Lying On the Beach With My Back Burned Rare

By Kevin Guilfoile


It feels like one of those lazy Fridays when everyone is getting ready to blow out for somewhere else, and so it's appropriate that my one time employer and second family, Coudal Partners, has launched a new edition of Field Tested Books where a group of writers and bloggers and otherwise interesting people have written short essays about particular books they read in a particular place. Sometimes the reviews are about the appropriateness of the read (don't miss thriller writer Lori Andrews's story about reading The Journalist and the Murderer while sitting next to an actual murderer in New Orleans). Sometimes the stories are about inappropriate settings. Last time around I wrote about reading Let Us Now Praise Famous Men, James Agee's powerful account of the lives of depression-era sharecroppers, while on spring break in South Padre, Texas. In every case, the subject is how the environment in which we read is related to our experience of the book.

Back when I worked there, each of us made a big deal about selecting what books we would bring on vacations. There could have been days and days of debate on the subject and those discussions no doubt led to the project, which is in its fourth incarnation now. A nice feature of the page is that you can sort by reviewer or by book title or by place. And after three editions there are enough of them that you might want to check them out for suggestions before you head to the airport.

But how about you? As we look forward to the official start of summer tomorrow, what memorable experience have you had on the road with a good book?

What are the Odds?

Illinois has sent three governors to prison in the forty years I've lived here--Otto Kerner, Dan Walker and George Ryan. In Illinois it's always about money, not sex, and now that , a big Illinois fixer,has been found guilty, I'm wondering if Rod Blagojevich will become the fourth. Disclosure Notice: I voted for Walker and Ryan. I was too young to vote for Kerner at his final re-election campaign.

I wonder what the odds are? And how do I find out? I was in England during the NCAA tournament, and since I went to KU (go, Hawks!) I decided to bet on my boys. A friend who's a serious punter got her bookie to give me odds--7:2-- and I made me 22 pounds on the boyHawks. They won the day after I came home, so the money is sitting over there. And in April, I decided, DieHard Cubs fan that I am, to spend some of it on the Cubs. My friend's bookie is in a solo shop; he couldn't do pennant races, only the divisions and the Series. So I have 5 quid on the Cubs winning the Central Division, 5 on the World Series. The odds were 10:1 when I placed the bet, so if they come through for me, I'll have 50 pounds, which in today's money, is worth, I think $50,000. or maybe it's fifty million. I'm hopeful, but not optimistic--my first year with the Cubs was the year of the Miracle Mets. Realistic odds should have been more like a thousand to one. Still, I've put money on them this time; I care more. Want my bookie's name?

A-book-a-year-a-book-a-year-a-book-a-year!

by Barbara D'Amato


We’ve all heard that Stephen King and Dean Koontz, prolific writers both, were told not to write more than a book a year, and if they couldn't resist writing, write under a different name.

Her publisher told Agatha Christie not to write more than a book a year. Think of all the Christies we might have if the publisher hadn’t been so foolish.

The reasoning seems to have been that more that a book a year would:

First, diminish the value of the book. If you can write it so fast, it can’t be worth much.

Second, the public will think the second book is the first book and if they already have the book for this year, they won’t buy the new one. This comes under the heading “The Public is Stupid,” which is used as an excuse for a lot of ill-considered and paternalistic behavior.

Well, things aren’t like that any more.

Clea Simon and others have called attention to an article in the Boston Globe by David Mehegan. Mehegan notes that publishers are now urging their authors to get out at least one book a year. Not surprisingly, the issue has been a hot topic on crime and mystery writers’ listserves. The pressure to put out a book a year is apparently strongest for suspense and thrillers but strong for mystery writers as well. Sometimes a promise to write a book a year is a condition of accepting that author in the first place. Difficult? Not so good for quality? It’s good for marketing.

In the article, Patricia Cornwell is quoted as saying, “It’s no problem as long as you don’t have a life.”

Dennis Lehane said that he would not go back to doing a book a year, back to the “hamster wheel.” His novel PRAYERS FOR RAIN came out, he believes, before he really perfected it. Under pressure to get it into print, he thought too late of a way of making it much better.

There are writers who seem to have no trouble with a book or more a year. Robert B. Parker has three books out with a 2007 pub date---NOW & THEN, HIGH PROFILE, and SPARE CHANGE, which I suppose will keep him high profile. But very few people can work that way successfully. On the listserves, there has been much talk about burnout. And of course the issue of quality.

For about fifteen years I brought out a book a year. My just-finished manuscript took four years. There were family reasons, plus I was working part of the time on another project, but mostly it took longer because it’s a bigger book with more technical detail. But I, and I’m sure a lot of other writers, find this new publishing demand stress-inducing. Or as a friend said to me, “poisonous.”

The publishers say we have to keep reminding the readers that we exist.
This seems to be another form of The Public Is Stupid. The public will forget your name if they don’t se it constantly.

Opinions, anyone?

Shouting Out

by Marcus Sakey

Today, instead of blathering on one of my usual topics, I thought I'd take a moment to give a couple of shout-outs.

First, my buddy and sometimes-writing-partner Marc Paoletti's debut novel SCORCH hit bookshelves last week:

SCORCH tells the story of David Cole, a Hollywood special effects pyrotechnician whose world is blown apart (literally) when he inadvertently crosses a film producer with mob ties. In the ensuing mayhem, Cole loses his son, he's horribly burned, and he must use his knowledge of F/X to exact justice before he goes insane from pain and grief.

Publishers Weekly called it "authentic" and "brutal." Kirkus Reviews called it "razor-sharp." BookList called it "genuinely engaging." Crimespree Magazine called it a “thrill ride.” And The Mystery Gazette gave it five out of five stars.

Besides being a hell of a guy and a fine writer, Marc is a former F/X professional who worked on some of the biggest movies of the previous decade, so he really knows his stuff.


Also, the folks at Bleak House Books continue their tradition of publishing exceptional work with Nathan Singer's latest, IN THE LIGHT OF YOU. Check out some of these quotes:

"Quite simply one of the finest coming-of-age novels published so far this century. Incendiary and moving, deeply relevant and searingly honest, it deserves to catapult Nathan Singer into the list of America's best young novelists."
—John Connolly , author of The Book of Lost Things


"In furiously fast-paced prose, Singer gives voice to 16-year-old loner Mikal Fanon and his infatuation with the white power movement. An unblinking portrait of young white rage."
—Booklist

“A brutal, unflinching look at America's racist subculture, replete with sex, violence and jagged-edged punk rock. Nathan Singer does more than narrate the story of the rootless, disaffected kids drawn into the hate: he lets you hear the siren song that lures them to their doom. This is a writer with balls bigger than my entire head.”
—J.D. Rhoades, author of The Devil's Right Hand

And speaking of Dusty Rhoades, the paperback of his latest Jack Keller novel, SAFE AND SOUND, came out recently:

Jack Keller works in fugitive apprehension, and never feels more alive than when he’s hunting down a skip. But when a young girl goes missing, and Keller finds out that the father is an AWOL member of the army’s elite Delta Force, he knows immediately that this case will be anything but fun and games.

Keller is a Gulf War vet who knows his way around the Army’s red tape, but the psychological scars from his experiences in the gulf have only just started to recede enough for him to live and love again. No one is sure how taking on the kidnapping case will affect him, least of all his girlfriend Marie, who’s counting on Jack’s recovery if they are going to have any future together. But a young girl’s life hangs in the balance, and a shadowy group of missing Delta commandos seems to be the key to finding her. For Jack Keller, it’s not an easy decision, but it’s the only one he can make: consequences be damned, he’s going after the girl.

If you're looking for a can't-put-it-down thriller, you can't do much better than J.D. Rhoades.

Finally, our guest-blogger Julia Spencer-Fleming's latest novel, I SHALL NOT WANT, came out on Tuesday. If you haven't tried her series yet, by god, get your butt in gear. Beautiful writing and wonderful characters.

Phew. I know I've forgotten a few people. What else came out recently, or is about to come out, that you think we ought to know about?

I have no idea where I'm going with this

by Michael Dymmoch

Sometimes when you're supposed to be working on something else, you get these flashes of inspiration that have no connection to anything.

And sometimes, when it's your turn to blog, you haven't a clue what to write about.

So I've got this story fragment and I'm open to suggestions...


He grabbed me at the top of the stairs.

“Don't move or I'll break your fuckin' neck!"

He was massive as two of me and he had me in a full nelson. So I stayed perfectly still until the SWAT guy came through the door.

I used the distraction to cross my wrists and press them against my forehead. I let my weight sag downward.

My assailant didn’t notice. He said, “Drop the gun or I’ll snap her neck.”

The SWAT guy froze. Ready.

When I raised my arms and let my legs go out from under me, the bad guy couldn’t hold me. He wasn’t ready.

But the SWAT guy was. He surged forward.

I rolled on my side. I hooked one foot behind my attacker’s heel, drove the other at his kneecap. He screamed and fell toward the stairs.

Momentum carried him down, heels over shattered knee.

I rolled to the landing’s edge, saw him hit the floor below.

He didn’t move.

The SWAT guy relaxed, his expression priceless as he wrestled his attention back to me. “You okay?”

In times of crisis what would we do without clichés?

I nodded. “I heard him tell someone this place is full of bombs. On the phone.”

“Then we’ better get out.” He lowered his gun and crept down to feel the assassin for a pulse. A formality. The angle of the dead guy’s head said it all.

“We’d better get out of here,” SWAT guy repeated.

Aiders and Abettors

by Libby Hellmann

In the crime fiction community there are writers, and there are readers. And then there are others. They started out as fans, but somewhere along the way they started to “aid and abet” – showing up at signings, buying books, writing reviews, producing magazines, editing newsletters, planning conferences, escorting authors, hosting them at their homes, running organizations, and a slew of other things.

They do it – mostly without making much money, and sometimes none at all – because of their love of the genre. They don't want exposure... they don't crave praise. They do it because they love to read, and they love to read crime fiction. And we authors owe them a debt. We couldn’t be or do half the things we do without their help. But readers owe them, too, because without them, you might not know about new authors, great books, and fun people. Booksellers, publishers, editors, and agents should thank them as well, because without them, the word-of-mouth about what’s new and what’s good just wouldn’t be as widespread. In short, these people are what makes us a “community.”

I’m talking about people like Jon and Ruth Jordan, Judy Bobalik, Sarah Weinman (who's a hell of a writer as well), Ari Karim, 4MA’s founder Maddy Van Hertbruggen… all the people who were recently nominated for an Anthony for Special Service to the field. But there are many others, without whom the community would not be what it is: websites like Reviewing the Evidence, Stop You’re Killing Me, New Mystery Reviews; list-serves like RAM and Dorothy L; webzines like January Magazine. People like David Montgomery, Hanley Kanar, Beth Wasson, Gloria Feit, Margery Flax, Mary Lou Wright, Janet Rudolph, PJ Nunn, and David Thompson (ok he’s a bookseller but a special one), and a host of other people I know I’m forgetting.

These are the people who make us look good… who treat us like rock-stars (at least for an hour or so)... who encourage us when we’re being hard on ourselves. Some are even known to help brainstorm plots…


So while it’s not Valentine’s Day, I want to send a special thanks to all the Aiders and Abettors out there. They have made the community what it is, and we couldn’t survive without them.

We Can Save Ourselves From Sinking

By Kevin Guilfoile

When we were seniors in high school my friend Rob broke his arm in a skiing accident. Instead of having his friends sign it or decorating it with some kind of Warren Zevon motif as I might have expected, Rob took a Sharpie pen and wrote seven large letters across the front of it: R-O-N H-E-A-D.

Ron Head was our economics teacher. Rob and I also had him for homeroom. Rob liked to sit in the front row, and the morning after he received his cast he sat at his desk and flopped his immobilized arm across the front of it. Mr. Head squinted and looked at it sideways. "What's that about?"

"It's an homage," Rob said cheerily.

I was student body president at the time and so I was called to the principal's office for a summit meeting on the situation. The principal reacted as if the letters on Rob's cast were some sort of sleeper cell code triggering a terrorist attack.

"What are we going to do about this?" he demanded.

"Um, nothing?" I said.

"The writing on this cast shows gross disrespect," he said.

"I don't think so," I said. "Ron Head Sucks would be a sign of disrespect. I don't think he has anything against Mr. Head. He just wrote his name in really big letters."

"If he's not mocking him, then why did he do it?" he asked.

I was only 18 so I didn't know much about modern art, but I told the principal I thought Rob wrote that on his cast for two reasons:

1. There are only seven letters in Mr. Head's name so Rob could write it at such a size that it could be seen from a long way away.

2. He knew it would agitate you.

Parents were called in. I was asked several times to intervene. I refused. It was a silly thing, but it was one of a string of free speech issues (most of them not this amusing) that I had been forced to address throughout the year and I could tell that if I gave in on any of them the adults would keep pushing and pushing and pushing. One of my last duties as president was to help oversee the election of the following year's officers and I remember being alone in a room with a school administrator when it became clear that the candidate he favored for student council treasurer was going to lose. He looked at me and said, half-seriously, "I wish there was a way we could fix this thing." He laughed, but at the time I had no doubt that he would do it if I let him.

For me the whole year was a memorable lesson in power. People who have power will always ask for more of it and it is the duty of people with less power to say no as frequently as possible.

I was reminded of all this a couple weeks ago when I heard that Linda Kane had been removed from her position as student newspaper advisor at Naperville Central High School after nearly 20 years in that position. Under her leadership, the Naperville Central Times had risen to national prominence. It is perennially ranked among the top high school newspapers in the country, and even broke important stories under difficult circumstances.

Last February the Central Times published a series on marijuana use. One of the stories contained profanity. Naperville principal Jim Caudill asked that the paper change its policies regarding acceptable language and Ms. Kane refused. The following week, in the Daily Herald newspaper, she was quoted criticizing Principal Caudill, saying "he doesn't know squat" about the First Amendment. He asked her to resign. She refused. Caudill fired her.

Six weeks later, the Central Times finished third in the Illinois High School Association's journalism competition.

It all seemed unfair. A gross overreaction. Certainly it is more important to teach students about journalistic freedom, integrity, ethics, and responsibility than it is to protect them from profanity. Those lessons are undoubtedly more important than a high school principal's desire not to have his ego bruised in public, or his fear of being disrespected.

But then something happened to remind us that the universe can wrap up a gift tidier than all the fictionalists in the world combined.

Jim Caudill, who just months earlier fired a teacher for claiming he "didn't know squat" about the First Amendment, was caught plagiarizing large sections of a decade-old speech and recycling them for a talk he gave at an honors ceremony for graduating seniors. Incredibly, the student who actually wrote those lines is now a teacher at Naperville Central and was in the room when Caudill was reading her words without credit.

As Trib columnist Eric Zorn points out, the principal's excuse was even more pathetic than the original offense. Caudill claimed that he found the speech in a file and meant to call the individual to ask if he could borrow from it, but time slipped away and he didn't realize until he was on stage giving his talk that he had never called. Except that totally misses the point. He didn't have to call Megan Nowicki-Plackett and ask permission. He needed to credit her in the text of the speech, which he apparently never had any intention of doing.

So now Jim Caudill has been removed as principal at Naperville Central and although I don't know Ms. Kane, I hope his successor has the good sense to return her to her post. I should think people like her are desperately needed as an example to counter Mr. Caudill's. If you doubt it, the valedictorian of Naperville Central was just caught plagiarizing his graduation speech from The Onion.

As for my buddy Rob with the broken arm he's now one hell of a DIYer. He also has a Ph.D. in Environmental Engineering, which is quite a good thing. We need more good journalism teachers and environment doctors than we do controlling school administrators.

But you can't say the kids in Naperville haven't learned anything this semester.

---

Also, a program note: Libby, Michael, Marcus, Sean and I will be at the always great Printers Row Book Fair in downtown Chicago this Saturday at 4PM. Our panel, Murder Most Foul will take place in the Grace Place sanctuary, right on Dearborn at the heart of the fair, across from the Heartland Stage. And if it's very hot, I'll point out that our event is indoors.

You can download a full Printers Row schedule or a helpful event map.

Write to the City

Gilda Haas, who directs a tenant rights group called "Strategic Actions for a Just Economy," reads a lot of crime fiction--maybe because she's married to that prince of noir writers, Gary Phillips. Anyway, along the way she saw that a lot of us write about the same issues that she and her colleagues worry about--imbalances in money and power, the disappearance of unique urban landscapes in exchange for cookie-cutter strip malls and steel towers, and the displacement of people from their homes to make way for the gentrifying high rises.

Last Thursday, Gilda and Gary put together quite a show in LA. Called "Write to the City," they brought together some noir writers, including Gar Haywood, Denise Hamilton, the inventive Nina Revoyr, and me with some organizers and tenants.

I used to do a certain amount of organizing, sometimes more successfully than others--tenant actions against a slumlord, student actions during the Vietnam War, community actions during the civil rights heyday, and even Sisters in Crime. But I've been living the Yuppie life for some years now and it was a good and sobering wake-up to be on a platform with Luis Rodriguez, Davan Corona, and others, to hear what is happening in the lives of people on the margins. Gar Haywood read an elegant essay on urban geography, I read from Blacklist, and Luis and Davan read from life.

Stories of disabled people being locked out of elevators to keep them from protesting the slum conditions of their buildings made my blood boil, but I was cheered, too, by the energy in the room, by Gilda, Davan and Luis, and their intelligent passionate resolve.

I live in a university neighborhood. Until ten years ago, it was a mixed community of academics, students, black, white, middle class and low income housing. Not a perfect m ix, but mixed nonetheless. Then the downtown money people realized the south side of Chicago was not a terrifying crime zone and they could be ten minutes from the Loop, five minutes from Lake Michigan, and--voila, we now have a lot of lawyers, finance people, unaffordable housing for the blue collar folk who used to live here--and unaffordable for junior faculty, so that the university itself is losing its collegiality and community. My own property taxes went up sixfold in four years. What should we have done that we didn't do? I don't know how to solve these problems, but I sure wish we'd had Gilda here ten years ago!

How do you balance the desire to repair and gentrify your neighborhood with the rights of people who've lived there for decades?

Sara

MARCUS AND SEAN, SEAN AND MARCUS

The Outfit is thrilled to congratulate our boys for -- not one -- but TWO Major Award Nominations! Sean's BIG CITY, BAD BLOOD and Marcus's THE BLADE ITSELF were nominated both for the ANTHONY and the BARRY for best first novel!
WAY TO GO, GUYS!

The winners will be announced at the Baltimore Bouchercon in October. Of course, it does present a dilemma for Anthony voters. Happily, though, there's a solution -- Everyone needs to vote early and often. After all, it's the Chicago way.

We also want to give a shout-out to two friends-of-the-Outfit who also got nominated. Joe Konrath's DIRTY MARTINI was nominated for a Barry for Best Novel, and Judy Bobalik, everybody's best friend, got an Anthony nod for Special Service to the industry.

Clearly, there is something in the air...

You all rock!

btw, you can congratulate Sean and Marcus personally at Printers Row this coming weekend. The Outfit (with Michael, Kevin, and me) will be doing a panel at 4 PM Saturday.

Don' Want No Steenkin' Strawberries

by Barbara D'Amato



With seven ingredients and very little time, you can amaze and delight your friends and family.

My granddaughter Emily makes cheesecake and passes the recipe on to just about everybody who tries it.


EMILY’S NEW YORK STYLE CHEESECAKE

Crumb crust:

1 ½ cups graham cracker crumbs [Take a package of graham crackers, put them in a plastic bag and smash them with a rolling pin. This is therapeutic.]
6 Tb melted butter, cooled somewhat
¼ cup sugar, preferably brown sugar
mix

Press the crust mixture into a springform mold or cake pan or pretty much any pie plate. It can go up the sides a bit. Bake 10 t0 15 minutes at 350 degrees, just to set and sort of caramelize, but not brown too much. Cool

Filling:

Beat 1 1/2 pounds of cream cheese.
Beat in
1 cup sugar
1 tsp vanilla
3 large eggs

Pour into cooled crust. Place on cookie sheet. Bake at 300 degrees about 45 to 55 minutes, until most of the filling is set and the middle just jiggles slightly.


This is traditional New York style cheesecake, dense and rich. But I suppose it would be appropriate for The Chicago Outfit mob as well. Emily doesn’t want strawberries or blueberries or any other icky fruit in gelled crud on top of her cheesecake, but thinks fruit on the side is fine. She’s been making this since she was six.

GUEST BLOGGER: Julia Spencer-Fleming

Morning folks!

We have a treat today -- the fabulous Julia Spencer-Fleming is taking the reins of the blog. Most of you probably know of Julia, but if you don't, get thee to a bookstore, and I mean now. She's won every award there is for her gorgeously written Clare Fergusson / Russ Van Alstyne series, the latest of which, I SHALL NOT WANT, comes out June 10th.

Jules will be hanging around for the next couple of days to answer questions and such, so feel free to bombard her, either on topic to her post or about anything else.

Without further ado, the lovely Julia...

-Marcus

---

I told Marcus I would write something vaguely salacious for The Outfit, but I just finished a wonderful read, and I guess I’ve reached the stage in life where I’d rather talk about books than sex. (Actually, I reached that stage a long time ago. There’s only so much you can say about Tab A fitting into Slot B, but a good argument about, say, Kipling’s place in the English pantheon can go on forever.)

I’m late to the party when it comes to The Yiddish Policemen’s Union by Michael Chabon.

When it was published last year, I stayed away, despite the intriguing premise. (For the three of you who don’t know about it, Chabon posits an alternate history where the dispossessed Jews of Europe and a failed Israel have been allowed to settle—temporarily—in the Federal District of Sitka.) Every reviewer I read at the time patted Chabon on the head for his brilliant writing while marveling at how he managed to escape relatively unsmeared by the scummy waters of genre. A Slate reviewer famously said, “Michael Chabon has spent considerable energy trying to drag the decaying corpse of genre fiction out of the shallow grave where writers of serious literature abandoned it.” At the Stone Coast MFA summer session, me ‘n the skiffies titled our panel discussion GENRE FICTION ATE MY BRAINS in response.

Needless to say, at that point I wouldn’t have read the book if I had been trapped in a lifeboat with only the Life of Pi as an alternative. What changed my mind? Well, the book got nominated for a Nebula. Then an Edgar.Then the Hugo. I figured of all my shambling undead peers thought it ranked with the best books of our genres, I ought to give it a try.

I was wary. I have been burnt before by “literary” authors who dabble in mystery or horror or science fiction. They get part way in, then they seem to realize it’s bad — it’s dirty, it’s wrong! And they pull out again, leaving me screaming in frustration. Yeah, I’m talking to you, David Guterson and Jean Hegland.

But, to paraphrase the dreadful back copy on the Advance Readers Edition of my own upcoming release (subtle product placement! Did you notice?) Michael Chabon Shall Not Disappoint.

The Yiddish Policemen’s Union is a nearly perfect read. The world-building is so detailed, so real, that I dreamed of the District of Sitka the night I started the book.

The characters are so vivid I started saying things like nu and mitzvah--and I’m a born and bred East Coast Episcopalian. I say nearly perfect: some of the mystery’s final unspooling is a little too off-stage, and there are a few places where Chabon lets his love of wordcraft get in the way of creating a clear image in the reader’s mind. When I read, “The blood from his head has scattered rhododendrons in the snow,” I wanted to say, “It’s okay, Michael. Just tell us the blood splattered.”

Here’s the best part, for me: the book is absolutely true to the mystery genre. 3/4ths of the way through the story, we get what I always think of as the tipping point, the first clue that’s going to finally start leading the detective and the reader to answers, rather than more questions. Then piece by piece, step by step, Chabon puts the puzzle together.

Every casual, seemingly-coincidental encounter, every digression into history and memory, everything I had filed under the heading of “literary storytelling technique” was shaken out, held up to the light, and pinned into its place. I did something I never do when reading mysteries anymore; I went back and re-checked the clues. It was all right there. Chabon played utterly fair with the reader.

“So, nu,” you ask, “He can braid all his strings into a rope to hang you with. For this you go on like the man is Conan Doyle?”

Despite the Edgar and Hugo nods (and Nebula win) I read The Yiddish Policemen’s Union expecting literary fiction. You know: beautiful writing, psychologically exposed characters, plot like an empty cardboard box. Discovering the real mystery inside gave me a unique reading experience: a completely fresh view of the genre conventions I love so much.

Reading a work labeled crime fiction, I only notice if there are flaws — an insufficiently motivated murderer, say, or the too-convenient clue. Expecting nothing, I was swept up in the pleasure of the plot, each fresh reveal—so this meant that!—like popping another mouthful of caramel corn and peanuts.

What this means, I can’t say. Maybe we should tear down the signs demarcating bookstore sections. Maybe we should be boldly mixing up genres. Maybe we should figure out how to recreate the pleasure you got from that first mystery, that first romance, that first science fiction novel that tore the top of your head off and hollered hello in there! How this happens, I can’t begin to guess.

Any suggestions, zombie minions of the genre apocalypse?

Road Trip

by Michael Dymmoch

Libby and I are still friends. After a week and 1200 miles on the road, that could easily not be the case. (You really don’t know a person until you’ve spent 12 or 14 hours in a car with her.) But--speaking strictly for myself--it was a great trip.

We did a library signing in Shawnee, KS, and conducted a suspense seminar in Topeka. (Well, Libby conducted it; I was strictly backup.) We managed a couple of drive-by signings at Borders stores (at one of which I picked up a Jesus Action Figure!). And we spent two nights in Lincoln, NB with a friend, which was like staying in an art gallery. With flowers. (I was actually moved to write poetry*--for the first time since college.) We sold books at The Raven Bookstore. Then we went to Mayhem in the Midlands, where fans outnumbered the authors, for three days of hanging out with friends and groupies, talking mysteries and murder.

Held at the Embassy Suits Downtown, the conference had well-planned panels, no banquet. But the hotel is across from Omaha’s Old Market, which has more great restaurants and neat shopping spots than you could hit in a week. (And horse drawn cabs, photogenic cops, street musicians...) Thursday night, there was a reception. Friday night, Sisters in Crime hosted a buffet supper and the organizers put on an auction to benefit Omaha Public Library’s Children’s Services. Saturday night Alex Kava hosted a cocktail party—free drinks and hors d'oeuvres. Then there was a mystery dinner for those who enjoy organized eating, and the Old Market restaurants for the rest of us. I got to dine with old friends and the head of the Douglas County Crime Lab. For a mystery writer, it doesn’t get much better than that.

*Kansas Weather Report:

Rain came in the night.
Gentle as the quality of mercy,
It blessed the parched fields.
Then it moved on.

©2008 MAD

Okay, so maybe writing that was like poking Murphy with a stick. Storms in Iowa and Minnesota wiped out a couple of cities while we were driving home, but the weather gods left us alone.

Not to talk about marketing, but . . .

by Sean Chercover

Okay, we don't really talk about marketing around here. Just not really our thing, and it's very well-covered by other people like this guy.

But this is really funny (thanks to Guyot for sharing):



Not only is it funny, and perhaps a bit painful, but it also motivated me to search for the author's website. Dennis Cass. Well, his blog. His Blogger blog. He doesn't have a website. Of course.

So he's a smart guy and produced a funny video that will at least attract other writers to his blog, where they will learn about his book. His video probably won't appeal to anyone outside the publishing industry, but a lot of people work in publishing, and they are the kind of people who talk a lot, and spread - for want of a better term - buzz.

I'm think about all this because Trigger City comes out in October and now is the time to start planning the tour and other promotional efforts.

Yes, I have a MySpace. And my first book has its own MySpace. I'm not linking to them here - this is not an attempt to get you to "be my friend." I frankly suspect that MySpace is a waste of time, but I'm there and have many friends. And I'm on facebook. No, I don't want to "forward and see what happens." I know what happens. What happens is, I spam all my "friends" with a picture of a puppy dog and the message "forward and see what happens."

God, is there any more complete waste of time than forwarding pictures of puppy dogs on facebook? Time's running out, folks. You only got another (insert estimate of your remaining days here) days left before you become worm-food. This is your life. And it is not, as they say, a dress rehearsal. Jo-Jo Dancer, your life is calling! Do you really want to spend it FORWARDING PICTURES OF PUPPIES TO YOUR "FRIENDS" ON FACEBOOK!!???

Ahem. Excuse the outburst. But you must know what I mean.

So . . .

. . . anybody care to share? Which marketing efforts (either online or off-) do you swear by? And which do you swear at?

Apocalypse Now?

by Libby Hellmann

This is a grim post. So take it accordingly.

A cougar runs through Chicago
s Uptown... and is gunned down.

An earthquake rumbles up from downstate.

Gas is over four dollars a gallon… and climbing. In Chicago 36 people are shot during the first warm weekend of the year, while natural disasters in Asia kill hundreds of thousands of people.

Americans face unprecedented debt, soaring commodity and food prices and sliding home prices.

Something’s happening, and it’s not good. I’m a simple, superstitious soul at heart (I figure I was a sturdy peasant girl in a previous incarnation) and I can’t ignore the signs. Are we on the precipice of the Apocalypse? I’ve always subscribed to the “other shoe theory of life” and I keep wondering when and where it’s going to drop and how bad it will be. Are these apocryphal events a harbinger of disastrous times ahead? The fall of Rome… the coming of the barbarians… you fill in the blanks.

What’s worse, I have the sense that it’s all accelerating. Alvin Toffler warned us about this. I’m almost afraid to check the news these days – a cataclysmic event seems occur every day.

Of course, I could be just a tad paranoid. A real chicken-little. In fact, my sister-in-law asked me not to write about this. Her opinion – very Buddhist, I think – was that giving words to my fears might hasten or lend them credibility. (Now who’s the real paranoid, you ask?)


Kevin Phillips writes that even though more than 80 percent of Americans now say that we are on the wrong track, most of us still believe that the United States is unique, chosen by God.” He goes on to say that “So did all the previous world economic powers: Rome, Spain, the Netherlands (in the maritime glory days of the 17th century, when New York was New Amsterdam) and 19th-century Britain. Their early strength was also their later weakness, not unlike the United States since the 1980s.”

Is that so?

I’m willing to acknowledge that I’m overreacting. And that I’m wrong. In fact, this may be the only blog where I really do want you to tell me I don’t know what I’m talking about.

So, what do you think? Talk me out of this.

Please.