Grist for the Mill?

by J.D. Rhoades

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   
   

I, the Jury

Juryriggedlogonweb754486

By Louise Ure

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just call me Juror Number Ten.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


And of course, the case-specific questions:

•    Could you be fair to these defendants even though,

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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


My fellow prospective jurors said all that, and more.

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

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

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


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


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

LU

Perseverance isn’t enough

by Pari

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No. We’re NEVER that frank.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because determination is just the beginning.

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

sex, action, conflict

by Toni McGee Causey

So, let’s talk about sex.

Hard? Easy? Demoralizing? Uplifting? Inspirational?

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

I’m talking about scene construction.

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

Not so much anymore.

Things, they are a’ changin’.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Visual storytelling, part 2

by Alexandra Sokoloff

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Join Up…

by J.T. Ellison

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

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

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

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

MWA – $95

RWA – $100 first year, $75 after that

  • PASIC – $35
  • Music City Romance Writers – $25

Sisters in Crime – $40

  • Sisters in Crime Middle Tennessee Chapter – $10

IACW – $60

WNBA – $25

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

Unnamed Organization – $110

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Looking Back From The Future

By Brett Battles

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Today’s Song: Five Years by David Bowie

A Song Only You Can Hear

by Rob Gregory Browne

"You’d better take a can of mace," my friend said, and he was only partly joking.

You see, he knows several romance writers and he warned me that, being one of the few men to attend the annual RWA conference was akin to volunteering to be the bait at a greyhound race.

But when I looked in the mirror, I thought, don’t worry, Rob, you’ll be safe.  They only chase small animals and you’re anything but small.  Especially since you packed on those extra 20 lbs.

So, as you read this, I’m driving up the coast to windy San Francisco, facing uncertainty and possible doom.  I will, however, not be in the company of a pack of dogs, but a lot of writers and readers and genuinely wonderful people who happen to be mostly female — some of whom are my friends.

Which is fine with me.  All my life I’ve felt more comfortable in the company of women.  To be perfectly honest — and I don’t want to insult any of the men in the crowd — I find the conversation among females to be far more interesting and stimulating. 

And it doesn’t hurt that they’re a lot easier to look at.

When I tell friends here at home that I’m going to the conference, I usually get a blank stare. 

"But why?" they say.  "You don’t even write romances."

Oh, but I do.  In my first book, KISS HER GOODBYE, there is a definite romance in the making — my hero and his assistant, who have been eying each other for quite awhile.  In WHISPER IN THE DARK there are two romances:  a man struggling with his love for his dead wife as he starts a new relationship, while another — a cop — rekindles his feelings for his ex-partner.

These relationships don’t dominate the books, but I can’t imagine the stories without them.  Every book I write has at least a touch of romance.  Partly because I’m a romantic at the core, and partly because I strongly feel that the best stories are about emotion — big emotions — and romantic love certainly qualifies in that regard.

Romance writers and, especially, readers often get a bad rap.  The stuff they write and read, some say, is pure pablum.  Silly little love stories that feed on the fantasies of middle-aged housewives.

And to this I say, bullshit.

What surprises me most is that some of the people I’ve heard express this sentiment are mystery and thriller writers.   And if anyone should understand literary snobbery and all of its pettiness, it’s mystery and thriller writers.

The truth is, the quality of any book comes down to one thing:  how it connects with an individual reader.

Our tastes vary from person to person — and sometimes, in fact, from day to day, within ourselves.   So, to my mind, it’s the individual who must decide the worth of a particular book or genre he or she has chosen to read.  One man’s garbage is another man’s treasure.

I myself have read several romances over the years and while I can’t claim that I loved them all, I certainly fell for quite a few and found them no different than any other book I’ve enjoyed.  When an author’s voice speaks to me in that certain way, I’ll follow her wherever she wants to take me.

There’s an anonymous quote I came across recently that I think sums it all up:  "You don’t love someone for their looks or their clothes or for their fancy car, but because they sing a song only you can hear."

Perhaps this is something we should remember when we feel the urge to insult someone’s reading preferences — and I don’t pretend to be a saint in that regard. 

The phrase, "to each his own," works quite well here.

Beyond all that, of course, there’s also a practical reason for going to RWA: 

Connecting with readers.  Most readers in this country are women, and the majority of those women read romances.  I would be crazy not to attend a conference that caters to the largest audience this industry has.  And while it’s true that it’s generally a writer’s conference, let’s not forget that writers are readers, too.

So I’m now heading up to San Francisco, certain I’ll have a blast, but still hearing echoes of my friend’s warning in the deepest recesses of my brain.

Thankfully, however, I won’t need that can of mace to fend off the hordes of adoring females.  I’ve got something even stronger:

Barry Eisler will be there, too.

When your book turns into a brussels sprout

Ever since I turned in my latest manuscript, I’ve been spending a lot of time weeding my vegetable garden.  As I work in the hot sun, a tune keeps playing in my heat-addled brain, a tune I can’t seem to shake.  It’s the song "Plant a Radish" from the off-Broadway musical "The Fantasticks," and it’s sung by two fathers who bemoan the fact that parents never know exactly how their children will turn out.  So they extol the virtues of growing vegetables instead, because when you plant a radish, you know that you’ll get a radish:

Plant a carrot, get a carrot,

Not a Brussels sprout.

That’s why I love vegetables,

You know what they’re about!

Life is merry, if it’s very

Vegetarian!

A man who plants a garden

Is a very happy man!

(Lyrics by Tome Jones, composer Harvey Schmidt)

This song has special meaning for me, not only because I’m a gardener and a parent, but also because I’m a novelist, and every single story I’ve ever started has morphed, in some way, into that proverbial Brussels sprout, the vegetable I never thought I’d planted.

It’s a result of poor planning — or in my case, no planning whatsoever.  That’s because I don’t plot out my books ahead of time.  And that leads to surprises.

Occasionallly, I teach at writing workshops, and one of the first lessons I tell my students is this: not everyone’s a planner.  Not every writer can map out every plot twist of his novel in advance.  If you are a planner, then good for you.  I envy you.

If you can’t do it that way, if you’re the sort who just dives into the story and sees where it takes you, that’s okay too.  It can be a chaotic, frustrating way to write a book.  You’ll waste precious time backtracking to fix things. You’ll probably have writer’s block somewhere in the middle, because you don’t know where the story goes next.  You’ll suffer through multiple drafts, and you’ll feel like ditching the accursed plot many times.  This probably makes writing a book sound like an ordeal, and it can be.  But it’s also an adventure that will take you to unexpected and startling destinations.

The book I just finished writing, THE KEEPSAKE (in the UK, its title will be KEEPING THE DEAD) got its start several years ago, after I’d listened to a series of lectures by Egyptologist Bob Brier, about the ancient Egyptian technique of mummification.  Brier had actually made a modern mummy (yes, a volunteer donated his remains for that purpose) and the result was startlingly similar to the mummies of ancient Egypt.  How incredibly cool, I thought.

And then the novelist’s mind kicked in, and I wondered how I could turn this information into a thriller.

The idea sat and percolated for a few years.  I just didn’t know what the plot would be.  I wanted to incorporate my love of archaeology and the dusty creepiness of old museums.  Since it would be part of my Jane Rizzoli and Maura Isles series, it had to take place in Boston.  And since I’m a doctor, I wanted medicine and science to be a vital part of the story, too.

All I knew about the plot was this: it would kick off in the diagnostic imaging department of a Boston hospital, where an "ancient" mummy is undergoing a CT scan.  A shocking surprise is revealed — the mummy has a bullet in her leg.  She is, in fact, a modern murder victim who’s been preserved using ancient techniques, by a killer with obscure archaeological knowledge. 

Enter Jane Rizzoli.

And that’s all I knew about the plot.  My proposal synopsis contained a bunch of nonspecific plot details to convince my editor I knew where I was going with the book.  But the truth is, I didn’t know.  I never do.  I just started writing and waited to see where the story would take me.

It took me down a number of blind alleys.  I wrote about a hundred pages that later got discarded.  I wasted endless weeks chasing plot threads that petered out.  I introduced half a dozen characters who were later excised and will never be used.  The killer kept changing identities.  The motives repeatedly changed as well.  Characters clamored for me to "go this way," or "no, you numbskull author, go that way!"  Surprises piled up, twists that I never could have planned out ahead of time because they popped up on the spur of the moment, right as I reached that point in the story.

In the midst of the chaos, something began to take shape, something I couldn’t see until I finished the first draft.  Something that surprised me.

If I had charted out the plot ahead of time, would it have resulted in the same book? No.  Would it have been a better — or a worse — book?  I don’t know.

I do know that it’s the only way I’ve been able to write a book.  Using this crazy, anxiety-ridden technique, I’ve produced twenty-one novels (counting my romantic thriller novels) and now I’m too old a dog to learn any new tricks.  I’ve just learned to live with the unpredictability of every new book.

Thank heavens I have a garden.  At least there’s something in my life that is utterly, unalterably predictable.

Weeds.

The Tyranny of the Should*

by Pari

I’m a goal oriented kind of gal. Give me a mountain to climb, a river to ford, a meatloaf to make and I’m a happy camper. But unlike most of the ‘Rati, I don’t have externally set deadlines for my novels. Not yet.

Anything I do, good or bad, is self-imposed.

You’d think that this situation would be a lovely thing — to have the freedom to determine my own timeline — but I’m finding it an odd challenge. You see, my super-ego is in overdrive. No matter what else I do in the day — take care of my children, exercise so I’ll live long enough to see my kids grow up, cook, clean, spend time with my husband, garden — there’s always this voice telling me that I’m not doing enough to further my career.

Even when I sit at the computer and edit or write, that same damn voice screams for attention and most of its messages are negative. I wouldn’t mind if it helped inspire me or urged me to stretch creatively.

But no.

It destroys joy. It smashes fun into shards of guilt, cuts my feet until they’re bloody and makes a huge mess where there could be giddy adventure.

So what to do?

I suspect I’m not alone; I’m not the only writer with this conundrum. As a matter of fact, it might be one of the prerequisites of the job — with or without deadlines.

Lest you misread my words, I’m NOT talking about self-discipline here. I’ve got that out the wazoo. This is something far more insidious and potentially paralyzing.

And it takes more than just the pleasure away; it diminishes productivity.

I’ve tried daily writing goals and I’ve met them. The stupid voice still pounds in my ears. I’ve tried ignoring it or reasoning with it or visualizing myself free of it. I’ve tried shoving it out of my mind with positive affirmations: "I’m making progress." or "I did more than I thought I would today." Or "I am doing as much as I can."

But it’s like some kind of mutating computer virus that keeps adapting to whatever I throw in its path.

If I have to live with the damn thing, I will. I’ve done pretty well so far and have managed write a fair number of manuscripts, books, stories etc. But if there’s a way to put it in its place, to push a mute button, I’d sure like to know how.

So that’s my question for today: Do any of you, Dear Readers, experience this in your own writing or other professions? If so, tell me how you quell the tyranny of the should.

___________________________

* From Neurosis and Human Growth by Karen Horney. This is a seminal and fascinating book on neurosis. I studied it while in grad school.