Pari Noskin Taichert

Every few months in the mystery world there’s a tizzy about this or that nomination list. Blogs buzz about bias. Listservs flare with perceived insults. Accusations fly. In a perverse, gossipy, way this intermittent brouhaha is kind of fun.

The latest flurry of fussing centers on the International Thriller Writers (ITW) list o’ nominees. It turns out there were no women on it. Through the end of last week, fingers pointed, nasty words lobbed to and fro, and calmer voices tried to reason.

Watching the drama play out on this blog and others, I realized our crime-fiction community has the potential for hundreds of these rifts. Frankly, I’m astounded that we’re not at each other’s throats all the time.

I wonder why?

What is this mystery community in which we read, write, market, schmooze, fight, discuss, earn money and live? I haven’t seen it defined in a publication yet. It’s taken for granted . . . like air.

Me? I include:

1. Active mystery readers – – – – People who organize/attend conventions; discuss crime fiction online or in book groups; or identify themselves as avid mystery readers
2. Mystery writers – – – – Traditionally published, self-published, unpublished but trying/dreaming of the day when their work is in the hands of readers
3. Mystery booksellers – – – – Those with physical storefronts or online presences
4. Mystery reviewers – – – – Those that specialize and understand the many hues in this broad genre; print and online
5. Mystery opinion makers – – – – People who print/produce mystery news (magazines, tabloids), popular mystery bloggers, trend spotters/setters
6. Mystery industry – – – – Editors, agents, specific publishers (big and small), marketers/pr folks

How big is this community? Thousands of people? Tens of thousands? I doubt any of us could accurately quantify it.

However, this isn’t a haphazard group; an active sense of purpose binds us together. We care about storytelling, about words and how they’re used. We care about reading and literacy. And, I think, all of us also care about justice — whether we believe it exists in the world or simply yearn for it.

The mystery community reminds me of an extended family consisting of several nuclear families: The Whodunits, the Thrillers, the Gumshoes, the Noirs . . . . Over here, is the cabal of tall, gorgeous blond cousins (you know who you are) whom everyone envies and adores. There, are the guys who always dress in black–the Bad Boys.

Every extended family has its attention-getters — the people who define the larger group for the outer world. Uncle Max is known for his loud, colorful pronouncements that boil everyone’s blood. Cousin Lila writes for one of the country’s most prestigious newspapers. Grandpa Joe is the nicest man anyone could ever meet — beloved by admirers in every country. Aunt Sophie has dedicated her life to ridding the world of social injustice.

Members in families fight, too. It’d be pathological if everyone got along ALL the time.

When I trained as a therapist in grad school, I was particularly intrigued by group behavior and dynamics. The mystery community  — by anyone’s definition — is a big group. When faced with dozens of choices, people naturally look for smaller affinity groups for their daily comfort and communication.  It’s natural.

Affinity is one thing. Trashing family members because they don’t agree with you is another. No one likes the blowhard — no matter how clever — who has to put people down in order to feel good about himself.

In the three years I’ve been an active member of the larger mystery community, I’ve noticed an increasing tendency towards an US vs. THEM mentality within our own ranks. It’s an acid-coated worm etching a poisonous trail of destruction through every layer of our cohesion.

I’m worried.

Like members of an extended family, we come together for reunions — conventions — and have a blast. We keep in touch. My happiest moments at these events — and during the sallow months between them — are when we celebrate our diversity. I love it when we communicate across genres and push our narrow views and definitions of ourselves into wider perspectives.

I hope this recent urge to divide — to condemn THEM in order to feel good about US amid the smaller groups of our mystery community — is only an adolescent aberration.

It’ll break my heart if it becomes the norm.

HAPPY ENDING:
I felt a bit down after writing that last sentence — and needed cheering up. You might, too. Meet Jake Shimabukuro, an outstanding ukulele player from Hawaii. I’ve provided a link to one of his short music videos.

Cheers.

Jeffrey Cohen

First off, "blurbs" is fun to say.  Blurbs, blurbs, blurbs.

Okay, now that I’ve gotten that out of my system, let’s talk about blurbs.  You know: those quotes that appear on the front and back covers of books (and sometimes inside as well) from other, cooler authors, film stars, TV stars, supporting players, booksellers, people who have on occasion read books, etc.  They tell you what a swell book this is, how the author is the finest writer since Herman Melville gave up fish stories, and why you’re a complete and total idiot if you hesitate even another second to purchase this particular tome. 

Much has been written and said about blurbs, most of it pretty nasty.  Writers wonder aloud if anyone would ever truly purchase a book because some other author (quite often from the same publishing house–wink, wink) tells you it’s good.  They complain about having to prostitute themselves to get other, cooler authors to blurb their books, and they make darn sure you know that if you ever see their name on a book jacket, that you can be positive they read and would recommend the writing therein.  No "tit-for-tat" blurbs coming from them.

Publishers tell writers they really want some good blurbs on the book, and writers whine and moan about the process.  Shouldn’t the work stand for itself?  Shouldn’t the months (sometimes years) of sweat and tears that went into the creation of this masterpiece from out of nowhere count for more than a quick "exhilarating" from a bestselling writer whose best years were, let’s face it, not in this decade? I wouldn’t buy a book just because someone I’ve never met says they liked it, they say.  Why would someone else?

Well, here’s my confession about blurbs: I love ’em.  Absolutely.  They are, without question, my favorite part of the publishing process after writing "The End."  (As William Shakespeare should have said, "I hate writing; I love having written.")  They are the finest ego stroke I can imagine after holing up to arrange 80,000 words in the proper order.   Deciding who to ask for blurbs, discovering who will agree to read the book, and then the indescribable moment when the email comes with the short compliment (because who’s going to send a blurb that reads, "man, this really stunk?"): I love it all.  So shoot me; I have an ego.  When people whose work I respect say they like my work, it makes my day.  No.  My month.

Aside from the phone calls I’ve gotten saying that a publisher wanted to print my work, there is no question but that the best days I’ve had in this business have been when first Larry Gelbart and then Linda Ellerbee sent back blurbs for two of my novels.  I could be like other writers and tell you that the greatest moment was holding my first published novel in my hand (that was good; I’m not saying otherwise), but I’d be lying.  I’m greedy: I want the praise, and I want it from people I think are good.  No, great. 

Gelbart, to me, is a writing god.  For those of us who traffic in comedy of any sort, the man whose name appears on A Funny Thing Happened On the Way To the Forum, the TV version of M*A*S*H (the early, funny years), Tootsie and City of Angels is about as close to perfect as you can get.  When he used the word "witty" to describe something I’d written, I had fulfilled a lifetime dream.  A blurb may not mean anything to the shopper in the average Barnes & Noble, but that one meant more to me than I can say.

Ms. Ellerbee, possibly the most influential TV journalist of the past few decades, has been a heroine of mine for a long time.  She did all the things I wanted to do when I graduated college with the intention of becoming both Woodward and Bernstein (hey, it was the Seventies).  When I discovered that I lacked almost all the skills to become a really good journalist, I followed her work more closely, because she had them, and used them extremely well.  First, as Ted Koppel once noted about her, "the woman writes like a dream." (That was in a blurb, by the way.)  And after that, well, she has a lot more nerve than I do, and would go anywhere, ask anybody anything and come home to tell you about it.  For 15 years, she has been giving the news to the most important demographic in the world–children–on Nickelodeon, and doing it remarkably well (as ever).  Ms. E. has also written three amazing memoirs (which do not in any way contain the annoying qualities I groused about a few weeks ago), one of which had recipes, for a good reason.

While I had met Mr. Gelbart online before I’d gathered the courage to ask him for a blurb, I had never had any contact with Ms. Ellerbee.  I managed to get through an email, however, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned in 20 years of freelancing, it’s how to write a good cover letter.  She agreed to take a look, and truly fell in love with the Aaron Tucker series (I don’t know any less self-flattering way to put it).  She sent a blurb that not only sustained me through a cold winter, but made me a celebrity in my own home for an entire weekend.  We have since met, and I can tell you that she is one of the seven most gracious people on the planet.

What’s the point of all this bragging?  Well, aside from inflating my ego, it’s about the effect that positive feedback has on a writer.  Not on the public, who might see Lee Child’s name on my book (and don’t think I’m not extremely grateful for that one, as well!) and say, "wow, I’ve forgotten to pick up… the latest Lee Child book," but on the author, who made a contact and had a good day when someone talented paid a compliment.

And don’t think that because I single out two of the blurbs on my books that I’m not just as proud as every last one.  When a bookseller, another author or a reader takes time out to say something nice about my work, I glow.  Honestly.  It really annoys my wife at night.

Is that awful?  I really don’t think so.  Authors get enough rejection in this business.  In fact, we get too much rejection in this business, to the point that we begin to expect it.  If a few kind words from an idol, a peer or a hero can boost our self-esteem for a day or two, is that such a crime?  I believe it’s a blessing.

I’ll continue to ask those whose work I respect if they’ll read my book.  I certainly won’t expect them to lie if they hate it.  I won’t lie if I hate someone else’s book (although I’ve never been asked to blurb a book I hated, so I haven’t had to say no).  But I’ll set my sights high, for those who have meant the most to me, and I’ll leave myself open to disappointment.  So far, all I can say is that it’s been well worth the risk.

Look out, Mel Brooks.  I’m coming for you.

American Idol kept its millions of viewers on the edge of their chairs for two hours to tell them that Taylor Hicks had won this year’s competition.  Two hours!  Considering the decision was an either/or situation for the two finalists, taking two hours to say, “Yeah, that guy won,” was a master class in the art of suspense.  Bravo!

Well, not really.

American Idol was a master class in how not to keep your audience in suspense.  The show committed a cardinal sin by cheating the audience.  They stretched the show into two hours when it didn’t have to be two hours long.  Worse still, a viewer, like me, could circumvent the whole spectacle and switch on two minutes from the end to see the unveiling of the winner.  Can you say lost advertising revenue?

So how did American Idol break the rules of suspense?

I’m glad you asked.  I’ll tell you.

A ticking clock makes for good suspense (see the TV show, 24) and the faster it ticks the better, but American Idol slowed that ticking clock down.  They recapped information the audience already knew.  They replayed what everyone had already seen.  When you’re trying to create a climax, you don’t go for flashbacks that add nothing to the drama.

Suspense relies on a fast, slick narrative, so don’t bring back unnecessary characters to clog up that narrative.  Americans spent three months voting off a bunch people they didn’t think where good enough, so why bring them back to remind us why they were voted off in the first place?  The show was down to a head-to-head between the last two participants.  It was fight to the death time—a duel between the best of the best.  Not, jeez, that kid was really geeky looking.  How did he make it to the final twelve?

Good suspense is fueled by complication, not distraction.  When Jack Bauer is having a bad day at the office in 24, he has to juggle half a dozen crises at once, each one getting in the way of his ultimate objectives.  So what does American Idol do?  It brings on guest stars to sing songs and do duets.  They aren’t racking up the tension—they’re stealing the finalist’s thunder.

Suspense is supposed to put the reader or viewer on edge.  American Idol is a bad example of suspense because it dangled a carrot in front of the audience’s nose and kept pulling it away.  Instead of filling of the show with content that built to a climax, it recycled and padded out its time slot.  A suspense writer can never cheat their audience with these techniques and survive.  You might get away with it once, but not twice. 

American Idol does get a couple of things right.  They do have high stakes.  Only one person can win the jackpot recording contract and all the cash and prizes that go with it.  And they have a bloody good villain in the shape of Simon Cowell.  So it’s not all bad. 

If I were judging American Idol, I’d have to say, “Nah, nah, nah, dog, you know I’m a big fan, but that didn’t work for me.  I’ve seen more suspense at a wrestling bout.  You’re gonna have to try a lot of harder next time.  But you looked nice, A.I.”

Simon Wood

PS: I’ll be San Francisco Mystery Bookstore on Saturday afternoon.  If you’re in town, say hi—or better still, say hi and buy a book.  🙂

Deni Dietz

I think I’ve always wanted to be a writer. When I was in the third grade I wrote a story called "The Pencil Who Grew Up to be a Stub." Although the assignment was to write a one-page story with a pen, I wrote my 4-page story with a pencil…in first-person. The plot was very Stephen King-ish, all about a pencil menaced by a pencil sharpener. My teacher gave me a very low grade ("It was supposed to be in ink, Deni!") I was, of course, devastated.

But it didn’t stop me. When I was 12, the Village Voice published one of my poems. I’ll share it with you:

GRASS
Grass stinks,
It makes you sneeze;
I’d rather skin my knees
On pavement,
But it tastes good.

It was years before I understood why the Voice had published "Grass." I, of course, had meant a blade of grass.

In high school I wrote and illustrated a children’s book called HERBERT THE GIANT, about a giant who lived in a town of nearsighted people. The townspeople didn’t know he was a giant until, one day, a peddler came to town — selling eyeglasses. I once said my books had no socially redeeming values whatsoever, but I forgot about HERBERT.

My sister Marianne has always wanted to be a writer. She’s the subject of my Quibbles & Bits this week. It’s called:

WALKING THE DOG

Once upon a fairly long time ago, my sister Marianne phoned and asked how I found the time to write my books, especially since I had 3 kids (like she did), no child support, and I worked days at a video store and nights waiting tables.

I said, "Here’s what you do, Marianne. Every day you get up an hour before Eddie and the kids. Sit at your computer and write for that hour. Even if you finish one page, by the end of the year you’ll have a book."

"But," she said, "I already get up an hour earlier than Eddie and the kids. I have to make breakfast and fix the kids’ lunches."

"Okay, Marianne," I said. "When Eddie takes off for work and the kids leave for school, sit at your computer — every day at the same time — and work for an hour. Even if you only write one page, by the end of the year you’ll have a book."

"After Eddie and the kids leave," she said, "I have to clean the house. You know how Eddie is if the house is dirty."

"Okay," I said, "after you clean the house, sit down at the computer and work for an—"

"After I clean the house, I have to change the sheets and do the laundry. Then I eat lunch."

"Okay, Marianne," I said, glancing at my clock. "After you do the laundry and eat lunch, sit down at your computer and work for an hour. If you produce even one page a day, by the end of the year you’ll have a book."

"After I do the laundry and eat lunch," she said, "I have to walk the dog."

Walking the dog has become a catch-phrase in my family. If my daughter says she wants to join the local community theatre — possibly audition for a role in a production of My Fair Lady — but she
can’t seem to find the time, I say, "Sandi, you’re walking the dog."

Even Gordon has picked it up. When I procrastinate — or even worse, justify the procrastination — he says, "Deni, you’re walking the (insert expletive) dog."

There’s a PS to my tale. I told my "walking the dog" story at an RMFW Colorado Gold conference. The following year a woman came running up to me. I didn’t recognize her. I hate it when that happens. As I searched for a name, a reference, anything, she said, "You don’t know me."

I swallowed a sigh of relief.

"I was here last September," she continued. "I don’t remember what I ate or what I wore or what so and-so said on her panel about conflict, but I remembered your walking-the-dog story." She paused. "And last year," she said, "I wrote a book."

Every time I tell THAT story, it’s an effort not to bawl. Even writing it, I feel goosebumpy.

So if you remember nothing else from my weekly blogs, remember my walking-the-dog story. It’s magic. And it works.

Over and out,
Deni

Pari Noskin Taichert

In last week’s responses to my piece about how authors can support each other, L. Lee Lowell wrote, "Do I really need to laugh because that author used one adverb too many?"

That simple question sparked a question of my own: Do authors read each other’s works differently once they’ve been published?

Me? I remember a time when I had no mercy. I reveled in snarky book reviews and grinned wide, my lips curving into a knowing sneer. Hell, I even wrote some myself. That was before my own literary efforts hit the bookstores.

Something happened to me as a reader when I signed my first publishing contract. Was my experience unique? Did other authors have similar reactions?

Change #1          More selective
I’ve noticed now that I only read a few paragraphs of someone’s work before deciding whether to invest more time in the book — or to put it aside. This might be because of my lack of free time, and generally fractured life, but I just want to be grabbed quickly by any book I read.

Apparently, I’m not alone in my new selectivity.

"I really do love to read, but am much more ready now to stop reading a book if I’m not enjoying it. There are too many good ones out there to spend time on one I’m not loving." Judy Clemens

"I don’t know if it’s being an author . . . or knowing more about the craft . . . but I’m a MUCH more discriminating reader now. I will simply put a book down if it hasn’t engaged me by page 20 . . . " Libby Hellmann

"I find I’m much pickier about what I read and notice I ‘edit’ in my head phrases/descriptions I would cut that seem lengthy and unnecessary . . . " Louise Crawford

Change #2          More critical
I have to love the author’s/protagonist’s voice. That’s the key for me. It’s the thing that keeps me reading in spite of botched plots or insane premises.

Other authors have specific requirements as well.

" . . . I do read mysteries, and all books, differently as an author. I read the first 2 chapters then skip to the end 2 chapters. If there is a character at the end who has not been introduced by the end of the 2nd chapter, I don’t bother reading the middle .  . . " Jill Amadio

" . . . it is in the dissection and resolution of plot that I have become most critical. Where once I would tolerate what I call ‘magical’ solutions, I have now become intolerant." Frank Wydra (no url)

Change # 3          More analytical
Almost every mystery I read nowadays becomes a textbook of dos and don’ts. My internal analyst won’t shut up — no matter how many times I tie gags around her mouth.

Several of my cohorts struggle with the same annoying tendency.

"I’m constantly analyzing the techniques, the style, the characterization. This makes me a little sad — I can’t get totally swept up in the story the way I used to . . ." Sandra Parshall

"It’s harder to find books that I lose myself in instead of deconstructing . . . " J.T. Ellison

"I find myself mentally rephrasing a phrase, or questioning a word. I wish I could turn it off and just enjoy the story! Reading used to be much more fun. Is there a writer-rehab I can turn to?" Mary Ellen Hughes

Ah, grasshoppers, there is hope. Some authors are able to analyze without losing the joy of reading their peers.

" . . . when a fellow writer is able to give me deft characterization and evocative settings and even sharp social commentary, without dragging the pace to a screeching halt, I pause and admire a colleague who has mastered a demanding craft." Mary Anna Evans

"Now I see the soldering in the joints, so to speak. I can tell when a character is introduced for a specific purpose, and I can spot forecasting. For a while, that ruined my reading. Now, I just take it in stride and admire the effect when it’s well done. I’m always trying to learn from the mistakes and successes of others." Charlaine Harris

Change # 4         Broader reading
In the three years since I signed that first publishing contract, I’ve met many wonderful authors. Because I like them so much, I’ve sought out their books and have read subgenres in crime fiction that I’d never known existed.

Again, I’m not alone.

" . . . I meet friendly, interesting people and I want to read what they’re writing and more often than not, I go ‘Wow. This is REALLY good stuff . . . " Jeff Shelby

" . . . I now count numerous mystery writers among my friends and warm acquaintances, which has led me to read a lot of books that I normally would not have picked up and read . . . And I’ve been pleasantly surprised at times." Robert Weibezahl

Before I ask all of you a question, I’d like to thank the other, hitherto unmentioned authors (and unpublished writers) who took the time to respond to my initial query. They were: Gene DeWeese, Sue Ann Jaffarian, Mike Manno, Chester Campbell, Sandy Jones, Ilene Schneider and Barry Gelt. I appreciate your willingness to share your perspectives with me.

Final Question for people reading this blog today:

1. Has your reading changed due to publication?
or
2. For those of you who consider yourselves mystery "fans," has your reading changed over the years as you’ve met more authors?

I’m truly curious to know.

Cheers.

Jeffrey Cohen

Today is Father’s Day, as determined by the U.S. Congress, the President of the United States and the Hallmark Greeting Card Company.  For weeks, my email inbox has been inundated with suggestion of what I might get for "Dad," (since apparently the Build-A-Bear Company, Barnes & Noble, The Popcorn Factory and I are siblings), any of which I wish I could do.  But Dad, that is, MY Dad, isn’t around for me to give a gift.

I, it should be noted, am in Rome today (or that is, I intend to be in Italy on Father’s Day, and am writing this in advance–in the interest of full disclosure), on a vacation with my family that we have been planning for years, literally.  So I doubt there will be much of a Father’s Day celebration for us, as we’ll be happy to celebrate the fact that we’re in Rome.  That, surely, is enough.

To be honest, I’ve never much noted Father’s Day since the first year I was eligible for such distinction.  I believe you should be nice to your parents every day, assuming they’re holding up their end of the bargain by trying their best.  My mother, who is still around, deserves my respect and love on all days, whether I buy her a bizarre card or not.

When I was in college, I refused to send cards.  As an English major and aspiring writer (at the time of screenplays and journalism), I felt that paying for words to send to your loved ones was cheating, so I’d write something myself.  To a certain extent, I still believe that, and the fact that the stupid things often rhyme just makes it worse.  If I have to give my mother a message that rhymes, I’ll give her the new Paul Simon album.  Odds are, it’ll express my feelings more accurately than something that beings, "Dearest MOTHER…"

My father, when he was around, seemed somewhat embarrassed by Father’s Day.  He never paid it much attention, either, and always put on a show about how surprised he was by whatever inadequate gift or idiotic "funny" card we’d gotten for him.  He wasn’t much of an actor, and even when I was small, I could tell he was putting up with it because he thought it would make us happy.

And that was the essence of my dad–he’d do whatever he could to make his family happy.  Whether or not it made him feel good seemed beside the point: of course he was pleased, so long as the rest of us were pleased.  That’s one of the many reasons I’ll miss him every day for the rest of my life.

My children, who are roughly as enamored of Mother’s Day and Father’s Day as they are of Arbor Day or Guy Fawkes Day, need to be reminded that they should do something for one of their parents once a year just because.  It’s not that they are bad citizens the other 364, of course.  Their mother and I don’t really place much emphasis on the holidays designated for us, and there’s no reason the kids would pick up on something we obviously don’t consider essential.  On the contrary, they are becoming the kind of people we hoped they’d be, and that is enough of a full-time job.  Something from Amazon.com isn’t necessary to underline it.

They are unique individuals, each of them.  On occasion, when a radio interviewer or (more troubling) someone I know asks whether they are in some way scarred psychically by having a father, and not a mother, who is the parent holding down the fort when they get home from school (and they don’t phrase it like that, but it’s what the questioner means), I have to shake my head in wonder.  My children don’t think it’s unusual to have Dad at home.  But they know that I’m working when I’m at home, too.  It has always been this way for them, and the idea that it is somehow strange is enough to make them bust out laughing.

My son, who enjoys being considerably larger than the rest of us, doesn’t have a vicious bone in his (to us) enormous body.  He has a kind heart and a strong mind that asks lots of questions about things he finds fascinating and completely ignores everything else.  He has a neurological condition called Asperger Syndrome, a high-functioning form of autism, and would be mortified to find out that I just told you that.  He despises being treated "differently," doesn’t like to tell anyone about his "disability," and thinks it odd that the rest of the world sees him as outside the norm.  He’s right, of course, but he does need the occasional helping hand where others don’t, and growls when it’s offered because he hates needing it.  He is, and will be forever, a mensch.

My daughter, who loves animals and people, in that order, is an American Original in every way.  She has a quick, incisive mind and a wit that would be dangerous if she were the least bit mean.  But she’s not, and so her comments can only be endearing.  She is also kindhearted, generous, and the best company of anyone I know.  I do not suffer fools gladly, I’m afraid, but I am never, ever bored when I’m talking to my daughter.

Neither of them has ever read one of my books.  When I started writing, I felt the kids were too young and now, they think they might see too much of themselves in some of the characters, and are uncomfortable with that.  It is perfect logic, and I understand.  My characters sometimes use people I know as jumping-off points, and that is true with my children.  But they are not the characters in my books.  It’s a fine distinction, but an important one, and the kids would rather not have to think about it. They are intelligent people, and have made the right choice for themselves.

They are everything their grandfather would have hoped for them.  The other day, when my daughter made some remark I can’t remember, I told her she was a wiseguy.  Not missing a beat, my 13-year-old turned to me and said, "I learned from the Master." 

And that’s not a bad Father’s Day gift, after all.

The road to publication is long and without road signs.  There’s no one to hand you a map or rules to the road.  So when every would-be author hits the road with his or her finished manuscript, they are vulnerable to predators.  The scent given off by a new author is very powerful.  The wolves and bandits will smell you coming a mile off.  I think first time authors must smell like cut bait. 

For most authors, finding a publisher is a Tolkienian adventure.  My personal quest to find a publisher took two years and cost me hundreds of dollars.  But in hindsight, a number of my run-ins with the wolves and bandits were of my own creation.  To my credit, I dodged the perils that line the road to publication without serious injury, but they could have been avoided all together, if I’d been a little smarter.

Gone are the days when fiction authors could sub their novel directly to the New York publishing houses and be given a chance.  Every author needs an agent to be their guide to publication.  But, how does the naive author know what a reputable agent looks like?  This is where I wasted a lot of time and money.  I scoured the various Writers’ Digests of Literary Agents because that’s the right thing to do.  Unfortunately, these digests are like yellow pages.  They list the good, the bad and the ugly.  I sent blanket queries and synopses to over a hundred agents without a clue of who I was introducing myself too.  Not surprisingly, I introduced myself to some of the carpetbaggers along the way. 

I had agents who said they loved my work and praised the great book I’d written when I’d only sent them a one-page query letter.  One agent threatened to trash my name in the industry when I quizzed her on her standard operating practices, then she sent my manuscript back in pieces.  Luckily, I never broke the golden rule of dealing with agents—DON’T PAY AN AGENT ANY MONEY UPFRONT.  Regardless of their reasons, reputable agents don’t ask for money before they market your book.  I know it’s tempting to accept an agent’s offer, but the newbie author has to know when to say no.  So when an agent asks for $700 for printing and postages expenses or $200 to read a manuscript before they’ve done a thing, don’t haggle or negotiate, say no thanks and move on. 

Although it seems to be a growing trend for reputable agents to charge expenses for postage, I’ve known authors to have paid less than a hundred dollars.  But the agents bill after the fact, not before.  If any agent says they are charging expenses, ask what they are for and get an estimate before you a sign contract.

So, if I was setting out on the road to publication again and was hunting for an agent, what would I do differently?  First off, I wouldn’t bother with the market guides.  An unsuspecting author doesn’t know what they are letting themselves in for.  If you want to find an agent, start with their trade association.  The Association of Authors’ Representatives, Inc. (AAR) lists their members, a code of conduct that all their members must abide by and a great list of questions to any and all agents who offer representation.  There are some great agents out there who aren’t AAR members, but finding them is hard, so the AAR is a good place to start.  Another good resource is writers’ associations.  If you are a mystery writer, consider joining the Mystery Writers of America.  If you are a horror writer, consider joining the Horror Writers Association.  They have a member’s directory where the authors list their agents.  The first time author should write to these agents.  The agents listed represent someone with a reputation in the same genre and someone who has made a legitimate book deal.

After doing things like this—the right things—the first time author still may not find an agent.  I didn’t.  This means you probably aren’t going to get a book contract with Harper Collins, Penguin or Time Warner, but it doesn’t mean all publishers are off limits.  There are a number of small and medium sized publishers who will deal with unknown writers.  You need to do their homework.  Scour bookstores and jot down the names of publishers.  Seek out their websites and check out their guidelines.  If a publisher says they will take unagented submissions, then submit.  You have nothing to lose…

…or do you?

There are bad publishers out there, just like there are bad agents.  The same law about agents applies to publishers—DON’T PAY A PUBLISHER ANY MONEY UPFRONT.  Publishers pay authors, not the other way around.  Again, if you are asked for money, walk away.  If you see an author mention their publisher and you’ve never heard of them, check them out.  See if the publisher’s claims live up.  If a publisher says their books are available on Amazon, use the search facility on Amazon.  Punch in the publisher’s name and see how many of their titles pop up.  If you don’t find any or it says to allow six weeks for delivery, there may be problems with distribution.  And if so, your book might make it to print, but not much further.  Authors shouldn’t be afraid to ask for changes to a publisher’s contract.  If certain rights are asked for and you aren’t happy, negotiate them out.  Again, the likes of the HWA and MWA do have typical sample contracts that authors without agents can use for reference.

The road to publication is fraught with danger.  But it doesn’t mean the first time author has to be mugged and left for dead.  First timers need to stop sticking pins in the pages of digests and hoping for the best.  To put things into a plumbilogical terms, when hiring a plumber to fix a broken pipe most people don’t go for the first name they see.  Usually, they ask for a referral and check that the plumber is licensed.  The search for an agent and/or publisher should be the same.  You need to know the industry and ask around, choosing from trusted sources. 

Following my tips won’t guarantee you publishing success, but they should help prevent you from walking into some of the horrors that lurk on the road to publication.

Good luck, people.

Simon Wood

PS: Nickolas Cook interviewed me for David B. Silva’s Hellnotes.  You can find the interview here. 

Deni Dietz

First, I’d like to thank all the lovely people who responded to last week’s Qibbles & Bits; the one my sister Eileen likes to call "the ego blog." I was gobsmacked at the response, but I sure did enjoy and appreciate the comments and private emails, especially the one with the subject header: "I HAVE heard of you." Thanks Julia Buckley.

When I was asked to join my incredibly talented fellow bloggers, Murderati was only a wee seed in the fallow field of my mind. I had to nurture it, add enough but not too much water, and, of course, add manure (llama manure works best, I’ve found). Then I had to decide what to write about.

Aye, there was the rub (with apologies to Will Shakespeare and Stephen King for the "was"). I thought maybe I’d blog relevant subjects, like how to self-edit, how to deal with rejection, editors’ pet peeves, etc.

But I soon found that, for me, it’s much more fun to be un-relevant [de-relevant? non-relevant?]. Just like my Denise Dietz crime fiction novels, my blogs have no socially redeeming values whatsoever. Just like my crime fiction novels, my blogs are written to entertain.

So this week my subject is: LEADING YOU BY THE EYES

Also known as "manipulation."

The dictionary defines manipulate as "to treat with the hands in a skillful manner" ["Ooh, awesome," says Beatrice]. A second definition is "to control or play upon by artful or insidious means esp. to one’s own advantage."

Although I worked as a masseuse and like nothing better than being manipulated by another masseuse (and/or chiropractor), I’m going to deal with the second definition.

Some reader say they don’t like an author using "cliffhangers" at the end of chapters. Some readers say it’s manipulative.

I say "cow patties!"

Some readers say they need "obvious stopping places" to, like, eat dinner or walk the dog or pee. Or even sleep.

I say, "Then read somebody else’s books, not mine."

While I agree that ending one of my chapters "He hung up the phone and went to bed" gives a reader the perfect respite, that’s not how I write. To use a popular expression, it’s bleh.

I’d rather artfully, insidiously lead you by the eyes into the next chapter."

I love that. Lead you by the eyes. I didn’t make it up. Del Tinsley did.

Let’s pick, at random, a Dean Koontz chapter ending . . . Chapter 3 of Intensity:  "She wondered if the angle of his approach would give her a warning or if he would just be a sudden silhouette popping up from the booth as he opened fire on her."

The page before: "With a final sigh of air brakes, the vehicle stopped."

Which one keeps you reading?

Several years ago, while writing my saga The Rainbow’s Foot, I was angsting over the motivation for moving my heroine from Colorado to California. One of my husbands (# 3, I think) said, "Why don’t you just start your next chapter, ‘She stepped off the train in California’?" That, IMO, is the opposite of manipulation. That’s called "cheating."

Lead one by the eyes. How perfectly spot-on. Those who know me know I have a "thing" about eye actions in a book. I hate it when eyes sweep the room, when eyes drop to the floor, when eyes are glued to somebody or something, when eyes follow or trail a person, when eyes get lit (up).

But leading one by the eyes into the next chapter is a whole ‘nother story. That’s what I strive for in every single book I write.

And the very best words I can hear from a reader [other than "I ordered 100 Chain a Lamb Chop to the Bed hardcovers for Christmas gifts" or "Oh, look, an MLT sandwich") is:

"I couldn’t put it down."

Here’s the song I sing about chapter breaks when I sit in front of my computer at 6 a.m. (sung to "She’ll be Comin’ Round the Mountain"):

       Oh, I’ll be adding a twisty ending at the break
           <at the break>
       I’ll be adding a twisty ending at the break
           <at the break>
       I’ll be adding a twisty ending, so no one knows what’s pending,
       I’ll be adding a twisty ending at the break.
       La-la-la.

Bottom line: I plan to continue cliffhanging my chapters — or if you insist, "manipulating" my readers — till the end of time. And If it stresses you out, well, you can always visit a masseuse.

Over and out,
Deni

Jeffrey Cohen

I write "cozies."

That’s what people tell me, anyway.  When I wrote my first novel (entirely by accident–it’s really a screenplay gone horribly wrong) in 2001, and then had the unmitigated gall to show it to people in the publishing business, I was told that it was a "cozy."

This was a surprise to me, as I thought a cozy was something you put under a teapot, and I don’t drink tea.  No, they said, a cozy is a mystery story in which there is little or no gore (Al, Vidal or otherwise), no one uses "bad language," (which apparently doesn’t mean ending one’s sentence with a preposition) and there isn’t any sex.

All in all, cozies didn’t sound like much fun, but that wasn’t what bothered me.  When I looked over the book, and saw that a character is almost run over by a car, then shot repeatedly, that a major subplot hinges on the use of what has apparently become known as "the F bomb," and the main character and his wife, not to mention other characters in the book, had sex on a fairly regular basis, I figured my book was really an "Uncomfortable," or at the very least, a "Slightly Irritating."  Apparently not.

See, I thought I had written a comedy.  Granted, it was a comedy that had a murder and an investigation of the crime, but then, so did Charade, and I don’t recall anyone calling that a "cozy."  I wasn’t even sure I’d written a mystery novel so much as a pastiche of one, but the publisher told me it was a mystery, and I certainly had nothing against the word, so I agreed it was exactly that.  It was the "cozy" part that was throwing me off.

I’d never heard the term used that way before.  In college, during Detective Fiction class, I remember hearing about "hardboiled" detectives, and that was certainly a descriptive phrase, but if those stories were all about how some woman or another could reduce the hero to a quivering mass of gelatin, perhaps these heroes needed another minute or two in the boiling water.  And I loved The Maltese Falcon and The Big Sleep and all the Chandler/Hammett books. If those guys were hardboiled, what was Robert B. Parker’s Spenser?  Over easy?

That wasn’t the thing that bothered me, though.  You want to buy my novel and call it a cozy, be my guest.  If you want to buy my novel and call it an orangutan, you have my blessing.  Just buy the darned thing.  (Oops–that’s a little too cozy a word.  Buy the goddam thing, then.)

I wrote the book without grisly violence (except a little in one scene) because I thought graphic pain would get in the way of the jokes.  It’s hard to laugh when someone’s intestines are being pulled out, unless you have a really odd  sense of humor.  I wrote it with whatever profanity felt natural to the characters.  If they’d been gangsta rap musicians, they probably would have spoken differently, but I wasn’t gettin’ jiggy wit dat, yo.  I’m pretty sure.  I wrote the book without a lot of explicit sex because, well, my mother reads this stuff, for goodness sake.

What bothered me, once I got more familiar with the subgenres and the publishing industry in general, was the perception that cozies are not the kind of thing that a true "red-blooded" man would write.  Apparently, you can eat all the quiche you want, but Real Men Don’t Write Cozies.  Since I’ve been a man for quite some time, and I’m relatively sure I’m real, this was worrisome.

So, I took it upon myself to investigate the Cozy Caper.  Find out whether one’s masculinity was truly in question if one wrote a book that aimed to make people laugh without buckets of blood, torrents of curse words and enough sex to make Paris Hilton blush.  I consulted with other writers of cozies, like David Skibbins, Parnell Hall and Jeffrey Marks.  We met at the Malice Domestic conference, where cozies are called "Traditional Mysteries," and the ratio of women to men is about the same as at some of the colleges we should have gone to if we’d had half a brain.  We had invited Mr. Parker, Harlan Coben and J.A. Konrath, but each of them said their books weren’t cozies, they weren’t at the convention, and we should leave them alone.

We met in the bar.  Each of us ordered a beer, although one of them was lite (I don’t remember which one, but it might have been mine).  We adjusted our pants a lot, talked about The Game (although I’m not sure which sport we were discussing) and looked around for a spittoon, but there was none.  We referred to women as "chicks," called each other "dude" a lot and went off later to have steaks cooked rare.  We never did get around to discussing cozies.  But I remember a heated discussion centered around whether something or another "tasted great" or was "less filling."

(By the way, none of this ever happened.)

This didn’t help at all, I decided after the hangover went away.  But I couldn’t think of anything else to do.  A seance calling on the spirit of Agatha Christie seemed a little much.  I emailed Marilyn Stasio for clarification, but apparently the restraining order extends to computer communication, as well.  So I’m stuck for an explanation.

It’s enough to make a guy commit violence, swear and then try to have sex with someone.  Or so I’m told.  But I’ve made my peace with it.  In fact, you could say that right now, I’m downright…

Never mind.

Personally, I’d rather run with the bulls of Pamplona than read in public.  It takes me back to my school days where every pupil in the class had to read a passage out loud from the current class book.  Since I’m dyslexic, this was torture.  Needless to say, these were not my finest school hours.

But now as a writer, I don’t have a choice.  Reading passages from my books or short stories is expected.  I put this task off for as long as possible.  I could adlib and riff off a question for ages, but read a prepared statement—Danger, danger, Will Robinson!  It got to the stage where some bookstores demanded in their best Tony Soprano voices, “You will read.”

With the gauntlet thrown, I got my act together.  I never read from the book.  I print out the passages first in a big, bold, friendly font.  I tend to make fewer screw ups that way.  Smaller fonts mean too many words, which makes it hard for me to read.  I rehearse my passages.  I don’t learn them all by heart, but I know it well enough that I know how things flow.  With my reading issues, I have a tendency not to read what is on the page and read what I think is on the page, so if I know where the passage is going then I won’t to stray far from the actual story.

Now these things sound like useful tools for me, but they are also good tips for any author who has to read to his/her (hopefully) adoring public.  Reading aloud is all about preparation.

The above tricks got me only so far.  Reading is one thing, but making it entertaining is another.  I attended author readings to get ideas about what worked and what didn’t.  I went to some good ones and I went to some dire ones that made me think, “Oh, God, do I sound like that?”  From these readings (the good and bad ones) I learned a lot that I’ve incorporated into mine.

Always read something that’s going to be intriguing or interesting.  A reading is a hook that you hope to snag readers with.  Read something that will grab the listeners’ attention.  This doesn’t have to be your opening chapter.  Pick a passage or scene that gives a feel for the book’s tone.  And if you aren’t going to read from the beginning, don’t forget to fill the listeners in on the back story.   

Read something interesting!  This might seem like an obvious tip, but you’d be surprised how many authors forget this.  I can’t tell you how many authors read passages where nothing happens.  At the end of it, I’m left wondering, “Why should I buy this book?”

Less is more.  Don’t read too much.  I know people can listen to audio books for hours without a break, but that’s at the listener’s discretion and comfort.  When your reader is stuck in a store, unable to do anything, it’s amazing how short their attention span is.  I estimate that I can get away with 15-20 minutes of reading at a stretch.  After that, listener attention wanes.  So don’t read a 40-page chapter.  Instead, read two 10-page passages and in between give the listeners a flavor of what they’re missing.

Don’t give away the ending.  I know you don’t have to read the beginning, but don’t end your reading with the unveiling of the killer.  It’s a surefire way to kill your sales.

Voice.  I find this is a tricky area.  Very few authors have the ability to read as well as a professional reader or actor.  It is difficult to pull off the various characters, accents and inject real energy into a reading.  If you can’t pull it off, then read the piece straight, putting the tone and voice that you put into the story when you wrote it.  A lot of people like hearing the author read because they want to hear it the way the author wanted it to sound.  Any author can do that.  You wrote the piece and you’re passionate about it.  When you read, your natural voice will carry the tale.  Warning: You can’t be timid.  Too many authors read too quickly, too quietly, or overcompensate by being overly dramatic.  This will come with practice and time. 

You may never feel 100% comfortable reading aloud, but with a few tips and a little effort, you’ll get a lot closer.

Simon Wood