Angst

The summer is almost over and I got through the few promotions I had to do after suffering both in life and here.

Instead of using these last two weeks before I hit the novel keys to enjoy myself I’ve done something to make my life a mess again.  After everything I said about short stories on August 18th I’ve agreed to do one for an anthology.

Why?  It’s true that the premise interested me.  But so what.  I’ve been asked to contribute a ss to many different anthologies that sounded promising and I’ve always managed to say no.  Managed?  I simply siad no for the reasons I’ve stated before.  I always wished that I could contribute, especially when asked by someone I liked and respected.  But I felt I wasn’t capable.

So why did I feel capable this time?  I have no idea, but now I don’t.  And that’s where the angst comes in.  Ever since I agreed to write a story I’ve been depressed, anxious, angry and miserable.  But I don’t want to write an email saying I’ve changed my mind.  I made a commitment and I always try to stick to them.

But what if I actually write one and it’s no good?

Isn’t it nice to have me back complaining about writing?  A new year (I always count September as the new year as if I were still in school) is about to start and before my complaints begin about writing the novel I’ll be here typing out what I’m going through over the writing of the ss.

I’m going to try to use this assignment (I know I gave it to myself) as a way to ease back into writing that peculiar novel I was working on before the summer.  Someone is waiting for the ss and that’s more than I can say about the novel.

I am, BTW, very flattered that I was asked.  The first thing I’m going to do is read some ss. If anyone has a suggestion of what crime story anthology I should read I would appreciate it.

No vampires, please.

The Lists

It’s impossible to know how someone is going to read a post.  There are no nuances in either posts or emails so it’s all in how the reader takes what you’ve written.

Last night I stumbled on Working Title and found a post about what I’d written on Friday.

She’s very kind and says she likes my blog but hasn’t read any of my books.  That’s okay.  It’s the misunderstanding of what I wrote that bothered me.  Stacy Jacobs, the author of Working Title, thought I was saying my books were mediocre when I called myself a C-list author.

I meant where I stood in the scheme of published writers.  The A-list would be those writers who get on the Bestseller lists.  The B-list authors are those who don’t make it onto the Bestseller lists but are well-known anyway.  C-list authors, like me, publish consistantly and have their share of fans, but are never well-known and never make it onto any list.

A, B and C have nothing to do with whether the books are good or not.  Or whether the writing is excellent or the stories engaging.  For example, in my humble opinion some of the A-list authors can’t write a decent sentence and my mind boggles that some of the C-list authors keep getting published.

Do C-list authors ever become A-list authors?  I think so.  And ocassionally B-list authors claw their way up to A.  But it doesn’t happen too often.

Right now a particular B-list author is being pushed to become an A-list author.  I can’t imagine that writer jumping from B to A based on the new book.  On the other hand, as I said, quality has nothing to do with it, so the publisher might be absolutely right about that author.  I thought the book was awful, but then I don’t make or break an author.

Who does?  Nobody knows.  If the publishers knew we’d have exactly who they want on the A-list all the time.  Sometimes all the publicity and push in the world does nothing.  And sometimes there’s a strange phenomenen and a book gets to the top of the Bestseller list without any help from the publisher.  How does that happen?  Nobody knows.

So, in case anyone thought (like Stacy Jacobs) that I was saying that my books are mediocre, I wasn’t.  Some are better than others, but most of them are good.

Relieved But Sick

The venue was a small bookstore in Sag Harbor.  The kind of store that we used to have in every town. The place was packed.  That means four people.  Just kidding.  I didn’t count but every seat was taken and I think there were some standees.  Most were people I didn’t know.

After a very warm and informed introduction by one of the owners, I was on.  Yes, the dry mouth was there, but I think I read well.  I got some laughs and I only screwed up once.  After the reading came the Q&A.  Good questions.  And then it was over.  Since my trademark seems to be honesty I have to be honest about this.  I sold 3 books.  I felt awful for the owners but they assured me it was fine and they had no doubt they’d sell the books they had.

So what’s the point of these readings and signings?  Had I a Higgins in my name I would’ve sold tons of books.  But does it make sense for a writer on the C-list to do these things?  Especially when I go through such angst?  I don’t think so.  I never want to do it again.  It’s simply not worth it for me.  And if some editor reads this and won’t buy a book of mine because of it, I guess that’s the way it’ll have to be. 

On the other hand, should an editor say something like, we’ll give you x amount of dollors for this novel but you’ll have to do publicity or no deal, what do you think I’d do?  Right.

My fondest hope is that I’ll publish again but I won’t have to do publicity except print.

The reason I’m late on this post is because the day after the reading I got very sick.  And I haven’t had the energy to do this until today.  I’m beginning to feel human again.  So glad I didn’t get sick on Saturday because no one would’ve believed me.

The book has now been out for almost two months.  It’s been well-reviewed, but far less reviews than the first book.  I think it’s creeping up on over, if it’s not over already.  What I mean by that is the stores will make way for the fall books, the reviewers the same.  I’ve had my run.

Next June the paperback of Too Darn Hot will be published.  And other than that I have nothing coming out.

In two weeks I’ll go back to the novel I was working on before my vacation.  I don’t look forward to it…not the book itself but giving up this leisurely schedule.  I know I’ll get into the groove again.  It’ll take about a week.

Meanwhile, I’ve been asked to contribute a short story to an anthology that intrigues me.  See.  Never say never.  I’m not sure what I’ll do.  I have to feel healthier than this to make a decision. 

But you never know…you simply never know anything.

It's Today

The final reading and Q&A of Too Darn Hot.  Six hours from now.  In seven hours the whole thing will be over.

I did a rehearsal about two hours ago and it was horrible.  I hadn’t looked at the piece since I did it at Borders.  The second time I read it aloud it was better.

I’m not as nervous as I was before the Borders reading.  But I’m nervous.  I know the dry mouth thing will happen and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.

This time I have to take two ferries to get to where I have to go.  Sag Harbor.  For those of you who don’t know where that is it’s the South Fork on Long Island, New York. This is a resort town.  Crowded as hell.  But who will want to go to a reading on a Saturday at six o’clock?  Won’t people be having drinks at that hour?

Same old worry.  No one will come, but who cares because I’m terrified of reading to people anyway.  That’s not quite true.  Don’t feel terrified this time.  Still, I wish it was seven and I was going off to dinner with my friends.

Yes, I’m grateful and pleased that I was asked to read at Canios.  But I’ll be more pleased when I can look back on it.  Unless something awful happens.  Oh, no.  It won’t, will it?

I’m thinking of all the horrible things that could take place.  Use your imagination.  Awful, isn’t it?

Aren’t you glad this is the last one? 

One More Day

It’s the day before.

I’m going to the movies.

Last Appearance

Saturday night is the last time I’ll have to read from Too Darn Hot. The last time I’ll have to perform.  Yes, I know I’m lucky to have a venue, etc.  Still I don’t like to do these things as those of you who’ve kept up with this blog know.

I don’t want to spend this week wishing time away, but I find myself thinking things like by this time next Tuesday it’ll all be over. I promised not to go on about this until the day before and of, so I won’t.

The other thing I’ve been feeling is I like living the life of doing nothing.  There’s a big part of me that doesn’t want to go back to writing after Labor Day.  But writers don’t retire.  Sometimes they stop.  Or I think they’ve stopped because I don’t know that they can’t get published anymore.  Others stop because of writer’s block.  And, yes, there is such a thing.  But do writers stop because they don’t feel like writing?  Especially the ones who have no other job?  No other income?  And no interest or qualifications for another career?  I don’t know.

Stopping isn’t really an option for me.  And I’m sure I couldn’t do it anyway.  It’s my life.  I’ve never done anything else.  Don’t want to.  I’m a writer.  Yes, it’s my identity. Boring groups of people say you shouldn’t let your work define you.  Too bad.  I do and always have.  Therefore, if I stopped writing I’d have no identity.  Oh, I guess that’s why the boring groups say you shouldn’t let your work define you.  Still, it does.  Too late to change that now.  I could probably get away with a few years of not writing and still call myself a writer.  But I don’t have a whole lot of years left to play around with.

And then there’s that damn twentieth novel.  I have nineteen published novels and I promised myself I’d have at least twenty before I bit the dust.  So even though I don’t feel like it, and may not feel like it in September, I’ll most likely hit the keys once more.

Sigh.

Blog Mess

I just changed my template and lost all my personal stuff.  I have to go to bed so I’ll try to fix it tomorrow.  I did it once, I guess I can do it again.  What a pain in the ass.

Especially because when I went to change it I was warned.  What the hell is wrong with me?

Do Not Answer That

Marilyn Wallace

Marilyn died yesterday. I feel a little strange writing about her because, although we’d been good friends at one time, we lost touch with each other about five years ago.  Still, this isn’t about me.

I met Marilyn in 1986 at the Baltimore B’con. I liked her immediately.  She was funny and smart and we clicked.  I think I’d read her first novel, A Case of Loyalties, and liked it, but maybe I read it after I met her.  She published seven novels and edited many anthologies.

I don’t think I’ve known anyone with highter standards.  Mostly for herself.  But she had them for you, too.  She wanted you to be the best you could be.  Though she was hard on herself in that way she never was hard on you.

She had a great sense of humor and a wonderful laugh, which I can hear right now.

Marilyn and Bruce, her husband, and my partner and I became good friends.  They even spent a weekend with us here on Long Island.  I say even because we almost never have guests.  I recall that we had a wonderful time.  In NYC we had dinner together, our house or theirs, sometimes at a restaurant.

The last time I saw Marilyn was when she came here to see my new house with two other writer friends, Annette Meyers and Camilla Crespi.  And then we all went out to lunch.

I talked with her on the phone after that and then….then I don’t know what happened.  Nothing bad.  No fight or falling out.  Laziness, I think. Who can say?  I imagine she didn’t know either.  I kept meaning to get in touch, you know how that is, but I never did. It’s too late now.

I’ve learned a painful lesson.  Friendship is a precious thing and one has to work at it to keep it.

As a writer and a friend, Marilyn will be missed by many.

Short Stories

The English writer Kay Sexton wrote in a July 16th post on her blog, that “If you want to be a novelist … learn to write short stories.”

I don’t agree.  I believe they are two distinctly different forms and one has nothing to do with the other.  Not everyone can write a good short story.  It’s an art all it’s own.  And if you can’t write one that doesn’t mean you can’t write a novel.

Sexton says: “Yes, there are writers who manage to get a book published without working through the apprentice stages of short fiction, but believe me, they are rare.”

This can’t be true.  Naturally no one comes to mind at this moment so I shouldn’t be writing this now.  But I’ve started and maybe readers of this post can help me out.

I can talk about me, of course.  I’d written and published many novels before I tried a short story.  I’ve published two.  Both in crime anthologies.  They were anomalies for me.  I find the form incredibly difficult.  Especially a mystery short.

I don’t enjoy reading shorts.  Sorry.  I don’t want to take the time away from reading a novel which I feel will be more rewarding.  But there are always exceptions.  I’ve read and loved the Raymond Carver stories.  Also Amy Bloom.  A few Anne Beattie years ago.

I guess if you don’t like reading something you probably don’t want to write it.  I don’t read science fiction, fantasy or westerns and I’d never think of trying to write one of those.

So, Kay, I don’t think you have to write short stories to become a good novelist anymore than I believe you must write an outline before you write a novel.  I think it’s different for everyone.

Writing short stories won’t hurt you as a novelist, but it isn’t a requirement.

Don't Say A Word

Of course you have to say a word, more than a word, if you’re being interviewed.  I’ve been interviewed many times.  By phone, in person, through email.  So I do know that what you say can be slanted in a way that makes you sound cranky, arrogant and even mean.  But most reporters are great.  They take what you say and put quotes around your words.  And in between they write something they’ve learned about you.  Then there are the others.

I don’t know how many people will bother to go to the link posted on  Confessions of an Idiosyncratic Mind of an interview with me (well, probably now you will) or who will care or who will believe every word.  Some will and I want to set the record straight.

Mostly because I feel attacks coming.  I DID NOT DIS Mary Higgins Clark, or Janet Evanovich.  This sentence sounds like I did.  “They send those two on tour around the country, too.”  I was asked a question which was “who gets big ads and is sent on tours?”  I gave him an example.  Clark and Evanovich.  Now that’s when I should not have said a word.  I should’ve said something like “people on the bestseller lists.”  But I’m not a devious person, thinking and plotting and measuring every word.

The rest was slanted and twisted and garbled and there were tons of errors.  But I don’t care about that.  I simply didn’t want it getting around that I’d made some egregious remarks about two big names in crime writing.

So take this as a warning to be careful what you say.

Everything Doesn't Work

So you’ve had a great vacation.  Maybe you went to France for the first time.  Met some nice people there.  And after awhile you found out their secrets.

Or you had a weekend in the Hamptons with friends.  You never laughed so much in your life.

Possibly you had company for the weekend.  It was a nightmare.

You think to yourself, ‘This would make a great novel.’

No it wouldn’t.  Everything that happens to you doesn’t work as a novel.  Of  course some things do.  But these weekends or weeks of vacation probably don’t.  What you enjoyed or hated, and the people involved won’t be interesting, funny, or horrifying to others as a novel.

That doesn’t mean that you can’t use pieces of these experiences in something you’re writing.  Character traits may come from someone you met on your vacation for that one person you couldn’t get right on the page.  Or the way someone holds his fork.  Little things.

But don’t try to turn your whole experience into a novel because I promise you it won’t work.

And if you’re going to use a piece of something, please don’t translate it into a dream.

After Borders There is Life

It’s over.  I didn’t post yesterday because I was exhausted. Didn’t even turn on my computer.  Not wiped out by the reading, but afterwards.  Went out with friends and didn’t get back here until 2 and went to sleep about 4.

So.  I was very pleased by the attendance and so was Lindsey,( publicity person) and the Borders’ s man, Richard.  Lindsey made everything as comfortable and easy for me as she could.

I continued to be nervous and anxious. I simply couldn’t shake it.  When the time came I was still shaky.  I sat at a table with a mic.  Dry mouth plagued me.  The first laugh calmed me down some. Then I bungled a sentence and I really got laughs, but I was laughing, too. And then it was over.  The Q&A was brief.  That disappointed me a bit as I think I do that best.  Afterwards I signed books. 

I didn’t feel great about the reading.  I felt all right.  Which is better, a lot better than feeling awful.  People said they liked it and some even bought a book.  Was all my worry and craziness for nothing?  In the sense that it didn’t change anything…yes, it was for nothing.  In the sense that my fears were real it wasn’t for nothing.

I’m grateful to those who came and I’m also glad it’s over. Now I have about a month to enjoy my vacation before the next reading.

Back to reading other people’s books.  Hooray!

It's Here

The day of the night.  We’ll be leaving the North Fork about 2.  Depending on traffic we’ll get to NYC about 4:30.  We’ll park.  Then look for somewhere to have a very late lunch.  Nothing fancy.  Oh, God.  What if I drop something on what I’m wearing?  Maybe I shouldn’t eat.  But I have to.  I’ll be extra careful.

I don’t know what the weather will be like.  The sun is trying to come out here.  I don’t want it to rain in NYC for obvious reasons.  Imagine them.

One person has already called to say she double booked herself and probably can’t make it although she’ll try.  The reading is uptown, her theater is downtown.  Now I can be sure of 7 people.  I’m not counting the people from Ballantine or my agent’s office.  My agent can’t come because of a recent knee operation.  I know she would otherwise.  She’s like that.

How do we know what butterflies in our stomachs would feel?  That’s not what I’d call it.  And it’s not the weasel in there either.  The weasel comes when I’m depressed.  Now I’m anxious.  It feels more like little people dancing.  But how do I know what that would feel like either?  I don’t.  But I know this:  it’s a horrible thing to be sitting here with little people dancing with butterflies in my stomach.

Okay.  That’s it.  I thank you for listening to my worries all week and before.  Then next time I post it will all be over.  Except for the reading I have to do next month in Sag Harbor.  I promise not to start expressing my fears until a week before.  Maybe I can get it down to three or four days.  There is always hope.

 

One Day to Go

Actually, I don’t know how to count this as the reading is tomorrow night.  So is it  two days?

Whatever it is I’ve now reached the point where my anxiety symptoms are showing up.  A pain in the right side of my back near my shoulder blade and a breathing thing. I guess you’d call it accelerated breathing.  Sometimes that makes me feel faint.  I used to have to breathe in a paper bag.  I’m not there…yet.  In the bag, that is.

This is the worst day so far. 

I have to rehearse again today and put in the post-its so I know what to say when I skip over to the next section.  I got the reading down to 21 minutes last time I read it. This is acceptable.  I hope.

Does Sue Grafton go through this?  She probably doesn’t have to read.  I imagine she just does signings because that would take up an hour or more.  So what about other people who read?  Does everyone almost have a heart attack?  Now I’m going too far.  I’m not almost having a heart attack. 

Look, Sandra, if you screw up the reading, give the wrong inflection to a character, so what?  Are people coming to this thing to watch you fail?  Oh, no.  They aren’t, are they? Nah.  Who’d bother to do that?  I refuse to be that much of a cynic.

But I’m still anxious.

3 Days to Go

Today I’m calm.

Borders

Before I start my fear meter I have to say that, yes, I know I’m a) lucky to have a book published b) grateful to have publicity c) not complaining.  Did I leave anything out that I could be attacked for?  If I did consider it an oversight.

Today begins the countdown for me.  Thursday night I’m reading at a Borders in NYC.  I have never read from one of my books at a chain store in NYC before. I’ve read at lots of independents all over the country.  I’ve been on book tours where I had to read every night (and sometimes day) for two weeks.  By the time it was over I’d gotten very good at it.  I had no problem reading from the Lauren Laurano books.  I’m not saying I wasn’t nervous.  I was.  Especially the first time.  That was in a small independent in the Village.  My friends owned it and they made me as comfortable as possible.  But my mouth was dry, my hands shaking and I read in a blackout because I couldn’t remember having done it.

But now I’m reading from a new series featuring Faye Quick.  The time is 1943 in NYC.  Faye is a PI because her boss has gone to war.  I’ve only read once from the first book, THIS DAME FOR HIRE. Thursday night will be my first reading from the second book, TOO DARN HOT.

And I’m a nervous wreck.  Yes, again.  I know I got through the Bryant Park affair.  And I know I did fine and wrote here that I should remember that.  But now it’s all a blur and I don’t remember that.  Besides, this is a reading not a panel.  I will be ALONE.  Reading.  Not alone in the store, I hope.  As long as I have to do this I’d like an audience.  There are eight people I can count on.  I know they’ll be there unless some catastrophe happens in their lives.  And I guess that would be okay.  Eight.  The thing is they’ve already read the book. 

If I have to do this (and I do) I want strangers.  People who I might make laugh.  Might get to buy the book.  Afterall, isn’t that the purpose of readings?

First Reader says I read too fast. The first rehearsal this moring clocked in at 33 minutes.  I think that’s too long for people to sit and have to listen to me.  In the past I’ve done about ten minutes, but now I think that’s too short.  I’d like to do twenty.  But if I slow down I won’t get what I want to read into that period of time.  You see the problems involved?

Getting the right thing to read and getting the right time is enough to make me panic.  Reading it the correct way makes me more than panic.  Was I born to be a writer or an actor?  I’ve acted in my past and I wasn’t very good.  And that was only playing one part at a time.  Now I’m expected to play many, many parts.

Sometimes I lose my concentration and then I don’t know where I am, which character I’m reading and I use the wrong voice.  Sometimes I’ll skip a line or a few words and realize it, then say something out of character like “oh, god”. The character in the book, that is.  I try not to lose it completely and use profanity.  That wouldn’t be out of my character, but it would be out of Faye’s.

Oh, what am I going on about?  It’s plain old-fashoined fear.  FEAR.  Why has this happened?  Why do I say yes to these tortures? Why can’t someone else do this in my place?  Okay, I’m short and have brown hair with a lot of gray in it.  Could Laura Lippman pass for me?  I just checked her blog and she’s got her own gig in Coral Gables, FL that night.  Besides, she’s tall and blonde.  How about Annette Meyers?  She weights about 100 pounds less than I and has red hair.  There has to be a short dark writer out there somewhere who’d love to read from my book. That’s ridiculous.  Why would any writer want to read from my book when they could read from their own?  This is a stupid tangent.

I have to face it.  I’m going to live with the rat gnawing at my innards for the next four days.

 

 

Bryant Park, etc.

It’s over.  As predicted I was a wreck.  Snarling at First Reader. Had no caffeine before boarding the bus.

Once in got some caffeine.  Still snarling.  Finally met up with the others at Coliseum Books.  I’d never met the other writers before.  Cynthia Baxter, Carol Goodman, Laura Lippmam and Gammy Singer, the moderator. They were all friendly and charming.  I had no idea Laura was so tall.  I also met Lindsey Benoit, my publicist.  Also lovely.

We trooped over to the Bryant Park venue.  I was still shaky.  First Reader had gone on ahead to get a seat.  It was hot.  But the setting was beautiful.  There was a very big crowd. We took our seats and we were off.  I made sure I wasn’t the first to be asked a question by not sitting at either end.  I didn’t have to knock anyone over to accomplish this.

Once I was into it I was fine.  Why can’t I remember this?  It all went well.  Everyone was smart and articulate.  There were questions from the audience and then it was over.  We all signed books for people and the store.

Even though it would be considered a success I was so happy to have it over.

And now I can dread July 13th at Borders.  This is worse because I’ll be alone.  And I’ll have to read from the book.

What if no one comes?

Interviews, etc.

It’s starting.  Yesterday I had to have my picture taken for the local paper.  It was hell.  I’m completely unphotogenic.  I’ve twice had pros, who do authors, take my picture and it took rolls and rolls and rolls of film to get one.

This photo will go with an interview that will appear on page 2 of this paper.  The interview is in two hours.  I’m meeting the writer at a cafe that has gelato so that’s a plus.  I know the writer so that’s another plus.  I think.  I’ve never been interviewed by someone I know.

At any rate, this is great exposure for me and I’m delighted that the paper wanted to do this.  So I’m not complaining even if it seems I am.  As always, what I’m trying to do is show what it’s like to have a book published if you’re in my league and not a star.

Speaking of stars, I read in the paper today that big name crime writers are getting gigs at casinos.  Now that I wouldn’t mind as I love to gamble.  Who am I kidding?  I’d be terrified to speak in front of 1200 people as Janet Evanovich did.  And just to ward off the comments I’m not knocking Evanovich for doing this.  I wish I had her smarts about these things. And, of course, I wish I had her sales!

Wednesday the 28th I’m appearing on a panel in Bryant Park in New York with Cynthia Baxter, Carol Goodman and Laura Lippman.  Gammy Singer is the moderator.  I’ve never met any of these writers.  I’ve exchanged email with some.  And I’m very honored to have been asked to appear with them.  But right now, as I sit and think about this, I’d rather be dead.

It scares me.  Simple as that.  You’d think after all this time, having gone on book tours, I’d be over that.  But I’m not and probably never will be.  It’s a fact of my life.

Some writers love this sort of thing.  I mean really, really love it.  I know there has to be some who feel the way I do, but I never seem to meet them.

I won’t even go into the Borders reading that’s coming up in July.  Not now I won’t.

So why do I do these things if I hate them?  Because I’m asked to.  I want to be cooperative and if the publicity person thinks it’s worth doing I have to believe her.  And btw, this new one is great.  Her name is Lindsey Benoit, in case anyone reading this is ever lucky enough to work with her.  I’ll actually meet her on the 28th.

This isn’t a reading we’re doing.  We’re answering questions posed by the moderator and then some from the audience.  Here are my fears:  what if I don’t know how to answer?; what if I sound stupid?; what if my mind goes blank? what if no one from the audience asks me a question?  Ah, see.  I’m of two minds.

Believe me, if I wasn’t asked to do this or other events I’d be mad.  I’d feel left out.  Abandoned. Dissed.

Still, I’d rather stay in my room.

Checking In

The Guilt Meter says I’m doing very well.  In the first week I’d be guilty in the morning (that’s when I write) and fine in the afternoon.  On Friday I went to the movies, but I often do that when I’m writing so guilt didn’t register.

This week no guilt.  A feeling of freedom.

But I’m still in the game because my new book is about to come out and I’ve been getting reviews both print and online.  So far all have been good.  And I’ll be making a few appearances, readings and panels, etc.  I’ll list them when I feel strong about working on the code.  Right now anyone who wishes to see them can go to my website.

The big surpise is that I don’t seem to have enough time to do everything I have to do and want to do.  How is that possible?  I did these same things before and wrote, too.  It’s one of those things that doesn’t add up or make sense. 

I’ve done a lot of reading but still haven’t caught up with email.   And my addiction to buying books has been arrested for the time being, I think.  I only have one book coming.  Hate that.

Quote

"My task...is to make you hear, to make you feel - and, above all, to make you see. That is all, and it is everything."

Joseph Conrad

Decision and Guilt

Okay, I lied.  I didn’t go back to work on June 5th.  Or 6th.  Or today.  I made a decision over the weekend that I was going to take the summer off.  I’ve been wanting a whole summer for decades.

Maybe if I were on a roll with this book I’d keep going now.  But I’m not.  And as I’ve said ad nauseum, no one is waiting for this novel.

But what to do about the guilt?  I feel it in my gut.  If this is going to continue I’m going to have to write.  And I really don’t want to now.  If I have to go back to writing the book will suffer. 

I’ve published 19 novels.  I should get points for that.  I know Ed McBain published over a hundred (I think) wrote from 9 to 6 and never took off a day. I don’t think he did.  The McBain historians are welcome to correct me.  But even if I’m off by this or that, the man still wrote and published all the time. 

I’m not comparing myself to him in anyway, how could I?  I’m just using him as an example of someone who wrote and wrote and here I am having published 19 and thinking I need a vacation.

It’s not so much need as want.  But what fun is it going to be with a fist in my stomach?  I’m hoping this will go away.  I want to spend a lot of time reading.  And if it ever stops raining I want to lie in my hammock to do that.

Also, I’ll be able to stay up for the Yankee games if they run late.  I’ll be able to do a lot of things I can’t do when I’m on my writing schedule.  Not feeling the way I do today, however.

I’ll just have to wait and see.  Maybe I’ll ease into this thing.

I fully intend to start writing again after Labor Day.  Go back to work like everybody else.

I’ll continue to post here about things that have to do with writing.  And I’ll try not to whine about my guilt.

"A writer is someone for whom writing is more difficult than it is for other people."

Thomas Mann

Death

I was listening to the author of The Book Thief on the radio this morning and it started me thinking.  Not about death because I think of that daily.  But rather that I make death happen all the time.  We in the crime field do it constantly.

I kill people a lot.  And I do it cavalierly. I hit some keys and it’s done.  I murder someone.  That character is dead. 

I read about it all the time, too.  Death.  It’s not hard for me to read.  Or write.  And yet I fear it.  So what are we all doing, we crime writers?  We dispatch people like we’re tossing away a candy wrapper.  It doesn’t mean anything to me. 

I’m always amazed by people who say “I can’t read Z kind of book because it’s too upsetting.  Murders and all.”  They’re talking about fiction.  I never get upset or frightened by death in a movie because I know it’s a movie.

But I do get upset by the idea of death.  Mostly my own.  Many friends have died over the years and that was hard.  It wasn’t fiction and I felt it.  Still, the idea of my own death can give me chills.

And yet I write about it.  Not my own, of course.  But death in all it’s guises.  Nothing is off limits for me to write.  Or read.  Except the graphic death of an animal or a child.  Don’t want to write that either.  Won’t. I’ve written about a child found dead, but I don’t want to go much beyond that.

Nothing scares me more than knowing I’m going to die.  Yet I’ve chosen a genre that relies on death.  When I’m writing a murder scene I never think about my own death.  Perhaps I use this as a technique to keep death away from me.  It’s very convoluted if that’s what I’m doing.  And stupid.

Because I’m going to die.  No matter what I do.  No matter how many times I joke and say I’m not going.  I’m going.  And so are all the crime writers in the world.  I think we’re all very strange.

Circumstances

Last Monday I finished the chapter I was working on.  That was the last time I wrote anything. 

This week I’m not writing either.  I have a lot of reasons…things I’m doing and having a birthday.  You see, this not having a contract leaves me pretty free to do what I want.

I’ll start again on June 5th.  Yeah, I will.  Even if I don’t feel like it.

Quote

"Writing fiction has developed in me an abiding respect for the unknown in a human lifetime and a sense of where to look for the threads, how to follow, how to connect, find in the thick of the tangle what clear line persists."

Eudora Welty

As Time Goes By

That’s what it feels like today. 

Last week I did pretty well with this thing I’m writing.  But, of course, as predicted, by this Monday I hated it.

I wrote a paragraph that day.  Nothing Tuesday. Another page today.  I feel stuck.  My mind is all over the place except on the novel.  Instead of writing a book I’m buying books. From everywhere. Especially England.  I know this is an addiction because there’s no way I will ever read them all.  But it isn’t the reading, is it?  Although I read plenty of them.  It’s in the ordering, the arriving, the opening, the smelling of the book, the reading of the quotes, the dedication, the first line.

The above almost sounds like a drug addiction.  I don’t know this first hand, but it seems that drug addiction has rituals unlike drinking.  Yes, drinking has some, but not like shooting up.  At least it’s not that way in what I read.  The drugs, I mean.  Heroin.  My heroin is books.

But I’m supposed to be writing one.  Today I feel that I’d be happy if I never wrote another word.  Maybe I won’t.

Quote

"Writing is an occupation in which you have to keep proving your talent to those who have none."

Jules Renard

The Novel

Over the weekend I kept thinking, why am I writing this novel?  Who will give a damn about it?  I’m wasting my time. What’s the point?  Even if my agent likes it (unlikely) who will buy it, publish it?

Today I read what I have.  I think it’s good.  I liked it a lot.  The characters are interesting, the whole thing moves along quickly, I keep advancing the story and if I can pull off the main point I’ll really have something.  Whoopee!

Tomorrow I’ll start to actually write.  I can’t imagine that I’ll keep this optomistic view for long.  And even if I do, sooner or later I’ll go back to the questions above and probably add some.

Writers of other blogs sometimes mention that writers who blog are whining all the time about how tough this profession is.  I hope my postings aren’t mistaken for whines.  That’s not my purpose.  I’m simply trying to show what writers go through.  Ups, downs, highs, lows. 

I got my Kirkus review for Too Darn Hot.  Of course it wasn’t good, but it wasn’t that bad, either. Two picky, mean lines and the rest a synopsis.  It was annoying but it didn’t put me in a state or send me to bed with covers over my head.  Some will say I’m committing suicide with Kirkus to write that here.  If I didn’t write it I wouldn’t be playing fair as far as the purpose of this blog.  I have to mention the bad reviews along with the good and tell my reactions to them.  So sue me!

The Past Two Weeks

Due to circumstances beyond my control I haven’t written for the last two weeks.  To some degree I  liked it.  But now it’s getting to me.  So, once again I’ll have to read that damn manuscript (because I can’t remember anything) and get back on schedule Monday.

I look forward to it.  Whatever it is.  Who are those people?  Where do they live?  What are they up to?  Where are they going? 

Let's Call It Cheating

First we had one after another journalist making up stories.

Then came James Frey.

Now we have Kaavya Viswanathan at Harvard, who has admitted to plagerising parts of her novel from two of another writer.

What is going on?  If you can’t write a story or memoir or novel by yourself then perhaps you’re in the wrong career.  Writing should be an internal process that is original.

Original:

1. Preceding all others in time; first.
2. Not derived from something else; fresh and unusual: an original play, not an adaptation.
3. Productive of new things or new ideas; inventive: an original mind.

Is that so hard to understand?

The mind boggles.

Quote

"Anything we fully do is an alone journey...you are alone when you write a book."

Natalie Goldberg

Advance The Story

I had a three day week again.  Monday, Wednesday, Thursday.  Going to the movies today. I can do my Friday movies as long as I want because….well, you know why.  Nobody is waiting for me to deliver a manuscript.

My lastest book comes out at the end of June.  I only have one gig so far.

Anyway, what I started doing this week was to get it down and to stop thinking of other things.  Nevermind the same two words in a paragraph.  The justs, reallys, verys, and onlys can come out later.  Advance the story.  This is all I have to think about at this stage.  The rest can come in the rewrite and the rewrite after that before it goes to my agent.  I can’t imagine what she’ll think about this novel.  I know she’ll be surprised as I”ve never written anything like this.  But will she like it? I can’t worry about that now.  Advance the story.

Keep moving.  Push ahead.  Advance the story.  This can apply to any kind of book.  It certainly applies to crime novels.  That isn’t to say forget about character.  Never for me. But I can fix that in the rewirte and the rewrite after that.

Advance the story.

Writing Again

I went back to the novel on Monday.  It was a good day.  I zipped along.  Tuesday wasn’t as good, but I got down what I needed to.  I have to remind myself that I’m going to rewrite and not to worry that I have the same word in consecutive sentences.  No, not I, the or and.

Which reminds me.  I picked up a crime novel in the store the other day and glanced at the first page.  There were five “justs” on that one page.  I use my search tool to get out just, very and really.  Yes, there’s a place for them once in awhile.  And I don’t mind them in dialogue, depending on who’s speaking.

Back to my writing on Tuesday.  I finished the chapter I started the day before.  And I knew where I was going next.  I still do.  But I didn’t write today.  Life interfered.

I plan to write tomorrow.  I would rather sit and read Sarah Waters’ book, but I’m not going to indulge myself.  Even though no one is waiting for the novel I’m writing I still have to apply some of my discipline on my daily schedule or I’d never do any work.

I’m going to go read that book now.

Quote

"The pages are still blank, but there is a miraculous feeling of the words being there, written in invisible ink and clamoring to become visible."

Vladimir Nabokov

Just Can't

I know I’m the first one to say that you have to sit in front of your computer (or whatever you use) for three hours a day no matter what happens.

Well, I’m not.

I don’t feel like writing.  I know, it has nothing to do with feeling like it.  But I don’t want to and I’m not going to.  I started.  Yesterday one paragraph.  Today two lines.

I’m not depressed.  Still, I feel sad.  You’d think I’d be happy today after getting that good review from PW yesterday.  Not.

I’d like to eat 4 or 5 Krispy Kremes.  Or a pint of  Ben & Jerry's Everything but…  It’s been a long time between pints.

So, more time to read.  I wish I knew why I feel so anti-writing.  I guess I’d better take off the rest of the week to think about it.

PW Review

I got my first review for Too Darn Hot today.  At least I think it’s my first.  There’s always Kirkus.  Usually that comes first.  But this review is a bit early this year, so who knows?

Is it good?  Yes.  I’m very pleased.  I just looked at this blog at this time last year and I was still writing the first draft.  One of my characters had done something I hadn’t expected.

I knew last week that this PW review was coming and then I kept forgetting about it.  This is new for me.  Last year I didn’t know when it was coming so I can’t compare.  I can only compare to early and middle days of being a published writer.  I’d be very anxious and then if it was bad I’d go to bed for the day.  Or week.

God, I’m glad I’ve grown older and maybe wiser.

A Hundred Pages

Yesterday my First Reader read the 100 pages I’ve done.  I got a resounding yes.  FR is very honest and would never steer me wrong.  I’m more than pleased about this.  I almost can’t believe I did it.  Especially using the method I did.

I’m taking a week away from it.  I have to do some reading and since I have no deadline I can do what I want.

I need to think about where I’m going next and how to get there.  I’m heading into Act Two now which is always the hardest.  Of course I’m thinking about the three act play.  That’s the way it used to be.  The well-made play had three acts.  I don’t know when it changed to two. 

No more picking titles out of the wooden box. I have my cast and I have their goals.  I even have a few tricks up my sleeve.  But I don’t know everything nor would I want to.  I read yesterday that neither Elmore Leonard nor Donald Westlake knows the end of a novel when he starts.  That made me feel great because, those of you who have been reading this blog from the beginning, know that I have no idea either.  Believe me, I’m not comparing myself to either of these men.  But it’s nice to know I’m not insane.

Last year when I was having trouble with Too Darn Hot a lot of writers talked about writing outlines and how they couldn’t do a book without one.  I’m just the opposite.  I’d rather do almost anything rather than write an outline or a synopsis.  So it was terrific to read that about two heavyweights in the crime writing business.

 

Quote

The kind of story a writer ends up telling is the result of the kind of person the writer is.

Chris Van Allsburg

First Reader

Last week ended up being okay and I thought I could finish rewriting the last part today.  I’d be caught up and could start new tomorrow with chapter 10.  The best laid plans, etc. I don’t usually say anything personal that isn’t connected with writing, but I have to.  I have a very sick cat and I’m waiting for the Vet to call.  Then I’ll have to take him about 45 min. away.  So I couldn’t write today.

I’ve been nervous about catching up with myself.  What if I don’t know where to go when I finish what I have?  Now that I’ve made important changes, shaping the book entirely, I should know what to do.  That doesn’t mean I will. 

I’m thinking about letting my first reader take a look at these 100 pages.  I don’t usually do that unless I’m giving that 100 pages to my agent.  Since I decided not to show my agent this book until I’m finished, should I give the first 100 to first reader?  I’ll have to think about this.

Hope I can finish up tomorrow.  Then I’ll read it and make my decision.

Books and Books and Books

I’ve had some news that makes me sick.  Yes, it has to do with publishing.  I’m not going in to it because there’s no point.  It would come out like gossip.  But it reinforces how this business has changed.

Yesterday I was totally discouraged about what I was writing.  Today I liked it.  Still, somewhere I know that I won’t sell it.  I don’t think I’ve ever written with that underlying knowledge since my first book.  It’s strange to be back in that position.

The world of print is overwhelming me.  I have the research books, new books from the library and the books that are coming in for the First Best P.I.  Also a book that I agreed to blurb.  And besides that I’m supposed to have a life.  I think the life has to go on hold.

Last Week

I rewrote the first four chapters this past week.  I think it makes everything better and is setting up what I want to do.  So why am I depressed?

I’m not sure.  I think I’m not staying in the moment, let alone the day.  I think about what will happen when I catch up to what I’ve already written and have to go forward.  I think about the fact that at this stage in my career I’m writing a book on spec.  I shouldn’t be thinking of either of those things.  It doesn’t help.

I am engaged in this book and find myself making notes as I read or watch TV or cook or whatever I’m doing.  But I’m not used to writing this way….knowing I’m not going to show it to my agent when I have 100 pages.  I have to write the whole thing before I show it to her.  This is my choice and I have to remember that.

I’m not whining! 

There is a new interview with me on Girl Detective.  See, there are some good things and some bad things going on.  The interview is a good thing.

Tomorrow I’ll continue rewriting.

Here I Go Again

Started writing today.  Or rewriting, I guess.  First chapter is finished for now.  I have it going in the right direction.  Other than that I have no idea if it’s good or not.  I’m not going to worry about that now.  I have to keep on going forward, making changes, shaping it.  Good or not can’t matter.

 

An Amazing Discovery

On Feb. 20th I ended my post saying I was going to read what I had written so far.  I didn’t do that.  I don’t know why.  Instead I continued to bluff my way through this novel.  That didn’t work.

On Feb. 24th I said I was going to read some books that might help me. So yesterday I sat down with some of the books that I’d ordered and received and my manuscript.  I thought, why not read it first.  So I did.

Part way through I realized that the key to what I wanted to write was a throwaway line in Chapter One.  I went back and looked at it again.  Yes.  This could work.  I went on and read the rest. 

I’d been right.  The small bit in the first chapter was what I’d been searching for.  I couldn’t believe it.  I can’t believe it.

Two things. 1. I’m still going to read some of these books.  I’ve already started that. 2. It’s not exactly what I thought I was going to write but it’s in the same vein.  And I like it better than what I’d started out to do.

I can’t say how excited I am by this discovery.  It means I have a lot of changes to make to what I’ve written so far.  Also a lot of inserts.  But that’s just fine.

I still don’t know how it ends, but I don’t want to know that.  This isn’t a whodunnit but it will come to an end and things will need to be sorted out, characters attended to, loose ends tied up.

I don’t think I’ll pick the chapter titles out of the box anymore.  But I might.  I’ll have to see how it goes.  Lots of work before the next chapter.  I probably won’t start writing until next week because I want to read some of the material I’ve collected.  I could move ahead now as the books I got don’t exactly apply to what I’m going to do.  But there are things I can learn, things I already learned about one of the character’s profession.

I find it completely amazing that I had it all the time and didn’t know it.  Will miracles never cease?

A Rotten Horrible Week

Nothing got better.  I continue to not know what I’m doing.  It’s frustrating and demoralizing.  I can’t get a real handle on this thing.

What I have to do is read a few books on the subject.  I’ve ordered some and hope they come soon.  Not fiction.  In other words, I have to take a course, a class. My own.  I’ve done this before.  When I was getting ready to write Donato & Daughter I read a lot of true cop books.  It was very helpful.  I couldn’t point to any part of the novel now and say “this is what I learned from blank blank” but the studying of the cop books gave me an understanding, familiarity and confidence that I hadn’t had.

Before I wrote my first P.I. I read all the P.I. books I could.  This time they were novels.

So, I’m going to try this method again.  It’s one thing to not know where you’re going in a form you know how to write.  Another to not know where you’re going with a form you don’t know how to write.

I hate having to stop to do this.  It gets me all off schedule.  But there’s no schedule to be on if you don’t know what the hell you’re doing.  So if I’m going to give this book a chance to see the light of day, I have to go to school for about a week or two.

Good thing no one is waiting for this one.

 

 

What could I have been thinking?

I can’t write a book of this type.  Who do I think I am?  Just because I can write and I can get published doesn’t mean I can write this kind of novel.  I love reading them.  But that’s probably where it ends. 

Can I write a literary novel?  No.

A romance? No.

Science Fiction? No.

Fantasy?  No.

Historical (before 1900?) No.

Of course I don’t want to write any of those.  Still, just because I want to write what I’m slinging on the page doesn’t mean I can do it justice. 

I’m going to read what I have so far and if it isn’t completely awful I’ll continue to not know how to do what I’m doing.  If ya get my drift.

This Week's Work

I had a pretty good three day week.  Pieces and people are connecting now. 

Yesterday I was knocking it out and a friend called who was in trouble.  It was the kind of call I couldn’t not take.  The call lasted an hour.  When I turned back to my screen I realized I couldn’t go on.  My energy and my focus were gone.  Mostly my focus.

Today I picked up where I’d left off.  I was slow getting into it.  The energy I’d had the day before wasn’t there.  Not because of the phone call, but because it was a different day.  Eventually I was able to complete the scene and it wasn’t bad. When I finished I wondered if I’d not been interrupted yesterday, would I have written the same thing?  I’ll never know but I don’t think I would have.

It’s a new concept to me.  On different days we may write different things about the same material.  I never thought about it before.  Maybe I would’ve written something better yesterday.  Maybe worse.  But I’m sure it would’ve been different even though I wouldn’ve used the same people.  That’s not even true.  When I finished the scene I’d been working on before the phone call I put in a break and started on a new character and scene.  Would I have gone to that place, that person yesterday?

On the other hand, perhaps it was a good thing I was interrupted yesterday because what I wrote then might have taken me in a whole different direction that wouldn’t really advance the story or even be necessary.

This is what I think.  You have to wear blinders and earplugs and keep your eyes and mind on what you’re writing.  Let nothing interrupt you.

Tomorrow I’m going to the movies.

 

Update On TDH and How The Other One Is Going!

Yesterday my new publicity person at my publisher called me to introduce herself.  She was very bubbly and full of life.  I liked her.  My experience has been that this is the way publicity people are and should be.  The person I had on TDFH wasn’t like that at all. Perhaps that’s why she never got me a single signing, interview or reading.  But the new one sounds very gung ho about all those things.  It picked me up very nicely.  All of this is five months away but I know how quickly time goes.

Now the other thing.  The novel.  And, yes, it seems to be shaping up that way. I now have 60 pages.  Every one a gem.  Not.  Today the title pulled out of the box was Out of the Past.  Perfect for the direction I was going in.  As you can imagine from that title it could open many doors.  Probably does even if you’re reading this.

The first part of the chapter doesn’t reflect that title, but the second half, which I’ll write next week…Tuesday not Monday as Monday is a special day for me that I always celebrate…will definitely be influenced.  It’s amazing how the title gave me a whole connection of characters I hadn’t imagined before.

So today I don’t hate it.  I love it.  I think it’s funny and interesting and just exactly what I’d like to read.  But it hasn’t been easy getting here.  After my last mash note about it earlier in the week, I had some lousy days…one where I went from hate to love and back to hate all in the same writing session.  And you’ll read my complaints and hatred again.  Nice having one thing in your life you can count on.

I knew yesterday when I finished the chapter that I’d be all right today.  I didn’t know precisely where I’d be going because the pick of the title hadn’t happened.  Still, I felt it wouldn’t matter.  I got lucky.

I’m reading more than ever.  It’s almost a frenetic type of reading.  I don’t want to do much else.  The books I’m reading aren’t wiping out my own characters.  They’re helping.  I can’t explain that.

No movies today.  What’s to see?  Harrison Ford?  No thanks.  My celebration on Monday usually includes a movie, but I can’t think what I could stand to see.  I’ve seen all the good ones.  Maybe I’ll have to come up with a different kind of celebration.

But for now…excuse me while I go read.

 

Quote

"Writing is like crime. The page is about what you can get away with. We break and enter, transgress, autopsy the living and dead, rob, exchange identities, lie, confess, steal. The arts of writing and successful crime are the same. Opportunity. Robbery. Seizure. Con. Misdirection. Theft. Fiction is a form of fraud, the most elegant, exquisite and complicated forms of creative fraud."

Kate Braverman

 

What A Difference A Week Makes

I hate it. I don’t want to write it anymore.  It stinks.

Discovery

This was a three day week…including today.  Yesterday was a nightmare because of questions about Too Darn Hot from the assistant of my old editor.  I’m not going into it here because of the trouble it caused the last time when I got too detailed.  However, I’ll say this: it’s never over until it’s over.  When the book is between hardcovers then all you need fear are the reviewers.

Today I’m going to the movies as I so often do on Fridays.  This is a practice I had to give up writing the second part of TDH last year so I could make a deadline.  I have no deadline now (except in my head) so I’ll continue my Friday afternoon movie going unless there isn’t anything to see.

The three days I did work were terrific.  I was forced to rewrite chapter one because chapter four changed everthing.  I didn’t mind at all.  I don’t rewrite as I go along I just keep pushing ahead.  I used to have a sign on my bulletin board that said, “Advance the Story.”  And that’s what I try to do in the first draft.  But I had to rewrite chapter one so that I could write chapter five and have it make sense to me.

Chapter four has changed the whole tenor of the novel.  It’s even changed the title.  It’s now a type of sub-genre crime novel I’ve always wanted to write.  I hope I can pull it off.  I’m heading in the right direction but I’m still in Act One and that’s the easiest part. 

I find myself thinking about these characters all the time.  This is much more involving for me than the Faye Quick books.  That doesn’t mean I didn’t like those books or didn’t care, but this is a different type of project.  Writing Faye wasn’t a new sub-genre for me.  I’d done six P. I. novels before I began TDFH.  So even though I didn’t know who the murderer was when I started I still knew the form very well.

This book is new territory for me.  And it’s not a whodunnit.  I don’t know anything.  The book is telling me everything, leading the way.  The titles I pick from the box are also leading the way.  It’s amazing how well that is working.  This is turning out to be very exciting.  Don’t think that means it isn’t work.  It is.  But, so far, I’m look forward to getting on with it.

I also need to do some research.  I enjoy that.  The novel is set in present day, so the research is different from what I did with the Faye Quick books.  This has more to do with a character’s line of work.  It’s something I know nothing about.  I’ll be reading about it over the weekend. 

Monday, unless some horror greets me, I’ll write again.

 

Quote

"If you are a writer you locate yourself behind a wall of silence and no matter what you are doing, driving a car or walking or doing housework you can still be writing, because you have that space."

Joyce Carol Oates

It Worked

I am writing chapter 3 from the viewpoint of the victim’s wife.  She will become a main character.  The homicide detectives are still there, but they’re minor characters.  We don’t know anything about them, except what a reader might learn from dialogue and the main character’s observations.

This works very well for me.  I’ll finish chap. 3 tomorrow and start on 4 if all goes well.  I feel so much better about all of this.

Quote

"As I keep saying, fiction is truth. I think fiction is the truest thing there ever was."

Arundhati Roy

Ready To Throw in the Towel

Today I slogged along hating what I was writing.  I decided this method wasn’t working.  Not only didn’t I know what was going on, I wasn’t comfortable with it at all.  Some days may be hard, but I have to feel comfortable. They’re two different things.

I called it a day.  Answered some email.  Went for the real mail.  Picked up the book I’m reading and then it came to me.  I hate the people I invented in this latest chapter.  They’re homicide detectives.  I don’t want to write about cops again.  At least not as major characters. 

The chapter reads so differently from the first two.  This one is stilted and slow and who cares?  Certainly not me and it shows.  I’m killing these cops.  Out they go.  I can keep some of this chapter.  I like the wife of the victim.  I like the dead guy's enemy.  I can do fine with them.

I have to think about this more and I’ll start again on Monday. Maybe the method will work afterall.  I was writing about these cops for two days.  Funny how blind I can be.  At least it’s not a total fiasco. 

I’m going on.

 

The First Week

Those readers who’ve been through TOO DARN HOT with me know that it takes me awhile to get on my regular schedule of writing five days a week.

And the fumbling was true this past week.  I wrote on three days.  One non-writing day was because I hadn’t slept enough the night before.  The other, which began on Thursday was when I tried to back up to my CD drive and it wouldn’t take the new pages.  So Friday I spent dealing with this…I didn’t mean to get so involved and I didn’t mean to get on the phone with support, but I did. 

I have always been able to backup to a CD-RW so that it took my additions.  I’d get a question that would say: There is already a Chapter One on the disc do you want to over write it?  And I’d click yes.  Simple.  Now suddenly I couldn’t do it.  It was saying the disc was a read-only.  It made me insane.  The support person said he never heard that a CD-RW would do what I wanted to do.  WTF?  He said it was my software.  I knew this couldn’t be true but I tried it with another program.  Same thing.  Finally I backed up on a flash drive.  But I woke up this morning thinking about it, wondering what I could do. 

What has this got to do with writing?  Everything. It ruined my Friday work day.  Yes, I’m compulsive about a thwart.  Why couldn’t I write and deal with it afterwards?  Because.

Even so, I have two main characters and wrote 13 pages this week.  A pretty skimpy output for me.  But considering that I have no idea what this book is about and who these people are, not bad.

For anyone just beginning to read this blog, I’ve said before that when I start I know who the protagonist is, the place, and who gets murdered.  I never know who the murderer is until the characters tell me.  I don’t write outlines because I would find that boring.  I want to be surprised.

I may have taken the surprise factor too far.  This time I started knowing nothing.  Those little pieces of paper with titles on them are leading me into a story.  It’s scary but it’s also fun.  I hope next week I’ll get at least four days work done.  The Golden Globes are Monday night so I’ll get to bed later than I usually do, but I’ll let myself sleep later and I’ll sit down at my desk later.  Now that’s really scary. And Friday, if a good movie opens, I’ll have to go.  That means driving for an hour as our local theater doesn’t have matinees except in the summer.  So that inteferes with work. I did this all through TDFH and TDH, except with TDH I had to give up the Friday movies at some point so I could make my deadline. And I did.

But now I don’t have a deadline, which is one more scary thing.  Still, it’s freeing if I don’t think of the financial end of things.  I’ve been used to selling a new book on 100 pages, but I don’t know if I should try that with this one.  I guess by the time I get to 100 I’ll know more and if I think my agent can sell it.  On the other hand, it might be nice to have a whole book for her to shop around.  Of course, maybe she’ll hate it.  Stop it, Sandra.  Stay in the moment.

And this moment, or the next, is going to be about me reading a novel. A MILLION LITTLE PIECES.  Just kidding.

 

First Day

I did it.  I started a new … what?  Let’s call it a book.  I picked a title out of the box.  It was Asphalt Jungle.  That is chapter one.  I wrote four pages.  I have no idea what this is about. I’ll continue this chapter tomorrow.  I know the name of at least one of the characters (this novel may have multiple points of view) and will go on with him for now.

The galleys for TOO DARN HOT arrived today.  They aren’t like the galleys for THIS DAME FOR HIRE.  That one looked like the eventual book.  This is the usual galley which signifies nothing to booksellers except that this is another mystery by Scoppettone.  I can’t say that I’m surprised by this, although it would’ve been nice to have a galley that was the same type as the first book.

Tomorrow

I’m going to start.  For sure.  As sure as anyone can be about anything.

Not Yet

Thursday is no day to start a novel.  Those of you who’ve been keeping up with me know that I never start anything except on a Monday.  It was foolish to think I could begin this past Monday.  I think in the week after the holidays it’s hard to leap into action.

So, this coming Monday I’ll try my gimmick and see how it goes.  There’s a touch of excitement to it.  I’ve never tried anything like this before and it’s always exciting to do something new.

Anybody else ever kick-started themselves with a trick like I have in mind?

 

 

A Gambit

No words on a page yet.  So I’ve decided to try something unusual, to me at least.  I think I made it up.

Yesterday I found a list of fifty noir movie titles on the Internet.  I copied them and then pasted them in my Word program.  I printed the list, then cut them up into one title strips.  I put them in a box. Today I had nasty little errands, but tomorrow I’ll pick one of those strips and make it my first chapter.

I have no idea if this will produce anything worthwhile, but I’m going to try to just take a flyer on this.  Who knows.  It may amount to nothing.  But at least it’ll get me writing something. 

More will be revealed.

First Writing Day of the New Year

It wasn’t.  Didn’t sit in front of the blank screen as I said I would.  But I’m thinking.  Reading bits of things here and there and hoping something will catch my fancy.

I just read on James Reasoner's Blog that he’s written 185 books.  I’m astonished.  We all have different rhythms and no two people write in the same way.  But I’m in awe of this man as I sit here trying to think of an idea for the 20th book in my career.  I think he was born in 1953, which makes him 53.  Much younger than I.  I don’t know when he started writing but let’s say he was 18.  So that’s how many books a year? Oh, you figure it out it’s too much for me.

Then there’s Bob Randisi who has written over 300 books.  And Larry Block and Ed McBain and Georges Simenon and Ed Gorman who have all written many, many books.  I don’t see myself listing any women.  I can’t think of any who’ve written lots and lots of books.  Maybe I’m not remembering.  Oh, yes.  Ruth Rendell has written quite a lot but I don’t think she’s up there in the 100’s.

At any rate, I’m simply not that kind of writer.  I don’t mean anything pejorative by that.   I just can’t write that much.  Or that fast.  As I said on Reasoner’s blog, I don’t believe that speed has anything to do with quality anymore than lack of speed has anything to do with "literature."

But I do wish I could’ve written more in my life.  I didn’t and I’m not going to.  That’s not who I am.  I remember when I first started writing novels my goal was to write 20 in my career.  And here I am on the threshold of 20 with a totally empty brain.

That has to change.  Doesn’t it?

 

A Time for Lists

Everybody else seems to be making a 10 best book list so I decided to do the same. I read 61 books this year and I came up with about 20 bests, which surprised me.  But I had to narrow it down.  Very hard.  So I’ve made my list only fiction. They aren’t all crime novels  and they aren’t in order.  So if anyone cares, here they are.

1.) Case Histories – Kate Atkinson

2.) Die A Little – Megan Abbott

3.) The Washington Story – Adam Langer

4.) Magdalen Martyrs – Ken Bruen

5.) Strange But True – John Searles

6.) Bitch Posse -Martha O’Connor

7.) Deadfolk – Charlie Williams

8.) Taming the Beast – Emily Maguire (pub. US Jan 2006)

9.) The Bright Forever – Lee Martin

10.) The Wheelman – Duane Swierczynski 

 

Mistakes

The email below came to me today. 

Attention Sandra Scoppettone

Hi,

I don't know if it is bad etiquette, but I have to draw your attention on a "faute de fran�ais" in your book "This Dame for hire" on page 91. It should read "ma�tre d'" with the "accent circonflexe" on the i and not on the a. Since the mistake is repeated four times (pages 91, 92, 93 and 97) the honneur of France is of course at stake. "Ma�tre d'h�tel" is a French name. You may want those mistakes to be corrected in the additional prints which this very good novel will surely have.

Please disregard the above if it has already been pointed out to you.
Sincerely, Jean-Fran�ois Landeau

 

I’m sure that’s the way I wrote it, but shouldn’t someone have caught this mistake?  Someone like a copy-editor?  A proof reader?  The writer of the email is kind to think there’ll be further printings.  There won’t.  Except for the paperback.  Should I send this email to my new editor and be considered a pain in the ass, or should I let it go and continue to appear uneducated to readers?

 

Fifteen years ago this would never have happened.  That is why I’m less than happy about some of the things that now go on in publishing.

I hope no one suggests that I should be so grateful to be published that I shouldn’t  care about so small an error.

 

 

Writer's Block

Some very nice people have weighed in with their ideas on how they get ideas.  Someone said something about me having writer’s block.  I don’t.  I’ve had that and this isn’t the same thing.

I’ve had it twice, in fact.  The first time was in the 80’s.  When I’d go to the typewriter I’d get a panic attack and I’d hyperventilate which made me feel as though I was going to faint.  Not exactly conducive to writing.  So I stopped going to the typewriter for a year or two or three.  When I went back I’d become Jack Early.

I published the last of my Laurano series in 1998.  I wrote one book between then and 2004.  The book in between those dates was rejected all over the place.  This was partly because I was doing something I always warn writers against.  I tried to write for the market and not because it was something I wanted to write or in the way I’d normally write.  It wasn’t a good book.  How could it be?

Over those 7 years I’d say I had a form of writer’s block.  I didn’t hyperventilate or faint when I’d sit down at the blank page of Word on my computer because I didn’t go at all.  Some of that was due to a clinical depression that went on for a full year until the right medication clicked in.  But some of it was because I didn’t want to write.  And I felt I couldn’t.

All of the above was very different from what I feel now.  I want to write.  I can’t afford to take time off.  The days dwindle down.  I don’t have a writer’s block, I just don’t have an idea.  Yet.

And I’m so glad people are leaving comments about how they get ideas.  I find it interesting and I might just try some of the suggestions.

Ideas

I keep thinking about the question that so many readers ask when I meet them.  “Where do you get your ideas?”  I’ve always answered glibbly,  “Sometimes they come from a radio talk show, a newspaper article, something someone says, a line in a book I’m reading, etc.” 

So why can’t I use those things to get an idea now?  I’ve never gotten an idea for a book when I was actively looking for one.  Usually they’ve come to me when I was writing a novel and it made me anxious to finish said book and get to the new one.  I think it’s somewhat like looking for a partner when you’re alone.  I never found one while actively searching.

I’m trying not to think about it, but as you can see by this post, I’m not doing too well.  Some people count the days until Christmas, or Christmas shopping is over.  I now count the days until January 2nd, my self-imposed start date for beginning a new novel.  Eleven days.  Not even a full two weeks. 

Yes, it makes me anxious.   Aside from the finacial worries this gives me, writing is what I do.  I’m not at all happy when I’m not writing, even if while I write I complain and can’t wait until the novel is finished.

I have to remember that I didn’t have a contract when I started my latest series.  But, of course, I had an idea.  My agent has been able to sell my books on a 100 pages for quite awhile.  So that’s all I’ll have to write.

But I can’t write 100 pages if I don’t have an idea.  As I’ve said here before I don’t write outlines so she can’t sell it on a four page synopsis.  Even if could write those four pages, I can’t do that either without an idea.

As always the idea has to come first.  That sounds simplistic and it is,  but it doesn’t feel that way.  Let’s face it, I’m in idea hell.

How do you get your ideas?

Page Proofs

I finished them.  The timeline, which worried me, was fine.  The proof reader obviously missed a day and therefore thought the days were wrong.

Because the day missed is very clear, I didn’t need to change it.  At the beginning of a new chapter I wrote, “The ringing phone was my alarm clock.”  If you somehow miss that line and the one that comes next which makes it clear that the protagonist is getting up out of bed, then you could confuse the days.  I can’t see why a reader would miss this.

I was pretty sure my timeline was correct because I paid particular attention to that.  The other questions were easy to answer and 3 or 4 were good catches and I changed them.

I’m glad it’s over.

On Tess Gerritson's blog she writes about the grueling schedule of a book a year.  She also points out that if you miss a year it can be bad for you.  A book a year is very hard.  But I’m not going to have that problem because my publisher is holding off on giving me a contract.  I am, however, going to miss a year and should I get a contract for one or two of my series it won’t be a good thing.

I doubt that I will get a contract and I don’t believe another house would want the series.  My feeling is that this will be a series of two books.

The thought of starting a new series doesn’t interest me right now.  But that could change.  I’d much rather try a stand alone.  I’ve done many of those.

I’m not anxious yet that I don’t have an idea.  I wonder when that will start?  Anxiety, that is.

The Last Step

I’ve received page proofs and the questions that go with them.  There are a lot of questions.  The kind I would’ve expected from a copy editor.  But these are from the proof reader.  I’m beginning to think that this part of the publishing experience has changed.

Obviously the copy editor no longer does the questioning of eyes blue on one page and those same eyes brown on another.  Or the timeline.  Or clothes that miraculously change from morning to afternoon on the same day.

This is now the bailiwick of the proof reader.  When did this change?  Or am I forgetting.  I have to have these in by 1/5/06.  I’ll try to tackle it tomorrow.

I’m very surprised that there are mistakes in the timeline.  When I write I try to keep careful track of that and write Sunday or Monday or whatever day it is at the top of the chapter.  I haven’t looked into it yet, but from my glance at the questions either I got it very mixed up or didn’t clarify.  If the proof reader got it mixed up then I didn’t make it clear, I guess.

I’m glad this is the last thing I’ll have to do on this novel so that I can have a free mind for what comes next.

Right now it feels as though nothing will come next.  Yet I know something will.

Good News and Bad News

Which do you want first?  I think good news should always be first because it tends to carry one through the bad news.  Of course in this case, both good and bad pertain to me so it doesn’t really matter to the reader.  Still, here’s the good news.

I’ve been assigned a new editor.  She seems very nice (we’ve only spoken on the phone) and she’s exactly who I would’ve chosen for myself. 

The bad news is that Ballantine is not going to give me a new contract until they see how well Too Darn Hot does.  Remember the numbers post?  It’s all about the numbers.  That means how well you sold.  Nothing to do with getting audio sales or book clubs and definitely nothing to do with reviews.  It’s how many copies of your book were sold.  As respectable as the numbers reflect my sales for the first book in a mystery series as I see it, it wasn’t enough for my publisher, and that’s who the boss is.

Since TDH will be published in late June, 2006, I probably won’t know anything before this time next year.  A little more vacation time than I wanted.  Or needed.

I don’t have a “dying to write this” idea now, but I plan to start hitting the keys on January 2nd. It’s a Monday, which is when any self-respecting author should begin a new novel.  I hope I don’t have to insert a smiley face everytime I make a little joke, because I don’t plan to.

At this stage in my career, I don’t have a lot of time to waste.  I’ll be open to a new idea and hope that something comes my way.  Even if doesn’t happen by Jan. 2nd I’ll sit down at this computer and face the blank page in Word on my monitor.  I’ll sit there my usual 3 to 4 hours even if I don’t type anything.  I can’t write if I’m answering email or surfing the web or reading  a book. 

For now I’ll read, blog, go to the movies and see friends. But I’ll be at my post on January 2nd, 2006.

I may be down, but I’m not out.

Update

I had a computer crash last Friday and ever since I’ve been dealing with the nightmare we all dread: reinstalling.

I didn’t want anyone to think I’ve abandoned my blog.

I lost my email addresses so anyone who has previously given me their email address privately, would you please do so again.

I have some news and I’ll be posting it here soon.

Quote

"Close the door. Write with - no one - looking over your shoulder. Don't try to figure out what other people want to hear from you; figure out what you have to say. It's the one and only thing you have to offer."

Barbara Kingsolver

My Last Word On This

In the past two days I’ve been called: a nitwit, pretentious, angry, mean, sour, a whiner, crazy, suicidal, insulting, a nightmare author, difficult, and have been told to shut up.

I’m sure I’m leaving some nasty name calling out, but I think any reader will get the general idea.  A lot of this bad-mouthing came from a blog called Miss Snark, the literary agent.  She/he might as well call him/herself Miss Anonymous. I doubt very much if this person is a literary agent.  I know my agent would never have the time to write a blog.  Not to mention the inclination. 

I had no idea what I posted would create such a brouhaha.  I was simply continuing to do what I state above this post.  All along I’ve taken the reader with me on this last book.  Losing my editor was another step.

I’ll continue my blog as before.  As of this moment this tempest in a teacup is over for me.

Never Write Scripts

Not the movie kind.  The ones in your head or that you write on a blog or tell your friends.  The best reason not to do this is because you are always wrong.

On Friday my editor called me.  I was surprised to hear from him as it was a long weekend and he doesn’t call me socially.  We chatted for a few minutes about Thanksgiving and even then I was writing a script in my head:  he was calling me to tell me they weren’t going to offer me another contract.  Again I was wrong.

The reason he was calling me was to tell me that he was leaving the publishing company. Not because he was moving on to a new job, but because he’d had it with the business.  He said he hated to use the term burned out but that’s what he was. I was stunned.  I told him I understood and I do.  He worked too much and he wanted a life.  He doesn’t know what he’ll do but whatever it is won’t be in publishing.

I asked him if this was the reason I hadn’t been offered a contract.  He said no.  It was because they wanted to see how Dame performed.  I know that can’t be the reason because Dame has done her performance by now.  If he’d been staying on he would’ve pushed for a new contract (if that’s what he wanted) but it wasn’t up to him, since he was leaving, to make deals.

This coming week he was going to sit down with the head of the company and talk about what authors should be with what editors.  That doesn’t say anything about my situation.

What worries me is the new book, Too Darn Hot, which will be published in June.  Even if a new contract hadn’t come my way, this editor would’ve still been on top of things and moved the book as much as possible.  As the book is finished and there’s nothing for a new editor to do on it, it’ll lie there like a lox.  Unless there’s a new contract and then it’ll be different.  At the moment my book is an orphan.

When I called my agent and told her he was leaving she said, “This is very bad news.”  Then she said she was very close with the head of the company and she’d call that person on Monday.

This doesn’t put paid to my earlier anxieties as everything I worried about still applies and in fact adds to my worries.  Who will my new editor be, if I’m going to have one?

Not to insult anyone, but this editor is the last of a certain breed…a gentleman and a man of experience.  I don’t know for sure, but I’d say he’s in his early fifties.  He mentioned the possiblitity of one editor and I asked how old the person was.  Twenty-nine.

I know any editor is probably going to be younger than I, but twenty-nine?  He/she could be even younger, not only at this publishing house but almost everywhere.  I’m not saying an editor of that age has to be horrible, in fact I know that someone so young could be the best editor I’ve ever had.  Still, it gives me pause.

So that’s it.  The next step will be hearing from my agent after she talks to the head of the company. 

I’m going to try to use this extension of my “vacation” to enjoy myself.  I’ll also allow my mind to be open to new ideas.  I won’t search but I’ll be open.

So, as you’ve already gathered, the moral of this story is, thinking you know all the possibilities is stupid and useless and makes you a bigger asshole than you already are.

Pardon me while I stand in the corner.

Galley Pages

I’ve finished doing them.  Not many mistakes at all.  I felt very cranky having to do this.  What will I be like if I have to go back to work again?  And what will I feel like if I don’t have to go back to work?

Still no news.

 

The Weekend is Here

And I’ve heard from no one.

Next week begins the countdown to the holidays.  Unless something is decided in the first part of next week I feel it’s unlikely that I’ll know anything before the 1st of the year.  Maybe I’m wrong about this, but it’s my feeling.  Yeah, I know: feelings aren’t facts.

The  Reader’s Digest sale made back in the spring for  This Dame came to life today when a copy was sent to me.  It’s strange to see my jacket cover on the book with three other authors.  And at the end of my novel there’s my picture and a bio.  Also they’ve taken material about me from my blog and website.  Of course there are mistakes.  I didn’t graduate from Columbia University, for instance. I guess they couldn’t believe it was Columbia High School. But that’s fine. Columbia University is a terrific school.

My galley pages have arrived but I’m not doing anything about them until Monday.  And I’m not going to think about the contract thing either.  It’s bad enough that I have to have a root canal tomorrow.

The Next Step

Email from editor:

This afternoon we'll place in the mail to you the loose galley pages of TOO DARN HOT.  I'm crossing my fingers that they'll be in tip-top (or close to tip-top) shape and that you'll breeze through them with very few corrections. 

However, whatever those corrections are, could you send them to Paul and me by November 28?  You need return only the pages on which you make changes.  In fact, if the changes really are few, you can just e-mail us:  page number, paragraph (or line number), and what the change should be.

Anyway, expect the package to arrive to you either tomorrow or Friday.

Waiting.

 

 

The Wait Goes On

Still waiting.

I got the cover art back…the latest with the wrong hemline.  They corrected the problem by moving the figure down on the jacket so that you won’t know where the hemline is. Puhleeze.

However, I think it’s a nifty jacket.

Waiting some more.

 

Oh, Okay

January, the online magazine, gave me a great review.  I sent one to my editor and one to my agent.  I told my agent I wanted her to be armed when she talks to the editor.  This is what she wrote back to me:

Hey, thanks for sending this.  And stop worrying.  love, Agent

I wrote back and said I couldn’t change my whole personality at this point in life.  Laid back I’m not.  Surprise!

 

The Email

Hello, Agent

I got your voice message.

Hereabouts this week is jam-packed with launch meetings for next year--both the preparations for the meetings and then actually giving the presentations; so every minute is precious.

Once the dust settles next week and I can get people focused on something other than the launch, I'll set in motion the Sandra Scoppettone discussion.  Thanks for your patience.

Editor

Nothing

No phone call.

No email.

No nothing.

Still Waiting

At 3:40 the phone rang.  I rushed to answer.  It was the trashman’s wife to tell me the pick up will be on Sat. instead of Thurs.  It’s now 10:20 pm and that phone call never came.

Target Day?

Yesterday I spoke to my agent and reminded her that it was November.  She said she’d call my editor today.   Six more hours to go.  Do I believe this will happen?  No.  And even if it does that might not mean my editor is waiting for the call so he can offer a deal.  Or the deal will be so hideous I’ll have to work at the library.  I guess there could be worse places here to work.  Now that I think about it, the library is looking good.

 

Quote

"No one says a novel has to be one thing. It can be anything it wants to be, a vaudeville show, the six o'clock news, the mumblings of wild men saddled by demons."

Ismael Reed