Inkspot News -- Saturday, Feb. 27

Midnight Ink Authors Deborah Sharp and Joanna Campbell Slan are appearing at Sleuthfest 2010 in southern Florida this weekend. Be sure to stop by and say Hi if you're in the neighborhood!

G.M. Malliet was interviewed yesterday at Beth Groundwater's blog. Please stop by with questions, however unusual. [Oh, wait, Deb Sharp already did that!-GMM]

On Debuts and Cliches

“Write what you know.” It’s one of those clichés every writer hears in the early stages of learning the craft.

I agree with it—to an extent. I know about religion, classic horror, acting, and medieval lit. The first novel I ever wrote dealt with religion and horror. Then an agent who passed on that book challenged me to write a crime story starring an ex-nun. Nah, I thought—I’m a horror writer. But the idea clung to my subconscious, and I decided to learn about private investigators, health food, MMORPGs, and the minds of stalkers.

You may be asking: How is getting into the mind of a stalker is a positive thing? It is when it’s the mind of the villain in my debut mystery. If I’d clung to my self-label of “horror writer” I wouldn’t be looking forward to my first mystery on a bookstore shelf next spring.

Yet without my writing roots I wouldn’t be here either, because folks seem to be fascinated by nuns. We’re like an alternate species of human. Yep—I used to be a nun. Habit, veil, the whole shebang. (Sorry to disappoint: The convent’s nothing like Sister Act. And speaking of clichés, yes, I played the guitar; yes, I sang at Folk Masses; and yes, I taught middle school kids to sing and dance.) In my debut mystery, my ex-nun main character is re-acclimating to the world. That’s writing what I know—you should’ve seen me trying to walk in high heels for the first time in years. She’s also foiling a Bible-obsessed stalker, which combines what I know and what I had to learn—I’ve certainly never stalked anyone! Although if Gerard Butler moved in down the street…

Where was I? Oh, yes. Clichés. Nuns themselves may be cliché, although I certainly wasn’t. As in, I was in trouble pretty much every week for all my years in the convent. At first all I thought the only use I could make of those years were good was cocktail party conversation for the rest of my life. Yet what I thought was a colossal waste turned out to be a crucial ingredient to a mystery series.

Were I to go back to teaching English, this is where I’d start: Everything you know, everything you’ve experienced—good and bad—can be used to make your writing better. I’m living proof.

Oops. A cliché. I’d better go back to daydreaming about Gerard Butler moving into my neighborhood. And writing my next book

When Book Events Go Bust

Last Thursday, I drove up to Denver for a group book signing with two other Colorado mystery authors, Mike Befeler and Linda Berry. We were scheduled to be at the Mont Blanc boutique in the Cherry Creek Mall, an upscale shopping mall, from 5:30 - 7:30 pm, and the event was well publicized by the store, us authors, and the organizer of the event, Anne Randolph, who sent out notices to fans and students of her Soup Kitchen Writing courses.

Due to a perfect storm of unforseen circumstances, though, we had a poor turnout and only one book was sold. What were the circumstances? First was a real storm, a snowstorm that dumped a couple of inches of slush on Denver's streets late in the afternoon, making driving treacherous and being outdoors cold, wet, and miserable. Second was President Obama's visit to Denver that afternoon and evening to campaign for Colorado Senator Michael Bennet. Local police and security personnel closed random streets and portions of the I-25 highway running through the middle of the city at random times to mask the actual route that was taken by Obama's motorcade.

These two factors slowed traffic to a crawl on the highway and snarled the surface streets. Even though I gave myself an extra half hour to get there, I arrived late at the signing. And, anyone else who might have planned to come probably gave up in teeth-grinding frustration. I would have if I wasn't one of the authors! The normally bustling mall was deserted, with solitary footsteps echoing in empty hallways. The Mont Blanc boutique had a grand total of one customer who did not come in for the signing, and after looking at some wallets, he didn't buy anything.

Could we have predicted that these circumstances would occur and that this event would go sour when we made the arrangements months ago? Of course not. Could we have done anything differently to make it more successful? No. Every author has tales to tell about book events gone bust, for a variety of unforseen reasons. We three authors now have another "try to top this" story to add to our repertoire of disaster stories.

However, I wouldn't call this event a failure. Why? Because of all the publicity for the event, our names were trotted out in public. People who may not have heard of us now have. Others who had heard of us and thought about coming to the event but didn't or couldn't, may buy one of our books somewhere else. Other offers to sign may come to us from other businesses. One positive that I do know about is that Anne Randolph will share her table at the upcoming Colorado Independent Publishers Association (CIPA) College with me, so I can sell my books there. We're both presenters at the college. I'm sure more positives will come out of this event down the road, and I'm sure I won't even know what they all are.

What are your tales of book events gone bust? I'd love to hear from readers, location hosts, and authors!

Lucky Cats or Cat’s Meow?

Authors are often asked for writing advice, but so far only a couple people have asked for mine. Good thing, because until this week, I didn’t have any unique advice. But I just returned from a vacation in Disney World, where dreams come true, and here’s my advice for aspiring writers:

Buy a Lucky Cat.

Three years ago I purchased my first Lucky Cat at the Japan Pavilion in Disney World’s EPCOT Center. The Lucky Cat has a history of more than 500 years in Japan, where people love them as mascots of good fortune and happiness. The painted, wooden cats are often placed at the entrance to a home or in store windows, and they come in ten colors, all with different associated good fortune, and are about an inch tall. In 2007 I selected the white cat, which brings good luck and happiness, hoping to find an agent for my debut novel, For Better, For Murder. I brought the cat home and placed it in a window near our front door. My agent called a few months later and subsequently sold my book—and its sequel.

Last week I returned to the Japan Pavilion and purchased the black cat, which protects from illness and evil spirits, and the gold cat, which makes dreams come true and brings good luck in wealth. When I arrived home from vacation, I learned For Better, For Murder was a 2009 Agatha Award Finalist for Best First Novel.

Now, normally I’m not into lucky talismans or magic or any sort of folderol, but I see a connection. What writer doesn’t dream of getting an agent or writing an award worthy book? That’s twice now I’ve visited Disney World, where dreams come true, and purchased Lucky Cats, only to have my dreams come true.

Yes, a trip to Disney was part of the connection too, but my vacation was the reason I missed two phone calls attempting to notify me of the Agatha nomination. And I’ve visited Disney other times. So I’m thinking the cats alone will do the trick. Plus, aren’t cats often associated with traditional or cozy mystery novels? See, another connection! Hey, right or wrong, I believe in my Lucky Cats.

More importantly, many thanks to the people who nominated my book for an Agatha. They made this dream come true, and to me, they will always be the cat’s meow!

A QUESTION OF TALENT

By Darrell James

Watching the young Olympians this past couple of weeks made me ponder the idea of talent. Is it God-given or simply the product of hard work and dedication?

I’ve always envied those who say they knew at an early age exactly what they wanted to be. Gifted individuals who seemingly recognize at birth some inherent talent. I always believed such kids came stamped with a capital “T” somewhere on their body. Talent, to my understanding, was something you either had or didn’t have. And there was clearly no T-endorsement anywhere on my person.

Still, I dreamed.

Early on, I dreamed of playing baseball. How awe inspiring my heroes of the day… Ted Williams, later Pete Rose, Johnny Bench. How vivid the dream of taking the field in uniform, acquiring fame and fortune doing the one thing I most loved. Baseball.

I was a pretty damned good actually. And fast. I could flash between bases, stop on a dime and give you eight-and-a-half cents change. I played through high school and into college. But I soon learned that being “pretty good” was something less than being talented. It gets a beer bought for you after the game, it doesn’t land you a contract with the Cincinnati Reds. So I moved beyond my dreams of the playing field and on to a search for my one true talent.

Inspired by such song artists of the era… Jim Croce, James Taylor… I picked up a guitar and taught myself to play. After a few years of practicing alone, I formed a group with two other like-dreamers and we hit the road. We played dive bars and American Legion posts. In our enthusiasm, I don’t think any of us realized how truly “untalented” we were.

Over the next two decades, I tried body building (with the dream of being on the cover of Muscle & Fitness). I road motorcycles cross country. I sailed the Caribbean. I took up acting and threw myself into community theatre…

An acting class at the local college had us write a monologue that we were to perform on the last day of class. The fictional character I wrote (not my performance) got rave reviews from the instructor and from fellow classmates. Something stirred inside me that day, something larger than life, and powerful. I had discovered the magic of words.

Infused with this newly discovered talent, I declared myself a writer and set out, as I had so many times before, to prove I had something to show. (Or maybe show I had something to prove.)

That was 1995. (I know this because I still have the envelope labeled “1995 Writing Receipts” that, in my naiveté, I was going to write-off against the wheelbarrow loads of money that I would make that very first year as a writer.)

In fact, it took eight long years of diligent, hard work and practice, before I got even my first short story published in Futures Magazine. It took another seven years, and twenty-three more published stories, to land my first book contract, a three-book deal with Midnight Ink. Had I found my God-given talent at last?

Some tell me so: “You’re a gifted writer! A real talent for writing! A master storyteller!!!” Maybe.

I do know that writing and story telling is the one thing that I will do for the rest of my life.

So, what made the difference? Is true talent divined? Or is it developed? Is it in our DNA at birth? Or is it the product of hard work and practice? Is it necessarily both?

Perhaps, if I had stayed as dedicated to any of the previous endeavors, as I have to a career as a mystery writer, I would have found the “talent” for those too. Or maybe it just took a lifetime of searching to find what was already inherently there?

A Zen saying says: “Sit quietly, doing nothing, spring comes, and the grass grows by itself.”

I don’t know. All I know is that a lucky few people recognize a talent at an early age. Some, like me, take decades to discover it. Sadly, others never will.

What I do know is that it takes being a dreamer. A cockeyed optimist who is willing to throw labels and practiced-reason to the wind, and try. And, perhaps, if lucky, talent rears it’s beautiful little head along the way.

What’s your take on it. Is talent God-given? Or the result of dedication and hard work?

You tell me.

Where Do You People Get Off? by Jess Lourey

I can see the allure of the writing life—spend all day in your pajamas clicking out words which make scenes which make books that people can’t put down, bothering to shower only when you have to go out to cash those big royalty checks. What they don’t tell you about (besides the lie to all of that) are the angry reader emails.

I’ve gotten a handful in my three-year writing career, fewer than five but more than I need. Here’s an excerpt from the most recent one, which I received while on vacation with my boyfriend this past weekend:

“I just read September Fair, and it started out strong but then got stupid…why is it always the business owner who is the murderer? And your language? ‘FU’--yuck! And one of your characters had multiple sex partners!!!”

First, don’t be worried that I’ve given away the ending by sharing this slam. There is more than one small business owner in the novel, the small business owner(s) didn’t do it, and no small business owner in any of my previous books was the killer. But that’s the danger—dissecting these slams and all the ways they’re wrong and might be right, feeling that icky green anger burble up from my stomach caused by someone disliking my writing enough to seek out my email address and tell me how terrible I am--it’s the trap that lures me in every time.

I’d previously received a different slam for September Fair, telling me that while the book was fine, this reader was sick of “you people” telling her what to eat and what not to eat, and she wanted to know where “you people” got off controlling her life. In the novel, there is an animal rights activist who talks about how meat and dairy products are produced, and it is pretty gross, but I’m fine with my readers eating whatever they enjoy. And I sent her an email letting her know that. (Read here to find out why that wasn’t a good idea.)

I get that some people aren’t going to like my books, either my writing style or the content, and I understand that a certain percentage of the population feels compelled to use their personal opinions as weapons, but I still don’t know how to distance myself from the pain of random, oddly personal reader criticism (which, for the record, I separate from valid and constructive criticism of my writing, which is a blessing I’ve learned to appreciate). Any suggestions? If not, any war stories to add company to my misery?

Inkspot News - February 20, 2010

Lisa Bork's FOR BETTER, FOR MURDER has been nominated for an Agatha Award for Best First Novel. Congratulations, Lisa!

Keith Raffel is interviewed on Press:Here this Sunday, February 21 at 9AM (on the Bay Area's KNTV, cable channel 3). He discusses the suitability of Silicon Valley as a setting for mysteries and the factual basis of the characters in his bestselling SMASHER with NBC's Scott McGrew, NPR's Laura Sydell, and BBC's Maggie Shiels. To read Keith's comments on the interview and view the video clip, click here.

G.M. Malliet will visit Beth Groundwater's blog on Friday, February 26th. Come see what G.M.'s answers are to Beth's interview questions and feel free to ask your own in comments! G.M. is also interviewed by Oline H. Cogdill in the current issue of Mystery Scene Magazine.

Why Characters Kill

A lot of real people kill for really stupid reasons. I mean, Darwin Awards dumb. The only way you get away with that in fiction is to make it so funny that the stupidity feeds the humor and makes it all worthwhile. In real life it's never worthwhile.

Serial killer books and many thrillers make use of antagonists who are raving lunatics. This works because the reader knows from the beginning that the bad guy is nuts. After all, if you pick up a book that has the words "serial killer" on the back cover, you know he (or she, though rarely) is crazy. Unpredictable. Scary. Few aren't certifiable. This is why Jeff Lindsay, the creator of Dexter, is a genius. His serial killer is his protagonist. He's broken, he knows he's broken, and he deals with it in a way we almost approve of. Plus, we can relate. Being broken in some way, however small, and having to deal with it is a universal experience.

Other motivators for fictional killers:

Self-defense is a good one, and can apply to either the protagonist or the antagonist. It's understandable, even in a character we loathe. Still, the protagonist deserves a strong opponent, and one who kills out of self-defense is off the hook legally. So this one usually needs a plot or character twist to make a truly interesting story.

Protection of another is even better in the sympathy/empathy department. What mother couldn't relate to a fictional mother protecting her child at any cost? (Well, there are some, but I wouldn't want to have them over for dinner.)

Those are almost laudable reasons to kill unless you're a dyed-in-the-wool pacifist. I wonder how many murder mystery readers are pacifists? Probably more than expected.

A few more:

Greed. For money, but could be for anything the character really wants. This covers envy, too.

Fear. This one is HUGE. Look at all the killing it's caused in real life in the name of defense. Cripes, don't get me started. But on a smaller scale we could be talking about anything from murdering a blackmailer to shooting a stranger cutting through the backyard.

Love. Either killing someone because it would benefit the loved one (in a way that falls beyond the scope of protection of another, mentioned above) or love-turned-to-hate, which gets kind of close to the whole being crazy thing. Jealousy would probably fall under this category, too.

Addiction. People do some scary -- and sad -- stuff because of addiction. Characters can, too.

As a profession. Mercenaries, hit men, etc. fit in here.

Anger. Revenge. Crimes of passion. Religious beliefs. Most of these are somewhat related to the motives above, except perhaps the last one. But I know there must be a ton of other motivations for our characters to kill. Any favorites? Can you think of any unusual ones you've either written or encountered in others' books?