Maybe it’s my engineering background that compels me to take things apart.  I treat my writing no differently.  Before I sat down to write my first novel, I picked out four novels in the same genre and I dissected them.  I had no background in creative writing and this seemed like the best approach for me.  I broke down each story into component parts: action and reaction scenes, characters, their entrances and exits, and their motivations, changes in points of view, the plots and subplots, etc.  I did this chapter by chapter.  I read a chapter and made my notes.  When I reached the end I had a complete guide on how each book was created.  I could look over my notes and see how the threads pulled together and how all the parts connected to make a seamless narrative.  This exercise gave me a lot of confidence when I started outlining my novel.  It forced me to think about all the components that make a good book and helped me avoid the common errors of a novice writer.

I still analyze my favorite books every time I begin a new book.  I find it puts me in the mood to write my story and sharpens my mind.  I use unabridged audio books now.  It allows me to make notes while I listen.

Writing is an art, but it’s not all instinctual.  There’s a mechanical side to good storytelling and to master it, you need to know how it works.

Simon Wood

PS: Apologies for the brevity of this entry, but I had a death in the family this week and I’m busy with family matters.

by Pari Noskin Taichert

2006 has been the year of small mystery conventions for me. Since February, I’ve gone to Murder in the Magic City, Malice Domestic, Mayhem in the Midlands, Murder in the Grove and Con Misterio. My last convention in this cycle will be Magna Cum Murder in October. In past years, I’ve gone to Left Coast Crime and Bouchercon, too. That’s a lot of out-of-pocket expense, a lot of travel — and a lot of experience from which to draw a few conclusions.

Sure, conventions are promotional opportunities. That’s the excuse I give my husband.

On a quieter, private level, they offer community and companionship with people who share my passion.

I’ve loved every single mystery convention I’ve ever attended — including the Bouchercon in Las Vegas. As finances and time allow, I’ll continue to go to as many as I can.

But smaller cons have a special place in my heart.

The biggest difference between attending conventions such as Bouchercon (and Malice Domestic) and smaller venues  — is the members. At the biggies, you get more editors, agents and super-successful authors (an exception might be ITW’s first foray this year). But, I’ve found that they don’t tend to mix with others.

Sure, if you’ve got an NYC publisher, you’ll be invited to the parties, but don’t expect to hang out with the biggies beyond that. I don’t think this is a function of snobbery; it’s more that these people have business to do — and it’s not with you.

However, I believe that if you work large conventions right, they provide opportunities to make meaningful, influential connections.

So, why attend a small one — where you know you won’t run into that publisher who might change your life? Or that author whose blurb will propel you into the big leagues (yeah, right)?

As a fan, why would you spend money to go where all of the authors — but the Guests of Honor– are unknown to you?

1. Small conventions encourage mixing.
I don’t know if it’s because these conventions are more relaxed or because of the mix of attendees, but they always encourage cross-genre interaction. I believe one reason — especially for authors — is that many of us don’t have our usual friends around. As a result, there’s more mingling. The Boys in Black will sit with the Girls in Pink in the bar — and they’ll converse. Also, readers don’t have as much competition for authors’ attention.

2. Small conventions allow more per person, face-to-face impact.
Murder in the Magic City limits attendees to 135. However, since there are no concurrent sessions, each author who attends has an audience of 135. How many other cons provide that? Smaller conventions also tend to allow authors more than one panel. That makes a big difference, too. And, I’d argue that without as many huge names competing in concurrent sessions, attendees will try more new authors than they would if they were intent on seeing their big-draw favorites.

3. Small conventions’ per-author, per-book sales probably equal those at bigger ones.
Rarely will any convention pay for itself (for an author) through book sales. For me, I’d have to sell hundreds of books in order to cover the hotel expenses alone. But, I’ve noticed that I’ve signed basically the same amount of books at most conventions I attend . . . period.

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Con Misterio
What a wonderful event! I hope attendance increases by 50+ people so that it can become viable economically for the organizers. Frankly, it’s a great addition to our mystery convention calendar — and Austin in July is lovely when you’re in an air-conditioned, pleasant hotel.

Lousy Photos Presented with Lots of Love
Apologies first: None of these authors have red eyes. Forgive me. Believe me, I spent time trying to fix them. Then, I couldn’t import those fixes into this post. Argh. Also, I realize the text wraps around the photos in an odd, erratic way; I tried to fix that, too.

Nevertheless, in an effort to promote my fellow authors, I’m including these lousy examples of photographic prowess and layout — along with author website links (or whatever I could find) — with the hopes that if someone interests you, you’ll click on his or her name and get to a location where there is a good picture.

We had a lovely reception at Con Misterio. Here, Reed Coleman and Jane Cleland ham it up. Notice how PR savvy Reed is. He’s got his books in hand . . .

John Maddox Roberts has written more books than I thought humanly possible — and he’s still going strong. He’s embracing the lovely (her eyes are gorgeous, btw) and talented Karen MacInerney (pronounced "Mac and Ernie").

Sean Doolittle is one of the nicest guys you’ll meet. I doubt I would have met him but for attending smaller conventions and having the time to compare notes about parenthood, our careers and life. He’s now beginning to gain some real national attention and I couldn’t be happier for him.

These three would probably always run in different crowds than little ol’ me, but thanks to smaller cons I’ve met them all.
From l to r: Anthony Neil Smith, Victor Gischler, Harry Hunsicker

Oh, this is a terrible picture. I want to hide . . . but, it contains some of my favorite people. Troy Cook at the far left is a new author who is already getting tremendous kudos. Next to him is the deceptively gentle Lono Waiwaiole. And, in the foreground is Troy’s dad, Bruce Cook. Don’t let daddy Cook’s nice demeanor fool you. He knows more about the L.A. movie scene — about the inner workings of movies and their production, than most of us could ever learn.

Mr. James Crumley in his office.
Actually, I got to spend some quality time with Jim. He was totally unassuming and could drink most of us under the table. (I hope the link takes you to an article about him.)

l to r: Dean James, Lillian Stewart Carl, Karen Macinerney.

They’re all much better looking than this photo indicates. Hey, I’m a writer, obviously not a photographer.

Notice the lights emanating from Karen’s head? Could it be her aura? Or, maybe it’s because all of these fine authors deal with the supernatural?

l to r: authors Kaye George and Marilyn Meredith. Kaye is also a violinist. I’ve known Marilyn since my very first panel at my very first con — LCC Pasadena.

Ah, the lovely bar. Great conversations happen just because of proximity.

l to r: Laura Elveback, Leann Sweeney, Sara Weiss. I couldn’t find any url for Laura — darn it.

Um, welcome to the bar again. On the left is Keith Raffel — a brand new author from Sillicon Valley. Next to him is a pro — Mark Troy. I had the honor of being on a panel with each of them.

Should I identify them from top to bottom? The lady in the back is Katharine Eliska Kimbriel — author of both science fiction/fantasy and mystery. Because this convention was small, I had the joy of dining with Margaret Maron more than once. What a kind, intelligent woman. Jan Grape (seated) also generously shared her experiences as an author with me.

The wild-worded, wild-minded author Jim Nisbet and Con Misterio organizer and tireless worker Karen Meschke.

What would any convention be without food? Con Misterio fed us very well (the hotel was great, too). The hospitality room served its purpose with elan. We also had fresh fruit and veggies, good drinks and other wonderfulnesses throughout each day. Wow.

This is a box of breakfast treats from author Sharon Wildwind (oh, I hope I have the right url!) who was unable to attend the con but found a way to have an impact on our grateful stomachs one morning. I really liked those cookies with the powered sugar.

Well, that’s enough for today.

cheers.

by Pari Noskin Taichert

Believe it or not, the other day I was complaining about the slow build my books seem to be experiencing, the slow build to my career. A friend asked me, the perennenial

Jeffrey Cohen

If you spend enough time reading online listservs about mystery books (yes, DorothyL, but others, as well), you can get the impression that authors spend most of their time attending mystery conventions. Conversation generally begins with “how will we know each other at B’Con (Bouchercon, to the uninformed)?” and moves on to “did you go to Mayhem in the Midlands?” with such stops along the way as “just got back from Left Coast Crime (LCC to the really hip) or “was that Lee Child I spotted at Deadly Ink?” (Can you tell I just learned how to link?)

That’s the tiniest tip of the iceberg. There are mystery conventions, it would seem, every 20 minutes, in every corner of the globe. Yesterday, I attended the Backspace Conference in New York City (not limited to mystery, but about writing generally), and it was lovely–not to mention less than an hour from my house. Each and every one of these conferences seems to attract some of the most respected and famous names in the mystery biz (the aforementioned Mr. Child was in attendance, for example). As a fledgling mid-list author, I have some questions:

1. Where do these people get the money to travel all over the place so frequently?

I have been a mystery author (of sorts) for about six years, and my first book was published just a hair short of four years ago. In that time, I have traveled to exactly one mystery convention by air: Bouchercon 2004, in Toronto, CA. Other than that, I’ve attended three Malice Domestic conferences (“Malices” to the in crowd) in Arlington, VA, because I can drive there in about four hours, two Deadly Inks in Parsippany, NJ, my home state (sorry I couldn’t make it this year–ironically, because I was flying into Newark Airport that day–but I promise I’ll be back in 2007) and have considered, and abandoned, plans to go to Left Coast Crime twice, through no fault of the convention organizers.

According to a quick search on Expedia, a flight from Newark, NJ (near where I live) to Madison, WI (home of this year’s Bouchercon) on the dates necessary (a day before the convention begins, returning on the day the convention ends) would cost at least $276. Now, that doesn’t sound too bad. Then, add the hotel–and while it’s an extravagance, I always (always! Four times so far in my life!) try to stay at the convention hotel, just to give me a place to recharge my batteries during the day–which in this case would be about $115 per night for three nights, or $345. Again, not enough to break the bank.

Convention registration for this year’s Bouchercon is $185. So add the expenses together, and the bill is $806. Okay, it’s a bit of a bite, but not outrageous. Except I haven’t eaten yet. Nor paid for parking at the airport. Nor gotten myself from the Madison airport to the hotel (rent-a-car? airport shuttle?). Nor bought drinks for friends at the bar, which is where one must see and be seen at such events. So, let’s say $1200, going on the cheap all the way around, for a convention that’s not terribly far from my home.

Now, multiply that by, again conservatively (a word which doesn’t flow freely from my keypad), six times a year. That’s $7,200. And they’re not all going to be close to home. In 2006, Left Coast Crime was held in Bristol, England. In 2007, Bouchercon will take place in Anchorage, Alaska. Those airfares are considerably higher.

Where are these authors getting this money? Sure, the bestselling authors can afford it, and good for them, but the rest of us aren’t exactly putting extra wings on our homes with book advances. How can someone afford to be an author these days?

2. Where do they find the time to write?

Seems like a lot of authors are at every single mystery convention. I realize this is physically impossible, but every time you look up, they’re there. Since this is a time-consuming process, I can’t figure out when they have the time to write books.

Here’s my theory: Lee Child is actually a fat, short, slavish man who sits in a cramped garret in a less-than-fashionable area of Manhattan and crafts his novels 365 days a year. He rarely leaves the house, has food sent in and has no friends. But he writes really well, and takes time out to watch the occasional Yankees game, his only source of joy (until this week, but that’s another whole blog).

In order to keep the myth alive, he has hired a tall, handsome Englishman to wear nice suits, drive a flashy car and attend mystery conventions, film premieres and perhaps awards ceremonies. This guy probably can’t write a word (other than to autograph books with Child’s name), and for all I know can’t read, but he’s personable as all get-out and can speak very eloquently on writing and Lee Child’s books.

Other authors are probably into this impersonation gambit, as well. Robert B. Parker has three (!) series going at once, and writes the occasional standalone while waiting on line at the movies. He doesn’t have time to, you know, live. You know that guy who shows up at Kate’s in Cambridge MA every once in a while is an impersonator. Parker’s at home trying to figure out how Spenser and Hawk can still beat everyone up despite being over 70.

3. How do they know which convention they’re at?

Now, I’m not saying all mystery conventions are the same. First, as I’ve noted, I haven’t been to enough to say so intelligently. Also, each one definitely has its own personality. But if you go to enough of any type of event in a short period of time, you start to lose perspective. Hotels tend to look alike, hotel bars definitely look alike, and if you keep running into the same authors (and sometimes the same fans) in hotels and hotel bars, I don’t care how well-run the convention is, you’re going to forget where you are.

Bestselling authors have assistants (or escorts) who guide them on book tours and, assumedly, to conventions. The rest of us have the airport shuttle, and that’s not a big help. So, how do authors know where they are?

My guess: they have crib sheets written on their cuffs, like in school. Or on their arms. Or, for all I know, on the insides of their eyelids, which they see by closing their eyes are tilting their heads toward bright lights. But there’s some trick to it, for sure.

Next year, when my first book from a large publisher is released, I’m going to make an effort to attend a few more conventions. I’m starting to save up now. But if you see me at one, and I seem disoriented, like I don’t recognize you or can’t remember your name, please don’t take it personally.

I’m like that at home, too.

The part I love most about writing is the first draft.  It all pours out in a blur of activity.  My office crackles with the sound of a clicking keyboard.  The greatest moment is when I type “The End” and hit print.   There’s no sound finer than the buzz of my HP spewing out the pages.  Somehow, the moment that story, that book, is birthed into the material world, it’s legitimate and I’m a proud father every time.  I have no shame or tact.  I shove the thing under my wife’s nose for her opinion, irrespective of what she’s doing, whether it be watching TV or digging a tunnel to freedom.  I don’t care because I know I’ve nailed it.  That first draft is perfect—okay, some passages need trimming, others fleshing out, but one good read through and it’s done—right?

How I wish that were true.

The first part is true.  I do love creating the first draft.  Getting down those ideas and thoughts is the best.  The heartbreak comes after my wife has given it the once over and the red pen comes out and I get back something resembling a used bandage instead of my tale.

The problem is that unlike most writers, I’m dyslexic.  I must be a masochist.  I have to be.  I’ve chosen the one career 99.9% of dyslexics would choose to avoid.

Even though I know and understand my problem, I’m literally blind to it.  I don’t see the mistakes—the incorrect words, the impossible sentences, bizarre language structure and the plain incomprehensible.  My early drafts are laced with missing words penned in for me, passages circled with a question mark and comments where I might have gone wrong.  At times, my wife must feel like she’s working with a Codetalker.

So first draft bliss dissolves into editing hell.  It’s a chore and I hate it.  I wish Microsoft had some gadget that would rewrite my work at the click of a button. 

I’m blessed, though.  My wife, Julie, has the right temperament to cut through my jumble.  She’s my seeing-eye dog (she’s going to love that analogy), to guide me through the literary minefield I’ve created.  Without her input, not one of my stories or novels would have been printed.  I will forever be in her debt.

Besides Julie, my spelling and grammar checker is my other guide.  I know a lot of writers turn them off, but I keep mine on.  I may not take its advice, but I know it’s telling me there’s some dyslexic goof lurking there somewhere.  It forces me to really focus.

Reading my work aloud has also been effective.  It helps me uncover where my dyslexia has masked what I really wanted to say or to discover that I’ve written something I didn’t want to say.  When Julie reads, the issue presents itself in gory detail and sounds like fingernails drawn down a blackboard.  When I read, Julie stops me after a sentence or two to point out that what I’ve read and what I’ve written are totally different.  Whatever misfire is floating around in my brain, we do overcome it.

Some might say it’s very nice to have a proofreader every step of the way and it is, but it’s equally as frustrating.  It’s tough relying on someone else to tell you where you’ve gone wrong.  It’s like being fluent in a foreign language, but only on a verbal level, and being ignorant of the written language.  I want to be able to correct the obvious.  So at times, I’m not considerate or patient.  It goes without saying that it creates a strain on both Julie and me.  But the writing credits I’ve built up over the last six years have been the reward.

We’ve come a long way from when I announced one Halloween night that I was going to give writing a shot.  Writing has helped my dyslexia by reducing the errors my befuddled brain produces.  Dyslexia has always been my shame and I’m glad I’ve put it in its place—right next to my expanding row of books.

Simon Wood