Author Archives: Murderati

The Blog Short Story Project3

There’s something going on in the blogosphere. Can you feel it? Fiction is flying hither and yon today thanks to the Blog Short Story Project. The brainchild of Bryon Quertermous and David White, this project is now in its 3rd year.

J.T., Mike, and Paul have short stories on blogs today (just click on their names) and I’ll try to post other links at the end of my story.

The rules for the short story this year are:
1. no more than 1000 words
2. topic must have something to do with blogs or blogging.

I’ve decided to give it a go, though I haven’t completed a short story since high school. I’ll admit I’m feeling a bit like my posterior is hanging out of a car window on this one, but it’s good to stretch as a writer — even if there’s a breeze.

Here’s my tip of the hat to readers who love cat stories and to those who don’t.

The Cat’s Meow

The one constant pleasure in her drudge of a life consisted of ScreamIt.com. There, she let everything fly: the rape, the anger at men, the affronts, her sucky job. It didn’t matter if anyone commented. She just needed to get it out, to use the real names of the countless people who’d hurt her, to shame them.
Cinnamon-laced soy milk steamed in the cup by her elbow. Her fingers snicked the keyboard, refining her post. If Rick ever read it, he’d die. Good. He deserved it.
Pico, the neighbor’s cat, thumped through the pet door. He jumped on the table, purring and nuzzling her angular face. She felt a connection with this scuffy animal, a kind of love. Pushing back her chair, she went to the mini-fridge, opened a bag of grated cheddar — kept especially for him — and put a handful on a plastic plate. Pico curled around her ankle, a thank-you before eating.
"Are you my knight in shining armor?" She babytalked to him and then mumbled, "What a crock."
Back to work. A strand of hair cut across her forehead in a black slash while she typed: I used to think still waters ran deep. That is, until I met Rick. His waters run still because there’s nothing there.
Yeah, that’d be a good hook.
Some men are blowhards. Some are puffer fish. Rick is krill.
Got sushi?
She laughed at the weak joke and clicked on "Publish now."
Tonight she’d get rid of him. Sayonara. Thank goodness they hadn’t complicated things with sex. After one spitty kiss, she’d said, "Let’s take it slow. Get to know each other."
He’d bought it. She’d kept him out of her pants.
She stretched, her thin arms reaching toward the ceiling and then slowly coming down in an arc to the table. The computer’s two-tone signal brought her attention back to the screen.
One comment already. I’ve dated toads, but your’s sounds like pond scum.
She didn’t want to respond too fast, sound too desperate. But, why not? This could be fun. He’s worse than that. Pond scum feeds bottom feeders. Rick is like snot . . . no value at all.

At a library in another part of town, Rick sat at his laptop, a hand squeezing painful zits on his chin. Damn her. It’d been funny when she’d done it to other people. But this? Now? He sure wasn’t laughing.
A few hours later at dinner, he said, "So, what have you been up to?"
"Not much." They’d both ordered tofu rice bowls, doused them with tamari. She unwrapped the chopsticks and selected a chunk of broccoli.
"How was work?" He watched her ungenerous mouth.
"Okay."
Liar! She hadn’t gone to work; he’d checked. She thought she was so smart. Lies — the online wit, her fake identity. He’d tracked down the truth in minutes. Now, he released another snare. "What do you want to do later?"
"There’s no later, Rick." Oh, she loathed him, hated the piece of onion clinging to his lower lip. "We’re done."
"What are you talking about?" The practiced confusion on his face had taken most of today’s lunch break to perfect.
"After dinner, you’re going to drive me home and . . . then . . . we’re through. Finito. Kaput." She stabbed the tofu, feeling powerful, in control. "Or, I can call a cab right now."
No! That won’t work. "Please, Claire, don’t run off. I’ll drive you home. It’s no problem." He shook his head, hoping to convey sadness. He wanted sympathy — if she was capable of it — not disgust. "I just need to wrap my head around this . . . I had no idea."
"I need to go to the bathroom," she said.
He’d counted on it. The packet of white powder opened easily, its contents dissolving into her green tea.
Twenty minutes later, she said, "I don’t feel very good."
"Let’s go." He helped her out of the restaurant. She stumbled near the car. Leaning her against the vehicle, he unlocked it, folded her into the seat and buckled the belt. "Snot, huh?" he said. "We’ll see who’s snot."
Soft, regular breathing accompanied him into her driveway. Drapes and curtains in the neighborhood hid the good families, eating around happy kitchen tables, unaware of his plans. After finding the key, he slung her over his shoulder and quickly went into the basement apartment.
So this was where she lived. One room. How pathetic.
He bent over the dirty futon on the floor and undressed her quietly. Sneering at her tiny breasts, he stepped back to gloat. His foot hit a plastic plate. A strip of orange sprang to the top of his tennis shoe. He knelt to sniff it. "God, you’re such a fake. All this vegan crap and you sneak cheese at home."
His throat felt scratchy. Probably the dust. He rubbed his eyes and congratulated himself on what he was about to do. Water. He needed a drink. With a cup, he sat in her chair and considered the computer. Tomorrow, she’d be horrified. His throat tightened with excitement. He’d pose her for maximum embarrassment, upload the pictures to as many porn sites as he could. She’d be dealing with it for years.
God, he itched all over. What the hell? He was breaking out in hives! A cat? She’d never said anything about a cat.
His throat continued to close. He’d left his EpiPen in his windbreaker. In the car. Running up the stairs and out the door, he made it to the driveway before falling to the ground, eyes bulging, fingers digging into the gravel until they were bloody.
In the morning, her neighbor screamed.
She peeked out the window. Rick’s dead eyes stared back. Pico stepped over him on the way to greet her.

Here are the links I have so far (don’t forget the ones in the intro paragraph of this blog)

Karen Olson
Stephen D Rogers
Gerald So
Daniel Hatadi
JD Rhoades
Dave White
Anthony Rainone
Patti Abbott
Stephen Allan
Christa Miller
David J. Montgomery
John Rickards
Bill Crider
John Dumand

What were the signs?

by Alex

More lessons from the convention circuit. Last week I said I was shocking myself with what was coming out of my mouth as explanation of how I became a writer. After all, I really didn’t make the conscious decision until well into college, but the signs were there. So this week I thought it would be fun to ask you guys – What were the early warning signs for YOU?

Here are some of mine:

– Putting on plays in my neighbors’ garage, starting probably at age eight.

– Reading – oh my God, the reading. Everywhere. While walking home from school. Facing backwards in the family station wagon on road trips, without a trace of motion sickness. In the closet with a flashlight when I was supposed to be doing chores. In bed with a flashlight when I was supposed to be asleep.

– Being able to trance out so far into a story that my 4th grade teacher would have to literally take me by the shoulders and shake me to get me back into the classroom.

– Writing all the time, too. Especially in math class. Perfected the art of diligently “taking notes” when really I was just writing everything that was happening around me.

– Performing in plays but being more interested in story beats than in my solos.

– Directing the senior class plan and rewriting around all contingencies – combining characters when people dropped out, doing the choreography myself when the choreographer broke both wrists…

– Seeing my first one-act play performed in college – my characters walked out on stage, live, and I realized that even though it was Berkeley I was never going to have to do heroin.

– Later, all those lectures with all those writers where they said, “Well, statistically only two of you are ever going to make any kind of living at this…” and just knowing that it would be me.

All those things and more. But what I found myself recounting last week in all my deluge of public speaking, the pivotal moment in my writing career – the real beginning, I mean – was the summer I spent in Istanbul as an exchange student. Sixteen year old American girl – with this hair – loose – on the streets. Well, it was brutal. I was sexually harassed everywhere I went. There were numerous abduction attempts. The political situation was incredibly volatile, too – a dozen college students had been gunned down in a political protest, so all that was in the air.

I realized a world of things that summer, but three things in particular.

1) No matter how disadvantaged any of us feel, sometimes – parents who don’t understand us, no Hollywood connections, not enough money for college, whatever – we are still infinitely lucky to live here in the U.S., where it is written into the Declaration of Independence that we have the unalienable right to the pursuit of happiness.

2) No matter how lucky I think I am to be an American, I am infinitely MORE lucky as a woman to have been born in the US. Because if I’d been born anywhere of 99% of the world, I would be well and truly fucked.

3) I realized I was going to die. Maybe that very afternoon. At sixteen. It was probably around the next corner, or down that alley. Now, usually as a privileged American you don’t really GET that you’re going to die until around age 40. It’s called a mid-life cirsis and it makes you do crazy and risky things and turn your life upside down because you suddenly realize you’re actually going to die. But I had my midlife crisis at 16, and I decided that if I ever made it back to the States alive (which I did, and miraculously unraped), I would exercise my right to the pursuit of happiness and follow my dream – which at the time I thought was acting but soon realized was writing.

But the impulse to FIND that – came out of that summer.

So those are my moments. How about you?

Neil Nyren — No Longer a Man of Mystery

JT Ellison

It is my great honor and privilege to welcome legendary
editor Neil Nyren to Murderati. Neil kindly agreed to be accosted by my
keyboard for an interview, and I’m delighted he was willing to partake. First,
a little background for the uninitiated.

Neil S.
Nyren is senior vice president, publisher and editor in chief of G.P. Putnam’s
Sons. He came to Putnam in 1984 from Atheneum, where he was Executive
Editor. Before that he held editorial positions at Random House and Arbor
House. Some of his authors include Tom Clancy, Clive Cussler, Jack Higgins, W.E.B. Griffin, John
Sandford, Dave Barry, Daniel Silva, Ken Follett, Randy Wayne White, Carol
O’Connell, James O. Born, Patricia Cornwell and Frederick Forsyth; nonfiction
by Bob Schieffer, Maureen Dowd, John McEnroe, Linda Ellerbee, Jeff Greenfield,
Charles Kuralt, Secretary of State James Baker III, Thomas P.M. Barnett, Sara
Nelson, and Generals Fred Franks, Chuck Horner, Carl Stiner and Tony Zinni.

And now, on with the show!

You edit so many of my favorite fiction authors – John
Sandford (Lucas Davenport), Daniel Silva (Gabriel Allon), James O. Born (Jim
Tasker), Carol O’Connell (Kathy Mallory) and several writer that any reader of
fiction would recognize (Clive Cussler, W.E.B. Griffin, some guy named Tom Clancy.)
Let’s talk about the crime fiction authors first. Each writer brings unique
stories and characters to the crime universe. What attracts you to the
characters in these novels?

In many ways, this question is related to #7, what I look
for in a new writer, so I’m going to combine them.

Whenever I get a new ms,
here’s what I want to see: 1) Something different, a situation or character or
voice that I haven’t seen hundreds of times before (or if they are familiar
types, presented so damn well that I can’t resist them); 2) A sure command from
the very first page – I want to feel immediately that the author knows what he
or she is doing – if it’s wobbly, I’m just going to move on to another
manuscript; 3) Something extra. This is hard to describe, because you only know
it when you see it, but for me it’s a special intensity, a fierceness or
passion that makes the hair stand up on the back of my neck.

After all that, I’m interested in who the author is, because
if the author has something about him or her that’ll help us gain attention for
the book, give us a leg up amidst the sea of new fiction pouring out, then
that’s helpful.

With Jim Born, I liked the first book, Walking Money, not only because it had a great voice, a
well-executed plot, and a nice collection of quirky characters, but because his
hero was in the FDLE and Jim was in the FDLE, and that guaranteed not only
authenticity, but some leverage for getting attention once the book came out –
which was exactly what happened.

With Sandford, not only was the first book, Rules of Prey, truly electric, but I
loved the dangerousness of Davenport, the sense that he might do anything to
achieve justice. The same was true of Mallory in Carol O’Connell’s Mallory’s Oracle. Carol’s style is so
unique and her heroine so unpredictable that I definitely felt those hairs on
the back of my neck. I immediately called the people selling it – which
happened not to be an agent but Random House UK (how a NYC author came to be
first published and represented by a British publisher is a whole other story)
– and said, “I want this. What will it take to pre-empt it?” And with Daniel
Silva – well, you don’t get as complex a character as Gabriel Allon that often
in suspense fiction, and he has only become more so with each book.

And the blockbuster thrillers? Are you swept away by the
action or interested in the detail?

Action or detail? The answer is both – I want to get
swept away, get the adrenalin pumping, and that’s what the best thriller
writers do so well. They don’t give you time to hesitate – you have to keep turning the pages. I often
think of the writer and the reader at opposite ends of a rope, and the writer
is pulling the reader forward,
steadily, inexorably, not letting the rope slack or the pace sag, until the reader
ends up, exhausted but happy, at the last page.

I also like the thriller writer to create his own universe,
if appropriate, and invite the reader into it. That’s always been one of
Clancy’s secrets – he brings the reader into his world, makes him feel he’s
learning things no one else can tell him, whether it’s about technology or
geopolitics or the way institutions think and act. Cussler does the same thing
in a different way. He digs deep into history and technology, then transforms
them into complicated interlocking what-if storylines and setpieces.

Redemption is a strong theme throughout many of the books
you edit. Do you think it’s vital for a series character to grow and change?
How many iconic characters like Jack Reacher, who are who they are and don’t
“grow,” can crime fiction afford?

Readers love to follow their favorite characters through a
series and watch them evolve – we feel a kind of ownership of them. But that
doesn’t mean that all heroes have to
evolve. Travis McGee never changed one inch, but we loved him all the same – in
fact, it was sometimes a comfort that he was always the same man.
Contradictory? Nope. Just means we like all kinds of characters. How many Jack
Reachers can crime fiction afford? As many good ones as we can get!

You’ve seen some changes in the publishing industry
during your career. What are the best and worst trends you’ve witnessed?

A lot to comment on here, but I’ll just choose one, which
has been both good and bad. The independent stores are being increasingly
squeezed by the chains and price clubs and the internet, and that’s an enormous
shame, because there’s nothing like a well-run independent. You go into
Poisoned Pen or Black Orchid, and tell Barbara or Bonnie what you like and they
load you up with new writers they think might be up your alley, and it’s just a
joy. On the other hand, books are now available literally everywhere. Hundreds
of towns have bookstores now that never used to, or you can sit at home and
order whatever you want whenever you want. The ease and availability of
bookbuying now is unprecedented – and that has to be good.

As a sort of corollary, someone’s always writing in some
newspaper or magazine about publishing being in a crisis. Big publishers
consolidating and blockbusters dominating the industry and enough scary stuff
to make writers want to turn their PCs into planters. The vision is being
promoted of a handful of publishers
selling a handful of commercial books to a handful of accounts, and that’s the
future of publishing. But I don’t buy it. There’s a bunch of reasons why – but
that’s a whole other rant. Maybe some other time!

Is there a white whale in your background – the book that
got away?

No editor worth his or her salt doesn’t have a story like
this, a book that didn’t interest him enough and it went on to success
elsewhere. There’s a flip side, too, though – most of us have books that others
weren’t crazy about and that we published successfully. It’s all in the gut
reaction – you feel an affinity or you don’t. And if you don’t, then you have
no business messing with it.

Two stories, one on each side of the fence. Many years ago,
at a different publisher, I received a ms that, if I remember rightly, was
already on its second agent. I thought there was definitely something there – I
especially felt that intensity I mentioned before– but I was the only one
in-house who liked it. My boss said I could make a small offer, though. It
wasn’t enough for the agent, and I said I understood – that if he couldn’t get
what he was looking for, he was welcome to come back to me. Some weeks later,
he called and said, “That offer still open?” The title was Shrunken Heads, which we changed to When the Bough Breaks, and it was the first Alex Delaware novel by
Jonathan Kellerman.

Also many, many years ago: I received a legal thriller,
which had already been sold to Hollywood, though that and a token, as we used
to say, got you on the subway. The author had one other book to his credit,
which had done nothing. I thought the book was okay, but I wasn’t nuts about
it, and a couple of other readers felt more or less the same. We decided that
if we didn’t feel we had to have it,
then we shouldn’t get involved. Doubleday felt differently, however – and the
book was The Firm.

So there you go.

At the risk of growing your submissions pile, what do you
look for in a new writer?

See #1.

You do a great deal of non-fiction work as well. What
makes a non-fiction title a success?

Depends on what your definition of success is (just as with
fiction). You always hope to make a profit, of course – that’s one. But there’s always a great satisfaction in a
book that makes noise, that reaches an audience, that creates some excitement
or fills a need. I published a memoir this January titled The Birthday Party. It was written by a one-time federal prosecutor
who was kidnapped off the streets of Manhattan, and what happened during his
bizarre, terrifying, and sometimes downright Tarantino-esque captivity. It was
a project very dear to the author’s heart, for obvious reasons, and he’d spent
many years getting it right. When it was published, he got tons of local media,
and then the New York Times gave it a rave, and he graduated to nationals like
NPR and CNN. The New Yorker wrote him up in “Talk of the Town.” United Artists
bought the movie rights. He’s on top of the world now. And whatever the book
ends up making, that’s a success.

Tell our unpublished readers three things they can do to
help get them noticed by an editor.

1) Get an agent 2) Get an agent 3) Get an
agent.

Can you tell us what every writer should know about their
editor, but doesn’t?

Absolutely. What people don’t always understand is that once
the editor and writer have finished working on the ms until it glows like a
little gem – that’s when the editor’s work has just begun. Because it’s then
the editor’s job to figure out how to publish
it, how to cut through the noise in the marketplace, how to increase the book’s
odds of success. Every editor must be a mini-publisher. It’s not enough to find
the book and edit the heck out of it. He has to be aware of every aspect of its
publication and what every department in the house needs to know and needs to
do to make that book successful – and this is true no matter what level you’re
aiming the book at.

The editor is the liaison between all the departments and
the author – sub rights, publicity, sales, production. He or she has always got
to be thinking: what does the publicity department need? Is there a particular
hook? Is there something that can get the author in the press? Does the author
have contacts we draw upon to give us quotes, write an article, set up an
autographing, buy quantities of a book? Does the author have a track record?
Sales has got to know. Has the author published in magazines, does she/he have a
friendly magazine editor? Sub rights has got to know. Is there any particular
look for the jacket that might help, any jackets you think it should look like
to reach the target audience? The art department has got to know. And so on.

I’ve got lots of stories about aspects of this – but this
interview is already getting long! Suffice it to say that anything the author
can do to help the editor in these efforts will bear fruit.

Do you believe the Internet has changed the face of
publishing in a good way?

The Internet’s definitely helped. Besides the fact that
books are universally available through it, there are many more publicity, and
to a certain extent, advertising possibilities for new books. If we have, say,
a novel about the Korean War, we have a guy here who’ll research Korean War
sites, contact them, offer news about the book or even free copies to be
included on the site. You’ve reached a core audience. Meanwhile, maybe you’ve
set up your own website for that book and linked it with others’, made the book
available to military bloggers, maybe advertised on some key sites. All kinds
of things are possible.

You can bring three writers from any time period along to
a deserted island. Who would you choose for pure entertainment value, who would
you to choose to provoke thought, and who would you choose to learn from?

Ah, I never know how to answer these questions. I’ll move
on, if you don’t mind.

What do you do in your down time? (Is there such a
thing?)

In my spare time, I love movies and theater – and I read a
lot. The key to the latter is making the time for free reading, because work
reading takes up so much time on evenings and weekends. I read, first of all,
because that’s why I’m in the business to begin with, a love of books. It’s
also important for perspective. I may have a ms for what seems to be an
excellent WWII thriller in front of me – but if I’ve haven’t read some of the
masters of the WWII thriller, I may not realize, no this manuscript is okay – these books are excellent.

Is there room for women writers in the ranks of crime
fiction at the level of the Lee Child and John Sandford, or will this remain an
exclusively male club?

An exclusively male club? Hmm, Sue Grafton might disagree.
And Patricia Cornwell, Janet Evanovich, Mary Higgins Clark, JD Robb. Not to
mention Sara Paretsky, Martha Grimes, Kathy Reichs, Elizabeth George, Lisa
Gardner, Lisa Jackson, Linda Fairstein, Iris Johansen, Faye Kellerman, JA
Jance, Kay Hooper, Diane Mott Davidson, Lisa Scottoline, Sandra Brown…..oh, you
get the point. Sure, some of these women aren’t at the levels of Lee Child and
John Sandford (and those two are at different levels, by the way), but some of
them sell quite a bit more!

Thank you so much for taking time to answer these questions.
It’s been an honor to have you at Murderati!

Wine of the Week: Well, let’s do something special to celebrate Neil’s contribution to the written word. Château Cos-d’Estournel St.-Estèphe

Full disclosure — I can’t afford this wine, so take an extra sip for me.

ON THE BUBBLE WITH CARA BLACK

I wanted to introduce Cara in French – you know – something sophisticated – something to make me look worldly – but my Berlitz Dictionary of Foreign Terms only has one listing that came close; "Parler francais comme une vache enragee – which means – to speak French like an enraged cow – or – murder the French language. So – I’ll just say you don’t have to murder anyone to read Cara’s wonderful series – she handles the murders very well on her own – and solves them with utmost soigne.

CARA BLACK http://www.carablack.com

And here is Cara’s new book! Ohh, La La! This one looks like a dark and stormy night is ahead!

EE: Whispers are rampant that some envious wags (once upon a time) claimed you began your series in Paris just so you could fly over there each year and call it ‘research’ – but now that your SEVEN books have become such hits – isn’t it terrific to have the last laugh? Come on – fess up – it feels great, n’est-ce pas?

CB: It’s a tough job, but someone has to do it. Now at least I can write it off. But I still pinch myself, wish I could say there was a big plan – but in my wildest dreams I never thought I’d write a book set in Paris, let alone more than one, or a series. I never intended to. Pablo Picasso said, "I am always doing things I can’t do. That’s how I get to do them." For me, since childhood, there was always this draw to Paris and this passion to find a voice and relate a story of my friend’s mother – a hidden Jewish girl during the German Occupation of Paris – that drove me. I was reading tons of P.D. James (Baroness P.D. James), at the time…and thought, well, what about using a detective story as a structure, a framework to tell this story? I needed a detective, one who tied her scarf the right way, but was an outsider because I can’t write as a French woman. That idea, three and a half years of writing it and dumb luck converged. My publisher took a big chance and bought it. I’m truly blessed.

What an important and inspiring subject matter to explore – particularly today for so many younger readers.

EE: With the great success you’ve had in Paris, any chance you might someday begin another series in a different locale?

CB: I’d like to take Aimee out of my Paris to Marseilles or Lyon for the weekend. There’s lots of crime there, but every time I mention it, my editor shakes her head. So I guess a new series is in order. Or a standalone. People always ask me why I don’t write about San Francisco, where I live – but it feels too close. I don’t feel removed enough to write about it…at least now. During several years spent traveling – I’ve got experiences to draw on; living in Switzerland and working in a train station, riding a motorcycle across North Africa – Tunisia, Algeria and Morocco, later running out of money and sleeping in a Bangkok temple. It’s all fodder. And there’s an incredible part of London with canals – they call it the London Venice – and it’s so cool and…I really need to explore.

Need to explore? What? You haven’t seen enough yet? Sheesh.

EE: Speaking of Paree – what is your greatest extravagance when there?

CB: I go bare bones on research trips, scrape up frequent flier miles and camp on my friends couch in Montmartre. But taking my friends and contacts out to dinner has become part of the routine, especially the policewoman who invited me to the police firing range and the private detective who lets me hang out with her…inviting them out is the only way I can thank them. And the French dining is an art form, a wonderful experience lasting hours, with the wine flowing, many courses and full of discussion. I splurged once attending the Comedie Francaise, the national theatre – red velvet seats, murals – the works – to see Phedre, the Greek tragedy. Despite the classical French which went right over my head, just sitting in those seats that Proust, Cocteau, you name it, had sat in was worth it.

Oh, to sit in the same room as Proust or Cocteau! How I envy you that!

EE: If you were not writing – what other artistic career might you have chosen?

CB: Photography. I’d master an old Leica, figure out all those F-stops and adjustments and develop my own film and do gelatin prints. Lazy me, I use a digital like everyone and I wish there was more ‘traditional’ photography.

Honey, I’m all for the old stuff – I royally screw up my digital. A simple point & shoot is my speed. Do they even make those anymore? 🙂

EE: Is it true you listen to old Yves Montand and Edith Piaf recordings when you write? Or, is that another little tid-bit one of my not so dependable spies made up? I tell you – I gotta watch those guys like a hawk.

CB: They are remarkably informed. Matter of fact, Piaf’s on right now singing ‘Je ne regrette rien’ – she sets the mood. And the singer Georges Brassens who slips in zingers of social content and sexual innuendo in his songs and isn’t well known here. He was sort of a folk hero, anti-establishment, and died in poverty – but is almost as well-beloved as Piaf in France. I love those old died-in-the-wool socialists and anarchists who breathe character along with their Gitanes smoke and are never PC.

I once had a mad crush on Montand. But Simone Signoret (his wife for those of you too young to know) wasn’t too happy with me. But when he was spirited away by Marilyn – we became fast friends. She was a formidable woman – hell of an actress too.

EE: Mysteryville is abuzz with the rumor that your Aimee Leduc is being considered as a future "Marianne" = the symbolic figure of the French Republic (ala Catherine Deneuve whose face graced the medal between 1985-2000) – but you’ve declined the honor. What?

CB: That was Aimee’s decision. Not mine. I tried reasoning with her. But she just shrugged, expelled air with that Gallic pout and rolled her eyes. "Not my style," her only comment.

You need to sit down and talk to that woman! She turned down having Paris at her feet? Nay – the whole of France? Listen, Cara – I can fly down to The City anytime. Just call me, okay? We’ll talk some sense into her.

EE: Okay, time to get serious. You’re going on tour – you can combine efforts with two other writers. Uh, departed writers. Who would they be? And what about the new book?

CB: The dream dead tour would be; Raymond Chandler ( a big drinker-we all know him), Jean-Patrick Manchette (a hard drinking, smoking French noir writer who died too early). I’d just sit on the sidelines and watch. For the new book – I’m doing a series of events with David Corbett, Tony Broadbent and Rhys Bowen. We’re taking the California libraries hostage with panels on mysteries in foreign lands. I’d love to do another reading with Diane Johnson, (Le Divorce). She’s a wonderful writer, wit and ex-pat doyenne of Paris.

Like I said – I can fly down to The City anytime. I mean – if you needed an extra hand, that is. Oh, wait. Carmel isn’t a foreign land, is it. Scratch that.

EE: What book do you wish you’d written – and why?

CB: I just finished The Comedians by Graham Greene. I could never write that book. It’s his, but it blew me away. There’s two books that inspire me. The Lover by Marguerite Duras. The words, the sensory detail, the emotion painted with economy, forbidden love, the poignancy of a young girl adrift in the turmoil of colonial Indochina…the book touches me every time I read it . And The Day of the Jackal by Fredrick Forsyth. Not a false note – we’re every step of the way with the Jackal – and despite the fact that we all know de Gaulle escapes assassination, I’m hooked each time.

Great choices! Graham Greene is one of my all-time hero’s. I haven’t tried Duras – but I’m all for sensory detail. 🙂

EE: With seven books under your belt – what do you consider your greatest challenge with the series?

CB: Finding the part of Paris that gets under my skin and makes me go out at night to explore and walk the cobbles. In the rain or sleet – but holding that something, a nuance that intrigues, indefinable and hard to pinpoint. Sometimes it comes from an old black and white photo in a bin a the flea market, an 1940’s Paris phone book in the bookstall on the quai, the damp morning grass in the Luxembourg gardens, or meeting my friend’s neighbor who found an abandoned baby on her doorstep, overhearing a conversation in a cafe, that nugget the cafe owner drops about his time in the Resistance, or the gangster who he hid during a turf war in Pigalle. It’s always different and I’m always searching for that speck of gold to grow into a story. And to keep it fresh.

Hell, any one of those ‘nuggets’ would be terrific!

EE: What trait do you most admire in people?

CB: Loyalty. It’s underrated.

Oh, tell me about that.

EE: What is your least favorite word?

CB: Totally.

I thought you were going to say ‘Awesome’. But I totally agree. 🙂

EE: Time for the Walter Mitty Dream. What’s yours?

CB: Besides the farmhouse in Provence? The dream starts ‘Fasten your seat belts please, we’re beginning our descent into Charles deGaulle airport, Ground Crew reports weather in Paris a sunny 75 degrees.’ By some force of magic – a motorcycle awaits me outside Terminal 1 and I zoom along the peripherique into the outskirts of Paris, then onto Boulevard Saint-Ouen, nodding to the local cheese seller who waves ‘I’ll save you that good Camembert that just came in.’ I pull up at Cafe Rotonde, to find my smiling friends Anne-Francis, her beautiful one year old daughter, Zouzou, Sarah (re-united with her long lost love-but that’s another story) and Cathy, my policewoman friend with an open bottle of champagne – Veuve Cliquot, of course -sitting at an outdoor table. And then my son, magically arrived from high school, appears with our dog Kipper who also magically behaves and has – by osmosis – imbibed the well behaved manners of Parisian dogs followed by my husband who smiles..’I’m going to run a bookstore in Paris now…you’ve convinced me.’ Of course, we’re joined by Catherine Deneuve who just happens to be walking by and shares her makeup secrets and Charlotte Gainsbourg who begs, "I want to play Aimee in the new film, please.’ And the incredible director, Bertrand Tavernier appears with a script in hand. ‘I’ve made a few changes, little ones.’ And then Georges Simenon, magically risen from the dead and writing again, sits down, pipe hanging from the side of his mouth and says – ‘Maigret needs a helper.’

Seriously, what is REALLY your Walter Mitty Dream?

EE: I’m almost afraid to ask what you consider a perfect day now.

CB: Awakened at five by the aroma of freshly brewed espresso next to my pillow. The laptop connected and open to the page I was working on yesterday. Without further thought rereading the last paragraph I worked on and my fingers going from there into killer chase scenes…my favorite thing to write…and this time Aimee takes off into places I’d never even thought of. Five pages later – after figuring out a wonderful plot line that needs a little more simmer time in the unconscious, I throw on sweats, clean and warm from the dryer, take my dog for a walk, pick my son up from school and hear the teacher say ‘Yes, his homework was on time. He’s even done extra credit.’ My husband returning home from his bookstore after a record breaking day of sales, we order South Indian take out, and eat in front of the tele watching the French news and then The Wire.

Actually, that sounds pretty perfect.

EE: Oh, you’re gonna love this question – I stole it from Barbara Walters; If you were a tree – which would it be?

CB: A budding plane tree on the quai d’Anjou bordering the Seine outside Aimee’s apartment.

Why am I not surprised?

EE: Which writer would you love to have all to yourself in a quiet corner of the bar at the next con? And what would you talk about?

CB: Olen Steinhauer. Over a bottle of Polish vodka. We’d talk about everything-everything Budapest and Eastern Europe and where the hell does he get those stories, those multi-layered characters that live on the page, that breadth of knowledge about Hungarian secret police and how does he write such gorgeous books?

He won’t tell. He’s ignored my e-mails. But if you can wrangle it out of him…well, maybe we can talk?

My thanks to Cara for playing On The Bubble with Evil E today! I hope she’ll think kindly of me and come back again. And don’t forget – MURDER ON THE ILLE SAINT-LOUIS is ready and waiting for you to pick it up. And you don’t have to use, beg or borrow frequent flier credits to visit Paris – just tag along with Aimee and you’ll see the real deal.

What’s your point?

Point of view.

The Narrative.

X touched on it back in December. It’s talked about a lot among writers, but for me, I still don’t freaking get it.

Okay, I get it mostly. But here’s where my head’s at today: we’ve got 1st person – everyone knows it, pretty tough to screw it up unless you’re writing a story that just shouldn’t be told in 1st person. But even then, you can’t really muck up the POV.

But this frocking 3rd person. We’ve got 3rd person omniscient, 3rd person limited, 3rd person objective, 3rd person subjective, 3rd person limited-omniscient, 3rd person limited-objective, and blah, bla-freaking blah.

WTF?

Does anyone really know the differences between these? Other than the obvious Wikipedia defs. I mean, how do we know when a book is 3rd person omniscient as opposed to poorly executed 3rd person objective? Or vise-versa?

Now, one of the problems I’ve had in going from screenwriting to prose is POV. At times I thought I was writing 3rd person omniscient, but it was pointed out to me that what I was really doing was a poor job of 3rd person limited. Or subjective. Or vise-versa.

Which leads me to…

Rules. We always hear about the rules of writing, and how it’s okay to break them ONLY if you understand them (which I believe), or you’re a very good (or successful) writer. But I gotta tell you, lately I’ve been reading some books where the rules of POV are being bent and broken, and it bugs the gerunds out of me. It takes me out of the story.

The latest book by a writer who I think is brilliant, one of the best out there, is a 3rd person story.
Now, I’m pretty sure the book is what would be called 3rd person subjective. And for me, I’m okay with the writer switching character POV’s within the 3rd person telling, so long as it’s done by chapter, or by paragraph. That’s pretty basic, right? Don’t most of us feel that way?

And this bestselling book does that. But it also jumps subjective POV within paragraphs. Not throughout the book, just in three or four spots. And when I hit these spots, it jumps out at me. It bugs me. But is it just me? The writer of this book knows a helluva lot more about writing than I do.

And then there’s my favorite book of all-time, LONESOME DOVE. This book is brilliant. Amazing. Stunning. Entertaining as all heck. It’s got about six thousand characters and though it’s 3rd person, we’re in each character’s head at different times. Sometimes sentence to sentence we’re switching POV’s. Freaking Larry McMurtry, writing the best freaking book I’ve ever read. Does anyone know more about sentence structure and language than old Lawrence? Is this 3rd omniscient? If so, where’s the narrator’s perspective?

And does any of it matter? Or does it, and we give free passes to big names? I recently got some feedback on my prose and one of the issues was that I jumped POV within my 3rd person narrative – at the wrong time. I did what McMurtry and this other great writer did.

Oh, before your eyes begin to roll, let me point out that I am in no way comparing myself to these folks. When my reader pointed out my issue, my reaction was, "Oh, God, they’re right. I screwed up." Because to me, it’s wrong. I wasn’t trying to do it, or being lazy – not intentionally – I just… screwed up.

In another book I recently read – one of those where the narrative shifts from 1st person to 3rd person via chapters – there is a 3rd person chapter happening. And in one scene the protagonist walks into the room, and suddenly we go into 1st person. But we didn’t start a new chapter. We were literally in 3rd person, inside a supporting character’s subjective POV, and in walked the character whose POV we’re in 1st person in other chapters… but suddenly we go inside the protag’s head – in 1st person.

Isn’t this wrong? It felt wrong. But again, this is a very skilled writer doing this. One with many books on the shelves, and many awards and much critical praise. So what do I know? Not much. At least not about this.

So, help me out. Throw me a bone. All of you who are smarter than me, please help me out… and that means, uh, one, two, three, the guy in his underwear sipping coffee, the chick on the phone, sixteen, seventeen, yeah… that means every one of you. Help me out.

Clarify all this POV shite for me. Explain the difference with all these 3rd persons – and I don’t mean the basic dictionary defs, I mean explain it. Help my pea brain understand it.

What’s right, what’s wrong, when can you switch, when can’t you? Why, if you’re looking at a manuscript – or even your own work – a sudden, out of place POV shift bothers you, but if you’re reading a NYTBS author’s latest smash hit, you look the other way? Or do you?

Or maybe you feel the same I do about all this – you just don’t get it – but have been afraid to admit it. I admit it. I’m an idiot.

So, help me.

Guyot

This week’s If I Picked Character’s Watches:

Phil Hawley’s fabulous Luke McKenna would wear an IWC Big Pilot Watch.

By the way, STIGMA goes on sale today. BUY THIS BOOK. I am offering a money-back guarantee… if you read this book and don’t like it, email me and I will GIVE YOU YOUR MONEY BACK. Yes, it’s true. You have nothing to lose and everything to gain. BUY THIS BOOK.

The Heroism Vacuum

by Pari Noskin Taichert

Is anyone else sick of the Anna Nicole Smith saga?

Does Paris Hilton really deserve any of our mental space?

What’s happened to heroes in our culture? Can they only be found in fiction?

Where are the real-life ordinary people who face astounding odds, and prevail, because of innate goodness, strength and a sense of justice?

Okay, maybe I’m feeling grumpy. I’m not unhappy to be older, not really. But every year, on this date, I search for life models, for people to look up to.

Right now, I’m not finding much to admire.

Of course there’s always fiction. Heroes aplenty grace the pages in our genre and others. If I were feeling nobler, I might write a post about them. That’d be the self-sacrificing thing to do.

Nah, not today. I want to whine.

You see, this is a real yearning, heartfelt and painful. I want to know — beyond a Pollyanna, pop culture optimism –that real living, talking, breathing heroes walk among us.

I know that certain professions lend themselves to selflessness — community service, law enforcement, medicine, education. If I were in a different mood, I’d be singing the praises of the everyday champions in our lives, of their great hearts and generosity.

But I want something different today. I’m looking for the inspirational oddball; one I can relate to as a regular person. My soul screams for examples of ordinary Joes and Josephines who become epic, who rise above the normal to the extraordinary, without thinking of the potential for a book deal or television movie.

For some reason, in the past, heroes were easier to spot. Two come to mind without effort. Both glimmered during the darkest moments of the Holocaust.

First there were the "righteous gentiles"– non-Jewish people who risked their lives to prevent even more deaths.

Couples like Chinue and Yukiko Sugihara sacrificed so much during those same years.

I want to know that these most-admirable people are still being born, that they exist in this crazy world.

These are the real-life heroes I crave to learn about now.

At lunch, a few days ago, a friend said that today’s heroes are working behind the scenes, secretly, just as those from WWII did. She might be right.

Maybe I’m not looking in the right places for these true stars of humanity.

Or, it’s possible I should just stop watching the news for a couple of months . . . The quiet selflessness of heroism often doesn’t lend itself to speedy soundbites or sexy visuals.

Maybe this kind of courage isn’t required in the world at the moment.

I don’t know.

However, on this last Monday in February, I want to hear about heroes —
if there are any to celebrate nowadays.
I want to grow up to be like them.

Do you know any? Are you willing to share their stories here?

That’d be the best birthday present of all.

And the Award Goes too…

I have a love/hate relationship with a bald man whose shimmering naked body has been dipped in gold paint. Wait… that didn’t come out right.

I have a love/hate relationship with the Academy Awards.

My complaints aren’t original. At its worst, Oscar night is a self-congratulatory love fest full of millionaires patting each other on the back. The broadcast is too long, 99% of the acceptance speeches are mind numbingly boring, and some of my favorite movies never even get a nod (and the Oscar for best foreign film goes to…Shaun of the Dead!). And yet, I watch it every year for one reason and one reason only…to see Salma Hayek fill out an evening gown.

No, I watch it for those little moments that are off the cue cards. Like last year when Jon Stewart pointed out the absurdity of the awards after a hip hop group won for best song. "Martin Scorsese: Zero, Three 6 Mafia: One." Or in 2002 when Michael Moore got booed off stage after his political rants against Bush (I wonder if they’d boo him now.). Or when Cuba Gooding Jr. brought some life to the show in ’96 after his win for Jerry Maguire (what ever happened to that guy?). Put simply, the Oscars are at their best when real life creeps in.

Okay, enough of the nostalgia. What does this have to do with the writing biz? For me, the Oscars brought to mind the subject of AWARDS.

I’ve had a couple editors nominate me for things in the past, but I’ve never made any finalists lists. I won’t lie, on some level it bothered me. Getting overlooked made me feel that my work didn’t have the same merit as others. Being an infant in this industry, maybe I didn’t have the writer’s leather-tough skin yet.

The question becomes, was I right to feel that way? After all, in most cases these things are judged by our peers, aren’t they?

And here’s a few more queries to keep you busy.

How important are awards in the publishing world? An Oscar can add a few zeroes to your next paycheck. What can an Edgar do for you?

And…

On a personal level, are awards important to you? If you had to pick, would you rather have recognition from your peers or would you rather have a large following, while other writers looked down on your work?

Just a few things to think about tonight while watching beautiful people stumble through lame jokes written for them on cue cards. Let’s hope some of them fumble and accidentally say something interesting.

What do you tell them?

by Alex

This has been a very busy and teaching week for me – first several workshops and panels at the Southern California Writers Conference in San Diego, which has been masterfully run by Michael Steven Gregory and Wes Albers for going on 22 years now, and then a library talk and signing and a high school appearance (a full-fledged assembly of 500+ students – yike! I’ve never thought of myself as an assembly before…)

These events this week have been different than the convention panels and bookstore events I’ve grown used to. It’s actually hugely different to talk to high school and college students – much more of a responsibility, somehow, because you just know that it can be one single sentence you say that sets a young writer off on this insane path that writing is. Or – not.

And I find myself weirdly torn between saying that perfect inspiring sentence – and screaming “Don’t do it!!!” at the top of my lungs. (Not that any real writer would ever listen to the “Don’t” part, I certainly didn’t – but still, I get up on stage and the impulse to tell them to save themselves now, before it’s too late… is very definitely there.)

What’s overwhelming is looking out at these kids and thinking just how LONG I’ve been doing all this. I started acting when I was – well, when you really think of when it STARTED – we were putting on plays in my parents’ garage when I was eight or nine, charging the neighbors a quarter admission.
Then years and years and years and YEARS of choir and dance and musicals and street theater and God only knows what all else… theater major at Berkeley, singing in a bar in Montana, video production in San Francisco, writing my very first professional treatment for Todd Rundgren (top THAT!)… dancing in campy burlesque film fests in LA, the whole screenwriting thing (most of which I’ve deliberately blanked out)… endless, endless, endless.
So how do you boil all that down into: “If you want to be a writer, this is what you do?”

But that’s what they’re waiting for you to say.

But the bottom line, I guess, is that writing is two things.
First of all, writing is WRITING. You have to write. You have to sit down every day and write at least a page. Or like Pari says, an inch. Or write for an hour. One or all of the above, but EVERY DAY. If you start writing, and keep writing, and a writer is what you ARE, you will find the next step – book, class, mentor, theater program, film school, critique group, whatever – to make you a better writer. And the next. And the next. And you will look up ten or twenty years later and you will be a writer and not really know how you got there, except that you wrote. Every day. And that’s what makes a writer.

And second, you have to LIVE. Which is inevitable. And good news for the people who have not been writing for the last twenty years but have hopes of starting now. They may not have been writing for the last twenty years, but they have been living. And if they can figure out how to put all that life into words, and write every day, they will be writers, too – no matter when they start. Whatever your life is and has been, it’s infinitely worth writing about.

I am finding myself looking for the most general and universal advice I can give. We – writers – all know how hard this life is, and how few people end up doing it with any physical measure of success, but part of our job and responsibility is NOT to kill the dream.
And you know, it’s really exciting to have that one girl that you notice instantly in the crowd, waiting in line to talk to you afterward with that certain set to her chin and her pen out and poised over her notebook and so focused she’s practically vibrating as she says to you all in one sentence – “I’m writing stories like the ones you write and my mother thinks I’m weird and doesn’t understand so I can’t talk about it can you tell me what publishers I should be sending my work to?”
And for a moment you’re breathless and speechless because you just KNOW. That’s a writer, just as much as you ever were or will be, and nothing you can do could ever stop that inexorable and somewhat frightening force, but you have a chance to make it maybe a little easier…

Well… THAT’S what this is all about.

So, dears…. I’d really like to know. What do YOU find yourselves saying, when you’re up there on stage with people’s dreams in your hands?

(For more on the Southern California Writers Conference…)

Cover Me

JT Ellison

One fun aspect of being a first time novelist is learning
the internal publishing ropes. I’ve just passed a major milestone – the
copyedits of ALL THE PRETTY GIRLS are finished and have been turned in to my editor at
Mira. Whoo-hoo!

This was by far the most difficult step I’ve faced in the
process. It took me three days to go through all the notes, changing a word
here or there, striking a repeated sentence, double-checking tertiary character
names. It’s amazing what these copyeditors catch. You see so many readers on
the webthreads discussing errors in manuscripts, and I hate to be culpable for
any reader distress. You have to wonder, though, if they knew what went into
these pages, understood the process and the care taken by the publisher to make
the book error free and pretty, maybe they’d cut us a little slack.

The term STET, Latin for "To Let Stand," is now my best friend. Especially because
I’m writing a novel based in the South with some lesser-known southern
vernacular. Our colloquialisms seem strange to many outsiders, including
copyeditors from New York.

I’m at the point where I can no longer hold back. I’ve got
my cover. I’ve had it for a couple of months, and have been sitting on it
because . . . well, I don’t know why. Newbie terrors, the sense that you’re
going to wake up and find out all of this is a dream? It certainly feels that
way sometimes.

I’m beyond thrilled with the art. My editor sent it to me
and I about passed out from sheer joy. It captured the essence of the book in a way
I could have never begun to suggest. It’s time to share. This book is
happening, and there’s no sense holding back any longer.

Without further ado . . .

I leave you with a thought that sums up the current
experience quite well.

My candle burns at both ends;
It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends —
It gives a lovely light!

— First Fig, Edna St. Vincent Millay

Wine of the week: Vitiano Falesco

Mystery Shop Company

Elaine Viets is probably one of the most ‘fun’ writers I
know. I mean, she’s a special gal – and
I’m not just saying that because we share a first name. Honest. But I love telling her – "Oh, Elaine! You look just gorgeous (which she is)." It just has a nice ring to it, you
know? Kinda like a personal echo? Anyway, you’ve all heard that mantra –
‘write what you know’ – Elaine Viets does exactly that! She has worked in a bookstore (Murder
Between The Covers), a bridal salon (Dying To Call You), and with her fifth
novel coming out next month – MURDER UNLEASHED – her first hardback (where she
belongs!) – she worked at a high-end dog boutique! I mean, this is suffering for your craft! This is a writer who brings you the real
inside dope, so do yourself a huge favor – get thee to a bookstore and load up
on a fun Florida ride with Elaine.

And now – a few things you never knew about Elaine Viets!

EE: Word is you’ve created your new ‘mystery
shopper’ series just to get freebies from Valentino, Versace, St. Laurent and
Gucci and they’ve been sending you boxes of designer clothes just to stay on
your good side. Care to comment?

EV: There’s absolutely no truth to that story –
darn it!

EE: I understand Uma Thurman and Charlize Theron
– who share your willowy height- are really ticked off about this designer deal
since they only get one gown for the Oscars and are threatening to become
mystery writers so they can get in on the largesse. You really need to answer this, Elaine.

EV: Is that one gown apiece or one gown between
them?

How did you know it was only one
gown? Charlize told me the cat fight
was Oscar worthy.

EE: Other than scoring this incredible deal with
these jet setting designers, what is your proudest achievement?

EV: What? Isn’t that enough? If I have to
be serious, I’m proud of making a living at mystery writing. Not many people like their jobs.

And if anyone deserves it – it’s you!

EE: What
is your favorite movie? And I don’t
mean Batman that George Clooney sent you as a personal gift.

EV: I’m such a movie slut. I don’t have favorites. I like the last one I spent the evening
with. Currently, it’s "Good Night
and Good Luck", about Edward R. Murrow.

Sigh. I miss Murrow. Yeah, I’m old
enough to remember him.

EE: What best selling book do you wish you’d
written?

EV: Anything by Nelson DeMille.

Wonderful choice! He’s truly one of the very best.

EE: Tell us what you would consider a perfect
day.

EV: I am awakened by my agent, who says he sold
the movie rights for my Dead-End Job series to Spielberg. I try to go back to sleep, but the phone
rings again and my editor says I’ve made the New York Times Best Seller List
again. After my massage, I settle in
for five minutes of uninterrupted hours at my computer. At four PM, I meet my writer friends for
drinks, when we complain about out agents and editors. Then my husband and I go out for dinner, and
afterward, we walk along the beach.

What? You mean writers bitch about their agents and editors? I’ll be darned.

EE: Readers have been bombarding me with
questions for you, but I’m selfish and would rather ask my own, so me first, so
WHY do you keep turning down an appearance on Letterman?

EV: The dress hasn’t arrived form Versace yet.

Donatella
told me it is on the way – so get ready!

EE: Who would be your ideal book signing tour
mate?

EV: The mysery genre has lots of congenial
writers. I’ve toured with Marcia
Talley, and we still liked each other at the end of the trip.

That’s wonderful! But then, like they say-great minds think
alike.

EE: And speaking of writing stuff, which writers
would be on your ideal panel at a con?

EV: Charlaine Harris, Reed Farrell Coleman,
Laura Lippman, Michael Connelly, Harlan Coben, Harley Jane Kozak.

An absolutely Standing Room Only crowd.

EE: Talk is you can’t write a word unless your
favorite Rock & Roll artists are playing in the background. Now, for a gal who gives so much of her time
helping new writers, the least you could do is share their names.

EV: I am a huge (well, very tall) fan of the
Austin Lounge Lizards, especially their non-hit sont, "Jesus Loves Me (But
He Can’t Stand You)."

Is it out now? Where can we buy it before it goes platinum?

EE: Everyone has a Walter Mitty dream. Tell us yours. But keep it clean, okay?

EV: See answer to Question 6

Quick! Which one was No. 6??

EE: Which writer would you like to have all to
yourself in a cozy corner of the bar at the next Bouchercon?

EV: Gasp. I’m a happily married woman. Maybe Robert Crais, with Michael Connelly, Lee Child and Harlan Coben as
chaperones. I want to ask Mr. Crais
about that episode of "Miami Vice" he wrote staring Frank Zappa.

Uh, could you sqeeze over?

EE: Level with us, Elaine – what is your
favorite indulgence?

EV: My favorite printable indulgence is 70
percent Lindt dark chocolate.

We
were hoping for more, but that’ll work.

EE: Even though your closet is loaded now with
designer duds, what was the last thing you bought for yourself?

EV: A nice batch of publicity. Seriously, my new book, MURDER UNLEASHED, is
coming out May 2nd in hardcover. I’m
giving a buck a book to PAWS and other animal charities if you buy the book
betweennow and May 20th online at bn.com or at selected IMBA bookstores. Pre-orders are accepted. This is my own money, not the
publishers. Buy the book and help me go
to the dogs. NOTE: The details are on
Elaine’s website at http://www.elaineviets.com

How can you not love this gal? Go out and buy the book, okay? You’ll love it anyway!

EE: My most burning question is why the hell did
you refuse to accept those flowers from Brad Pitt after he vowed his undying
love for you at last years Edgar’s? One
can’t help but wonder if this is what threw him into his mid-life crisis and
Angelina’s arms.

EV: It’s all my fault, and he never even called
to thank me.

He may be calling you again to
reconsider.

A round of
applause, if you please, for a terrific writer, a lovely person, and for having
the courage go go On The Bubble!