Signposts and Other Diversions

One of the hardest parts about writing a novel, for me, is finding the things that aren't there.

OK, I know that statement seems to make very little sense, and maybe it doesn't. As I keep discovering, there are as many different ways to write a book as there are writers out there. Maybe it's just me.

Inevitably, in any story that has a strong element of mystery or suspense, there will be a lot of misdirection going on. Either towards the reader, or towards the main characters themselves. You have your initial set-up – the discovery of the body, the crime, the precipitating event – which raises the first questions for your protagonist. What's going on?

At the start of one of the earlier Charlie Fox books, FIRST DROP, Charlie has been given the unenviable task of guarding the fifteen-year-old son of a wealthy computer programmer in Fort Lauderdale, Florida. As the newbie on the team, she knows it's the rough end of the deal – a baby-sitting job. Nobody seriously expects that the boy, Trey, will be a target, and he's a major pain in the arse. But, someone does make a determined attempt to snatch Trey from the theme park where Charlie has reluctantly accompanied him and, from then on, nothing is straightforward. She recognises the guy who made a grab for the boy, realises she can't go to the cops, and when she ventures back to the house, she finds the place totally cleared out. Trey's father, Keith, and his entire close-protection team – including Charlie's lover, Sean – have disappeared. It's the start of the Spring Break weekend. She is alone and on the run with the kid, in a strange country.

That's the initial set-up for the book. I knew, at that point, what was really going on. I knew what had happened to Keith and Sean, and all the others. And when two men follow Charlie from the house, trying to get hold of Trey, I knew who they were, too.

Charlie, on the other hand, has no idea what's going on at this point. Trey, with the kind of overactive imagination of your average fifteen-year-old, is very little help. She doesn't know why he's so important and he appears not to know that, either. As the book progresses, more facts are revealed to Charlie, and she attempts to assemble them in a way that makes senses. Some of the facts are correct. Others are lies, told to her in an attempt to get her to give herself up and hand over the boy. The lies have as much effect as the truths in forming her opinions and the basis for her actions. Being human, and inexperienced in this line of work, she doesn't always interpret them correctly, and she makes mistakes. She is forced to take drastic action in order to preserve not only her own life, but that of her bratty principal.

My difficulty has always been that I know the truths from the lies. I know which pieces of information are vital, and which only seem important, but in reality are of little value and should be ignored. Sliding in the gold among the gravel is always a very tricky balance.

Because, as a reader, there's nothing worse than happening across giant leaps made by the characters with little or nothing to go on. Pouncing on a minor piece of information and giving it apparently unwarranted significance. As a writer, I think it's a very difficult thing to judge – avoiding that "Oh, come off it!" moment. At the other end of the scale, of course, are the protagonists who never seem to quite manage to put it together until the villain has his final monologue and is forced to spell it out for them. "You fools! Didn't you realise it was ME who …" Well, you get the idea. And bumbling heroes, although they have their place, have never quite appealed to me as a reader. I like my heroes … well, heroic, I suppose.

At the same time, there's little tension in reading about a character who never gets things wrong, who always follows the right clue, draws the right conclusion, wins every fist fight and shoots straight all the time. They have to misinterpret the signs at some point, don't they? Otherwise, where's the fun in that?

The current Charlie work-in-progress is set partly in a cult in Southern California. It starts with Charlie and Sean keeping a watching brief on the man they've been tasked to retrieve from the cult's clutches, Thomas Witney. They have been told that Witney originally joined in an attempt to prove that the cult was responsible for the death of his son, leaving instructions that he was to be extracted inside a year, by force if necessary. But time has gone past and he's still on the inside. Nobody knows why, or what he discovered that made him want to stay. Charlie and Sean's initial observations make them fear for Witney's safety, but nothing is as it seems.

I thought I'd approach my false trails and misdirections in a slightly different way for this book. I had my backbone outline, as usual, but when oddities cropped up in the early stages, I decided to let them run and see where they led me. Thus in one of the early chapters, when Charlie and Sean see a hysterical girl make a break for it from the cult compound, only to be run to ground and brought back weeping, I had no clear idea who she was or what role she had to play in the story. I knew the obvious conclusion couldn't be the right one, but at that stage I wasn't sure what was the truth. Of course, although this made it much easier to have Charlie pondering over possible scenarios, eventually I knew I had to either work out a convincing back story for the girl, or edit her out.

Fortunately, in the writing, I have found her story. And yes, it did turn out to be important.

So, my question is, as a reader do you want such deliberate missteps in a story? And do those occasional giant leaps of reasoning and deductive power bother you, or do you accept them as part of the storytelling process?

As writers, do you weave in misconceptions as you go, or add them afterwards? When you have your characters heading off in the wrong direction, following the wrong clues, is it deliberate misdirection on your part, or did you genuinely not know, at the time, if they were going the right way or not?

This week's Word of the Week is actually two words – conflagrate and deflagrate. Conflagrate means to burn up, with its archaic form, conflagrant – burning. Deflagrate, on the other hand, means to burn suddenly, generally with flame and crackling noise. In chemistry, one would use a deflagrating-spoon, which is a cup with a long vertical shank for handling chemicals that exhibit such properties. Only a small distinction, but such things tickle me …

I'm out and about a lot today, but I will get back in time to answer any comments so please bear with me!

Tales of Mystery and Imagination, or WTF? Redux

J.D. Rhoades

Not only is the universe stranger than we imagine, it is stranger than we can imagine.

-J.B.S. Haldane

As regular readers of this blog know, I'm fond of and occasionally inspired by, what I call "WTF?" stories: weird tales that fire a writer's imagination and make him or her think "there's got to to be a story behind that." Here, for your entertainment and possible inspiration, are a few more "WTF?" stories I've recently stumbled across. This batch will probably appeal more to the thriller/paranormal suspense/horror writers among us, or the folks who write what I call "what-dunnits":

Standing Stones Under Lake Michigan : In 2007, a group of archaeologists were scanning the bottom of Lake Michigan's Grand Traverse Bay with a special imaging sonar device. They found a number of shipwrecks, old cars, even an old buggy. They also found this:

In addition to the apparently arranged standing stones, a nearby boulder appears to have markings that resemble a mastodon with a spear in its side. If verified, this would make the site somewhere over 10,000 years old and would show the mastodon ranging farther north than previously believed.

So who (if anyone) built this? And was it drowned by some cataclysm? I like the idea of some ancient mystical ceremony in an American Stonehenge gone horribly wrong…and something left behind and waiting beneath the water….

The Bloop: In the summer of 1997, the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration was listening to the ocean using a hydrophone array formerly used to track Soviet submarines. At 50° S 100° W, off the Southwest coast of South America, they heard multiple instances of a mysterious sound that, according to the NOAA description, "rises rapidly in frequency over about one minute and was of sufficient
amplitude to be heard on multiple sensors, at a range of over 5,000
km." Experts agree it's probably biological in origin, but with that kind of amplitude, it's a big sumbitch–bigger, they say, than even a blue whale. Some H.P. Lovecraft fans have noted that the Bloop, as scientists have dubbed the noise, is located near the location Lovecraft described for the sunken "nightmare corpse-city" of R'lyeh, where the evil cosmic entity Cthulhu lies dreaming. The Lovecraftians have theorized (hopefully with tongue in cheek) that the Bloop is a noise made by Cthulhu stirring in his troubled sleep, preparing to rise and wreak his own particular breed of mayhem. Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn!

(hat tip to http://lolthulhu.com)

You can hear the Bloop (sped up): here.

Slow Down: Another, and to my mind, more ominous sounding deep-sea sound picked up by the NOAA listening team has been dubbed "Slow Down." According to NOAA, "The sound slowly descends in frequency over about 7 minutes and was of sufficient amplitude to be heard on three sensors at 95W, and 8S, 0, and 8N, at a range of nearly 2,000 km. This type of signal has not been heard before or since. It yields a general location near 15oS; 115oW. The origin of the sound is unknown." You can hear it at the link.

The Roar From Space: At a recent meeting of the American Astronomical Society, astronomers reported that they had detected a loud "noise" from space. The signal was "six times brighter than the combined emission of all known radio sources in the universe," they said. No one can seem to explain what caused it. It's not from any known radio source, and it's not from a radio-wave emitting galaxy. Whatever it is, it's drowning out the signals from the earliest stars that the scientists were looking for. Is something large and angry headed our way? Is this the echo of some huge interstellar disaster "Like a million voices cried out in terror… and were suddenly silenced…"?

Ideas: they're everywhere. Feel free to take these and run with them….

16 Random Things About Me

By Louise Ure

I got tagged with this Facebook-originated meme by Janet Rudolph over at Mystery Readers International. Now, I like Janet. A lot. But I hate memes. They always seem to crop up when I’ve got a deadline looming or a day that’s already so filled with crap and to-do’s that one more will truly drive me to drink and cuss and kick the dog.

But this one looks easy and hey, I was going to be blogging today anyway, right?

Okay, 16 random things about me.

1. I love puns. I love them more if they work in more than one language. “To beech or not to beech” may be Hamlet’s arborist’s question, but it works equally well in French. (être/hêtre ou ne pas être/hêtre)

2. Growing up, the sport I was most proficient at was fencing. I don’t think my knees could take it any more but I’d sure love to find out.

3. I’ve seen Dolly Parton without a bra on.

4. I like mariachi music. I know, that’s like admitting to a fondness for polkas, but there you are. I’ll eat bad Mexican food just to have a chance to request all the old rancheras from the 40’s and 50’s. Cielito Linda. La Paloma Negra. El Niño Perdido.

5. I once served a man a piece of banana cream pie with a cockroach in it. When asked about it, I told him it was a pecan.

6. My confirmation name is Bernadette. If I were choosing a name today, it would not be.

7. I got my first haircut when I was fourteen. At that point my hair was down past my butt and it would take a half a day on Saturdays (with my mother’s help) to wash it and comb out the snarls. Never again.

8. I was once sued for Loss of Consortium. That’s right. After a car accident, the other guy’s wife sued me because he wouldn’t make love to her anymore.

9. I prefer listening to a baseball game on the radio rather than going to the ballpark or watching it on TV.

10. I’m the middle child of five. That means that when we all went out to the store, my sister held my mother’s hand and I held hers.

11. Someday I want to own a house with an infinity pool.

12. I was nineteen when I first saw snow. That’s what the desert will do to you.

13. I can’t stand chocolate. If I eat any desserts at all, they’re fruit based.

14. An old boyfriend once told me I was prettier when I cried.

15. The sound I hate most is dripping water, and I’ve been known to decamp the house or the hotel if I can’t make it stop.

16. I saved this one for #16. You'll see why.

My last book, The Fault Tree, was just nominated for a Mary Higgins Clark Award. The submissions are limited to those books that have “no strong four-letter words or explicit sex scenes.” Well, I’m okay on the sex scene front, but I use the word “fuck” sixteen times in the novel. Sixteen (16) times. So I guess fuck is no longer considered a strong four-letter word. Too cool.

I’m cutting my fellow authors and bloggers some slack and not passing this meme on. I know you’re all already busy enough with writing and real life. But I’d love to hear some random thoughts in the comments section! What say you, ‘Rati? Tell me something good.

And Happy Inauguration Day! Barack Obama is President. Arizona is going to the Superbowl. All is right with the world.

Can you hear me yet? Cell phone advice, please

by Pari

A week ago, when I was sitting in the pediatric emergency room at the University of New Mexico Hospital, I realized that having a working cell phone might be nice. In addition to letting my husband know that our older daughter likely had a broken nose, I needed to find someone who could give our dog — who has a total heart block — his medicine.

I do have a cell phone. My father in law bought it for me sometime during the Cretaceous Period. It lost its antenna years ago and the battery holds a charge for less than a nanosecond. Also, I don't know how to answer it or retrieve messages.

It's not that I'm a technophobe; I just don't get the big deal about most "communications" advances in the last decade or so. When I see people with their Bluetooths, all I can think of are the Borg. When I'm in restaurants, stores, sporting events etc. etc., I'd rather not hear other people's phone conversations. Why would anyone WANT to text a buddy while walking on a nature path? What gives with that??

So, sure, I have to work through some hefty biases.

Up until last Monday I was fine. However, when I desperately needed to reach my husband, I wondered if it was time for me to enter technological adulthood.

Last Saturday, my hubby and I took a long walk. On the way home, we stopped at a cell phone store. Both of us were stunned by the cost. I couldn't get past the fact that people with far less money than we have — and we're NOT rich — spring hundreds of dollars monthly for these phones and messaging and blah blah blah services.

In spite of my numerous reservations about cost and undesired accessibility, I think we're going to take the plunge. That's where you come in. At the moment I'm feeling like I need another Master's Degree to sort out all the choices. I'm overwhelmed. My disinclination to have a phone in the first place isn't helping.

I need to hear from people who like cell phones and who've done the research. I think that means YOU.

You have your favorite phone and plan. Would you be willing to give me a bit of advice?

Here's how bad it is: I don't even know if we can buy a cheaper phone at Target or someplace like that OR if we have to buy the phone from the provider that gives us the service. The cell phone store we went to certainly led us to believe we had to buy the instruments from them, that there was a compatibility issue. But I felt like I was being B.S.'ed.

Our requirements:
1. At least one phone dial pad needs to have larger numbers for our child with the vision impairment.
2. As few bells and whistles (we don't want a phone that thinks for us).
3. Decent service with options for low-minute usage because we don't plan to depend on the darn things.
4. An ICE button (ICE: In case of emergency).
5. We don't need, or particularly want messaging capabilities, internet accessibility, cameras, video streaming, computer hook-ups, or a phone that can wipe our . . . well, you get the idea.

What kind of phones do you like? What plans/brands rock your world or thrust you into the depths of despond?

Please. Educate me.

Oh.
Yes. Her nose is broken, but she's not in pain and the break was small.
Yes. Our dog is still alive. But we're terribly worried about him; he's only five and it's heartbreaking to know he's so sick.

…and some will lead…

by Toni McGee Causey

They are the people who run up the stairs in a burning building where terrorist planes have crashed.

They are the men and women who run toward the gunshots instead of away.

They are the medics who keep a fellow soldier from bleeding out on the field when mortar fire falls around them.

They are the pilots quietly landing a jet in the middle of a river.

They are the passengers, helping other passengers, leaping into the water to pull someone back on the airplane wing.

Heroes.

Ordinary people doing extraordinary things. Grace under pressure, choices that weigh the balance of their own life against the value of others.

Flawed people.

Allison's terrific blog about villains made me think about some of my pet peeves about heroes, and what a missed opportunity a hero sometimes is. As writers, we want people to root for our hero, we ultimately need them to be likable at some level, and we need who they are to resonate with enough readers that more and more people will identify with him/her (I am using "hero" as the generic term) so that people recommend the book to others.

One problem I find with a lot of heroes in a lot of stories is that they turn out to be somewhat generic people. Sure, they have some quirks and individualized traits, but in and of themselves, they're not all that memorable. They feel morally compelled to do what they do and while they have some past history that makes them not-perfect, and the obstacles are fierce, they rise to the occasion to vanquish the foe. And a lot of times, this works well enough within the context of the story that I'm not thrown out, I'll be entertained enough to read to the end, but a week later, I can't remember their name. A month later, I can't remember the book.

Hero does not have to be synonymous with heroic. As in, a character constantly leading a heroic life. They should be flawed people, sometimes awful people, with their own moments of self-centeredness, doubt, grumpiness, ailments, and bad habits.

A second problem I have found is a bit more insidious and fascinating, in a cultural context, and that's what I have started calling the "sell sheet" for the character:

1) is curmudgeonly

2) drinks (or is in AA) or the relevant social equivalent

3) is often a loner

4) smokes (or used to) and if the latter, now uses a patch/gum to help them stop

5) had a bad childhood

6) has moments of social responsibility (doesn't drink and drive or always uses a condom or believes in gun safety) (and yes, I realize how those can be combined for comedic effect)

7) likes music (very often jazz or the blues, occasionally indie stuff no one's heard of but it sounds cool and hip)

(etc.)

And in and of themselves, none of the above are bad choices, but they're not going to make the character stand out. Many of us can identify with a character like that because we've either had one or more of those traits, or we know someone who's had one or more of those characteristics, and so they are familiar enough that we can step into that hero's shoes and face the obstacles with him and root for him. (Or her.)

What is often missing, though, are the essential details to make that person unique, iconic. Now, there are often more specific details than the above, of course, but I've noticed there's also a social influence at work when a writer starts choosing those details… a cultural permission slip, if you will… that makes some particulars more "acceptable" than others. What we're often missing is what Megan Hustad referred to as a person's "shadow list" — the true personal preferences people don't want to admit to.

She says:

Using consumption habits as a sort of self-expression shorthand has become so ubiquitous that we don't even blink. Hi, I'm Megan, I'm from New York, and I like the Jam, Prince, Nina Simone, mid-1990s D.C. punk, "The Colbert Report," "Little House on the Prairie," Edith Wharton's "The House of Mirth," "Middlemarch," "The Moviegoer," Kazuo Ishiguro, Joan Didion's essay "On Self-Respect" and Jane Jacobs' "The Death and Life of Great American Cities."

Too much, too soon, you say? Lately I've been thinking it's a bit too much — period. The "I like this = I'm like this" cultural moment, as Virginia Postrel succinctly put it in "The Substance of Style," has turned us into self-handicapping snobs: Since we've taken so much care to craft our own perfect list, we feel more entitled to shrug off anyone whose list doesn't similarly impress. Would you be interested in someone who identifies with"The Secret"? We're also keeping our distance from a whole array of cultural output because we think it sends the wrong message about who we are and what we want to be.

Now, Hustad goes on to talk about this in relation to the reader and the books he / she will admit to having read, but there's a larger implication: I can't help but think that, as authors, we often fall prey to this sort of self-editing because we're aware on some level that the I like this=I'm like this connection is going to occur to our readers and be applied back to the creator. In this global-media world, we're all inundated by what is fashionable, or culturally acceptable. A step deeper than that, we're sensitive to the fact that certain traits would have the connotation of "bad" or "loser" or "socially unacceptable" or "asshole" or "irredeemable." It's almost as if we pull back on those details because it's seventh grade all over again.

It's a well-known given that certain personalities will gravitate to certain kinds of work–it's why you generally won't get a stone-rigid introvert applying for a talk-show host gig. But within that framework, a hero needs to be incredibly specific in order to be iconic, memorable. The reader–if not the other characters, at least the reader–needs to learn the hero's "shadow list" as they journey through the story. Sure, the hero may order steak while out to eat with a bunch of fellow officers, and probably orders scotch or beer when at the bar, but it's much more individual if he secretly likes to bake souffles and does a damned good job of it. But souffles are even socially acceptable–that's not a real "shadow" item, is it? See, I defaulted to that, in the writing just at this moment. No, a real shadow item is that he secretly bakes brownies or makes cream puffs or is itching to go buy some Fritos with chili and cheese.

Like Allison said in her post, the villain has to be worthy of the hero–the villain has to be a significant enough of a challenge to matter, to drive the story forward, to raise the stakes for the hero with each forward parry the hero makes toward his goal that we don't know how to predict the outcome. But just as important, the hero has to be worthy of the villain–as unique, as flawed, as driven, as individual, and we need to get to know them deeply. Knowing their shadow list is one good way to start.

So–pick a character–your own or something you've read lately–and tell me that character's shadow list. Let's see how creative authors can get.

Doggerel is Mine, Saith the Cornelia

By Cornelia Read

(WARNING: This is what happens when you wanted to write Wacky-Pack stickers when you grew up, but they stopped making them.)

Poems for a New Economy

Plath

You do not do, you do not do
Any more, old Greenspan shoe,
Under which I shall writhe like a grub
For innumerable years, poor and white,
Barely daring to eat or pay MWA dues.

Greenspan, I would've liked to kill you.
You died before I had time–
Mortgage-heavy, a bag full of Fed,
Ghastly statue with eyebrows
Big as two Frisco seals

And a head in the freakish Atlantic
Where it pours Friedman green over blue
In the waters off beautiful Wall Street,
They all used to drink of you.
Ach, du.

I have always been scared of you,
With your Prime Rate, your gobbledygoo.
And your cut-glass eye, bright blue.
Panic-man, panic-man, O You–

Not God but a spreadsheet,
So red no sky could squeak through.
Barbara Walters dated you.
(That woman adores an Economist,
The graph in the face, the bwute
Bwute heart of a bwute like you.)

You stand at the blackboard, Greenspan,
In the picture I have of you,
A cleft in your math instead of your foot
But no less a devil for that, no not

Any less the black man who
Bit my pretty net worth in two.
I was forty-six when they buried you.
When I'm eighty–barista–it's true.

Here's a stake in your smug bloated heart,
And your flawed Dismal Science, too.
Greenspan, Greenspan, you bastard, I'm through.

Burns

Ha! whaur ye gaun, ye mortgage banker?
Whilst bailouts burgeon like yon canker;
I canna hope but ye strunt rarely,
Owre the populace;
Tho', faith! I fear we'll dine but sparely
Ever after this.

Ye ugly, creepin, blastit butthead,
Detested by both quick and the dead,
How daured ye suck the lifeblood from us–
Sae fine a country?
Tax someone else now, leech your bonus
Off of the gentry.

Swith! may you in sere breadlines stagger;
Bereft of golf clubs, skis and swagger,
Wi' all your kindred, ne'er more swillin'
At Fed and nation's teat;
Plus find you resist penicillin
When e'er The Clap does hit.

O wad some Clout the SEC had
To kick your ass as you deserved!
From greedy blunders' Jihad free as
We're set in motion:
What fears of cold and famine'd lea'e us,
And need for K-Y lotion!

Keats

A 401K is a joy for ever:
Or so we thought–that it would never
Pass into nothingness; and would have bred
A condo just for us, or unwet beds
In some nursing home (where no false teeth get stolen).
But now, on every morrow, needs must embolden
Our toils–regain the promise of a senile berth,
Spite of despondence, and the inhuman dearth
Of compound interest on whate'er we'll yet squirrel away.
We'll fear the unhealthy and o`er-darkened day
That caps our earning years: yet, inspite of all,
Some fierce courage burns away the gall
From all the worth those bastards squandered.

Eliot

April is the cruelest month–this year
Especially. Gleaning IRS tithes from this fallow harvest,
Memory and desire stirring
Our dull bowls of rice and beans.
Winter kept us numb, cloaking
Hubris in forgetful snow as we stoked
Weak embers with the dry grass of regret.
Summer may yet surprise us, spilling over the Dow's transom
With a shower of gold; we'll stop in the colonnade,
And go on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten,
Amazed we can afford lattes again,
Grateful Hitler was no Lazarus.

Mein IRA, wo weilest du?
Good night, savings, good night sweet savings, good night, good night.

Larkin

He fucked us good, that Paulson lad.
Might not have meant to, but he did.
He weighed us down with debt banks had
And added extra, for the kids.

The Fed was fucked to cut those rates
For wolves in old-style banker's coats,
Who half the time were reprobates
And half at one another's throats.

Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don't accrue more debt yourself.

Kilmer

I thought that I should never see
A bank as stupid as a tree.

A tree with hungry mouth still prest
Against this client's emptied breast;

A tree that plays at God all year,
Then shrugs its boughs when checks don't clear;

I hope Wells Fargo soon will wear
A crown of birdshit on its hair;

Poems are made by fools like me–
No doubt my bank will charge a fee.

Parker

Banks fail you;
Mattresses lump;
T-bills strain you;
Zurich's a dump.
Ponzis ain't lawful;
Bond yields end;
Dogtracks smell awful;
You might as well spend.

Got any monetary verse of your own? Let 'er rip…

Cliff Jumping

by JT Ellison

“Far better is it to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs even though checkered by failures, than to rank with those poor spirits who neither enjoy nor suffer much because they live in the gray twilight that knows neither victory nor defeat.”
— Teddy Roosevelt

This is one of the best quotes of all time. Roosevelt had it right on the money. You must take chances in order to succeed in life. You must give in to your impulses every once in a while, trust your gut, know your own soul. You need to ignore the fact that the drop off the cliff is mighty, and jump anyway.

I had the opportunity to discuss my views on cliff jumping with three people recently. One is my husband, who jumped off a very, very high cliff indeed to start his own consulting firm at the first of the year. I don’t think I’ve ever been so proud as I was when he told me he’d made the decision. It’s a risk, certainly. But there is no reward in this life without risk.

Second is an author who is a bit of a cliff jumper herself, albeit one who likes to have knowledge of how far the fall might be. And the third is a friend who needed to be shoved, kicking and screaming, right on off the edge. Between the three of them, I engaged in several days worth of fascinating discussions about how fear can inhibit your growth, as a writer, as a person, as a lover and friend. It affirmed what I’ve always believed – Fear is the most dangerous part of life.

Allow me one of my earnest moments. I’ve never let fear get in my way. I would so much rather fail, to put it all out there and fall flat on my face, than never try at all. Better to have loved and lost, right? That’s my personal credo.

Because, you see, I am a cliff jumper. And I want everyone to jump right along with me.

My darling husband reminds me, at times, that not everyone wants to be a cliff jumper. He says, “Honey, some of us like to walk to the edge, look over and ascertain how far the drop is.”

Where’s the fun in that?

I hold to the belief that if you look at how far you might fall, you’ll back away from that edge and never jump.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not flighty about all this, rushing about succumbing to frivolous impulses. I’m just willing to take chances to further my career, my life and my soul. I never want to look back and say, man, I wish I’d done that. I want to do it. I want to run screaming along the beach and dive off mountains. I want to shoot for the brass ring with my career, and pray that somewhere along the way, the ring turns golden. I want to put my heart on the line, to give myself wholly and completely to my loved ones, even knowing that there’s a chance my precious heart will get trampled.

I want a lot of things, and they aren’t the kind of items you can buy in the store.

Nike has the slogan that you’ve heard all of us here at Murderati talk about. “Just Do It” embodies the life of a professional writer. “Ass in Chair,” “Just Do It,” “Work the Purple…” You’ve heard those phrases here. And I subscribe to all of them. We’ve gotten into this racket for a reason – we love to tell stories. We love to have that psychic interaction with a stranger, to affect their being through our words. We love to share our world with our fellow writers, with the readers and booksellers we meet on tour, with the editorial and agent teams we interact with at our houses. This business is one of communication, and if you’re not willing to lay it on the line, you’re going to have a hard time.

I believe in honesty, in open lines of communication, in taking chances. I believe fear will cripple your psyche. I believe that if you want to be a writer, you need to polish and submit, and that there are no excuses for not. I believe that if you’re an established writer, you have a contract with everyone involved in your career to meet your deadlines and put your writing first. I believe that if you love someone, you tell them. It’s as simple as that.

There is another quote that I believe in wholeheartedly. I’ve shared it here before, but this is so apropos to this particular post that I wanted to share it again.

“When you are content to be simply yourself and don’t compare or compete, everybody will respect you.“
— Lao Tzu

So what about you? Have you jumped off any cliffs lately???

_________________________

I need to say thank you to a few folks this week for the feeding, watering and general care taken of Laura Benedict and me on our “Blonde and Blonder Tour”: the incredible staff at Sherlock’s Books in Lebanon: Patty, Judy, Lise, Jill, Steve, and frequent chatter Cathy; the wonderful folks at Davis Kidd in Nashville, especially Tim, who rocked our signing and shared some great news that made me cry (#3, Baby!); our friends McKenna, David and Ann at Murder by the Book, Houston, and Ashley and Jaime Lavish, who drove all the way to Houston to see us; and Jacob at the Barnes & Noble in Preston Royal, Dallas, who helped me welcome a few familiar faces – thanks to Dan, Christine, Suzanne and Sara for making me feel at home, and the Bookies, a Dallas based book club, who had a party for me and shared in all the good things. It was a wonderful trip, to be sure, and the pictures can be seen here. Signed copies are available at all of the stores listed.

Wine of the Week: Mark West Pinot Noir, a gift from a dear friend. Yum!

New Year’s Revolution

By Brett Battles

In the car the other day, my youngest daughter said that she’s going to take better care of the earth. She said it was her New Year’s Revolution.

I corrected her, of course. “Honey, it’s resolution.”

“Right. Resolution.” Then she turned her attention back to her iPod. Kids.

But as we drove on, I got to thinking about that phrase: New Year’s Revolution.

See I’m not a big person on starting the year with resolutions, but with a revolution? I’m not sure I, or any of you, have a choice. Because, like it or not, the publishing industry is going through a revolution.

I’m not even close to being the first person to make this pronouncement. Others have done it here at Murderati and elsewhere in the blogoshere. But I do raise my voice to join theirs. Things are changing, and if we don’t help steer the change we run the chance of being left behind.

There’s a perfect example out there of what can happen. That is the music industry. For years record companies made millions and millions because they controlled all the aspects of producing music for the public: recording, pr, pressing the records/dubbing the tapes/burning the discs. Then suddenly home recording equipment became better, cheaper and easy to use. Making a record in your basement or garage or even living room became a reality. You could even make your own video. At the same time, the ability to self mass produce CDs also became an economic reality. Suddenly you could be a band that could make enough dough touring small clubs and selling your CDs at the end of the show to at least keep your head close to the waterline.

And then even that changed…

Consumers could download music directly from the internet to their computer and transfer them to new little devices that could play these mp3 (and similar) files. For a while, Napster and a few other sites allowed users to share music for a time without any money passing hands. Then when those went away, places like iTunes took their place. And the beauty of iTunes? You didn’t have to have a big record label to make your music available to potential fans all over the world. And those guerilla videos your cousin shot of you and your band? Posted on youtube and facebook and myspace for all to see.

And where was the record industry through all this? Left so far in the dust, they’ve been scrambling ever since to catch up. And that’s not even to mention the retail music business. Music stores are gone for the most part. Sure you can still get CDs at Wallmart or Best Buy, but the sections are growing smaller and smaller every year…perhaps every month.

On the surface you might say, hey, what’s wrong with that? Musicians now can have more control of their careers. And that’s right. For musicians.

But unlike music, where often a raw sound will capture the appreciation of millions, crappy writing will seldom engender a positive response.

Yet big publishing just sits around, the same thing that happened to the record industry will happen to it, and all books could be self-published. I worry about that future.

I think there’s a good chance that in the not too distant future, a majority of books will be purchased or download through places like Amazon or download in audio book form through sites like audible.com. The question is whether big publishing will be part of it or not. My concern is that if they are not, or if there is no suitable replacement, there will be no way for consumers to gauge the quality of the work they might purchase.

To a large extent the publishing industry protects consumers from that. Maybe not all the time, but in large part. They provide experienced editorial help. They put together professional, quality packaging. They able to pull together more pr than an average author can do on his or her own – some author’s might argue this point, but think just about advanced copies alone, and the reviewers and booksellers publishers send copies to…that ain’t cheap. And publishing houses also provide something else: a brand that readers come to trust. I know not every reader looks at who the publisher is, but many do. And if the quality of books goes down, even more will take notice.

The good thing is, the publishing industry for the most part seems to not be sitting around like the music industry did. Are they moving fast enough? Or in the right directions? Perhaps they could do more, and perhaps be more proactive, but that is something that time will tell.

One thing that’s clear is that new technologies are going to be the way of the future. Downloadable audiobooks and eBooks that people can load onto their iPods and Kindles and Sony Readers and whatever device comes around next. Most publishers are heavily involved in audiobooks and have at least dipped their toes into electronic versions. I know the eBooks of my novels are selling well, a trend that caught the attention of my agent and one she says is happening with several of her clients. And my audio sales have been good, too. Some people still buy the CD version, but most are going for the downloads.

I think these are two areas publishing is going to move more and more aggressively into. It has to. It’s future. It’s the mp3 downloads of the music industry.

But beyond that, to survive publishing will probably get leaner and more streamlined. If it doesn’t, it’ll disappear, and we will all be self-publishing. Of course this leads to a bigger question that might be better discussed later: will publishing be releasing less books? I don’t know. My gut says yes, but I don’t want to be the one to volunteer to stop, do you?

What we can do as authors is continue to move in the direction we have been over the last several years. PR by author is a reality now, it’s a way we can help not only ourselves, but our publishers. We need to continue to take an active role in our careers, but by finding ways to work with our publishers and not against them.

But beside that, we need to be aware of what’s going on. We need to be ready to move in whatever direction the industry goes (industry in general, not industry as in publishing houses.) We need to be willing to adapt to new ways whether they come from publishing houses or a some new, yet to be determined structure.

There are many visions of what the future could bring us. All of which will be a revolution in one way or another. No matter which way it goes, though, it is up to us not to be left out.

This isn’t something to be afraid of, more aware of. And no matter what, a big part of what needs to be done on our side is going to be helping each other, and working together. The strength of our community is our power.

So what do you think is going to happen? What’s your scenario for the future?

TODAY'S VIDEO…what else? Revolution by The Beatles

Is it Me?

by Robert Gregory Browne

Is it me or has 2009 started off on the wrong foot?

I know we're bound to feel a little down after the holidays, what with all of their magic, the time with family, the spirit of generosity in the air — so it's only natural to miss that when it's gone for another year.

But in the two short weeks since 2009 began, here are some of the things that have happened that have completely bummed me out:

Donald Westlake died. Donald freakin' Westlake. The man who inspired me to be a writer. Okay, technically he died in 2008 (New Year's Eve), but I didn't find out about it until '09. And boy do I regret never getting the chance to meet him — which seemed an impossibility a few years ago, but not so much these last couple, now that I'm in "the business." He will be missed.

My wife's uncle died. He was coughing on New Year's Day and a few days later he was in the hospital, then we got the call that he had passed. Quite sudden and very sad. A man who loved to fish and always seemed to be happy.

A friend's relative was arrested for a major crime, which, of course, has had a negative and heartbreaking impact on the entire family.

Another friend's son was arrested. One of a parent's many fears, so it certainly sent chills through me. Not that I'd ever expect my kids to be arrested, but I'm sure my friend didn't either.

And the worst of all is that my wife had a medical scare. The kind every woman fears.

So 2009 hasn't been shaping up too well at all and I've been feeling a bit depressed.

But because I'm a guy who tries to look on the bright side (I can hear Brett laughing as I write this), I'm trying to concentrate on the good things that have happened or are about to happen:

My wife got news today that the scare was baseless, merely a glitch that reexamination cleared up. So it truly was simply a scare. Not the kind you'd ever want to go through, but fortunately all is well.

Brett Battles and I did an appearance last Friday at the Huntington Beach Library, and if laughter and books sales is an indication of people having a good time, then we must've kicked ass.

I've got two — count 'em, two — books coming out this year after a long, long wait. WHISPER IN THE DARK drops the first week of February and KILL HER AGAIN will be released the first week of July.

I've been approached about participating in a new project that I can't talk about at the moment, but looks like it could be a lot of fun if it all works out.

And did I mention my wife's medical scare was baseless? That alone makes 2009 a great year.

And as I look around at my small part of the world and my place in it, I have to say that I am truly blessed. I'm healthy, there are people who love me, and despite these bad economic times, I'm not doing too bad. So far, at least.

So, honestly, I've got nothing to complain about. There are folks out there who would look at my life and envy me for what I have, so I should probably shut my mouth right now.

But you have to admit, 2009 has been off to a shaky start for many of those around me. Hopefully that's changing.

How's yours shaping up so far?

Free xxx webcams.

by Toni

I am always in awe when an author surprises me–particularly if they kill off a character that I liked and yet, he or she does it in such a way that it’s both a complete surprise and organic to the story. I’m also in awe when it feels like the character is so real, I’ve just read about the death of someone I actually know instead of words gathered on a page.

The ultimate goal: to have the characters so alive, people talk about them as if they know them personally.

And sometimes, I wonder… what if all of these characters did exist and could cross over into each other’s worlds?

Which then lead me to ponder, who would win… Dexter? or Hannibal?

I’d love to put Allison Brennan’s Theodore Glenn up against Lori Armstrong’s new heroine, Mercy. Y’all haven’t met Mercy yet, but you’re going to… when I read the manuscript this summer, I was not only riveted, I thought Mercy might be the only female character I’d read in a while who could out-shoot and possibly beat Bobbie Faye. Of course, Bobbie Faye would probably accidentally blow Mercy up, but then I never said this was going to be a fair fight. And then I read Zoe Sharp’s fascinating Charlie and then I thought of Karen Olson’s tough-as-nails Annie Seymour… and wow, put those four women in a bar and all hell would break loose. I seriously wish I could do that.

I’d love to see a story where Jack Reacher and Joe Pike had to collaborate. (Or, maybe better, can you imagine them ever pitted against one another?)

So let’s just have fun today… what characters would make for a great smackdown? (Who would win?) It’s completely fair to name characters from older works through the new stuff–just tell me the author and if the story is new, tell what makes the character interesting. Or tell us which characters should collaborate.

And to make this really fun, all of the commenters (except the ‘Rati members) will be eligible for a $25 Amazon or B & N gift card (winner’s choice). Winner announced next Sunday.