Walkie Talk and Tambourine

By Kevin Guilfoile

Several months after Cast of Shadows was published I was doing a signing and a woman approached with the (16-hour) unabridged audiobook version of the novel. She took an excited breath and grinned and I gave her a gracious smile in anticipation of the kind words she seemed to be assembling in her head.

She got to the table and pushed the box out for me to sign and said, "I can't wait to get to this book--I listen to everything Scott Brick reads."

In the following months I had many similar encounters with readers. Usually they would say something like, "How were you able to get Scott Brick to narrate your novel?" I had to tell them I had nothing to do with it, but I was certainly grateful the person who did sought out one of the legends of audiobooks to read my work. Scott reads for Harlan Coben, Nelson DeMille, Clive Cussler, Preston and Child, Joe Finder, Barry Eisler, Steve Berry, and David Baldacci. He did the audiobook for Michael Pollan's bestseller In Defense of Food and worked on the upcoming 40-hour version of Roberto Bolaño's 2666. He narrates the Dune series. Scott has recorded over 400 novels in just the last ten years, and won more than 40 Earphones Awards. I can't even estimate the number of readers who discovered my work only because they are a fan of Scott's.

This month, Scott is running an unusual and exciting contest over at his web site. To celebrate his tenth anniversary in the audiobook business, Scott is holding (for lack of a better term) Audiobook Idol.

Voice acting takes a special gift and audiobook narration is something like an Ironman competition--it requires a versatility and endurance not everyone has. I imagine it's a difficult field to break into. But for the rest of June, Scott is inviting aspiring narrators to send him a three-minute demo in the form of an MP3 file. The winner will receive personal instruction from Scott, followed by actual recording work from a number of major publishers. The judges will include representatives from some of the biggest publishers in the business, including Random House Audio, Audible.com, Harper Collins Audio, Books on Tape and more.

I produced hundreds of voiceovers in my advertising years and I can tell you that not everyone with a pleasing voice is cut out for this work. But if you think you might have the storytelling gift, I've never seen an opportunity quite like this.

Tell a good story well and it might change your life.

Follow Kevin on Twitter.

Born to Raise Hell

By Barbara D’Amato


For nearly twenty years researchers have described a link between antisocial behavior and low activity on the MAO-A gene. A defect in this gene produces an excessive breakdown of the neurotransmitter serotonin, a substance that makes humans calm. The defect increases anger and produces an urge to react with aggression to fear or threat. [MAO-A has been called the “warrior gene”].

A Florida State University study on the tendency to join gangs, released this week, goes further. In young men, low activity on the MAO-A allele was associated with a greater tendency to violence, to use weapons, and to join gangs.

The National Longitudinal Study of Adolescent Health, which began in 1994 and therefore has been able to follow subjects for many years, surveyed 2,500 young males between 7th and 12th grade. The findings: Compared with males with a high-active gene, males with a MAO-A allele with low activity were twice as likely to join a gang, and more than four times as likely to use a weapon, even compared with other gang members, if those other gang members has a high-active gene.

A British study found that a combination of low-active MAO-A and a history of being abused produced males who committed four times as many robberies, rapes, and assaults.

Males who had the high-active MAO-A gene seemed to survive childhood abuse, having no more violent history than the average male. As Joshua Buckholtz at Vanderbilt University’s Brain Institute puts it, the genes “do an important job in loading the gun. But it’s the environment that pulls the trigger.”

In a way, this is encouraging. A study at the University of Georgia, published this May, found that five years of enrollment in a prevention program reduced binge drinking, drug use, and other antisocial behaviors to levels average in the general population.

These studies, though, give us all another big question for the blame game. Sure, when a young man has engaged in violent behavior repeatedly, he needs to be put where he can’t hurt anybody else. But what about the question of punishment?

Do we punish when there is genetic evidence of diminished restraint coupled with childhood abuse the child certainly never asked for?

Officers Down, and Still Unsolved

By David Heinzmann

Just days after the recent murder of Chicago Police Officer Alejandro Valadez, detectives had tracked down two suspects and secured charges against them.

As Chicago cops mourned the loss of their promising 27-year-old colleague, an expectant father, they also breathed a small sigh of relief. This one appeared to be in the can for keeps. It hasn’t been so in the last two investigations of murdered police officers.

Two years ago, Jose Vazquez was shot dead in the snow-covered alley driveway behind his West Side townhouse. And detective Robert Soto and a woman friend were shot as they sat talking in his SUV outside her West Side home in the wee hours of a morning last August.

In both those killings, investigators were onto robbery suspects early, but the cases slipped away. In the Soto case, authorities actually charged a guy, only to have the case fall apart when grand jury witnesses flip-flopped and a key piece of security video from the neighborhood showed that the suspected getaway car was a different make from the suspect’s Buick.

The fact that both West Side murders remain unsolved has been a point of deep embarrassment for the Area 4 detectives charged with investigating the cases. (There have been a couple other police murders over the last year, but in both cases the killers were apprehended at the scene and the outcome of the investigation was obvious from the start.)

The big difference separating the Valadez case from the two that remain unsolved comes down to witnesses. When Vazquez was killed on a snowy February night there were no known witnesses. When Soto was murdered last August, a handful of people in the neighborhood said they saw the getaway car speeding off, and offered police a nickname, “J-Rock.” But their stories ultimately fell apart. Some said gang rivalries may have led to bogus indentifications.

However, when Valadez was shot in Englewood on the South Side, his partner witnessed the whole thing, and immediately called for help and gave an accurate description of the killers’ car. Within minutes, the car was abandoned, found by police—with the murder weapon in the trunk—and traced to a nearby address and owner. The evidence piled up and the gunman and driver were soon at Area 1 headquarters, giving videotaped confessions.

It was a very lucky break, because there was no real motive. The accused men, both Gangster Disciples, allegedly told police they didn’t even know Valadez was a cop. They claimed to believe they were shooting at rival Black Disciples, retaliation for earlier gunfire.

It was the lamest, most senseless brand of gang violence. But murders like this happen all the time in Chicago—street-gang nonsense, with no logical motive and no specific target. Add to that mix completely unreliable witnesses, who are either deeply mistrustful or openly hostile to the police, and you can understand why detectives solve only about half of the city’s murders in any given year.

As soon as I heard Valadez was killed, I contacted a source with whom I have had a long and fruitful relationship, asking for details. In a text message, the reply was apologetic: Sorry, the last two got screwed up; not going to do anything to mess this one up.

The source was talking about Vazquez and Soto. I understood and let it go. Then when charges were announced against the two Gangster Disciples from Englewood, I sent another text to the source saying the case seemed solid. Rock solid, came the reply.

The pride was obvious. Valadez’s colleagues would at least be able to offer his grieving family the promise of justice for his killers.

That’s a comfort the families of Jose Vazquez and Robert Soto are still waiting to feel.

Half Works, We Just Don't Know Which Half

by Marcus Sakey

Our regularly scheduled broadcast by Sean Chercover will return next time; today he's stuck on the road, so you're stuck with me.

And I'd like to put you to work.

Last week I asked you about Twitter, and whether you thought it was a helpful marketing tool. The results were interesting--and impassioned--and gave me a lot to consider. This time, I'd like to broaden the question.

What makes you buy books?

A softball, I know. Okay, so first of all, let's assume that the most common answer is "knowing I like the author," followed closely by "reviews or word of mouth." For me at least, those are the clearly leading contenders. After that I suspect we have "a great cover, with great reviews / blurbs / flap copy."

The thing is, the first two of those are not under our control as writers. For the third, I'm fortunate to have a publisher who does bad-ass work in that department, and who is open to my thoughts. But that's not actually marketing--it's packaging. It's also wrapped at this point.

My new book is out on August 6th, which means I'm heading into the promotional period. And as I do, I'm wondering where I should spend my time and money. And since people like you are the people I'm trying to reach, I'd really appreciate your thoughts. Should I focus on:

• Touring?
• Contests?
• Facebook advertising?
• Google advertising?
• Book trailers?
• Promotional swag?
• Book clubs?
• Blog tours?
• Literary festivals?
• A bigger, better web site?
• Email blasts?
• Something else? Digital or real world?

If I could ask all of you a favor, could you take one minute, just one, and think of the last thing that made you buy a book you were unfamiliar with? I'd really appreciate it.

As an incentive, I'd be happy to send a signed hardcover of THE AMATEURS to whomever presents the best-reasoned, most compelling suggestion.

The Other Hat

by Libby Hellmann

I loved Sara’s post on Friday. Eloquent as usual, she talked about the need for quiet… a sustained quiet in order to dig down and pull out the words and ideas and feelings that are burbling beneath our psyches. I long for those periods, too, and wish they came more frequently. Like her, I face many distractions, some of my own making, some not. But that’s not really what I wanted to talk about.

The Printers Row Lit Fest was held this weekend, and for many authors, Printers Row represents the other hat we wear these days… the promotional one. Many of us appeared at booths, including Mystery Writers of America and the Society of Midland Authors, and Big Sleep Books, hoping to sell our books, because, after all, that’s what you do at a book fair.

I don’t mind doing promotion. But I’m certifiably schizophrenic. Promotion -- especially at a book festival -- is completely antithetical to writing. There I am at a booth, books stacked in front of me, watching hundreds of strangers pass by on their way to ... somewhere. I’m aware that a host of additional authors at other booths sit with their books stacked up in front of them, also eagerly hoping to sell. And that doesn’t include the dozens of author panels, which have their own signings.

This year was especially challenging. It was cold and rainy on Saturday, warm and rainy on Sunday. Last year, if you remember, it was so hot we were shvitzing all day. On top of the elements, someone was either singing or playing French ballads over and over. Very loud, very minor key, very depressing. Note to organizers: no more French songs or I may have to ask my friend Vinny to handle things. Vinny is the type of guy you do not want to meet in a dark alley.

In fact, Printers Row can be overwhelming to an author who is not an extrovert, which is most of us. We have to be enthusiastic, cheerful,and eager to talk, but we can’t be too pushy. We have to smile, knowing most of the people couldn’t care less about us and our books. As opposed to the sensitivity with which we pride ourselves in our books, at book fairs we have to have a thick skin. We have to toss off the dismissive waves of the hands, the “don’t-bother-me” glares when you ask passers by whether they read mysteries. We have to recognize that most people don’t read crime fiction and still think the only books worth buying are “literature.” And that more than half of the others don’t read at all and are just looking for posters, blank journals (someone asked me if I had any for sale) or gifts.

We have to be pleasant, even when they hold your book in their hands (marketing people say it’s a good sign if they pick up the product and actually examine it) but then put it back down. We have to realize that most of the flyers we printed up so carefully and expensively will end up in the trash. We have to understand that we’re competing, not just with other mystery authors, but every author who’s ever written a book. And while we may want to turn up our nose because none of them could possibly write as well as us, most fair-goers don’t know that. And we can’t say anything.

Given all those obstacles, it’s a wonder any author would willingly put themselves in this position. But I do, year after year, because of one reason: when I do sell a book, it’s magic. I am acutely aware that someone has parted with their hard-earned money because they think I might offer them something of value. Usually, it’s someone I don’t even know. Someone with whom I’ve chatted for only 30 seconds.

It’s amazing to me. Absolutely frigging amazing that a stranger is willing to take a gamble on an intangible idea that happens to be my story. I feel humbled, grateful, and slightly awed. It’s why I write in the first place. And if I feel that way, imagine how the hundreds of other authors feel who sell one of their books to strangers. It really is magic.

So thanks, Printers Row and the Tribune, for making the magic happen. I’ll be back again next year... assuming the French music is gone.

For now, though, I’m happy to take off the other hat for a while and along with Sara, hope for a golden day.

What do you think?

Sister Carol Ann O'Marie

I'm sorry to report that Sister Carol Ann has died. Everyone who knew her respected her for her commitment to social justice and loved her for her humor. For details please go to The Bunburyist.

Rules of the Road

A friend of mine with four adult children says there are a hundred ways to raise a child, and they're all wrong.  The same thing is probably true of writing, except I'd say, they're all right.  If it works for you, it's the right way to write.

Still, I think there are some basics that help or hinder.

If you want to write, you need to read.  Rapper Kanye West doesn't read, and despises people who do, but he just signed a "book" deal to give the world his philosophy of life.  "I have a childlike purity" brought about by not cluttering my mind with other people's words.  Couldn't have said it better--he has the purity of a 2-day-old infant, mind uncluttered.  The interesting conundrum here is that if his fans read his book, he will actually have done a mitzvah by getting someone who (probably) doesn't read to open a book.

Still, for you and me, other people's words are what drew us to the writing world to begin with.  Caught in the Web of Words--that's the title James A H Murray's granddaughter gave to her memoir of the the man who created the Oxford English Dictionary.  And here we all are, caught in the web of words.  We come to books because they open doors into other worlds, other experiences.  All writers need to keep reading: it's step one of how we learn to hone our craft.  We read for delight, for escape.  We read to see what we wish we could do and what we hope we won't do. 

Rule 2, of course, is writing.  You can only learn to write by writing.  And rewriting.

Rule 3, Nothing dates as fast as slang.  Authentic  speech comes more from considering the attitudes and behaviors of characters more than nailing today's slang--whether it's from the street or the courtroom.  Many of us, including me, get our speech patterns from TV.  Something slick that works in ad copy doesn't make the best writing.

Rule 4, you have to be willing to take the big risks: the risks of exposing yourself.  And you can only do that by cultivating the gift of empathy.  The more you understand yourself, the better you'll understand the people you live with--the ones in your head, the ones in your actual kitchen or bar.

You need quiet, you need what Melville called "the silent grass-growing mode," in order to create.  When you're using the foreground of your brain, answering e-mails, cruising the Net==posting to the blog, or Twitter, you're interrupting the grass-growing mode and it's hard to get back to it.  You can't do them both at once.

Nowhere either with more quiet or more freedom from trouble do we retire than into our own souls, Marcus Aurelius wrote some 1800 years ago.  And that's where our stories live.  It's where we need to spend most of our time.  And it's where I seldom find myself these days.  Every morning starts for me with a vow that today will be the day my writing is the most important thing in my life--but so far, the dog, the bills, the this, the that, keep pushing it to the rear of the line.  I hope today will be that golden day for me, and for you as well.

Sara Paretsky

The Joys of the Book Launch Party/Is This Character Too Much Like Me?

My last book launch party was with the esteemed Mr. Sakey at Landmark, a swank, fabulous bar/restaurant on Halsted, in which I'd set a scene in my novel. Marcus couldn't get his ass in gear and get a book out at the same time as me this year so I had to do a book launch on my own last night.

A book party is, in some ways, like a wedding. People from all walks of your life show up - a partner from my first law firm, Clausen Miller, a friend from college, someone I met at a fashion show a week ago. And like a wedding, you don't get to talk to anyone for very long, leaving you to say goodbyes with fierce hugs and promises to get together soon. I had the book signing at Lizzie McNeills, Chicago pub right on the Chicago River. It was just as fabulous, although different than the splashier and glitzier affair at Landmark. But Landmark had fit my previous book, The Good Liar, which was a splashier, glitzier international thriller. And my new book, Red Hot Lies, the start of my Chicago mystery trilogy is a little different.

For one thing the main character's named is Izzy McNeil. I had been working for years on a character named Izzy, long before Grey's Anatomy came out. After the show was released and a well known character was named Izzy, some people urged me to change my character's name, but it was HER name by that point. It couldn't be changed. When I sat down to figure out her last name, I knew she was part Irish and Italian on her dad's side. The last name of McNeil popped in my head and again I was struck by a feeling that that was HER name - Izzy McNeil. When my dad pointed out that it was sort of like the name of a bar owned by some family friends, we knew we would have to have the book signing at Lizzie McNeill's.

But more than just the name similarity, I wanted the book launch party that Izzy McNeil, herself, would go to. Izzy loves dive bars, especially ones with popcorn machines. While Lizzy McNeill's is more than just a dive bar, it is, quite simply, a good old Irish pub. With a popcorn machine. It was perfect. And so was the book launch party.

We quickly sold out of a hundred copies of Red Hot Lies, and as people flipped through the pages, I kept getting questions about whether Izzy was me. As most of my friends know I, too, love a good dive bar with a popcorn machine in the corner. Like Izzy, I'm a red head, I'm a lawyer, and it's been pointed out that I have a bit of a mouth on me. Izzy is different than me, though. I don't have her tragic family background. My fiance didn't take off 3 weeks before my wedding. My client/father-figure wasn't killed. I have never mooonlighted as a private detective. Izzy is younger, cooler, hotter and taller than me. But the answer was yes, she is a character more like me than any I have written.

Technically, this is a no-no in a literary world. Your fiction is not supposed to be loosely disguised, autobiographical material. And maybe I shouldn't have made her so much like me. Maybe I will be giving too much of myself away. But after 7 books, working very very hard to make none of the characters like me or anyone I knew, I was ready to go home, so to speak. So when a friend last year asked why I wasn't writing about a sassy red-head from Chicago who was a lawyer, I could only pause and say, "I dunno. But I think it's time." So, is it wrong? Should I have avoided writing about anyone even remotely like me? I know writing teachers who would take me to task for it. I'd like to know what you think.

The Last F%$&ing Thing I Want to Do

by Marcus Sakey

I know everyone's doing it.

I know it's the new thing.

I know about Ashton Kutcher's contest with CNN.

I know that I can link it to my Facebook profile.

I know that it's the modern form of haiku--which is a horrifying thought, by the way.

I still don't want to fucking Twitter.

There are a couple of reasons. First of all, while I know a lot of people make it funny, clever, and wry, the idea of broadcasting hour-to-hour "status updates" of my life still has a whiff of self-indulgence to me:


Second, and more important, is the amount of time it takes. If you're going to do it, the point is to make it entertaining, or at least clever--and that takes effort. Effort I should probably spend on my novels.

But still. Everybody seems to be doing it. A dozen people in the last week have asked me if I Twitter, and recommended that I start. My publicist has suggested it. And like it or not, self-promotion is part of the novelist gig these days.

I don't have a problem with that. I've toured extensively, usually on my dime; I have a regularly updated website filled with honest, hard-earned tips; I have a Facebook page, I go to conferences, I do drop-in signings, I speak at libraries and universities, I call in to book groups, and I am, of course, a member of The Outfit.

And truth be told, if I were to be convinced that Twittering is a valuable promotional tool, that it will bring me more readers or sell more books or make for more crowded signings, then, shit, I'm game.

Which is why I'm throwing it out to all of you. What do you think? Do you do it? Do you find it valuable? Who do you follow, and why, and does that make you feel more closely connected to them?

And if you Twitter yourself, do you dig it? Do you find it takes a lot of time? Or is it rewarding? I was reluctant to join Facebook too, and yet I do enjoy it...

Finding Time

The most common question I am asked about writing is, “When do you find the time?” It is unfortunate, and maybe ironic, that fiction writing (which I consider to be an escape from reality) is often interrupted by reality—by my other job or time commitments. But the truth is, I am “writing” much of the time when I am nowhere near a computer. I am observing and considering and creating all day. When I’m on my game, I have my trusty note pad or tape recorder with me to put the idea down—though most of the time the translation from my brain to the pad of paper loses something. Anyway, when I am really busy at my “other job” (January through May at least), this kind of loose “writing” is critical to me, because I have almost zero time in front of the laptop.

I also “write” whenever I am presented with art that I truly admire. Occasionally, I go to the symphony and listen to some of the world’s top musicians; same for the annual trip to the opera. Those things are not at the top of my list of favorite things to do, but they inspire me, if for no other reason than because these people are absolutely excellent at what they do. The more common example is exceptional prose. The inspiration comes from the brilliance of the artist. I find myself motivated to be as good at my art as they are at theirs. I often find myself reading prose and suddenly ideas are pouring out about things I want to put down on paper. And the thoughts usually have nothing to do with what I am reading—I’m not stealing their ideas or even touching upon the same topics I am reading. I just find a surge of adrenaline and then suddenly, the creative process is flowing.

I have to be alone when I’m writing—lost in my own world when among others, or more typically physically isolated from others. I don’t sit in a park or a Starbucks and observe others, or anything like that. I don’t consider the process interactive. I could see where others might disagree. I know a lot of my colleagues “workshop” their chapters and their ideas. I don’t really do that. Maybe I should. In other areas of writing—legal writing, for me—I do take into account the opinions of others when formulating my words. But not so with creative writing. It has to be inside my brain, churning and evolving and crystallizing without intrusion from others.

I would be very interested in hearing from others on this score. What inspires you to write? Do you find it helpful to bounce ideas off others, or simply isolate yourself in your twisted, dark inner worlds like me? I don’t pretend to have the answers, and I firmly believe it my responsibility as a writer to evolve. The longer I live, the more competing responsibilities I have, and the more efficient I have to be with my writing. So if anyone out there has some deep thoughts on this topic, I am all ears.

Found

by Michael Dymmoch

The idea of collecting found objects wasn’t new when Davy Rothbart first published Found: The Best Lost, Tossed, and Forgotten Items.

I personally have files of notes like “You are A Fucking ASShole. You Parked your car literally on top of MiNe.”

God! I just hate pink!!” (on a pink envelope)

And — “CALABRESE IS STUPID TO THE OSMUNT TRIBE JOYCE AND TOMMY” —???!

Occasionally a spammer will give you a line you couldn’t make up, like today’s subject line: Man selling life onn e-bay [sic]. You may be able to spin a short story, at least, from that.

Most writers have been doing something like Found in their heads all their lives. No one could make up the kind of lines that catch a writer’s ear—lines filed away or sometimes written down on the spot for futures use or reference. Sometimes we quote them verbatim—

“All they do is run they mouth. Talk, talk, talk.”

“Her boyfriend musta didn’t care nothing for her—all he gave her was a scarf.”

And from a lady complaining that the hair straightening solution used by her hairdresser was too strong— “I don’t like that girl. She don’t know to cut stuff down so it don’t be so strong, so it don’t burn me around the edges.”

Sometimes we paraphrase. A bus driver once mentioned to me that he’d never been as aware of time as he was since he’d taken the job. I borrowed the concept for a story about a man dealing with loss— "From the moment we heard the diagnosis, I had my eye on the clock. I'd never been so conscious of time. Before she died, it traveled faster than light; since then, it's stopped.”

There are wonderful, time-sucking blogs dedicated to the use of found items or ideas the ducks in the bathroom aren't mine.

and to things people don’t necessarily want to admit—Post Secret.

Sometimes you can spin a whole yarn from someone’s discarded note or throwaway line, but visuals are even better. I managed to spin a novel, M.I.A., off the bumper sticker on an old car.



This one probably has a story behind it—








And how many stories could be spun around this (spotted under a bridge)?




(KILLING PEOPLE IS RUDE)




Have you a favorite sign or overheard quote you’d like to share? Or are you saving them all for your novels?

Remember When You Spilled Coke All Over Your Blouse?

By Kevin Guilfoile

A few weeks ago, my friend Matthew Baldwin called. He wanted to know if I had ever read the novel Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace.

It was a question loaded with guilt and shame for me. Infinite Jest came out when I was still in my twenties, when I considered myself at the edge of all things literary. I remember the hype that preceded the publication of IJ, my anticipation as the release date neared. I remember going to the bookstore to buy it. I remember how excited I was when I spotted the cover. I recall taking it off the shelf, opening to a random page.

I remember thinking, "This looks hard."

I didn't buy it that day, obviously. Over the years I became a fan of David Foster Wallace, mostly through his essays and non-fiction. I've recommended Everything and More, his book on the history of the concept of infinity. I was saddened last year when I heard that he had died. But I never read his most famous novel and when Infinite Jest comes up in conversation, I am always mildly embarrassed.

But Matthew had a cure for all that, which he called Infinite Summer. His plan was to put together a small crew of four people including himself who would read Infinite Jest between June and September and comment each week as they went along. He would also solicit essays from people who love the novel, who hate the novel, people who knew David Foster Wallace, people who were experts on the book. And, of course, he would invite anyone who was game to read along with us.

Matthew was offering me a way out of my shame. I didn't hesitate to say yes.

And it looks like we'll have company. In just one week the Facebook group for Infinite Summer has notched over 1,300 members and the project already has more than a thousand followers on Twitter. There is a renewed and rigorous discussion over at Metafilter. There are corporate and media sponsors. It's going to be a whole lot of fun.

So if you've ever wanted to tackle Infinite Jest but just couldn't quite find the motivation, please join us starting June 21. There will be no better time but this summer.

In the meantime, though, I wonder if any of you have a book that got away. A novel that you've always meant to read and have always felt a little bad that you never got around to it. A book that taunts you from your bookshelf.

Admitting it is the first step toward reading it.

Follow Kevin on Twitter.

Are Mystery Conferences in Decline?

by Barbara D'Amato


Several previously popular mystery conventions and workshops canceled this year, and others, like Malice Domestic, one of the best-run and best-liked, almost didn’t happen. Love Is Murder on Dark and Stormy Nights is taking a year off. I won’t list the ones that have closed down—I just hope they bounce back. But things are looking bleak.

It’s the economy, stupid? Well, yes, but I don’t think it is entirely the economy.

Some say the conferences are competing with each other, drawing from the same customer base. Too many conferences with, too often, the same speakers and same panels. And it is certainly true that conferences proliferated in the last ten or fifteen years.

I think there’s something else going on, though.

When I first joined MWA in 1982, the chapter meetings were the only place I could chat with fellow authors. Who else was going to sympathize with complaints about covers? Who else cared whether your publisher was a hyphen-phobe or hyphen-phile? Those were days when the only other ways to chat with fellow writers were to telephone or to send a letter. On paper! So real discussions were obtainable only at chapter meetings or Bouchercon, one of the very few conferences in existence then. Of Dark and Stormy Nights was the first mystery-writing workshop.

For years I went to every single chapter meeting and enjoyed them and learned a lot.

Now it’s DorothyL or Murder Must Advertise, or any of a dozen socialnets and hundreds of blogs, let alone the websites of the organizations and even of the conferences. I feel part of a large, chatty, opinionated, vigorous world of writers without leaving my keyboard and monitor.

Really, I still enjoy conferences. There’s something exciting about the gathering-of-the-clan feeling you get when you belly up to the check-in desk and see friends from California and Virginia and the U.K. checking in, too. But attendance is down.

I’m wondering how people feel about this. Do you think virtual fellowship is enough? Has it replaced some of your conference-going?

Is this blog diminishing the delights of meetings?

That first cover

By David Heinzmann

Libby’s post a couple days ago seeking input on her next book cover had my full attention. As it happens, I’m eagerly and anxiously waiting to see my own cover, which the publisher’s designers are working on right now. I can’t wait. All the line editing is done, and I’ve seen the formatted pages of the book, but laying eyes on the cover will just make the whole process seem that much more real to me.

As I’ve noted before, A WORD TO THE WISE is my first book so this is all new and exciting.

At the Love is Murder conference in February I met a novelist who said tears came to his eyes when he saw his first book cover. In his mind, it was perfect. The designers had heeded his suggestions, and the cover distilled the central threads of the book into a single dark image. It was everything he had hoped for. He’d written several books that were never published, so that first one was a wonderfully cathartic experience.

I hope I’m so lucky. I helped pick the main image from a stock photo catalog, so if I’m disappointed I’ll have myself mostly to blame.

My protagonist, Augustine Flood, lives in a River North high rise with a nice view down on the Chicago River. The book is set in the middle of a brutal January, and Flood occasionally looks down at the jagged plates of ice filling in the river like puzzle pieces fitting together as it gets colder and colder.

Over the several winters that I’ve trudged across the Wabash and Michigan Avenue bridges on my way to the Tribune Tower, I’ve loved watching the river freeze over in pieces like that.

So we went looking for stock images of that ice on the river. There wasn’t much available, but I eventually stumbled on a twilight photo of the distant skyline taken from somewhere along the shore south of the Loop. Although it’s not the river, the foreground is full of those jagged shards of ice piling up in the shallows. With the arresting color and light in the photo, I was more than willing to compromise.

It’s wonderful to be dealing with these tasks because a year ago I had pretty much given up on seeing this book in print. My agent, Jeff, had been encouraging about the prospect of selling it after he read it—three years ago. He’d taken a pass on representing an earlier book I’d written, so his enthusiasm about this one had really gotten me excited. Early on we had some good nibbles, but nobody bit for real. And then the rejection emails started to stretch out over the months. Meanwhile, I was finishing a second Flood book, which I felt was better than the first. But what was I going to do with a second book in a series if the first was never published?

Then came Jeff’s email, out of the blue, while I was vacationing with my extended family in northern Wisconsin. Five Star wanted to publish A WORD TO THE WISE. Granted it was late and I’d had a few when the message came, but I had to read the note four or five times before it sunk in.

Then I woke everybody up in the cabin and had another drink.

Ten months later, here I am fretting over the cover. I’ll post it here as soon as it arrives.

And for the record, I liked 1A and 1B best among Libby’s potential covers.