Yes, the time has come for me to say goodbye. It’s been fun. It’s been nice having an audience for my rants. But I’m moving on, folks, and I want to thank you for making Murderati a home.
I’m not going to say much else today. (Thank God, some of you are muttering.) But I’ll leave you with a link to one of my earlier posts. A favorite one.
Today, March 29, is the one year anniversary of my husband Bruce’s death. It seems so much shorter than that. But so much longer at the same time.
I’m finally back from all my travels to Australia, Arizona and Seattle and maybe … just maybe … ready to think about the next steps.
Six months ago, my brother, Jim, asked me if I was getting back to normal. “What is that? What does that look like?” I replied. There was nothing normal about my days and my future would be different than I ever imagined. I would never be normal again, but somehow … just maybe .. there might be some kind of New Normal ahead.
Like any other endeavor I’ve ever approached, I tried to get as smart about widowhood as I could. I read countless tales of previously strong women bowed by the unexpected loss of a spouse. Joan Didion’s “The Year of Magical Thinking,” Joyce Carol Oates’ “A Widow’s Story,” Genevieve Ginsburg’s “Widow to Widow.” They may have proved that I wasn’t crazy, but they also showed that I sure wasn’t handling this well.
So many people tried to help. My old advertising friends, Judy Hughes and Barbara Pauly, whose memories about losing their husbands haven’t faded over the years. David Corbett and his frequent emails giving me permission to handle this however I had to in order to preserve my sanity. Linda Ronstadt with her constant invitations to dinner, to a walk, to help around the house. Pat and Karen Scott who took the burdens of my in-laws in Seattle as their own. David and Sara Arnold next door who continue to feed me now just like they did when Bruce was sick.
Neighbors and cousins and email friends, you’ve all done your best.
But eight months into this new life I found myself not getting better, and only getting worse. I shuttered myself indoors and would not bathe or dress for days at a time. I quit answering the telephone. I wouldn’t leave the house if I ran out of food: a paucity of cigarettes, wine or toilet paper was about the only call to action.
I cried every Monday at 8:05 a.m., remembering the 36th Monday without him … then the 37th. Then the 38th. I cried yesterday, too, although I know that the rest of the world will call him gone a year today. What a world we live in where there are 52.14 Mondays in a year.
I broke down when the lady at the Mammography Center asked if Bruce Goronsky was still the emergency contact she should list on my medical forms.
I lashed out at acquaintances who asked if I was dating yet.
I have not been the model widow. Nor am I Mrs. Bruce Goronsky anymore.
But I’m not Louise Ure again yet, either.
Three people have brought me this far. Three people who never, never let me give up.
Jude Greber
First, Jude Greber, who not only made me laugh the day we went to the mortuary to arrange for Bruce’s cremation, but whose constant, gentle support has carried me every day through Bruce’s illness and now through this new chrysalis of widowhood with emails, long visits and even more frequent meals. Her message: DON’T FORGET, YOU’RE A WRITER AND YOU HAVE FRIENDS.
Maggie Polling
Second, Maggie Polling, my old friend from Australia who opened her home and her life to me these last several months. She wanted to come take care of Bruce but I wouldn’t let her. Then she wanted to come for the funeral, but I thought that hosting an out-of-towner would be too grueling. She finally came to travel with me to the memorial car race the SCCA put on in Bruce’s honor; I couldn’t have attended without her. Then she taught me how to breathe again in Australia. She is closer to me than a sister. Her message: WE KNEW YOU AS LOUISE LONG BEFORE WE EVER KNEW BRUCE, BUT WE LOVED HIM, TOO.
Louise Ure and Brian Washington
And finally, my foster son, Brian Washington. How can I ever thank him? He sat by my side those long hours in the hospital. He took me home when Bruce’s last lap was run. He bought me a cookbook called “The Pleasure of Cooking for One.” He calls and comes by every week, offering love, lunch and a change of light bulbs if I need it. I could not ask for a better son if I had birthed him myself. His message: YOUR FAMILY IS HERE FOR YOU.
I can’t promise that I’m over this fever, but things have started to become more gray than black. I wake with plans for the day, even if those plans are sometimes just to make lunch or go to the post office.
I can still get caught short by the strangest, most unexpected sadnesses. I still have to mute the television when one of the Cancer Society’s “Happy Birthday” ads comes on. False advertising I call it, and rubbing salt in the wound. Bruce didn’t even get a quarter of a year.
Then just this week Bruce’s father asked if I would send him Bruce’s wallet as his own is well-worn and falling apart. I tried to do that and again broke down noting that Bruce’s credit cards had longer expiration dates than he did. And the wallet still holds the curve of his butt. I think I’ll send my father-in-law a different replacement wallet and hope he understands.
This anniversary, like so many other benchmarks I’ve passed this year, is neither completely happy nor sad. I’ve begun to remember the good times we had and not just the last hours in the hospital. I’ve even laughed a few times.
The Vietnamese lady who does my fingernails lost her father in the same hospital on the same week I lost Bruce. She told me yesterday that she and her family prepared his favorite foods on the anniversary of his death and added a plate for him in front of his picture at the head of the table. It’s a lovely idea. Maybe I’ll do the same, even though a bowl of chili with cornbread doesn’t sound all that festive.
But while I’m remembering Bruce today, I’m also remembering and loving each of you who have given me so much this year. You have my heart.
I’m dark. My guess is we’re all a little dark at Murderati. I teach, study, and write about crime. All crime, all the time. So, yeah, I’m a little dark.
But every once in a while, I read words that I placed on a page and think to myself, “Damn, that’s sort of sick.”
I remember sitting in my office a few years ago, knowing that I needed to finish the chapter I was working on before I could join my husband and his Army friend for Friday night festivities. I don’t know whether it was the momentum of the scene or the promise of a cocktail, but I hammered out the words as quickly as I could type them. Suddenly the bad guy was doing something I had no idea he was going to do. And I was describing it. (No spoilers here, but I’m referring to the big, explosive confrontation near the end of my fifth novel, Angel’s Tip.)
I walked into the living room and threw my hands in the air. “Finished! Let Friday night begin!” As the husband shook my martini, his friend asked, “What were you writing?”
I summed up the scene in a single, bluntly worded sentence.
My husband’s friend — did I mention they knew each other from the Army? — looked at my husband, then looked at me, and then said, “That’s the sickest thing I’ve ever heard.” That’s right, y’all, I managed to freak out a West Point graduate who has spent the last twenty-one years in the military. Hollah!
I have no idea why this puppy doesn’t know the difference between “your” and “you’re,” but his obliviousness makes him all the more awesome.
Our friend asked where the idea had come from. I truly had no clue.
That kind of “Wow, I’m sort of sick” moment has happened to me only once in writing seven and a half novels. Interestingly, though, I’m two for two on short stories.
In 2008, I wrote a short story called Winning (available here), about a husband’s reaction to the rape of his police officer wife. My own editor said, “I had no idea you were so dark.”
[An aside: The title “Winning” alludes to gendered responses to violence, where men think “winning” means beating down an opponent, and women think “winning” is survival. Please note that I wrote and titled the aforementioned story prior to this man’s conversion of the word to mean its exact opposite:
End of aside.]
Earlier this month, I turned in a short story for an upcoming Mystery Writers of America anthology edited by Lee Child. The book is called “Dark Justice” and features tales of vigilantism. The story took me only a few days to write, but I find myself still thinking about it, wondering how in the world I came up with some of the story’s images.
I wonder not only where the sickness comes from, but also why I seem more able to explore it in short fiction. Maybe living a full year with those kinds of thoughts would simply be too much to handle. Or maybe at a subconscious level I worry about my audience, realizing that very few readers want an entire novel filled with that kind of darkness. A short story is a low-risk, short-term way to purge some of the crazier voices that are pulling at the corners of my mind.
I’d love to hear your thoughts on this subject. What’s the sickest thing you’ve ever read? How sick is too sick? Are you ever surprised, as either a reader or a writer, by the darkness of the books that you enjoy or write? And what is it about a short story that seems to draw out the sickness within?
P.S. A little bit of BSP this morning. One of my favorite writers, Michael Connelly, was kind enough to write a substantive review of my upcoming book, LONG GONE, for Amazon. Because he’s cool, the review’s cool, with Frank Sinatra references and comparisons to watchmaking. You can read the review (and learn more about LONG GONE) here.
No matter how well I plan, my book deadlines always overlap other major events.
For example, PLAYING DEAD was due when I was in the middle of moving. FEAR NO EVIL was due between Thanksgiving and Christmas–a hectic time for normal people, and an insane time for people with kids (school Christmas plays, choir performances, family events, shopping, and the kids are out of school!)
Birthday GirlThis month, things crept up on me . . . My daughter’s 8th birthday (Friday the 25th); my husband’s 50th birthday (Wednesday the 30th–he shares his birthday with Eric Clapton–and we had the party last night); two volleyball tournaments (last weekend and this weekend); the Dreamin’ in Dallas conference where I’m the keynote speaker next Saturday (and yes, I need to write a speech . . . or at least have some notes!); the RT conference starting on the 6th (and all the prep before then); and then the Thriller 3 anthology, of which I’m the managing editor.
Usually, I can juggle pretty well, but when everything happens at the same time, I get a little stressed :/
This time, however, I’m not as stressed as usual. My frustration is that I know exactly where the story is going, yet can’t sit down for 5 days straight and write. A week ago, I hit a major turning point, saw that I’d laid the ground work for something pretty cool (no, I didn’t plan it, it just happened that way) and now I want to write non-stop . . . but with kids and responsibilities, I can’t. This is one of the few times I wished I lived alone in a cabin in the woods (with running hot water, electricity, and food) and not have anything else to do but write. Not just because of the pending deadline, but because I’m loving where the story is going and I don’t want to lose the momentum. I want to get into the zone and never leave it.
Every book seems to be a little different–some start “easy” and get harder; others start hard and get easier; but inevitably, I have two major turning points: the beginning of act two when I get stuck (always) and go back and write and rewrite and rewrite, constantly thinking that the book sucks, I can’t write, I should be flipping burgers, everything is total garbage . . . then something clicks and I can move on. Then, at the beginning of act three, I “see” the book as a whole, have (usually) figured out the ending, and all I want to do is write 24/7.
My zone is focus plus excitement. I am so in-tune with the story, that I can’t NOT write it. Being torn away from the book is emotionally painful. I stop writing not because I can’t think or get stuck or reach the end of a scene, but because I’m literally falling asleep at my computer. And the first thing I do in the morning is rush to the computer and start writing.
So really, I’m not at all upset that I needed to be up at 6 a.m. on Sunday for a volleyball tournament 45 minutes away . . . I’ve already mapped out the two closest Starbucks.
Last Thursday, Zoe and I spoke and signed books at M is for Mystery. The crowd was small, but very interested — I think because Zoe is so entertaining! She’s smart and funny, my two favorite traits in a person.
Me, Ed Kaufman, and Zoe Sharp at M is for Mystery
And I have some good news . . . LOVE ME TO DEATH is a finalist for best romantic suspense in the RITA award. The winners will be announced at the RWA conference in NYC at the end of June.
Apologies for the short blog — that deadline thing! So I’ll leave you with a question.
I often buy books that final in contests like the RITAs and Edgars and Thrillers, especially debut novels and books that are nominated in my own category. For example, this year I’ve read 5 of the other 7 nominees; I just ordered the two I haven’t read. Do you use contests as a shopping list? Do you find that you’ve already read them before they were nominated? Have you found any favorite author because you bought them after they won or was nominated for a writing award?
Spring is here, my OCD has kicked in, and I have started on a spring project that you all are going to get the benefit of (or have to suffer through, one of those…)
I’ve been wanting for a long time to go through this Story Elements Checklist I compiled a while ago and revise and expand it with all the great new things I’ve been learning in my own workshops this year. My plan is to work through the elements one by one, discussing each in-depth, hopefully with lots of brilliantly illuminative examples and analysis.
How’s that for a resolution? (Yes, the mania has kicked in as well….)
And I am especially in need of doing this because I am sunk into the ENDLESS, INTERMINABLE SLOG portion of my own writing process, ie. three-quarters of the way through that wretched first draft of my new one, and can only dream longingly of happier days of brainstorming or rewriting.
(Here’s the preliminary expanded checklist – way too long to post here!
I think my main focus throughout is going to be Visual Storytelling, but you never, ever can tell once I get going.
But one of the main points I’ll be trying to make is: just as filmmakers consciously design some of these key story scenes for maximum emotional and visual impact, we as novelists can be doing the same thing on the page for our readers – making the most of critical scenes such as ESTABLISHING THE HERO/INE’S GHOST, THE CALL TO ADVENTURE, CROSSING THE THRESHOLD, ESTABLISHING THE PLAN, and so on.
There’s a saying in Hollywood that “If you have six great scenes, you have a movie.” Well, very often these six great scenes are off that list of the key story elements. It makes sense, doesn’t it? Scenes like THE CALL TO ADVENTURE and CROSSING THE THRESHOLD are magical moments – they change the world of the main character for all time, and as storytellers we want our readers or audiences to experience that profound, soul-shattering change right along with the character. These are numinous events, and we want to write scenes that are worthy of them. That’s why I think it’s a wise idea to study the more blatant examples – the way these scenes are depicted in fantasies like Harry Potter and The Wizard of Oz – so you get the full-on, literally magical experience of a Call To Adventure or Crossing the Threshold scene first – and then start looking for more subtle variations in less fantastical stories.
For those just joining us who want to play along, or for those who somehow never got around to doing this, now would be a good time to make a MASTER LIST – a top ten (or more) list of your favorite movies and books in the genre that you’re writing and/or similar in structure – Orr if you don’t have a premise in mind, ten movies and books that you WISH you had written – so you can refer to the list for examples.
And we’ll start, as the song goes, at the very beginning, with OPENING IMAGE.
In a film, of course, you have an opening image by default, whether you put any planning into it or not. It’s the first thing you see in the film. But good filmmakers will very consciously design that opening image to establish all kinds of things about the story – mood, tone, location, and especially theme.
Think of the opening image of WITNESS – the serene and isolated calm of wind over a wheat field. It’s the world of the Amish – the non-violent, unhurried world into which city violence will soon be introduced. It’s a great contrast with the next image to come – the chaos and noise of the city. This is a great opening image because it also suggests the climax – which takes place in the grain silo – one of the villains is killed by the spill of grain.
The opening image of ROMACING THE STONE is a classic, gorgeous Western shot of magnificent buttes in a desert landscape and a voluptuous buckskin-clad heroine straight from the old bodice-rippers. It’s adventure and romance which the voice-over narration also establishes as comic and tongue-in-cheek. It’s a great miniature of the whole story – this is protagonist Joan Wilder’s fantasy, which quickly becomes her not-so-appealing reality.
The opening image of THE USUAL SUSPECTS is a boat on fire in a dark harbor and a man taking a piss into the dark water… a sly reference to Verbal and the whole movie “taking the piss” – as the British say – on the audience.
The opening image of SILENCE OF THE LAMBS is a dark, misty forest, through which Clarice is running as if in a dream; it’s eerie, disturbing, and hypnotic – putting us, the audience, squarely in a dream with her.
Well, novelists, instead of (or in addition to) killing yourselves trying to concoct a great first line which will just as likely annoy a reader into throwing your book against the wall as make them keep reading, how about giving some thought to what your opening scene LOOKS like? It takes a lot of the pressure off that first page anxiety – because you’re focused on conveying a powerful image that will intrigue and entice the reader into the book.
What do we see? How does it make us feel? How might it even be a miniature code of what the whole story is about?
Take a look at a few of the films on your master list and see what they do with the opening image. Bear in mind that the opening image may be more of an opening scene – and the key image may not be the very first thing we see. For example, in CASINO, the film starts with DeNiro walking out to his car, with narration over. Then as he gets in, the car explodes in flame – and the credits sequence begins – the visual underneath which is a long, long take on a cut-out of a man falling slowly through flame – a descent into hell. That falling through flame, with the blinking neon of the casino all around, would be the opening image, what Scorcese has chosen to fix in the audience’s mind – it is exactly what the story is about.
One of my favorite opening images/sequences is the credits scene of THE SHINING. I don’t think there’s a creepier opening to be found anywhere in film. It’s all aerial camerawork of those vast, foreboding mountains as that tiny little car drives up, up, up toward what turns out to be the Overlook. It’s vertiginous, it’s ominous, it emphasizes the utter isolation of the hotel and the circumstances, and somehow, through the music and the visuals and the constant movement, Kubrick establishes a sense of huge, vast, and malevolent natural forces. As a horror writer (or whatever you want to call me), I am constantly looking for ways to convey all those things – that EXPERIENCE – on the page.
Here’s another great film technique to be aware of: The opening image will sometimes –often – set up a location that will return in the final battle scene or in the resolution scene of the story – only at the end there will be a big visual contrast to show how much the hero/ine has changed. A fantastic recent example of this is in the truly lovely animated film HOW TO TRAIN YOUR DRAGON. It opens with a long aerial swoop down into the Viking village. It’s dark, torchlit, forbidding… and then smashes into the opening attack by dragons – a scene of chaos and violence. And we hear young protagonist Hiccup’s wry narration over it.
In the RESOLUTION, we see the same aerial swoop into the village, but now it’s daylight, sunshine, flowers – and instead of attacking, the dragons are flying with their new – well, not owners, but partners – the same Vikings who were fighting them in the beginning. And Hiccup’s wry narration is the same – only with a few key words changed. The whole village has been transformed by Hiccup’s personal journey – it’s a magnificent visual of not just character arc, but the change in philosophy of the whole Viking society.
Think you can’t possibly achieve this on the page? Think again. Mo Hayder’s THE TREATMENT is one of my favorite recent examples… when she focuses on a murder of crows strutting on the grass of a crime scene, evil just rolls off the page, and you start to wonder if you really want to keep reading the book. (It’s worth every shudder, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.).
Now, look – I’m not at all saying that an opening scene HAS to be visual to work. I had a student in a workshop recently who opened her romantic comedy with a series of dueling press releases – it was hilarious and perfect for her very funny book. As authors we have the luxury of not having to convey things purely visually. I’m just saying – if you’re struggling with an opening, this could be a technique that would help you pull it all together. It works wonders for me. And thinking of the opening visually instantly solves the problem that I’ve become increasingly aware of in the opening chapters of newer writers: they fail to set up the visual in any way, which leaves the reader floundering to figure out where the hell they are. Not an auspicious way to begin, let me tell you.
As human beings, we are primarily visual creatures (and no, I don’t just mean men. All of us.). So? Why not use it?
My question of the day: Visual or not visual – what are some of your favorite book and movie openings of all time?
It was a lesson I learned over twenty years ago. Or I thought I had, although I’m not sure I ever will. It was shortly after Steven Soderbergh’s directorial debut, “Sex, Lies and Videotape,” which was a small, indie film that met with huge critical and box office success. Soderbergh published his diary shortly thereafter, recounting the steps he took to get the project – which he wrote, directed, photographed and edited – off the ground.
At that time I had just completed the screenplay for a small, indie film that I hoped to direct. Called “A Little Sexual Contract,” it told the story of two couples, long-time friends, who wrote a contract allowing them to switch partners for a night. The screenplay dramatized the growing excitement and tension leading up to the “event” then examined how the night changed their lives. In the end, one couple’s relationship was strengthened while the other’s dissolved.
I had an indie producer attached and we were looking for financing to make the film. I remember telling the producer – a man with much more experience in the business than me – that I wanted to follow the path taken by Steven Soderbergh. The film subjects were similar, the budget was basically the same, the path to distribution identical.
The producer gave me the following advice: “Don’t compare yourself to others. Don’t follow someone else’s path. What worked for them cannot be duplicated. You’re on a different trajectory.”
Wow. I wondered if I really had the life-experience to take this to heart. How could I not “compare myself to others?” Isn’t this human nature?
It’s like a survival instinct our limbic brains tap into to protect us. I’m sure it goes back to the cave. “Cold outside…Og has bear skin…Og is warm…I not feel fingers…should I get bear skin?”
Og will survive. If Og was an author, what would he do?
As a new author I tend to look around at what everyone else is doing. I judge my success or failure based on what I perceive to be the success or failure of others.
What are the guide-posts that signal success?
Edgars, Anthonys, Macavitys, Agathas, Daggers, Neros, Shamuses, Hammetts, Dilys, Barrys, Thrillers, Gumshoes. Best-seller lists, high-profile panels, book fairs. Audio book deals, foreign language deals, film and television deals. Sales figures.
Deep inside, I think we all know…none of it matters.
It’s all great. It’s validation. And it adds up, keeps our careers in play, enables us to pay the bills and keep on writing. But I think we – new authors and veterans alike – spend a lot of time judging ourselves, our talents, and our careers based on the nomination we didn’t receive for the latest award. Or the fact that we didn’t get a French publication deal. Or that we’re writing the next book without a contract.
Sometimes we take all the great things we do have, add them up, then try to compare them to the bundled accomplishments of other authors. In this way we can either pat ourselves on the back or beat ourselves up for falling behind.
I think it’s all rather arbitrary. I think a really good book will find its fans. A really good book might not get any awards. It might not become a best-seller. It might even complicate our career growth by appealing to too small an audience. But if you’ve succeeded in writing a good book…that’s the accomplishment. How do you define a good book? That’s an entirely different blog. But, ultimately, you have to know in your heart that the book is good, and hopefully you’ve listened to the criticisms of other writers whose opinions you respect, and you’ve done the work required to write a good book.
I’ve decided that I will not be depressed by awards or nominations not received. On the other hand, I am happy for my friends who are nominated and do receive awards, just as I would be happy if I received the same validation. And if a book is good, if I really LOVE someone’s book, I want it to receive the awards. I want to promote the recognition of great writing.
What do I want, ultimately? I want the freedom to always write full-time. I want to create a strong body of work. I want to support my family. And I want to connect with others through the examination of life in stories.
Anything else is icing. I’ll take it, but I won’t obsess over it. Anymore. Because, despite the fact that I learned this lesson twenty years ago, it seems I needed to learn it again, as an author. My path is my path. My trajectory my own. Trajectory unknown.
Maybe I’m thinking these thoughts because I’m reading Bukowski again. Whenever I feel myself drifting, I read Bukowski and I’m grounded. This was a man who wrote, every day, every night. He didn’t care about reviews or criticism or peer recognition. The path he followed was his own. He knew himself and, somehow, he succeeded. He could just as easily have failed. But his writing would have been the same, regardless. It was unaffected by the world’s reaction. That takes a kind of confidence I admire. It’s a path I hope to follow. There I go again…will this lesson ever be learned?
On a different note – I’m at Left Coast Crime in Santa Fe this week. Pari, you’ve done an outstanding job. What a perfect event. And the setting is unparalleled. Thank you for all your hard work. I know I will remember this conference forever.
As I’m wandering around the States on tour at the moment, it seemed an ideal opportunity to allow another author to wander around my Thursday Murderati spot. I’m delighted to be interviewing Scottish crime author, Crime Scene Scotland blogger and reviewer extraordinaire, Russel D McLean. Russel’s debut novel, THE GOOD SON, was described by John Connolly as marking “the arrival of an exceptional talent”. Russel lives in Scotland’s fourth city of Dundee, where his novels are set, and shares a house with a cursed mask. (Honestly, I’m not making this stuff up!)
Zoë Sharp: Can you tell us about your early work prior to publishing the first book in your PI J McNee series – THE GOOD SON?
Russel D McLean: I used to think I’d wind up writing Science Fiction, and indeed a lot of my early published shorts (for no pay, back in the days when ezines were first really kicking off) were (frequently poor) SF stories, usually dystopian, surrealistic and downbeat.
My first published crime shorts were still downbeat but I found the form suited my style for and soon enough I found paying markets like Alfred Hictchcock’s Mystery Magazine taking me on. Many of those early stories were focused on a Scots PI called Sam Bryson who served as my first run at themes and ideas I would later explore in the novels.
ZS: PI J McNee is described by another character in THE LOST SISTER as “You’re a man who drags his own disaster round with him like a wrecking ball. You want to help. But you can’t.” Does this sum him up for you, and where did the character of McNee come from?
RDM: It does sum him up in a way. McNee is consumed with guilt – both deserved and self-inflicted – and I think that leads to him making some very poor decisions which can really have an impact on those around him. Not that he’s a complete screw-up. It’s only one aspect to who he is, but in his darkest moments, this definitely applies to him. The person who says it is looking to hurt him with the statement. And I think it hits the mark.
As to where he came from, he started out as an archetypal PI, but I found the more I placed him in the real world the more he couldn’t be just a “lone ranger” hero. He became more complex than that. One of the things I wanted to do within the crime fiction sphere is show that actions and thoughts and events have real consequences, and McNee’s personality is very much formed by his experience.
ZS: What was it like to follow-up THE GOOD SON with the difficult second book – THE LOST SISTER?
RDM: I think, actually, it’s the difficult third book, if I’m honest. Number 2 had to be written fast due to contracts and luckily I really wanted to explore themes I’d tried in one of my earlier attempts at a debut novel.
The premise of THE LOST SISTER was supposed to be my first book and was originally written to feature Sam Bryson, a character I had explored previously in short fiction. Had all gone according to plan, I think the book would have been vastly different. But McNee brought a unique atmosphere to the book and writing with him as the protagonist allowed me to go to some very dark places I couldn’t have explored with Bryson. There are one or two elements still in place from that first attempt: a missing girl, a man who may not be what he appears, a mother hiding dark secrets, but I think because it’s now a second novel, it feels much more mature than it might have been otherwise.
So I had a ball writing it. But keeping everything straight – it’s a more complex plot than I think it looks – was mind-blowingly difficult. One of the many editing passes was strictly for dates and ages when we realised the missing girl was variously given as three different ages. So it was complex but hugely rewarding. I truly believe it’s a better book than THE GOOD SON (which I would still humbly suggest you read if you haven’t!)
ZS: How would you describe your books to someone who is just about to read them for the first time?
RDM: Really really good for propping up that table with the wobbly leg … oh, wait, you want me not to do the whole Scottish self-deprecating thing?
Okay…
Dark crime novels with a real emotional hook that move the private eye from the traditional mean streets of America to the back alleys of modern Scotland.
How’s that work?
ZS: Do you have a set time for writing or do you work when you can?
RDM: I have to work when I can with my schedule and the fact I’m also employed full time. At home I tend to work very late at night. But I do have a “country retreat” (or, as it’s also called, my parents’ house) where I disappear and just write 24/7 for a full week or so when I’m coming to the end of a draft. I reckon if I lived out in the middle of nowhere, I’d write more.
But yes, I’ll write whenever and wherever I can. Which often means I don’t have much of a life, if I’m honest, between full-time work and what amounts to another full-time job writing. But the truth is, I bloody love doing it.
[Russel has set McNee’s PI office at 1 Courthouse Square – conveniently To Let, as you can see …]
ZS: How do your stories normally come about?
RDM: A lot of them start with images and notions. I usually have a scene in my head and I work from there. I need to give ideas a lot of time to stew, though, and generally it’ll take a long time for one of these images to become a workable story. I have a number of sketches (in words) and ideas scattered around my filing system and I just let them stew there until I have a really solid feel for how they should pan out.
ZS: Do you already have an outline or do you just have an idea at the back of your mind and see where it takes you?
RDM: I work half and half. Generally winging it right up to the point my agent demands an outline. Then I give him one. Generally that helps me figure out where I’m going. But usually right from the start I know my opening scene and my end scene. Those are always very clear to me. Everything in between is up for grabs. And a lot of the time, even with an outline, I’ll find a number of things change as I go on. It’s an inevitable part of the process. But while I don’t like the idea of outlines, I have to do admit they do help keep me focused and allow me to not have to think about complexities of plot when I’m focusing on bringing out the character in a piece.
ZS: What is the most important element for you when you’re writing?
RDM: Lots of coffee. An internet connection so I can do research on the fly. And isolation. If I could, I’d get myself one of those writing cabins all the cool writers seemed to have back in the day.
ZS: What aspect of the job do you enjoy most?
RDM: The sheer buzz that comes from writing. Genuinely, it’s the one of the few things I’ve ever felt absolute joy over doing. I am a huge believer in storytelling, in writing and in engaging with stories.
I still consider myself a reader who got lucky. Sometimes it’s very strange – and a huge honour – to think there are people out there who might be reacting to my books the way I have reacted to so many other authors.
ZS: You set your PI series in Dundee – Scotland’s fourth city. I know you explain in THE LOST SISTER that Dundee was founded on the three ‘J’s – jute, journalism and jam – but what appealed to you about this particular location? Forgive me, but it’s not the first place that springs to mind when you mention hard-boiled private eye novels!
[Dundee’s Caird Hall has doubled for St Petersburg in several Brit movies]
RDM: Ahhhh… but it’s not three “j”s despite what everyone says. Jute is right (we were the centre for the jute industry), journalism is also correct (DC Thomson are journalistic giants) but jam… the truth is it was bloody marmalade. Mrs Keillers, if I remember correctly.
In fact, it should really be two J’s, an M and a P as we’re also famous for pies. Or “pehs” as it’s pronounced locally.
[Desperate Dan of The Dandy comic is published by DC Thompson in Dundee]
But … here’s the serious answer … it’s not the first place that springs to mind and that in part is what makes it perfect. Dundee is essentially an unknown quantity to many people, but there’s so much that can be illuminated in the service of a good crime story. There’s a lot of history here, more than you might expect. There are a lot of small streets, of hidden stories. And then there’s the fact that it was a city that has gone through such great changes. From big industry to virtual poverty and back again. The old city is being swept away by a new cosmopolitan ideal and that’s fascinating to watch as it happens.
[Captain Scott’s ship, The Discovery, used in his ill-fated Antartic expedition, is berthed at Riverside in Dundee]
There’s a book (I think it was ten weeks at the top of the Scottish charts based pretty much solely on sales from Dundee) called THE LAW KILLERS by Alexander McGregor. A collection of true crime stories from Dundee. Part of the reason for its success was the idea that such things could happen in Dundee. So there is a very dark side to the city, too.
But mostly it was the fact that no one else was writing crime novels in the area (at the time – since then I’ve also been joined by McGregor writing his first fiction novel and Chris Longmuir whose debut, Dead Wood was also set in Dundee and loosely based on one of Dundee’s most famous murder cases) and that I felt it was physically and historically a great setting to use.
ZS: What is your biggest distraction when you are writing?Getting motivated to write is a problem for many authors. Do you have any strategies or ploys that you use to grease the gears of your craft, or has self-motivation never been an issue?
RDM: I am very easily … oooh, a shiny penny!
Sorry, what was I saying?
Yes, I am easily distracted. So sometimes it’s hard to get started. I’m always thinking about what I haven’t done or what I need to do. I’ve developed an inner voice, though, that tells me I need to pull my socks up. Basically I get going through fear and guilt. Most of the time these work for me. I also set goals for myself and until I achieve them I cannot my arse from the chair. Not even for bathroom breaks. When I’m working on a first draft it’s 500 words. Redrafting, it’s reaching the end of a chapter. So if I do find myself trawling Youtube or the blogs, it’s my own fault that I then need to pee and can’t get up until I’ve written the next 300 words.
So far, there have been no accidents.
ZS: There is such a thing as Too Much Information, you know … Anyway, what made you decide to write a series and not a standalone novel? Would you write a standalone novel?
RDM: I would write a standalone. I have one at early stages but it still needs more work. A lot more. It may not be entirely what people expect, of course, but that’s the fun.
In honesty, when it comes to McNee, I think I’m writing a sequence more than a series. Remember how I said I have last scenes of books in my mind? Well I know almost exactly how I want book 5 to end. And after that I’m writing at least a few different books before even thinking about coming back to McNee.
ZS: Are you easily amused and what was the last thing that amused you?
RDM: I think I am easily amused and yet you know this is the question that has caused me the most problems. I’m a magpie of humour, constantly distracted by shiny things and quick witticisms.
And of course, being a bookseller and an author, I will always have space to laugh at Black Books. Whenever something goes bad in terms of my writing, I always tend to watch this little skit to make myself feel better:
ZS: You’re a bookseller at Waterstone’s in Dundee in your other life. Does being surrounded by all those other books have an effect on your writing?
RDM: Off the top of my head, these other authors also worked for Big W:
And I’m sure there’s loads more. But there’s something in the water there. Although it should be noted that technically when I was first published I was working for another booksellers … (I’ve now worked for three different companies, three wildly different experiences).
But yes it’s a great thing. And despite what people may think I’m the last person to trumpet my author credentials in store. But you get to keep up on the market, see what’s what and obsessively check your sales figures in the company (but never when I’m doing any other task…)
ZS: What are you working on now? And are you going to stick to the family connection in the titles? Do you ever foresee a time when you might be writing THE SLIGHTLY PISSED OFF THIRD COUSIN (BY MARRIAGE) TWICE REMOVED?
RDM: A couple of hush-hush projects that may or may not come to fruition. And redrafting McNee #3 for submission to the interested parties. It does indeed continue the family theme and currently goes under the title FATHER CONFESSOR.
Luckily I plan on writing a sequence not a series so I have enough family members to write the books I want with McNee. And then I’m in trouble…
ZS: Now you’re published in the States, did any of the Scottish dialect words cause problems for your American readers?
RDM: In THE GOOD SON we had a bit of back and forth about the word “Jocks” which of course is a southern England nickname for Scotsmen and a US term for an athletically inclined individual, generally of High School age. So there was some discussion about using it as an insult. In the end I got to put in some naughty words in its place.
But strangely, that one incident, the language barrier hasn’t been much of an issue. I think because rather than write in something approaching Scots, like Chris Brookmyre, I’m using rhythm to suggest dialect a lot of the time. And most of the slang is obvious through usage. I think readers are far smarter than some folks give ‘em credit for.
[McNee and McLean both drink at The Phoenix pub]
ZS: Who’s the first person to read your work as you write, or after you’ve written?
RDM: It has to be finished to my standards before anyone sees it. Generally the first person to see a vaguely readable draft is my agent. I cannot let anyone I’m close to read it. Don’t ask me why. It’s the same as with touring, I always prefer entertaining crowds of strangers compared to people I know intimately. Maybe because I know they’ve heard all my good jokes…
ZS: Published writers are, it seems, under increasing pressure to act as their own publicists. Have you experienced this, and how does it impact on your ability to get on with the important business of writing your novels?
RDM: I’ve had to do a lot of my own publicity over the years. That’s not too bad a thing because working in the trade I kind of know what I’m doing. I have connections that helped with last year’s US tour and in getting space on blogs like this to talk about what I’m doing. But its tough out there and sometimes I do feel lost at sea. I can only imagine how someone who doesn’t know the trade must feel.
I think publicity is a big problem because it’s tough enough writing a book never mind selling yourself to sell the book. You can become distracted by the whole publicity machine, too. It can eat up a lot of time and there are some authors I believe could benefit from less time publicising and more time writing, but then, would their sales figures dry up? It’s an impossible question to answer. I think you have to try to work with your publishers on things. Talk to them. Suggest ideas. Work together not against each other. Yes, they may not have as much time for you as, say, James Patterson, but if you can show willing I think you can get results.
In this business, as I’ve always said, no one knows anything. You have to find your ground. What you’re comfortable doing. What works for you. This blog tour was instigated at the behest of my publishers, and it’s something new for me. I’m having fun so far. Although I’d love to do another physical tour across the US like I did last year for THE GOOD SON. That was an absolute blast. Getting out there and meeting readers. Works for me, certainly.
ZS: In THE LOST SISTER McNee feels ‘I was starting to wonder whether I really had more in common with these thugs and monsters than with anyone close to normal.’ Would you ever want to meet your protagonist in person? if so, what would you say to him?
RDM: When he wasn’t on a case, maybe. But I think he’d be a pretty intense kind of guy. He’s not exactly into opening up to other people. Which is why I find him fascinating as a character. I tried to interview him once. The results were… intriguing…
ZS: Describe yourself in three words.
RDM: Beardy (is that a word?). Geeky. Distracted.
You can tell I’d do well on an internet dating site.
ZS: Do you have a favourite word, swearword, or phrase?
RDM: I have a bundle of favourite words. But I’m coming more and more to love Scottish slang that I grew up with. I think I’ve told you this before, but one of my personal favourites is “stocious*” as in, drunk. It’s one I use rather a lot when talking about writers cons like Harrogate or Bouchercon. Should I be worried by that?
As to swearing, I adore the versatility of “fuck” (hence my contribution to the anthology EXPLETIVE DELETED, an ode to that most wonderful of words). (Which Publishers Weekly described as “awesomely dark” by the way – ZS) And of course, I introduced the word “cuntybaws” to many Americans on my last tour, although full credit for that one goes to my agent.
Of course some people don’t agree with my occasional use of naughty words. I’m not going to get into the sweary debate here, but can we maybe get that clip of Billy Connolly talking about swearing up since he’s far more eloquent than I. (Your wish is my command, oh master – ZS)
As to phrases, I’m not sure so sure on that front. I probably have many that I overuse, to be fair. Certainly my agent would agree with that assessment…
ZS: What is it with you and badgers? Was it the music that first attracted you to them?
Ahhh … the badgers. It all started as an in-joke on my blog. For some reason I was compared to a badger. I think it’s my burrowing forearms and notorious temper when cornered. And then someone sent me the Badger Song and well, it went from there.
My friend Beccy, when I first started getting paid for publication, made me a T-Shirt that proclaimed:
Author
Philosopher
Badger Badger Badger
I still wear it, years later. (and just so it makes sense, I hold a degree in philosophy)
Plus, badgers are just pretty damn cool. ‘nuff said, I think.
ZS: ‘Nuff said indeed. Russel, it’s been a pleasure. Let the questions roll!
Traditional publishing (aka Big Publishing, Legacy Publishing, etc) is in decline, probably on its way out entirely, or at the very least, doomed to become a niche market like vinly records. You only have to look at the success of independent e-publishers like Amanda Hocking to see that. They’re dinosaurs and their business model is bad for writers. The only sane thing to do is e-publish.
Amanda Hocking, the darling of the self-publishing world, has been shopping a four-book series to major publishers, attracting bids of well over $1 million for world English rights, two publishing executives said.
People who think they’re going to duplicate the sucess of outliers like Hocking and J.A. Konrath are fooling themselves. Traditional/Big/Legacy publishing may have its problems, but it can still do things that self-publishing can’t. The only sane thing to do is try to find a traditional publisher and let them handle the whole package, including e-books.
In a recent interview, novelist Barry Eisler said he turned down a $500,000 book deal and decided to self-publish his work.
The revelation came in a 13,000-word interview with novelist Joe Konrath. Eisler last published with Ballantine Books, but his self-publishing experiment began with “The Lost Coast,” a $2.99 short story. Konrath quipped: ‘Barry Eisler Walks Away From $500,000 Deal to Self-Pub’ is going to be one for the Twitter Hall of Fame.”
So who’s crazy? The young woman who’s had enormous success with electronic self-publishing who’s now seeking to publish with a “Big 6” house, or the NYT bestseller who’s decided to forsake the comfortable traditional route and light out for the digital frontier on his own?
Damned if I know. Right now there are an awful lot of self-proclaimed “experts” telling us with complete confidence how the publishing business is going to go and where we’ll be in the next ten years. But, you know, “experts” in publishing have been confidently predicting what the public wants for decades. Orwell’s ANIMAL FARM got turned down by a publisher because “it is impossible to sell talking-animal stories in America.” Theodore “Dr. Seuss” Geisel was told his first book was “too different from other juveniles on the market to warrant its selling.” And so on.
Meanwhile, remember John Twelve Hawks? He was supposed to be the Next Big Thing. THE TRAVELER was supposed to be the next DA VINCI CODE. Heard much about him lately? Me neither.
Almost exactly two years ago, I wrote here about a panel of industry experts who’d frustrated a conference audience because, in the words of a commenter who was there, “there wasn’t an ounce of new think going on.” In that piece, I quoted one of my favorite thinkers on New Media, Dr. Clay Shirky of NYU:
During the wrenching transition to print, experiments were only revealed in retrospect to be turning points. Aldus Manutius, the Venetian printer and publisher, invented the smaller octavo volume along with italic type. What seemed like a minor change — take a book and shrink it — was in retrospect a key innovation in the democratization of the printed word. As books became cheaper, more portable, and therefore more desirable, they expanded the market for all publishers, heightening the value of literacy still further.
That is what real revolutions are like. The old stuff gets broken faster than the new stuff is put in its place. The importance of any given experiment isn’t apparent at the moment it appears; big changes stall, small changes spread. Even the revolutionaries can’t predict what will happen. Agreements on all sides that core institutions must be protected are rendered meaningless by the very people doing the agreeing.
Two years down the road, and while there are any number of opinions delivered with complete assurance, I can’t say that we’re any closer to really knowing any of the answers. We don’t know for sure what big changes are going to stall, or which small changes are going to spread. People are going every which way, and no one knows if Eisler or Hocking has made the smarter decision…or if, indeed, one can be said to be smarter than the other.
There is this to consider, though: in the end, decisions about what’s going to sell are always made by the buyers, the readers, not by the so-called experts. Decisions on what works are made from the ground up, not the top down, no matter how we may convince ourselves otherwise.
So, ‘Rati: seeing as how we’re all experts, and all fools, tell us: who’s crazier, Eisler or Hocking? Are they both crazy like foxes? Look into your crystal spheres, cast the bones, and tell us: what’s the future hold? Not what you want it to be…what’s it going to be?
Me standing in front of the gorgeous Burj Khalifa — the tallest building in the world. It looks like something out of Lord of the Rings, doesn’t it?
I’ve just returned from the Emirates Airline Festival of Literature in Dubai, United Arab Emirates, where I had the chance to meet writers from around the world, including many from the Middle East. During the flight to Dubai, I happened to read an article in the in-flight magazine, “The State of Arab Literature”. That’s where I learned this surprising, and rather depressing fact: Most Arabic publishing houses don’t pay their authors any advance. Instead, they ask the author to pay the publishing costs up-front.
While writers struggle everywhere to make a living, writers in the west have nothing to complain about when we compare our lot with the struggles of Arabic writers. Depending on which country they live in, these writers must contend with censorship, poverty, even threats to their lives. Although Arabic is spoken by 5 percent of the world’s population, that reading audience doesn’t buy enough books to support their local bestselling authors, who must toil away at other jobs while they write.
Part of the reason may be found in a 2008 UN survey, which found that the average Arab in the Middle East reads only four pages of literature a year. Americans read an average of 11 books a year and Britons an average of eight. As one Arabic writer told me resignedly, “it takes one hundred Egyptians to read one book.” According to an article in the Dubai newspaper, The National, teachers there struggle to instill a love of reading in their pupils. Students are addicted to technology, which sucks up their time. 44 percent of pupils in Dubai have fewer than 25 books in their home. And one teacher at a public school observed, “In my class of 60, only one girl reads for pleasure.”
Add to that the issue of low female literacy in countries such as Yemen, and it’s easy to see that the market for Arabic books simply isn’t large enough to support their local authors. Even authors with huge name recognition such as Egyptian writer Ghada Abdel Aal, whose humorous Arabic language blog “I Want to Get Married,” about her struggles to find Mr. Right, must rely on foreign language sales to earn a living. Her blog had a million followers, and the book that followed it was an Arabic language bestseller, yet those book sales were a small fraction of the blog’s audience.
It’s obvious that for Arabic writers to earn a decent living, their work must be translated for readers beyond the Arabic world. Surely there are readers like me who can’t wait to read about an Egyptian Sherlock Holmes or a Saudi Miss Marple. So where are these sleuths? Why are there no Arabic mystery novelists? Or SF or fantasy novelists, for that matter? Where is Arabic genre fiction?
This very question was addressed at the Emirates festival, in a session led by Egyptian scholar Kamal Abdel-Malek and crime writer Matt Rees. They asked the question: “Could an Agatha Christie emerge from the Arab world?” And then they proceeded to give all the possible reasons why it hasn’t happened yet. Matt wondered if it had to do with corrupt police systems and so many dictatorships in the region. When you have no hope for real justice, when you don’t really believe the bad guys will get their comeuppance, then crime stories have an aura of futility, with no promise of retribution for evil acts.
Kamal pointed to other issues. Arabic literature has always emphasized poetry and beautiful language, and genre fiction is disdained as something not quite respectable. Also, while Americans will happily read a mystery or thriller on an airplane, he said, an Arab — if he encounters another Arab sitting beside him — will feel compelled to converse with his seat mate. It’s important to deal with “he who is present,” he said. To read a book in the presence of another person is rude. Even if he’s just a fellow passenger. A budding Arabic Agatha Christie must deal not only with the prejudice against the genre, but also limited readership in the Arabic world.
But the English world? There, it seems, would be a ripe market. I mentioned to both men that I would absolutely love to see a crime novel told from the point of view of an Arabic woman sleuth. A woman who must navigate an obstacle course of challenges, who must use her wits and her powers of observation to solve a mystery. I want to know what that woman thinks, what she sees, what her world is like.
Where is this writer? Why hasn’t he or she emerged?
In a conversation a day later with an Arabic language translator, I gleaned an additional insight. He regularly translates books and articles from Arabic into English, and he observed that Arabic novels, while full of poetic language, don’t have the plot strengths that western novels have. The emphasis is different and far more literary. These Arabic writers use beautiful language, he said, but their plots are secondary to the writing. He itches to edit the books, because he knows they could be improved for the western market, but his role is only to translate. And it frustrates him. For these books to make it in English, they have to be less about poetry and more about accessibility.
Sounds like the same old literary vs. genre debate, doesn’t it? It’s happening everywhere. In the Arab world as well.
(I’m traveling at the moment, and can’t respond to comments. But please do discuss!)
Last week, I read nearly 180 short bios for the LCC 2011 program book. My job wasn’t to edit what other people wrote; it was merely to proofread before we went to press.
Sounds easy, right?
Forgetaboutit!
What struck me too often in those reads was how writers frequently do themselves a disservice with these pint-sized self sketches.
IMHO: A short bio — 25-100 words – should serve as a how-do-you-do. It’s the conversation starter at a nice party, the intro at a friendly table in the bar or at a lovely tea. Its main purpose is to interest the listener just enough to want to continue the interaction.
Pitfalls:
Trying to cram every detail about the story line of your book into that short space This tactic rarely works. There’s no way to avoid non sequiturs and the text becomes choppy and harsh. It’s like hearing someone’s elevator speech after he’s stayed up for two days and only eaten pork rinds.
Message to reader: Bad breath and boorish.
Trying too hard to be funny Several of the bios I read seemed like they were auditioning for America’s Next Comic. Some relied heavily on shock value. But comedy is a touchy thing. Most jokes require a bit of set up and when you don’t have time – or print space – to do that, they fall flat.
This isn’t to say that humor should be avoided. Au contraire! But forcing it, squeezing it into every sentence, just doesn’t work.
Message to reader: Bad breath, boorish and obnoxious.
Losing track of the narrative It’s useful to know what you’re going for when you write a bio. Do you write funny books? Well, then a little humor might be good in those 25-100 words. Do you want people to be intrigued with you as a person? Maybe putting out a fact that stuns the reader (in a good way) is the ticket. Do you want to convey warmth, aloofness, mystery, allure? You can do any of this, if you think about it ahead of time.
Often a bio starts off with one tone or note and then quickly veers into a completely different scale – I’m not talking octaves here, I’m referring to pentatonic as opposed to atonal scales. And even though the tune might be short, it still hurts the ears.
Message to reader: Ditzy, unprepared, unprofessional, cacophonous.
Convoluted sentences I’ve read bios that are close to 75 words long and are only one or two sentences. Unless you aspire to be Proust, I wouldn’t recommend this strategy.
Message to reader: Hunh?
I readily admit that I’m not the Queen of Bio Writing. I’ve stumbled and scraped my knees just like everyone else. But I did get that crash course and it was plenty instructive.
There are certainly more pitfalls than I’ve discussed here. I hope you’ll mention the ones that you’ve noticed in the Comments today.
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A note: I’ll be around this morning for the conversation, but come this afternoon I’m out of pocket for the next week.
