Author Archives: Murderati

2010 Annual Review

For the past two years, I’ve been doing annual reviews of my life and work, based on the format from Chris Guillebeau’s wonderful Annual Review on his blog, The Art of Non-Conformity. Chris’s system is exceptionally detailed, more so than I really need, but the gist is there. It’s a great system for those of us who are self-employed and want to do an assessment of our work for the year. I don’t know about you, but I like accountability. I like the feeling of accomplishment I get when I look back over the past year’s worth of work and see what worked, and what didn’t. (Here’s the link to the actual post. Go on over there and take a read. I’ll wait.)

My editor gave me the best Christmas present this year. Time. I turned in my book at the same time as four of my compatriots, and my deadline is later than theirs, so I got bumped to the end of the line. For the first time in four years, I had the week between Christmas and New Year’s off. My reward? A week without Internet.

I really did it. I left my laptop at home. I didn’t go online from December 24 – December 30. It was shockingly hard for the first few days (and a family emergency necessitated a couple of quick checks through Randy’s computer) but when I got home, I realized I didn’t want to go online. I liked not having to answer email. I liked not having to check Facebook. I still haven’t been back to Twitter formally, though my feeds are up and running. I guess I needed the vacation, huh?

What I did spend my time on was reading – AMERICAN GODS by Neil Gaiman and HOW I BECAME A FAMOUS NOVELIST by Steve Hely. I hung out with my family, watched too much football to be healthy, played a couple of rounds of golf. I did an accounting of the past year – word counts, goals achieved and missed – and set my goals and intentions for 2011.

The Year in Review – 2010: The Year of Evolution

I was struck on Monday by Lee Child’s comment that he gets melancholy on New Year’s Eve, because the past year has been so wonderful that he can’t imagine how the new year can top it. That’s how I felt about 2010. It had several big lows, as all years do, but the highs – oh, the highs! Blessings abounded in the Ellison household this year. It actually became a family joke – we’re having a good year. A very good year. And it wasn’t about money, or tangible items. As a matter of fact, we gave half of our household to Goodwill. Literally, half. 15 years worth of materiel that had accumulated. No, the reason 2010 was so good was our happiness level. We’ve both found what we’re meant to be doing. We work hard, and we play hard. We’ve reveled in each other’s company, and given thanks daily for our blessings. It allowed me to reach out to others and lend a helping hand too, which made the year all that much better.

And strangely congruent to that happiness, I think 2010 was the first year that I felt my mortality. So much happened to so many of our dear friends, so many tragedies, so much loss, that I realized how very short this life is, and found the keys to making the most of what I have left. Things that used to matter don’t anymore. They’re mostly topical, clothes and makeup and worrying about how people perceive me. Professionally, obviously, I have to care about those things, or else I’d never get better as a writer. But on a personal level, I let it all go, and found my bliss. So in a deeply private place, I achieved the overarching goal for the year. I feel I did evolve, and that translated over to both my professional and personal lives.

More importantly, I achieved many of my professional goals for the year. I even got to check off a five-year career goal. There were many things that went wrong, but twice as many that went right. On the bad side, I discovered writer’s block, true block, for the first time, and managed to overcome it. That taught me too many lessons to count. I missed my first deadline, only by two weeks, but still. Like everyone, sales took a hit across the board, but e-sales increased. Time will only tell if that’s the exception or the trend. I spent too much time talking about writing and not actually writing.

The highlights included a new contract for three more Taylor books, 7-9 in the series, a new audio contract for books 6-9, the release of All the Pretty Girls, 14 and Judas Kiss into multiple countries, and a sale of the first three TJ books to Turkey. I wrote two Taylor Jackson books, and launched two Taylor Jackson books, with attendant tours and publicity, including a trip to the UK. I also put out a collection of my previously published short stories called SWEET LITTLE LIES. I wrote over 20,000 words on proposals for new material. All in all, though I think I can do better in 2011, I’m pleased with my accomplishments this year.

There’s one more terribly special item that I can’t go into, but will in time, that rounded out a pretty exceptional professional year. Now you see why I’m wondering how in the world 2011 could top 2010.

The Nitty Gritty (AKA Nerdology)

Numbers-wise, I did much better than last year. Here’s the top-line breakdown. All figures are approximate, mostly because I don’t count what was trashed and rewritten, only final word counts:

2010 Word Total: 618,383
Fiction Total: 198,383
Non-Fiction Total: 420,000
Fiction Percentage: 32%

I wrote on average 544 fiction words per day and 1150 non-fiction.

Last year, my fiction percentage was only 27%. I wrote 112,445 more words this year, 62,645 of them fiction. I wrote 11,500 less non-fiction, and (TRIUMPH!) dropped my Facebook and Twitter word counts by 34,500 words. I achieved that by automating all of my blog entries to go straight to the social networking sites, and by closing down my personal Facebook page in favor of the Like/Fan/Reader page. My emails increased, from an average of 6 per day in 2009 to 7 per day in 2010. I attribute that jump to using email to make more personal connections, rather than the fly-bys on Facebook and Twitter. My non-fiction was managed much better, with the totals growing by 40,800 over last year due to publicity interviews and essays I did for AOL and my personal blog.

If you want to get even more detailed, see the chart below. (remember, OCD chick here…)

The Year Ahead – 2011: The Year of Depth

2011 started off as the Year of Love. That goal seemed too amorphous for me – I love. I love a lot. Passionately. People, life. I didn’t see that it would achieve the kind of transcendence I’m looking for. So I’ve altered course. 2011 is now the Year of Depth. I want to dig into the things that interest me, and leave the parts that waste time and energy behind. From my Planner:

A renewed focus on education, learning and expanding my horizons. Spending more time on pleasurable pursuits like reading, Italian and golf, and much less time on the Internet. More exercise, better eating and more cooking – savoring every moment. Working toward a more Zen attitude toward negativity. Increase fiction percentage to 50%.

I want to write two novels, and start a third. I have two short stories to write for anthologies, and a third I’d like to finish and place. I’m judging a couple of contests, and I want to work hard at reading the books I already have instead of bringing new ones into the house. I have three conferences planned: Left Coast Crime, RWA and Bouchercon. Sadly, a family wedding is interfering with Thrillerfest.

Personally, I will continue to chase the elusive dream of becoming a 16 handicap. It’s going to take some time, but I’m willing to give it all I’ve got. I will finish my Rosetta Stone Italian lessons. I will read the books I have instead of bringing new ones into the house. I will read more non-fiction, and be open to new experiences.

And I will continue to track myself. There is something truly satisfying about setting goals and seeing them through. I wish all of you the same peace and joy that allows us all to be productive and happy.

If I could only find a way to track the words that come out of my mouth, as well as my fingers…

So am I crazy for caring about this level of detail? Do any of you do the same?

Wine of the Week: Veuve Cliqout, specifically at midnight on January 1. A must have.

Fiction
	The Immortals	3,000
	So Close	75,541
	Where All the Dead Lie	88,000
	Random	10,000
	Proposals	21,842
Fiction Total		198,383

Non-Fiction
Essays		8,000
Interviews	15@1000	15,000
Murderati Blogs	27@1500	45,000
Tao of JT Blogs	85@500	16,000
Twitter	2100@15	31,500
Facebook	1500@20	30,000
Tumblr		5,000
Non-Fiction Subtotal		142,500
Email	2775@100 words per	277,500
Non-Fiction Total		420,000

Total 2010 Word Count		618,383
Fiction Percentage		32%

Total Words increase from 2009-2010		112,445
Total Fiction Increase		62,645
Total Non-Fiction Increase		40,800

Perchance to Dream

by Rob

Okay, so I know it’s the new year and folks here on Murderati are thinking about what’s to come, and making resolutions—or plans—for the future.

But being the contrarian I am, I thought I’d take a look backwards. Not at this past year, however, but waaaaay back, to the point in time when this photo was taken.

Yes, believe it or not, that’s me. Somewhere around 1974 or 75. I can’t be sure. The photo was taken by my future bride, although at the time no proposals had been made or accepted and the two of us were simply trying to enjoy life as much as two people in their waning teenage years can.

When I look at the guy in that photograph, I remember all the dreams he had. They were elusive, like most are, rooted in a kind of deluded optimism that youth seems to provide us in massive quantities.

That kid was determined to be a rock star. Or, more accurately, a singer-songwriter of the James Taylor/Dan Fogelberg variety. He was rarely without a guitar in his hands, was constantly writing angst-filled songs, and girls would sometimes swoon when he played and sang.

He probably also drove his neighbors crazy at four in the morning.

My dreams back then weren’t limited to music, however. I also wanted to write. After reading the work of Donald Westlake and Richard Brautigan, I tried my best to emulate both, and probably failed miserably. I don’t know, because I no longer have the manuscripts I attempted to write.

There was a third dream, too. Movie director. The Rob of those days was a rabid movie fan with a Super Eight camera who thought he knew what it took to put together a film—even though those cameras didn’t have sound.

But the only real strategy I had to achieve any of these dreams was to take each day as it came and try not to worry too much about the future. It would all work out, I thought, and for the most part it did. I obviously never became the next James Taylor, and the whole movie director thing seemed more trouble than it was worth, but when I finally grew up enough to know that I actually had to do something in order to make any of these dreams come true, I actually succeeded in getting noticed as a writer.

Now, thirty-something years after that photo was taken, I’m making a living writing novels. So I can look back at that young man and say, hey, kid, at least you got part of it right.

It’s quite possible that I might never have achieved my dreams. And you know what? That would be okay, too.

So my question to all of you today is, what dreams did you have when you were nineteen, and did you manage to achieve them? Do they even matter to you anymore?

———–

I want to thank those of you who took the time to comment in my last post to give me reasons to stick around. I approached today from a different POV, so maybe I’ll be around for a while…

Dog Daze in Oz

By Louise Ure

Happy New Year, ‘Rati.

Here in the Hunter Valley, overlooking vineyards and the spine of the Brokenback Mountains, I’ve come to realize that I have been living in the wrong time zone for the last nine months since Bruce’s death.

In San Francisco, I was in self-induced solitary confinement. I spoke rarely and went outdoors even less often. I didn’t sleep well, or eat well and I measured my good days by whether the nausea and hand tremors would allow me to raise a glass to my lips.

Here in Australia, I’ve found peace. No jet lag, no nausea, no tremors, no sleepless nights. I can sit on the back porch in a sleeveless shirt in the evenings – something that can be done in San Francisco only one day every two years. I’m sheltered here under the wings of a dear friend, Maggie, who has walked this path of widowhood before me, and a half dozen other old friends who remain strong, caring and exciting women whether in states of singleness or marital bliss.

I can feel my bones knitting.

We had a glorious Christmas dinner with turkey, ham and pork served after a five course seafood tasting platter. I haven’t cooked that much in a year. New Year’s brought the Harbour Bridge fireworks and then a bit of stargazing with a bottle of champagne. I’ll be off to the Gold Coast and Queensland in a few days for coastal breezes and more friends.

Rather than tell you about all these wonderful people and days that have brought smiles even if no laughter yet, I thought I’d tell you about their dogs. Everyone I’ve met here, every old friend I’ve connected with, has their dog with them. And the dogs tell you more about this trip than any travelogue I could do.

Saffi

Let me introduce Saffi. That’s Saffi as in Bombay Saphire Gin, of course. She’s Maggie’s dog, an elegant ten-year old Rhodesian Ridgeback with eyes like a cheetah and the regal demeanor of a dowager queen. She does not lie on the floor; no, that would be too doglike. Instead, she perches on the edge of a seat with her long front legs still on the ground. She keeps her ankles together like a proper lady and disdains to notice if there are any other dogs around.

Kelman

Then there’s Kelman next door. A sturdy boy, full of bluff and swagger until you call on him to prove it. Then he fesses up to just how much he’d really like to be friends. He’s half Cavalier and half Shar pei, a combination that’s given him the heart of a lion and the face of a loveable old man. Kelman’s owners are new friends to me but they have been the heart and soul of welcome and warmth. I think we’ll be friends for a long, long time.

Digger Dog

Miss Lily

Next come Ian’s mates, Digger Dog and Miss Lily. Digger is an Australian Cattledog, a stolid plodder who does as he’s told and never says no. He’s always up for a game of ball or a ride in a car and understands perfectly well why he has to spend the night outside on a tether. Miss Lily (full name: Miss Lily Marlene) is his partner and his boss. A Kelpie Coolie, she’s the brains of the operation, herding Digger with nips and barks as he brings the ball back, streaking in from a tangent to take the ball away from him and take credit for the retrieval. She’s smarter than most people I know and she has her owner, Ian, trained beautifully.

Teddy (and Santa)

New Year’s weekend brought Di and her Teddy, a Bichon Frise who taught me more about my old friend than I ever knew before. Twenty years ago when Di and I worked together, I knew her as a daring, flinty young woman who rose to all challenges and took no guff from anyone along the way. Then came the first Teddy (she’s had several, and each has been named Teddy. A good system for both dogs and husbands it seems to me) and Di’s heart melted like good chocolate. She bought him fancy dog outfits. He has more jewelry and dines better than she does. Now I see the softer side of my old friend.

I have more friends to catch up to, more new dogs to meet. But I’m loving these Dog Daze in Oz.

Have any good dog tales/tails for me today?

P.S. A special thank you to whichever of you wonderful ‘Rati commenters suggested I read Peter Temple. He’s my new author-god; each sentence so sleek and necessary that it is a knife cut with language.

Be it not resolved

By Allison Brennan

I don’t make New Years resolutions.

If I set the goal too high, I fear I won’t make it. If I set it too low, I fear that I’ll only attempt to achieve the bare minimum, and never really know if I could have done more.

Why set myself up for failure? Why set myself up for mediocrity?

I don’t like comparing myself to others, because either I’ll fall short or feel superior. I don’t like people comparing themselves to me because they usually have no idea what being in my shoes is like. Some may be a better “me” than me, and others may drop dead after a day.

I write fast, but I’m not the fastest writer. I’m a decent storyteller, but I’m not the best storyteller out there. I’m diligent, but there are writers more focused than I. All I can plan to be is the best me.

So I don’t make resolutions.

I make plans.

I know I have to write at least one more book this year, because I’m contracted for one more book. I want to write another book, so I hope to be contracted for it – but if I’m not, I’ll write it anyway because I’d be looking for the contract and need to have a book to go out (or at least a proposal.) So I plan to write two books this year, and part of a third.

I want to write three short stories—one I’m contracted to write, and two I’m submitting blind. I plan on completing at least two of these, and hope to write the third.

Family is the most important thing, therefore, I plan to attend at least 90% of my kids sporting events. That means not making outside plans in the Fall unless it’s crucial, because four of my five kids are involved in Fall sports. I plan to have a large, family dinner every Sunday. Plan, because I’m not the only person involved in the event and sometimes, other people’s plans interfere with my own.

I plan to be patient, considerate, and tolerant in my daily life. Plan not resolve, because some people just tick me off and then I lose patience and tolerance all at once.

I plan to read one book a week (before I was a professional writer, I read 4-5 books a week.) This is difficult, because when I’m deep in the zone, I can’t read anyone else’s books. That means that between books, I go on reading binges, a book or more a day for a week or three.

I quit my trainer in August because of conferences and deadlines and general stress. I gained 12 points. I will go back to my trainer starting the second week of January. I’m not going to resolve to lose weight because I know me, and I know I’ll disappoint myself; but I will exercise a minimum of three days a week. Exercise will get me in shape, and if I lose weight that’s incidental to my plan to get back in shape.

All these are plans I would have made simply because I’m done with one book, and starting the next. They happen to coincide with the New Year. But they’re not resolutions. They’re plans, and plans can change.

What do you plan to do this year? Other than, of course, buying LOVE ME TO DEATH if you haven’t already–it’s on sale now. 🙂

an interview with… our own Allison Brennan

by Toni McGee Causey

As I’ve mentioned before, one of the very best things about being a part of this group is that I occasionally get to interview other authors. Sometimes, it’s a guest interview and sometimes, like today, it’s a chance to get to know one of our own a little better. And even though Allison and I have been close friends for over five years now (wow! five? wow, the time has flown)… I still learn something new from her nearly every day. She’s one of the most giving people I know, and has not only been a terrific friend, but a fabulous mentor… which is why, when I knew she had a new book in a new series which featured one of my favorite characters (Lucy Kincaid), I sort of begged (annoyed, badgered, whined) in order to get a galley. It is, hands down, her best book yet. It’s fantastic–I literally started it when I was swamped and just did not have time to read and I couldn’t put it down, people. I know fans of thrillers will love this book; it comes out this Tuesday, December 28th. So to celebrate–here’s an interview with Allison, a little more about Lucy, and a contest.

…the interview…

Which is more difficult to deal with in life: the apologetic repeat-offender petty criminal or the unrepentant morally ambiguous liar?

Absolutely, hands down, the unrepentant liar. Petty criminals garner pity and sometimes empathy depending on their circumstances. If they’re apologetic, they know that they are doing something wrong, but they can’t seem to “help” themselves, and continue to make bad choices that over time land them in prison or lose them their family.

But unrepentant liars? They are sociopaths. They may or may not know that their actions are wrong, they justify their lies because they are inherently selfish and have no comprehension (or don’t care) whether their lies hurt someone. They may not be criminals, but they destroy lives with their lies. Many of these pathological liars do turn to crime—they may not be killers, but they may become con artists who prey on the elderly, or thieves, or steal the identity of thousands of people.

Which would be the more interesting character to write about, and why?

Both are interesting in their own way. However, the petty criminal would make a better secondary character (perhaps a catalyst of sorts or a character who pops up throughout the book and has a pivotal role in the climax) while the liar would make a better villain that I could explore more fully how he (or she) impacts the lives of others.

What are the sights/sounds/tastes of your earliest memory?

My earliest memory is just after I turned two. I am sitting in the passenger seat of my grandpa’s big truck, in my pajamas, and I turn to look out the drivers window as he walks from the house and waves to me. It’s a snapshot in time that I’ll never forget. I didn’t remember until my mom told me later that on Saturday mornings my grandpa use to take me with him to the barber, then out to breakfast. He died when I was two-and-a-half.

What is the biggest risk you’ve taken in your life?

Quitting my job before my first book came out. I didn’t know whether the book would be successful, and everything I’d heard was don’t quit your day job! So when I got the advance, I put it in my savings account and didn’t buy anything frivolous, I “paid” myself a salary and I pulled the little kids from day care (that’s another story! I couldn’t write with them around! Who said being a stay-at-home-mom was easy? They must have been smoking something.) I cut expenses right and left, and it was still tight. But I knew that I couldn’t work full-time and write, so I took a leap of faith. I knew that if my books didn’t do well, I’d be crawling back to my old boss begging for my job back. I REALLY didn’t want to do that.

What was that one fork in the road you wish you’d taken, just to see what it would have been like (and if you wish, you magically can still end up where you are, if you’re happy)?

I rarely, if ever, dwell on past choices. Once a decision is made (which may take me awhile!) I know that my life is on a different path, and regrets lead to unhappiness and discontentment.

There have been several pivotal choices I’ve made in my life that I know had I made the other choice, I would be in a completely different place. For example, for college I was accepted into the Johnston Program at the University of Redlands. It was a public policy think tank program and only accepted (if I remember correctly!) 40 students a year. You lived in a house on campus and had an independent study type program. I decided instead to go to UC Santa Cruz in order to stay closer to my boyfriend. We broke up a year later and I dropped out of college a year after that and moved to Sacramento.

I don’t know what I would be doing today if I went to Redlands. I doubt I would have dropped out of college. I also doubt I’d be a published fiction author. I have no doubt, however, that in whatever I did I would be a writer of some sort.

But I also wouldn’t have met my husband and had my kids. I can’t possibly comprehend what my life would have been like, or that my different choice would have led to the non-existence of five people. It actually kind of creeps me out to think about it!

What one trait do you value the most in your friends that you don’t think you have (or have enough of)?

Empathy. When someone close to a friend dies, I never know what to say, and I kind of freak out. Some of my friends ALWAYS know what to say or do. They send flowers or cards and have just the right words. They think of something original and kind to do. Or, when someone has cancer and the school gets together to make meals I never participate, though I want to—I don’t know what to say to the person or the family. Maybe I just don’t do well around death and dying, or maybe I fear that the same thing can happen to me. I’ve lost people close to me, and I just want to hide alone for a couple weeks. I guess I don’t respond well to sadness, even though I’ve experienced it.

What five words (alone, or as a sentence), describe you best?

Procrastination. Lazy. Helpful. Generous. Forgiving.

What makes you cry?

Disney movies.

What makes you feel outraged, wanting to rant?

We’re not allowed to talk politics on this blog, so I’ll remain silent.

What is your favorite curse word?

Shit. I know, boring. I also like “Damn, damn, damn!”

What is the most interesting thing you’ve done in the pursuit of research?

I’ve been so lucky with my research field trips! I’ve been to Quantico, Folsom State Prison, FBI Headquarters, the morgue, and participated in the FBI Citizens Academy. But the most interesting was the FBI training sessions. I’ve done it twice, and I can’t wait until they ask again.

The training sessions are put on by the FBI for local law enforcement. The first one was set up with eight stations, and the cops could pick four to practice. One, for example, was pulling over vehicles. They’d run the exercise multiple ways, to illustrate different levels of danger, but the cops didn’t know what they’d be facing. One exercise was that the driver was wanted but complied; the other that the driver was wanted and didn’t comply; and the other was there was a man hiding in the backseat. Traffic stops are the most dangerous for cops, and they all took these training exercises seriously.

I was part of the warrant exercise. I was married to a known sex offender who was wanted by police. One time I let them in because they had a warrant. The other time they didn’t have a warrant, and were practicing gaining admittance through talking me into letting them in. I was supposed to make them work at it, and they were being judged on how they handled a hesitant spouse. Another time I would be belligerent. It was my first time in cuffs. Then, the officers go in and search the place. They also ran the exercise where they had a warrant to arrest a friend of my husband’s staying with us because he had an underage prostitute. Another time I hid and they had to search and find me. I’d then be debriefed about how and when the officers searched me, etc. They were supposed to take it seriously, but one cop didn’t handcuff or search me (the wife of the offender) and she was taken to task for that.

But the MOST fun and scary was when I was a victim in a school shooting scenario. Fun, because I was carried out by SWAT. Scary, because it seemed damn realistic. After the exercise, the FBI trainers would walk the SWAT team through step by step and ask why they did this, what they did that, etc. This particular exercise was to train SWAT on triage in a live-shooter situation. That SWAT is damn good at their job, but they wanted more training in assessing medical needs and whether it was safe to move victims while there was still a shooter in the building. I learned so much, and have great admiration and respect for SWAT after watching them perform.

What was the worst thing you had to endure in the pursuit of research?

I honestly can’t think of anything! Except, it really is no fun being handcuffed.

Where would you like to travel, and why? What would you like to see there?

Australia, Ireland, Italy. Nothing in particular, just beautiful countries.

What would you change about yourself?

I would be more diligent and procrastinate less. I would also be on time. I’d also like to lose 30 pounds!

What would you keep the same?

Hmm, I can’t think of anything. There’s room for improvement across the board.

And now… LOVE ME TO DEATH — the first in a new series for for Allison.

Here’s a little about the story:

Six years ago, Lucy Kincaid was attacked and nearly killed by an online predator. She survived. Her attacker did not. Now Lucy’s goal is to join the FBI and fight cyber-crime, but in the meantime, she’s volunteering with a victim’s rights group, surfing the Web undercover to lure sex offenders into the hands of the law. But when the predators she hunts start turning up as murder victims, the FBI takes a whole new interest in Lucy.

With her future and possibly even her freedom suddenly in jeopardy, Lucy discovers she’s a pawn in someone’s twisted plot to mete out vigilante justice. She joins forces with security expert and daredevil Sean Rogan, and together they track their elusive quarry from anonymous online chat rooms onto the mean streets of Washington, D.C. But someone else is shadowing them: A merciless stalker has his savage eye on Lucy. The only way for her to escape his brutality may be another fight to the death.

Here’s the Publisher’s Weekly rave review:

Grabbing the reader by the throat from almost the first page, this pulse-ratcheting romantic suspense from Brennan (Original Sin) delivers intense action, multifaceted characters, and a truly creepy bad guy. FBI hopeful Lucy Kincaid is trying to heal from a brutal attack six years earlier. She volunteers at a program dedicated to luring and rearresting repeat sex offenders via the Internet, but then discovers a horrifying connection between her work and the execution-style murders of the parolees. PI Sean Rogan, a friend of Lucy’s brothers, becomes focused on protecting her at any cost, and their mutual passion flares. As Lucy draws closer to the truth, effective red herrings litter the way and throw her deeper into confusion.

And Lee Child said: “World-class nail-biter . . . Brennan is in the groove with this one.”

So here a the end of the year, tell us, ‘Rati, what would you change about yourself? What would you keep the same? And is there a road not taken you sort of wish you’d tried, just out of curiosity?

Meanwhile, while y’all are answering those… here’s the CONTEST

I’m going to be running a contest, starting Tuesday, which will be announced in my newsletter and on my blog, but ‘Rati readers get a headstart. Anyone who does the following between now and Monday night (midnight, CST) will get two chances at the e-reader (see below) instead of just one chance. All you have to do is follow instructions and tweet the sentence below before Tuesday, and you’ll be entered twice. Everyone posting on Tuesday and afterward will still be entered the one time.

…here’s the contest:

A chance to win a FREE E-READER—EITHER A KINDLE OR A NOOK COLOR…

Here are the rules:

If you’re on Twitter, this one’s for you. Contest starts on December 28th and continues through midnight, January 3rd, central standard time. All you have to do is tweet this exact tweet:

Can’t wait to read #thenewAllisonBrennanthriller, Love Me To Death: http://tinyurl.com/2wel7a5 @ToniMcGeeCausey @Allison_Brennan

One entry per twitter name makes you eligible to win either a Kindle or a Nook Color—whichever one you choose (see the links for the specific model) if your name is drawn in the random drawing. Plus, the winner will receive a $50 gift certificate to the ebook store their reader came from in order to help get a jump start on purchasing books for their new ereader!

If there are more than 1,000 entries (remember, one entry per person)—there will be TWO prizes given away, so spread the word, but let them know they have to tweet that exact tweet, okay?

Contest void where prohibited. Any winner who happens to be outside of the US may opt for the cash equivalent (via Paypal) of the Kindle ($189 USD) + the $50 cash (also via Paypal—for a total of $239 USD) if they cannot use the Kindle or the Nook in their country.

Winner(s) will be announced on my Facebook page, as well as on my blog on Monday, January 10th, by 5 p.m. (CST) and on Twitter—so follow me there if you want to see it there. (I’ll post it to Twitter first.)

Hey, Hon, What Should I Write About On Murderati?

by Rob

“I don’t know,” she said.

Believe it or not, I almost stopped posting right there.

Here’s the thing. I am very fortunate to be working my ass off these days. I recently completed two books, have now started on a new one, due March 1st, and also have another due April 15th.

Because of this, I’m very seriously considering leaving Murderati. I haven’t decided yet. Haven’t even TALKED to anyone about it other than Leila—who thinks I should keep going—but the thought is definitely there.

While I’ve enjoyed my time here, and am constantly amazed by the great posts my fellow Murderati contributors put up here every day, I find myself pretty much stymied when it comes time to post.

Which is probably pretty evident, lately.

I don’t tell you this because I want everyone to say, “No, Rob! Don’t go!” Because the truth is, if I were to leave, Murderati would thrive without me, just as it did before I came along.

You’d think that coming up with a new blog topic every other week wouldn’t be that difficult, but I honestly really struggle to find something halfway interesting to say, and only succeed half the time.

So I’ve been thinking about the pros and cons of leaving.

Pros

1. No looming deadline every other week.

2. No pressure to come up with an interesting post.

3. No disruptions of the paying work.

4. Murderati gets fresh blood.

Cons

1. No longer having a blog.

2. Missing my colleagues and the many great people who comment.

3. No longer being part of the “in” crowd.

4. I vanish into obscurity.

So, if I make the decision to leave, is it a mistake? I’d love to hear from you guys. And AGAIN, I’m not looking for any ego-boosting “No, Rob, don’t go!” comments. Just some solid reasons why I should, or shouldn’t, pull the plug.

Today’s Trivia: The phrase Merry Christmas comes from Dickens and only became popular after the publication of A Christmas Carol.

Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays and all that stuff.

P.S. One of my family traditions is to watch THE REF as well, Alafair. We absolutely love that movie.

Australian Mysteries

By Louise Ure

By the time you read this, I will have been in Australia for over a week already. Hopefully, I will have finally settled into Australia’s summer season and time zone and all the nausea inducing jet lag will be behind me. Picture me sipping a good Shiraz in the Hunter Valley.

As I readied myself for the trip, I was trying to decide between getting a Kindle or getting an iPad to take along. You know what an Apple slut I am, so I was leaning toward the iPad in the hopes that it would not only be a reader for me, but give me the chance to write if the inspiration hit and it would make internet and email activities easier than the iPhone’s tiny keyboard.

I ultimately chose “none of the above” because I’m not ready for a dedicated reader and couldn’t justify the extra money for an iPad. (Write while I’m on the road? Who am I kidding? I’ve never written when I traveled before and have no reason to think I will now. But if inspiration strikes I can always pick up a pad of paper.)

So the book thing remains a question.

Twenty years ago when I lived in Sydney, I fell in love with Australian mysteries. The early works of Arthur Upfield with police officer Inspector “Bony” Bonaparte. Jon Cleary’s Inspector Scobie Malone series. Garry Disher’s Inspector Hal Challis outside of Melbourne. Any of Peter Corris’ multiple ongoing series. I even read quite a few of Robert G. Barrett’s Les Norton series about a nightclub bouncer, mysogynist and all around ne’er-do-well until Barrett’s repeated description of Les as “the big red-headed Queenslander” drove me to distraction.

I had lots of favorite female authors, as well. Shamus Award-winner Marele Day, who writes about private investigator, Claudia Valentine. Claire McNab, who has several continuing characters but my favorite is lesbian Detective Inspector Carol Ashton. And Jennifer Row who created Verity “Birdie” Birdwood, a TV researcher who winds up embroiled in mystery and murder.

I’m ashamed to say that I haven’t read any Kerry Greenwood yet and I intend to correct that on this trip.

But who else should I be reading? Come on all you Aussies out there … you booksellers … all you lovers of international mysteries. Give me some names. I am woefully behind on what’s good in Australian mysteries right now and I intend to buy all of them.

When I traveled back home after my years in Australia, I had to go buy a coffin-sized metal footlocker for all the books and send it back by ship. I’ll probably have to do the same this time. Hmmm … that might have made the iPad a bargain by comparison.

Stay well you all and have a lovely Christmas.

the totally frivolous goofy time-wasting blog of lists

by Toni McGee Causey

I am writing the finale of my book and there are words with the sense that I should make which are gone, spilled, dripped, bludgeoned onto the page of the manuscript and my brain, when called upon for sense for the blog, said, and I quote, “No.” And then there was much cursing and lots of procrastinating (did you know there is actually a girl who knitted an entire Ferrari? or a guy who builds insanely huge buildings out of decks of cards?) and I even fed the brain chocolate ice cream, and still, there was a “No.”

At first, I was kinda proud of the amount of work I did this week, because it was a good output for ol’ slowpoke here, and then I saw JT’s post where she wrote a quibillion words and then Cornelia’s post, where she raised JT another billion and probably did it while taming a lion with her other hand, and I looked around at the fact that I had written (oh, like I am going to tell you after those numbers) and played nonstop with the 3-year-old for two days (much drooling ensued) (me, not her) and I realized, I cannot even whine about not having the words for a blog.

So then I thought… Lists! everyone loves lists! Yay! Problem solved!

Until I realized this required coming up with something to list.

….

(And you wonder why I talk about football.)

….

Okay, I have a list. Things I would never do, no way, no how, not even if you paid me HUGE, as in Bill Gates huge. (Well, possibly Bill Gates huge, if you also gave me valium and a few shots.)

1) jump out of a perfectly good airplane

Now, I know that there are a bunch of people who love to do this, and a whole bunch of people who, for military purposes, are made to do this, whether they love it or not (and really, read the fine print when you sign up for military service, because I have a sneaky suspicion that the “will be forced to jump out of a plane” clause is really well hidden… wedged somewhere between “will get to study to be all you can be” and “may possibly be hazardous work environments”)… and I just want to say to those people who do it voluntarily for kicks: seek help. You are not sane.

Of course, I am the woman who fell off the third-from-the-bottom step this summer and fractured her foot in three places. Imagine the damage that I would do jumping out of an airplane. And don’t give me that nonsense about more people die in a car, etc., because the entire way down, I would be obsessing over just who packed my parachute and were they having a bad day, had their girlfriend broken up with them and did they feel like quitting their job and weren’t really paying attention in between the sobbing and the drunk texting and I would have a complete heart attack before I could even pull the chute.

2) Run with the bulls in Pamploma, Spain. Or anywhere, where bulls may run. Because do you see that? —–>

That, my friends, is a bull. NOTE THE POINTY THINGS. Those pointy things are in front of the bull. If the bull is behind you, then the pointy things are between you and the bull, and I am just slightly above average in intelligence, but even I can see that the bull, who knows how to use the horns to move things out of his way… also has four feet. That would be two more feet than I have. Odds are, he’s going to be faster. And if he’s pissed off (and wouldn’t you be if you’d been herded into a narrow street and poked and yelled at and had to chase a bunch of morons?)… he will probably not be thinking, “Oh, dear, look at that dainty little thing there who can’t run very fast; I shall swoop past her, leaving her untouched, for I am a manly bull, full of honor and compassion.”

Of course, you don’t really have to outrun the bulls. You just have to outrun the other idiots behind you, who are between you and the bulls.

3) Bomb squad, bomb defuser, red wire or blue wire ARE YOU EFFING KIDDING ME? I can’t commit to a favorite ice cream, or a favorite food, much less a life-changing choice of which wire do I cut to keep from blowing up before the timer runs out.

Now, don’t get me wrong… I am extremely grateful that there are military people and police type people who do this sort of thing every day, and I know that the technologies have advanced and there are (somewhat) better levels of protection, but still. I get distracted too easily by whatever is shiny flapping in my peripheral vision, and it doesn’t take much for me to see something, start thinking what if? and run down the rabbit hole for a few minutes or a few hours, when, meanwhile, dinner is burning and the phone has rung repeatedly for twenty minutes and I didn’t hear or see a thing.

And it makes me wonder… what do they do with the guys who test at the lower end of the class? You know, they still have a passing grade to graduate, but they’re not at the very tip top of the class? those guys? I don’t know about you, but I think it’s really okay if my lawyer was tenth or so in his graduating class, but the bomb squad guy? Insane pressure to be the best at what he or she does. And who wants to work next to the bomb guy who graduated last in his class?

So how about you? What are three things you would totally never, ever, no way, no how, not even with a HUGE reward… ever do?

Contest winners from two weeks ago:

Shannon J

Larry Gasper

kim

Mary (mgarrett)

Donna Kuyper

If you would all email me at toni [at] tonimcgeecausey [dot] com and tell me the online bookstore of your choice and which email you’d like the certficate sent to, I’ll them out right away!

Meanwhile, I am going back to my finale (which, honestly, I’m very happy about, even if I didn’t do eleventy billion words on it this week) (grin)… and I am looking forward to hearing about what you all would not ever ever ever do.

The Twelve (No, Eight) (Scratch That, Nine) Days of Christmas

by JT Ellison

On the first day of Christmas, I wrote furiously… 2148 new words.

One the second day of Christmas, I wrote furiously…rewrote 2148 words, and wrote 2741 new words.

On the third day of Christmas, I wrote furiously… rewrote 2741 words, and wrote 4817 new words.

On the fourth day of Christmas, I wrote furiously… rewrote 4817 words, and wrote 4236 new words, which equaled the end of the first draft. Much celebration ensued.

On the fifth day of Christmas, I wrote furiously… rewrote 4236 words, and wrote 2044 new words.

On the sixth day of Christmas, I wrote furiously… rewrote 2044 words, and wrote 2872 new words.

On the seventh day of Christmas, I didn’t write furiously… rewrote 2872 words, which added 479 new words, before having an ocular migraine which I was convinced was a stroke, dragged my husband out of a meeting to take me to the eye doctor because I was afraid to drive, who told me this was a most common experience, and checked my prescription, which hasn’t changed in over six years, wahoo!, to which I responded with an Ativan and subsequent glasses of wine at a holiday party, where good cheer was in abundance and I got to thank my lucky stars that it was simply an ocular migraine and not a serious issue, then ate chicken tenders and went to sleep.

On the eight day of Christmas, I got back down to work… wrote 2829 new words and declared the second draft finished, so I printed the bitch out.

On the ninth day of Christmas, I looked back on the work of the past eight days and felt slightly faint. Knowing a stroke was out of the cards, at least for now, I put all my research away in the book’s box, thought about what I wanted to write next, got a latte from Starbucks, wrote this post, and dove into the big revision.

Is Christmas over yet?

So you don’t have to do the math, that mess above represented 22176 new words in eight days on my newest book. That averages to 2272 new words a day. It was a two steps back three steps forward process. Each day, I’d read through what I wrote the day before, get caught up, then write new words. So I effectively edited the mess whilst writing it, something I rarely do to this extent. The book is now due December 22, thanks to a tiny extension, but will probably get submitted December 13, which might mean that my editor and I don’t have to work over Christmas vacation. Which would be a Good Thing.

I’ve talked about writer’s block here before, the fact that I believe it’s your story’s way of telling you you’re going in the wrong direction. Well, I had a whopping, massive case of block on this book. I’ve never experienced anything like this. I’m betting it’s similar to what many writers experience on their second novel, that soul sucking fear that the world is going to swallow you whole and you will never, ever produce anything that remotely resembled a finished novel, much less anything that real people would want to read, much less pay actual money to read, and you’re the worst writer in the world, with no discipline, and you can’t remember exactly how you wrote the first book, because looking back, you think you must have entered a fugue state and the gremlins in your brain exited, stage right, onto the page and when you woke each morning they appeared as tiny little black scratches on a white background which most of the world’s people have been exposed to because in Europe learning English is mandatory but to you it looks like Cyrillic, which sends you into new waves of spasm because seriously, the whole world can read this but it makes no sense to you.

Yeah.

I am not a perfect creature. As much as I’d like to be, I’m just not. And this book proved it to me, over and over and over again. It humbled me. It refused to work. As always, I like to challenge myself by writing in new forms, new subgenres, new locales. This book is mostly set in Scotland, and is a gothic suspense. Which, and I know, poor me, necessitated two trips to get the research right, one in July and another just before Thanksgiving. I had such grand plans when we booked the second trip—I’d have the draft complete, and I’d just be filling in the blanks. But the muse is a fickle wench sometimes, and she had other plans for me.

The book wouldn’t work.

No matter what I tried, it just wouldn’t. I talked before about how I was going to write the whole book in Scrivener. After outlining (which I’m convinced didn’t help things at all, but instead made them ten times harder) 30,000 words in I had to switch back to Word. Things started moving along again then, but I got stuck. I was writing words, adding to the page count daily, but it was crap. True, absolutely crap. I don’t normally write like that, but I knew I had to get through it. I went back to the beginning twice and started fresh. Suddenly, it was October, my fifth book came out, and I all stopped to do the promotion (because I suck at creating and promoting at the same time), and then in a blink of an eye, it was November 1. The beginning of NaNoWriMo. And I knew if I had any chance at making the deadline, I needed to figure this out.

Urquhart Castle, Loch Ness

So three weeks in, past the midpoint but not much further, we headed for Scotland for a week. Thank God we did, I had all sorts of things wrong. So when we returned, after a day off for Thanksgiving, I dove back in, thinking it was all going to come together.

It didn’t.

It was Sunday night, November 28, at about ten. I had been banging my head against the wall all weekend. Big word counts, the story was progressing, but I could feel, in my soul, that something was wrong. And that’s when I put on my headphones and dove into the soundtrack, trying to figure out why I’d put each song in, what it meant to me, to the story. I got to the end of the soundtrack when I heard it. A late addition. The song that had been so incredibly seminal in helping me figure out the end of the book. (And I can’t tell you what it is because it will ruin the story.) As I listened, I realized the massive, huge, ginormous mistake I’d made. All the way back on page 60. It hit me like a ton of bricks. A revelation. A lightbulb.

Magic.

Monday morning the 29^th I went back to the beginning. The very first page. I rewrote 175 pages that day, rewrote the next 70 the 30^th. I added nearly 11,000 words. And suddenly, there it was, in all its glory. The story finally, after 4 months of head banging, worked.

Hence the massive word dump that led to the finishing line, which isn’t rare for me, I usually write a substantial chunk of the book in the last few weeks.

Writing Secret #859 – Sometimes, when a book isn’t working, you must open yourself to the universe, drop your preconceived notions of what you’re trying to do, and let something magical happen.

Some of you saw this on Facebook. I put it up at the end of the day Tuesday. I feel like I was given a gift, that all the praying and moaning and teeth gnashing finally paid off, and the Muse, who is a fickle wench, but can be a really lovely woman if treated properly, given gifts and sacrifices and not cursed but nurtured and loved, tiptoed down from her mount on high and touched me on the shoulder.

The Muse Collection

There are just housekeeping details to take care of now – I’m reading through for my first major revision, will send to my betas today, will take a day off to buy Christmas presents and send cards, then buckle back down with their suggestions before sending it to New York Monday or Tuesday. Ahead of the revised schedule.

By the way, the new book? It’s called WHERE ALL THE DEAD LIE.

So my question for you today: Have you ever prayed for something that was subsequently delivered? What blessings have you experienced this week?

Wine of the Week: Bivio Tuscan Red, a DOCG Chianti, because we drank a lot of it Tuesday night at the Dutch Lunch Literati Christmas Party, and I think the grapes might have naturally occurring Ecstasy in them, because it made me love everyone, so, so much.

They Drove Me to Drugs

by Rob

I blame it all on Costco.

You, see, there was a time when I didn’t need drugs to survive. Yes, I smoked pot when I was younger—but who didn’t?—and I may have dabbled a bit with chemical substances, but for most of my life I’ve been pretty straight. I can’t stand cigarettes and I’ve consumed enough alcohol in my life to maybe fill a bucket.

But, you see, my wife Leila and I go to Costco almost every Sunday (our big romantic getaway) and that damn snack bar drew me in with their Mocha Latte, which pretty much amounts to a coffee milkshake.

Drinking those ML’s every week became a ritual for us. We’d do our shopping, then swing by the snack bar and pick up a couple and head on over to the next shopping center, sucking on our straws as we drove.

The next thing I knew I was buying those coffee milkshake drinks at places like Starbucks, and pretty soon I was breaking out the blender to make my own, using the mocha latte mix I bought from—guess where?

Costco.

Fuckers.

Then, after getting a publishing deal, I suddenly had to write a new book and work a day job, and every morning I wound up dragging myself into the office feeling like crap warmed over. So what did I do?

Since I worked in a conference center, I started drinking the free coffee. Twice a day. Morning and afternoon.

Problem was, that coffee tasted like something that had been scraped out of the garbage can after sitting there moldering for a few days, and I knew I had to find something better.

I stopped buying the fancy latte drinks altogether and invested in a very cheap coffee maker. A four-cupper that made a halfway decent pot. And when you have a coffee maker, you have to have coffee, so I went to Trader Joe’s and started buying their beans and grinding them in the store grinder.

But, of course, why grind them at the store when you can grind them at home? So I bought a cheap burr grinder and a bag of beans and started making my own grinds. Sometimes I would blend beans to get the taste just the way I liked it.

Medium roast. Cream. Sugar. That’s what I craved.

Until my buddy Bill Cameron mentioned that the best cup of coffee you can get is by using a French press. I had no clue what that was, but I went in search of one anyway, carefully followed the instructions and—

—oh my god, it was amazing. Bill had not lied. There was even a little bit of grit at the bottom that I just loved. And say goodbye to medium roast, this shit was strooooooong.

So now it was French press on weekdays and an Americano (a shot of cappuccino with hot water) when I was out and about, and I finally had to admit it to myself:

I was a full-fledge coffeeholic.

Problem was, Americano’s were expensive and that French press was just a pain in the ass to wash. All those coffee grounds everywhere? Yuck.

I needed another solution. So, there I was in Costco and I see they have a special price on the machine Alafair talked about a few days back, a super duper deluxe Keurig one-cup coffee maker. Just pop in the pre-made cup, pour in some water (and you don’t have to pour it in every time!) and presto! you’ve got… well… you’ve got…

…a perfectly bland cup of coffee. Unless you set the thing on the lowest setting for the smallest cup, your coffee tastes like an Americano without the cappuccino.

I tried the boldest of bold coffees in that damn machine and just could not find a cup I liked. It was useless to me.

Not only that, Leila hated it, too. Not the coffee so much as the machine itself. The water light was always flashing, asking for the reservoir to be filled, and she was also concerned with the pure waste of using those tiny plastic cups every time you wanted coffee.

But we stuck with the machine. I used the little MyCup device that let you use your own grind. Unfortunately, it was messy as hell and just not worth the effort. I still couldn’t get a cup of coffee I liked out of it. I even tried some other contraption the Internet suckered me into buying and it was worthless.

Now I know there are a lot of people out there who absolutely love their Keurigs. But the Brownes? No so much. So after a month of experimenting—and a crapload of lousy coffee—back to Costco it went.

Now it was back to the French press while I hunted online for the perfect coffee maker. I found one for $250 at the Everything’s Kitchen website that uses the “steam” method of brewing, just like many Japanese coffee makers.

That was the one for me! So I ordered it, only to discover that they were out of stock and I’d have to wait a month or so to actually get one. Sigh.

Then a few days later I was tooling around Fry’s when I came across a unit on sale.

It was a Cuisinart 12-cup “on demand” model. Meaning it has no pot. The carafe built in and all you have to do is push a little lever on the front and fill your cup as if you’re using a watercooler.

I took this baby home and Leila and I instantly fell in love with it. Easy to use, easy to clean, makes lots of coffee and is actually kind of fun. Plus the coffee stays hot without sitting on a burner, so there’s no burnt taste after a couple hours.

Every morning, when I fill my cup, if I close my eyes and pretend, I kinda feel like I’m in a restaurant.

Until the cup overflows and I burn myself.

In the end, of course, I remain a diehard coffee addict. I still only drink two cups a day, but I couldn’t do without them—even though my day job is now sitting right here at this desk and writing ten hours a day.

In the morning, I grind my beans (dark roast, thank you), brew the coffee, draw a cup, put in two teaspoons of sugar and a dollop of half and half and I’m good for the morning.

And it’s all because of you, Costco.

Thank you.

——

So what about you guys? Coffee drinkers? Strong? Sugar? Cream? And what kind of coffee maker do you swear by?