The chains that bind us

by Pari

Last Wednesday, our home was Matzo-ball Central. You see, I was preparing for our Seder. Of all the Jewish holidays, Passover is my favorite. I go crazy inviting too many guests, cooking like a lunatic, and loving the feeling of comradeship and discussion that the first meal of the season brings.

The thing about our Passover celebration is that our guests are mostly not Jewish. This isn’t intentional; it’s just the way things have evolved during the last few years. Friends want to come. We want them here to share this joy with us.

However, since I have so many people who don’t come from my same cultural heritage, I feel compelled to explain and illuminate and explore concepts that might be taken for granted elsewhere.

At its core, Passover is about freedom from slavery and religious persecution. These two themes can be found in many Jewish observances, but they have special meaing at this time of year. When we read the Passover story in our Haggadahs, we’re reliving the Jewish escape from slavery in Egypt AND praying that the world will be freed from any kind of slavery, anywhere, soon.

So, on Wednesday, while I formed the matzo balls (around 60-70), I had plenty of time to think about bondage and what it means today. Many children around the world are sold into ghastly forced labor situations because they’re families are too poor to support them. There are sex slaves and prisoners of war who become slaves.

On a more esoteric level, thralldom can be a state of mind. I’m not trivializing its horrors, merely extending them.

Most people I know have sub-dermal shackles.
In some, they’re behavioral patterns that destroy chances at happiness or deep personal relationships. In others, they’re intellectual chains–knee-jerk arguments and justifications, insecurities that paralyze progress. And there are the emotional manacles–jealousy, bitterness, resentment . . .

This week, while I eat my daily matzo, I’ll be trying to identify my own mental leg irons. I’ll search out the fetters that limit my perceptions and/or interactions, that prevent me from flying even freer in my creativity, that stiffle the best in my life and loves.

To me, once they’re seen for what they are, I have at least a fighting chance to punch them out of existence.

Can any of you identify the chains in your life?
Have you done this kind of exercise before?
Have you managed to kick one out for good?

Conventions

by Toni

Through the magic of the internet, I know that Alex is going to be posting a great comprehensive description of RT next Saturday, and I’ll just ditto her excellent description ahead of time. I am currently at the convention, down in the lobby because the internet doesn’t work on several floors of the hotel since it’s under construction, but other than that hiccup, the convention has been wild and a lot of fun.

I always wonder ahead of time whether a convention is going to be a good thing to have done. Let’s face it — they’re expensive. There’s the flights, the hotel, the registration fees, and then eating and drinks and any extras (like books). But I have to say, RT has been a blast. I’m not entirely sure if it’s the way that it’s been organized that’s been so terrific, the variety of events, or the welcoming atmosphere. I mean, seriously, you cannot feel stuffy and outside of the box when you see a guy dressed as a construction worker walking past you with pink wings strapped to his back. There’s an absolute sense of playfulness here, of anything goes and everyone’s accepted and, more important, every genre is welcome. The mystery and thriller events were extremely well attended.

Booksellers and librarians are everywhere. Loads and loads of readers.

I was exceptionally fortunate to be in a group of Mystery Chix and Dix and we had an absolutely terrific turnout at Mystery Lovers Bookshop where Kathy Sweeny interviewed each of us and many readers milled around, buying stacks of books. It’s pretty phenomenal to see people lug over twenty or so books to the check out counter, and then come back for more. We had a full (very large) room for our mixer Saturday morning and I had tons of books get snapped up and then sold out early at the large book signing–a big every-author-at-the-same-time event that takes place on Saturday.

I met so many people — like booksellers Maureen and Jenn and friends Debby and Laura and librarians Kim and Val (who just completely made my entire weekend) and Lipstick Chronicle friends and on and on and I’m going to leave out so many and it’s just because my computer is dying (almost right now) and there’s no outlet near here… but seriously, the friends were amazing. Barbara Vey from the fantastic PW blog was there and really wanted to make a point to reach out to the mystery and thriller communities, to have news of what’s going on with us so she can blog about it. (A truly, amazing reader. That’s the best compliment I know to give someone.) I got to get to know a lot of new people and reconnect with old friends and I’m amazed at how energized I feel about writing.

But mostly, I’m impressed with the readers and how many genres they embrace. If RT educated me about anything, it was this–and I’m truly glad I came.

Oh. And it doesn’t hurt to have a "shuck me, suck me, eat me raw" button to wear. (And I am afraid a few people got photos of me in the t-shirt.) I got mobbed for those things. Of course, people also had on a lot of leather and rubber and I’m not even entirely sure what one woman had on, but I tell you what–these people know how to have fun. I don’t think I have laughed so hard in… welll… I’m not sure I remember the last time I laughed so hard.

I’ve learned a lot, also, watching some of these women. Dakota Cassidy was utterly brilliant with her fans (we sat next to each other in the author signing), and then when she sold out, she turned around and started promoting my book. On top of that, she was just so funny and kind and generous.

Which, I think, sums up the con for me — generosity of spirit.

So, what convention have you gone to which you enjoyed, and what have you learned?

Romantic Times Booklovers Convention

by Alex

I’m at the Romantic Times Booklovers Convention this weekend – as I said last week, it’s my secret favorite convention, and no, not just because there’s stunt dressing and real, actual dancing every night.

I think it’s important for people in the mystery, thriller and, yes, even horror genres, to hear this because Romantic Times is a convention that may not be on the radar for other genre writers – but it should be.

I never read romances as a kid, or any time after – just had no interest, although looking back I can see there was some romance crossover in the Gothic thrillers I gobbled up in my endless quest for the supernatural. And it’s that crossoverness that makes Romantic Times a more obvious bet for me than, say, a noir writer, because paranormal is so huge right now – in romances AND mysteries, and though a lot of paranormal seems to be about warm and fuzzy werewolves and endless variations on quirky vampires, there’s also a significant segment of the paranormal readership that likes a good straight-up ghost story.

I heard from almost the very beginning of my promotional efforts that I should go to RT because I write sexy and I write paranormal and romance readers simply Buy Books. In fact, they Buy Books voraciously, which I discovered when I went to my first romance-centric workshop in the fall, Heather Graham’s Writers for New Orleans.

But the thing that stunned me from the very first moment of the convention last year was how incredibly professionally and logically organized it was. RT had really worked to recruit and organize a thriller track and a mystery track (track = a series of panels and events in that genre), alongside their bookseller track, huge paranormal track, writing tracks, and breakout (how to get an agent/publish) tracks. ITW (International Thriller Writers) had been working well in advance with RT planners to organize an outside book signing at the truly lovely Murder By The Book bookstore and a bookseller event (the fourteen thriller writers chipped in to host a breakfast for all 75 booksellers in attendance at RT, where we did a meet and greet and gave out promotional material and books. 75 booksellers at once – think about it…). The mystery track similarly organized a group signing and events.

The conference also features some unique ways of handling reader/author interaction. Apart from outside bookseller events, there is only one mass signing – that takes place in a HUGE convention room on Saturday, after all the authors have already done their panels. The authors are lined up alphabetically at long rows of tables, and the readers just walk up and down the aisles. There are drawings for dozens of author-donated gift baskets going on throughout the whole three hour signing, and video screens project book trailers through the whole event as well (THAT was fascinating, and this year I’m especially excited to have both of my book trailers playing in the book room and on the hotel TV during the convention – it was seeing the trailers playing last year that convinced me to do trailers for my books.).

I sold dozens of books, and was just in hardcover last year and not nominally a romance writer.

Another cool feature of RT is “Club RT”. Throughout the convention, in the dealers’ room there are a couple dozen little café tables set up and authors are scheduled for one/two hour slots where they just sit at these tables and anyone who wants to can come up and chat, get books signed, etc. If I were an aspiring author I would have spent half my time at this conference just going around to chat with different authors in my genre. A truly unique and intimate opportunity for authors, aspiring authors, and fans.

Of course the feature of RT I really love is Heather Graham’s Dinner Theater, an original musical review written by Heather and her longtime, comically brilliant collaborators, writer/director/performer Lance Taubold and writer/manager/performer Rich Devin, always featuring several of Heather’s charming and multitalented offspring. Last year the show was “Vampires of the Wild Wild West”; this year it’s “Blood and Steel, a Pittsburgh Monster Mash.” This year not only are all three Killerettes in the cast again – Heather, Harley Jane Kozak, and me – but we’ll also have F. Paul Wilson and Dave Simms from the Killer Thriller Band. There simply is no more fun to be had with clothes on.

I also have to say, when women organize these things everything is just – prettier. The attention to detail is staggering. Promo Alley, where authors put out their postcards and bookmarks and giveaways, is a long aisle of covered tables on both sides, and instead of having people just throw their swag on the tables, all the giveaways have to be in displays or decorated baskets. Yes, that takes an extra hour of prep time, but oh man, is it worth it. You can actually SEE the promo stuff, and you get a feel for each author from the decorations of the boxes and baskets. Brilliant idea.

Ditto with the parties. RT has professional costumers/decorators who dress the ballrooms for the theme parties – last year, Moulin Rouge, Midnight at the Oasis, Vampires of the Wild Wild West, Immortals of Rock and Roll, and of course, the Faery Ball. There was lighting. There were trees. There were enormous Moroccan pillows. There were stage backdrops. There were mirror balls and candles. There were screaming mechanical skulls. And the level of personal costuming rivaled the Renaissance Faire events and special effects masters’ parties I’ve been to in LA (I never even dreamed there were so many variations on fairies. Seriously…)

And these women DANCE. All night. I’m sorry, but you can only talk so much. You get out on the dance floor with a bunch of readers screaming “It’s Raining Men” and you have made friends for life.

But RT is not just for women. Male authors are catching on to the gold mine of readers to be – mined – at RT and are coming over to the decadent side. This year I know F. Paul Wilson and Barry Eisler are joining us (I hear Joe Konrath dropped out at the last minute… terrible drag) and I expect that more men will realize what an advantage that Y chromosome gives them in a situation like this.

And well, okay, I admit it – all professionalism aside – after years of having to put up with only female strippers at Hollywood events, I like the turnabout of having half-naked beefcake at a convention. Sue me.

Will do what I can to report on this year in real time, but no promises! There’s some serious dancing to be done, here…

Altered Realities

by J.T. Ellison

Oh, it’s so good to be back!

My month off from Murderati, though initially unplanned and unexpected, gave me a chance to remember what I like most about blogging — the communication. It was a strange confluence of events that led to the month of guest blogs, more a mismanagement of the schedule and promises made on my part than anything else, but the enforced break gave me some time to think about what it is I do here. And while I have no idea if it’s worth anything to the readers, I know it’s incredibly healthy for me as a writer.

Last week was my two-year anniversary as a blogger, and Murderati’s second birthday. I can’t believe that I didn’t realize that until today. Pari and I are the only original Murderati members, but for what it’s worth, this blog has become bigger than all of us as individuals. That’s an incredible accomplishment. And we have all of you to thank for that. (CLAP, CLAP, CLAP!!!)

I was backing up my blog entries and realized that in those two years, I’ve written nearly 100,000 words. That’s a novel. Of blog entires. Some I’m incredibly proud of, some are just so-so, but there you have it. Two years and 100,000 words of non-fiction. Add in the 320,000 plus words from my novels, throw in a few short stories and I’m pushing half a million words in two years. Not bad for a newbie.

So it’s time to get back to what I love best here, the sharing.

I went to my parents two weeks ago, for a visit, and some rest, and some work. It was a great trip, though bookended by strange and horrid experiences. When I landed at Orlando, the idiot who was trying to go to Jamaica with a bomb in his luggage had just been taken into custody, and the arrival lanes were blocked with the bomb squad vehicles. The airport was controlled chaos, packed to the gills with unhappy people. Crazy.

And on the way home, a man died on the plane.

I’ve debated long and hard about how much of this I want to share, for a couple of reasons. One, I’m still processing what I saw, and how it made me feel. Two, I think the only way to really process it properly is to write about it in a fictional milieu. One of the advantages to have a writing blog is discussing the events that shape our writing, and I’ve spent the last two years of my life examining myself through these posts. But every once in a while, there’s an experience that you want to put into your work, and that’s going to have to happen with this one. To do it justice, I’ll need to utilize the strength of my alter ego, Taylor, to give it the proper impact. J.T. can’t do it without sounding like a bit of a freak. So I’ll tell you about what happened, and beg forgiveness for utilizing it in what I’m sure is going to be a very cool chapter in an upcoming book.

We were all buckled in and taxiing out to take off when a flight attendant came on the intercom and asked if there was a doctor or a nurse on the plane. There were two kids a few rows back who were screaming, and I figured one of them got sick or had a little panic attack. Boy, was I wrong. It was an older gentleman, and he was having severe chest pains. The flight attendant repeated the request, and a young woman got up and made her way to the back of the plane. I saw the look on her face as she walked by me — here we go again, it said.

Remember a few months back when I talked about Taylor being one of those people who would rush into a fiery car crash to help a stranger? I haven’t been faced with a life or death situation for many years, since I was a lifeguard in high school and college. Back then, I knew exactly what to do in an emergency. I knew CPR. I still know it, but I haven’t had to do it in a long, long while. But for Taylor, you know, that’s just second nature. She wouldn’t hesitate. She would be the girl who walked down the aisle to help. This Good Samaritan had real medical training, not a few summers by the pool. Thank God she did.

The gentleman was telling the flight attendant that he though he was okay when he went down. Just, boom. Stopped. All halt. The flight attendants were spectacular. They immediately got the defibrillator attached and got a vent going. They shocked him several times, and the Good Samaritan started some very aggressive CPR. I don’t know how familiar you guys are with CPR, real live CPR, not the stuff on TV. You push hard, and things break. I was in the aisle about six rows up from all of this, and got a good refresher course. Of course, I’ve been unable to shake the image of her leaning over him, droplets of sweat flying as she worked, her hands moving so deeply into his chest that she looked like she was hitting his spine…

The plane pulled out of the runway and headed back to the gate, and the paramedics arrived after what seemed like forever. All in all, they worked on him for forty-five minutes. To say it was horrid doesn’t even come close. The whispers flew through the plane, the passengers in utter and complete shock. There were a number of children on board, children that couldn’t be sheltered from what was happening because of the immediacy of it. There was even the odd boor who surmised that they should get us a new plane, he was going to be late getting home. There’s always one person, you know?

I’ve been on several planes that have had emergency situations. I’ve made emergency landings, seen a flight attendant smash her head on the ceiling when we hit unanticipated turbulence. I’ve flown in storms so severe the plane veered sideways, and dropped thousands of feet in a heartbeat. But I’ve never flown with a ghost.

When they took him from the plane, transferred him to the ambulance, still doing CPR nearly an hour later, I knew he was gone. And I never got a good look at his face, so all I could do, all the way home, was wonder. Did I see him in the airport? I was working in a restaurant, and came late to the gate. Did I see him, and smile at him? Was I so wrapped up in myself that I didn’t notice him? Was he happy? Could he have imagined, standing in line, that his last moments were upon him? That in less than fifteen minutes, he’d be dead?

As you can imagine, I’ve been a little messed up by this. I said many prayers on the way home, and as I sat crying in my seat, pretending I wasn’t sniffling, listening to my iPod with every tune strangely about death, I reminded myself that this wasn’t about ME. This was about a stranger who quite literally lost everything. A stranger I’ll never forget.

I’ve been thinking about this rather nonstop for the past week, etching the details in my mind so I can do them justice on the page. I’ve shared with a few friends about some odd happenings on the plane — the little Indian girl who watched him the whole time, something ageless in her eyes, as if she was his passage to the next world. The moment of sunlight that passed through the plane and left me shaking with cold.

But the most wonderful thing about the experience was the people who rushed to this man’s side, who cared enough to try to give him life. I am humbled by their deeds. If I were closer, I would have done the same. Ah, there’s the rub. I didn’t help. Yes, I prayed, and that’s all well and good, but I didn’t get out of my seat and go back to see if they needed anything. They didn’t need me. I would have been in the way, and I’m not kidding when I say they had things very much under control. But a part of me wishes I had.

Instead, I expressed my thanks and gratitude to the people who did help. They did all they could. I can only hope that if I’m ever in a bad situation, there will be people as selfless around.

Addendum:

The strangest thing has happened. I do my posts in advance, so this one was already written when my mother called me today with the most brilliant news. A letter arrived at the house from the airline. (It was Southwest, by the way, and they were magnificent.) I’m overjoyed to be able to tell you that I was wrong. We were all wrong. My stranger is alive. I’m in such a state of shock. I don’t know HOW he could be, but apparently the constant and immediate CPR measures kept enough blood and oxygen pumping that after some heroic work at the hospital, he survived!! Southwest is "helping" his family, I assume in a monetary fashion, and gave each passenger a LUV coupon. LUV indeed. What a glorious day this is!

To celebrate, I suggest you head here and enjoy.

Wine of the Week: I’m not much of a rosé drinker, but we attended a cool wine tasting this past weekend and this bottle was on the menu. Finca Vieja Rosado 2005 It’s from La Mancha, Spain, light and fruity, but seriously dry, with berries and pepper in the finish. We fell in love. And think about this, it would make killer sangria. Yum!

Light and Shade

by Zoë Sharp

A hero is only as good as the villain he or she faces.

Sounds obvious when you put it like that, doesn’t it? But when you think of the most fun movies, who can forget baddies like Alan Rickman as Hans Gruber in Die Hard, Hannibal Lector in The Silence of the Lambs, Tommy Lee Jones’ William Stranix in Under Siege, or even the mysterious – and largely absent – Keyser Soze in The Usual Suspects? And it’s not just the actors themselves. Jonathan Pryce came across as a genuinely nasty piece of work in Ronin but was almost laughable as the chief bad guy in the Bond flick, Tomorrow Never Dies.

I like the duality of villains. I like light and shade. I like quiet menace. I like the good-looking guy who smiles while he’s threatening unspeakable acts, and I like the notion that it might not always be the enemy who tries to stab you in the back.

But do I plan out every character trait and flaw of my villains before I begin a new book?

Erm … no, not really.

When I first started to write, I tried to come up with huge biographies of all my main characters, but it’s like trying to describe someone you’ve never met. Until you see them in action, how can you really have a handle on who they are, or how they behave? Those little quirks of mannerism or speech that just jump out at you as soon as they open their mouths, but which were strangely unapparent beforehand.

I’m sure we’ve all met people who seemed quite reasonable on first acquaintance, but gradually became more tiresome as you got to know them better. Not to mention the ones who seemed initially quite dour, but eventually relaxed enough to reveal an arid sense of humour, a quiet wit. Our heroes and supporting cast do this, so why not our villains?

And in villains, of course, you have the opportunity to include all kinds of little tweaks that come from real life. I’ve long since exhausted my list of people who really annoyed me, so I now ask for suggestions from friends and family. Somebody wound you up? Just give me a part of their name, a little trait, et voila! They’ll be a corpse or a villain in the next book – maiming a speciality. Just think of me as the equivalent of a literary contract killer.

I knew one author who had somebody she particularly didn’t like, but rather than include the person in her book, she included that person’s house instead. Oh, not by location or even description of the architecture, but more the contents. She had a group of thieves break in while the owner was away and wreck the place, selling off whatever valuables they found inside, bit by bit. And enormous satisfaction it gave her, too.

It doesn’t always work, of course. I desperately wanted a particular character in HARD KNOCKS to come to an unpleasant end, as he represented one of the two little toerags who were caught red-handed having stolen a motorbike that belonged to me. Sadly, when push came to shove, no amount of twisting on my part could frame him in the book for the crime I had in mind. So I had to content myself by having him roughed up a little in print instead.

So far, at least, I don’t believe my villains have been outright caricatures – not for me the deformed dwarf or the sadistic deviant. Perhaps it’s time that changed, but I’ve always found a certain degree of normality and ordinariness more sinister in the end. How about you? What most scares you in a villain, and why? Have any of your villains not played ball when it came to guilt?

There are a couple of reasons why this topic has come up, and one of them is because it’s that time again. The corrected page proofs of THIRD STRIKE are winging their way back to the publisher and I’m up to my neck in planning the next in the Charlie Fox series. A 1000+mile trip to Scotland at the end of last week ensured plenty of time in the car to kick around ideas, and certain themes and aspects have been rising to the fore.

THIRD STRIKE is a book about Charlie’s search for respect, from the people she works with and, perhaps more importantly, from the stiffly disapproving parents who’ve never really understood who she’s become and how she does what she does. Everyone goes on a journey – psychologically as well as physically – and by the time we reach the end of the story there are some for whom life will never be quite the same again.

But I have it in mind that the new book will also be about redemption. It’s about Charlie coming to terms with herself, amid the rage of loss. She’s going to come up against her most terrifying foe, because he will be someone utterly reasonable, someone with whose views she might privately agree, however she is forced to act.

And, of course, it’s about this time I start sorting out names for the key characters. Always a difficult choice, as a William is a very different animal from a Bill, or a Billy, or a Will. I generally use a random name generator site, and plump for something that catches my eye. After a recent suggestion here, I did start looking through my spam folder more carefully, but decided some of the names in the email addresses there would only be any good if I was writing erotica.

But, on this recent trip to Scotland, we had dinner with someone I met at Harrogate a couple of years ago, a real crime aficionado. During the course of the meal, he happened to mention that he really fancied being a villain in a book, and had no objections to dying horribly, providing he’d done something to truly deserve such a fate. As the meal went on, he quite warmed to the theme of his own fictional nastiness and ultimate demise.

Bit of a turn-up for the books, that one. I’ve included real people – at their request – before, of course. Frances L Neagley and Terry O’Loughlin both bid in Bouchercon charity auctions to be characters in the books, and I’ve been delighted to write them in. Andrew Till, who became an FBI agent in FIRST DROP, is a supportive librarian in real life. They’ve always been good guys in the end, although working out how much reality to include in the character is always an interesting one.

But I’ve never had anyone ask to be a villain before, with such a wicked twinkle in his eye. And I’m not even going to mention his name at this stage, just in case I want to mask that character’s intentions when I come to write the book. Should be fun, though …

Random Chatter

by Rob Gregory Browne

Okay. I got so caught up in getting the taxes ready, then my wife and I went through the lost-box-of-checks disaster Monday night, and Murderati completely slipped my mind.

The good news — for me at least — is that I had to pay enough taxes to make me feel like a real writer. The bad news is that the Random Chatter banner above means I have nothing prepared for this week’s entry, so I’ll just throw a bunch of stuff out there and hope something sticks.

And my apologies to my fellow Murderati bloggers if I duplicate anything you’ve posted about lately.

CASTING YOUR BOOK

Marshal Zeringue is always doing interesting experiments with blogs and websites. Over the last couple of years he has been doing The Page 69 Test, which I participated in last year. The idea is for authors to post page 69 of their book and give a little back story on it.

Now Marshal has My Book, The Movie, which invites authors to come up with a dream cast for the movie version of their books. It’s actually a pretty great idea, especially for promotion, and I whole-heartedly agreed to participate.

The problem is, I have no idea who should play the lead in my book. I love movies and can think of a lot of great actors out there who would do the part justice, but somehow NONE of them really seem to work for me. Or maybe ALL of them do.

So while I struggle to come up with my own cast, I invite you to cast your book in the comments section — although I don’t want to step on Marshal’s toes, so if you have any plans of posting on his blog, don’t spoil it here.

RADIO ADS

Yesterday, I was looking into radio ads and discovered that I could hit 20 cities on a fairly popular radio talk show for about $600 for a week. I’d get one 30 second spot per show, with a few extras thrown in.

Coming up with an audio spot would be no problem, since I have a background in production. And since the paperback of KISS HER GOODBYE is coming out this month (shameless plug: April 29), I thought it might be a good idea to run one the first week of May.

The question however is this: do radio spots work? I’ve spoken to some who think they don’t unless you’re James Patterson or Michael Connelly. What do you guys think?

THE THRILL OF A NEW BABY

Not the flesh and blood kind. The new baby is WHISPER IN THE DARK, which is being released next month by Macmillan in the UK (the US version comes out in January 2009).
Whisperlive
Anyway, a nice hardcover and trade version arrived in the mail yesterday and I have to say it’s a wonderful thing. A beautiful baby.

So I thought I’d show it off here.

I’ve been doing this for over two years now, but when I open the package and see that wonderful thing with my name on it, I have to say the thrill is as big as it ever was. I’ve achieved the dream. And I’m living proof that it’s never too late to try.

But as I said, this is the UK version. The U.S. cover will be completely different in color and style, but just as beautiful (I’ve seen it and love it, too!) — and I’ll, of course, be anxious to show it off when the time comes…

I’m rambling. I will leave you now with promises for something much better next time.

The Man At The End Of The Bed

By Louise Ure

I don’t have a long history of being read to in bed, but I think that’s all going to change now.

Growing up, there were too many of us tucking in for my mother to have read us to sleep, and my father would have been too drunk to do it, even if he’d wished to. I was twenty-one before I even heard of “Good Night Moon.”

Instead, my sister would tell me stories about the bear in the ceiling – there was proof of his existence, you could see the crack angling from the doorway to halfway across the room – who would become restless and crash down on us if I kept talking and he heard me.

And I have no children of my own, so I’ve missed that part of the “reading to sleep” phenomenon as well, although I was once asked by friends in Sydney to read their little three-year to sleep. She never even closed her eyes, both awed and confused by the American accent intoning “One Woolly Wombat.”

And then there was the experience of those friends of mine in Alaska. Lovebirds, these two. They’d walk around holding hands, gazing into each other’s eyes. They even put love notes inside the vegan sandwiches they packed for each other’s lunch.

And they set aside time to read to each other every night just before bed. Not a bedtime story, to be sure. And not a different book each night. But whatever they were reading, they did it together, and took turns reading aloud before they went to sleep. Poetry, classics, maybe a biography or two.

Perhaps you think the idea is charming and thoughtful. At the time I thought it was just plain silly, because I knew the only publication that would meet with my husband’s approval would be a car repair manual and that would have put me to sleep even before I started.

So that means the only reading-to-fall-asleep I’ve ever known is the reading that I do myself, eyeglasses pushed low on the nose to accommodate the angle of the pillow and the book. Two pages worth usually, unless I’ve had coffee to keep me awake.

But then I heard about Damian Barr.

Starting this week, Damian will be the Reader-in-Residence at the new Andaz hotel in London, and will be available to read you to sleep in your room.

In real life, Damian is a freelance playwright, author and journalist in London, but said he was interested in this Reader-In-Residence program as a way to avoid writing. (Yes, Mr. Barr, I know just what you mean. I call it blogging.)

Instead of doing his own creative work, Damian will be on call at the hotel throughout the day and night, to share the joy of books with others.

“In the mornings, guests will be able to consult Barr for a dose of bibliotherapy in which he’ll diagnose their literary needs and prescribe appropriate texts—whether it’s ‘a sumptuous Georgette Heyer, a classy giggle with Nancy Mitford or some glamorous gangsters with Jake Arnott,’ Barr explains. Hotel guests will also be able to book him for a private literary lunch or dinner in one of the hotel’s five restaurants and bars, as well as requesting Barr’s in-room read-aloud services from a specially devised Book Menu.”

Ah yes, those in room services. Damian Barr will come to your room, pajama-clad, sit at the end of your bed, and read to you until you fall asleep. You have his word that the minute you fall asleep, he will immediately show himself out.

Now we’re talking.

It may take Bruce a little time to get used to the idea of a pajama-wearing Brit at the end of the bed, but I want one. Now. I’ve got a lot of read-me-to-sleep nights to make up for. And you know I’m not going to last more than two pages anyway.

So, my ‘Rati friends, tell me your bedtime stories. What did you love reading or having read to you? Do you, like me, want a Reader-in-Residence of your own? And what would you ask him to read you?

The right tool

by Pari

I’m sitting here in the airport in Albuquerque, getting acquainted with my new Eee PC. It’s six inches long and about five inches wide. The keyboard is tiny, made for literary gnats perhaps. But I’m determined. I want to use this little baby when I travel. I want to throw it into my purse (it’s solid state so it can take some abuse) and take it to Tae Kwon Do when the kids are in class. I want to go to the coffee shop with it.

In short, I want it to strip me of excuses.

Let me backtrack here. I am sooooooooooo not a technology nut. I shun all those electronic innovations–no iPod, no iPhone. Nada.

I’m a writer in search of the right tools to do my job as conveniently as possible.

Not that long ago, just having a laptop was an incredible gift, a revolution for people who wanted to work on the go. After prices went down far enough, my husband and I bought one. I thought it would revolutionize my work.

Well, it didn’t.

For some reason, I was scared of that computer. I was scared to use it, to lose it, that it would get stolen, that I’d lose all my work. I didn’t trust thumb drives either. Still, determined to work no matter what, I lugged that thing around on all my trips. Only problem was that after I pulled it out for security, it never came out of its case again.

It’s embarrassing to admit that I was so uncomfortable, so intimidated by technology.

When I finally learned how to use it with ease, I still felt creatively constipated. We just never bonded. A pencil and paper yielded more satisfying results.

And now, I’ve got this microscopic machine. Eee PC. Hell, I even like its name.

Today, the main challenge is that I keep hitting the "Enter" key when I mean to hit "Shift." I’m also hunching my shoulders like some kind of she-ghoul. Typing is slow, but the keyboard action is fine.

Sure. I’m predisposed to liking this new instrument in my repertoire. I bought it with birthday money, so it feels more like it’s mine, just for me. It’s a little buddy, a friend that is going to help me do the job I need to do, to write every single day, to practice and hone my craft by doing, doing, doing.

I know too many people who postpone writing for thousands of different reasons. Many of them have to do with instruments: "My computer crashed." "I don’t have the right paper." "My laptop is too heavy, too slow." "My monitor is too big, too small, too bright, too dark." "I can’t get rid of the damn anti-virus software."

I’m not saying that the Eee PC is going to change all of that for me, but it’s a step in the right direction.

Maybe it doesn’t even have to do with this new tool at all, maybe it’s simply my attitude toward it. Whatever the reason, it seems to be working.

I sure am.

My questions for you today:
What writing tools do you use: big computer, laptop, pen & paper, charcoal & papyrus?
How do you relate to them?
Have you ever bought an instrument that opened your mind, eased the process?
Have you ever experienced the opposite effect?

building blocks

by Toni

I’m in that falling-in-love stage with my new book–where the sense of discovery is exhilarating, and I’m sort of gobsmacked at a new character who really came to life, all with one move. I tried to dress him very nicely. I wanted to give him an expensive suit, shoes so fine, they’d cost most people’s monthly salary. Instead, he ended up wearing wrinkled khakis and a stained and horrifically ugly plaid shirt. He chose this on purpose, and his sardonic voice is crystal clear. Particularly since he’s setting out to purposefully annoy the hell out of my heroine.

He’s got his own phrasing, and I’m not entirely sure where he came from. I didn’t set out to consciously create him the way he showed up, but he’s so much more fun this way. Bobbie Faye almost immediately refers to him as a walking pile of laundry, and I hope you just imagined a very disheveled man, hair standing on end.

But maybe it was his own phrasing that did it, that made him suddenly breathe and move for me. With his first bit of dialog, I realized who he was. And I love that aspect of reading others’ work–seeing a particularly adept way of building an image with a colorful, evocative phrase.

"…eyeing real estate in the neighborhood of My, These Kids Today…"

— Heather, on Go Fug Yourself

I love to eavesdrop and read blogs and jot notes from family and friends and my God, the notes I have from so many favorite books. They all inspire. (Okay, I have so many from books, it’s insane.) It’s sometimes a really stunning description, or sometimes it’s one phrase or a sentence or two that encapsulates the character, like:

"Oh-My-God o’clock…"

— Suzanne Brockmann

To:

"And some days, you just get your blues on."

— clerk at copy center

To:

"My foot [hurt so much, it] started developing its own gravitational pull."

— Suburban Bliss

To:

"I was praying he’d shoot me so I wouldn’t have to burn to death. Instead, he looked at me and said, ‘None of this would have happened if you’d just agreed to have kids’."

— J. D. Rhoades, Safe and Sound

To:

"Just because I’m yelling louder doesn’t mean I know what I’m talking about… wait…"

— clearly confused man arguing with his date at the Circle K

Now, I could go through every book by every writer on this site and quite a few others from our list of links on here and post examples, but I’m going to ask you all to contribute. If you’re a writer, please post at least one of your own phrases / sentences that is evocative, and then post an example from any other writer (or two! mentors! favorites!). It doesn’t have to be dialog — it can be a description, metaphor — whatever worked for you. For all the readers out there, please grab one of your favorites and give us some examples. I know you’ll inspire us!

-toni

By the way, a whole bunch of mystery/suspense/caper/romance writers are all going to be at Mystery Lovers Bookshop for a fantastic signing event this week — on Thursday, April 17th. It’s going to rock, this event, and I hope if you’re in the area, you’ll come by and say hello.

Writers’ Style

by Alex

No, I don’t mean WRITING style. I mean DRESSING style.

Someone posted to one of the loops asking about attire for the LA Times Festival of the Book, and someone posted back something like, “Dress nicely. Even if you wear shorts, make sure they’re nice.”

You know, somehow I never got that ‘nice’ memo.

For me, dressing for the LATFOB means sunscreen, sunglasses, a wide-brimmed hat, and as little as possible after that. Plus, of course, a parka stashed away in the bag in case of bone-chilling coastal fog. I grew up in the California desert and I say, what good is it to start out looking NICE if after forty-five minutes you’re burned red as a lobster and sweating through three layers of clothes?

I don’t know, maybe it really is a California thing, but if I have to spend more than two minutes getting dressed for ANYTHING, it’s not going to happen. Having spent so much of my life 1. Writing and 2. Dancing, it’s a good day if I even make it out of pajamas or a leotard and leggings. That’s why I like dresses so much – you can throw one on in ten seconds and everyone acts as if you’ve made some kind of effort or something. Hah!

I get hives just thinking about the RWA national conference in San Francisco this summer. Everyone is going to be business elegant, with the manicures and stockings and salon perms and designer everything and I’m going to look like I just crawled out of the Haight… which, let’s face it, I will have.

Part of it is the hair. I know that. With this hair, a tailored look is just not in the cards. I can live with that. You have to work with what you’ve got, and what I’ve got is what casting directors tactfully refer to as “equestrian” when what they really mean is a rode-hard, put-away- wet look.

But that is not to say that I don’t enjoy clothes. Actually, I enjoy the hell out of clothes. I’m hardly unaware that we authors can communicate a lot about the books we write through the clothing , shoes and accessories we wear. It really is instant branding,

And I have managed to figure out the touring clothes that work for me – things that look a little rock star, a little Gothic, that make people I meet say things like – “Oh, I love that shirt!” when really my only criteria for buying anything these days are: 1. Can I wash it in the sink in my hotel room and get it dry by tomorrow? And 2. Will I be able to wear it two days in a row – or three – without ironing if my suitcase or I get laid over in Chicago (Phoenix, Atlanta…)?

But even though simplicity is my fashion mandate these days, I am thrilled that my intensive touring is ending with my secret favorite conference, the Romantic Times Booklovers Convention. RT doesn’t require business elegant. It does require stunt dressing.

Now, those of you who don’t live in LA have probably never heard this term. Actually, those of you who do live in LA probably haven’t heard the term, either, because I’m fairly certain I made it up. But stunt dressing is the only way I can properly describe the phenomenon I’m talking about. (And those of you in the SCA, World Con, World Fantasy Con, Comic-Con, StellarCon, AnyCon crowd -you know who you are – know exactly what I mean…)

What you’ve probably heard about Romantic Times, if you’ve heard anything at all – that it’s full of women dressed as vampires and fairies, and half-naked male cover models slinking around. Well, this is a normal party for me, and I’ve got to say I miss that kind of hedonism at the more sedate conferences.

This was my packing list for RT last year:

red velvet opera coat
saloon girl parachute skirt
black net crinoline
red velvet corset
black fishnet cape
black lace bodice
1 pair Victorian boots
1 pair red fishnet stockings
1 pair black fishnet stockings
harem girl outfit
3 veils
1 dozen arm bracelets and cuffs
Glinda the Good ballgown
matching wand
1 pair vampire fangs
sparkly Western hat
red lace mantilla
body glitter
hair ornaments
Victorian choker
riding crop
micro leather mini
thigh high vinyl boots
red leather vest

Admit it – it’s a hell of a lot more fun than “business casual”.

Now, I wasn’t born a stunt dresser. It took years for me to even want to try. But I have lived all my life in California and some things just rub off.

Los Angeles is, after all, home to thousands of professional special effects wizards, costumers, the Renaissance Pleasure Faire, narcissistic histrionics, and actors – oh, wait, that last is redundant. (KIDDING. Some of my best friends are actors.).

And in LA, event partying is a competitive sport – literally. Costume contests abound, and some people I know make a very nice auxiliary income from them, around October, especially.

Arguably some even more outrageous stunt dressing goes on in San Francisco, where most of my friends have also spent at least half their lives. You want to see some world-class costumes, try the Castro on any given Halloween (I’ll never forget the life-sized walking convertible with JFK and Jackie… well, all right, never mind that.).

Put all that together and you have what I call stunt dressing. Parties where costumes are NOT optional – not if you don’t want to stick out like a wallflower with a sore thumb.

Theme parties used to scare the s – stuffing out of me because I don’t think of myself as a crafty person. (You know, craft as in sewing, not all that OTHER stuff, which is another post entirely.) But I do love excess, and after attending a few L.A. parties like oh, A Restaurant at the End of the Universe, Voodoo Magic, Survivor (yes, that Survivor), Gilligan’s Island, Under the Sea, any number of the requisite Moulin Rouge and Pirates of the Caribbean and Lord of the Rings and Mardi Gras and Tiki parties… well, I started to think about it. I started thinking about what to actually wear to some of these things. I started to think – isn’t costuming just as much an artistic expression as words?

And that’s how I released my inner Stunt Dresser. I love dressing up as an Elton John song and having people guess which song I am, preferably with touchable clues. I love sequins and feathers and masks. I love a RED party where everyone and everything is – you guessed it. Have one some time and see what it does to the libido – yours and everyone else’s, in every possible combination.

Every thrift store is now an opportunity to collect cheap frothy things that will one day make the perfect drop-dead costume. I have hats. I have Victorian opera coats. I have a menagerie of corsets and boas and headgear. I have chain mail. I have every possible net garment you can think of. I have more sequined gorgeous confections than you can shake a stick at. I’ve also recently started on props. After all, how do you dress as Trillian (for a HITCHHIKER’S GUIDE party) without mice, which you can get three for a dollar at a novelty store? Throw on a string of battery powered fish lights, maybe even add a real fish net, and you’re all set for an Under the Sea party. You see what I mean? It’s not like you have to spend a lot of money or take a lot of time with it.

The thing about stunt dressing is that it gives OTHER people so much pleasure. You don’t have to make much of an effort to make so many people truly happy that you’re wearing part of the party. That’s what’s so great about it – and if you’re shy, I suggest you think about it that way – in terms of how much others will enjoy that you’ve done it.

These are the RT parties I have to look forward to this week:

– Under the Sea Faery Ball
– Hollywood’s Golden Age
– Midnight Speakeasy
– These Boots Are Made for Walking
– Western Extravaganza (at which there will be a real, that is, real staged, hanging)

And of course, the Vampire Ball, at which I will incongruously be tricked out as a kinky Bride of Frankenstein, due to my role in Heather Graham’s always outrageous dinner theater show.

Business elegant… bad. Bride of Frankenstein… good.

I can’t wait.

So I say – it’s Spring. Go ahead. Unleash your inner stunt dresser. There might just be an Elton John song in you that’s dying to get out.

And here are my questions for the day. First, what’s your style? Do you have one? Have you cultivated it?

If you’re an author, have you deliberately changed your style or invested in a new wardrobe as part of your author persona? If you’re a reader, does it matter to you if authors dress “nice”? (Or are you, ahem, on to us?)

And everyone – what’s the most outrageous stunt costume you’ve ever worn?

And, okay – have you ever had your colors “done”? What season are you? Do you incorporate color dressing into your style?