It’s Up to You, New York, New York…

JT Ellison

It’s official. I’m a Big Apple virgin no more. Hubby and I
made the trek north last week. I have a small section in my second book that is
set in the city, and I just wasn’t entirely comfortable relying on friends and
the Internet to give me the details I needed. There were two spots in
particular that I needed to “see”, but the most important aspect of this
research was the sensory experience.

I needed to feel the city, to flow with its unique rhythms.
Surprisingly, we managed to accomplish that. New York very kindly gave me every
bit of detail I was looking for. Sight, scent, texture, noise, beauty, snow,
crowds, pace, food (oh, the meals we devoured…) fog, clouds, people, parties,
champagne, graffiti, cappuccino – we got it all in a two day whirlwind.

The book will be richer for that.

And it only took me a day to stop saying, “It’s so BIG.”

I had my first major rite of passage as well. The author
lunch. Oh my. It comes highly recommended.

There’s something absolutely surreal about sitting in a
swanky New York restaurant with your editor and you agent, talking about this
compilation of words you’ve slaved over, and there’s laughter, and smiling, and
compliments, and personal information, fantastic red snapper and talk of the
future. It’s a heady feeling, to be sure.

Follow up the next day with a laid back
meeting with your agent (who smiles a lot more than you’d ever expect, he’s an
AGENT, for God’s sake, they’re supposed to be biters!) and lunch at a excellent
diner in the Flatiron district with your other great editor, and you can say
this has been a successful trip.

To top it off, my lovely friend MJ Rose kindly invited us to
be her guests at the ultimate literary event – Linda Fairstein’s book signing at the Mont
Blanc store at 57^th and Madison. Getting to rub elbows with the
cognoscenti, the New York literati, two Killer Year mates and the divine La
Weinman was very cool. I enjoyed getting hip checked by Cindy Adams. I gave
Anna Quindlen my business card. I also gave it to the coat check girl, who
likes mysteries. MJ’s got divine taste — dinner after was even better.

We spent some time just absorbing. We walked from Union
Square into SoHo and managed to get lost in the one section of New York that
didn’t have a coffee shop every third door. We did Rockefeller Center, Times
Square, Fox News, The New York Times.
We walked and walked and walked, and only
had one cab incident (note to self: probably not a good idea to get into an
argument about Tennessee looking a great deal like Italy with a cabbie who
informs you you’re riding in the best cab in all of the city and has just
finished mainlining three shots of Illi espresso.)

And I got pissed off about September 11^th all
over again. How dare they mess with this jewel?

When we left for the airport, I realized that New York is
now a part of me. As we move closer to publication, as more decisions are made
and paths taken, my future will be inextricably tied to parts of this town. New
York is such a vibrant city, I can’t help but feel it in my bones.

I did realize one thing. If I ever lose that sense of
wonder, stop feeling that it’s my privilege to be a part of this world,
it will be time for me to pack it in. You can take a lot of things for granted
in this life, but being paid to follow your dreams isn’t one of them.

So tell me. What’s YOUR favorite aspect of New York?
If you haven’t been, what do you look forward to the most?

Wine of the Week: 2005 Poggio al Santi, La Guardie, Montepulciano d’Abruzzo

————————

MJ Rose started this incredibly worthy meme in honor of our dear Barbara Seranella.

Please consider signing up to be an organ donor. The gift you give will change many lives.

Hardwood Bookcase

Oh, joy! A large box of books appeared in my living room after the parents drove through. Whist we are still in the throws of renovation, it has sat, unexplored, for the better part of two weeks.

Unexplored is really a misnomer, because they are my books. Every couple of months, I package up all the hardcovers, ARCs and paperbacks that have accumulated and send them to my folks. I’ve turned my Dad on to the likes of John Connolly, Lee Child, John Sandford and Michael Connelly this way (Daddy stole my newly signed and unread copy of Echo Park, which I am really looking forward to reading.) My mom has different tastes, so when I package up a box for them, I try for a really wide cross section of titles.

Since the paint had finally dried in the living room, we put the little bookcase back in place (the one I use for my TBR pile – yes, it’s gotten so big that we had to buy a new bookcase, natch.) I pulled all the titles off, brought that lonely box over to the corner and reloaded.

There’s something so sublime about a full bookcase.

Since we do this dance several times a year, I sometimes forget what I’ve sent, and they don’t come back in order, so I’m always surprised by the contents of the return box. This one was no exception. Just for fun, I thought I’d run you through some of the titles that are now back in my possession.

John Sandford’s Prey series

Jan Burke – NINE and BONES

Diana Gabaldon – A BREATH OF SNOW AND ASHES and THE FIERY CROSS

Greg Iles – FOOTPRINTS OF GOD

Vince Flynn – CONSENT TO KILL

Michael Connelly – CITY OF BONES and CHASING THE DIME

Mo Hayder – THE BIRDMAN

Caleb Carr – THE ALIENIST

James Patterson – JACK AND JILL and BIG BAD WOLF (I saw his newest Alex Cross is coming – CROSS, on November 13. Very cool.)

Lee Child – TRIPWIRE

Tess Gerritsen – THE APPRENTICE and THE SURGEON

Harlan Coben – NO SECOND CHANCE

Jeffrey Deaver – THE BONE COLLECTOR

Erica Spindler – DEAD RUN

Robert Fate – BABY SHARK

Are you seeing a trend here? I have a tendency to share crime fiction with the parents. Maybe I’m just trying to prepare them for what’s coming. If I can get them on board with all of my favorites, then Mom won’t be so horrified when she reads what her darling cherub has written.

And the hubby just walked into the room and asked why I’m sitting in the corner in front of the bookcase with the laptop. Why, I’m sharing my little corner of the world, of course.

I know I’m not the only one who does this. So share.

What are the most recent additions to your bookshelf? What new books are making you warm and fuzzy right now?

Wine of the Week — In honor of Halloween — Vampire Merlot from Transylvania (no, really!)

Womens Platform Shoes

NAOMI HIRAHARA

As Murderati mate Simon Wood described in a past entry, most of us here on blog are vertically challenged–except for the two statuesque women who close out the week.

At 4’10", I’m venturing a guess that I’m the shortest of the short. It’s not a big (no pun intended) deal for me. I was born this way and will die this way, only probably a few inches shorter. If you could see the rest of my extended family, it would make perfect sense why I stand this tall. That didn’t keep me from playing basketball from sixth grade on, even serving as one of the point guards for my high school basketball team (as Troy Cook has said, go Tigers!).

Although I was raised in the seventies, I didn’t succumb to the temptation to buy a pair of platform shoes. Platforms, which are making a comeback, would have elevated me to at least reach the five-feet status. But I was bit of a nerd, preferring wallabies, brown saddle shoes, and my orange high-top Converse All-Stars (Tigers, remember?).

These days in publishing, the talk is all about an author’s platform. Here platform is where he or she stands in terms of spheres of influence. One’s platform can be the difference between getting a book contract and not getting one at all. (If you’re still confused with the term, "author’s platform," see this or this.)

So what’s a non-celebrity to do? Well, look around because you may have a built-in platform. Let me use some of my Murderati blogmates and the current Sister in Crime–L.A. chapter president to give you a few concrete examples:

EXHIBIT #1 The Case of the New Mexico Writer

With two prestigious Agatha nominations under her belt, Pari (Monday’s child) is anything but regional. But starting out with her debut mystery, THE CLOVIS INCIDENT, Pari first attacked what she knew best: the Southwest–the subject of her Sasha Solomon series.

She had already contributed newspaper columns to the Albuquerque Tribune and articles to a publication that served both Albuquerque and Santa Fe. She became active in writing organizations, where she met respected authors like Tony Hillerman and who gave her a wonderful blurb for her debut. She participated in book fairs in shopping malls and helped start Croak & Dagger, the Sisters in Crime chapter in Albuquerque (even serving as its founding president).

Since getting published, Pari has been extending her net beyond her New Mexico and Southwest home base. She’ll be contributing a monthly column for Mystery Writers of America’s The Third Degree newsletter in which she’ll be interviewing editors and agents in the crime fiction world. Key from the very beginning has been her extensive public relations and marketing background, which aided in her getting an introduction to her publisher, University of New Mexico Press, in the first place.

EXHIBIT #2 The Case of the Paralegal

Sue Ann Jaffarian, the president of the Sisters in Crime Los Angeles chapter is a paralegal. Her protagonist, Odelia Grey, is also a paralegal. Pretty convenient, yes?

Sue Ann went with iuniverse, a POD or print-on-demand publisher, to publish her first two mysteries, TOO BIG TO MISS and CURSE OF THE HOLY PAIL. This could sound the death knell for a mystery series, but Sue Ann proved all critics wrong. She went into super promotion mode, and indeed did it big. Trained also as a stand-up comedian, she booked gigs at paralegal conferences to talk about her books. Soon she herself would handsell more than a thousand of each book. That and her sharp writing attracted a traditional publisher, Llewellyn Worldwide and its new Midnight Ink print. TOO BIG TO MISS, this time sporting a bright green cover, made its second debut at the beginning of this year, and the revised CURSE OF THE HOLY PAIL will be released next year.

Exhibit #3 The Case of the Killer Year

So what’s up with the Class of 2007, writers who are coming out with their debut mysteries and thrillers next year (or close to it)? So many of them already have their own websites and most of them have their own blogs. Look at our J.T. Ellison as a prime example. They have even banded together with a group website and blog, which was launched this Monday. Congrats, all!

I only got a full website with multiple pages up this year for my third mystery and just started blogging. So I am definitely behind the curve.

I’m wondering now if this will be more and more a requirement for aspiring writers. To establish an Internet presence even before a first book is picked up. It’s a bit frightening, but all I can say is that I’m glad I’m already published.

To find a platform does not mean picking up an ill-fitting shoes. But to see what’s natural, comfortable, and appropriate for us and most importantly, the best for actual walking. At times we will have to change–the introvert will have to become slightly more extroverted, the computer averse will have to take a few classes.

For the examples mentioned here, there are probably as many writers who tell me that they had no platform in first getting published. But I predict that in order to stay in print, we will each have to find that natural platform to stand on.

THREE WAYS TO GAIN A PLATFORM

1) Leave your house. Yep, get out the door, wear something nice, drag that comb through your hair, and go to that meeting, party, convention, etc. Sometimes you might even have to do a little hard labor for an organization, maybe even speak, lead, or lug boxes, but it’s a great to meet people and get out of your head.

2) Love your computer. Kiss it everyday and be thankful that it works. Do wonderful websites and blogs and hook up with others who are doing the same. Exchange e-mails with strangers and wonder what they really sound and look like.

3) Write short. Write essays, write reviews, write short stories, write articles. Write things that are a thousand words or maybe two thousand words. Send them off to people that you’ve met via #1 and #2 and then go back to writing that darn book.

GUEST BLOGGER REVEALED: Well, Elaine Flinn’s knees and back thank you because no one guessed the identity of next week’s Wednesday guest blogger (I promised that Evil E would bow down to the one who guessed correctly). Well, next week’s Child of Woe will be none other than Gary Phillips, prolific writer of short stories, comic books, and the Ivan Monk and Martha Chainey mystery series. He also is on the board of Mystery Writers of America and will serve as the toastmaster of Left Coast Crime 2007 Seattle (note to self: turn in that registration).

Gary is featured on the cover of his MONKOLOGY short story collection as well as the dust jacket for a limited edition of George Pelecanos’ SOUL CIRCUS, the latter which unfortunately never made it to bookshelves. Both book projects were spearheaded by Dennis McMillan Publications.

Gary and I travel in some of the same circles in L.A. He’s a great writer, far out guy, and damn good looking to boot! If you haven’t seen Gary recently, that guy is cut (he claims having teens is a great weight-loss program). Have fun with him next week.

BLUE BELL BOLOGNA AND OTHER WEIRD SEARCH STRINGS: Had to mention a couple of really strange search strings (that is, what people googled, etc. to get on my website) that cropped up last week: blue bell bologna; hiroshima leather wallet; and the strangest, japanese dentures falling out video. What the heck is that? There’s a Japanese video of dentures falling out of someone’s mouth? Oh, I just googled–it is indeed a video, but it’s of a Korean man, most likely a politician. And I hate to admit it: it’s pretty funny.

MAS HITS WALL STREET: SNAKESKIN SHAMISEN, the third Mas Arai mystery, was reviewed in Saturday’s Wall Street Journal by Tom Nolan. Thank you, Mr. Nolan, for your continued interest in the series!

WEDNESDAY’S WORD: pikadon (SUMMER OF THE BIG BACHI, page 48)

Look carefully again–what do you see? How about pika? For those with children, does Pikachu ring a bell? Pikachu is, depending on your feelings about crass commercialism, an adorable yellow Pokemon creature with floppy ears or else related to the kid in the OMEN. At any rate, its name means "Electric Mouse" and I believe that it resides near a power plant, thus having some kind of post-nuclear connection to its ugly cousin Godzilla, a product of an explosion in the Marshall Islands. Anyway, pikadon, which literally means "bomb of light," refers to the atomic bomb. The people of Hiroshima also use the term genbaku.

Diamond Turquoise

By Louise

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about windows this week. Both the view we see through them and the eyes we use doing it.

My brother, Jim, called to say that he was going back to Hawaii on vacation for the first time since he sold his house on Oahu eighteen years ago. But when he searched Google for "Hawaiian vacation rentals," the first listing that came up was his old house in Kawela Bay.

He decided to try going back home.

Sure, they’d tarted it up with new paint and bathroom fixtures, but it was the same bedroom where his wife had given birth to two babies. The same backyard where he’d dug a pit and buried a whole pig for a luau. The same front yard where the damned breadfruit tree had attacked me with a seven-pound missile.

I wondered what it would be like for him — eighteen years later — to look out those same windows. Would the view have changed? Or just the eyes that regarded it?

The pet goat would no longer be tied to the mango tree in the side yard. He’d no longer be able to see into his best friend’s kitchen window on the next lot over. His kids’ tiny baby clothes would not grace the clothes line strung between the palms.

Of course, the shoreline wouldn’t have changed much. Unless they’d cut down the trees and added a golf course, that is.

Then I realized that I, too, had tried to go home once before. To see through old windows with new eyes.

Donkey’s years ago, I lived in New York City, on the top floor of a five-story, walk-up brownstone on East 39th Street. It was a long thin slice of a room, with one exposed brick wall, and a handkerchief-sized kitchen that I would now describe as adequate for camping. An even smaller bedroom — not much wider than a double bed — was upstairs.

The best part about the apartment was the private roof deck. Covered in astroturf and populated with dozens of city smog-resistant plants, it was larger than the entire apartment below it.

And it made it the easiest apartment to break into on the entire East Side.

My address must have been printed on the inside of matchbook covers, right under the ad that said "You, too, can learn to rob a brownstone!" I had four burglar-visitors in one year.

But that was the price I thought you had to pay for charm in NYC. And I learned to shout and flail at most of the would-be intruders, threatening them with the wrath of a non-existent dog or gun.

So, thirty years later, when I discovered that the New York hotel
I’d booked for a business trip was on the same block as my old
apartment, I thought it would be interesting to see how the
neighborhood had changed.

The W hotel had rejiggered five brownstones on the block, keeping much of the facades and gutting the interior. I asked for a fifth floor room on the front.

The room was what I could only have fantasized about in my advertising executive-in-utero days. Subtle lighting. Eight-hundred thread count sheets. A bathtub you could actually stretch out in. The raw brick wall was gone. As was the roof deck.

But they kept the same windows.

I pulled aside the curtains, absentmindedly wiping a clean spot on the glass with my shirt sleeve, the way I used to. It didn’t need it. And the window sill was no longer littered with grains of black soot that would sneak in like thieves when the wind blew from the north.

The brownstones across the street were still pretty much the same, although the fruit market on the corner, where I’d stopped to buy daisies on my way home every Friday, had been replaced with a pan-Asian fusion restaurant.

The trees were thirty years taller; I could almost reach out and touch them. But they didn’t obscure the thin, between-the-buildings view of the Chrysler Building, still gleaming like a gemstone hidden in a pile of Legos.

I looked down. They’d replaced the sidewalk and the old brownstone entrances, erasing the crack in the pavement from when I’d thrown a waist-high potted palm out the window to stop the last of those fleeing burglars.(The first cop on the scene had tactfully dragged the unconscious man back into the entryway, so that I could claim he was on the property when I attacked him with the lethal greenery.)

So, not much had changed.

Or had it? Had my eyes changed more that the view?

In the last thirty years, I’ve been loved by fumblers, and hurt by experts. Found new roads and dug deeper ditches. Forgotten all the words and learned to pun in three languages. And I wouldn’t have changed any of it.

My new eyes were perfectly at home, gazing through those old windows.

So, what do you think? Are there any old windows you’d like to go look out of again? Maybe that cactus-framed window in Arizona where you first fell in love? Or the porthole on the houseboat in the South of France? The dorm room with dusty white blinds? Or maybe your parent’s kitchen window.

Do you think you could find the person who used to stand there? Or has the view changed so much that you wouldn’t even recognize it with new eyes?

And by the way, did I mention the new "150 Thrillers" contest? Just by signing up here for the free online ITW newsletter, you’ll be entered for a chance to win a whole library of new, author-signed thrillers. A hundred and fifty, in all. Can’t beat that with a stick.

Ladies’ Man

It’s time to break out the polyester pants, the faux silk shirt and the big medallion, cuz I’m a ladies’ man.

Well, not quite. Not in the John Travolta/Saturday Night Fever sense, anyway. I would need a ladder to climb into those platform shoes. But I have become a ladies’ man by being elected president of the Northern California Chapter of Sisters in Crime. My illustrious tenure began January 1. I ran a clean campaign never once going negative and they still voted me in. Bugger!

It’s always been a dream of mine that one day, I’d have dozens and dozens of women under my control, all bending to my will. Except, I’ve been married eight years and I’ve never had control over Julie for five minutes. I’ll say to Julie, “Make my dinner, wench,” and I end up being locked out on the patio and told to think about what I’ve said.

So I’m scared.

I’ve never run anything like this before. I’ve gotten involved with things before, but I’ve never been the front man. I’ve always been content to hide behind others. It’s not that I don’t like responsibility. I’m just not a fan of the spotlight. But you can’t be a shrinking violet in the writing world. As a scribbler, you are just as an important part of the book as the book itself. So I’ve done a lot of things I wouldn’t normally do. I give talks. I hold book signings that no one attends, although being mistaken for Stuart Woods’ nephew has gotten me a few book sales I wouldn’t normally get.

So here I am about to run the NorCal chapter of Sisters. Who would have thought? Actually, I’m pretty excited about my new job. I see loads of things that need improving. I think it’s going to be fun, but I also know it’s going to be a lot of hard work. There is a lot I want to do for our published and unpublished members. The sad thing is that I can see I need more time than my twelve-month reign will allow. I hate leaving things half done, so I can see myself running again. But I’m not sure they would vote for me twice. Would you want this face molding your future twice? Well would you?

Yours, a faithful servant to women,
Simon Wood
PS: Accidents Waiting to Happen is Dorchester Publishing’s Thriller of the Month in March and they even said so in writing. I think they might just like me.
PPS: You can find the winners of my ARC giveaway can be found here.

ON THE BUBBLE WITH GILLIAN ROBERTS, ETC.

I’ve been asked to be the spokesperson for the WHY IS GILLIAN ROBERTS RETIRING AMANDA PEPPER CONCLAVE that is in the workings – but I refused. I mean, after THIRTEEN books – the latest and out now – A HOLE IN JUAN – and two Emma Howe books – I think Gillian Roberts deserves this break she’s taking. How much more could we ask from this absolutely wonderful writer? So she wants to try something new…should we drag her through town and display her at the town square? Stamp our feet, wave placards, cry with crocodile tears? We could, but that would be mean spirited after all the joy she has given us – and the terrific adventures she’s let us tag along with her on… (and don’t shake your head at my poor use of grammar here – I’m speaking from the heart – so who really cares?) Instead, let’s just wish her luck with her new book and tell her to hurry the hell up so we can all read it.

By the way – In case some of you didn’t know -Judy taught at the University of San Franciso in their MFA in Writing program for nearly a dozen years. And…ta da…she will be resuming her fiction classes ( 8 sessions) in March at Book Passages (independent book store in Corte Madera, California) in March. If you live nearby or in the San Francisco Bay Area, and would like to learn from one of the best – give Judy an email at: Judygilly@aol.com

Now come and chat with us – Judy will be watching – so remember what I said – she’s earned the break, so be nice, okay?

GILLIAN ROBERTS http://www.gillianroberts.com

EE: So, Judy – at what point in your day do you find it difficult to remember who you are? I mean, you’ve got Judy (Jude on occasion), Gillian, Amanda, Emma and Billie – and heaven only knows who the hell else is lurking around. Whew! Did you ever see that great Joanne Woodward movie – "The Three Faces of Eve"? Joanne only had to contend with three faces – you’ve got five!

GR,etc: Dear heart, I don’t know quite how to say this, but…Amanda, Emma and Billie are…fictional. That is: not real. (Are you okay? Did I break it to you too abruptly?) It doesn’t seem fair to count them as ‘me’. I have enough problems being two-faces as Gillian and Judy!

I’m okay…really. I’m over it. If you wanna stick with just two, that’s okay with me – but look at all the fun you’ve had being so many great dames!

EE: Many writers I know have quotes – or inspirational reminders nearby as they work. Do you have one? Care to share?

GR,etc: For many years, I had the following taped to my computer: "Don’t Write it Right. Write it Down." I can’t remember whose wise saying it was, but I still love it as a way to face the terrors – and maintain my usual low standards. (These days, I have a little golden milagro of a stack of books pasted to my compute screen. You never know…)

Oh, will you listen to her? Low standards? Ha! I should have such low standards!

EE: What is the most important thing you tell your writing students? Give us something we can all hang our hat on.

GR,etc: Do it. Don’t talk about doing it, don’t plan to do it: do it. And then do it again. Writing is a lifelong apprenticship – begin it now. (But that’s two things. Or three…)

Great advice. No, the BEST advice. How many of us are guilty of that before we sat down and bit the bullet? Any of our readers care to tell us their tale of ‘I’ll-do-it-when-I-have-time-itis’?

EE: Okay, Judy – let’s hear who you’d love to have all to yourself in a softly-lit corner of the bar next month at LCC?

GR,etc: I promised the person I wouldn’t say. I want to see your look of surprise when you find us in that dark corner…

Oh, you little devil, you – you’ve got Redford showing up,huh? I know he’s your neighbor in Tiburon. Thought I was living in a cave up here in the Northwest, huh? Ohhh…I’m so excited! I better rebook that facial I cancelled. I’ll just stop by to say hello, that’s all. I promise. Sorta.

EE: Rumor has it that all those trips you take to Guatemala are to finalize the decorating details for the rehab spa you’ve established for writers who can’t stay off the internet and continuously miss their deadlines. Now, we don’t expect you to name names…but I have it on good authority that your twenty room casitas (with private bath) are booked up until 2010.

GR,etc: Your authorities aren’t so good, cookie. I told you when you tried to register that we’re booked until 2017!

Note: I kidded Judy about the trips she and her husband take to Guatemala on purpose. But here – in her words – is the real reason. I wanted everyone to know about this wonderful and selfless act. I should think a round of applause in in order, don’t you?

GR,etc: Of course, in truth, it’s my husband who’s been there a kazillion times, translating for a group of volunteer doctors. I have no skills. I don’t mind taking credit for his good works, though.

It takes few skills, Judy – to be a giving person…and you have them in spades.

EE: Okay, here’s a tough one for you: What would you do if you weren’t writing? Other than join the Peace Corps.

GR,etc: Unable to drop the writerly habit of peeking behind (metaphorical) curtains, needing to unearth (fictional) people’s embarrassing secrets – I’d undoubtedly annoy the hell out of everybody I met until somebody had me arrested for trespassing.

Oh, I love that answer! Between all of us writers – we could sure as hell populate the jails!

EE: Writers like to say they lie and get paid for it. I know I do. So, what about you, Judy? When do you find lying acceptable? Okay, how’s little white lies then?

GR,etc: My sad secret is that I have real trouble lying in real life, so I do try to avoid it. But small evasions of unnecessary truths: ("What a beautiful baby!" "No, you don’t look fat," "This is the best book I’ve ever read!" – that final one is to be said to me by kind people) – are always in season.

Ahem. So you really didn’t mean it when you told me I didn’t look fat?

EE: Mysteryville is abuzz with talk that many of your English teacher fans are up in arms over Amanda Pepper taking leave. I’m also hearing rumors that the plan a march in San Francisco next week and are heading for Tiburon. I guess you’ll be out of town?

GR,etc: Yup. Casita #5, Antiqua, Guatemala.

Want company? I could handle a few days off…

EE: Okay, Judy – let’s get serious here. Which living person do you most admire? Besides me, that is.

GR,etc: Really, really seriously? Right now: Nancy Pelosi, for being all the things she is, has done, and represents – but also, all the voters who put her in position to be Speaker of the House.

Admirable choice. She’s the epitome of ‘You’ve Come A Long Way, Baby’.

EE: Time for the Walter Mitty Dream, kiddo. Tell us yours.

GR,etc: I hate to be sappy but – to me, the best part about being a writer of fiction is the chance to be all different sorts of people and to live many lives. Before I settled into writing, I thought about being a lawyer (so I’ve written/become one), a psychologist (so I’ve written/become one) and always wanted to be taller, thinner, younger, braver and smarter – so I’ve written that character, too. And of course I’ve wanted to avenge wrongs and take revenge from time to time. That’s the real perk of being a mystery writer, even though of all of my victims, only two were "real" people. Poor Mr. Mitty needed a computer in which to live out his dreams and sometimes get royalty checks for them, too.

Not sappy at all. A reason – I think – many writers would identify with… I know I do. And I’ve killed off a few dastardly antiques dealers I knew in real life. And I’m not sorry either. 🙂

EE: We all have favorite books we revisit – which book do you find you read again and again and again?

GR,etc: This is really embarrassing. I’m sure real writers have a lodestone book, and I’ve tried and tried to think of one myself. But aside from reference books, or re-reading classics as research while I was writing the Amanda Pepper books, I can’t think of any I intentionally re-read. Could this be related to the fact that I’m a compulsive book-buyer with no desire to be cured, so there are close to 1,000 waiting-to-be read books in the house?

Possibly. 🙂

EE: So now that we know Amanda is retiring – what’s up next?

GR,etc: For both of us, new adventures. She’ll have to tell you about hers. As for me, I’m working on a historical novel set in Colonial Mexico during the Inquisition. I can’t seem to get away from murder, but apparently being garroted and/or burned at the stake doesn’t need ‘solving’. So Gillian might also be taking a vacation on the Riveria or wherever she’s been while I wrote all those mysteries for her, and this might be a Judy book. I honestly don’t know, and that’s scary. But that’s probably what makes it an adventure.

And one we’ll all be waiting for!

My thanks to Judy for visiting with us – for willing to play with Evil E – but most of all – for being one of the truly lovely women I’ve been priviledged to know in Mysteryville.

**********************************************************************************************************************

Hope to see you next week when Bob Levinson takes the plunge. Oh, what an interview that’s gonna be.

ON THE BUBBLE WITH GILLIAN ROBERTS, ETC.

The Book From Hell

By Louise

Let me start out with the best news of all: I just signed a two-book deal with St. Martin’s Press. The first of those two books will be THE FAULT TREE, the story of a blind female auto mechanic who overhears a murder take place. Think “Wait Until Dark,” with a protagonist who knows how to change the oil in your Chevy.

Now the bad news. I just got the editorial notes from Michael Homler, my new editor at St. Martin’s. I haven’t met him yet, but his voice still holds a passion for this business, and his words waft down like rose petals on my head.

He loves the book. He says things like, “Don’t you dare change a word here. This is one of the best scenes in the book.” He says, “Your writing is too fine to touch.”

He did ask if I’d think about deleting one sentence. I’ve given it some thought. He’s right.

But here’s where he’s wrong.

I haven’t read the manuscript for a couple of months now, so I’m approaching it with fresh eyes.

;

It sucks.

Whatever made me think those words could come out of that character’s mouth? Why didn’t I change that hackneyed phrase before anyone outside my nuclear family ever read this tripe? How is it possible that I’ve strung together 80,000 words of pure shit?

;

And he doesn’t want me to change anything.

AAARRRGGGHHHH.

Last week Simon Wood wrote about tinkering with a manuscript he thought was already done. He approached that rewrite with the attitude that he’d grown and improved in his writing since it was first “finished.”

I’m approaching this revision with the cowering, cringing mantra: “What could I have been thinking?”

The gang over at First Offenders calls this syndrome: ITOTALLYSUCKITIS.

I totally understand ITOTALLYSUCKITIS.

In typical insecure-author behavior, I emailed my buddy, Jude Greber. “The pacing is glacial. The writing is drivel. I hate it.”

“Oh yeah, I heard that St. Martin’s was looking for a particularly plodding, badly written book for next year. Glad you guys got together,” she replied.

Sarcasm doesn’t become her.

I hear that some authors have inflated egos. That they’re stunned when their work is not recognized with awards and Top Ten rankings. When reviewers call it “a good read” instead of “a great read.”

I’m not one of them.When I read a review of my work, my eyes skim over everything until I get to the word "however." Sometimes it’s "but." The rest of the sentence will be seared onto my retinas forever.

I swoon when an editor says nice things. I renamed my dog after the sweet reader who sent a complimentary email. (I’d rename a child, but I don’t have one.)

And then I question their taste and their judgment.

What is it about author insecurities that we’re more than willing to accept the criticism, but find it hard to embrace the accolades? Or maybe it’s a personal character flaw, and has nothing to do with writing at all.

In any case, I held my nose as I approached the revision. To paraphrase a C&W song-writing cousin of mine, I’d rather be knee deep in disease and go bald-headed from the burning fever than to have to go back through this manuscript again. But I did.

Hey, wait a minute, there’s a nice turn of phrase on page fourteen. And that minor character from the auto body shop still makes me laugh.

And you know what? Michael’s right about this scene. It doesn’t need any changes at all.

What about you other writer guys? Do you accept a pat on the back as readily as a slap on the face? Or is it the other way around? Any readers want to chime in on the lack o’ confidence question?

Goodbye Barbara Seranella

For those of you who don’t know by now, the mystery community has lost a beautiful, clear and strong light.

Barbara Seranella, author of the acclaimed Munch Mancini series, died yesterday — Jan. 21, 2007 — while awaiting a liver transplant.

Though we were not close friends, I remember her with great fondness.

I met Barbara at Left Coast Crime in Pasadena. After my first-ever mystery panel, she made a point of telling me I’d done well. Later, while we stood in line for dinner, I commented on the supportive quality of the mystery community. Barbara cited statistics about the phenomenal amount of books most mystery fans read annually.

Then she said, "Why wouldn’t I support and promote you? By supporting you, I’m supporting the mystery genre."

That idea made so much sense; I’ve held it close ever since.

The last contact I had with Barbara was toward the end of November — right before she went to Ohio. She sent a group email to those of us who served on an Edgars judging committee together. She requested that we keep the possible surgery quiet.

She didn’t want to be known for her liver disease.

So, let’s not remember her for that.

Let’s celebrate her astounding literary contribution and her magnificent personal character . . .

Death X 2

by Pari Noskin Taichert

In grad school, I had an internship at a small rural hospice in Michigan. There, I learned the importance — and effect — of anniversaries. The date of a death can affect families, friends, and communities for years.

I know it’s worked that way for me.

A few days after the glee of the New Year, thoughts of
deprivation,
unwanted change,
passing time,
and becoming an orphan,
shove aside my natural optimism.

Among the most important anniversaries I mark are:
January 6, 1978. That’s when my stepfather died. My sense of invincibility died that day, too.
February 11, 1999. My mother died. Nothing prepared us for her quick demise. The shock of it left me reeling, unsure I could depend upon anything fully again.

I’m writing about this today because of wonderful recent entries on the blog NakedAuthors. There, Patricia Smiley and James Grippando wrote personal essays about their aging parents.

In reading their posts, I realized, yet again, the slender line we mystery writers tread. Most of us touch upon deaths frequently in our work. But ours are exciting versions, not the thick sadnesses that envelope hearts when the reality of those losses hit anew. For people who write with humor that line squiggles upon itself and tangles in unexpected ways.

Often, I find myself feeling like I’m walking on a balance beam made of gelatin. How can I respect the gravity of death, of murder, while grinning at the amusing ways Sasha unravels the clues?

It’s during these first two months of the year that I stumble most, feel least sure.

During Malice Domestic last year, I was on a panel with guest of honor Robert Barnard. During the discussion, I said something about not thinking one could make death funny (Yeah, yeah, I know it can be done; I was going for a deeper point). Later, Barnard took me aside and said, "Young lady, you can make anything funny."

The problem is, right now, I’m not laughing. I don’t want to make death funny. To me, it’s not. It’s real, difficult, and empty.