What a Rush

I’m almost always in a hurry.

Catch me on the freeway and I’m the idiot who’s weaving in and out of traffic, sometimes forgetting to use his blinker, constantly looking for that strategic maneuver that will get me to my destination a good thirty or so seconds faster than everyone else.

In the supermarket — if you can catch me in one for more than a couple minutes — I’m zipping through the aisles, looking only for what I came for and nothing else, getting frustrated when shoppers block my path with their overstuffed carts.

When I shave, I wield my razor like a Filipino knife fighter, cutting away that annoying morning stubble in seconds flat.

I’m always anxious to be done with whatever it is I’m doing, but I’m never quite sure why. It’s as if I’m trapped in a suspense thriller in which the hero has no specific goal except to beat a ticking clock. I think I’ve seen more than a few movies that could fit that particular bill.

Even as a writer, I find myself rushing. I’m so anxious to finish
writing for the day, to be done with it, that I rarely take the time to really enjoy the
process. And something about that just seems wrong.

My wife would disagree with me, of course. About the "in a hurry" statement.

To her, I’m the guy sitting on the couch with a laptop balanced on his knees, not particularly interested in going anywhere anytime soon — and I’m sure if she’s reading this (hi, hon!), she’s probably thinking, I wish he’d hurry up and mow the lawn.

But even when I’m sitting on that couch, I’m usually anxious to finish writing, surfing, researching, so that I can get on to the next thing, whatever it may be. When I’m searching on Google, I often wind up rushing to find whatever it is I’m looking for so that I can look up something else I’ve suddenly thought of. My brain tends to move at warp speed and, as a result, my thoughts are often fragmented.

Yet, this morning, while I was in the shower getting ready to take a shave, I asked myself the very question I never seem to have an answer to: why?

Why am I in such a hurry?

What if I were to slow things down a bit, I thought. And before I knew it, I was rubbing the shaving lotion between my palms and slapping it on my face as if I were a fugitive from a John Woo film, moving in slow motion. I immediately thought of a passage from my first novel, KISS HER GOODBYE, which goes like this:

Somewhere behind him a phone was ringing, but Gunderson ignored it, enjoying the spectacle. He relished his ability to slow the world around him to a crawl whenever the mood suited him.

He grinned at the exaggerated looks of surprise on the faces of bank tellers and customers. Marveled at the fluidity of motion with which Luther and Nemo wielded fire extinguishers as they put out stray flames and climbed into the vault to fill their duffel bags.

He watched as, backpack full of Semtex in tow, Sara glided past the Plexiglas teller windows toward the rear of the bank, moving with an easy grace that only his slow-motion point of view could provide.

Gunderson felt high. As if he’d taken a dozen hits of ecstasy. But he never took drugs of any kind when he was working, didn’t need them to see the world this way. This was his gift. His power. One he used sparingly and never took for granted.

Nice trick, eh?

Years ago, if the family was hopping into the car and I asked my son to run back to the house for something we’d forgotten, the kid — to our eternal frustration — would never hurry. And nothing we could do or say would get him to pick up his pace.

When asked why he was always so slow, he responded — at eight years old, no less: "I’m not slow, I’m deliberate."

Deliberate.

As Robin Williams used to say, what a concept.

So, as I stood in the shower this morning, lathering up my stubble in slow motion, I wondered what would happen if I were to spend an entire day moving like this. Or, better yet, what if I had Gunderson’s gift of slowing the world around me?

Imagine the detail I’d be able to take in.

But as I look around me now, I notice that I’m not the only one afflicted by this illness. Slow and deliberate seem to be concepts that many of us have failed to grasp.

There are probably more drivers like me than not — at least where I live. People are always rushing to get to their jobs, or back home to their loved ones. Fast food has been part of our lives since I was a kid. Movies are given a weekend to prove themselves. Books, if they’re lucky, get three months on the bookstore shelf. Everything seems to be disposable.

Consume, discard, move on.

But what would happen if we ALL slowed down a bit? Would mothers weep? Would the world collapse?

I don’t think so.

So, I’m making a vow, right here and now, to follow my son’s lead and live my life in a more… deliberate… fashion. To pace myself. Allow myself time. To stop and smell the roses.

And who knows, maybe I’ll learn something in the process.

Would any of you like to join me?

Ouch!

by Pari Noskin Taichert

Last Friday night, I paid men twice my size to punch me. Old and young, wily and aggressive, they landed kicks that doubled me over and knocked me on my butt. They slammed hammer fists on my head and used my belly for target practice.

What idiocy is this?

Just about every weekend starts with me standing in line with six to twelve other lunatics ready to attack and defend. Though I’ve been sparring in Tae Kwon Do for about two years, I still feel like a complete dope. Sure, I’ve improved . . . I get my punches in and have a wicked ridge-hand to the head and neck, but progress feels slow when a 6’2" man, who’s built like a Hummer, is pushing me into a corner.

(It feels like the first rotten review for a new book . . . )

Saturday mornings I look like an abused woman. Bruises line my shins, chest, stomach and shoulders. Four months ago, a punch to the nose caused bleeding and I had a showy cut across the ridge for weeks. Two months ago, a woman’s long thumbnail slashed my cornea; the pain worsened overnight and I had to go to the hospital the next morning.

Why would anyone subject herself to this week after week?

Well, I love it.

(Um, just like writing)

Up until I started TKD nearly three years ago, I’d never thought of myself as a physically strong person. I’d had an image of being petite and, basically, on the diminutive side. Though quick enough to anger, I’d never kicked someone and had only hit two people in my life.

Now I’ve lost count.

Nothing feels quite as good as landing a hard punch and knocking the wind out of an opponent. There’s a weird satisfaction in knowing I could break a nose or crack a jaw if I had to.

I could say that this is all research for my writing, but it’d be a lie — at least for now. None of my main characters knows how to fight. Hell, I don’t know that much yet either.

But I do know that sparring has given me a kind of confidence that serves me well in other parts of my life. Because I have more sense about how to throw and take a punch, I’m more likely to anticipate strikes that other people might not notice coming their way. Because I get hurt on occasion, I’m more apt to be aware of my surroundings and avoid getting into a fracas in the first place.

Sparring has made me tougher, too. It’s a good quality to cultivate when you’re a writer because as much pleasure as we get wielding our craft . . . we face attacks, too (from others or our own sorry egos).

So, next Friday night, you’ll find me with a padded red helmet on my head, mouth guard on my teeth, punching gloves and kicking boots. I’ll take too many blows, try to inflict as many on my partners, and love every minute of the whole experience.

(A word about the photos: they’re from an old testing. We don’t spar with padding during these events. The thing that amuses me is that every sparring picture I have shows me grinning.)

Dreams of Pulp: a Q & A with Hard Case Crime’s Charles Ardai

Interview by Mike MacLean

Grifters and pimps. Pushers and killers. Dirty angels and righteous whores. They all lurk in the world of Hard Case Crime, the coolest publishers ever to hit the paperback stands. So cool, they even punched out a couple titles by Murderati’s own Ken Bruen!

I say with no embarrassment, I’m a fan boy. From the moment I saw those first Hard Case covers—the smoking guns and fem fatales—I was hooked. And while the art drew me in, the words kept me in my seat, flipping pages.

Hard Case creator, editor, and author Charles Ardai was nice enough to sit down for an interview, answering questions about publishing in the world of pulp.

MM: Murderati readers may or may not know you were the founder and CEO of Juno, a popular Internet service provider. What drew you from the dotcom world to the publishing world?

CA: Actually, the right question to ask is the opposite one: What drew me from the publishing world to the dotcom world? I started out as a writer, at age 13, publishing reviews of videogames in magazines with names like ELECTRONIC FUN WITH COMPUTERS AND GAMES; I sold my first short story to ELLERY QUEEN in 1987, when I was 17; and a few years later, I started editing anthologies of short fiction for QUEEN and ALFRED HITCHCOCK and ISAAC ASIMOV’S SCIENCE FICTION MAGAZINE. By the time I graduated college I’d published several hundred reviews and articles and stories and edited a dozen books, and I was certain I’d always be a writer and an editor and nothing but.

So how did I wind up starting an Internet company? It’s a long story, but the short version is that back in 1992, mostly to make ends meet, I accepted a job offer from a company called D. E. Shaw & Co. (where Jeff Bezos, later the founder of Amazon.com, was also working), and around 1994 Jeff and I and a third guy who now runs a hedge fund were assigned to look at commercial opportunities on the Internet. Jeff came up with the idea for Amazon; the other guy started an online stock trading service that Merrill Lynch eventually bought; and I came up with the idea for Juno. Seven years and 10 million subscribers later, I merged it with NetZero and went back into writing, editing, and publishing, which were always my
first and greatest loves. I still spend part of my time working on business matters — most recently overseeing a couple of biotechnology companies — but publishing is where I began, and I imagine it’s where I’ll end.

MM: What’s so great about the pulp tradition? Why do you like treading on the dark side?

CA: Well, to start with, pulp is not always dark — there’s plenty of light, exciting, action-packed pulp, and it’s fun, too. But I’ve always
gravitated toward the dark side. Chalk it up to a tortured adolescence; chalk it up to growing up in cynical, grubby 1970s New York City, where everyone I knew had been mugged at least once, the lucky ones at gunpoint, and where the back pages of NEW YORK magazine and THE VILLAGE VOICE were an out-in-the-open market for sexual services of every description. Chalk it up to being reared by two Holocaust survivors who told me bedtime stories that would make Stephen King look like Dr. Pangloss and whose repeated lesson to me was that you always have to keep a suitcase packed for the day when things inevitably (but without warning) turn bad. Chalk it up to a lot of things — all I know is that when I first read writers
like Thomas Hardy and Camus, and then James M. Cain and Cornell Woolrich and Lawrence Block, I knew instantly I’d found kindred souls.

And then, of course, as a writer I love dark pulp fiction for its velocity, its concision, its storytelling efficiency. Page one: a corpse. Page two: they’re running for their lives. Page three: a man with a gun. You can’t resist the pull of writing that immediate, that grab-you-by-the-throat.

MM: As an editor, what criteria do you follow when picking a vintage book to reprint?

CA: It’s simple: I have several thousand old crime paperbacks on my shelves and I’ve read most of them, and I ask myself, which ones do I remember That eliminates 90 percent. Then I ask, which of those do I remember fondly? That eliminates another 9 percent. Then I pull the rest off the shelf, reread them, and ask, "Would a reader who is not already a pulp aficionado or a collector enjoy reading this book?" Because we’re not archivists; we’re entertainers, and we want to deliver a great reading experience to a member of the general public, not just to hardcore fans. This process eliminates most of the books on my shelves. The ones that are left we reprint.

MM: What do you look for in new authors?

CA: It sounds trite and obvious, but the main thing I look for is good writing. And that’s awfully hard to find. We get about 1000 submissions per year and in a typical year 990 of them are badly written. The writers have the best intentions in the world and sometimes they even have an interesting story to tell, but their writing just isn’t of professional quality. Of the ones that are well written, some just wouldn’t be appropriate for us — they’re set in the Middle Ages or are about vampires and ghosts or they’re really horror novels or modern thrillers rather than the sort of classical hardboiled/noir crime fiction we publish. Or I just don’t like them personally, for whatever impossible-to-define reason. But once in a while I find a book that’s well written, that’s crime fiction, and that I like — and that’s what I look for.

The hardest of these elements to define is the last one: what I like. The best way I’ve found to describe it is to pose the question, "Could you imagine this having been published by Gold Medal in the 1950s?" Now, Gold Medal published a pretty wide range of books, everything from Westerns to joke books to adventure novels — but there’s a certain type of crime fiction you associate with the Gold Medal name, and generally speaking that’s the sort of story that belongs in Hard Case Crime. There are exceptions, of course — what’s a rule without exceptions? — but it’s a reasonable guideline.

MM: If you could pick any author to write a book for Hard Case, who would it be?

CA: Oh, that’s tough — there are so many. Elmore Leonard would be a natural, and we’ve exchanged letters with him over the years, but I doubt it could ever happen. Robert B. Parker is terrific when he writes lean and quick. Dean Koontz started out writing hardboiled crime novels and I bet he’d enjoy doing it one more time. Jonathan Lethem’s a fan of our books, as is George Pelecanos, and I’d love to have either of them take a crack at
writing one. My favorite fantasy is that Philip Roth would write one — I spoke to him once, when THE HUMAN STAIN came out, and he described the scene at the end on the frozen lake as his first chance to write suspense fiction. I’d be glad to give him another chance. But these are dreams. I don’t expect it to happen.

MM: Okay, Sophie’s choice time. Everyone knows how great Hard Case’s covers are. Do you have a favorite?

CA: That’s even tougher! We have some fantastic artists and choosing among them is impossible. How do you rank a McGinnis against a Manchess or an Orbik? You don’t, is the answer. You can’t. Within each artist’s work it’s easier, but only a little. Bob McGinnis’ best for us is probably either THE GIRL WITH THE LONG GREEN HEART or THE LAST QUARRY (though I think the girl on KILL NOW, PAY LATER has the most beautiful face of any he’s painted for us). Greg Manchess’ FADE TO BLONDE has become almost an iconic image for us (though his VENGEFUL VIRGIN is a popular favorite as well). Glen Orbik’s SONGS OF INNOCENCE has a special place in my heart,for obvious reasons (though his BRANDED WOMAN and BLACKMAILER give it a run for its money in terms of sheer wolf-whistle-inducing sex appeal). And then there’s Chuck Pyle, with his dead-on period stylings in LUCKY AT CARDS and A DIET OF TREACLE, and Rick Farrell who did such a gorgeous job SLIDE and LEMONS NEVER LIE, and… Okay, it’s impossible. All I’ll say is this: If you think you have a favorite now, wait till next month. And that goes no matter what month it is.

MM: In July, (or is it June?) Songs of Innocence hits the shelves, written by Richard Aleas, AKA you. I’ll skip the usual pen name questions. Songs is a follow up to your first novel, Little Girl Lost. What challenges did you face writing a sequel?

CA: It’s July, though copies probably will show up in some stores at the end of June.

The main challenge, frankly, was finding the time to write it. I wrote LITTLE GIRL LOST over the course of 60 days, while SONGS took me the better part of three years, and it wasn’t because the book was harder to write, it was just because it’s tough to find time to write when you’re publishing a book a month and doing all the copy editing and proofreading yourself (not to mention reading 1000 submissions/year, not to mention overseeing a couple of biotech companies…).

The other challenge had to do with trying to be true to the story I wanted to tell. I started by asking the question, "What would it do to a sensitive young man, in the real world, to go through the events of the first book?" And the answer was clear, it seemed to me: It would severely damage him. So as tempting as it was to just write a conventional second novel, in which the hero of the first is hale and hearty and raring to go, I decided that John Blake would start the second novel on the edge of a precipice. That’s a difficult place to start a novel, because where is there to go but down? But that’s noir. If you can’t stand the heat, etc.

MM: Both you and your partner in crime Max Phillips have published your own novels under the Hard Case banner. How did you handle the editing duties on these books? Were there fistfights involved?

CA: We agreed more than we disagreed, but sure, there were moments. I did a detailed mark-up of his manuscript and he ignored at least half of my suggested edits, and of course his book went on to win the Shamus, so I guess he was right. He did a detailed mark-up of my manuscript and though I actually did take most of his text-level edits, I ignored the main plot-level point he made, and LITTLE GIRL LOST went on to be nominated for both the Shamus and the Edgar, so I guess I was right. In the end, you have to let the author make the final decision; it’s his book.

But the simple fact is that Max is both a more seasoned and a better writer than I am, so it’s appropriate for me to follow his lead a bit more than the other way around. I was grateful to have his help.

MM: Do you feel Hard Case has made an impact on the publishing world?

CA: I’d like to think so. Sometimes I see another publisher doing a cover that looks a bit like one of ours and I think, "They clearly were inspired by us" — but of course we can hardly claim to have invented our look, so who knows. Maybe they were inspired by the same old books that inspired us. I do think more people are aware of old-fashioned pulp crime fiction now than were in 2004, when we started; I also think there are more publishers reprinting undeservedly forgotten crime fiction than there were when we started, and I know there are readers who have been turned on to the work of writers like Day Keene and Gil Brewer who might never have been if we hadn’t reprinted them. That feels good.

But how much of an impact is it really? We’ve published some good books; we’ve given a few hundred thousand people a pleasant night’s reading. That’s nothing to sneeze at, but it’s hardly going to shake the publishing world to its foundations.

MM: What can you tell us about the movie deals? Can you drop any names? Are there any directors lined up? Any stars?

CA: Alas, it’s too early to say anything about movies. Papazian-Hirsch is very enthusiastic and so are we, but enthusiasm is just one of the ingredients you need in order to get movies made; another is money, and we’re in the process now of rounding up the necessary financing. That’s got to be done before you lock down directors or actors or, hell, even the makeup and hair people. But I’m optimistic. These books would make terrific films and enough people in Hollywood agree with us about that that I’d be surprised if we didn’t see some of them up on the silver screen in a few years.

MM: If you could pistol whip anyone in the world, who would it be and why?

CA: What, anyone? Really? Will the Secret Service come knocking on my door if I say "Dick Cheney"? (Just kidding. Don’t arrest me. My bag’s not packed.)

Oh, I don’t know. I’m not a violent sort. There are people I don’t like, but I’d sooner excoriate them verbally than slap ’em with the butt of my roscoe. ("The Butt of My Roscoe." Now there’s a great title for a book.
Although I guess maybe not the sort we publish.)

MM: What’s next for Hard Case?

CA: Another book every month, at least until either the reading public gets tired of it or I do. We’ve got some great writers coming up (Woolrich, Spillane, Robert Bloch), plus more from some of our old favorites (Lawrence Block, Ken Bruen and Jason Starr, Max Allan Collins, John Lange). We have our first ever female author: Christa Faust, whose MONEY SHOT is already looking to be one of the more talked-about books of ’08. And I’ve got something fun in mind for book #50 — but I’m not quite ready to describe it yet, just in case I don’t manage to pull it off…

(Mr. Ardai and his hard-boiled pals at Book Expo America)

My thanks to Charles Ardai for taking the time to chat.

Now let me throw some questions at you, Murder fans. Who would you like to see write a Hard Case book? Are there any old noir classics you’d like to see reprinted? And while you have your thinking caps on, come up with a great two-fisted, steamy title for a pulp novel.

Coming soon: An interview with Hard Case alum and author of HARD MAN, Allan Guthrie

ALA – the American Library Association Conference

I’m in DC this weekend for ALA – the American Library Association Conference. But this time, I’m not even going to try to pretend that I might report back later today on how the day is going. It’s a CONVENTION.

Instead, for the moment, I’ll talk about my library conference experience last year, and about why these things should be on every author’s radar.

But first I must report, to set the scene, that the weather is SPECTACULAR. A fantastic warm dry wind and explosions of flowers everywhere you look. I of course will be in a convention hall for three straight days, but it’s theoretically gorgeous here.

I must also take a moment to express my complete fascination with how bizarre DC is. I truly enjoy the capitol, except for the driving, which is psychotic (and please remember, I’m from LA) – and the unnavigable streets and incomprehensible road signs, which truly were designed by a young nation in deep and constant paranoia of imminent foreign invasion…

And this architectural mix of military industrial complex and esoteric Masonic edifices… it’s a little unnerving to think this place is the symbol of the entire US. I don’t really even want to start to think about what all of that means for us as a people, not to mention the most powerful nation in the world…

Um, where was I? Oh, yes, right. I’m here for ALA, which I said – I think just last week – is in my opinion one of the two unmissable conferences of the year for new authors.

Because, let’s face it. As authors, and yes, as human beings, we’d be up that proverbial creek without a paddle without librarians, wouldn’t we?

My very first conference after I sold my book was the PLA (Public Library Association) conference, last May, in Boston.

I did it because I happened to be in Boston anyway, doing research for THE PRICE. I was completely green at the time, but I just had done that magic thing – I’d joined Sisters In Crime and
Mystery Writers of America, and the very first newsletter I got from each organization had an announcement that Sisters in Crime and MWA would be sponsoring a booth at PLA where their authors could volunteer and meet librarians.

Well, this instantly caught my attention, because THE HARROWING is actually the book I was always looking for on the library shelves when I was a high school Goth girl reading Madeleine L’Engle and Stephen King, Shirley Jackson and F. Paul Wilson, Ira Levin and Lillian Hellman; Leonora Mattingly Weber and Poe and Shakespeare and Ramsey Campbell and Sheridan Le Fanu and Anne Rice and…

Bottom line – more than just about anything else, I wanted THE HARROWING in libraries, for Goth girls (and boys) like me to discover on rainy days. It’s an adult title but these age distinctions never stopped me from reading when I was — well, basically from the time I could read. So I thought, well, if I want to meet librarians… and I volunteered.

Sisters in Crime library events are run by the SinC Library Liaison, Doris Ann Norris, self-styled 2000-year old librarian (as she’s known on Dorothy L), revered by Sisters in Crime and MWA as "The Patron Saint of Mystery Writers" – and that’s no lie.

I stayed in that booth for pretty much the whole conference and Doris Ann took me under her wing and gave me a personalized crash course in publication, conferences, librarians, and life.

You know those moments when you feel like you just don’t have to do anything, because the Universe is in charge?

That PLA conference was one of those times. It completely hooked me on the conference experience.

It was the greatest learning experience to watch Doris Ann in action, along with Dan Hale (there to represent MWA, and now the MWA executive VP) and the entire raucous chapter of the New England Chapter of Sisters in Crime (who hosted the booth): the most fabulous Dana Cameron, Clea Simon, Linda Barnes, Donna Andrews, Kate Flora, Hallie Ephron, Roberta Isleib, Sarah Smith, Susan Oleksiw, Toni and Steven Kelner, and Julia Spencer Fleming.

This is networking at its most painless. All you do is sit (or stand) there in the booth. Librarians FLOCK to the Sisters in Crime and Mystery Writers of America booths – they LOVE mysteries (and that’s an interesting question right there – just who are librarians so eager to see killed? Enquiring minds want to know….)

I stopped counting how many times people ran up to the booth exclaiming: “Sisters in Crime!!! I’ve been looking for you!”

Librarians love to hear about new books and they are fantastically supportive of new authors. At the time THE HARROWING was five months away from publication but I talked to literally hundreds of librarians about the book that weekend and put myself squarely on the library radar (Doris Ann kindly reported my growing library orders back to me in subsequent months.) I got requests for library appearances, got featured in the Brodart book catalogue, and did a podcast for a university library – that day – and all I did was sit there.

That weekend I was also privileged to attend a book club meeting at Kate’s Mystery Books in Cambridge with the great Margaret Maron, queen of Southern mysteries and one of the most gracious and wickedly entertaining people on the planet.

If all that weren’t enough, the whole weekend culminated in an absolutely stupendous party at the BPL (that’s the Boston Public Library, to non-Bostonians). Now, I have to say I’ve been to some pretty amazing parties in my life – from seven-day Irish weddings in decrepit Irish castles where the roof literally collapsed on the dancers, to special-effects artists’ otherworldly extravaganzas, to of course Mardi Gras, to the most ridiculously decadent Hollywood premieres (not to mention any given Halloween in San Francisco’s Castro District – if you’re ever looking for a really WILD party…)

But that party at BPL was in a class of its own. A salsa band in one wing, a jazz pianist in a marble hall, a costumed fife and drum ensemble on the front steps, a live gilded Statue of Liberty at the top of a sweeping staircase, a dozen different islands of spectacular food and drink, the fantastic exhibitions (1000 Jeanne d’ Arcs)… the courtyard of the library just all on its own under a nearly full moon… and that building, that building, that building….

I’m here to tell you – librarians could teach authors a thing or two about how to party. Librarians get out there and DANCE, people.

So get thee to a library conference.

You won’t believe what you’ve been missing.

(And if you’re at ALA, too, I’m signing at the MWA/Sisters in Crime booth at 3 pm today, Saturday, and at the St. Martin’s (Holtzbrinck) booth tomorrow, Sunday. Come by and join the party!)

Shinjuku_Outlaw

by J.D. Rhoades

When people find out
about my “day job” practicing law, they usually assume that I write legal
thrillers. “Oh, like John Grisham,” is what I usually hear. Well, I wouldn’t
turn down an advance the size of Grisham’s, that’s for sure, but I don’t write that much about trials and lawyers and
such, which puzzles some people. After all, you’re supposed to write what you
know, right?

The thing is, most
legal fiction drives me up the wall because of all the things that occur that I
know would never, ever happen in a real court of law or in actual practice. I
know, it’s fiction, and you’re supposed to suspend your disbelief, but seeing
someone blatantly violate procedure for dramatic effect is like having a
unicorn walk into the courtroom. That sudden “Whaaaa?” takes me right out of
the story.

And don’t even get
me started on lawyer TV shows. I find myself leaping up, yelling “OBJECT, YOU
MORON!” at the hapless lawyer sitting there looking like a stunned bunny while
the hero or heroine walks all over him.

There’s really not
that much witty repartee going on in the courtroom, and damned little drama.
Most of the time, both sides and the judge know ahead of time how
it’s going to play out, thanks to a process called “discovery”, during which both
sides have to exchange documents, witness lists and other information in their possession. (Violation of
the discovery rules is one of the main things that got Durham District Attorney
Mike Nifong disbarred).

But the thing that
makes me craziest in most legal thrillers is the cliché that every client is
innocent. I mean, I love Ed McBain’s
work, but when I came to a passage in one of his books featuring criminal
lawyer Matthew Hope, a passage in which
McBain stated that Hope only took on
clients “he knew were innocent,” I literally threw the book across the room. Apparently, Matthew Hope Esq, is not fond of eating regularly,
because if you only took on clients you knew were innocent, you’d go hungry a
lot.

The most common
question asked of attorneys in the criminal law area is “how can you defend
people you know are guilty?” At the risk of sounding Clintonian here, the question is really based upon a
misunderstanding as to what the words
“defend” and “guilty” really mean.

Most people assume
that criminal defense is like in books or on TV, where every lawyer only has one case at a time, every case is tried (usually within
45 minutes of the crime taking place) and that every trial’s about whether the
guy at the Defendant’s table is the one who did the deed. Cases with what we call a SODDI (Some Other Dude Did
It) defense actually make up a very small part of your
trial load. Most of the time, everyone
including you is pretty doggone sure
that the person sitting next to you is the perpetrator. In cases like that,
you’re often arguing about what the Defendant actually did, and what crime, if any,
those actions constitute.

Example: There was this guy, let’s call him Danny.
Danny was a long-haired redneck boy from up in the hard-scrabble northern part
of the county. He was, by accounts of everyone who knew him, a pretty good guy, if a little wild. He was 19 years old, had a
good job working construction, a pretty girlfriend, and a new
Camaro. He’d had a couple of traffic tickets, a weed-based misdemeanor or two, but
no history of violence. But, like most young men in his social circle, Danny had a gun. One Friday night, Danny was hanging out with his best
buddy, a guy he’d grown up with, a guy who was like a brother to him. They were
with a bunch of other people hanging around the Stop and Go convenience store.
Danny and Best Buddy were splitting a bottle of Mexican tequila, the kind with
the worm at the bottom. Now the legend is, if you eat the tequila worm, you’ll
get really, really high. Well, before they knew it, the tequila was gone, and
so was the worm. They started the kind of good natured back and forth that young
guys get into some times: ‘Hey you sumbitch, that worm was mine, I’ll kick your ass
for that!” “You ain’t gonna do shit,” etc. The people around the car all agree
they were both laughing, mock punching, just screwing around. Then Danny pulled his pistol from beneath the
seat and started waving it, still laughing.

The gun went off and blew Best Buddy’s brains
all over the passenger side window.

The cops came and
Danny was charged with first degree murder. The D.A. tut-tutted over how awful it was to "shoot a man over the worm in a tequila bottle."

Now, first degree murder,
punishable by death or life without parole, requires premeditation and
deliberation. Danny had no intention of shooting Best Buddy. He didn’t set out
that night planning to shoot him. In fact, he was devastated by what he’d
done. He sat in the office of the
attorney I was clerking for and cried like a child. “I never meant to hurt
nobody,” he said, over and over, and everybody who was there at the scene of
the crime agreed.

So “defending”
Danny didn’t mean proving he didn’t do it. He was guilty of something, but he
wasn’t guilty of first degree murder. My boss argued, successfully, that what
Danny was actually guilty of was involuntary manslaughter which, stripped of
legal verbiage, means “the Defendant was doing something monumentally stupid and someone
got killed.” The difference for Danny was five years instead of life. He pled
to involuntary, did his five years, and hasn’t been in trouble since. In fact,
he’s a deacon in his church. He hasn’t touched a drop of alcohol since that
night.

Other times, “defending the guilty” means
arguing for alternatives to prison. Sometimes, a probationary sentence involves getting your
strung-out, drug addicted client into rehab, and sometimes it takes. Not often,
but enough. And if a defendant is employed, probation with restitution gives the victim a chance to get their money back.

So while there are
some great stories out there in actual law practice, very few of them are the
type you’d read in a mystery novel.

All that said, a few people do manage to do it right. Margaret Maron, for example, has a number of scenes that absolutely nail the details of small town law practice (probably because she did some of her research with the Chief District Court Judge in my district). George V. Higgins’ Kennedy for the Defense gets into the mind of a criminal lawyer, with its blend of idealism and cynicism, better than just about anyone (although he does have that annoying "only one client at a time" cliche going).

And for some reason, it doesn’t bother me so much if it’s played for laughs. Night Court didn’t piss me off like Law and Order does. Although, ironically, the losers and loonies of Night Court seem closer to the real people you see some days in District Court.

So can anyone recommend a "legal thriller" that WON’T get thrown off the deck when I’m at the beach next week?

How I do it

by Pari Noskin Taichert

How do you do it?

The question snickers in my inbox. It’s the late-night topic of conversation in bars. Friends shake their heads in consternation. Acquaintances think I’m some kind of superwoman.

How do you do it?

The truth is, my life is a wonderful mess. It’s fractured and overscheduled, satisfying and frustrating, surprising and predictable.

In an effort to gain a bit of control, I try to organize myself, to make and reach goals. At the beginning of each week, I tell myself I’ll . . .

write at a consistent time every day
write a set amount every day
leave phones unanswered
ignore emails
get rid of clutter
clean my office and keep it clean
schedule my day for maximum efficiency
cut down on caffeine
increase sleep time
get up earlier
go to bed earlier
read more; read less
get more exercise
spend more time with the kids
write MORE
cook nutritious meals
make time to talk with my husband; let him have much-needed time alone
clean the fridge; eat all the produce in it before buying more
take better care of myself
take better care of the yard
clean the damn house
talk to the fig tree . . .

And that’s just what I can remember from last Sunday.

Here’s what I’ve done since 7 this morning:
Watered front and back yards. Fed kids. Cleaned kitchen. Took one kid to swim team. Helped other child with math. Wrote blog. Took one kid to swimming lessons and stayed to encourage/assess for need for next week. Rewrote blog. Answered emails. Managed new attendees-only Yahoo group for Left Coast Crime 2008 in Denver (sign up, people!). Wrote in Darnda series. Thought through a plot point for Sasha. Worked on redesign of website. Went to store. Composed letter and mailed manuscript to new PR person. Went to bookstore to buy present for tomorrow b-day party for kid’s friend; schmoozed with inventory manager. Got kids lunch. Did research for Sasha book. Planned more publicity for LCC 2008. Wrote another section for website. Visited MySpace and Crimespace to confirm friends. Helped daughter with her typing; read a story she wrote and talked with her about it . . .

I’m sure I’ve forgotten more than half of it.

Sometimes I wish I could go on an extended retreat — for a month or two — without distractions. That’ll have to wait for at least the next 10 years.

In the meantime, all I can do is try to insert a bit of order here and there.

Lately, I’ve been focusing on what I DO accomplish — stressing the positive — a page written, a chapter edited, a mailing sent . . . a smile earned, a child’s hug freely given, food eaten happily.

How do I do it?

I don’t.

But I keep trying.

How do you do it?

Writing Funny

by JT Ellison

It’s been a serious week. For me, at least. I’ve been fretting, something I’m not prone to do. My new book is kicking my butt. I realized that I have no outside life — that writing and reading have become my end all, be all. Not that this is such a bad thing, but exclusivity in any endeavor can sometimes lead to ruts. Ruts don’t equal fresh, exciting writing. Sometimes it hits me that I don’t have the life experience of so many other writers I admire, and I wonder if it reflects in my work. (Yes, I’m reading John Connolly. I always dive into massive introspection when I surrender to his art.)

And then, a beautiful thing happened. Thank the good Lord above, LAST COMIC STANDING showed up in my Tivo list. Hubby and I have been watching the preliminary rounds, the auditions from across the country. My goodness, there are some seriously funny people out there. And some who have absolutely no business trying. Watching this combination of entertainment and train wreck has drastically improved my mood, and led me to this post.

Open call to all you funny writers out there — how do you do it?

I read blog entries, stories and books that are wicked funny, have me bowling over laughing. Obviously, comedians write their material and the talented ones can turn it into true comic nirvana. But I can’t, for the life of me, write funny.

It’s more than just not being able to translate my sense of humor to the page. I’m certainly not a comedienne, but I’ve got a pretty good sense of humor. I do voices, can cut up with the best of them. I don’t get offended at dirty jokes. I love to laugh. It’s an RX that I prescribe for any happy relationship, actually. People ask how our marriage works so well, and I tell them we have at least one huge belly laugh together a day. Laughter really is the best medicine. (Oh no, I used the word "really." Ever since Eisler joined the crusades against "like" and "really" I assiduously avoid using the word in print, but it fits here. Sorry, Barry!)

See what I mean? That makes me laugh, but it doesn’t translate. I’m just not funny on paper.

I used to be good at telling long intricate jokes. Now, not so much. I only know one really good joke and it’s absolutely filthy, plus, to make it work well, you have to act it out. If I ever tell it in public, I warn you in advance I have been completely over-served and you should haul me off to bed (mine, not yours.) It’s THAT filthy.

So what’s a girl to do? I want to be suave and amusing in print. I want to make people grasp their sides and have tears roll down their faces. In person, I can be dry, and droll, and bitingly sarcastic, and do it in Donald Duck’s point of view. But the second my fingers touch a keyboard, the loquaciousness is gone. I want to be like my good friend Kristy Kiernan. That girl puts words to the page and I start rolling in the aisles. Jeff Cohen always makes me laugh. Randall Hicks slays DorothyL with good humor. Bill Cameron has the most brilliant way of using irony to self-deprecate and make me laugh. Toni Causey and our own Pari can make me giggle with their eyes closed and one hand tied behind their backs.

So I beseech you, funny writers. Share your wealth with a poor, misguided girl.

HOW DO YOU DO IT?????????

And for our readers, who makes you laugh, every time??????

I need amusement today, folks. Double, triple extra special bonus points for anyone who writes a short short about this poor cat.

Wine of the Week: Morellino di Scansano

————–

PS — I’m thrilled to have the opportunity to host debut author Michelle Gagnon here next Friday. Stop by and get to know this dynamic new talent.

Eb Game Game

By Louise

I believe that people grow into their given names. A baby Bubba will indeed grow up to be a Bubba. Tracie and Gertrude will become different kinds of women.

I don’t have children, but the naming part must be an awesome task. Do you whisper to the Genius Gods with names like Isaac and Albert? Do you tempt fate by calling your daughters Precious and Belle?

Unlike human parents, I’ve noticed that many dog owners prefer ironic names for their pets. How else to explain the number of Bichon Frises named Rocky?

My family has always followed the Last-Out-First-In rule for naming. That is, you name your newborn after the most recently deceased relative of the same sex. It can lead to a covey of Leonas and Louises in one generation. And it will be a long time before any more Jennifers or Jasons show up.

There are some folks who recognize early on that they have been mislabeled. Like fixing a recipe, sometimes it calls for just a tweak — a little more salt, perhaps. Leonas become Lees. Elizabeth becomes Betty.

Others throw out the recipe all together. My old friend Maddie Werner became Illiani Matisse. And webmistress-extraordinaire Heidi Mack became Madeira James. She never felt like a Heidi, and finally did something about it.

Why all this talk about names? Because I can’t start writing without one.

I need a title for a book before I can even write the first sentence.

I know this isn’ÂÂt true for all writers. Some folks find that nugget of a title from a sentence they wrote on page 386. Others have been so burned by title changes at the publisher that they no longer care what name the book starts out with.

But that’s not me.

A good title opens whole new worlds for me. Something called Cold Kill could be a survival story in the bleakest winter. Or it could describe a passionless execution by a serial killer. Louise Penny’s Still Life evokes artwork, but also made me ask, "Is that an unmoving and stagnant life? Or is a still life another name for death?"

I keep three "idea folders" in my desk drawer. One for plot lines and book ideas. One for description, dialog, and character inspiration. One for titles. Guess which one is as fat as a mid-summer tomato?

I once tried to write a book without having a title. I was rudderless. Too many places I could go, and no destination in mind. I got 130 pages into it and realized that it was a collection of scenes, but not a story.

It didn’ÂÂt have a name. And a name would have defined it.

Years ago, I decided that I would someday write a book called Forcing AmaryllisÂÂ. (You know, of course, that it was said in the grandest tone — back in the days when I talked about writing rather than actually doing it.) I had seen the words on an instruction sheet at the nursery. How to force an amaryllis bulb to open after its months-long slumber. Hmmm, I wonder what that book would be about?

My second novel is ÂÂThe Fault Tree,ÂÂ and it, too was named years before it was written. I was driving through Golden Gate Park when the radio announcer broke the news of the space shuttle Columbia’s disintegration in the Texas sky. "They’ve already scheduled a fault tree analysis to see if they can determine what went wrong." Ah, there are so many ways something can go wrong. My own Fault Tree proves it.

The next book will be Liars Anonymous. Then After That Day. Then maybe The Glam Squad. I have no idea what these books are about but the words hang at the point of my tongue, teasing and taunting.

How about ÂÂSnuff Radio? Or Gabble Ratchet or A Silver Bullet for Miss Kahlil.ÂÂ

Maybe ÂÂDime Store Pope or ÂÂSin Lagrimas, when the English-reading world is ready for a Spanish-titled book.

I’m not at a loss for titles. The hard part is creating the books that live up to them. After all, we grow into our given names, don’ÂÂt we?

What about you all? Are you as drawn to titles as I am? When you’re in a bookstore, can a title alone get you to pick up a book? And writers, can you nurture a nameless child? Or must you, like me, name him first?

And just because I think it’s so cool … here’s 500 years of female portraiture in three minutes:

Breaking News…

This just in to the Murderati grapevine…

Our very own Ken Bruen will be presented with the first ever David L. Goodis Award at NoirCon in Philadelphia, PA. The conference, slated for April 3-6, 2008, follows in the footsteps of last year’s GoodisCon, with plans for an annual celebration of the past, present and future of Noir in all its forms.

Congratulations, Ken! A well-deserved honor indeed!

Can Voice Save a Story?

by JT Ellison

I hate to pose questions in my blog titles, much prefering to find some fun tidbit to infer the topic, but this one is too important to play games with. Can voice save a story???