More BEA

by Alex

I think we’re not done talking about BEA (Book Expo America) yet.

I’ve been to a LOT of conferences, workshops, and conventions this year and it’s my impression that the two most useful/important for debut authors are ALA (the American Library Association Conference) and BEA. I am happily accepting arguments to the contrary today because I think it would be an extremely valuable discussion to have here (I’m sure not for the first time!) – for all of us to talk about the conferences we think give authors the most bang for the buck.

Also, Toni and JT were both at BEA so I’d love to hear more of their impressions, and I’m sure I’m not the only one.

BEA and ALA have a tremendous lot in common (well, I say this mostly because of their size and because they’re both trade shows.) These shows are huge. HUGE – I heard 30,000 attendees for BEA this year. Publishers and distributors set up corporate booths in rows of aisles and aisles and aisles and aisles across a massive convention hall (there were 4500 distinct booths in one hall alone, which gives you some idea), and booksellers and librarians and authors wander the aisles doing business, taking meetings and grabbing bagload after bagload of free books, ARCs and SWAG.

This was my second BEA – I signed ARCs of THE HARROWING last year, and this year I could sign actual books. I remember my first impression of BEA last year as total overwhelm – so many people you could barely get around in the aisles, so many booksellers and librarians to talk to, so many authors to meet. I wasn’t the only one with a completely glazed look in my eyes within an hour. And this year, the first day (Friday) was even more insane, as Toni and JT can attest. There was something seriously wrong with the air conditioning and the wall-to-wall people in each aisle turned the whole place into a tropical nightmare. Luckily I knew to layer and instantly stripped down to bare arms and sandals, but other people were really suffering and I think the next two days were much lighter than they would have been because so many people weren’t up for a repeat of Friday (plus, you know, all of New York was out there singing its siren song…)

But (atomospheric conditions aside) Book Expo America is self-billed as “The Premier Event Serving the Book Publishing Industry”. And this year Heather Graham told some new authors bluntly that BEA is the most important thing you can do all year for your career.

So what does a new author do there, exactly?

Well, first of all, if you’re lucky, your publisher takes you and you do signings in the publisher’s booth. Not every debut author gets to go – not by a long shot. For one thing, BEA is mostly to introduce the fall line of books, so if you’re coming out in a different season, you’re not necessarily going to be on the list.

But that’s not the only way to do signings and appearances at BEA. JT said yesterday how essential it is to join an authors’ group, and I’d like to second that in spades. One of the greatest things that Sisters in Crime, Mystery Writers of America, and Romance Writers of America do for their authors is sponsor booths at BEA and ALA (and PLA, the Public Library Association conference, held every other year). You can sign up to sign (you or your publisher have to provide the books, which are given away – there’s no selling on the convention floor). You can also in some cases volunteer to staff the booth, which is a fabulous way to meet hundreds of librarians and booksellers. These book professionals know and love Sisters in Crime and MWA and RWA and go out of their way to find these booths and see what’s new in the genre.

I’m new to RWA and didn’t do a signing there this time, but Sisters in Crime and Mystery Writers of America made me and all of their other author charges feel completely at home and looked after. Sisters in Crime runs an always-hopping booth that acts like a combination lounge and oasis for members and dazed convention-goers alike.

The MWA booth is as organized and professional as it is inviting, thanks to the amazing Margery Flax, Executive Director, without whom the organization would collapse within a half hour.

These booths are home base – I could venture out into the fray, journey the miles of booths and always find safe haven back with SinC and MWA.

And this year, I have to say, the Harlequin booth (booth doesn’t really begin to describe it – it was more like a posh club) was another haven. I know so many HQ/Mira authors now that it was a great place to stop by and find friends and actual chairs when my legs were giving out.

THE PRICE isn’t out until January, so this year I signed THE HARROWING in two different sessions, with Sisters in Crime and MWA, and the rest of the time I just wandered the floor, meeting and chatting with literally hundreds of great booksellers and librarians and reviewers (I’m starting to recognize a lot of people now, booksellers I’ve done signings for, librarians I’ve met at other conferences, reviewers who have been very supportive – it’s really fun.) I had meetings with my agent, with various people from St. Martin’s – you do a tremendous amount of business in those three days. And then of course there are the parties afterward (thank you, Harlequin!!).

BEA is huge, but it’s essentially like any other conference in terms of working it – all you have to do is relax and walk around and just run into the people you need to run into. Really, it works. Reviewers, booksellers, your publishers, extraordinary friends you haven’t seen in ten years – they’re all there in a very contained space and you will drift into them if you just go with the flow.

In the end you have dozens and dozens of buyers reading your books. You get dozens of requests for bookstore and festival appearances and can get a much clearer picture of where you want to tour, and in what order. You make new friends, and get reunited with very dear old ones. And let’s not forget the SWAG. Remember – no selling on the floor – it’s all giveaways!.

It’s crazy, but I really think, bottom line, it’s invaluable and unmissable.

Now – others? Can we get some more impressions of BEA? And what are the unmissable conferences for you?

My First Time

By JT Ellison

Now, don’t blush or turn away based on the title of this blog. We’ve all had a first time. It’s that special moment in our life which will always, always be with us. It changes us, alters our perspective. We feel more beautiful, taller, thinner, wittier, more glamorous. I’m talking, of course, about my first… book signing.

I’m not a huge fan about talking about myself on this blog. My post theme is “A Newbie’s Perspective” and I oftentimes feel like that’s a misnomer, because in order to share the experience of being a newbie, I have to talk about myself in terms of career. This may not make sense to you. This blog is always about me, in some way or another. My feelings on books that influence me, or situations that make me write the things I do. But I’ve steered clear of what can only be termed BSP, the dreaded blatant self promotion, because that’s not what this blog has ever been about. But to tell the story of my first time, I’m going to have to go there a bit, so please forgive me in advance.

I was thrilled to receive that phone call a couple of months ago inviting me to come to BEA to sign galleys of ALL THE PRETTY GIRLS. My publisher has started a very cool promotion called THE DEADLY SEVEN, and ATPG was chosen to be a part of the program. They decided to do a Deadly Seven hour at BEA in the Harlequin booth, thus the glee inducing phone call. This promotion is so exciting because they are coupling several debut authors — myself, Jason Pinter and Michelle Gagnon — with the more established authors — MJ Rose, Alex Kava, Chris Jordan and Paul Johnston. Smart, smart, smart, those Mira folks. The signing was arranged, with MJ, Alex, Jason, Michelle and me all confirmed.

I should have been nervous. I should have been petrified. Instead, the closer we got to the date, the more excited I became. I didn’t tell a ton of folks, just my intimate circle, and they were their usual super-supportive selves. Only one little problem. I woke up Tuesday last with the most vicious head cold you can imagine. All I knew was in two days, I had to fly to New York for the most important moment of my young career. I stopped moving entirely, invested in industrial strength boxes of Musinex, Comtrex and Advil sinus, went on a Z-pak, drank orange juice, put Zicam up my nose every three hours, and drank Airborne twice a day. By Thursday morning, I still couldn’t breath, but I was alive. I packed the drugs in my bag along with a box of tissues, crossed myself, praying for adrenaline, and off we went.

We met up with my fantastic editor Linda McFall Thursday night for a quick dinner before she left town for the weekend, then headed to our lovely hotel/motel for the night, getting in around 1 a.m. Went right to bed and got up at a leisurely 9 a.m. to shower, curl, primp and dress for the trip to the Javits Center. Clothing in place, hair not doing what I wanted it to but livable, cute shoes on, we headed out.

Cue nerves.

You know that train is leaving the station, you can’t turn back now sort of feeling you get right before something major is about to happen? Yeah. That feeling flooded through me as we sat in horrendous Manhattan traffic. But the strangest thing happened. Hubby pointed out the window, to my right. We were stuck in traffic directly in front of the Church of St. Francis of Assisi on West 31st Street. If that wasn’t a sign, I don’t know what would be. The nerves vanished.

We arrived a little early so I could get the lay of the land and immediately ran into my awesome agent, Scott Miller. In a crowd of 30,000 booksellers, sales people, buyers, and a guy dressed like God, how does that happen? Regardless, in this huge mash of people, there’s Scott, with a big smile that made me feel pretty good. Then I run into our most divine Alex Sokoloff, who kindly came to bear witness on this event so I won’t be alone with no one to sign for. I’m thinking I might get four of five folks, bleed off from the big dogs I’m signing with, so it’s great to have a familiar face there. MJ is there now, the booth starting to fill with fans who’ve come to see her and take a signed copy of one of the biggest buzzed books of BEA, THE REINCARNATIONIST.

Have I mentioned that as I’m getting ready to do the signing, I still have not seen my galley? Ever? That this moment will be the very first time I’ve seen my work as a book? Hubby manages to filch on off the stacks that are being piled up on the table in front of my chair. He hands it to me and I feel this enormous sense of relief. It’s real. It’s a book. All the time and effort and… oh my God my throat is getting a little constricted and I feel the prick of tears… and they say “JT, we’re ready for you,” and I have to turn it off. I look to my right and there are people waiting for me. A line of them.

I signed for forty-five minutes. Straight. Person after person after person. In the middle of signing, I did an interview with a Canadian film crew who were doing dual purpose interviews and podcasts. It went well. I was much more comfortable that I ever imagined I’d be. I met librarians, and readers, and people who were just wandering by and saw a line and got in it because it was a free book. There was a publisher from China and a girl named Taylor. Even a librarian from my mom’s part of Philly. I signed and signed and signed. They kept opening boxes and handing me books, then they told me I was down to the last four. I had to step away from the table so I could keep a couple galleys for myself. It was, in a word, surreal.

That first time I crossed out my typeset name and signed mine underneath I realized that this was exactly where I was supposed to be. I’ve fought hard to get here. I’ve had a lot of rejections. I haven’t exactly suffered, but I’ve stumbled a few times. But the moment I sat down and smiled at the first woman in line, it all just clicked for me. These are going to be my readers. They may love me, they may hate me. But they are going to read me. And I’ll vow right here that no matter what, I will always do my best to provide the most entertaining, well written read I can possibly give you.

The rest of the weekend was a bit of a blur. We threw ourselves into the hands of the Gods of New York, had an amazing dinner at Remi’s, partied, met people from all corners of the world, ran around town until the wee hours of the morning. Saturday we got up and did it all again, capping the weekend with the Harlequin party. The vibe there was incredible, the champagne flowed, and I must tell you, my publishing house is full to the brim with some of the classiest people you can ever hope to meet.

I’m going to be riding this high for a while. I’m working hard on my third book now, trying to get a first draft done by Thrillerfest. I’ve just gotten the Thrillerfest schedule, where I’ll be on two panels, the debut author breakfast on Friday morning, and the 11:00 Sunday morning panel with CJ Lyons, Derek Nikitas, Dave White and Emily Benedek. Trust me, you won’t want to miss it. I’ve got Southern Festival of Books lined up for October, a Lakeland, Florida event and another possible literary festival. The schedule is starting to fill. The website is interactive now, with a newsletter section if you’re interested in learning more about what’s happening in JT land.

The train has truly left the station. Thanks for being a part of my first time.

Let’s talk about first times. If you’re a writer, tell us about your first signing. If you’re a reader, tell us about your first signing. The perspectives should be fascinating.

Wine of the Week: We cheated at Remi’s. The wine list was over thirty pages of the most incredible wines, but we chose a bottle of Tenute Silvio Nardi Rosso di Montalcino to celebrate. Why mess with a good thing, right?

And a P.S. to combat the nausea I’m experiencing from this blog entry being all about me…

1. Look to the links at the right side of Murderati. We’ve added some great new blogs, including the very cool and informative CRIME NEVER PAYS by Irishman Declan Burke (I dig the author’s name, the blog title, and all things Irish this week. It must be that Connolly’s THE UNQUIET is beckoning me and I’m atwitter with anticipation because I’m meeting Mr. Bruen in July.)

2. I’m reading Toni McGee Cauey’s debut novel right now, and I tell you, this girl has not missed a step. BOBBIE FAYE’S VERY (very, very, very) BAD DAY is funny and explosive, full of energy and laugh out loud funny. If you haven’t read it, go get it. Right now. The comments can wait until you get back.

3. Brett Battles and our own Robert Gregory Browne have started a series of podcasts discussing writing, breaking in, and advice on the industry. See the new Battles and Browne website here.

Letting It Cool

It takes a long time to write a book. It varies from writer to writer, but for me, it’s usually somewhere between eight and ten months. Since it takes so long, it seems abhorrent to me that when I’m finished (really finished—the last draft is done and I think it’s ready to shoot off to the editor) I should pause before sending it. But I should let the heat of passion cool before taking another step forward. That’s the smart thing to do. Unfortunately, I’m not very good when it comes to doing the smart thing.

I’m not a patient person and this situation reminds me of growing up alongside my mum and every cake she ever baked. She’d take them out of the oven, put them on the rack to cool and I’d slide my face in the way of the rack to get a first bite.

“You’ve got to let it cool,” my mom would say.

“No, I can eat it now.”

“It’s too hot.”

“It’s never too hot.”

“Alright, have it your way—but don’t come running to me complaining of a stomach ache.”

Stomach ache? Ha! Not with my constitution. But lo and behold, twenty minutes later, I’d go running back to mummy and say, “Mummy, my tummy is all hurty.”

“Simon, you’re thirty years old. When are you going to learn?”

Well, mummy, I’ve learned. Finally. Somewhere around my 39th birthday. Mummy’s little boy is a fast one. Oh, yes, he is.

Now when the final draft comes chuntering off the printer, I don’t just shove it in an envelope anymore. I put it on the shelf for a couple of weeks to age and move on to something else. This cleanses my writing palate (translation: I get passionate about something else and I forget about the piece I’ve put away). Then I come back to my fully rested and cooled manuscript and read it again. Wow, do I find some imperfections in my perfect final draft and I’m back to tinkering. I swear enemy elves come at night and change things when I’m not watching. Little buggers.

I’m learning this at the moment with the current book I’m working on. I considered it done. Julie considered it done. I’m looking at it anew after several years since I last worked on it. It needs help. A lot of help.

Julie said, “How did we ever think this was good?”

The problem was we were too close to it. I lived and breathed the book for twelve months and I wanted it done and gone. My eagerness proved to be its shortcoming.

Julie added, “It’s a testament to have far we’ve come. We thought this rocked.”

And now it lolls, I thought. But she’s right. I have developed as a scribbler. I now know when I’m not good enough. Oh, that doesn’t sound good. Anyhoo, too much haste is a bad trait and makes me my own worst enemy. But if I exercise a little restraint and patience, I might create something good.

So, I’ve learned the importance of the cooling effect when it comes to my writing, but not when it comes to cake. Julie, my tummy is all hurty. Come rub it and make it all better…

Yours painfully,
Simon Wood
PS: Our very own Robert Gregory Browne and Brett Battles are venturing into the podcast world. They’ve started a series of talks about writing, which, in the near future, will also include interviews with other authors and publishing industry professionals. Their first podcast on writing characters is now up. You can find it here. Please check it out as I believe podcasting may have something to do with alien invasions.

Gonna Take Two Weeks, Gonna Have a Fine Vacation

by J.D. Rhoades

I’ve gotta tell you, folks, I am on my last nerve. The day job’s been an absolute bear, I’ve been pushing to get the fourth novel finished (first draft’s wound up and the hard slog of rereading and rewriting has begun), I’m trying to get promotional stuff together for the paperback release of GOOD DAY IN HELL and the impending release of SAFE AND SOUND, the newspaper column’s always there demanding that I be all topical and witty once a week, and I’m not even going to bring up personal drama.

Frankly, the only thing that’s keeping me from going up the nearest bell tower with a high powered rifle is the prospect of vacation coming up: a week in a beach house at North Carolina’s fabulous Oak Island, just me and the fambly, sleeping late, lying on the sand soaking up rays, bobbing about aimlessly in the waves for hours, chowing down on seafood every night, and generally not giving a rat’s hindquarters about anything. Oh, and reading. Can’t forget that. I’m already stuffing the paperbacks into the beach bag, the more fluffy and mindless the better.

I’m jonesing, friends. I’m jonesing real bad for the smell of salt water and the feel of sand between my toes. I find my attention drifting away during the day, distracted by mental images of moonlight rippling on the surface of the ocean. I’m really looking forward to getting away from it all.

Which leads to the question: what is “it all?” See, I’m seriously thinking this year of leaving the trusty laptop at home, and doing the unthinkable: not writing for a week. The past few years, I’ve taken the Beach Week as an opportunity to put in some work on the latest project. In fact, the first few chapters of THE DEVIL’S RIGHT HAND came together during a Beach Week, when I pulled together a few fragments I had floating around and combined them with an idea I’d had on the drive down. Big chunks of both GOOD DAY IN HELL and SAFE AND SOUND were written during Beach Weeks, when I hauled the laptop out on the deck (or into an unused bedroom) and hammered away at the keyboard during the hours when it was just too damn hot to be out on the sand. But now, time and tide have some together in such a way that, while I have a deadline coming up, if I push a little in the next few wees, I’ll actually be ahead of schedule and not sweating it. So this year, I’m thinking of just vegging out all week. Maybe using that time indoors for, I dunno, a nap. Or another game of Apples to Apples.

And I feel guilty.

I mean, shouldn’t I welcome the extra time to write? Doesn’t being a professional writer mean loving it so much that you jump at every opportunity to put the words down on paper? Doesn’t the feeling that it might be a good idea to take week off mean I lack the proper dedication for this? And can we Southern Protestants give the Catholics a run for their money when it comes to tormenting ourselves with guilt, or what?

I know what I’ll probably end up doing. I’ll take the notebook at least. And I’ll write. Because I don’t know how to stop.

How about you, fellow writers? Do you take vacations at all? And when you do, do you spend any or all of the time writing or scribbling, or whatever it is you do to get the words and images out of your head and onto the page? Is it possible, or even desirable, to shut it off for a week?

Dead Vikings

By Ken Bruen

I was recently on a TV chat show……………whoa, hold the phones, I rarely get on

television but a guest let them down, well, ok, three did and final resort, Bruen

Fly me up to Dublin, nice hotel and you know, made a nice change from agonizing over

the computer

I get up there, it’s raining…….but no never no mind, there’s a car waiting and you’re

telling yerself

“Don’t get used to this?”

I wont

Not ever

The driver is a lovely man, asks what is my reason for getting on the show and I go

“I’m a writer.”

He’s kind of interested, not a lot but is, as I said, a nice guy and he goes

“The wife reads.”

I honest to god, dunno should I say

God bless her

Women?

The ultimate male bonding

“What the fuck are Chelsea playing at?”

Chelsea works best

I think he might have actually warmed to me………a bit anyway

Jesus, you’re trying to make the driver happy, how sad is me fookin life?

We get to the studio and I palm him a few notes, cos you do and he goes

“You don’t have to do that.”

We both know I do and then he asks

“What’s yer name?”

I tell him, he goes as he burns rubber outa there

“Never heard of yah’”

I’m hoping……………maybe the wife, she reads……………so………….

Security is massive as the elections are soon and finally I get the coveted name badge,

with me name spelt……..kev brien

But I’m in

Ushered to the Green Room and there is an air of hushed silence……………not me,

fook, I wish but an Irish rock star is returning to the scene and she is brought in,

surrounded by………….I’m never sure of the term

Posse

Entourage

Crew

Wankers

She is now in her mid 30’s and god Forgive me, looking it, all that pampered

shite……….has its price

And I watch in astonishment, as no matter what she wants, a gang rush to get it and

mainly, she’s bored

She finally is due to go on air and turns to me, asks, like she gave a continental

“Who are you?”

I say

“I’m a writer”

Note to self, stop telling the truth, say you manage a sheep farm

“Have I heard of you?”

Gulp

I say me name

And she goes to makeup, says

“Never heard of you.”

Crushed?

But I do know a driver she’d like

Makeup tell me

“Mmm, not a whole lot we can do for you, “

Jesus, I’m having me one hell of an ego boost

Me time on actual T.V. IS ALL OF FIVE MINUTES

ALL you need to know is, I was asked when my 2nd book might appear

Hollywood came to Galway when I was 17, back then, me whole life depended on 1,

getting to study at Trinty, 2, Praying to Christ that Frances the hot girl, might notice me

She didn’t

I got to play a dead Viking for three months, read a lot of books and the movie,

ALFRED THE GREAT has been called one of the greatest turkeys of all time

Not me fault, I played dead the best I could

And you know, in one way or another, I’ve been playing that damn Viking ever since

Method I think they call it

Sad might be another term but that’s too close to self pity and we do all sorts of crap, but

self pity……………………………………never……………

Take A Break

by Pari Noskin Taichert

Ah, you can tell it’s summer. Squeals of kids splashing in swimming pools punctuate the growls of lawn mowers in the early evening. Bees buzz in our garden (Yes, New Mexico is blessedly free of colony collapse disorder.) The scents of honeysuckle and sunblock mix with melting asphalt.

For me, summer has always been a time to regroup, to lay back a little and change the pattern, to take my nose out of books or away from the computer. My kids force me to do that more this time of year because they’re around. I can’t hide anywhere for long.

We’ve got two new members of the household, too — "Aztec" the leopard gecko and "Audrey" the Chilean rose-hair tarantula. With all of the excitement of adoption, I can hardly be expected to come up with anything too profound.

I did write two posts: one about writer’s discipline (which will be timely enough any Monday this summer) and one that wondered why some books get multi-million dollar PR campaigns while others languish in warehouses.

Eee gad, both required far too much thought. Ooof.

So, let’s goof off.

Mike MacLean did this a couple of weeks ago and I still haven’t forgiven him (or the people who posted all of those great YouTube links.)

Here’s my contribution to your watermelon-eating, margarita-drinking, sun-drenched summer fun:

1. See commercial slogans in an entirely different light.

2. Who hasn’t secretly wanted to whack a penguin? This is just the thing when it gets too hot outside. Click on the Yeti to get things going.

3. What kind of personality do you really have. Draw a picture and find out.

4. One of my favorite stores in the world (Yes, Fran, it’s true.) I enjoy their products, but adore their catalog copy. I just know the writers had fun with ’em.

5. Make your own Bollywood movie. Come on. Don’t be shy. Type in the subtitles and select the movie, then click on the "play" symbol. You can even send the movie to friends.

And for those of you who don’t mind foul language . . . Here’s a place where you can lift any webpage and have it translated into snoop-dog/jive. Type in the url in the blank located mid-page.

I don’t want to overwhelm today. Have fun. Play. Share your favorites in the comments.

I’m off to make a batch of gazpacho . . .

Hoisting up my Geek Flag: A Tribute to 30 Years of Star Wars

The year was 1977. I stood with my sister outside a movie theater in a line that curled around the building. My father towered beside us, his light Irish skin going red. It was hot, like only Arizona can be. The sun blazed in the sky and heat waves shimmered up from the concrete. I was sweaty and tired, but I didn’t care. I was five years old, and my world was about to change.

I was going to see STAR WARS.

Thirty years later, this lingering memory makes me wonder. After all, why should a sci-fi space epic have such a lasting affect on a writer trying to pound out gritty, little crime tales?

I realize now that Star Wars was one of my first creative writing teachers.

Elements of the basic patterns of fiction (The Quest, The Initiation, The Union, The Choice) are each recognizable in the Star Wars saga. Luke’s decision to accompany Obi-Wan to Alderaan turns into a QUEST for Princess Leia, a quest that forever changes Skywalker. Luke’s quest leads him to Yoda who INITIATES him into the role of a Jedi knight. Han and Leia, despite their differences and despite obstacles (like being frozen in carbonite), are drawn together, an example of the UNION. Luke and Anakin are both confronted with a life altering CHOICE, at the high point of their story’s plots.

Today, as I take a crack at my first professional screenplay, the original Star Wars also serves as a textbook example of structure.

According to acclaimed screenwriter Syd Field, act one introduces the main character and launches the stories chief premise. This occurs approximately 30 minutes into the film, depending on its length. About 30 minutes or so into the original Star Wars, Luke finds his aunt and uncle murdered and agrees to accompany Obi-Wan on his mission. This decision is the first plot point, an event that moves the action forward.

By the end of act two, our heroes have faced several obstacles: the tractor beam, storm troopers, and the trash compactor. These event lead to the second plot point, the death of Obi-Wan at the hands of Vader. This gloomy event, together with Han Solo’s refusal to join the attack on the Death Star, is necessary for the dramatic, happy resolution of act three, where Luke succeeds in blowing up the Death Star.

Perhaps the younger generations will look to the Harry Potter books for inspiration, but for me and mine it was Star Wars. It wasn’t simply groundbreaking special effects or fantastic creatures that put our butts in front of the screen, time and time again. It was a story told well.

So, how about you, murder fans? With the 30th anniversary behind us, what are your first memories of the original Star Wars? And did the films influence any of the writers out there?

Murderati Word Jumble

ARAHARIH IMOAN

My throat starts to close and my hands get clammy whenever friends at a gathering start talking about board games. “Scramble! Boggle! I bet Naomi’s good at that,” someone usually says.

Well, quite the contrary. I stink at Scramble. I’m a little better at Boggle but not much. Crossword puzzles, not for me. It’s embarrassing to admit this, but I’m not much of a wordsmith. Nor do I produce words well under pressure. I could never be an advertising copywriter like my Murderati mate Louise Ure because 1) I’m not clever and 2) composing anything in public gives me heart palpitations.

The one word exercise I do find fun is word jumble. Maybe it’s because it’s more of a solitary activity. I also enjoy chaos, so attempting to make sense out of a mess is more my nature perhaps. (And like word search, it’s pretty darn easy.) So in subbing today (J.T.—not to mention Tony and Alex—are at Book Expo in NYC, those lucky dogs), I’m going to offer you a Murderati Word Jumble.

So this is how it works:

Each of these jumbled words needs to be rearranged into a word in a Murderati blogger’s title. You need to not only rearrange the word correctly but also note the title of the book which contains the word. (To be fair, there will be no proper nouns or foreign words—especially Japanese ones!) Every single current Murderati contributor, including guest bloggers, are represented once. The bonus jumble at the end contains a word in the title of one of Michael Maclean’s short stories (you can link to his website to do a search).

If you think that you have all the answers, including the book titles, e-mail them to me by Saturday, 9 a.m. PST at nhirahara@juno.com. The fourth person to provide the right answers will be the winner! (This will make some allowances for the time difference.) I will post the answers as well as the winner in the comment area later that day.

What does the winner get? A signed, first edition/first printing of the Edgar Award- winning SNAKEKSIN SHAMISEN! How about that?

And ’Ratis, feel free to join in as well. (If you win, though, no book for you—you get only my undying affection. The next non-‘Rati to answer correctly will get the prize.)

If this word jumble leaves you wanting more, feel free to create your own and post it in the comment section so we can continue to play.

After all, it’s Friday, right?

YRVE

TIGRH

GRIFCON

TEYRPT

THIHC

DYOBGEO

TIWIGNA

URASGRD

KKNNAISSE

WHIGROARN

BONUS: Maclean Madness

ATHGRTIS

TMI

They say a little knowledge is a dangerous thing. I’d have to disagree when it comes to writing fiction. Fiction is like a river. It needs to flow to survive (and a few rapids thrown in when it comes to crime fiction). When a story gets bogged down by heavy detail and technobabble, the writer has effectively created a log jam. The river stops flowing and the water turns foul.

Agree, disagree, I don’t care, I stick by this. I like stories with pace. It doesn’t have to be a fast pace but I don’t want the story to get sidetracked with too many little asides and procedural blah-blah-blah.

I really should listen to myself sometimes. During the writing of Paying the Piper, I dug myself a big pit that took six rewrites to get myself out of. I tend to steer away from procedural things when it comes to cops, etc. I write about “everyman” characters (or Novice Heroes as it’s been dubbed). I tend not to make my leading characters cops or FBI agents because I don’t know the mindset well enough. However, I broke that rule for Paying the Piper. I have an FBI agent as an important secondary character. FBI procedure is important to the story. I did my homework and inserted the FBI procedures into the story, like a diligent little writer. It seemed like the right thing to do. It wasn’t. It was bloody boring. I’d killed the pace stone dead. Bugger!

The problem was I felt this obligation to insert everything into the story that I’d been told. The story’s subject matter was very important to the FBI. They’d spent a lot of their valuable time outlining all this information to me. I felt that I needed to get this down as faithfully as possible out of respect for these people and the work they do. That’s all very nice to the FBI, but not my reader.

Getting every detail correct is great for non-fiction book about the FBI but not for a fast paced thriller. It was time to break a few G-man hearts. It was time to cut.

I didn’t ignore what I was told. I just became selective. What did my readers need to know to understand what was going on? If I showed the characters doing something, did the reader need an explanation to back it up? I decided no. The story isn’t about how the FBI do their job. The story is about a vindictive kidnapper tearing a family apart. This simple analysis became my mantra. So I removed everything extraneous to the story and kept only what was relevant. As I trimmed, the flow returned and the excitement was back. This was a story worth reading again.

This is the problem with research. A strong and varied knowledge base, while essential can be explained away in a couple of sentences on the page. I can spend a day researching the ballistics of a 9mm pistol, but all I need to know is that a couple of rounds at close range are going to hurt a person quite bit.

Details are important, but the story is more important. Everything else is TMI.

Yours streamlined,
Simon Wood
PS: I received the cover art for Paying the Piper. It’s quite bold. I’d just like to point out that no teddy bears were harmed in the making of this cover. A professional stunt bear was used.

In Memoriam: Gone Too Soon

by Pari Noskin Taichert

Memorial Day affects people in different ways. There’s the pride of having fought for one’s country. There’s the remembrance of bravery and courage under astounding odds. There’s the chauvism of those who believe wars are necessary . . . and the fury of those who believe they’re not.

For me, this year, there’s heartbreak.

The other night, I went to our local school board meeting. In addition to the issue I wanted to address, there was a ceremony to commemorate the Albuquequerque Public School graduates who have died in the Iraq war so far.

A high school honor guard started the service. The commander yelled his incomprehensible instructions with precision in a high monotone. The slap and clack of guns being cocked and handled filled the air. The thump-thump of marching feet brought a hint of military parading to the proceedings. The boys presented the colors, holding the flags at 75-degree angles and then resting the poles on the floor. Each teen stared straight ahead, emotionless, head shaven and mouth set in a hard line.

Every one of them looked so young to me . . .

As a parent, I trembled with the thought of losing my own children to a sniper’s bullet or a roadside bomb. I could hardly breathe, thinking about one of those kids before me — without legs or arms.

As a writer, I imagined what it would be like to say goodbye to a child, knowing that he or she was deliberately going into harm’s way. No matter what the reason or rationale, it would tear me apart.

That night, I cried . . .

All of us probably have compelling and oft-opposing takes on this particular war — and I don’t want this post to be a discussion about that. It’s not my purpose today.

Instead, no matter what you feel, please join me in taking a moment to remember all of those young people — the sons, daughters, sisters and brothers — in this century and those before, who lost their lives far too soon.

Peace.

(The photos can be seen in context at these links:
man crying
children’s peace statue in Santa Fe, NM)