Is it safe to come out?

Tess Gerritsen

Today I’m going to blog about why it’s a bad idea to blog.

And I’ll try not to write anything controversial.

Which may be a difficult feat for me to pull off because, if you’ve followed my travails, you know that recently I’ve had trouble staying out of hot water. A few months ago, I suspended my own blog because of some unpleasantness. The sad, sordid story, in a nutshell, is this: I wrote a post about a certain author who, upset by a bad Amazon reader review of her book, decided to retaliate against that reader and harassed her on the internet. While I didn’t defend her, I did admit that I completely understood the emotions that might drive an author to behave badly after a nasty review. Hey, we’re human, I wrote. Of course we get angry when our books are attacked, and we fantasize about how we might defend ourselves.

The blogosphere erupted in outrage at my confession. They called for a boycott on my books and accused me of being a washed-up author and the moral equivalent of a crazed stalker. As one angry person pointed out to me, “You are a public person, and you should expect to be attacked when you publicly say such offensive things.”

I retreated into a cave and have not blogged since.

What I’ve learned from this is that, yes, to my amazement, I am indeed a public person, although I never thought of myself that way. It’s hard to think of yourself as a public person when you don’t leave your house for weeks on end. But in truth, every published author is a public person. Our words will be scrutinized. Our opinions will be noted. Attacks on us come with the territory. And writing a blog is like shouting into a big, honking megaphone. While you sip a gin and tonic and type away in your underwear (something I’ve occasionally done, sometimes to my regret), you may feel like you’re having an intimate conversation with your dearest friends. You may feel moved to confess secrets or to rant or whine. But blogs are not intimate conversations. Your words are out there, and I mean out there, and they are being read by certain numbers of Easily Offended People.

Which brings me to the other lesson I learned from my blogging misadventures. There are quite a few Easily Offended People. The problem is, you don’t always know when something you say will be considered offensive. Unfortunately, you only find out after the fact.

Stephen King recently got into trouble when he gave a speech in defense of literacy. If there’s a less offensive topic, I can’t think of it. But during his speech, he wandered a bit off topic and got into trouble with certain Easily Offended People. The end result was that he got slimed on national TV (Fox, of course) as a leftist and a traitor. I happen to know that Steve is a man with a huge heart and he’s a big supporter of the troops, and he felt pretty darn beat-up after this incident. I bet he wasn’t too eager to accept any other speaking gig, even if it were on a topic as uncontroversial as, say, the cuteness of kitty cats. He too probably felt like ducking into a cave.

Another friend of mine is an internationally known singer/songwriter who’s so well known that if I were to name one of his songs, 99 percent of you could probably start singing it. We sometimes get together to talk about finances, fame, and the creative process. “I can talk to you,” he said. “You understand the issues and we can be honest with each other.” But he can’t be open with the public. The more famous he got, the more reclusive he became. Over time, he too retreated into a cave. He’s a brilliant businessman, a superb songwriter, and he knows the music business like no one else. But he doesn’t see the point of publicly sharing his opinions, however valuable they may be to others. It just isn’t worth the possible backlash. “Protect yourself” is his motto. People either want a piece of you, or they just want to find a reason to trash you.

Needless to say, he doesn’t blog.

Ironically enough, the more “public” a person is, the more reclusive they usually become. They end up as cave dwellers who whisper only to other cave dwellers. They may trade secrets and insights with each other, but only with each other. They try to stay out of earshot of Easily Offended People but damn, there are so many of them trying to listen in and make their lives miserable.

It’s taken me a long time to emerge from my own cave. Since my own bad blog experience, I’ve been turning down all speaking engagements and avoiding all conferences. I even grew leery of dropping into out-of-town bookstores, for fear that I’d say something or do something to offend someone. Instead I hung out with my donkeys (who are never offended by anything) and I worked on my manuscript. I rediscovered the joy of being the solitary writer, focused only on the work and not on the noise and hoopla and the occasional mean-spiritedness that goes along with the business.

With this post, I’ve anxiously dipped my toe back in the blogging waters. I’m curious to find out if I’ve managed to offend anyone with this post. And if I have, I swear the topic of my next blog will be limited entirely to the cuteness of kitty cats.

What is an author?

by Pari

I adore words. What writer doesn’t? But lately, it feels like meanings are changing faster that I can keep up. Really rarely denotes truly; people now use it interchangeably with very. And what about gay? Few speakers equate it with giddily happy.

Words tied to qualifications have shifted too. It used to be that doctor meant someone who had graduated from medical school and survived an internship. Now, PhDs often use the term without specification. Naturopathic, chiropractic and osteopathic doctors employ the shorthand as well. I’m not arguing whether these folks have the right to simply call themselves "doctors" — they do — but the assumptions their listeners make often are based on half the facts.

I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t go to a PhD in English for an appendectomy.

Author used to mean something different too. That’s when book production was difficult and required a lot of equipment. Back in 1995, I was told on more than one occasion, that author meant "a person whose manuscript had been bought and published." I bet that was the main definition in 1885 as well.

But in 2008, I think the word has lost its oomph, its clarity.

Publishing has changed. There are two distinct models:
#1 is democratic; if you’ve got the money to do it, you’ve got a book. You’ve got total control from beginning to end. (Publish America falls into this model.)

#2 involves a group of people who judge the merits of your work against whether or not they can make a buck off of it. If they think they can, they invest in you.

However, just as an optometrist doesn’t have the same training as an opthalmologist, a writer who opts for model #1 in publishing doesn’t have the same experience as the person who opts for #2.

Which brings me back to the word AUTHOR.
It’s not enough anymore.

The act of writing a manuscript may be similar for all of us. We create. We suffer. We hit blocks and merciless valleys. We keep our butts in the chair long enough to finish. We all deserve a big ol’ pat on the back.

But what happens to that completed manuscript — and our part in its journey to people’s hands — just isn’t the same.

I can’t speak to self-publishing for novels; I’ve never done it. However, I have written this blog for more than two years — AND I’ve been published in magazines and newspapers. In one case, I’m my own editor. In the other, I have to deal with editors. These experiences are significantly different.

As a traditionally-published author, I suspect that the process from manuscript to novel with UNM Press is also substantially different from that at iUniverse. I am certain that the latter doesn’t include the publisher’s initial vetting read; the editorial review; the editing; the copyediting; the fact checking; the editing again that happens at my publisher with every single book.

I find it distressing that the discussion about self-publishing and traditional publishing has become so acrimonious.

As far as I’m concerned, self-publishing is great for some people. Publishing traditionally is wonderful for others. Readers have more choices. Fine. Dandy. Next customer, please.

But damnit, I want a new word (or two).

I want something that more accurately reflects the difference in the two processes of publishing. I don’t want the term to be loaded with judgment or arguments about quality; after all, there’s a need for both opthalmologists and optometrists in this world. A person could make the same argument about self-publishing and traditional publishing.

But they’re not the same. I’ve never paid to have my work in print. I DO want potential readers to know that.

So . . .

I want a NEW WORD!

Any suggestions?

writing what you know

by Toni McGee Causey

Write what you know.

That’s the big stick sometimes used on writers, especially new writers. The implication, of course, is that you’d better not start writing until you know stuff. I went for years thinking that one of these days, I was going to get to a point where I knew for sure that I knew stuff and horns were going to sound or maybe music would play or some crisp-suited pseudo-TV-host would pop up and let me know that I’d just won the ability to go forward and write. Then I came to the realization, of course, that other people were writing about murders (and one hopes not from first-hand experience) and writing about blowing up the world (again, hoping that’s not a part of their resumé) or assassinating the president (now there’s one to guarantee Google hits), and that’s when I understood that I didn’t have to know anything, and since I was an expert at that, it was quite freeing. Not having a clue? I’m so there.

Which is when I really examined that old piece of advice, the one that felt like it was keeping me from breaking through, and I realized, I already know what’s important. It’s one of those pieces of advice which can sound very limiting, until you turn it around a bit.

I know the sound of the crack of a watermelon rind as it splits open, juice dribbling down onto the table, and the sweet cold crunch of the first bite on a hot summer day.

I know the electrical shock of betrayal in the midst of utter silence as I see a boyfriend’s other woman.

I know the stunning incredulity of how one three-year-old can fill an entire bathroom with suds, floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall with just a little shampoo and a whirlpool attachment for a tub.

I know the chaos and terror of running red lights to get to a hospital in time.

I know the shushing, oppressive silence of standing in the back of a funeral home.

The thing I’ve been asked at writer’s workshops I’ve given lately is, "How can I write about anything exciting? I have a normal life, but I’ve been told not to write something so autobiographical for a first novel, that that’s the kiss of death. So what do I do?"

And my answer is simple: you know yourself. You know people. And you know how to research whatever it is you need to know.

I know the scent of an old, worn leather glove and the sting of a line drive ball hit across the pitcher’s mound.

I know the first strawberry of the season, picked from my paw paw’s farm, eaten right there as I sat in the dirt between rows.

I know the clink of fine white china as it’s set down on a glossy mahogany table.

I know the safety of my dad’s hug, the tears in my mom’s eyes, the laughter of my brother.

I know my husband’s smile, the sly one he doesn’t show to others.

"But how," someone asked at the same workshop, "will I know I have a story? How will I know where to begin?"

Begin where the conflict starts. That’s where your story begins, and trust the reader to know that. This, I think was the hardest thing for me to internalize, was that I could trust that the reader knew that in the world of these characters, stuff had happened to them before this point. That there was backstory, that there were reasons for them being the way they were, and I had to break myself of wanting to put all of that in so that the reader understood them so that they would know this moment, this conflict was a big deal.

The conflict does need to be a big deal — to that character. But readers don’t have to know everything about the characters in the beginning to know that. They’re going to trust that you’re starting at the point where something in the character’s life has come to an abrupt, dramatic moment. Or maybe it’s a quiet, dramatic moment, but the point is, there is a moment. There is conflict. It may be internal, it may be external or some combination, but the story we care about as a reader is that struggle. They may not even overcome it, but if you connect us to their lives, to the little details that make them unique, we’re going to care if they try to win that conflict.

I know the feel of rain on my face, sluicing down my clothes, saturating through to the bone.

I know the joy in my sons’ eyes on Christmas morning.

I know the chaos of running out of time, everyone depending on me to get there, with the thing, whatever the thing was.

I know the rush of relief when I made it.

I know failing, the sitting-on-the-floor, stunned, too stunned to breathe, to form tears, to speak.

I know the rush of success, wanting to dance with the world.

What you know, already, is wanting something. You already know successes, and you know failures. I’m betting most of you know losing something that you never, ever wanted to lose, and the numbing pain that caused. That’s where your story starts: the character is going to lose something. And they care, deeply, that they not lose it.

So, write what you know.

And while you’re at it, tell me something you know, some detail of what you’ve seen, what you’ve heard, what you’ve learned, because I’d like to get to know you better.

It’s a miracle

by Alex

Yes, I turned in my third book, THE POLTERGEIST EFFECT, this week, and am experiencing that ecstatic rush of endorphins I hear women feel after going through the bone-crushing pain of delivery and finally giving birth – you know, that nasty seductive chemical trick that nature plays that makes women think they would ever want to get pregnant again…

Finishing is a relative term, of course – the revisions on this one are going to be pretty brutal. But even this stage of finished is such nirvana compared to a month ago when I was seriously telling my bf I just wasn’t going to pull it off, this time – this book was just not going to come together in whatever lifetime I had left.

And I meant it.

I’ve been told that I’ve said this before. I don’t think it was ever as true as this time, but maybe… in which case I really must get tattooed someplace on my body where I will always be able to see it: “You always feel this way at this stage, just shut up and keep writing.”

Actually, that’s a tattoo that would really hurt. Maybe just “Keep writing” for short.

Now, I was familiar with this stage in screenwriting. This would be the time about two weeks before deadline when my writing partner would pitch a fit, screaming that it would never come together, storm off and disappear for two or three days, in which I just kept going, stitching things together, basically faking it, and by the time he calmed down and came back, both of us could see a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel, and after the light at the end of the tunnel comes that blissfully anticipated stage – critical mass – and once you have critical mass, you know you’re going to have a script. He needed to step back, I needed to push through. It wasn’t exactly a fun thing, but it always worked.

The thing is, I always had faith that I’d be able to pull a screenplay together at the end. With a book, you’re talking about a much more massive thing that you have to pull together, four times as long as a screenplay, and it’s not just the story that has to work, but the prose and the emotion and the suspense and every single little other thing.

I knew I could finish this book eventually, but I thought it might take years, like, you know, Stephen King takes to write his books. (And I have this train of thought in the back of my mind, now… how can I work myself into a position that I CAN take two years to write a book if I need to…?).

So maybe I just have to get used to the much newer feeling of thinking a book is never going to come together and do whatever it is I did to push through this time. The trouble is, much like a woman in labor, I already don’t really remember what I did to push through. There was depression, there was writing in bed to trick myself into writing at all, there were thoughts that my career was over, of having to find something else to do for a living… I think possibly there was a deal with the devil… but it’s all kind of a blur.

On a practical level I threw out chapter after chapter, especially in the first hundred pages. Oh, right, I threw out the entire end, too. I restructured. I changed the villain. Did I mention that because of a sort of impossible deadline I was trying to “pants” this one? Never, ever, ever again. Ever. Allison Brennan must be some kind of witch to write that way, because no normal human being could pull it off. I’m going back to an 80 page outline for the next one, thank you very much (and my next one is a short story, btw).

But I hope that three’s the charm and that it is now a little more ingrained in my deep subconscious that I CAN pull it off, even when it feels like a book will never come together. The tattoo might help.

Because even after all that trauma and self-doubt and loneliness and despair, I am thrilled that this book, this world, these characters, this mystery, now EXIST. That’s the thing that keeps me writing, even as battered as I feel sometimes. It’s so awesomely concrete. A book exists that did not exist before. No one else could have written it. It came out of nothing, and now it’s an entire, living, breathing world.

THAT is a miracle, and I am so very grateful.

So tell me – what do YOU do to push through whatever you need to push through? Do you need to be reminded that you CAN?

Again, all commenters this month are automatically eligible to win a signed hardcover of THE PRICE. I’m pleased to say our lovely and talented regular Catherine is last week’s winner – Catherine, would you e mail me an address: alex at alexandrasokoloff dot com

RIP Tim Russert… you are already missed.

A Long-Winded and Somewhat Reluctant Do & Don’t List for Newbies Wanting to Reach Out to Authors

by J.T. Ellison

Succinct title, eh?

I’ve been struggling mightily with this post, because it discusses behavior — and as such can be misinterpreted, or twisted, and I don’t want either of those things to happen.

I was put in an awkward situation the other day by a "pre-published" new author. The author introduced him/herself, then announced that I would be receiving the manuscript for an endorsement, and wanted my agent’s number (right then) so he could be called directly using my name as the in.

Umm… oookaaayyy. When I expressed regret at not being able to do that, it didn’t go over well. I walked away feeling bad for him/her, because he/she overstepped the bounds
by assuming he/she "knew" me, and as thus thought that I would do them a
favor. And by "knew" me, I mean met me for the first time three
minutes earlier. (Honestly, didn’t know who I was until I this appearance.)

It is possible to be too forward, too enthusiastic, and too arrogant. We all make mistakes. I hope that some clarification today can help you avoid the embarrassment I’ve faced. I thought we could talk about what not to do when you’re meeting an
author, both online and in person. And don’t get me wrong, I’m not
preaching, I’m just going to share some of the mistakes I’ve made, and
the ones I’m seeing on a much more regular basis lately.

It’s the Do
and Don’t list that I wish I’d had when I first started out.

There is a lack of formality in our culture now. We immediately call strangers by their first names. We readily share our opinions about politics and religion — two of the topics most people avoid in an opening conversation. We talk about how much money we make, or don’t make. We talk about our sex lives with perfect strangers. People gauge the respect of their peers by the gadgets accumulated, the cars driven, the shoes bought, the clothes worn, instead of actually seeing the real person. Whatever happened to true beauty comes from within? Where has all of our integrity gone?

I see it all the time, these incredibly superficial assumptions that people make, and it drives me mad. We invite ourselves along to events, mooch off our pseudo-friends, cozy up to people uninvited, horn in on conversations and talk on our cellphone while we’re interacting with our service industry. And of course this doesn’t apply to EVERYONE — there are no absolutes in this world. But there’s a large segment of society who don’t pay any attention to the important things anymore.

The world is changing rapidly, and authors are in the cross-fire. I
think it’s in large part due to the Internet, our ability to connect
and actually feel like we KNOW people we’ve never actually met. It
seems like there’s less of a deference out there, and more of a
familiarity, and as such, a sense of entitlement. And this sense of "I
deserve a shortcut to achieve the same things you’ve worked for"
attitude is incredibly scary to me.

I understand that in our less formal world, it’s easier to approach our heroes. Hell, I spent an hour today friending some rather famous people on MySpace whom I greatly admire. So I’m as guilty as the next person.

But there is a fine line between civility and friendship. Just because we’ve met someone, we can’t presume to think that we’re actually friends. The term acquaintance seems to have gone the way of the unicorn. And you don’t presume upon acquaintances to do favors for you. It makes one think that perhaps, just perhaps, one might be being used.

So let’s cover some of the ground rules when approaching your favorite author. Try not to make the number one mistake, the one that I will probably go down in history for. I’ll set the scene — it’s Thrillerfest, in Phoenix. I’ve just gotten my deal (and I mean just — I was three three weeks or so old.) I see one of my favorite authors across the lobby, make a beeline for her, and introduce myself. But I’m so damn excited that I trip up. And by the way, the author in question? Tess Gerristen, our newest ‘Rati member. (This is a perfect example of how life can come full circle.)

Me: Tess? (Notice I’ve already broken cardinal rule number one, I’m using the first name of someone I’ve never spoken to or had any contact with…) I stick out my hand, which she has no choice but to grasp, because if she doesn’t intercept it, I’ll probably break one of her ribs.

Me (again): "Tess, I’m J.T. Ellison!!!" (Cue unintelligible mumbling, as I try to figure out what the hell to say.) "Tess, I, uh… You’re my biggest fan!" I blurt this last part out with obscene enthusiasm — the kind reserved for the rabid fox, or werewolves nearing a full moon.

Tess, her always gracious self, shook my hand and smiled. I then proceeded to rush away, ears burning with the embarrassment of my gaffe. Apparently, Tess was my biggest fan, rather than I hers. I felt like a total dork.

But I took away a lesson. Temper yourself in your dealings, and you’ll be better prepared.

Rewind even further, to the completion of my first manuscript — the one in the drawer. This story is truly cringe worthy. I’m not proud of this, but here you go. I got the name of an author here in Nashville. I had it in my mind that if I called and introduced myself, he’d introduce me to his agent. (Sound familiar at all???) I finagled his home number from a friend, called him up, introduced myself, pitched my situation, and waited, sure that he’d leap upon me like a crow on a junebug and offer to send me to his agent. Ah, hubris.

The highly intelligent writer, recognizing me as an overenthusiastic newbie, murmured niceties at me, made suggestions, legitimate ones — get a copy of Writer’s Market — I’ve already done that! — Get a good query letter together — I’ve already done that! — Make submissions to agents who match your kind of work — I’ve already done that!… After the 4th or 5th suggestion, he finally replied "Well, I don’t think there’s anything else I can do to help you." Of course he couldn’t, because I wanted the unattainable. I want a shortcut.

I didn’t get it, and had to work my butt off to get my deal. And to this day I blush when I see him, praying he hasn’t connected me with the gibbering idiot who was so rude to call him and not listen.

So with that in mind, let’s talk a bit about what is okay and what isn’t when you’re talking to an author.

Don’t say, "Hi, it’s great to meet you. I was hoping you’d blurb my book/introduce me to your agent/get my manuscript in front of your editor/endorse my book so I can get an agent."

Do say, "It’s nice to meet you. May I email you after the conference with a question?"

Here’s how blurbing works. You get an agent. Your agent sells your book. Your editor tells you who they’d like you to approach. They usually do so by contacting that person’s agent or editor and asking if they’d be willing to read your book for a POSSIBLE endorsement. It’s a difficult and dicey proposition to approach an author directly, in person. It puts us in an untenable position. Most of us are already laden-down with requests from our editors and agents to look at material they’ve suggested. And no one ever wants to disappoint — especially new writers who are trying to break in. You see, we’ve all been there, and we know how hard it is. It’s a terrible let-down to ask for a blurb in person and get a no.

I was absolutely and utterly blessed to be able to get so many wonderful blurbs for my first book. And a few of them I got because I asked directly. I read panic in eyes a few times, and now I understand why. (And may I publicly apologize to Allison Brennan for doing this to her
a couple of years ago??? I am proud as hell to have her blurb on the
front of my next book, but I should never have asked the way I did.)

I’ll repeat it — None of us want to disappoint you. Ever. It’s heartbreaking to have to say no sometimes. But there are so many factors that go into the decision to blurb a book — at least, for me there is. A – I am busier than a one-armed paper hanger with books due every six months for the next eighteen months. Seriously, those are my real life deadlines. B – I am ultra picky. I don’t have any hard and fast rules like some other folks I know, just a commitment to myself that unless I really love something I won’t blurb it. If my agent or my editors want me to look at a book, obviously I’m going to say sure. I’ve turned books down from them, but I’m always willing to take a look.

If you’re going to seek a blurb, do it in a kind and considerate manner. If we’re at a conference together, don’t come to my post-panel signing and announce that you’ll be sending your manuscript to me for an endorsement. Don’t put me on the spot. Have the courtesy to send me an email after the conference. A simple Hi, remember me? I’m so and so, and I’ve written XYZ’s Guide to the Galaxy. You’re one of my favorite authors, you are the most amazing writer to ever grace the planet (ha) … and I see that you like this kind of book (BECAUSE YOU’VE DONE YOUR RESEARCH ABOUT ME, RIGHT???) and I’d like to ask you to give it a look. I understand how busy you are, and so appreciate you taking the time to give me a shot. I’ll be happy to send you a copy of the manuscript.

And that’s it. Don’t grovel, don’t beg. Be confident but not cocky, show respect for my time and yours, and never, ever ask for my home address. Strangers wanting to know where I live freaks me out. And understand that if I say no, 99% of the time it’s simply because I’m out of time.

Here’s another tip. DO NOT, under any circumstances, ask for a shortcut.

Asking how we got our agent, how our first sale was made, absolutely. But you can’t expect to be formally educated about how the publishing industry works, how to get an agent, how to get a deal, how to write a query letter, how to write a synopsis… few of us had that. We went out and looked for it. The vast majority of published authors did their homework, learned through trial and error, and most importantly, did it themselves.

AND… everyone’s path is different. There isn’t a silver bullet, one right way up this mountain. There are many, many, many ways into the industry. Ask forty different authors and you’ll get forty different stories. You need to find what’s right for YOU and YOUR book.

Don’t seek out blurbs for books that aren’t agented. Period. Yes, some people have, and yes, they’ve gotten picked up. But don’t. (This refers to submitting to agents.)

Do treat yourself with respect, and expect others to treat you with respect as well. Pre-published and newly published does not equal laden with thermonuclear cooties.

Don’t put yourself or your work down. Especially if you’re pitching. Self-deprecation is fine, but your work is your art. If it seems like you don’t take it seriously, how can anyone else?

Don’t assume that now that you’ve shaken hands with an author, you’ve been given the secret handshake and are on the in. I’ve got a secret for you. There IS no secret handshake in the publishing world. Alex covered this in her incredibly insightful post last week.

Do be kind and generous in your compliments to authors.

Don’t use. And you know what I mean. Sycophants get places, but they don’t get far.

Do join every network you can find in your genre. You will meet tons of other authors, new and established, who can steer you in the right direction. But even there, show temperance. Don’t launch in on the first day looking for handouts. Give it at least two weeks. Then introduce yourself. Then go away and watch some more. Then join the fray, constructively. Give before you ask to receive.

DON’T GET DRUNK AT THE CONFERENCES. This should go for everyone, new, pre- and established authors. It’s just so not cool to be a self-indulgent idiot when you’re trying to work. And conferences, despite all the opinions to the contrary, are a work event. You don’t want to be the one everyone goes home and talks about to their other friends. Mystery conferences are not Vegas. What happens at a conference gets broadcast to the rest of the community so quickly it sometimes makes me think there are hidden cameras.

Listen to what Zoë said yesterday about not butting into private conversations.

Last but not least, the most important DON’T of all. Don’t forget to say thank you.

This has already gone on way too long. Suffice it to say that it’s always better to remember your manners when dealing with established authors. And it wouldn’t hurt to use them in all your dealings.

Any super cringe-worthy moments y’all would like to share???

Wine of the week: 2003 Benedetta Chianti

And a big P.S. to all the Daddys out there, most especially mine. HAPPY FATHER’S DAY, and thanks for making us. Love you, Daddy!

Mindless Obsessions

I once spent three weeks trying to track down a song. I heard it on the radio, recognized that I’d heard it… somwehere, and went on the hunt trying to place it. Arghhh.
ER song when Carter gets stabbed.hhghgh

Music and Lyrics

by Zoë Sharp

Last weekend I attended the CrimeFest convention in Bristol, which was great fun, with some highly entertaining panels, not least of which were given by the guest of honour, Jeff Lindsay – he of Darkly Dreaming Dexter. I was particularly interested to hear of the initial reaction from publishing professionals to Jeff’s serial killer anti-hero protagonist.

It also made me realise there’s another point I should add to my DO/DON’T list for conventions: ‘If you spot someone you want to talk to, and they’re in the midst of a conversation with somebody else, DON’T just barge in and start speaking. It happened several times over the course of the weekend, and I can’t tell you how annoying it is.

The final panel of the event, – Laurie R King moderating Simon Brett, Natasha Cooper, Jeff Lindsay and Ian Rankin – included in the title ‘Sex, Drugs and Rock and Roll’. Laurie dispensed with the first two items on that list fairly smartly, but the third has stuck in my mind, mainly because two of the panellists said that music played no part in their writing at all.

Now, I can’t help thinking that’s a great shame, because it plays a huge part in mine, even if it never appears on the page. I’m not just talking about having the characters sitting around listening to blues, or jazz, or country and western, come to that. My characters very rarely get the opportunity to relax enough to do so. I’m talking about the actual business of writing.

For me, nothing creates mood or atmosphere faster than music and I exploit this phenomenon to its fullest extent whenever I sit down to write. We have a huge collection of CDs – everything from Gregorian chants to Zydeco, via Philip Glass, Linkin Park and Goldfrapp. I finally dragged myself into the twentieth century recently when Andy bought me an iPod. All I have to do now is work out how to download all those CDs onto it. Instinctive? Hah! Mind you, this comes from a person who can re-plumb a bathroom or dismantle an engine more easily than she can add a new programme to her computer …

But the prospect of being able to take most of my music with me when we’re on the road, which is when a fair amount of my writing is done, and simply plug the iPod into the car so as to have the right music for any given scene, is a very tempting one. To me, it’s like poetry that plugs straight into your nervous system, with added visceral effect. The hairs are up on the back of your neck, the lump is in your throat, before the poet opens their mouth and delivers that first line.

In my youth I played guitar – classical mainly, and none too well. But I was always trying to write songs. Now, these were usually the kind of angst-filled dirges, the equivalent of teenage poetry, and I cringe to think of them now. But I find the music that lingers, the artists I keep coming back to, are the ones where the lyrics are as evocative as the melody. Examples? Here are just a few, and I apologise if I’ve only listed the singer, rather than the lyricist in all cases.

"I am breathless from the mercy of a smile" Jann Arden, ‘Saved’

"Oh, I really should have known … by the vagueness in your eyes … by the chill in your embrace" Jann Arden, ‘Insensitive’ words by Anne Loree

"Do you keep the receipts / for the friends that you buy?" Oasis, ‘Where Did It All Go Wrong?’

"If you were to kill me now … I would burn myself / into your memory … I would live inside you / I’d make you wear me / like a scar" Suzanne Vega, ‘In The Eye’

"Just three miles from the rest stop / And she slams on the brakes … She said – while you were sleeping / I was listening to the radio / and wondering what you’re dreaming when / it came to mind that I didn’t care" Matchbox Twenty, ‘Rest Stop’, words by Rob Thomas

"The night is my companion / solitude my guide / would I spend forever here and not be satisfied" Sarah McLachlan, ‘Obsession’

"You know if I leave you now / it doesn’t mean I love you any less" Sarah McLachlan, ‘Wait’

In fact, just about any song by Sarah McLachlan has the most fabulous lyrics.

"It’s rising at the back of your mind" Vertical Horizon, ‘Everything You Want’, words by Matthew Scannell

"Step out the front door like a ghost / into the fog where no one notices / the contrast of white on white" Counting Crows, ‘Round Here’, words by Adam Duritz

"In the middle of the night, there’s an old man threading his toes through a bucket of rain" Counting Crows, ‘Omaha’, words by Adam Duritz

"A struck match faded like a nervous laugh / beyond the halo of a naked bulb … eventually your world will shrink within four walls / of neglected debts and stolen stereos" Del Amitri, ‘Move Away Jimmy Blue’

"I turned on a TV station and / lip-read with the sound turned down / it was pro-celeb mouth-to-mouth resuscitation / with Esther Rantzen / playing the one who’s drowned" Del Amitri, ‘You’re Gone’

Country singers are a whole different ball game when it comes to clever lyrics, and Brad Paisley is among the best, IMHO, showing quiet wit and a sharp insight:

"I work down at The Pizza Pit / And I drive an old Hyundai / I still live with my mom and dad / I’m five foot three and overweight / I’m a sci-fi fanatic mild asthmatic / never been to second base / but there’s a whole ‘nother me / that you need to see / go check out MySpace" Brad Paisley, ‘Online’

I’m sure everyone has their own examples of lyrics that get inside their head and won’t let go. I happened to catch a snippet of a Take That reunion concert on the TV in a hotel over the weekend, and even their popcorn fare contained the words, "In the twist of separation / you excelled in being free" and I thought, what a great line! That’s a lesson to me never to dismiss anything, isn’t it?

The Brad Paisley is a great example, though, of telling a story in a very sparse number of words. You know everything about that guy from those few lines. Pages of description seem very unnecessary in the face of that honed little character sketch.

So, what are your favourites? Do you listen to music while you write, or do you have to have silence? Do you have your characters listen? Does it work for you when other writers mention what their characters are listening to?

After all, someone’s choice of music can be made to say a lot about them, both good and bad. A documentary I saw a few years ago about SS General Reinhard Heydrich, who was one of the masterminds of Hitler’s Final Solution, showed the man calmly discussing the practicalities of genocide, but becoming strangely sentimental about the Adagio of Schubert’s Quintet in C major.

Sometimes it seems to be those little touches of humanity, as evinced by their taste in music, that can really give a character depth and texture. Villains don’t have to lack culture in order to be truly nasty pieces of work, and it can be that refined edge, that appreciation of the arts perhaps, that brings the depravity of their actions into sharper focus. It makes them jump off the page, all the more shocking, and turns them from men into murderers.

This week’s Word of the Week, is seric, meaning silken, or with a silky sheen.

Videorati #3

by Rob Gregory Browne

In my short time in publishing, one of the great things I’ve discovered about the business is that you get to meet a lot of wonderful people. People you never dreamed you’d get a chance to meet.

Years ago, while I was in the midst of my Hollywood phase, I longed to write a novel. But I was one of those wannabes who are always planning to write that novel "some day" while never bothering to lift a finger to actually do it.

During a vacation to visit family in Hawaii, I was in the Honolulu Bookstore (which, sadly, no longer exists), browsing the magazine rack, when I saw an ad for a hot new thriller coming out by an author named Tess Gerritsen. I looked at the photo and was pleasantly surprised. Ms. Gerritsen looked like a "local girl," someone you might bump into at Ala Moana Shopping Center.

Intrigued, I sought out her book, Harvest, and found myself falling instantly in love with her writing. And I can’t tell you what that did to my spirit. Her obvious talent, along with the fact that she wrote the kind of book I loved, AND looked like someone I could have grown up with in Honolulu, gave me hope that I might one day do exactly what she had done.

Of course, it took me many years to get off my okole and finally do it. But once I got my book deal with SMP, I sent Tess an email and she responded immediately and the next thing I knew, she was reading and blurbing my first book. I discovered that Ms. Gerritsen was as classy as she looked in that author photo and I was thrilled to be exchanging emails with her. I also found out that she had actually LIVED in Hawaii for many years and practiced medicine there. So I actually COULD have bumped into her at Ala Moana.

Robandtess

I finally met Tess in the flesh at Thrillerfest Arizona. And she’s as much of a class act in person as she is via email. Just prior to that meeting, she had contacted me about a presentation she was planning and I volunteered to help her put together a video segment. It was a bit of a rush job, Tess writing the script, her husband shooting some of the witness footage and recording some audio, which they then sent to me.

I shot more footage, added music, sound effects and some graphics and the video made its debut at that very first Thrillerfest.

The presentation was well attended, but I’m sure there are a lot of you out there who never got a chance to see it. So, as a way of welcoming Tess to Murderati, I decided to show you the video here. I’ve made a few changes. Blurred out some of the autopsy images that made the Thrillerfest audience cringe, and changed another small section, but it’s pretty much what Tess showed during that presentation.

Oh, and don’t expect Emmy award winning material. Far, far from it. The guy who plays the cop is probably the worst actor on the planet, but he told me he had a lot of fun doing it. Think of it as the neighborhood kids putting on a play.

What you’ll see here was merely the beginning of Tess’s wonderful presentation. After you watch, skip down below for a follow-up and a chance to win something.

Here we go:

Gerritsen-Browne Project

Okay, now that you’ve seen it, I hope you were paying attention, because the medical examiner at the end of the video was dead wrong about cause of death.

So your job? Tell us what really killed this poor guy. Yeah, I know, the clues are a bit sketchy — most of it was filled out by Tess and Doug Lyle’s follow-up, but take a guess anyway.

The first person who gets it right, wins a copy of my just released paperback KISS HER GOODBYE, along with the trade version of my recent UK release, WHISPER IN THE DARK.

Oh, and no cheating. Anyone who saw the video at Tess’s presentation or read the solution later is ineligible for the prize. So, feel free to comment, but please refrain from giving away the answer.
Next week, I’ll show you the very brief ending, along with all the credits, and announce the winner.

And, answer or not, I hope you’ll all join me in welcoming the lovely and talented Ms. Tess Gerritsen to Murderati.

Baring it All

By Louise Ure

I’m just back from the Murder in the Grove writers’ weekend in Boise. It was a beautifully organized workshop and much credit goes to T. L. Cooper, Joanne Pence and their team for such a smooth running and intimate session. I spent a lot of my off time catching up with old friends Chris Grabenstein, David Morrell and D. P. Lyle, and learning more about new friends like Betty Webb, Ken Kuhlken, Michael Sherer and Charles Benoit.

But the most striking moment came during the Awards Ceremony, when Guest of Honor J.A. Jance took the microphone.

But first, let me tell you a little bit about my affair with J. A. Jance.

Ours has been a long love affair, albeit one-sided. I started reading her J.P. Beaumont series in 1985 and came to think of Beau’s Belltown Terrace apartment and his lunch dates at the Doghouse as part of my day. I evaluated potential spouses based on whether or not they had the good sense to order Beau’s Makers Mark instead of a lesser brand of bourbon.

The more I learned about Beaumont’s creator, the more I fell in love with her. She was an Arizonan like me, and a graduate of the University of Arizona. Also like me, she’d been advised to have no lofty ambitions. In Ms. Jance’s case it was being denied admittance to the U of A’s Creative Writing Program “because men are writers, not women.” In my case it was the high school guidance counselor who pooh-poohed any of my suggestions and said she thought I’d “do quite well in retail.”

When I moved to Seattle in the late 80’s, I carried four J.P. Beaumont novels with me and reread them, replacing his footsteps with my own to learn about my new hometown. In subsequent years, I came to know Jance’s other series characters, Joanna Brady and Ali Reynolds, and added them to my family tree.

I sent Ms. Jance the electronic equivalent of mash letters. She – wisely — did not reply.

So, back to the Murder in the Grove weekend.

Jance had made herself available for all kinds of presentations – panel discussions, keynote speeches and bookstore signing events. She’d already told us about growing up an ungainly female, six feet tall. About being denied the Creative Writing Program and the despair of her 18-year marriage to an alcoholic who she finally decided to divorce on the day he attended their child’s softball game and had to crawl from the bleachers back to the car in his drunkenness. About surviving as a single mother after his death from chronic alcoholism at the age of forty-two.

She was asked to speak again at the Awards Luncheon on Saturday.

And this time, she didn’t speak. She approached the microphone and then sang – a cappella – all the verses to Janis Ian’s “At Seventeen.”

I learned the truth at seventeen
That love was meant for beauty queens
and high school girls with clear skinned smiles
who married young and then retired
The valentines I never knew
The Friday night charades of youth
were spent on one more beautiful
At seventeen I learned the truth

And those of us with ravaged faces
lacking in the social graces
desperately remained at home
inventing lovers on the phone
who called to say – come dance with me
and murmured vague obscenities
It isn’t all it seems at seventeen

A brown-eyed girl in hand me downs
whose name I never could pronounce
said – Pity please the ones who serve
They only get what they deserve
The rich relationed hometown queen
marries into what she needs
with a guarantee of company
and haven for the elderly

Remember those who win the game
lose the love they sought to gain
in debentures of quality
and dubious integrity
Their small-town eyes will gape at you
in dull surprise when payment due
exceeds accounts received at seventeen

To those of us who knew the pain
of valentines that never came
and those whose names were never called
when choosing sides for basketball
It was long ago and far away
The world was younger than today
when dreams were all they gave for free
to ugly duckling girls like me

We all play the game, and when we dare
we cheat ourselves at solitaire
Inventing lovers on the phone
Repenting other lives unknown
that call and say – Come dance with me
and murmur vague obscenities
at ugly girls like me, at seventeen

Her voice was lovely and clear. She didn’t hurry the song, she sang it with all the pathos and heartache the writer had intended. The room was hushed.

When she was done she looked straight out at the audience and said “Thank you for making my dreams come true.” Then she sat down.

I joined in the standing ovation, but somewhere deep inside I quailed.

This woman, this writer I had come to admire so much, had laid herself bare in front of us. Telling us her most secret fears and disappointments. She showed us the door into not just her writing, but her soul.

Is that what you ask of us, dear readers?

Or is it enough to talk about where our ideas come from … to share the names of other writers we admire … to talk about our daily writing schedules?

I know I’ve written of very personal things here at Murderati. The death of my father. My mother’s slide into Alzheimers. The last three days of my brother’s life. It is supremely egocentric of me to think that you would even be interested in those things. And yet … why would you care about my daily ritual of a crossword puzzle before I can begin the workday either? Or where the protagonist’s name in the most recent book came from?

I still have my Secret Shames. Things I haven’t blogged about yet and don’t know if I will. I’ll put them in my fiction instead, where I won’t have to lay claim to them. Where you won’t think less of me for it, because you won’t know it’s true.

But I doubt that I will ever have the courage of J.A. Jance to talk in public about my childhood disgraces or those people I felt had ruined my life.

How do you other writers feel about soul-baring in public? And how do you readers react to it? Does it help you come to know us, or is this closer than you’d like to be?

PS: Credit for the Smoking Skeleton Mystery Writer photo at the top of the column goes to Jude Greber, who brought me back this fine talisman (taliswoman?) from a recent trip to Mexico.

Do publishers matter?

by Pari

Last week, I was complaining to my husband that there are too many "authors" around these days. We’re basically a-dime-a-dozen. I stuttered, red-faced, bemoaning how the accomplishment of publication via traditional houses has been diminished by the advent and ever-increasing popularity of self publication.

My husband, a.k.a. The King of Reality Checks, said, "What’s the big deal? Who cares about publishers anyway? No one looks at that."

Well that knocked the wind out of my self-righteous sails.

Then I read, in its entirety, A Book Publisher’s Manifesto for the 21st Century by Sara Lloyd. J.T. referred to it in her excellent post on Friday. In the manifesto, the author takes a cold, hard look at the relevance of book publishers today and whether they’ll have the savvy and cojones to survive tomorrow.

At a time when MWA and other professional writers’ organizations are beginning to toughen up membership requirements based on traditional publishing practices; when fan conventions are doing the same; when people are opting for more control over their work and the speed with which their writing is published; when there are all kinds of "co-op" publishers; when major publishers themselves have gravitated toward blockbuster products rather than midlist author development; where there are more books than ever before but fewer of them are being read; when grammar and editing seem to be falling by the wayside (I can think of several reasons why this is happening. Another post, perhaps?) . . .

A person has to ask:
Have traditional publishers simply become obsolete?

Does publisher brand matter at all? Do Harlequin or St. Martin’s mean anything anymore? Is Simon & Schuster still known for quality? Do Random House, Mira, Intrigue, Soho, Poisoned Pen or Tor carry any value-added as far as the customer is concerned?

I don’t know, but those questions beget more:
Will publishers as we know them become such behemoths, slow moving beasts, that even traditionally-published authors will opt to self-publish in order to get rid of the middlemen (publishers and distributors)? When the big chains install print-on-demand machines in their stores, will there be any benefit whatsover by going the traditional route?

When a person looks at the pure monetary outlay vs. income, self-publishing has a certain appeal.

But . . .
I like to think that the fact that I was published by an academic press with a sterling reputation and stringent standards means something. I’d like to think that readers expect a certain amount of vetting, editorial scrutiny, and high production values before a book comes to market.

Have I been deluding myself?
Do readers care?