Author Archives: Murderati

Romance Writers of America National Conference

Last weekend Rob, Toni and I were all at the Romance Writers of America National Conference in San Francisco.

Now wait, you’re saying to yourself. This is a MYSTERY blog, right? And you three are thriller writers, aren’t you? So what were you doing at a romance conference?

(Rob of course has an easy answer – it was 3000 women to maybe 20 men.)

People continue to look at me askance when I say that I attend the romance conferences and am a member of RWA, and that’s fair enough. I read Stephen King and Shirley Jackson, Ira Levin and Ray Bradbury while I was growing up and even though I did pick up some gothic romances because of intriguingly spooky covers, I never had the slightest interest in the Harlequins with their “clinch” covers.

But I read everything Anne Rice ever wrote for years. “That’s not romance,” you cry. Oh, really? I submit to you that that’s exactly what Anne Rice wrote. Romance is a huge umbrella for many subgenres, and RWA knows that that includes thrillers and mysteries and supernatural – and authors like Allison Brennan and Lisa Gardner and our own Tess Gerritsen. It’s the rest of us that seem a little slow on the uptake, here.

This was my biggest clue that I needed to investigate the romance community and business: Our publishers go to the romance conferences in droves. I have never seen such a presence of editors, publishers and agents at any other genre conference. And they put much more money into the events and giveaways and promotions – it’s very clear that THEY think RWA is important.

And it’s not so scary. Really.

Here’s a quick summary of my time.

Arrived Wednesday afternoon, not having completely realized that the conference STARTED on Wednesday, so raced straight from Oakland airport to the SF Marriott, arrive just in time for librarian/bookseller mingler (for my money, that in itself was worth the whole conference). My case of THE HARROWING disappeared in five minutes, and the rest of the time was spent chatting, fueled by copious amounts of iced tea and lemonade.

The mingler was followed by the mass Literacy Autographing – there must have been 400 authors there in that ballroom, lined up at tables in alphabetical order. Other cons could take a cue from this arrangement – it is a LOT easier to plan to come to just one or two huge signings where you know you can easily and quickly find your favorite authors and browse all the others at leisure. Plus a mass autographing can be advertised to the public – and believe me, readers come – the line to get in to the hall snaked down one whole floor of the hotel, up a staircase, and down another floor.

I was surprised at how many people I knew there – this was my first RWA but I did know a lot of people from Romantic Times, Heather Graham’s Writers for New Orleans, and even my Raleigh RWA chapter (now that was a trip, to see Raleigh friends in San Francisco).

It was a staggering program, really. There were sessions with the buyers of Barnes & Noble, Borders, and Books a Million, there were spotlights on all the publishing houses, all of whom had 4 to 6 editors in attendance, talking about the specific needs and policies of their houses as well as their personal taste in books, genres, queries and pitches; there was a half-day screenwriting workshop with Blake Snyder, author of Save the Cat!, there were pitch prep sessions and agent/editor appointments all week long. The only thing missing was, well, men – which meant RGB and Matthew Shear were at a premium.

I went to a lot of the publisher spotlights, which I found fascinating, and got a lot out of Lisa Gardner’s rewriting workshop (she broke down how she took two years to turn THE PERFECT HUSBAND into a breakout, mainstream thriller when the book she’d initially written was a Harlequin… um… Silhouette? One of those lines).

Friday was party day – starting at 4 pm at the authentic SF speakeasy, Bourbon and Branch, for thriller author Kelli Stanley’s launch party (not part of the RWA program but a happy coincidence). What a fabulous venue and fabulous party, in the secret library (revolving bookcase and all), with its stunning tin ceilings, antique bars, Deco glass chandeliers that looked like enormous sea anemones (you wouldn’t want one of those things falling on you, let me tell you…). Suddenly I was surrounded by mystery writers our Simon Wood, RGB, Michelle Gagnon… Kelli was her noirish self and it was great to see Diane Kudisch of the San Francisco Mystery Bookstore and Janet Rudolph of the Mystery Readers’ Journal… Janet was skeptical when I kept telling her she HAD to come to the RWA parties but she was a total convert by the end of the evening.

Because RWA knows how to party, and publishers spend the big bucks to entertain there. The St. Martin’s party was at a very stylish Asian Fusion restaurant called the E & O. Mouthwatering appetizers and St. Martinis… way too good, but I knew the minute I hit the Harlequin party I’d be dancing all that alcohol out, and so I did. The HQ party was at the Four Seasons and it was fun walking into the ballroom with Rob and seeing his chin hit the floor – you really don’t get it until you see it, how all out Harlequin goes. And what I really love about the HQ parties is that they don’t even pretend it’s about anything else but the dancing. They’d brought up a DJ from LA who just GOT it – he happily spun his way through the classic dance songs – Raining Men, Play that Funky Music White Boy, Lady Marmelade, Brick House, Dancin’ Queen, and hundreds of women never left the floor for the entire evening.

Saturday was another signing with St. Martin’s (the publishers all donate cases of books to give away to readers…. think about it) and my paranormal panel with Heather Graham, and then Nora Roberts’ pre-RITA award cocktail party. Heather and I managed to sneak out and get into the Frieda Kahlo exhibit at SF MOMA, the Museum of Modern Art, which was also worth the whole trip right there… they always publish the pretty paintings in those coffee table books, and Frieda is not about pretty. It was a knockout exhibit.

I had a great time seeing my brother, who lives in SF – one day for lunch on the pier, and again on Sunday (foggy and chilly) for a field trip to the Chihuly glass exhibit at the DeYoung Museum in Golden Gate Park – psychedelic, translucent pieces that made me feel I was underwater half the time and in Wonderland the other half. Then caught up with my friend Siegrid from Berkeley and ended the night in a biker bar, because SF is about nothing if not about contrasts.

All in all a wildly productive and wildly wild time.

Try it some time – you may find you like it.

So the question of the day is – what’s your opinion/impression about romance novels? Do you read them? Wouldn’t touch them with a ten-foot pole? Have you taken any notice of how romance-driven the publishing industry really is?

– Alex

A Dislocated Sense of Place

J.T. Ellison

Home is where the heart is, right?

I’ve been thinking about what "home" means to me lately. The past few weeks on Facebook, I’ve had a run of luck reconnecting with some of my friends from high school and college, which has in turn overloaded my senses with a bevy of long-forgotten memories when the names and faces pop up. We’re all twenty years older, but that’s just few enough years that you can still readily recognize people.

You see, I don’t live where I went to school. I moved away from both my childhood home and my high school and college home. Which means that here in Nashville, there’s no one around from my childhood.

And in many ways, that’s a good thing. It’s funny, I thought I had changed dramatically, that I was this completely different person from the one I was back then. One quick inbox from a respected friend from high school shattered that illusion. I am the same person — a little smarter, a little more worldly, definitely a lot more in tune with my heart — but I’m still the geeky girl who didn’t feel like she fit in. Not all the way. The one who listened to the fears and hopes of people from every clique, and never got into any of them. Still the same woman who encouraged her friends, believed in them, knew they could be whatever they wanted to be, yet never, ever discovered exactly what she wanted. Who never got completely comfortable in her skin.

I mentioned this to hubby the other night. We were eating in a fine Nashville establishment called Rhumba, and I was watching a woman out the window. She was sitting at an outside table, smoking, tattoos parading up her left arm, her hair died auburn and cut in a nifty bob, her white tank top skimming her muscled and tanned back as she rested her tattooed arm on the seat next to her. I saw a glint of metal near her mouth, a lip ring, most likely. Hubby said, "That’s a lot of ink." And I spilled out with,"Yes, but she knows exactly who she is and is completely aware of herself. I respect the hell out of that. I wish I did. I’ll be forty next year, and I’m still not there."

I’ve met women like the one I was admiring along the way: the self-assured, the glamorous, the perfect ones, the quirky. Their lives seem effortless. Their hair is always perfect, or perfectly rocked out, they never pay for a drink, they have fascinating stories. I watch and wonder how they do that. When did they hit the moment when they said "This is ME. This is my identity. This is who I was meant to be. Screw what other people think."

I’ve always been fascinated with the counter culture mystique, felt more of an affinity with them that the Junior League crowd I used to was run with. The goths, the wiccans, the punk rockers, the role-players. I can’t help myself, I admire them. I love that they live off the grid, in worlds of their own making. That’s probably the important part of that — worlds of their own making. These women choose to pierce, or tattoo, or paint their face white. It’s a statement about who they are.

Yes, I’ve flirted with the edges — have a couple of tattoos and a piercing or two, thought I was damn cool. But I never had the guts to make it happen for real. I never fully embraced the alternative lifestyle. I couldn’t dress right, I didn’t have the guts to have people stare at me. The feelings of coolness fluttered away and left me feeling like a poseur. Honestly, I can’t even loosen up enough to dress up for Halloween, how could I do that on a daily basis?

I never fully embraced ANY lifestyle, really, outside of the desire to be the best wife I could be. I was quite the little Suzy homemaker for a while there, once I learned how to boil water. I took to marriage like a duck to water, feeding and growing on love. That, at least, hasn’t changed.

But in the little ways that count, I have changed. I may not be an anti-establishment alternative lifestyle girl, wearing my Dr. Martens with a short skirt and ripped leggings, but I do know my own mind. I am probably too opinionated now. Show me your problem and I can find sixteen equally amenable solutions for you. Become my friend, worm your way past my defenses and into my heart, and I’ll be there for you for the rest of your life.

So what does any of this have to do with writing?

My mom asks me all the time why I don’t write a political thriller. And
while I’ll admit to having a corker of an idea for one, I’m reluctant
to set a book in D.C. Check that. I’ve been hyper-resistant to even considering the idea. I’ve never been able to put my finger on the reason why. The journey back through time on Facebook brought it all to the forefront.

There’s too much of ME there. Firsts, lasts, good and bad. Joys, regrets. I lived in D.C. for 15 years, most of them formative. All my big "First
Times": Friendships, boyfriends, jobs. I’ve never been one to dwell on
my past, instead prefer to look forward. I guess I feel like setting a
book in D.C. would be akin to revisiting a ghost of myself. It’s not me
any more. And instead of writing the story, I’d be mourning the loss of the girl who did wear the combat boots and ripped leggings, who wanted to dye a pink streak in her hair, who somehow ended up working in the White House, wore blue suits with white hose, carried a Coach briefcase and was a categorical bow-head. Yikes.

Nashville was a much easier set up for me. There is no history for me here, no background. No people who knew me,
who’d seen my mistakes, watched me grow up. I guess, in a way, I had
nothing to lose. I could recreate myself through my setting. Since I was new to the area, I experienced it through fresh eyes. I’m still discovering parts of my adopted hometown that surprise me.

Hemingway
said:

"All good books are alike in that they are truer than if they had
really happened and after you are finished reading one you will feel
that all that happened to you and afterwards it all belongs to you; the
good and the bad, the ecstasy, the remorse, and sorrow, the people and
the places and how the weather was."*

That’s what I’ve been trying to do with my books.

I think if you can tap into that, your books will be a success. If you can make a reader FEEL your setting, to experience it as fully as they would watching it on the screen, you’ve succeeded. Do you have to know yourself to be a good writer? Of course not. I’ve come to believe that life is a journey, made up of bits and pieces of experiences that shape us into who we become, yet never stop us from evolving into what we can be. But you must give your reader the proper setting for the story. To build a world for them.

Will I ever go home, write a book where my invisible footprints still linger? I don’t know. Writing has become that journey for me, my very own road to discovery. But I will continue to strive to realize the settings I do pick, to make sure that I give them every ounce of me that I have to give. This is what I’ve been realizing over the past few months.
There’s really no way to go home again. But would you want to?

What I finally figured out is that home is truly where
the heart is. It’s not a place, it’s a state of mind.

Where do you call home? Do you write about your hometown? Readers, do you prefer books set in places you know well or don’t know at all?

Wine of the Week: 2003 Campe della Spinette Barolo

*Ernest Hemingway, "Old Newsman Writes," Esquire, December 1934, pg. 26 (courtesy of my good friend Peggy Peden)

——

On a lighter note, huge, MEGA-congratulations to Last Comic Standing Iliza Shlesinger!!!! Way to go, girl!!!! Thanks for all the laughs.

The Mass of Expectation

by Zoë Sharp

It’s five A.M., winter, and a bitter rain is beating against the glass. Outside the covers, the room is as cold as the inside of a meat locker. Your husband/wife/lover is a soft embrace with a comforting heartbeat only a thought away across the pillow, and you want nothing more than to tuck in, hold on, go under.

But your alarm has just gone off, an hour and a half before you know you HAVE to get up for work. There seems to be no reason good enough, right now, to deny yourself another ninety minutes lying here. It’s safe, it’s easy. And nobody expects you to want or do anything different.

But you get up anyway.

You struggle into unwelcome clothes and stumble down a darkened staircase, trying not to put on the lights, trying not to wake the house. You totter out into the wet and the cold, and you force yourself onward against a fierce wind that seems determined to tangle itself around your legs and weight your feet like clay, against great flung coins of rain that pelt into your face at every stride, denting your skin and stinging your eyes until you have no idea who you are or where you’re going.

And you run.

At times like these you not only wonder why you got started on this madness, but how. Maybe it started out as little more than a half-formed whim expressed out loud. “One day,” you said, “I want to enter a marathon.” And maybe someone else, someone close to you, said, “Well, what’s stopping you?”

If you were lucky.

So often, though, when that kind of ambition is announced, it’s met with blank looks. “What on earth do you want to do something like that for?” Or, worse, with ridicule. “Yeah, right!” they snort. “You? You’re too old/stupid/lazy! You’ll never keep it up!”

But still you set your alarm that very first morning, and you crawled out from beneath the covers. For a long time, you stood on your front porch staring out into a misted curtain of rain, trying to find the courage to take that first uncertain step.

Most probably, you didn’t take it.

Instead, you turned back, let the door latch quietly behind you, and crept back into bed. The sheets hadn’t even had time to fully cool. Your husband/wife/lover rolled over as you slid under the covers, and muttered in their sleep. They hardly even knew you’d been gone. “It was a stupid idea,” you told yourself. “Of course someone like me can’t do something like that.”

But the next morning, you set the alarm again. And this time you got to the end of the driveway before you turned back, still dissatisfied with how little you seem to have achieved, but without that same hollow ring of cowardice that haunted you before.

And so it goes on.

Progress isn’t linear. Some days you’ll breeze through the entire route you’ve set yourself. Others you’ll sweat and stagger to the end of the driveway again, returning utterly exhausted out of all proportion to such a paltry effort. And some days, when that alarm goes off, you’ll pull the bedclothes up over your head and totally ignore it.

You might be wondering by now just where this story is going, and it’s all about determination. The kind of determination you’ve got to have in order to write a novel. It doesn’t matter if it’s a novel that’s snapped up by a publisher to become an instant bestseller, or something that never makes it past faded typescript form in a box under your bed. You’ve still got to sit down and get on with it, word by word, from the empty first page to the final full stop.

And I use the description of ‘novel’ carefully. I started out writing non-fiction and, from my experience, that’s easier. Instead of the sweepings-up out of your own head, you’re tasked purely with telling someone else’s story. If nobody else thinks it’s worthy of reading, then the blame is jointly shared between the writer (for not telling the story in an interesting enough way) and the subject (for not having an interesting enough story in the first place). Each, of course, will privately push more of the blame onto the other.

But fiction is different. Fiction is make-believe, and there’s always the fear in the back of your mind that your imagination simply isn’t up to the job. Because, unlike training for a marathon – my clumsy analogy at the start of this post – you don’t necessarily see any improvement as you go along. You don’t get ‘fitter’, more capable of achieving that perfect bit of description, that snappy piece of dialogue. In fact, in some ways it gets much harder to keep going, the closer you get to the end. After all, the thing takes on a mass all of its own.

The mass of expectation.

Imagine the feeling, when you stood on the front porch that very first morning, that you have it within your grasp to be the next Olympic gold medallist in your chosen sport. All you have to do is take that first step, and you’ll be on your way to the podium, with the national anthem blasting across the stadium and the president hanging that coveted ribbon around your neck.

Equally, before you’ve put a single word on the page, your novel has the potential to be the next Pulitzer/Nobel/Booker/Duncan Lawrie-winning entry. After all, first novels are fought over by major houses, and they do go on to win rakes of major awards. We are constantly handed news clippings by well-meaning relatives telling how some teenage first-timer submitted the first three chapters and an outline, only for their agent to be bombarded with six-figure offers and phone calls from Hollywood over the film rights.

But the truth of it is, that the more words you put on the page, the more the potential of your book diminishes. By the time you’ve written the final word, it no longer has all that potential. Rewrites aside, the bulk of the story, the voice and the shape and the tone, is there.

Good or bad, it is what it is.

You may have spent several years ‘training’ by this point. It could even be decades. Forcing yourself to carve out little niches of time to write, perhaps enduring the scepticism of friends and family, all with dogged determination. But until you submit your first typescript – until you enter your first marathon – the truth is that you have no real idea whether you can do this or not.

And regardless of whether your book is ever destined for the shelves in the bookstores or not, just getting it done is an enormous achievement, a huge continuous leap of faith.

For me, it’s a compulsion. Someone called me a self-starter recently, but I look at all the To Dos left undone at the end of the day and feel that I write at the expense of other things, rather than as well as them. And while part of me would love to have the kind of determination to actually get out of bed early every day and train for that marathon for real, I know in my heart of hearts that I don’t have it. For me writing is my one overriding obsession.

So, what drives you to write? Do you carry that determination to other aspects of your life, or is it your obsession, too?

This week’s Word of the Week is more of a phrase – cold feet. A common expression for loss of nerve, the expression comes from the German author, Fritz Reuter. In 1862 he wrote a scene in a novel involving a game of poker. One of the players realises he’s going to lose but doesn’t want to throw in his hand and thus lose face, so he complains that his feet are so cold that he cannot concentrate on the game. This gives him the opportunity to leave the table with his honour intact.

You may also recall in my last ‘Rati post that I offered a copy of TELL AN OUTRAGEOUS LIE to the most inventive improvised weapon suggestion. I have to say that although there were some brilliant – and scary – suggestions, it came to a toss-up between Jake Nantz and K. Prescott. So I literally tossed a coin, and Jake won. Email me your snail-mail address, Jake, and I’ll either put a copy in the mail to you or, if you’re going to be at Bouchercon in October, I’ll bring it with me. You may receive it quicker that way!

Grist for the Mill?

by J.D. Rhoades

A good friend and colleague of mine passed away last week at the age of
83. He was a fascinating guy: a veteran of World War II and Vietnam who
retired a full Colonel from the Air Force after 32 years in. Instead of
retiring and playing golf, he decided to go to law school.

The more I remembered about him, the more I kept thinking, "this guy’s
life would have made a hell of a book. Come to think of it, he’d make
a hell of a character."

That’s part
of being a writer. Everything becomes potential material. You start
thinking of everything you see as grist for the mill. My usual answer
to the perennial "where do you get your ideas" question is: everywhere.

But it gets a tad problematic when your
"grist" involves real stories, of real people, and you use those
stories as the springboard for fiction.

As a practicing
lawyer in a small town in North Carolina, I see a lot of tragic things.
Some of the things I see really bug me. They stick in my mind. And when
something gets stuck in my mind, the only way to dislodge it and put it
someplace where it doesn’t haunt me (at least not as badly) is to put
it on the page.

Obviously, it wouldn’t be ethical for me as an attorney to do a roman a clef, an exact
re-telling of a story with only the names changed, but there are some
situations that are common enough–and tragic enough–that they get
woven into my stories. The most obvious example is Jack Keller, the
protagonist of my first three novels. Jack’s a combat veteran with
PTSD. Sometimes he has, shall we say, anger management issues. He has
flashbacks. He’s a walking time bomb who’s trying real hard not to be.

Now, Jack’s story is not specifically tied to any one veteran I know.
But living in a town that’s become a bedroom community for one of the
nations’ largest military bases, and working in the court system, I’ve
seen a lot of former soldiers with PTSD over the years. And,
unfortunately, we’re seeing a lot more. One even made the national news
not too long ago when former Army medic Joseph Patrick Dwyer, who first
became famous when the papers published a photo of him carrying a terrified Iraqi child away
from a firefight, died in Pinehurst of an apparent overdose of the
inhalants he’d been huffing to make the pain go away.

That’s a haunting story, a story that cries out to be told. But
when you use fiction to tell a story like that, where does telling
something important end and exploitation begin?

It cuts even closer to home when the stories you’re telling are
grounded in your own life story. Pat Conroy, for example, reportedly
outraged his family with his portrayals of abusive fathers and
dysfunctional families in THE GREAT SANTINI and THE PRINCE OF TIDES.
Conroy’s sister reportedly refused to speak to him for years after the
publication of PRINCE OF TIDES, but his father, a former Marine pilot,
apparently developed enough of a sense of humor over the years to begin
signing copies of Conroy’s books as "Donald Conroy–The Great
Santini." Most of us don’t expose our family’s secrets to the extent
Conroy has, but I’m sure we’ve all had the experience of a friend or
family member asking "is that supposed to be [name of someone you
know]?" or worse "Is that supposed to be me?" It’s even worse when the
answer is "yes."

So let me know your
thoughts. What are the ethics of using real tragedy as story material?
How much real life is too much? And how do YOU answer the question "is
that supposed to be me?"

I, the Jury

By Louise Ure

I’ve been on jury duty for the last week and a half and it looks like it’s going to go on for another four or five days to come.

You’d think that at least one of my excuses would have worked to keep me off the panel.

• I’m self-employed and don’t get paid if I don’t write. (Tough. Even writers take some time off.)

• I’m on deadline with my next book. (Okay, so that was a lie. The next book is already turned in and we’re at the galley proof stage. But hey, I’ve only got three months to turn those proofed galleys back in. Isn’t that some kind of deadline?)

• I’m a caregiver and have to stay at home. (Well, my care giving is only for the dog, but that still ought to count for something.)

• I’m a mystery writer and one of my books is about a jury consultant. (The prosecutor’s eyes lit up at this one.)

• I’m a mystery writer and in some of my books the police are dorky and don’t get the right guy. (See above parenthetic statement, and substitute the words “defense attorney” for “prosecutor.”)

Now don’t get me wrong. I think that all able-bodied (and able-minded) people should serve on juries. It’s not just a duty; it can be a pleasure. (I get great character and plot ideas when at the courthouse.) So I don’t try to get out of it unless the trial is expected to last an extraordinary amount of time and would dramatically affect my writing schedule.

But I’ve been called for jury duty five years out of the last seven and it’s getting a little old.

That’s probably the excuse I should have used with the judge. Or the more valid:

• I have a low threshold of tolerance for stupid people.

• If you waste my time in repetition or pontificating, I will hold it against you.

• The willing suspension of disbelief should be reserved for fiction. Don’t try that on me in a courtroom.

That’s the truth and it ought to make me unfit to serve. However … none of it worked.

Just call me Juror Number Ten.

Jurors aren’t supposed to talk about a trial, particularly when it’s still ongoing, so I won’t tell you anything about this case except that it is a criminal trial and it has some interesting characters on both sides.

But I will tell you about the jury selection process, in some ways more eye opening than the trial anyway.

About two hundred of us were called from the jury assembly room for this case. That seemed high to me, for a run-of-the-mill felony and a fairly short trial, but J.D. can probably tell us why it’s right.

I wore a pair of Levi’s, a linen jacket and leather-soled shoes. I was not the best dressed person there. That honor went to an octogenarian with a Swedish accent, perfect makeup and pearls. As for the rest of the group, there was a paucity of undergarments among the women (lots of free swinging breasts) and a surfeit of underwear among the men (jeans pulled so low on the hips that they had to walk sprattle-legged to hold them up.) Anyone not wearing denim was a lawyer.

A full third of the group asked to be excused for “hardship” reasons and filled out forms with long, scratchy sentences full of exclamation marks and cross outs to explain their duress. The judge had a nice rhythm going as he stamped “DENIED” across most of the forms.

• Your employer doesn’t pay you when you’re on jury duty? Sure they do, they’re here on my list.

• You’re an immigrant and you only understand about a third of what I’m saying? That’s good enough. Listen closely.

• You’re elderly and can’t sit for long periods of time? Don’t worry, we’ll take a couple of breaks.

Then we got into the “attitudes and comprehension” part of voir dire.

• Could you follow the law even though you disagreed with it? It’s surprising how many San Franciscans wanted to discuss jury nullification in depth and explain with righteous indignation exactly what laws they would find objectionable.

• Do you understand that these defendants are presumed innocent? No, your honor! After all, they’ve been arrested. Somebody already thinks they’re guilty, right?

• Do you understand that the defendants don’t have to take the stand, that the burden of proof is on the prosecution? "But I would always wonder why they didn’t," one woman said. "I mean, if they didn’t do it, why don’t they just say so?"

And of course, the case-specific questions:

• Could you be fair to these defendants even though,

A) you’re about the same age as the victim,

B) a similar crime happened to you or a family member thirty years ago,

C) the defendant’s name sounds foreign to you and your name is already pretty weird, or

D) you say you don’t trust X racial group and the officers that arrested the defendants are X.

The questions – and the answers – went on and on. Two days of jury selection. Two days of some of the dumbest, least introspective comments from potential jurors I’ve ever heard. But also two days of some of the most damning personal admissions I’ve ever heard aired in public.

Would you admit in a public forum that you were racially biased?

Would you confess that you always take the word of a policeman over a civilian?

Would you dare to say that you couldn’t be trusted to make up your own mind, and would probably side with the rest of the jurors just to get it over with?

My fellow prospective jurors said all that, and more.

I hope and pray that they didn’t mean it. And I hope that the potential juror in the seat behind me who fell asleep for a full hour during the questioning got sent home for that reason alone.

If these people are, in fact, a jury of my peers then I’m screwed if I’m ever accused of a crime. They’ll think I’m guilty, they’ll think my glasses make me look untrustworthy, they’ll think my name is part of a cuss word, and they’ll remember a woman who looks like me who cut them off in traffic six months ago.

On the other hand, maybe they’re not so stupid for making these pronouncements. Maybe they’re just better at getting out of jury duty than I am.

Lagniappe: One little postcard moment in this week’s sea of courtrooms and lines and security measures and waiting. I was outside the courthouse during the lunch break, sitting on a knee-high wall that surrounds the building. A young black man, dressed head to toe in Neuvo Gangbanger Black sat twenty feet down from me, his legs extended and crossed at the ankles. When the sidewalk in front of us was clear, he’d toss a few pennies out then wait to see who picked them up. White guys, every time. Never a minority, never a woman, never a child. Only police officers and others guys in sports coats who looked more like detectives than lawyers. And each of them would say to his companion something like “Must be my lucky day!” or “I’m superstitious; can’t pass up a penny on the street” or “Heads! It’s an omen!” The black guy looked over at me and winked. “Just like feeding the pigeons.”

Okay ‘Rati. Got any jury stories? Or lucky penny stories?

Perseverance isn’t enough

by Pari

Many of the truly important lessons in life come at a cost. They also seem to be the ones that bring us the most satisfaction.

Case in point: Two days ago, I earned my black belt in Tae Kwon Do. After more than four years of incredibly hard work, too many bruises, pain, a broken big toe and a lot of frustration, I finally crossed that rubicon.

Master Kim, the man who runs our Do Jang, commented several times during the testing about the fact that he was impressed that I’d never given up, not even when things looked bleak.

But to me, that’s only part of the story. The bigger narrative was that I never stopped trying, in spite of my physical limitations, to get better at this martial art. Each setback became a dare, a personal challenge not merely to succeed, but to excel.

Usually, discussions about perseverance descend into platitudes. The most common one is the idea that a person simply has to hold on to the dream no matter what. When we’re talking about publication, the implication is that if you put your work out there and keep on writing, you’ll get published someday.

"Just hold on," we murmur. "Don’t give up. It’ll happen."

But that’s not true. Not everyone gets published.

"But, Pari," you say. "Why are you trying to bring me down? Everyone else says it’s just a numbers game. If I send out my stuff to enough publishers, someone will eventually buy it. Right?" Your voice raises an octave here. "Right?"

"Um, maybe." At this point in our conversation, I might back away. After all, my message could seem like a real bummer. Everyone knows someone who disproves it, too. Who hasn’t met a writer who talks about perseverance being the key, who claims that all you need is stick-to-itive-ness to land that three-book deal?

You know what? I’m beginning to think that’s utter crap.

Let’s not sugar coat this anymore. I think we authors ought to be more candid. Rather than only offering encouraging and predictable cliches, we might say something like this: "You’re not published? Is it possible it’s because your work isn’t ready yet?"

No. We’re NEVER that frank.

We never even raise the issue. Instead, we continue blathering about keeing your eyes on the prize, never abandoning your goals, going for the gusto, blah blah blah . . .

What an incredible disservice to those who truly seek our perspective and/or advice.

The longer I’m in this profession, the more I’ve come to realize: Commitment isn’t enough. You have to see a project through until it’s the best it can be.

If my first manuscript had been published, I’m not sure I’d still be a novelist. Quick success would’ve prevented me from learning that I had to strive for more. Since that attempt more than eight years ago, I’ve gotten to experience discouragement, self-doubt and despair. I’ve had to earn enough rejections to single-handedly deforest a couple of mid-sized islands. My mettle has been so sorely tested it looked as red and raw as carpaccio.

All of the years I spent trying to get published taught me the value of perseverance-plus, the absolute necessity of trying harder rather than blaming others for my lack of success. As a result, I’ve never taken this ride for granted. With three books under my belt, I’m working with more dedication than ever to hone and enrich my craft.

I think it’s this continuation, the push to improve, that defines a career over time. I got in the habit of trying harder with each project years before I was published. That habit has been reinforced tenfold since.

Perseverance goes beyond a single goal accomplished. It’d be such a service to add that critical concept to the equation every time we published writers encourage anyone who wants to venture down the same bumpy and gorgeous road.

Because determination is just the beginning.

It’s how you respond to the challenges — and your unrelenting commitment to improvement — that will help you reach your goals and make them relevant and satisfying for the rest of your life.

sex, action, conflict

by Toni McGee Causey

So, let’s talk about sex.

Hard? Easy? Demoralizing? Uplifting? Inspirational?

No, not the act itself. You’re on your own, there.

I’m talking about scene construction.

Ten or so years ago [according to my Measuring Whatchacalit, my highly scientific measuring device] [hey, I don’t make these things up, I just report them], sex scenes weren’t all that common in thrillers and mysteries. I’m not entirely sure why not [though I suspect someone will enlighten me in the comments if it was anything more than the culture of the times], but the genres were pretty well focused on the crimes, the will-they-survive it [thrillers] or the who-done-it [mysteries], and if there were sexual components of the story, the moment of the act was generally kept off-stage. It is ironic to me that the two genres which had an intense laser-beam-like focus on the violent details of characters’ lives often shied away from a major component of what it is to be a human: sex. Emotional entanglement, vulnerability, machinations, not wanting to be alone, or pushing people away… using people, being used, heartache, longing, requiting, destructive, or satisfying, sex plays a huge role in life, but was generally relegated to behind-closed-doors.

Not so much anymore.

Things, they are a’ changin’.

Just the fact that the ITW included a panel the first two years [and I presume this year as well, though I missed it] on how to write sex scenes in thrillers and mysteries is an indication of how the genres are crossing boundaries.

It’s about time, really. When you think about what you can do with a character during a sex scene, how exposed they are [mind out of the gutter people], you realize it’s a significant tool for developing the idiosyncratic uniqueness of that individual. Sex is chaos and a fulcrum of pressure all at once, and character under pressure = story.

How a person responds to sex–to the option of having it, attitude, history, vulnerability, willingness, expertise, frankness–on and on–create useful story reasons for delineating the act itself.

Which of course begs the questions as to how much to describe, are there any general consensus of what’s "acceptable" and what’s not, what kind of language, and so on. We had a terrific panel discussion on this topic with a really terrific audience at RWA this weekend. Our panel title was "Sex and the Single Title" and included publisher Matthew shear [St. Martin’s Press], Roxanne St. Claire, CJ Lyons and moderator Jordan Dane. Some of the general opinions about what to do and not do for successful sex / romance scenes might be of interest here, so I’m summarizing. [I would love to give individual attributes as to who said what, but I will screw that up since we overlapped. Also, there are a lot of other great writers who’ve taught us or blogged on this–too many to name here.]

One: think of any sex scene as an action scene [and I do know Jennifer Crusie said this very well on her blog at some point]. Every single scene you write has to have some sort of conflict, whether implied or overt, and that means the sex scenes as well. If the scene can be taken out of the story without changing the story, then it’s gratuitous and a waste of space. Sadly, it’s also a wasted opportunity.

In the arc of a story, people have wants and needs and vulnerabilities and self-protection and goals and motives and all of these things have to come into play in a sex scene. The scene should be about action–not just desire. Choices, not just romantic notions. Exposure, risk. The two people cannot possibly want the exact same thing in the genera sense of their world. Sure, they may both want an orgasm right then, but however immediate that desire and however it may momentarily supersede their other goals, those other goals are still in motion and should run as an undercurrent to the action of the scene. Those other goals / wants / needs are subtext to each and every action.

Two: things have to get worse. Great sex is fine, everyone can go at it like bunnies, but you have to remember that this scene is a tool to tell the story, and the story is about conflict and rising stakes / tension.

Three: sex scenes have to reveal something about the characters–whether it simply expands [deepens][you try to think of a verb that doesn’t have a double entendré here]–we need to know more about the characters involved after the sex scene than we did before. What is equally important is that they have to learn something about themselves and/or each other and this knowledge should be relevant to the outcome of the story / the creation of their character arc.

Four: the sex is about these characters and their specific reactions. That means that if these characters are funny, there should be humor. If they have control issues, that should come into play. Their personality should shine through that moment, and if it doesn’t, then the scene is generic. If someone could lift that scene up and put it in another person’s story, then you’re missing the characters’ personalities and their specific problems / needs, which should be feeding your story.

Five: the language you use should be in sync with the rest of the book. Period. Do not over describe–get to the heart of the emotional response, the risk, the consequences. Set the scene, sure, give it personal flavor, but just like any other action scene, make your point and get moving to the next scene. If you stay too long, people get bored and will start skimming. Conversely, if you’re going to write a sex scene, don’t be chicken–write the scene. If you can write graphic violence, if you can write about a mother’s heartbreak at the death of her child, if you can write about an employee killing his or her boss, and give these things the dramatic conflict and detail to make the point, then why wouldn’t you do the same for the one act that exposes the character, both physically and emotionally?

There’s more… we covered a lot of ground, but I think this is a good point to ask you all for talking points: do you include sex scenes? Do you prefer not to read books that have them? Don’t care? and please add to the pointers above… I’m on my way to a meeting and as you read this, I am flying home. I’ll check in from the airport though [have a new nifty travel computer], so I’m very much looking forward to this discussion.

Visual storytelling, part 2

by Alexandra Sokoloff

I left off last week just before I got to image systems. This is one of my favorite elements of writing.

In film, every movie has a production designer – one artist (and these people are genius level, let me tell you) who is responsible, in consultation with the director and with the help of sometimes an entire army of production artists) for the entire look of the film – every color, costume, prop, set choice.

With a book, guess who’s the production designer? YOU are.

As it happens, Michael brought home the anniversary edition of the ALIEN series last night. I could go on all week about what a perfect movie the first ALIEN is structurally as well, but for today – it’s a perfect example of brilliant production design – the visual image systems are staggering. Take a look at those sets (created by Swiss surrealist HR Giger) What do you see? Sexual imagery EVERYWHERE. Insect imagery – a classic for horror movies. Machine imagery. Anatomical imagery – the spaceships have very human-looking spines (vertebrae and all), intestinal-looking piping, vulvic doors.

And the gorgeous perversity of the design is that the look of the film combines the sexual and the insectoid, the anatomical with the mechanical, throws in some reptilian, serpentine, sea monsterish under-the-sea-effects – to create a hellish vision that is as much a character in the film as any of the character characters.

Oh, and did I mention the labyrinth imagery? Yes, once again, my great favorite – you’ve got a monster in a maze.

Those are very specific choices and combinations. The sexual imagery and water imagery opens us up on a subconscious level and makes us vulnerable to the horrors of insects, machines and death. It also gives us a clear visual picture of a future world in which machines and humans have evolved together into a new species. It’s unique, gorgeous, and powerfully effective.

I know I’ve just about worked these examples to death, but nobody does image systems better than Thomas Harris. SILENCE OF THE LAMBS and RED DRAGON are serial killer novels, but Harris elevates that overworked genre to art, in no small part due to his image systems.

In SILENCE, Harris borrows heavily from myth and especially fairy tales. You’ve got the labyrinth/Minotaur. You’ve got a monster in a cage, a troll holding a girl in a pit (and that girl is a princess, remember – her mother is American royalty, a senator). You’ve got a twist on the “lowly peasant boy rescues the princess with the help of supernatural allies” fairy tale – Clarice is the lowly peasant who enlists the help of (one might also say apprentices to) Lecter’s wizardlike perceptions to rescue the princess. You have a twisted wizard in his cave who is performing his rituals to try to turn himself into a woman.

You have the insect imagery here as well, with the moths, the spiders and mice in the storage unit, and the entomologists with their insect collections in the museum, the theme of change, larva to butterfly.
In RED DRAGON Harris works the animal imagery to powerful effect. The killer is not a mere man, he’s a beast. When he’s born he’s compared to a bat because of his cleft palate. He kills on a moon cycle, like a werewolf. He uses his grandmother’s false teeth, like a vampire. And let’s not forget – he’s trying to turn into a dragon.

Now, a lot of authors will just throw in random scary images. How boring and meaningless! What makes what Harris does so effective is that he has an intricate, but extremely specific and limited image system going in his books. And he combines fantastical visual and thematic imagery with very realistic and accurate police procedure.

I know, all of these examples are horror, sorry, it’s my thing – but look at THE WIZARD OF OZ (just the brilliant contrast of the black and white world of Kansas and the Technicolor world of Oz says volumes). Look at what Barbara Kingsolver does in PRODIGAL SUMMER, where images of fecundity and the, well, prodigiousness of nature overflow off the pages, revealing characters and conflicts and themes. Look at what Robert Towne/Roman Polanski do with water in CHINATOWN, and try watching that movie sometime with Oedipus in mind… the very specific parallels will blow you away.

So how do you create a visual/thematic image system in your books?

Well, start by becoming more conscious of what image systems authors are working with in books and films that YOU love. Some readers/writers don’t care at all about visual image systems. That’s fine – whatever floats your boat. Me, with rare exceptions, I’ll toss a book within twenty pages if I don’t think the author knows what s/he’s doing visually.

What I do when I start a project, along with outlining, is to keep a list of thematic words that convey what my story is about, to me. For THE HARROWING it was words like: Creation, chaos, abyss, fire, forsaken, shattered, shattering, portal, door, gateway, vessel, empty, void, rage, fury, cast off, forgotten, abandoned, alone, rejected, neglected, shards, discarded…

For THE PRICE – bargain, price, deal, winter, ice, buried, dormant, resurrection, apple, temptation, tree, garden, labyrinth, Sleeping Beauty, castle, queen, princess, prince, king, wish, grant, deal, contract, task, hell, purgatory, descent, mirror, spiral…

Some words I’ll have from the very beginning because they’re part of my own thematic DNA. But as the word lists grow, so does my understanding of the inherent themes of each particular story.

Do you see how that might start to work? Not only do you get a sense of how the story can look to convey your themes, but you also have a growing list of specific words that you can work with in your prose so that you’re constantly hitting those themes on different levels.

At the same time that I’m doing my word lists, I start a collage book, and try to spend some time every week flipping through magazines and pulling photos that resonate with my story. I tape those photos together in a blank artists’ sketchbook (I use tape so I can move the photos around when I feel like it. If you’re more – well, basically, if you’re neater than I am, you can also use plastic sleeves in a three-ring binder). It’s another way of growing an image system. Also, it doesn’t feel like writing so you think you’re getting away with something.

Also, know your world myths and fairy tales! Why make up your own backstory and characters from scratch when you can tap into universally powerful archetypes? Remember, there’s no new story under the sun, so being conscious of your antecedents can help you bring out the archetypal power of the characters and themes you’re working with.

So help me out here with some non-horror examples (horror examples are just fine, too). What books to you have particularly striking visual and thematic image systems? What are some of your favorite images to work with?

I am in San Francisco this weekend with Toni and Rob at the Romance Writers of America National Conference, so no doubt we’ll all be reporting back next week.

(San Francisco – talk about your visual imagery!!)

Join Up…

by J.T. Ellison

Navigating writer’s organizations can be frustrating and expensive. At press time, I belong to an alphabet soup of parent organizations — International Thriller Writers (ITW), Mystery Writers of America (MWA), Sisters in Crime (SinC), Romance Writers of America (RWA), International Association of Crime Writers (IACW), The Authors Guild and Women’s National Book Association (WNBA). I have an application in for one more, a group I’m very excited about.

But that’s not all. Then we have the paid subgroups – Sisters in Crime Middle Tennessee Chapter, Music City Romance Writers (MCRW), RWA-PASIC, and the non-charging RWA-PAN. Whew. That’s a chunk of change every year. I thought it would be helpful to break down the expenses and have a frank discussion about just what writer’s organizations do, how they can help your career, and whether they’re worth the money.

First, the cost. It’s a tough nut to swallow, these fees. But organizations have to run, and you get your money’s worth.

ITW — was $95 annually, now it’s free if you meet the publishing criteria, a bold and brilliant move that will definitely make a difference when it comes down to weighing your options.

MWA – $95

RWA – $100 first year, $75 after that

PASIC – $35

Music City Romance Writers – $25

Sisters in Crime – $40

Sisters in Crime Middle Tennessee Chapter – $10

IACW – $60

WNBA – $25

Authors Guild – $90 first year (sliding scale after that, but most continue to pay $90)

Unnamed Organization – $110

So for the 2008 fiscal year, I spent nearly $700 for the privilege of belonging to these writer’s organizations. Gulp.

Some of that money I feel is very well spent, some of it I don’t feel like I’m getting my money’s worth and will let lapse after this year. That’s becoming increasingly true for the subgroups, only because I can’t seem to find the time to hit local meetings (in the case of one group, I literally have not been in town the third Saturday of the month, their regular meeting date, since I joined the group six months ago. Now that’s sad.)

Lots of cash spent, and for what? Outside of the financial burden, what do writer’s organizations do? Why in the world would anyone spend $700 a year to be involved?

There’s an easy answer to the latter. Camaraderie. Most groups have free list serves where you can get to know your fellow authors, ask advice, find sources for research, make invaluable networking connections, and in general learn the industry. Some encourage volunteerism (ITW in particular) and that’s a brilliant way to meet your compatriots, especially the higher echelons. (Last year at Thrillerfest I escorted Vince Flynn. Now that’s was cool.) Most of these organizations are purely volunteer driven (MWA & RWA aside, they do have paid staff, though MWA’s is minimal) and rely on their membership to run things. If you’re the kind of person who likes to get their hands dirty, who likes to lead, to set programming, to mix and mingle with the big dogs, volunteering with an organization can be an incredibly fulfilling experience.

It’s also a massive time suck. Massive.You see how many groups I belong to. It’s too much. You can’t be an effective active participant if you’re spread too thin. And much more importantly, I found I couldn’t keep the level of my writing in tip top shape if I spent my time organizing and volunteering, and as such have stepped back. I’ll be honest, that kind of stuff isn’t my cuppa anyway. I’ve never wanted to be the head of an organization, hold leadership positions. I want to be a writer, first and foremost. It’s taken me quite a while to stop being an apologist about that.

Even if you don’t volunteer, there are still many ways to help your chosen group. Spread the word about your favorite organization, encourage new writers to join up, link to them on your website, plug the organizations at signings and events. Attending the conferences and events they put on is vital too — MWA has the Edgars, ITW has Thrillerfest, RWA has RWA National and Romantic Times… you get the idea. Even if you’re not the type to run for an office, there are plenty of ways to be involved. Even something as simple as offering to moderate a panel, judging a contest or hosting a breakfast with the booksellers can make a huge difference to the organizers.

To answer the former question though, that’s where I’m a bit murky. What do writer’s organizations do?

Some, like Sisters in Crime, have a clear mandate — to help level the playing field between female and male writers. Author’s Guild is the gold standard, fighting to keep contracts fair, giving legal advice, and being an all around resource, plus offering health insurance, (which I wish could be expanded, but hey, it’s a start!) There would be nothing more valuable in my mind than an organization finding a way to provide real and affordable health insurance to their members. There are a lot of writers who keep day jobs for health insurance. Think of the productivity levels if health insurance was offered across the board.

ITW and MWA are more geared to promotion of their members, (ITW in particular is reaching thousands of people, readers and writers alike through their website and newsletter,) and RWA has been a strong voice in the romance world for decades.These organizations seek to educate their members, and that’s the invaluable part of all of this, especially for new writers.They also give awards – RWA has a slew of them, but the Rita is their biggie, MWA has the Edgars (I had the honor of serving as a judge last year, and though it took an incredible amount of time, it was one of the most fulfilling things I’ve done to date.) ITW has the Thriller Awards.

All of the above organizations have a newsletter, though ITWs is always online. It’s a great way to get updated on your peers, their goings-on, and news from the head office. And many, many subgroups have individual conferences. (What conferences to attend is a whole different post, as is the discussion of earned media, ie: free media exposure — the social networking sites and free list serves.)

Here’s the beautiful thing. If you’re not yet published, you can still join these organizations – ITW, MWA and RWA have associate memberships for as yet unpublished members, Sisters in Crime doesn’t have a published requirement for membership at all. I joined MWA long before I had a book deal, and will always remember Margery Flax, the budda guru executive manager of MWA, sharing in my joy when I called to upgrade from associate to active.

I was a part of Sisters in Crime well before I had an agent — and I belonged to four facets of that organization — the Guppies (the soon to be published group that was an invaluable resource for me) the Internet Chapter, the Middle Tennessee Chapter and National. Sisters in Crime got me where I am today, no doubt. I learned more about the industry on those list serves and through the meetings in town than anything else I’ve done, and I’ve made friendships that will last a lifetime.

Now that’s what a writer’s organization should be, in my mind. A place to be educated, to make friendships, to be surrounded by like-minded people who celebrate your successes and pick you up after your defeats. It’s a delicate balance, and one that not every organization is capable of fostering. And the support should be dynamic, altering along with the times, helping you grow as a writer.

So who do you join if you only have room in your budget for one organization? I say pay attention to your genre. If you write thrillers, join ITW. If you’re more traditional mystery, look to MWA. Sisters in Crime isn’t just for cozies, (nor just for women, obviously) but there are a lot of writers who write them there. Romance your forte? RWA is your home, and possibly the most well-established of them all. Need all-around advice on writing and the industry? Join the Author’s Guild.

And remember, there’s always next year if you want to try something different, or branch out into additional groups.

There are so many options, you should be able to find a niche. Writing in a vacuum is possible, but it’s much more fun to connect at the virtual water cooler, then cement those friendships in person.

I know there are many more organizations I’ve missed — Horror Writers of America in particular, simply because I’ve had no experience with them to date. I’d love to hear from other writers on this one.

What organization gives you the best bang for your buck? Which gives the most camaraderie, the best feeling of inclusiveness? What should a writer’s organization give to their membership? When do you walk away from an organization that isn’t giving you what you’re looking for?

And readers, do you belong to any of the writer’s organizations? Do you have a specific reader centric organization that you participate in?

Wine of the Week: A fine bottle of Four Sisters Shiraz, from Southeastern Australia, shared with hubby for his birthday, served by the lovely James at one of Nashville’s best kept secrets — Jimmy Kelly’s Steakhouse.

Looking Back From The Future

By Brett Battles

Occasionally there are events in the world at large that work their way into the fabric of the literature landscape. World War Two. The Assassination of JFK. The Vietnam War. First man on the moon, to name some big ones in the last 70 years. Most recently you could add 9/11 and the Iraq War.

I’m not trying to get into a political discussion here. We all have our own views on things, I’m sure. But what interests me, and what I want to discuss is how there are these events that not only do they work their way into our daily conversations, but, eventually, they work their way into what we read, specifically our fiction. In fact, I would be willing to bet that the true marker of the impact of a particular event is how far it seeps into that fiction.

Something like 9/11 has certainly become a prevalent topic within literature of all genres. And in my area, international/political thrillers, unless you’re writing a period piece that takes place in decades past, not acknowledging the effects of 9/11 on just about everything means you don’t have a grasp of this post September 11th world, and therefore probably don’t have a fair grasp on the story you’re trying to tell.

One of the things I’ve noticed more and more is the growing number of stories that are partly or wholly influenced by the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq. And between the two, it is the war in Iraq that draws the most attention for the obvious reasons. There are at least several dozen stories that bring the war directly to the readers. Soldiers stories, stories of those left at home, political stories that deal with the decisions made.

My focus is on the thriller/mystery stories that directly or tangentially touch on the war. Lee Child’s latest Reacher novel, NOTHING TO LOSE, does this, as does Marcus Sakey’s upcoming GOOD PEOPLE (haven’t read it yet). I’ve also been lucky enough to read Sean Chercover’s new novel, TRIGGER CITY. I got an ARC at Thrillerfest, and just finished it a few hours ago. In a phrase, it’s fantastic. It doesn’t come out until October, but when it does, I recommend picking it up and putting it at the top of your reading stack. His is an example of a tangential relationship to the war, and compelling from beginning to end.

I guess the point I’m trying to make is that once an event becomes so ingrained in our literature culture, it’s fair bet its something that will not be soon forgotten.

I know, I know. You’re saying, “D’uh, Brett. I could have told you that without all this correlation between real world events and literature crap.” You’re right, you could have. But in my opinion, as stories such as CATCH 22 and THE NAKED AND THE DEAD help to paint our perception of World War Two, in fifty years from now, it is our current crop of literature that will help define our era and explain the events of our time to our descendants. Bring it a human face not possible in history books and other non-fiction tomes. And it is our literature that will determine which of those events were important to us, and which events will be all but forgotten.

Didn’t realize I was going to get so serious today, did you? Neither did I. I blame Sean Chercover. I’m on vacation this week and brought TRIGGER CITY with me. That’s what inspired this, so you can blame him, too.

So what do you think? Am I making too big of a deal about this idea…that literature is the ultimate filter of what’s important…what will be remembered? (Perhaps I should broadened that to include film as well as literature, as these days they are closely tied.) Love to hear your thoughts.

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Today’s Song: Five Years by David Bowie