Reality Check Ahead

By Louise

Last September, I was shaken – like so many others – by the mid-air collision of two planes over the Amazon rainforest. A Boeing 737 clipped an executive jet (an Embraer Legacy) at 37,000 feet. The Embraer Legacy passengers, while aware that something had taken off the end of their wing and damaged the automatic controls, didn’t know what had happened. The Embraer pilots found a small, military landing strip in the jungle and wrestled the plane safely to the ground.

The B737 plunged nose first into the jungle, killing all 154 on board.

There’s the horror of it: one hundred and fifty four lives gone in less time than it would take to say a Hail Mary.

And imagine the terror of those on the Embraer jet, as well. Almost thirty minutes of crippled flight, knowing that no one survives a crash at 37,000 feet. Enough time to jot notes of love and farewell to families. Enough time to regret all the things you haven’t done with your life. Joe Sharkey, one of the passengers on the smaller jet, recounted what those thirty minutes were like to the NY Times.

Anyone who has ever flown can identify with the plight of the passengers on both of those planes, as well as the grief of the families of the dead.

Okay, all that’s bad enough. But here’s the latest.

Two weeks ago, photos surfaced that purportedly came from the downed B737.

“The two photos were apparently taken by one of the passengers in the B737, after the collision and before the aircraft crashed. These photos were found in a digital Casio Z7501, amidst the remains in Serra do Cachimbo. Although the camera was destroyed, the memory stick was recovered and the photos were retrieved. In the first photo, there is a gaping hole in the fuselage through which you can see the tail and vertical fin of the aircraft. In the second photo, one of the passengers is being sucked out of the gaping hole."

Oh my holy God. My heart broke all over again. And now I had visual images as well as mental ones to anguish over. The gabble rachet of noise as the tail tore off. The unbreathable ice of the air rushing in. A terror so complete that it can’t even register on your face.

I shared the pictures with friends, including the ever-watchful Andy Dellenbach of L.A. film post-production company Mind Over Eye. “Amazing what Photoshop can do these days,” Andy wrote back.

He found five “where’s Waldo” images in the two photos:

“The plane is still flying straight and level while the tail section is ripped away. The kind of physical violence resulting from that separation would almost certainly alter the level course of the plane.” Well, yeah, I see what you mean.

“It’s interesting that shots that require someone to be standing up in one half of a disintegrating plane can result in exactly the same angle and framing, twice in a row.” Well, if he’s frozen in place, maybe.

“The unused air bag on the left remains in exactly the same position, no matter how much buffeting is supposedly going on in the plane.” Damn. And those things are lightweight.

“Nobody, not even one person, is turning around to see what that horrendous noise is. In even the nano-second that could have taken, someone would be looking.” Not me. My eyes would be closed.

And perhaps best of all: “Take a look at the earlier photo where you can see the supposed tail section of the plane trailing off the fuselage. Notice the aisle seat in the last row (on the left side of the plane if you were sitting in the plane.) In this photo there is no seat there, as if it had been sucked away. Then look at the later shot, with the passenger being sucked out the back of the plane. The tail section has already disappeared, but the last row now has the aisle seat back in it!”

Then, to add insult to computer-enhanced injury, I learned that the hoax was even cheesier than I’d thought. The two photos were frames lifted from the pilot episode of the TV show “Lost.”

Now I’m pissed. I had worked up a righteous pile of grief about the people in those photos. They came to life for me in the pictures (albeit not long before their actual deaths) in ways that the printed news announcements about the crash hadn’t been able to do. I wanted to find this Photoshop-Houdini and punch his lights out. Rip the goddamned mouse from his cold dead hand. How dare he screw with my emotions like that.

And then I realized that good fiction writers do exactly the same thing.

The best writers blur the distinction between the possible and the factual. They create a world of people we care about, without ever having met them. Characters who will often stay in our hearts longer than our acquaintances. Sometimes even longer than our families. We know what their sweat smells like. We share in their happiness. We taste their fear in our mouths.

Call it storytelling. Or imagination. Or empathy. It’s why the best writers write. And why most of us read.

The French writer Colette said, “I write in order to live life twice.” I’ve always thought that was true. But I think I read in order to live someone else’s life.

How about you? Do you live vicariously through your reading or your writing? And have you had any "Where’s Waldo moments" that took you out of a book — that spoiled that sense of authentic invention?

   I’m still not cutting that Photoshop asshole any slack. He used
real people – people who died – to wring my sympathy sponge. And that’s
not fair to anyone who cared about them before we saw the photos. And
it is especially unfair to their families.

How did you react to these plane photos?

Louise

The Panelist’s Prayer

by Pari Noskin Taichert

Lord, save me from book raisers.
Stay their hands.
Lay their volumes upon the table . . . flat.
If nothing else works, let the pages of their books fly unto the ground like ginko leaves in autumn.
Protect me from panelists who put down cohorts to raise self worth.
Still their snipes.
Silence too-frequent references to their own tomes.
Melt their freebies.
Yea, verily, this I pray.

Liberate me from microphone hogs.
Prohibit their ponderous verbosities.
Give them short breath . . . or loose bowels.
O, Most High, keep moderators on track.
Let them read their panelists’ works.
Bless them with interesting topics and salient questions.
Grant them humility in this one situation.
Yea, verily, this I pray.

Exalted One, give the room thick walls . . .
Lest my panel be overpowered by the laughter next door.
Lest my answers fail because of an off-key rock band practicing for a debutante ball.
Merciful One, may all the panelists be witty and articulate.
May they respond in conversation rather than in the linear to-and-fro of a lengthy table.
May they listen to other’s comments.
May they answer the damn questions.
Yea, verily, this I pray.

Show mercy upon our audiences.
Let us entertain them mightily and bore them not.
Let us inspire curiosity and chase away slumber.
Let our audiovisual equipment work.
Heavenly One, grant that the convention bar is big and the drinks generous.
Encourage graceful communication.
Free me from embarrassing gaffes that find their way onto the Internet and listservs.
Keep the hotel food safe and devoid of salmonella and listeria.
Yea, verily, this I pray.

O, Joyous One, protect me from anger, jealousy, or a sense of entitlement.
Give me the serenity to be myself.
Bless me with the intelligence to retire to privacy before I become a boor in public.

Bring pleasure and success to both panelist and fan.
These things I pray.

Amen.

Fight Censorship, Mother-f@#$%&s!!

A news story rang my alarm bells last week. It was just a quick blurb really, a time filler for a slow news day. But hearing it sent my blood to full boil.

My local ABC affiliate profiled Sharlene Bozack of the American Cancer Society. In an interview, Bozack was quoted as saying, "I’d like to see smoking banned in all movies."

I know. I know. This is nothing new, but it still SCARES THE CRAP out of me.

The woman’s intentions were great. She believed movies glamorized smoking and thus influenced children to pick up the habit. And she is not alone in her convictions. According to Time Magazine,"…a mandatory R rating for movies that feature smoking has been endorsed by the World Health Organization and the American Medical Association…"

Okay, so we ban images of smoking on film. Smoking is bad for you; no one can argue with me there. So let’s ban it from the movies. Who’s s with me?

But hey, what about illegal drug use? Illegal drug use is bad for you, right? So let’s ban that from film too. Who’s with me?

Alcohol? Kids shouldn’t dink alcohol, should they? Let’s ban it. Captain Jack Sparrow can drink root beer.

Hmmmm, wait a minute. Root beer has a lot of sugar in it and sugar is bad for kids. Also, it does have the word "BEER" in its name. So maybe we better ban it too. Just to be safe. Sparrow can drink water.

What’s that you say? You don’t want to ban root beer from PG-13 films? What kind of SICK BASTARD are you? You must hate children.

My heavy-handed point is this–once you start banning things from art you create a slippery slope. It starts with good intentions and ends with ignorance, intolerance and bonfires stacked high with books.

I’m not a fan of smoking. It’s a filthy habit, and I’m convinced it took years off my father’s life. I’m also not a fan of the tobacco industry and their past attempts to use films as commercials for cigarettes. But banning images of smoking from movies is a horrible idea.

The world is full of sharp edges. You can’t put bumpers around all of them.

Feeling The Love

by Alex

For quite a while now I’ve had a love/hate relationship with writing that is heavily weighted toward ‘hate’. Perhaps hate is too strong a word but – let me put it this way. I think I may write only because I’m too unbalanced to do much of anything else.

People assume that I love what I do and that I’m thrilled to be living my dream. And it’s true, no question, I’m living my dream. This is what I’ve wanted for a long time, and I worked like a maniac, for years and years, to get it. It’s just that when people say things like “Don’t you love it?” I find I have to resist the impulse to break into hysterical laughter.

It’s more like two things.

I am completely unbearable when I am not writing. To myself and to others. Writing does somehow burn off something that is set too high in me and keeps me down to some manageable level. I have noticed this about quite a few writers I know. Writing is agony, but not writing is so, so much worse.

And on a more positive note – which I feel somewhat on because I just actually turned in something (my first short story, for the illustrated noir superhero anthology, THE DARKER MASK, out from Tor in January 2008, conceived and edited by Chris Chambers and Gary Phillips) – I do get a huge satisfaction out of FINISHING. As Dorothy Parker said, oft-quotedly: “I hate writing – I love having written.”

It is immensely satisfying to be able to hand someone a stack of pages – or, now, miraculously, a published book – and have them experience a STORY – an entire universe and characters and situations you dreamed up – that can evoke such an emotional response. That you can put your own dream into someone else’s head.

But there are undeniably satisfying moments along the way. And I’m thinking there might be more of those when you write a short story. I was surprised how much I enjoyed the writing of this thing – I think because the whole process is more concentrated and you cycle through the good parts of writing so much faster.

– There is that moment very very early on – well, really, what I mean is the BEGINNING – when you realize you do have a story – when you somehow get a picture of the whole thing in your head – not clear or in every detail, but you see a shape – characters, setting, a story arc, that you know is going to work (and that miraculously, you don’t seem to forget once you’ve had the vision).

– There is that moment when you have to write an opening sentence and you just do, and it’s perfect, far beyond any sentence you could have written if you’d actually put any thought into it.

– There is that moment when totally unexpectedly your main character speaks and you think – “Wow – who’s THAT??, because it sure as hell isn’t me” – and while you’re marveling at it she basically shoves you out of the way and takes over the story and you realize this thing is going to get done because she’s going to do it for you.

– There is that moment when a theme jumps out and provides a connecting thread that gives your story more depth than you had ever planned (and sometimes more depth than you even think you’re capable of)

– There are those moments of just purely enjoying the musicality of a sentence or the impact of an image.

– There is that moment that you think that you really could do something great here if only you had about a year to do the research required – and then just for the hell of it go look to see if you have a book on the subject in your bookcase or even just Google it and lo and behold, the precise fact you need to incorporate is on the first page you flip or click to.

– There is that moment that you write something – a character or a scene – that so startles you that you think you’re going to have to cut it because people will hate you for writing it – and then realize that if you have the balls to just be true about it, it will be the thing that makes the story.

And the truly great thing about writing a short story is that you do FINISH so much faster, so you get to the good part so much faster – which is being able to read your own work and realize what you were trying to say, even though you had no idea when you started.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that after so many years of often hating writing, it was nice to spend a few weeks feeling the love.

So what about you all? How are you feeling about writing these days? Love, hate… enough moments of the good stuff to keep you going?

Laundry Tote

Deni Dietz

My blog titles seem to be getting longer and longer. Almost as long as my book titles.

Except the book I’m working on now has a one-word title: JUDY. It’s the name of an Elvis song, but I’ll bet you knew that.

Oh Judy, don’t let our sweet love
Wither and die like flowers in the fall
Oh Judy, don’t you know it’s you
I love most of all…

But I digress…

This week’s Quibbles & Bits is: PACKING FOR A CONFERENCE

A week from tomorrow I leave for Madison Wisconsin and Bouchercon (visualize one of those trademark thingies here), and the age-old question has, once again, come up.

How do I lose 20 lbs in 7 days?

Only kidding. Okay, half kidding.

The question is, of course, what to pack?

1] Smiles. For an author, getting caught without a smile is like locking yourself out of your room while wearing nothing more than a hotel towel (been there, done that, and let me tell you, it’s not as funny as it looks in the movies).

2] Books. Yes, the Dealers will carry Denise Dietz books. No, they won’t have enough on hand. And they won’t have my OOP (Out Of Print) books. So I’ll have OOPs and back-ups, just in case some wonderful, lovely reader says, "I tried to buy your books, Deni, but the Dealers are out of them."

By the way, I carry a little suitcase filled with my books when I board airplanes, ever since a sweet lady noted my T-shirt with one of my book titles on it and I sold 4 books to fellow flight passengers. Hey, every little bit helps!

3] What am I forgetting? Oh, yes, clothes. I received the following email from a first-time conference attendee: "I’d planned to wear business style attire. Will I be overdressed? I’m hearing jeans and Nikes are in."

My answer: "Jeans and sneakers are perfectly acceptable. Whatever’s comfortable! I’ll be packing jeans and T-shirts, plus what my husband calls "jumpers" (blazers? suit jackets?) to wear with my jeans. I might pack one skirt, but that’s denim too. And I’ve heard the weather might be somewhat cool, so I’m packing a couple of sweaters. Again, wear whatever’s comfy."

I’ve moderated conference panels. For one conference, the pre-panel instructions told me to "look professional." My dictionary defines professional as "characterized or conforming to the technical or ethical standards of a profession." Apparently, they wanted me to look like a mystery author! My dictionary also defines professional as "engaged in by persons receiving financial return." Hahahahaha.

I’ve attended romance conferences, where I’ve been told that by wearing jeans and tees I don’t project the "proper romance author image."

So I don’t go to romance cons anymore 🙂

In any case, conference attendees only look at pecs and breasts…or wherever the name tag happens to land. Clothes are superfluous.

For those of you who have been to conferences, what is YOUR packing advice?

This week’s Household Hint comes from EYE OF NEWT’s Mercy the Parrot. Mercy is very vain and speaks with a Brit accent. She says: "Spray air freshener to clean your mirrors. It does a good job and leaves a lovely smell to the shine."

Over and Out,
Deni

The Other Side Of The Story

JT Ellison

Bless everyone who has been talking about process for the
past couple of weeks, especially this guy, who always makes me think. I fear I was being held prisoner in a marketing hell,
surrounded by brambles with thorny ridges and forced to babble incessantly
about promotion, publicists and press releases. Granted, these are all
exceptionally important, but who am I kidding? I’m a writer. A writer. Man,
that feels good to say out loud.

This little epiphany has been building. I finished Book 2
and turned it in. What a relief to have that off my shoulders. And I decided to
try something a little different for Book 3. I planned, and plotted, and came
up with a comprehensive 12 page synopsis. It starts at the beginning and goes
through the end. Before you say “Umm, JT, DUH!” realize that I’ve only ever
written a synopsis AFTER the books are done or have been in process for a
while. This is new territory for me.

I’ve always fought against doing this, because I really
enjoy seeing where the story takes me. Well, I don’t have that choice anymore.
Now it’s someone else who wants to know where I’m going prior to me leaving the
station, and I’m thrilled to provide that for them.

Realizing that I’m doing this right, and that I can plan, is
a good feeling. Because there was a time when that wasn’t the case.

When I was trying to write my very first book, (I thought it
was a book, I found out later it was a novella) I hit a huge wall. It wasn’t
writer’s block. It was "I don’t know HOW to do this" block.

I’d been reading a great deal at the time, and was
fascinated with John Sandford’s PREY series. I’ve told the story before – I was deep into the series and said to myself “I can do this.” Ah, hubris. I sat
myself down at the computer, started to write. The first page came out with
such ease that I got up and did a dance. I’d written the opening for my first
novel. It’s quite a feeling. The next thing I knew, I had the first chapter. A
woman had appeared as a main character. She was a cop. She was a young cop. She
was a young homicide detective. No, she was the Homicide Lieutenant. She would
get involved with an FBI profiler. On and on and on.

There was just one problem. I had no clue how to make that
into a book. I typed and typed. Taylor Jackson (she was Bethany Taylor then) became a one-dimensional
character, pretty and intelligent, but lacking in those qualities that make an
iconic character come to life. The story was progressing, but things just
weren’t right. I knew that deep in my heart. I was writing a book, but it sucked.
Doubt crept in on its silent little cat paws and settled like a fog in my
brain.

All stop. My college writing teachers were right. I’d never
get published. Why was I doing this?

I nearly gave up. But I got disgusted with myself for those thoughts.
I mean come on, anything worth having is worth sacrificing a little ego for,
right?

I took a different tack.

I sat down with a notepad and one of Sandford’s novels, and
I outlined it. I started at the beginning and went chapter by chapter. I looked
at the point of view. I looked at the pace. I looked at the frequency with
which his main characters appeared, how they interacted with the story and the
other characters. I did what I’d been good at in college, deconstruction. Looked for all the things that weren’t being said.

The little lightbulbs began to turn on again, one by one. I
still had a ways to go, but after tearing apart how one writer did it, I taught
myself how I needed to do it. I wrote the book. And yes, it sucked. It
was fine, just nothing special. So I stole the best parts from it and wrote
another. That one went a little easier, and got my agent’s attention. It still
wasn’t good enough. It all came together on the third try. I was lucky. Very,
very lucky.

As I start my newest novel, I look back at the road I took
to get here and feel so blessed. I have a lot to learn. But I’ve also learned
so much by paying attention to how the people I enjoy reading write their
books.

My question for you – what did you do the last time you were
hopelessly mired in self-doubt and unable to move forward on your life’s
passion?

Wine of the Week: I did something different this week. All I
can say is I’m mad at Barry Eisler. I’ve been reading about Caipirinhas in his excellent
books, and found myself at a Brazilian restaurant in Nashville this week
that serves them. I was feeling frisky and decided to try one. I am completely
addicted. Hubby and I bought some Cachaca rum, a bag of limes and
sugar in the raw and have been making them at home. They are wonderful and
totally addictive, taste like a sweet margarita. So thanks, Barry, for leading me
astray.

PS. I’ve been reading Stephen King’s ON WRITING today and am further convinced that I want to read his novels. One problem. I’m a big wuss, which is why I haven’t been reading him. Can you recommend a couple of King titles that won’t leave me with nightmares for weeks?

Casting Call

I’m terrible with coming up with character names. I’m alright when it comes to naming the leading players but when it comes to the supporting cast, I struggle. I literally pull names from phone books. It’s probably good that I don’t have kids. I can see me agonizing for a month over what I’m going to call Simon Jr. and Simone Jr. and then just pulling something from thin air. People will come up to me at soccer practice and ask me how Ashtray and Shutter Speed are doing at school.

So I’m a liability when it comes to naming people and here I am again, I’m putting the finishing touches on Paying The Piper and I have a whole supporting cast with no names. This is where you come in. I bet you’ve got an interesting name. Want to share it with me?

For the next month, I’m conducting a casting call. I’m collecting names and my favorite ones will become the characters in my next book. I have positions within the FBI, allies to the protagonist and the antagonist. If you’d like to toss your name in the hat, please sign up here at http://www.simonwood.net/newsletter.htm or send a blank email to simonwood-subscribe@yahoogroups.com. Feel free to share this email with friends, family and other interested parties. This isn’t meant to be a secret, so spread the word. I’ll be collecting names until the end of March and I’ll announce the winners in my April newsletter. There’s one exclusion though. John and Joan Smiths aren’t welcome.

This is my last Murderati post for a couple of weeks. Troy Cook will be filling my shoes while I’m away. You’ll hear a lot of dirty lies about my absence, ranging from rehab partner to Lindsay Lohan to plastic surgery to increase my height. Don’t believe them. The truth of the matter is that I’m flying back to England for a whistle-stop tour to see family and friends before I hit the roads promoting Accidents Waiting To Happen.

So be good and don’t make a mess while I’m away.

Simon Wood
PS: I’ve finalised my book signing schedule, please check it out.

ON THE BUBBLE WITH JIM BORN

It was used before – in another interview (January Magazine/Anthony Rainone) – as a title for an interview – but ‘A STAR IS BORN’ so aptly fits Jim Born, that I had to steal it. And thank God -‘Write What You Know’ – is being taken seriously these days – else we may never have met so many fine writers – and Jim Born is a perfect example. He knows for sure from where he speaks. His first book – WALKING MONEY – was an instant hit. Jim followed up with SHOCK WAVE – and secured his place in the firmament. ESCAPE CLAUSE made his star shine brighter – and now – Ladies & Gents – put on your shades – FIELD OF FIRE is on the way!

One of the best perks about doing these interviews – is the opportunity to offer both the serious and not-so-serious side of my favorite writers and friends. If you’re gonna do one of these things every week, you might as well have some fun, right? At least my guests and I obviously think so. If you do too – then come along and have some fun with us. But if you’re looking for one of those no-nonsense, heavy into the mechanics of literati – the pulling of hair, the suffering for your ‘art’, the angst searching for that perfect paragraph – or that hidden key to the best seller list – this ain’t the place.

So – if you’re still with us – come along and meet Jim Born!

JIM BORN http://www.jamesoborn.com

EE: Rumor has it that the head man at the FBI – Bob Mueller – would look kindly upon you if in your next book you’d make the Feebs look like they were on the ball instead of – well – you know. Uh, your are mulling this over, right?

JB: I am a graduate of the DEA academy, which used to be in the same facility as the FBI at Quantico. I’ve heard jokes about the FBI since my first days as a cop. If you keep saying you’re the best and the brightest, you better prove it every day. Individual FBI agents are great. I’ve met a number I count as the smartest, hardest working cops in the country. But the agency continues to frustrate our desire to hold them in the esteem in which they believe they deserve.

My first two books made jokes about the FBI but in the end – FBI agents helped save the day. In last year’s ESCAPE CLAUSE – the FBI is not even mentioned.

FIELD OF FIRE is not part of the Tasker series. The novel is about the ATF. There is an FBI presence – but not too much. I’ll leave it to the reader to decide how they are portrayed.

Well, guess that should satisfy Mueller, huh? I’ll let you know after he calls me later today.

EE: I know you to be a devoted husband and father, Jim – but how on earth do you manage to remain a vital member of the Florida Department of Law Enforcement, write intricate thrillers, go on book tours and attend cons? I mean, that is one very heavy schedule!

JB: I pretty much ignore my family. I steal most of my novel ideas, that’s a real time-saver. I have a mountain of leave time built up at work and I travel easily. All in all it works out.

Steal ideas? But…but…you’re a cop! Stealing is a crime! But I like it! Let’s talk, okay? Maybe you can help me find some antiques dealer sleuths to copy.

EE: And speaking of writing – what’s the scoop on the Tasker/Chin connection? That’s one dynomite lady. Hmmm?

JB: She is wholly fictional. Most of my characters are based, at least physically, on someone I know. It helps to visualize them when I write. Renee Chin is the exception. I liked her sleek, aggressive nature. She can learn from mistakes but not admit them. That’s talent.

Talent? No – that’s being a woman. Ohhh….I can already hear the screams from women out there now!

EE: How much teasing do your law enforcement friends give you now that you’re damn near a household name?

JB: I do take some – but I’ve never had anyone say anything nasty. All the people I work with are supportive. I get a huge kick out of being on a scene and having a cop there ask, "Hey, are you the guy who writes books?" And now it happens a lot more frequently.

It’s nice to know you’ve got a great cheering section – you’ve done a lot to honor your profession.

EE: What thematic plans are itching to get out from under that Kevlar? Is FIELD OF FIRE the beginning of more standalones?

JB: It started as a standalone – but Putnam has purchased the sequel to it. BURN ZONE will be published next year and follows Alex Duarte to New Orleans and Panama where his informant has been killed, sparking him to find the killer.

I have another, tender, coming-of-age story about a dull boy from St. Louis who moves to LA to be a screen writer and hits it big. Really big. I mean JUDGING AMY big. Then chucks it for the simple life back in the mid-west. It’s titled ARE YOUR FREAKING CRAZY?

Congrats on the new series! But, uh – the coming-of-age one? Sounds like a downer to me. I mean, this is the age of ‘I wanna be a star’ – who the hell is gonna cheer for a guy who left fame and glory behind? But – who am I to second guess you? So – who inspired this new tome? Anyone we know?

EE: What’s your greatest indulgence since you’ve become a successful published writer?

JB: I eat out all the time. And I bought a new truck. Is that indulgent?

Oh, you spendthrift, you!

EE: Time for the Walter Mitty Dream segment, Jim. What’s yours?

JB: To rule a South American country with an iron fist. To smash opposition and instill fear in all who know me. OR – To be a scuba instructor in the Florida keys.

I like your first choice better. How about starting with Venezuela? And after that…

EE: It’s widely known that you have a terrific sense of humor, but would you say it is your most marked characteristic?

JB: Along with my large nose, yes.

Awww, come on! You have a very aristocratic nose. Besides, you know what they say about men with an interesting nose, don’t you?

EE: Okay, you’re moderating a panel at ThrillerFest – and you get to select your panelists. Who would they be – and why?

JB: Donna Moore for the cool accent and humor. Paul Guyot for his experience in TV and humor. Peter Speigleman for some class and Jeff Shelby so the rest of us look good.

Uh, Jim? That’s only four panelists. You can have five, remember? I, uh…well…I know I need to work on my sense of humor, but I could bring age and wisdom. Think about it, okay?

EE: If you could change one thing about yourself – what would it be?

JB: That’s a tough question. It’s taken me a long time to get comfortable with myself. I wouldn’t mind having a range of emotion. People tell me it can be fun. I like being ‘even tempered’ but wonder what it would be like to let go. To get really excited or really bummed out.

Oh, that’s easy, darling! Just do it! But really you need to be Italian first to do it first rate. Call me, okay? I can help you there.

EE: Scuttlebutt Station reports Al Pacino misses Florida. He hasn’t been back since SCARFACE – and he wants you to get rid of Derrick Sutter and write him in your next book as Tasker’s new sidekick. What does Sutter think of that?

JB: Sutter wouldn’t give him a second thought. A miniature Italian man from New York wouldn’t last eight seconds with a Miami cop like Sutter. The city alone eats up and spits out guys like that all the time. I get a kick when I hear Pacino or Joe Pesci described as "tough guys". My daughter would kick their ass.

Speaking of ass – I’m laughing mine off now. Now you know why I married an Irishman.

EE: Who are the six living writers you’d like to have a night on the town with?

JB: I’ve already had a night on the town with a couple of them. Whenever we’re together, Reed Coleman, Ken Bruen, Jason Starr and I have a fine time. Throw into that mix Michelle Martinez, Christine Kling and Jonathan King and it’s a party where someone will get hurt. Wild, unpredictable and not too serious.

Oh, to be a fly on the wall. Might produce good On The Bubble material?

EE: My favorite spy tells me that many of your female fans went ballistic when you shaved off your beard. Seems there will be no more hotel room key cards thrown your way at cons anymore. Maybe you should rethink this, Jim? I mean, women buy a lot of books, darling. It would be a shame to lose all that adoration and sales to Eisler and Child.

JB: I gave my extra keys to Eisler anyway. By the way, he makes a cameo as himself in FIELD OF FIRE. The beard was a little scratchy and gray. I grew it for my police job but then had to keep it when that was the only way anyone ever recognized me at Bouchercon. The new look is easier and more professional. That’s a word you don’t hear in connection to me very often.

What word? Easy? So Barry’s in FIELD OF FIRE, huh? He’ll be my guest next week here – Hmmm. Wonder what he’ll have to say about that? You were kind, I hope.

EE: Who is your favorite fiction character?

JB: Harry Bosch

Ohhh…I love that guy too!

EE: What book do you wish you’d written?

JB: MEMORY OF RUNNING by Ron McLarty or, of course, the KITE RUNNER – by some guy. Both, I might add, are part of the Penguin family of fine books available at book stores everywhere. Always the company man.

That ‘some guy’ is Khaled Hosseini – and I’m very much taken by your choices. I think they say much about you as a person – and one I’m pleased to say – I admire – even if you didn’t include me on your panel or night out. But hey, I’m a big girl – I’ll get over it. Snif.

Thank you, Jim – for playing with us today. Please do come back again – and I promise to have a photo of you sans the beard. But it was just so…so…devilish looking, you know?

Feet Fetish

I usually introduce my guests with a little background info, sincere personal praise – a mention of nominations and awards, spectacular blurbs from acclaimed writers, a few glowing reviews from prestigious critics and publications – and then we head right into our chat. I have never asked my guests to provide this info-I seek it out myself. In Dylan’s case, I was prepared to remind you that besides being a criminal defense lawyer for the past fiften years, Dylan was also a guest blogger here at Murderati, AND he writes an absolutely terrific legal thriller series – first being, of course, MISDEMEANOR MAN, which won Mystery Ink’s 2004 Gumshoe for best debut, and the second in the series – I RIGHT THE WRONGS, was a Booksense selection. Oh, so was MISDEMEANOR MAN. And then I was going to tell you that his next book, LIFE, DEATH & BIALYS: A FATHER/SON BAKING STORY (which made me laugh, smile and cry all at once) is due out September 6th. And…ta da…is a Barnes & Nobel Discover pick.

Anyway, God help me, I still don’t know why I asked Dylan for some additional info, but I did. I mean, I know him, okay? He’s a pal. I know that a mischevious monkey resides in his cranium-so I shoulda been warned.

Fasten your seat belts – here’s what he sent me:

Dylan Schaffer was born Hilda Nihelitheg in 1912. During WWII she served as a factotum to the Emperor of Jerusalem. Ms. Nihelitheg disappeared from the political scene until 1974 when, having shed his female skin, he took a position as Gerald Ford’s manicurist. After careers in journalism, plumbing, and phlebotomy, Mr. Schaffer settled into the final chapter of his life as a writer. His comic legal thrillers, MISDEMEANOR MAN and I WRITE THE WRONGS were both well received in the Japanese religious community. The well known celebrity chef Mario Batali called Schaffer’s new memoir, LIFE, DEATH & BIALYS: A FATHER/SON BAKING STORY, "a book."

See what I mean? But, not to worry, it gets better. Well, sort of. But be warned -you ain’t seen nuttin’ yet.

Oh, and I should mention this interview will be in two parts. Dylan was so generous with his time, we just got carried away chatting. You know how that is with friends. You just go on, and on and on. So be sure to come back next Saturday for the conclusion. If you can handle more, that is.

EE: Somewhere in the night, Dylan, or at what point in your career, did you find it necessary to stop after each chapter draft to go outside and stare at the moon? I mean, to know you is to love you, but what?

DS: Elaine, Elaine. You’re amazing. I haven’t thought of that weekend in New England in years. It was fall, Saturday, 1970. I was taking a few days away from my job trading zero coupon bonds on the Street. My pockets were full, but my heart was empty. I parked in a shuttered seaside town. The fog slithered over me, its chilly fingers sneaking behind my collar and up my pants legs. I ducked into a dive, Avenue C. The barmaid was called Mandy. She looked like Terri Hatcher, only blond and tall, with Streisand’s nose and a chest that would have hooked Johnny Depp. She fed me near beers and laughed at my jokes about Jewish cannibals and David Hasselhoff. By the time her shift ended I swear I couldn’t smile without her. It could have been magic. But around daybreak, during some romantic gynmastics, I tripped and spent the next six hours in the emergency room trying to get the feeling back in my left foot. Mandy said she was going out to find some Chuckles. I never saw her again. To this day I’m running too hard, chasing that feeling, saying these words, "Like a good neighbor, State Farm is there."

Gosh, is that all it took? Uh, Dylan? Don’t turn around. There’s a duck chasing you yelling, ‘AFLACK!

EE: I understand you like to talk to yourself (?!). I’ve been told you and Gordy Seegerman, your protag, spend a lot of time deciding you’re ready to take a chance again and get Barry Manilow to sign one of your books.

DS: I knew you were going to ask that. You could substitute any kind of cannibals you like – Polish, Republican, doesn’t matter. But the way I like to tell it, two Jewish Cannibals are standing around a big pot of stew. One says to the other, "I just can’t stand my mother-in-law." So the other says, "Geeze, what’s the big deal? Just eat the noodles."

Ha! I’ll bet that was you and Jackie Mason last week at the Joan Rivers soiree.

EE: When October goes, will you have fond memories of Bouchercon in Madison? Or will you still want to ring ‘…………’s’ neck for heckling you last year at your panel in Chicago?

DS: Speaking of Bouchercon in Chicago, my wife has a bunion. Do you know anything about bunions? It’s more serious than it sounds. She’s a very normal person, my wife. Cute, smart, pretty good dresser. Works like a dog to keep me in electricty and Captain Crunch. But all of her left shoes have a bulge at the side that looks like she’s growing another toe. The disturbing thing about bunions is that they are mostly self-inflicted. Women, mostly, get them from wearing tight shoes. Reminds me of the Chinese practice of binding women’s feet. Women who wear the wrong size shoes can also develop other disabling foot problems like corns, calluses and hammertoes. I suppose this will sound unfeeling, but I really hope my wife doesn’t develop hammertoes.

Actually, I know very little about bunions. But, Pari does. Maybe you three should get together? Uh, Pari? Take two Advils first. Preventive medicine is always smart.

EE: Please don’t be scared, or take offense, but I’ve got to ask this next question. You do thoroughly scrub your hands before making those famous cookies you give out at book signings, don’t you? I promise not to turn you into the Cookie Police if you just rinse them, but I’ve been asked to ask you.

DS: Thanks for asking. You’d be surprised how many people don’t know what a bialy is. I suppose you can’t really blame them. I sometimes think that bagels are the insecure bread, couldn’t tolerate sharing the Jewish breakfast food arena. I suppose we have Noah to thank for that. You don’t see that dude pushing bialys on bus stop advertisements, do you? Anyway, I suppose by now it’s pretty obvious that bialys are like bagels – round, baked, made with flour, good for spreading cream cheese. But unlike bagels, they don’t require boiling to taste good. If you ask me, only narcissistic bread feels the need to sit in a hot tub before baking. A hot oven is good enough for bialys, and bialys are good enough for me. There’s a good bialys recipe (http://bialybook.com/bialy_recipe.htm) on my site.

Where’s my Advil? Nevermind, where’s my Jack Daniels??

EE: Okay, I can handle this guy. Really. Let’s try this: What is your favorite retreat? And what do you do there? Just don’t tell me it’s the Bermuda Triangle, okay? Or a weekend in New England.

DS: My favorite retreat? Well, that would be any sort of conversation with you, Elaine, of course. I’ve done a lot of interviews in the past few years, and before that, even more in my work as a construction engineer, and before that when I appeared in the sixties situation comedy, My Mother the Car. I’ve rarely encountered someone with a more natural, instinctive, relaxing style. Obviously this is because you’re a writer, and you understand character, and you know how to work your way into a guy’s heart before getting under his skin and finally opening up his arteries. You’re the best, Elaine, truly. Chatting with you is one of life’s great treats.

Gosh, that was nice. But I owe any and all accolades to my guests. Particularly the lucid ones.

EE: Somewhere down the road, people begin to develop a Walter Mitty dream. I’m almost afraid to know yours, but what the hell, go for it.

DS: Incredible. I swear to God I have goose bumps. My gardener’s name is Walter. Seriously. I have no reason to make this stuff up. Walter Laing. He’s normally a damn good gardener. But lately, I don’t know. We have some trees in the backyard he’s been promising to cut down for ages. When I call him he give me all sorts of excuses – his back went out, he’s in Boston. It’s just ridiculous. If he doesn’t want to get paid to cut down our trees, all he has to do is say so. I’d be fine having someone else do it. But this business of putting me off is aggravating to say the least.

Walter Laing? Sure you got the spelling right? Wasn’t Walter Lang that famous director? Didn’t he direct ‘Call Me Madam’ and ‘The King and I’? So he turned to gardening, huh? But, Dylan-since he died in 1972, it’s no wonder he hasn’t done your trees.

EE: Word on the street is that even though some good things never last, you’ve been plauged by angry Oaklanders to change the name of Santa Rita in your series to Oakland in the next Gordy Seegerman book. Has there been that much social pressure from a town known as ‘there’s no there there‘?

DS: I’ll just answer that question by asking you a question. Is that okay? I hope so. I really do. Sometimes I think being definitive, answering directly, is such, I don’t know, western, linear, right brain bullshit. Sometimes the reader ought to have to work for the answer. Sometimes the audience should have to engage. I’m not criticizing the question at all. It’s totally a fair question. But I’m just weary of the straightforward response. Anyway, sorry, here’s my answer: If there’s no there there, then where are you when you’re there?

That’s what I mean!! There’s no there there! I know that for a fact! I was born there!!

EE: Could it be magic, or can you really complete a first draft in two weeks?

DS: Magic. Please. Magic? I don’t think so. I’m not trying to embarrass you, but magic? If someone’s magic, it’s you, Elaine. Your books? Incredible. The awards? Deserved, deserved, deserved. I remember watching you eat your Kung Pao shrimp in Chicago last year and thinking to myself, "Magic. There’s really no other appropriate word." Listen, if I’m Magic – and I have my moments, sure – well, you’re triple super-duper magic. Seriously.

You’re a darling to say such wonderful things about me, but lean closer and I’ll let you in on my secret. No, closer. That’s it…a few more inches. Okay, just between us, right? I cast a spell, and it worked. I have all these dolls, see, and at midnight at every new moon, I…well, I’ll have to show you. It wouldn’t have happened otherwise. I mean, a gal’s gotta do what she can, right? So I used magic. They don’t call me Evil E for nuttin’.

EE: Even now, after reading MISDEMEANOR MAN and I WRITE THE WRONGS twice, I still can’t get enough of Gordy. When can we expect to see him again?

DS: That’s a painful question to address. I don’t want to seem like I’m unwilling to go there. I’m willing. I am. I don’t want to come off as someone who is unwilling to answer the tough questions. I just, it’s only, well, it’s painful. Can you understand that? I’m being honest here. I’m not hedging. I’m not avoiding. I’m letting it all hang out. I’m showing you the real me. Can you handle it? Can your readers? They’re used to seeing the protected me,the closeted me. The guy with the smiling face on television and in the magazines. The guy with the beautiful woman on his arm walking the plank at the Oscars. That’s me. Sure it is. But there’s another me, too. This is that me, the me you’re talking to. The me who’s willing to face the music, who’s open to a meaningful, heart-to heart dialogue. The me who says, "Shit, bring it on, baby." I wasn’t born yesterday. I’ve been to hell and back. Give me your best shot. You may knock me out today, but I’ll be back tomorrow. Oh yeah.

Oh, just come here and let me give you a big hug. Poor baby, I had no idea! Come hell, or high water, we’ll work it out. You’ll see. Trust me. Have I ever let you down? We can do this.

SEE YOU ALL NEXT WEEK? LIKE I SAID, YOU AIN’T SEEN NUTTIN’ YET. NEITHER HAVE I!

Samurai Sword Blade

Okay, it’s not John Grisham, it’s me – the doughy TV guy. But what better way to get you to sit up and take notice.

I’m Paul Guyot. "Ghee-Oh." You probably saw me at some mystery conference – I was the guy lurking near the iced tea cart, looking about as comfortable as a cat in a burlap sack.

Or maybe you used to read Inkslinger… Yeah, yeah, I quit doing the whole blog thing. Buncha self-indulgent bullshit, you ask me.

Did I mention how self-indulgent I am? So, I’m back. Why? Well, to quote that famous line from one of the Godfather films… "I am Enzo, the baker."

Wait…

Anyway, apparently, Pari and Jay-Tee felt like they wanted to see how low Murderati’s readership could drop, so they enlisted my questionable talents. I’ll try and keep your attention, but completely understand if on the days I post, you end up surfing over to Bill Crider’s place for a report on A-NS’s latest shenanigans.

All right, with that out of the way, let’s get this bloggy started. I’m gonna be talking about all sorts of stuff. And the first thing is… this Rachel Ray chick. WTF? She’s everywhere. She gets more press attention than Lindsey Lohan’s nipples.

Can we say nipple here, Pari? Have I already crossed the line? Crap. Okay, forget nipples.

This is Murderati, baby. Murderati is to the blogosphere what the First Comics edition of LONE WOLF AND CUB was to comic books. There may be more popular ones, but none as freaking cool. I should not be allowed within these walls.

Is this post reminding anyone of bad James Joyce? Let’s stay on point.

For those of you that are asking what Charlie Sheen’s Bud Fox asked himself – "Who am I?" – let’s find out some lesser known things…

I believe in God.
I believe Roy Buchanan was the greatest guitarist who ever lived.
I believe Emmitt Smith is the most overrated player in NFL history.
I believe an author who writes a great cozy about a crime-solving cat is every bit as good a writer as an author who writes a great hard-boiled story filled with graphic sex, violence and language.
I believe Sheldon Turner is going to be the next Brian Helgeland.
I believe Floyd Landis is innocent and the American media has turned its back on him.
I believe most parents refuse to admit they don’t spend enough time with their kids.
I believe Jay-Tee is truly oblivious to how good a writer she is.
I believe Formula 1 drivers are overrated and NASCAR drivers are underrated, but that F1 drivers are better drivers than the NASCAR wheelmen.
I believe it’s fine to drink red wine with fish.
I believe the best writing being done right now in Hollywood is for television, and not the movies.
I believe people who blog about themselves and what they believe are generally boring and really have nothing to say.

Oh, and what do I do?

I am a television writer with a few short stories published, and a novel so very unfinished that it cost me dinner with this guy. I used to hang out at a lot of crime writing cons, but not so much anymore. I started feeling even more lame than I normally do – being there without some published work to push.

But I will be at February’s Left Coast Crime for no other reason than to celebrate the launch of an incredible new voice on our genre’s scene: Phil Hawley’s STIGMA will be released in February, and released is the right word. Harper-Collins is releasing this talented new scribe onto the unsuspecting reading public. This guy is very good and is gonna be very big. Phil also happens to be one of the great men of the world.

I hate him.

So, where was I? Right, Bud Fox.

So, yeah, I write for television. What’s the difference between that and writing prose for publication? Several things, but the biggest for me is that the prose scribe will rarely have an editor say, "Put a severed head in the opening pages cuz kids dig severed heads!"

Yes, it’s true. One of the more infamous "notes" given to the writing staff of a network series I worked on. Why was it so outrageous? After all, perhaps the show dealt with horror stories, or serial killers, or something.

Um, no. The show was about cyber crime. And there was about as much coherent reason for a severed head in the opening as there would be to put a car chase in the opening pages of Cheever’s THE WAPSHOT CHRONICLE. Not that we were producing Cheeveresque material.

I have way too many stories like this. THAT, folks, is what you can look forward to in the glitzy world of screenwriting. I’d rather make a living writing prose, but… Robert Gottlieb once said that a writer has about a one in a hundred thousand chance of making a living as a novelist. I think the odds are better with screenwriting (not by much) but only because Hollywood is an overpaid and undereducated burg.

How did I get in the club? Easy. Luck. Pure and simple. Yes, I think my writing was decent, but that means nothing in Hollywood. Who you know? Nope. It’s: Who Knows the Person That You Know, and how paranoid, self-loathing, and Machiavellian are they?

If I’d never cracked the snow globe of Hollywood, I’d still be writing, just not getting paid. I’ve been a writer (whether I knew it or not) since I was eleven.

My first piece of fiction was written in the back of my 5th grade class. It made me an instant celebrity, and girls who had made fun of the gap in my teeth just days before, were now sending me notes and sitting by me at lunch.

A career was born.