On Style

Raymond Chandler wrote:

“The most durable thing in writing is style, and style is the most valuable investment a writer can make with his time. It pays off slowly, your agent will sneer at it, your publisher will misunderstand it, and it will take people you have never heard of to convince them by slow degrees that the writer who puts his individual mark on the way he writes will always pay off.”

Whoa.

I came across that quote this week and have been brooding over it ever since, as I (you’re going to get sick of hearing this) struggle with my third novel.

I thought it was worth posting about, so that you all can explain it to me.

In fact, what I really wanted to do was just post that quote and type “Discuss” below it and let you all go to town, but that’s probably some kind of cheating, so I’ll try to turn my inchoate brooding into a coherent post.

I’m sure you all read as much as I do and probably discard at least as many books after the first few chapters as I do. I will sometimes skim a badly written book for story, but far too many books these days are written far too quickly, and don’t even approach a level of basic good writing, let alone a distinct style. I know we’re all trying to make a living here, and it takes a lot more time to write a book with style, and it’s a lot harder, but I have no patience with writers who don’t go that extra mile (or continent). So I’m stuck – if I won’t READ a book without style, then I can’t really write one without it, either.

So these are some of the things I’m wondering.

(And for the purposes of this discussion I’m going to confine my examples mainly to the mystery/suspense genre, because yeah, Joyce has a distinct and groundbreaking style, but I never even seriously tried to get through FINNEGAN’S WAKE)

1. First of all, when you think of writers who have a distinctive, landmark STYLE – who of your favorite writers, especially those who influence you, would that Chandler quote apply to?

2. And what’s the difference between a distinctive, landmark style and just plain great writing?

3. And what’s the difference between a distinctive landmark style and a specific writing device or gimmick that you use to tell a certain story?

I’ll take a stab at my own questions, to get the ball rolling.

(1) I’m not a hardboiled writer so, though I appreciate Chandler and Hammett and Spillane and I understand how that quote applies to them, I’m not interested in writing that way.

But I do know that I’ve been influenced by the Gothic, sensual, and I would say uniquely feminine styles of Mary Shelley, Sheridan Le Fanu, Bram Stoker, the Brontes.

Ray Bradbury is a stylist who just does it for me – again, emphasis on the sensual and fantastical.

Anne Rice – ditto. I think the lush eroticism of her prose and the fantastical nature of her subject matter takes her (at her best) beyond simply great writing to great style.

(2). Now, this is something I’m also wondering: are stylists different from just plain brilliant writers?

Stephen King is a brilliant writer. No one can hook me into a story and keep me riveted and engaged the way he can. But I’m not sure in his case I’d call it style… I think he’s a phenomenal, addictively wonderful storyteller. And he’s written some stylishly interesting books, like CARRIE – but I think the style of that book was more a device to tell that particular story than a groundbreaking style that defined him as a author.

Ayn Rand is another addictively brilliant storyteller, for me – but I don’t think she created a new style with her books.

Larry McMurtry, whose stupefyingly wonderful LONESOME DOVE I am now reading for the first time (thanks, G.! ) – is another phenomenal storyteller – but I don’t think he’s creating a new style.

And I don’t think the stylists I’ve mentioned are any more brilliant than the storytellers – I’m just trying to distinguish style from general writing brilliance. In fact, most of the authors who have most influenced me in my particular genre – like King and Ira Levin and F. Paul Wilson – are more what I would define as brilliant storytellers. But actually, now that I think about it, maybe Levin’s subtle irony and satire make him more of a stylist.

(3) Now, to my third question – style vs. a storytelling device. I’m also reading THE BOOK THIEF, by Markus Zusak – there’s a very interesting device there in that the book is narrated by Death. Very stylish, because of the unique POV Death has. But it’s a device for this particular story… we’ll have to wait and see if it turns out to be Zusak’s patented style.

The great Barbara Kingsolver I think is a stylist but her POISONWOOD BIBLE is more a great example of a literary device: a single story told by six sisters (if I’m remembering correctly, not good with math) all in very unique first person voice.

Another example of a literary device would be the one in Christie’s THE MURDER OF ROGER ACKROYD… (you know!). I’m thinking that’s not style, it’s a storytelling device that makes that a standout book (though Christie hit that standout mark pretty regularly).

And while we’re on the subject of style, I’m also on a Ken Bruen tear – my new literary crush. Oh, all right, I also have a crush on Ken. But enthralled as I am, I’m certainly not the first one to call him a unique stylist, as well as just a brilliant writer, and I think it’s because his Jack Taylor character and his stories so completely reflect Ken, who is even more poetic than the average insanely poetic Irish – poet. Amelia Barr said about writing – "I press my soul upon the white paper." Ken does that with such devastating honesty that it becomes its own style.

And that – we all have the capability of doing. If we take the time and trouble to get our unique souls onto the page, it becomes style.

So… examples, anyone? And who do you think are our new stylists?

– Alex (Obviously desperately seeking procrastination suggestions…)

Of Vampires and Jumpers

JT Ellison

Alex wrote a post this past weekend about the vampiric
nature of writers.

I don’t think it’s much of a stretch to say that for
writers, life can sometimes seem like a series of vignettes, a compilation of
observations that we distill into experiences and memories that propel our
work. I’d even postulate that crime fiction writers get a wealth of inspiration
from the everyday life going on around us – let’s face it, there is no desert
when it comes to crime as inspiration. Just look at your evening news, the
majority of lead stories are crime related. If it bleeds, it leads.

I know this is true for me. And over Christmas, I had an
experience that shaped my view, sparked an idea, and gave me creative
sustenance. I just wasn’t happy about it.

Hubby and I were heading to my parents, and their house is
on an island. There are two bridges over to beachside, and we were heading
toward the South Causeway, a relatively new structure that allows for large-mast
ships to pass through on their journey along the Indialantic waterway. The
North Causeway is still a charming drawbridge, the South is mammoth by
comparison.

As we reached the base of the bridge, there were cop cars
littering the road, and they were directing people to turn away. There have
been some terrible accidents on the bridge – the speed limit is much too high,
so the first thought was bad smash-up. But I saw a few people walking around at
the top and realized, no. It was worse. It was a jumper.

Now, this bridge is big enough to do some serious damage if
you went over unwittingly. About four stories high. Not a guaranteed death, but
you’d get hurt. Badly.

I was horrified at my immediate reaction. We must pull over.
I need to see this. I can work this into a story. I need to assimilate the
scene, burn the images into my mental retinas. Before I knew it, I was
vocalizing my thoughts. I told hubby we needed to stop. I heard myself giving
him directions into the local library parking lot, which sits at the base of
the bridge. There was already a group of people doing the same thing. But things
got worse. I sickened myself when I realized I had my camera. In my bag, at my
feet. And as the car stopped moving, it was in my hand.

A familiar sense of detachment flooded me. I got out of the
car, and snapped a few shots, telling myself that if I were a photographer and
this were my daily job, I wouldn’t have two seconds of hesitation about taking
pictures. I’m simply documenting at this point, a purely dispassionate
observer. I am not rooting for this man to jump. I am not glorying in his pain.
I am not wondering what it would look like if he actually lets go of the
railing he seems to be clinging to as if he really doesn’t want to be doing
this. My mind can make all of those images and words for me. I am absorbing. I
am being a vampire.

I’ve seen some pretty nasty things. My research has taken me
into darkness. I’ve been at a stabbing scene, seen the results of teenage head
versus .44 magnum in a suicide, viewed autopsy photos and crime scene photos.
But nothing could have ever prepared me for a group of people, gathered at the
base of a very big bridge, all yelling one collective word. “JUMP!”

That’s right. While I’m mantra muttering Don’t Do It under
my breath, the redneck assholes who were partaking in an afternoon of someone
else’s misfortunes are wrapped in their superiority cloaks, screaming at this
poor soul to kill himself.

But what did I look like to them? I’m the one with my camera
in the air.

I felt a bit like a naturalist. On the Discovery Channel,
you wonder how the videographers and photographers and announcers do it.
There’s always the story of the lion pride, and the cub that’s gotten lost. We
usually see the happy ending, the cub is reunited with his pride. But the
tension I feel leading up to that moment is overwhelming. How many times did
the cub not make it? When does reality intrude on the entertainment value?

If the documentarians are true to their work, they know
there’s nothing they can do to put the cub back on the road to safety. They
can’t interfere; it’s nature’s way. But how do they watch, and record, and
voice-over while the hyenas strike?

I always tell myself, as I turn off the show before I find
out what happens, that it’s happening right now, all over the world. The weak
are being preyed upon by the strong. The naturalists know that if they weren’t
there to document the process, it would happen regardless. That’s how I
justified my actions at the bridge. If we hadn’t stopped for a soda and had
been five minutes earlier, we would have driven by and never known the
difference. But since we were there, I felt compelled to, at the very least,
give the man’s story some credence. I told hubby if he did jump, at least I
could find a way to mention it so he wasn’t lost in utter obscurity, didn’t
become just another statistic.

He came down. He lived. I didn’t know that until the next
day, when a brief mention in the newspaper handled the situation with
surprising delicacy. I’m paraphrasing… Police closed the north Causeway for
nearly an hour yesterday as they talked with a despondent man… Despondent.
What a perfect word to describe the situation.

You may be surprised by that last bit. Yes, we left. I
didn’t want to see what happened. I certainly didn’t want to see him go over. I
was testing fate by even stopping and taking pictures. I was lucky that he
didn’t let go while I was there.

This nameless, faceless stranger has been grafted into my
next book; I’ve got a scene with a jumper. I intend to mine it for every detail
I can, answer all the unanswered questions, glorify and inflate the situation
to fictional proportions. And I have my memories and pictures to thank for
guiding me. All’s well that ends well, right?

If I just weren’t thinking about what drove him to that
bridge in the first place.

JT’s First Unabashed (Sort of) BSP

The fine editors of the most exciting new ezine this year, MOUTH FULL OF BULLETS, have nominated a story I wrote for them for the Preditors and Editors 2006 Readers Poll.

The story is called THE TEMPEST, and it’s one I wrote while I was in Colorado this past summer. I blogged about that week in my old hometown, and promised that I was writing. This is my proof.

Here’s a link to the story.

There’s a catch. This is a voted contest. If you like the story and want to vote for it, click here.

I’m going to blog about the issue of awards in two weeks. I debated long and hard about whether to mention this at all, simply because it feels unseemly to me to ask for votes.

But you know what? The editors of MOUTH FULL OF BULLETS felt strongly enough about this story to nominate it. It’s their only entry in this particular category of the contest. And I want to honor their kind action by sharing this with all of you. This one truly isn’t about winning or losing. So thanks for the vote of confidence, BJ!

Splitting

I’m splitting.

Don’t get too excited. I’m not leaving or anything like that. No, I’m going through something of an identity crisis and I’m considering splitting myself into two. People aren’t sure what I write. The problem is that I write in multiple genres. One side of me writes thrillers and mysteries and the other side of me writes horror and dark fantasy. I know a number of writers who flit between genres with no problem and I hoped to do the same, but it isn’t working for me. My writing in different genres confuses people. Horror readers think I write mystery and mystery readers think I write horror. The simple thing to do would be to stick to one genre and have done with it, but I don’t want to. I love writing horror stories as much as I do crime.

So what is a chimera to do? What else, but split.

I think it’s time for a pen name, but which side of me gets the new identity? That’s an easy one. The pen name will go to my horror writing. I’ve written a lot of short horror fiction that has appeared in magazines and anthologies, but I’ve never published a horror novel, whereas my published and forthcoming novels are thrillers. It would be too disruptive to reinvent myself in the mystery and thriller world now.

The topic of a pen name has been on my mind for some time. My attempts to educate the world to my multi-faceted aspects haven’t worked and it’s getting a little frustrating. People either label me as a horror or thriller writer, never both. More than a minor annoyance, the situation has hindered me. Not for the first time, anthology editors have looked me over because they knew me for one genre and not both. It’s time to break out the white flag and surrender to the realization that it’s hard being two things at once.

I do have a name picked out, but I’m not willing to share it at the moment. Change, while good, does create waves. While I want to create a second writing identity, I have to consider other people. There are a number of upcoming projects, which this decision will affect. I need to discuss it with them first.

As Eric Burden of the Animals once said, “I’m just a soul who’s intentions are good. Oh Lord, please don’t let me be misunderstood.” It’s not a good situation for a writer to be in.

I’ll let you know what I decide.

Yours a person divided,
Simon Wood

ON THE BUBBLE WITH PARI NOSKIN TAICHERT

YES – IT’S FINALLY HERE. THE INTERVIEW YOU’VE BEEN WAITING FOR – OUR HEADMISTRESS – OUR RESIDENT DIPLOMAT TO THE UNITED BLOGOSPHERE (some of us occasionally need one)- IS GONNA GET IT TOO.

But let’s not get carried away just yet. Pari, as you all know – is the sassy mother of Sasha Solomon – the quirky gal inhabiting two Agatha nominated mysteries: THE CLOVIS INCIDENT and THE BELEN HITCH – with SOCORRO soon to be in your favorite independent bookstore (and chains, naturally). I love Sasha – she doesn’t suffer fools very well, but when she does – it is with such elan… and has us laughing all the while. Were I to be so accomplished. I could go on and on – tell you that Pari and I first met at Bcon/Las Vegas – she moderated the ‘newbie’ panel (which I was on) and as a newbie herself – did a standup job. We became fast friends then – and still are. So why am I telling all this breaking news? Well, see – it’s like this – I just couldn’t bring myself to grill her too hard. At least not this first time. When SOCORRO comes out – that’ll be a different story. I mean, she’s been snowed in with her girls home from school and I understand she’s been, well…sort of sloshing around the snowdrifts making those so-called snowshakes. Suffice it to say she’s a bit frazzled at just now. And good friend that I am, I’ll take it light this time. I’m not always evil, you know.

So, here she is – PARI NOSKIN TAICHERT http://www.parinoskintaichert.com

Okay, I lied. After seeing this photo – I was too chicken to ruffle her feathers. It’s kinda small (Pari’s fault not mine- so blame her if you have to squint) – but I still got the message. That’s quite a kick she’s managed to master.

EE: So, Pari – I’ve been hearing rumors that Jackie Chan is a fan of yours – and when he found out that you’re into Tae Kwon Do, he went bananas and wants you in his next film which begins shooting in April, but you’ve turned him down to go to Malice. Are you nuts, or what?

PT: That’s partially true because, well, Jackie is slowing down a little and I just wasn’t sure he’d be up to the stunts we discussed. But, I did propose doing some of the filming at Malice – you know – a chase scene during the tea with all of those ladies wearing such wonderful hats. He said he’d get back to me.

Well, guess I should tell you that he called me today. He’s a little nervous about being around all those women who kill for fun and profit. He’s hoping you might reconsider the venue and is asking me to be the go-between. He was thinking about the parking lot-he’ll have a Hummer waiting for him just in case the ladies get too rambunctious. Let me know, okay?

EE: Talk of the Town is that a group of citizens (and fans) are trying to get you to run for mayor of Belen, New Mexico. They claim you’ve done more to put their fair little town on the map than Mayor Torres – and they want you bad. What does Sasha think about all of this?

PT: Ronnie Torres is only a part-time mayor. He’s really a hairdresser (I kid you not.) I wouldn’t dare run against him; I don’t know the first thing about conditioners. As to Sasha’s opinion? She’s firmly against the idea. She’d rather I write her into more travels – maybe in other small towns out of New Mexico – like Antibes or Cap St. Jean Ferrat.

Oh? Going international, huh? Hey, I’m with you! Listen – I know of a gorgeous little villa overlooking Lake Como that maybe I can get you and Sasha into. My friend George has a lovely place there. He’d do anything for me. I saved his…well, nevermind. Want me to call him?

EE: A voice from your past told me that the belly dancing routines you did on that TV show you had some years ago (I’m not saying how many, okay?) was considered quite…er…spicy, and it had to be taken off the air after the local square dance and polka groups put up a fuss. Wanna splain that, kiddo?

PT: Nah, that didn’t happen. But something that did: I hated Econ 101, despised it and wasn’t doing too well in the class. The night before my final, I had a dancing engagement in Beloit College’s "coffee house." (They served really good micro-brewery beers – not coffee.) Anyway, I was dancing away with too much merriment when I did this nifty spin and turned to face…you guessed it…my Econ prof. Somehow, I passed the final.

Well, hell – one look at that outfit you’re wearing must have made him realize…well, how about ‘one picture is worth a thousand words’? I think we can fill in the blanks here.

EE: Just between us gals, tell me about that year in Hong Kong when you were supposed to be studying at the Chinese University. I mean, okay – so you really do speak Chinese and Russian – but – well, do I have to spell it out? You weren’t really a student, right? If you want to say it was research for a novel, go ahead – but…

PT: Of course I was studying. I spent a whole damn year painting one character in calligraphy. That’s the only class I truly remember. But, in Hong Kong proper, there was this great bar called Waltzing Matilda’s where the Aussie and British ex-pats used to hang out. Oh, and the tea at the Peninsula was to die for. And, I used to save up all my money to go to Gaylord’s, a fab Indian restaurant in Kowloon…

Hells bells! If it takes a damn year to paint one character – I’d be hanging out at a few bars myself.

EE: Okay, enough of the light stuff. Which writer would you love to have all to yourself in a cozy corner of the bar next month at Left Coast Crime?

PT: Cozy!!? Did you say "cozy?" I’m so tired of people putting me in …oh, excuse me…um… You know what? I’d love to hang out with all of the Murderati crowd. Hell, I’d love to hang out with absolutely anyone who’ll buy me an Oban or two. Frankly, at conventions, I find just about everyone fascinating.

Crapola! I didn’t think! Yes – that damned word! Funny – I didn’t realize it until now. You can bet I’ll be changing the wording from now on. I HATE IT TOO! I mean – we write about murder, right? What the hell is COZY about that? Note to readers: Did you notice she really didn’t give us a specific name? See what I mean? Diplomacy r us to the max. Damn, I hate that in a woman.

EE: Since you’re gonna side-step all my questions, how about telling me about your Walter Mitty dream?

PT: You know, I really can’t think of much. Well, there’s that chateau in Cap St. Jean Ferrat…and the jet-setting around the world to meet adoring readers…and being paid to do it. There’s the win at American Idol. There’s that great review in NYT. There’s dancing the tango in Argentina. Actually, dancing professionally would be pretty cool. There’s that seventh don in Tae Kwon Do, and being able to do flying kicks and actually get hang time. To look like Alex, Twist, Harley or Laura. There’s brokering world peace, Solving the global warming problem. Eradicating child abuse… I know that list is pretty mundane, but, really, my life is good. Family, friends, love, health, a career that will pay someday. What could be better?

Not a hell of a lot, Pari. Not at all. Unless… well, nevermind. I guess I was thinking about you and Jackie Chan. I mean, there’s this small role he promised me…and I just thought…well, being we’re friends and all… but, don’t give it another thought, okay?

EE: Here’s an easy one: You just bought a month’s advertising on a billboard. What’s it gonna say?

PT: Hey, I just wrote a Murderati post about creative space and I’m answering these questions with the kids still around. So, I’ll take a first shot and reserve the right to change it when I’ve had a couple of gallons of coffee.

Let’s see…Billboards need short text and a lot of white space. I’d have great graphics of my books, maybe me smiling…maybe not.

And, I like the idea of a campaign that would change weekly (I might even want to change it more frequently) to interest the commuters on the freeway going to and from work.

1st week – "Buy my books. You know you want them."

2nd week – "You must have my books." Imagine Vincent Price saying that!

3rd week – "I mean it."

4th week – "I know where you live."

Okay, well, that might be a bit scary. Let me get another tankard of coffee. ‘Kay?’

Uh, yes – please do. Take your time. I’ll just step out while you gather your thoughts. No hurry. Honest. Oh, by the way – I moved. I’ll, uh, get my new address to you soon. Ciao.

I heard from Pari today. She’s doing fine now. The coffee did wonders for her mood. The trembling is gone, the girls are back in school – she’s back to squirting whipped cream in her mouth…and I hope to hell the snow has melted. Those forays out to the slush stuff were sort of doing her in…

Thanks for stopping by today – and don’t forget about ITW’s grand giveaway!

"150 Thrillers" Contest! Just 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.

p.s. I stole this from Louise’s post today. I have to be a little evil, don’t I?

Mental Space: The Final Frontier

by Pari Noskin Taichert

Remember the storm I so rhapsodized last week? Well, it lost its charm.

After many a liqueur-laden snowshake, the reality hit. My kids’ more than two-week vacation was extended. The Albuquerque Public School system couldn’t handle the white stuff and cancelled three — yes, three — extra days of classes. Sure, the snowfall was an unprecedented event, but, hey, I NEED TO THINK!

I have wonderful children. They are not the problem.

It’s all in me.

When my kids are home (or my hubby, for that matter), even if they’re sitting quietly reading, my ears are cocked to listen for potential crises. Maybe it’s a mom thing. I don’t know.

What I do know is that it’s very difficult to pal around with the Muse when kids ask for snacks, the house is adrift in strewn toys, and the theme song from Arthur wafts through the air yet again. Yeah, I can close the office door, but that only lasts for so long. My kids are still in the conversation-through-the-bathroom-door stage.

Paul Guyot and others in our community have written marvelous pieces on self-discipline. Some people I know get up at 4 am to work. I’ve done it myself. But, when my kids are home, I need to be coherent. I need enough of my iffy sleep to respond to fights, broken dishes, and the ups and downs of home life.

I need to be able to drive to the store without hallucinating.

Frankly, if I got up consistently at 4 am, I’d need to go to bed at 8. Ladies and gentlemen — that’s simply not going to happen. Writer though I be, my family comes first. I can’t be a recluse, though sometimes I dream of doing just that.

Plus, I tried the 4 am technique to slam out THE SOCORRO BLAST. You know what happened? That first draft had the creativity of a chunk of stucco. That’s why I had to rewrite the whole damn thing.

So, it’s not productivity . . . it’s the product. What I need is mental privacy, an empty house, a time when I’m not responsible for anyone or anything but my imagination.

Don’t get me wrong. I am writing every day. I am showing up at the computer and slogging through pages of text. But, this forcing isn’t nurturing the story I need to tell.

How can I find a way to create a cocoon of mental quiet to allow myself the clarity and freedom to think?

Organization isn’t the issue here. It’s something more elusive.

I need a shroud of impenetrability, of undisturbed psychic space, to let the story unfold in my mind. This isn’t a question of being precious about my craft; it’s about finding a way to nourish creativity.

I know this is only a temporary set-back . . . sort of. The kids should be in school soon. But, I’ve been writing through motherhood long enough to know: Life intrudes. My spouse works full time out of the house. I’m the go-to person for all family events.

I AM NOT complaining.

I AM NOT looking for suggestions on scheduling.

What I want to know is:

How do you create, nurture and maintain the mental space for your imagination to thrive — especially if you’re stretched between demanding realities?

Any advice?

_____________________________________________________________________________

Prepare to be amused by book biz definitions:

part 1

part 2

New blog: Join me in congratulating Jeff Cohen and Deni Dietz — two Murderati alums — who have put together a new blog that opens its virtual doors today. Stop by http://www.heydeadguy.typepad.com and say, "Hi."

Confessions of a Comic Book Nerd

Hello, my name is Mike and I’m a comic book nerd.

I’ve read comics since I was a kid. Going to high school in the late eighties, it was something one hid, like a scarlet letter "C" blazoned across your chest. (Which is ironic since comics were then more popular than ever before). You spoke about comics in hushed voices in the darkest corners of campus. You confided only to your closest friends about them, a trusted few who shared the same secret shame. And you never, NEVER, mentioned them to girls.

Times have changed.

Comics are no longer confined to magazine racks and dingy little comic shops. They now sit on the shelves of most major book stores in the form of graphic novels and trade paperback reprints. And, while the majority of readers have been adults for some time, the medium is reaching a broader range of readers everyday.

Still, I feel many adults resist comics. So, in an effort to expose the Murderati readers out there to a different kind of storytelling, I give you my picks of some of the best comics out there. Give them a try and you just might discover the secret nerd within.

CRIME AND GRIME

Sin City: The Hard Goodbye

The first and best of Frank Miller’s Sin City yarns. Dark and violent with images cut from blocks of pure shadow, the graphic novel is even better than the film. Miller IS the best in the business.

100 Bullets: First Shot, Last Call

Brian Azzarello and Eduardo Risso mix two parts hard-boiled crime with a healthy dose of espionage to create one very addictive story. Buyer beware, this one is an ongoing series.

The Preacher: Gone to Texas

My all time favorite series, written by Garth Ennis with art by Steve Dillon. The storyline follows ex-preacher Jesse Custer, his gunslinging girlfriend, and their Irish vampire sidekick on a quest to find God and give the man upstairs a good ole fashion ass whuppin’. Funny, outrageous, violent, and thought provoking.

Transmetropolitan: Back on the Street

Take Hunter S. Thompson and drop him in the dark future of Blade Runner. ‘Nuff said. Written by Warren Ellis with art by Darrick Robertson.

MEN IN TIGHTS

Batman the Dark Knight Returns

Thanks to a campy TV show and a slew of horrible cartoons, Batman had become one of the most laughable comic book heroes in history. Then came Frank Miller’s masterpiece. In one stroke, Miller returned Batman to his darker origins and proved once and for all that comics (even superhero comics) weren’t just for kids. (I told you he’s the best.)

Kingdom Come

A great story by Mark Waid with beautiful painted cells by Alex Ross. I hate Superman, but I loved this book. A must have in any collection.

Wolverine

Okay, I might have included this one for nostagila stake. Everybody’s favorite mutant claws his way through an army of ninjas. Loads of fun for the young of heart. Story by Chris Claremont with artwork by Frank Miller (yes, Frank made the list one last time).

Those in the know might notice my list is heavy on the D.C. side. As a teenager, I always found myself in the Marvel camp (X-Men, The Punisher, Daredevil). But these days it seems DC and the Independents are telling more sophisticated stories. Anyone out there have any Marvel picks that should go on my list?

And…

This is a little off subject, but ITW is having a cool promotion. Click here for a chance to win 150 thrillers.

Free movies… and CAPOTE

Yes, boys and girls, it’s awards season in Hollywood. For screenwriters, this means one thing above all:

!!!!! – FREE MOVIES – !!!!

At theaters all over LA and NY, and a few selected in San Francisco and a couple other lucky cities, you present your WGA (Writers Guild of America) card for just about any showing and get in free.

Now, this is a joy. Because not only do you get in, but if you’re going in with another WGA member, you can get a whole two other people in free. You can feel like Santa, or God, simply by turning to the most lovely (In spirit, of course) moviegoers behind you in the cinema line and asking, oh so casually – “Are you going to BABEL? Do you want to get in free?” And watch the faces light up like Christmas….

Even better, we screenwriters get DVDs of the Oscar hopefuls IN THE MAIL. Now, that’s the kind of thing that makes you feel like a professional. Free stuff.

There are some really great films up for Oscars and various awards this year. And I’m thrilled that as a WGA member I’m getting so many more awards screeners this year than last. Last year, in a fit of piracy paranoia, the studios sent a bare minimum of free DVD screeners out to writers. CRASH was one of the only free screeners sent out to voting writers last year. CRASH won every major award for Best Screenplay. Coincidence? Oh, I think not.

Studios are arguably moronic, but they’re not stupid.

Suffice it to say the studios realized that after the CRASH sweep, they’d better start sending the freebies out if they wanted the writing awards this year. Result? More DVDs in the mail than I’ve had time to watch.

And I’m sure I’ll get around to talking about all of this year’s fine screeners – I mean films – because there are some really good ones out there. But not this week.

Because I finally saw CAPOTE this week (I know, I know. A year late. It’s ridiculous. I was BUSY last year, okay???)

CAPOTE

A Dan Futterman screenplay based on the book by Gerald Clarke, directed by Bennett Miller, starring Philip Seymour Hoffman as Capote

This film is a must-see for writers. Stunning – from the first second: the opening image, the cinematography, the pace, the writing…

All of which get dwarfed by that incredible character and performance.

You watch Hoffman/Capote breathlessly as he seduces what he wants out of Perry Smith, lying left and right…

And you’re thinking – “That is one ice-cold bastard…”

And in pretty much the same thought I was also thinking –

“God, I am JUST like that.”

Now, people who know me would disagree. Most of them would, anyway. A few who REALLY know me, like my brother and sister, would say – “Well, not exactly like that, but I know what you mean.”

For all our sensitivity and empathy and wit and charm, which we also do have in spades… there is a ruthlessness about professional writers, combined with the thickest skins you’re ever going to find – that makes us, well, let’s just say – different.

That’s not all there is to me, of course. I love puppies and kittens and I do ridiculous amounts of volunteer work for worthy causes and I stand up to bullies and bigots and you would definitely want me around if your small child needed saving from drowning or a burning building.

But when it comes to my writing? Just back the fuck off.

When Capote says, “I’m here working. That’s all this is. I have work to do.”

That is so me it’s scary.

I really do find myself doing appalling things when I’m working, and justifying it all to myself because, after all, if it’s going to get me that scene or lock in that character, then how can I not? And I don’t just mean that you better not even think of trying to talk to me when I’m writing.

If there’s some part of you that I want for a character? Watch out.

Do not leave your diary unlocked around me. I’m not saying I’d for sure read it, but I’m not saying I wouldn’t, either. Letters? E mails? Lingerie drawer? Depends on what I need. I’ve slept with all kinds of people I shouldn’t have because it’s about the fastest way to get to the heart of someone. Really, I have no shame. Complete and total vampire.

But what I thought was especially stunning about the writing and the characterization is that at the same time that Capote was milking Perry Smith for every bit of humanity he could squeeze out of him – he was also completely and totally and honestly falling in love with the man – not as a mere sexual object, but falling in love with his soul – wanting to know him in a way very few of us are ever known by anyone. How thrilling. How vampiric. How very much like a writer. What we want is to know you. Is that so wrong?

So, fess up now, writers. Did you recognize yourself in Capote? A little bit of the vampire going on? Or am I the only sociopath here?

Scissors Shears

JT Ellison

The DorothyL listserve had a discussion last week about hospitals. Can characters walk in and out of sections of a hospital without being stopped, can a patient slip out of ICU unnoticed, all that good creepy kind of thought process. Since I never feel really good about hospitals, the conversation fascinated me.

Unfortunately, I’ve had some experience here. And as fate would have it, during the online conversation, my mum took ill and we needed to put her in the hospital here in Nashville. She’s fine now (Hi, Mom!) and back home in Florida. But the five days she spent in St. Thomas really had me freaked out.

I’ll tell you one thing that’s an absolute – if you want to wander into a hospital room, no one is going to stop you.

If you look like you know what you’re doing, you could go into a room, kill a patient, and walk away with no one the wiser. For five days, I walked in and out and not a single person asked who I was, who I belonged to, who I was visiting, nothing. It was horrifying, really. I’m shocked there isn’t a higher number of hospital fatalities and murders. We won’t even go into the lack of attention paid to the patients.

I’ve never been comfortable in the hospital. The surgery side is fine, emergency is sort of fun in a gruesome ‘things are horrible but they will get better’ kind of way. It’s the ‘spend the night’ areas that I don’t like. I’m not sure where my intrinsic fear of this comes from, having been in hospitals all my life. Maybe it’s the constant barrage of daytime soaps that I watched growing up — DAYS OF OUR LIVES must have set every third scene in University Hospital. Maybe the barrage of people who died, came back from the dead, lingered in comas, had affairs, tainted my worldview.

But I do know one event in particular that really blew it for me. Seeing the Exorcist III in the theater.

I lived in Washington, D.C. at the time, and spent an ungodly amount of time carousing in Georgetown. I didn’t really want to see the movie, but a boyfriend insisted (he wasn’t a boyfriend after that night, I assure you). What a mistake that was. I’ll never forget how scared I was, seeing the halls of Georgetown University Hospital, knowing the streets, the signs, the shops intimately and imagining that the Gemini Killer was real – hell, I couldn’t go to Georgetown unaccompanied for months.

Think I feel things a bit too keenly? That’s why I don’t watch horror movies.

There’s one scene in particular in the movie that still haunts me, where the Gemini Killer comes flying out of a room with the shears to cut off the nurses head – yeah. It was too much for me, I still get chills thinking about it.

Now I find that the movie is based on the book, LEGION, by William Peter Blatty, (yes, quit rolling your eyes, I didn’t know that the original EXORCIST was a book first, I’m sorry) and I find myself wondering if I should get it and read it. Knowing my track record with these kinds of things, I’m thinking no. I just spook too easy.

I watched half of CONSTANTINE (wasn’t scared in the least, just got tired and needed to go to bed) and ended up having one of the most horrific nightmares I’ve ever experienced. Read Peter Straub’s GHOST STORY and couldn’t walk down the hallway to my room by myself for a year. What’s so sad is I read GHOST STORY when I was eight, and saw CONSTANTINE when I was thirty-six, and had the same damn reaction. I just can’t handle the scary stuff.

Yet I can research and write books about serial killers, write short stories about stalkers and demons who terrorize innocents. Any psychologists want to explain that one to me?

Wine of the Week – Maybe this will cheer me up – Molly Dooker Shiraz

I Resolve To Procrastinate More…

JT Ellison

A quick note of BSP — the kind gentleman from Texas has interviewed me on Murder and Mystery Books 101. Stop by and learn all kinds of blackmailable information.

Now, about that whole procrastination thing…

You may think I’m kidding. I know I should be writing a
nice, happy list of New Year’s resolutions. I should be reflecting on the
craziness that was 2006, and laying out my goals and plans for 2007.

But the past week has been, to sum it up in one word, weird.
We lost James Brown and Gerald Ford. Poor Betty Ford suffered through days and
days of public mourning – he was our President, but he was her husband, and she
has to grieve openly, which really tears me up. Add to that Taps, missing man
flyovers, twenty-one cannon salutes, (I can’t count how many times I’ve mouthed
along to the Lord’s Prayer) and I’m an emotional wreck. Of course, I get teary
at the National Anthem, so you can imagine what the pomp and circumstance
patriotism does to me.

Balance the solemnity of the week with the absurd — Pat
Robertson has declared an imminent calamity will claims thousands of lives in
September, because God told him so. Saddam had his neck stretched on You Tube
and the cell phone videographer/perpetrator was arrested, who knows what will
happen to him? Yes, I’m guilty of watching. A couple of times, actually. Let’s
just leave it at that.

Then there was the jumper. He deserves his own blog entry, so suffice it to say he’s currently alive and residing in a psychiatric hospital in a coastal Florida town, and we’ll talk about that another time.

On a much happier note, Christmas was lovely. Two presents
especially – my very own engraved iPod Nano to replace my dinky Shuffle, and a
china box in the Limoges fashion my mum gave me that said “Behind Every Good
Woman… Is Herself.” That struck home in many ways. I guess if I have to
reflect, 2006 was the year that I proved myself – to myself.

I had my little freak out on New Year’s Day. Not to be
clichéd, but the train left the station at midnight, and I forgot to get off.
But that’s cool. Being an author is what I’ve planned for, what I’ve worked
for, what I’ve dreamed about. Right?

Top all of this nonsense off with a wicked cold, one of
those where your brain turns to absolute mush. That’s been the weirdness of the
past seven days.

Okay, you’ve caught me. There’s a reason for this…
ambivalence. It’s time to erase my white board and begin writing the next book.

Making the transition between books is always hard for me.
And it seems like I just did that (I guess I did, it was July. Time does fly,
doesn’t it?) I’ve been casting about for a couple of weeks, searching for
something to get me refocused. There’s no more cushion, no taking a month off
to find myself. The bullet must be bitten immediately. I’m actually starting on
the third book before the second is completely finished. As my darling critique
partner JB Thompson will tell you, thinking about multiple projects isn’t
something I’ve mastered.

But I hit upon something yesterday, drew up a list of names,
wrote an elevator pitch, and realized there is light at the end of my weeklong
tunnel. Halleluiah. The procrastination portion of our programming may be at an end.

How about you? Do you have trouble transitioning between
books, or stories? Can you work on multiple projects, or are you like me, more adept at focusing on one thing at a time?

Wine of the Week — A repeat from the past, but we had it for New Year’s Eve’s dinner, Tenute
Silvio Nardi Brunello di Montalcino

Honestly one of the best wines in the world. I plan to stop by the vineyard in April, replenish the stores.

AND…

Major congrats to Killer Year member Marcus Sakey, who has pulled off a nice little coup — getting a controversial review from the New York Times — outside the crime fiction section. Marcus is rewriting all the rules for debut authordom. He needs to be watched. I’ll reference Mr. Guyot’s eloquent post from Tuesday — combo platter indeed.

AND…

ITW is having a cool new promotion.