days, my work will sound like a bad imitation of theirs. Scarier than that, I’ve been told at least once (okay, once) that at least one (okay, one) author can’t read me while writing. I assume reading too much of my writing while working on one’s own would lead to an upset stomach. Lord knows, that’s what happens to me.

On the other hand, I do sometimes read mysteries by friends I’ve met through this adventure of an industry. For example, this week I read the ARC of Julia Spencer-Fleming‘s upcoming All Mortal Flesh, and I’ve gotta tell ya, it’s dynamite. Luckily, Julia and I don’t write on similar themes–her heroine is an Episcopal priest, and my characters are about as not an Episcopal priest as you can get without actually being a different species. But Julia writes with humor, with emotion and with an evil sense of plot and pacing that will keep you turning pages, which is what this business is all about. I’d ask her how she does it, but then she’d just tell me, and I still wouldn’t do it as well, and that would be the waste of an afternoon.

What was I talking about? Oh yes, what I read.

A few years ago, an interviewer asked me what my favorite book was, and I said, Groucho, Harpo, Chico and Sometimes Zeppo: A Celebration of the Marx Brothers and a Satire on the Rest of the World, by Joe Adamson. For some reason, the interviewer thought I was kidding. I wasn’t. Concerning itself with one (well, four) of my favorite subjects, this is the book that I would have written if Adamson hadn’t gotten there first. It’s out of print now, but you can find a copy. The information is copious, and it’s a funny, funny book.

I know what I was supposed to say. I should have looked thoughtful and said, “you know, my real influences have been Chandler and Hammett, but I’d have to say my favorite book is The Canterbury Tales. What a depth and breadth of character!” Of course, I wouldn’t have a clue what I was talking about, and I wouldn’t know one Canterbury Tale from another, but that’s what you’re supposed to say. (Although you can substitute Moby-Dick or Ulysses for The Canterbury Tales and still be considered acceptable.

A lot of people cite Dickens, Shakespeare, Salinger or (god help us) James Joyce as influences. For me, it was Joe Adamson for how to make non-fiction entertaining, and for storytelling, I had to go to Irwin Shaw. A storyteller beyond compare, Shaw’s novels had lots of juicy plot to chew on, and characters who weren’t stupid, which is a plus. If you haven’t, check out Nightwork, in which a hotel clerk’s life changes when he comes across a tube filled with money one night. Some would say shallow; I say, ahh.

You don’t get to choose your influences, or everybody would be writing in iambic pentameter, and wearing accordion collars. And those would chafe like crazy in this heat.

What it comes down to is, it doesn’t matter what an author reads. It matters what an author writes. And you should read what you want to read. Assuming, of course, that my books are included on that list.

After all, a guy’s got to have priorities.