I’m not interested in elevator pitches—“My stories are about a plucky private eye who searches for missing labradoodles with the aid of her grandfather’s long-dead schnauzer.”—but rather about the underlying themes in one’s work.
I’m pondering this question, as I have many times before, because Barb Goffman, moderator of “Short and Sweet but Sometimes Dark,” a short story panel at this month’s Bouchercon, asked participants to send her two recently published or about-to-be published stories to aid in her preparation.
As I looked through mine, I was reminded of how often I write about the lingering impact of expired relationships. Whether relationships end by choice or not, former lovers (survivors, in the case of death) carry emotional weight all the rest of their days, and this weight, in one form or another, informs much of my fiction.
I NEVER SAID GOODBYE
Michael Bracken, Heartache-bound
I had known Vickie since sixth grade, and she sat behind me in homeroom when I was a fourteen-year-old ninth grader at Mason Junior High School in Tacoma, Washington. I visited her home, where we played games, watched television, and dined with her family. Our first date—an unchaperoned date, no less—would be the first dance of the school year, held in a multi-purpose room with a stage at one end, theater seating at the other end, and a hardwood gymnasium floor between the two. Because Tacoma had public transportation, I would take the bus from home—a mere block from the junior high school—to hers a mile or so away, return with her, and attend the dance.
Between the time I asked Vickie to the dance and the day of our date, I learned that my parents and I would be moving to Fort Bragg, California, and we were leaving the morning after the dance. I told no one.
As planned, I picked Vickie up at her home and we traveled by city bus to the junior high school. We sat in the theater seats, listening to the music and watching some of our classmates on the dance floor. Vickie repeatedly asked me to dance, but I wouldn’t. I wanted to tell her I was moving, but I couldn’t.
After a while, she grew frustrated and left. Alone.
The next day I climbed in the back seat of my parents’ car, and we moved to California.
I never saw or talked to Vickie again.
I never told her I was leaving, I never said goodbye, and I have carried that weight for nearly fifty years.
MAYBE I DID THIS TIME
I did not have another girlfriend until I was a seventeen-year-old high school senior. Yvonne, a junior, served on the school’s newspaper staff with me, and we dated during the last semester of my senior year, the same semester my mother died during heart surgery. More than a girlfriend, she was one of the few people (along with my best friend Joe and my English teacher Mrs. Richmond) who helped me cope with the loss of my mother.
Even so, I struggled with my mother’s passing, and my stepfather and I did not get along. So, my grandmother traveled to Fort Bragg to take me home with her.
I think I told Yvonne I was leaving—I hope I did—but once again a budding relationship was truncated by events beyond my control, and at least two years passed before I again opened my heart.
AND THEN MY HEARTACHES BLED INTO MY STORIES
Over the years, I have survived many additional heartaches—the deaths of loved ones, the slow disintegration of relationships that began with such promise, relationships truncated for reasons beyond my control—and those heartaches bled into, and continue to bleed into, my fiction.
So, when I selected two stories for Barb, I found myself unable to find two in which the end of a relationship didn’t play at least some small part in the tale. I chose “Who Done It,” coming next month in Seascape: The Best New England Crime Stories 2019 (Level Best Books), and “Woodstock,” forthcoming in Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. (I didn’t select “Love, Or Something Like It,” forthcoming in Crime Travel [Wildside Press], which Barb edited, because the theme is much too obvious.)
I could have selected any of several other stories because dealing with the emotional weight of expired relationships has long been an underlying theme in my work, just as it has in my life.
Still, if you prefer the elevator pitches, catch me when I’m feeling less confessional.
My story “Itsy Bitsy Spider,” published last year in Tough, has been named one of the “Other Distinguished Mystery Stories” in this year’s The Best American Mystery Stories. This is the second time one of my stories has made the list (the first, “Dreams Unborn,” made the 2005 list); last year my story “Smoked” actually made it into the anthology.
Join us at the launch party for The Eyes of Texas: Private Eyes from the Panhandle to the Piney Woods (Down and Out Books) at Murder By The Book in Houston on October 21. Seven of the contributors—Chuck Brownman, James A. Hearn, Scott Montgomery, Graham Powell, William Dylan Powell, Mark Troy, and Bev Vincent—will join me to discuss the anthology and their stories, and to sign copies. If you can’t get to the signing, contact Murder By The Book. I suspect they’ll let you preorder a copy that we can sign for you and that they can ship after the event.
(Dave, are you smiling down on me? My comedy is back)
Recently, my characters have become more mouthy.
I like to think of myself as their creator. Goddess material. Without me, they wouldn’t have a life on the page, or anywhere, for that matter. This should buy me a certain amount of respect, I figure. Sort of like you might give a minor deity. After all, I have created five series for them to live in.
Unfortunately, my characters haven’t bought into that. Worse, they seem to have cast me into the role of mother. That’s me: a necessary embarrassment for the perpetuation of their lives. And like all kids, they squabble. They fight with each other for attention. I liken it to sibling jealousy.
To wit: “You haven’t written about me lately,” says Rowena, star of Rowena Through the Wall.
I try to ignore the petulance in her voice.
“Been busy,” I mumble. “Gina (The Goddaughter) had to get married in Vegas. And Del, a relative of hers, started a vigilante group.”
“I don’t care if she started a rock group. You’re supposed to be writing MY story.”
I turn away from the keyboard and frown at her. “Listen, toots. You wouldn’t have any stories at ALL if it weren’t for me. You’ve had three books of adventures with men. A normal gal would be exhausted. So please be patient and wait your turn. Jennie had to suck it up for Worst Date Ever. Del and The B-Team were next in line. You can be after that, maybe.”
Maybe. I wasn’t going to tell her about the 6th Goddaughter book currently in the works.
“It’s not fair. I came first! Before all those silly mob comedies,” Row whines. “Don’t forget! I was the one who got you bestseller status.” She points at her ample chest.
“Hey!” says Gina, fresh from cannoli central. “And which book won the Derringer and the Arthur Ellis? Not some trashy old fantasy novel.”
“Who are YOU calling trashy?” says Rowena, balling her hands into fists. “Just because my bodice rips in every scene…”
“Like THAT isn’t a plot device,” chides Gina.
“Oh, PLEASE don’t fight,” says Jennie, the plucky romance heroine of Worst Date Ever. “I just want everyone to have a Happy Ever After. Can’t you do that for us all, Mom? Er…Melodie?”
I look at Del, from The B-Team. “What do you think?”
Del shrugs. “Sounds sucky. What kind of crap story would that be? Bugger, is that the time? I got a second story job that needs doing. Cover for me, will you? And this time, let me know if the cops start sniffing around.”
“Cops?” says Gina. “Crap! I’m outta here.”
“Cops?” says Rowena. “There’s that little matter of a dead body in book 2…” She vanishes.
“Cops?” says Jennie, hopefully. “OH! Is one of them single?”
The Crime Writers
of Canada went loco, and asked me to emcee the Arthur Ellis Awards this
year.Somehow they learned I might have
done standup in the past.Or maybe not,
because they even paid me.It may be
more than my royalties this quarter.
I dug back into
my Sleuthsayer files to decide what might appeal to a hardened (read soused)
group of crime writers en mass, with an open bar.This is what resulted, and I’m happy to say
the applause was generous.You may
remember some of this.
Arts and Letters
Club, Toronto, May 23, 2019, 9PM
Hello!Mike said I could do a few minutes of comedy
this evening as long as I apologized in advance.
My name is
Melodie Campbell, and it’s my pleasure to welcome here tonight crime writers,
friends and family of crime writers, sponsors, agents, and any publishers still
left out there.
Tonight is that
special night when the crime writing community in Canada meets to do that one
thing we look forward to all year:which
is get together and bitch about the industry.
Many of you knew
my late husband Dave.He was a great
supporter of my writing, and of our crime community in general.But many times, he could be seen wandering
through the house, shaking his head and muttering “Never Marry a crime writer.”
I’ve decided,
here tonight, to list the reasons why.
Everybody knows
they shouldn’t marry a crime writer.Mothers the world over have made that obvious: “For Gawd Sake, never
marry a marauding barbarian, a sex pervert, or a crime writer.” (Or a
politician, but that is my own personal bias.Ignore me.)
But for some
reason, lots of innocent, unsuspecting people marry authors every year.Obviously, they don’t know about the
“Zone.”(More obviously, they didn’t
have the right mothers.)
Never mind: I’m
here to help.
I think it pays
to understand that crime writers aren’t normal humans: they write about people
who don’t exist and things that never happened.Their brains work differently.They have different needs.And in
some cases, they live on different planets (at least, my characters do, which
is kind of the same thing.)
Thing is, authors
are sensitive creatures.This can be
attractive to some humans who think that they can ‘help’ poor writer-beings (in
the way that one might rescue a stray dog.)True, we are easy to feed and grateful for attention.We respond well to praise.And we can be adorable.So there are many reasons you might wish to
marry a crime writer, but here are 10 reasons why you shouldn’t:
The basics:
1Crime Writers are hoarders.Your house will be filled with books.And more books.It will be a shrine to books.The lost library of Alexandria will pale in
comparison.
2Crime Writers are addicts.We mainline coffee.We’ve also been known to drink other
beverages in copious quantities, especially when together with other writers in
places called ‘bars.’
3Authors are weird.Crime Writers are particularly weird (as
weird as horror writers.) You will hear all sorts of gruesome research details
at the dinner table.When your parents
are there.Maybe even with your parents
in mind.
4Crime Writers are deaf.We can’t hear you when we are in our offices,
pounding away at keyboards. Even if you come in the room.Even if you yell in our ears.
5Crime Writers are single-minded.We think that spending perfectly good
vacation money to go to conferences like Bouchercon is a really good idea.Especially if there are other writers there
with whom to drink beverages.
And here are some worse reasons why you
shouldn’t marry a crime writer:
6It may occasionally seem that we’d rather
spend time with our characters than our family or friends.
7We rarely sleep through the night.(It’s hard to sleep when you’re typing.Also, all that coffee...)
8Our Google Search history is a thing of
nightmares.(Don’t look.No really – don’t.And I’m not just talking about ways to avoid
taxes… although if anyone knows a really fool-proof scheme, please email me.)
And the really
bad reasons:
9If we could have affairs with our beloved
protagonists, we probably would. (No!Did I say that out loud?)
10And lastly, We know at least twenty ways to
kill you and not get caught.
RE that last
one:If you are married to a crime
writer, don’t worry over-much.Usually
crime writers do not kill the hand that feeds them.Most likely, we are way too focused on
figuring out ways to kill our agents, editors, and particularly, reviewers.
Finally, it seems appropriate to finish with the first joke I ever sold, way back in the 1990s:
Recent studies show that approximately 40% of writers are manic depressive. The rest of us just drink.
Melodie Campbell can be found with a bottle of Southern Comfort in the True North. You can follow her inane humour at www.melodiecampbell.com
A double header today. First up are some thoughts on the California Crime Writers Conference that happened this past weekend. Next up will be my Father’s Day reading recommendations. And from the truth in advertising department, I posted this (the book list part) previously on another site, so I hope you don’t mind the rerun.
The CCWC is held every other year in the L.A. area, Culver City. It’s a joint effort by the LA chapters of Sisters in Crime and MWA. It’s not as big as some other conventions but it makes up in quality what it lacks in quantity. And since time and money for conferences is always finite and this one is local for me it’s one I always try to go to.
There were two guests of honor: Tess Gerritsen and Catriona McPherson. Tess was the keynote speaker for lunch on Saturday. Her speech was short but pithy and to the point. She spoke about something that writer’s rarely talk about: what not to do. Later in the afternoon, Catriona McPherson gave a workshop called “Deep in a Bowl of Porridge” about how to plant clues.
Panels ranged from “Demystifying the Hallmark Mystery” and “Marketing without a Budget” to “Indie Publishing: New Frontiers” and “Adapting Your Novel to the Screen.” There was some emphasis on Hollywood because of the close proximity.
I was on the “Bringing the Past to Life” panel with Anne Louise Bannon, Jennifer Berg, Rosemary Lord, and Bonnie MacBird, and moderated by Amanya (“A.E.”) Wasserman. We discussed writing mysteries set in the past and how we do our research for them. Our panel covered the 1870’s to the 1990’s.
Plus there were workshops on Forensics, Interrogation Techniques, Suicide Bomber Indicators, Compassion Fatigue and Weaponry (although not all at once….).
But the main reason I go to these things is to “commune” with fellow writers and see people I might not have seen in some time.
It’s such a good conference that Walter Mosely showed up as a regular attendee, not even as a featured guest. And this isn’t the first time.
Unfortunately, I could only be at the conference a limited time this year due to personal reasons. But I enjoyed the time I had there and look forward to the next one. Only two years off. So, if you can swing it when it comes around again in a couple of years you might want to check out this two day conference in LA LA Land.
***
And some Father’s Day Reading Suggestions:
There’s so damn many good mystery-crime books out there. This list just covers crime novels, some of which I may have mentioned before. And maybe some time I’ll do a list of my five non-crime novels. Anyway, here goes:
The Poet: Michael Connelly is probably best known for the Bosch books. And I’m among Bosch’s fans. But I’d have to say my favorite Connelly book is the stand-alone The Poet (1996), though Jack McEvoy, the main character does appear in other books. The story follows reporter McEvoy as he investigates a string of cop suicides, including his own brother’s and ends up going down a hellish spiral into a world of pedophiles. It also introduces FBI agent Rachel Walling, who shows up in other Connelly novels. The Poet is dark and unsettling, but I think the reason I like it so much is that it is so well plotted, with a lot of twists and turns, and that it really keeps you on edge the whole time. I think this story is for anyone who likes a good crime yarn, but it’s not for the squeamish.
Tapping the Source: These days Kem Nunn is arguably better known as the co-creator of the TV series John from Cincinnati, as well as a writer on Sons of Anarchy and Deadwood. But he’s also the author of, I believe, six novels. Tapping the Source (1984) is his first and is something special. If it’s not the novel that invented the “surf noir” genre it’s certainly an early and foundational entry. This is not the Beach Boys’ version of sun, sand, surf and surfer girls, but a much darker vision of life on SoCal’s storied beaches. Ike Tucker, an aimless young man, treks to Huntington Beach (a.k.a. ‘Surf City’) to find his missing and possibly dead sister. There he gets hooked up with bikers, sex and drugs. No Gidgets or Moondoggie’s here. And Ike will be lucky if he gets out alive. I like this one so much that I looked into acquiring the film rights. Unfortunately they were already taken. Now, if whoever has them these days would just make the damn movie already. Tapping is good for anyone who loves surf, sun and murder.
Down There (a.k.a. Shoot the Piano Player): David Goodis has been called the “poet of the losers” and his stories of people on the skids certainly bear that out. I came to Goodis through the movies, which is how I’ve come to several writers and/or novels. I’m a fan of the Bogie-Bacall movie Dark Passage, so after having seen it a couple of times I decided to check out the David Goodis novel it was based on. I liked it enough that I began to read pretty much anything of Goodis I could get my hands on, but this was before he came into vogue again so mostly I had to pick up very scarred paperbacks (many, though not all of his books were only published in paperback), and I devoured his whole oeuvre. And, though I liked pretty much everything to one degree or another, Down There (1956) really stood out for me. It’s the story of a World War II vet, a former member the elite Merrill’s Marauders who, for a variety of reasons, is down on his luck – way down. Francois Truffaut made the book into a movie called Shoot the Piano Player which, to be honest, I don’t like very much, but that’s why the title of the book was changed from Down There and is probably better known today as Shoot the Piano Player. I think it would be good for fans of classic noir, old movie buffs, and others.
Mallory’s Oracle: NYPD detective Kathy Mallory is a hard-as-nails cop and not just because of her bright red nail polish. Even her creator, Carol O’Connell, describes Mallory as a “sociopath”. Mallory’s Oracle (1994) is the first in the Mallory series and probably the best place to start. I’ve talked with people about Mallory and recommended the Mallory books to several people over the years. And it seems people either love or hate Mallory. I’m in the former category. I love her no-nonsense, doesn’t suffer BS approach to her job. Nothing, including the law, will stand in her way. Not that I’d necessarily like to be friends with her if she suddenly came alive and jumped off the page. I think the Mallory books would be good for someone who likes solid crime stories, strong female characters and doesn’t mind one that’s a sociopath…
Devil in a Blue Dress: Pretty much anyone who knows me knows I have a thing for L.A., past and present. LA history. LA culture. And novels and movies set in the City of the Angels. Walter Mosley’s Devil in a Blue Dress (1990), the first Easy Rawlins novel, hits all those bullet points. And, much as I Iike Easy, I really dig his psychopath friend, Mouse. Not someone you want to get on the wrong side of but certainly someone you’d want to have your back when the you-know-what hits the fan. (I wonder how Mouse and Mallory would hit it off?) Devil in a Blue Dress, and the other Easy novels, would be good for LA history buffs, noir fans, general mystery fans.
The Big Nowhere: James Ellroy’s The Big Nowhere (1988) is the second of his LA Quartet books [ the others are The Black Dahlia (1987), L.A. Confidential (1990) and White Jazz (1992) ]. All are good, but if I had to pick one as a fave it would be The Big Nowhere. To try to describe Ellroy’s fever dream style is an exercise in futility. The story is set in LA in the 50s right after WWII. In part, it follows Sheriff’s deputy Danny Upshaw through the investigation of a series of mutilation crimes and exposes corruption and hypocrisy amid the “red scare”. I used to go to many Ellroy book events and signings and he truly is the Demon Dog of American Crime Fiction. At one event he even had a band with him. He’s a trip. His writing is a trip. His books are a trip. They would be good for anyone who’s into new noir with a retro setting, LA history buffs and the usual suspects.
The Grifters: Jim Thompson’s The Grifters (1963) is a good book and an even better movie. If you like people living on the down low, if you like con artists, and if you like the grift, this is the book for you. It would be good for fans of Jim Thompson (how’s that for stating the obvious?), noir fans, hardboiled mystery readers.
Bonus Round #1: White Heat / Broken Windows / Vortex / L.A. Late @ Night (uh, all by me): Well, since I’m not above a little BSP I couldn’t very well leave out this trio. White Heat is a noir detective thriller set during the Rodney King riots. Broken Windowsis the sequel to White Heat and follows P.I. Duke Rogers’ investigation of the death of an illegal immigrant in the turbulent 1990s L.A. Vortex is about a soldier returning from Afghanistan and finding more trouble in L.A. than in the war. LA Late @ Night is a collection of five of my previously published stories. And all four would be good for everyone! Well, anyone who likes hardboiled, noir and detective fiction.
Bonus Round #2: I didn’t mention Raymond Chandler and Ross Macdonald in my list above because to me they’re on a plane by themselves. And, as many of you know, I have a thing for both. I don’t think you could go wrong with any of Chandler’s or books – because he’s just such a damn good writer. And Macdonald blows me away with his explorations into the psychological aspects of crime and stories that boomerang back on the characters – the past always comes back to haunt them. I like pretty much everything by both of them, but if I had to pick I think I’d choose The Long Goodbye (1953) for Chandler and The Chill (1964 – a good year for the Beatles too!) or The Galton Case (1959) for Macdonald. These books would be good for pretty much anyone interested in mysteries and the crime fiction genre, but especially as an intro to a young or new reader of mysteries. And as an introduction to classic mystery and detective fiction.
What about you? What books would you recommend as gifts for the people in your life?
You have to admire the Brits. If they have a successful crime
series, they don't automatically grow it
beyond one season (Midsomer,
excepted.) But the trouble with most crime series filmed, and also
successful crime series in print, is they go beyond their best before
date. And by this I mean, they start to run out of plots - healthy
original plots - and search madly for something, anything they haven't
done before, including things that have been done to death <sic>.
The following tropes drive me crazy.
1. The protagonist sleuth is the murder suspect.
By
far, this one has me fired up to throw things. Inevitably, every
long-running series has one episode where the Detective Inspector, the
PI or the well-respected amateur sleuth, becomes the prime suspect for a
murder well into the series. Into jail they go. They've done it with
Father Brown. They've done it with Don Matteo. Hinterland. You name
it. Whenever I see this happening, I grit my teeth. Why?
That
plot is boring, man. Obviously, they didn't do it. If they did, then
it is 'series over'. And it can't be series over, because there are
several episodes left, or a new season to download, and I can see that
right on the screen. So all we're doing is tediously waiting for the
sidekicks to get proof that our beloved protagonist didn't do it.
2. The protagonist and/or sidekick is held hostage.
This
is the second plot trope that has me screaming Italian curse words at
the screen. This month, it was Don Matteo and Rosewood. You can name
others. And again, this is boring. If they are all killed and don't get
out, end of show. But there are more episodes, so they obviously get
away. If we know the ending at the beginning, what's the pleasure in
watching?
3. The police officer protagonist is hated by his immediate superior.
One
of the reasons I like Endeavor is because Morse's boss Thursday is such
a good guy to young Morse. In so many shows, including the original
Morse, the detective superintendent or chief constable behaves like an
out-of-control teen, lambasting our hero with manic fury. He hates the
protagonist, for no good reason we can see. Or is it that he is so
insecure, he can't stand someone who makes him and his department look
good? How demeaning. By all that's holy, make this stop.
4. Young female sargeant has affair with older boss.
Okay,
we all learned in the 80s and 90s: you don't have an affair with your
boss. It's stupid. It's career-killing. It's also unethical, if he's
married or you're married. And yet, time after time we see this on the
screen. STILL. IN 2018.
I cringe, because it
perpetuates the ancient stereotype that young female police officers are
not serious about their jobs. They are slaves to their emotions. They
are willing to risk all for romance. Writers, DON'T take me back to
the seventies. Just don't.
5. The male Detective Inspector invites prime female suspect/witness to a romantic dinner.
Similar
to the 'affair with the boss' above, this scenario gives high-ranking
police officers I've talked to apoplexy. No police officer is that
idiotic.
Look, we all understand that tension is
ramped up if there is personal involvement. But come on, writers!
Don't make our extremely professional boys (and girls) in blue look
adolescent. It's insulting.
Just do the right thing. Tell us a damn good story. And wrap things up before you sink to these tropes.
Melodie Campbell writes seriously wild comedy. You can find her latest crime books (The Bootlegger's Goddaughter and The B-Team) at all the usual suspects. See this latest ad in Mystery Scene Magazine. www.melodiecampbell.com
From the truth in advertising department: I did this piece a few years ago at a different blog. I think it’s worth repeating. But the main reason I’m doing that is because I’m having major computer issues and it’s hard to work on my computer. I hope we have these issues worked out over the next few days. Believe me, I’m ready to CENSORED.
And I want to say that I hope everyone had a good Veterans Day and that we actually stopped to remember what it was for.
So, how do I react to negative reviews?
I call up my friends in the Mossad and tell them to seek out and destroy all negative reviewers in the shank of a dark and stormy night. Oh wait, no, that’s what a producer said he was going to do to me when we got in an argument about a script.
Take 2:
Some people say never to read reviews and that’s probably good advice, and probably what one should do. But it’s hard not to. Why? Because, I’m sure, we all want to have our egos stroked. And we’re looking for the positive reinforcement that says we haven’t wasted our lives working on something that nobody likes. So our expectation—our hope—is to get good reviews for that and other reasons. When we don’t our egos are shattered. And those who say it doesn’t affect them, well, let’s just say I think they’re most likely doing that stiff upper lip thing.
I’ve been gratified by most reviews, whether by professional reviewers or consumers on Amazon and the like. But every once in a while...
Even big stars like to check their reviews. I was on the Warner Brothers lot (though it may have been called The Burbank Studios at the time, now it’s back to Warner Brothers [long story]) one day and saw Bill Murray leaning against a car reading a review of his version of “The Razor’s Edge” (1984) that had just come out (and based on my tied for favorite book along with The Count of Monte Cristo). It wasn’t getting rave reviews to say the least, but as I say above, we all want to be validated and maybe also get some constructive criticism as to what went wrong. And I remember thinking even Bill Murray, with all his popularity from “Ghostbusters,” etc. still must feel the sting of a bad review like everyone else.
Hell, even Bob Dylan doesn’t like the sting of being booed, as when he first went electric and rock from strictly acoustic folk music. Check out this YouTube clip. It’s less than a minute long:
So let’s focus on Amazon reviews because they’re there, for good or ill. I don’t like reading negative reviews, but how I react depends on the review. Not everybody can like everything. I get that. Of course, one is tempted to remind some reviewers what their mommies told them, “If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.” But that isn’t the real world, is it? So for me, it depends on what the reviewer says. Does it seem like they actually read the book? Do they have an axe to grind? Are they offering constructive comments about what worked or didn’t for them or are they just off on some kind of tangent? Did they get what I was trying to say and, if not, is that my fault or theirs?
I got a couple of one star reviews for my short story collection “LA Late @ Night”. And they did piss me off. I had gotten some lukewarm reviews on “White Heat” and lived with them. But these two reviews for “LA Late @ Night” just didn’t make sense to me. These two reviewers, who seemed cut from the same cloth (literally), both hated the book and the stories in it. But their comments made little sense.
One said: “Uninteresting, choppy writing. No plots. I wouldn't waste my time reading this series of books as they are rambling writings.”
Where do I start? With the fact that it’s not a series. Uninteresting, well, that’s your opinion. Choppy, well that’s my style on some things. But each story had previously been published in a magazine or anthology, so somebody found them interesting. No plots, see previous response. Bottom line, I wonder if they even knew what book they were reviewing—But Wait: There’s More. The Kicker is yet to come. But First:
The other crappy review:
“Not that great of stories and the writing is stilted...I didn't even finish them all!”
Oh, where to begin: How ’bout them criticizing my writing as being stilted when their sentence is grammatically incorrect? So maybe someone who doesn’t know proper grammar criticizing my grammar is actually a compliment.
Okay, here it comes. Hold your breath. The Kicker:
Being a glutton for punishment, I of course had to check each person’s profile to see why they hated my book so much. What I saw were reviews for muffin pans, muck boots, kitchen gadgets, children’s books, religious/inspirational books and very few mystery books, and no noir or hardboiled books. So I wondered why they even bought my book…if they really did? Judging from their other reviews I could have told them they wouldn’t like it and would have saved them the time, aggravation and money.
It made no sense to me why they would even read a book like mine. So I had to assume there was an agenda going on. I called this to Amazon’s attention, asking them to remove these reviews, which they wouldn’t. I still think there was some kind of agenda happening here, though I couldn’t say exactly what the motivation is and these are the kind of reviews, totally baseless, that really piss me off. And I know authors are not supposed to say that, we’re not supposed have emotions or respond, but hey, we do.
And here are some other One Star Amazon reviews for your entertainment pleasure, only the names have been removed to protect the guilty.
Reviews from Amazon – yellow highlights and purple comments have been added by me.
Reviews of The Big Sleep:
One Star, boring
By XXX/Reviewer’s Name Removed
Format: PaperbackVerified Purchase
"The book is a big sleep." (Paul’s comment: Well, some of us who liked this book must just be insomniacs.)
One Star
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"Dated."
Reviews of Crime and Punishment:
One Star
By Amazon Customer
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"Very slow & plodding." (Paul’s comment: That damn Raskolnikov, why didn’t he just get it over and confess? On “Law & Order” Briscoe and Curtis would have had him spilling all in 2 minutes flat.)
Too long
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"Long and pretty boring I don't like the old timely language they use in this book I know it's translated from German or Russian maybe but I was bored to tears and there was never any payoff really just goes on and on."
Reviews of 1984:
0 of 2 people found the following review helpful I love a good dystopian but this was just such a ...
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"I have always heard about 1984 being the father of all dystopian novels... I love a good dystopian but this was just such a hard book to read because in the entire story, there is no room for hope." (Paul’s comment: Maybe Katniss from “Hunger Games” should show up and rescue Winston and Julia from O’Brien.)
0 of 3 people found the following review helpful ...must be a book only an English teacher would like. I classify this a worse than "Catcher and ...
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"This must be a book only an English teacher would like. I classify this a worse than 'Catcher and the Rye'" (Paul’s comment: Is that a new book, Catcher and the Rye, or is that something you get at Canter’s Deli (or Katniss’ Deli) – or maybe Canter’s and the Rye, or maybe Ham on Rye – h/t Chinaski.)
~.~.~.
Damn! I’m hungry now.
So, overall, you have to take both the good and the bad with a grain of seasoned salt, a quesadilla and some damn good and spicy hot sauce.
***
And now for the usual BSP:
I’m honored and thrilled – more than I can say – that my story Windward appears in The Best American Mystery Stories of 2018, edited by Louise Penny and Otto Penzler, which just came out this week. I wrote a blog on that on SleuthSayers if you want to check it out: https://www.sleuthsayers.org/2018/10/the-impossible-dream.html .
I’m doubly thrilled to say that Windward won the Macavity Award at Bouchercon a few weeks ago. Wow! And thank you to everyone who voted for it.
And I’m even more thrilled by the great reviews that Broken Windows has been receiving. Here’s a small sampling:
Kristin Centorcelli, Criminal Element: "Although it’s set in 1994, it’s eerie how timely this story is. There’s an undeniable feeling of unease that threads through the narrative, which virtually oozes with the grit, glitz, and attitude of L.A. in the ‘90s. I’m an ecstatic new fan of Duke’s."
"Duke and company practically beg for their own TV show."
John Dwaine McKenna, Mysterious Book Report: "This electrifying novel will jolt your sensibilities, stir your conscience and give every reader plenty of ammunition for the next mixed group where the I [immigration] -word is spoken!"
I used to joke that I was going to write a series of novels where Donald Fagen and Walter Becker would use their time off of touring with Steely Dan to solve mysteries. Can’t you just picture it? They’re a perfect detective pairing; they’re snarky and sardonic, with a clever patter and a long history of writing songs around lowlifes. It would have been amazing and the most on-brand Libby Series of all time, combining my well-honed talent for writing mysteries with my deep and passionate love for the Dandom.
Tragically, Becker’s death last September put an end to this and many of my other Steely dreams (like getting to hear them do “The Second Arrangement” in concert again) but it did get me thinking about the core of hardboiled noir that runs throughout a lot of Yacht Rock.
For those of you unfamiliar with the term, (coined by J.D. Ryznar in his eponymous and, frankly life-changing Channel 101 series) “Yacht Rock” generally refers to a style of smooth, often jazz-inflected music from the late 1970s and early 80s, bolstered by studio musicians (Jay Graydon, Steve Porcaro, Jeff Porcaro, etc) and, if you want to get hyper-specific, containing the word “fool.” Think Michael McDonald. Think Christopher Cross. The Doobie Brothers’ “What a Fool Believes” is Yacht Rock. Looking Glass’ “Brandy (You’re a Fine Girl)” is not. Do not try to fight me on this, I swear to God, I will mess you up.
Let’s be real, I could write about crime songs all day,
because there are a billion of them. But we’ll come back to this series every
so often, because songs about the wrong side of the law are my favorite genre
of music. This month’s theme? The criminals themselves, the best of the bad
guys and all of their gruesome deeds. Consider this the start of your master
heist mix tape.
“Kid Charlemagne” Steely Dan (The Royal Scam). Oh, like you didn’t see
this coming. Steely Dan writes a LOT of songs about crime and criminal acts,
ranging from drugs to murder to gambling to prostitution to child molestation.
But “Kid Charlemagne” remains not only their greatest song, but possibly the
greatest song in the history of all pop music (Fight me, I dare you.) This song, inspired by famed, ah, chemist Owsley
Stanley, is a little tiny novel in itself, the tension building through Larry
Carlton’s legendary guitar solo, from the talk of the town to hiding drugs from
the cops. Is there gas in the car….?
“The Long Arm of The Law” Warren Zevon (Transverse City) Zevon, like Becker and
Fagen, is no goody-two-shoes when it comes to songs about crime, and as a fan
of Raymond Chandler and a friend of crime and thriller luminaries like Stephen
King and Carl Hiassan, it should be no surprise that mercenaries and murders
crept into his songs. But “The Long Arm of the Law,” like “Kid Charlemagne,” is
a whole arching narrative, starting with a gun runner in South America and
ending with him in chains. “Only the dead get off scot-free,” he laments, and
he isn’t wrong.
“I Remember Larry” ‘Weird Al’ Yankovic (Bad Hair Day). I love this one because
it’s so unexpected. The man who gave us “Eat It” and “Like a Surgeon” can also
go to some dark places, rapidly escalating a series of pranks played on the
narrator by his neighbor Larry, who makes prank phone calls, post embarrassing
photos and dumps toxic waste on the singer’s lawn—where he got toxic waste is probably another song—to the final snap in the
last verse. “If the cops ever find him who knows what they’ll say/but I’m sure
if ol’ Lar were still with us today/he would have to agree with me/it was a
pretty good gag!” Yankovic bleats cheerfully. April Fools can be deadly, folks.
“Sweet and Tender Hooligan” The Smiths. (Louder Than Bombs) Who doesn’t love a
bad boy, especially one on a post-punk beat and a Morrissey wail? Maybe I’ll put this one on a mix for LesterNygaard.
“Only a Lad” Oingo Boingo (Only a Lad). Danny Elfman takes a decidedly less romantic look at teenage
criminals, snarking on a soft society that lets arsonists, car thieves and
murders walk free because of their white and suburban precociousness. This song
is just as true today as it ever was, as young men repeatedly get away with
rape, assault and other crimes because, hey, boys will be boys, right?
“Hospital Food” The Eels (Electro-Shock Blues). Dark and low and grimy like an alley after
midnight, everything about this song, sound and lyrics and all, captures a
hitman’s nightlife. I think of Vic Mackey when I hear this one, or Eric
Powell’s The Goon and Franky.
“Gimme The Goods” Boz Scaggs. (Two Down, Then Left) Another
pulp-novel narrative coming out of the yacht rock canon, Boz takes his all the
way back to 1948, telling a doomed tale of drug runners, complete with one
final and badly botched job, a bullet wound, a femme fatale and the wail of
sirens coming down rain-slicked streets. I would watch whatever movie was made
from this song.
“Opportunities” Pet Shop Boys (Please). “If you’ve got the
inclination/I’ve got the crime” is the most perfect invitation to wicked deeds
ever set to music. This is the soundtrack to assembling your team for a casino
heist, a bank job or maybe a long con played out of a sleazy motel room.
“Stool Pigeon” Kid Creole and the Coconuts (Tropical Gangsters). Sure, he’s bringing
in the bad guys, but this ex-con isn’t getting the hero’s ballad for turning in
his old friends to the FBI. Singing the chorus through the crackling static of
a policeman’s radio, Kid Creole seems to be warning him of the oldest adage in
the book—snitches get stitches. So maybe he’s got a plane and a boat and a new
face, but all that money can’t buy him the kind of friends he had in the joint.
“Zip Gun Bop” Royal Crown Revue (Mugzy’s Move) The neo-swing revival of
the late 1990s drew much of its songwriting inspiration from pulp of the 1940s
and no one drew more heavily on it than Royal Crown Revue, widely considered to
be the founders of the movement. This gangster-addled number incorporates the
slow scream of the police siren, rat-a-tat-tat of machine gun fire and plenty
of other genre pastiche.
I was up early Jan. 1, 2017. I wanted to start the New Year
off right, that is, writing. Also, I had trouble sleeping. I blamed the
champagne.
As such, I was the first person in Upstate New York to see
the press release from Doug Brenner, the Oneonta Police Lieutenant who was set
to be named Interim Chief that Thursday, stating that Joshua Underwood had been
arrested for bludgeoning his boyfriend, Mark Morrison, to death with a 25 pound
weight after a fight just after the dawn of the New Year.
It was 8 a.m. “Doug,” I groaned when I called him for details. “You
have got to be kidding me.”
“Tell me about it,” he said in a voice I would soon get very familiar with.
SPOILER ALERT. If you watch the TV show Major Crimes and haven't seen the episodes that aired on December 19th, stop reading and go watch. Then come back.
For nearly thirteen years, I have been invested in the Major Crimes squad of the Los Angeles Police Department--the fictional one, as depicted in two series on TNT: The Closer, which ran from 2005 - 2012, and its spin-off, Major Crimes, which began in 2012 and which will air its final episode tonight. I have loved these two shows because of the writing and the acting, because the audience was allowed to become invested in the characters as well as the cases, and because the people behind the show--until recently--were able to give the audience a good balance of episodes, some serious, other lighthearted. Put simply, these shows made me happy.
But with the final episode just hours away from being aired, I must confess I'm not happy anymore. I'm not happy that the powers behind the cable network apparently put pressure in the last year on the people behind Major Crimes to make the show darker and edgier and to come up with story lines that wouldn't be resolved in a single episode but instead dragged on and on and on.
While I'm okay with overarching character issues that continue throughout a series--seeing Sharon and Andy, for instance, grow from friends to husband and wife--and while I'm okay with larger plot issues that reoccur from time to time (such as the ongoing case involving serial killer Philip Stroh), I didn't like that Major Crimes changed its format recently from having a murder that was solved each week to a murder case that would take several weeks to be solved. Those multiple-episode cases became too hard to follow, and they were all so so dark and serious.
I'm also unhappy because Major Crimes killed off the star of the show, Sharon Raydor, a few episodes ago. It was shocking and heartbreaking and completely unnecessary. When a canceled show goes off the air, I like to think that the fictional characters are still out there, doing their jobs, living their lives. I might not get to check in with them anymore, but in my mind, they are riding off happily into the sunset. But when the main character of a TV show is killed off, there is no happily ever after. There is no joy any longer.
I read a Variety article a few weeks ago in which the amazing Mary McDonnell, who played Major Crimes's star, Sharon Raydor, talked about the decision by the show's executive producer and creator, James Duff, to kill off Sharon. The death wasn't done for shock value or as an F.U. to the network. It appears the decision was made thoughtfully and with the audience in mind. Duff wanted to allow the audience to grieve, and he thought this would be a good-send off for the character. Maybe there are viewers out there who enjoyed this closure. But for me and for every person I've talked to about this, it was a kick in the gut--a major miscalculation. I didn't want grief forced on me. I wanted to believe Sharon and Andy would live happily ever after. I wanted Sharon to continue leading her squad. If I had to put up with the show being canceled, I at least should have been given the ability to believe that everything would continue to be well with all my favorite fictional police detectives. That would have left me satisfied.
All of this agita leads to an interesting question. When a series is ending, be it a TV show or a mystery novel series or any other type of series, how much does the author/showrunner owe to the readers/audience? After nearly thirteen years as a viewer of these two TV shows, I feel ownership of the characters and want them to have a happy ending, as I expect most loyal viewers do. But if I put on my author hat, I realize that my reaction is quite presumptuous. I might be a loyal viewer, but these are not my characters, not my story lines, not my shows. I don't own the copyright. I didn't dream up these dramas. I didn't bring the characters to life. As an author, I own the stories I write, and while I keep my readers in mind as I write, I choose the twists and the endings, and I would be aggravated if readers started telling me that I should craft my stories differently. My stories are mine. So from this perspective, I can understand Duff's desire to end the show on his terms. I just wish his terms weren't so different from mine.
Major Crimes certainly isn't the only series (TV or books) to end on a note that readers didn't like. (And I should add that while I'm unhappy with Duff's choice to kill off Sharon, the episodes since then have been wonderful, and I expect the final episode tonight too will be good.) The final episodes of other shows and books have not been so well received either. The last episode of Seinfeld, for instance, was terrible. Viewers wanted to imagine Jerry, George, Elaine, and Kramer living out their lives in New York, going about their days where nothing happens in an amusing manner. No one wanted to imagine those characters in prison. And when Arthur Conan Doyle killed off Sherlock Holmes, readers were so unhappy, thousands apparently canceled their subscriptions to The Strand magazine, in which the offending story appeared. I read that Conan Doyle wanted to send Holmes off with a bang. But what about what the readers wanted?
It's a hard line for writers to walk, wanting to keep strong to your artistic vision as you wind up a series, yet give your readers/viewers the payoff they want. It must be especially hard when the decisions are made with care, yet they aren't received as expected, at least by some.
So it will be with a heavy heart that I watch the last episode of Major Crimes tonight. I expect that the serial killer Stroh will finally be caught. I expect that justice will prevail. I expect that no other characters in the squad will die. And I expect that no matter what happens in the episode, I will be in mourning as the final credits roll, because these are characters whom I've grown to love, and I'll miss them. And that is something Duff and McDonnell and everyone involved in Major Crimes and The Closer before it can be proud of. It's no small thing to create a world that brings others joy, even if some readers/viewers don't love every aspect of the way the story comes to an end.
When I agreed to serve as editor of Where Crime Never Sleeps, the fourth volume of the Murder New York Style anthology series from the New York/Tri-State Chapter of Sisters in Crime, I knew the process had to take place online. I had been a professional editor myself for many years. I had used Track Changes, the editing feature of MS Word, with editors of my own fiction. Furthermore, in my “other hat,” I am an online therapist, a pro at text-based communication and relationships in cyberspace. Yet the alchemy of the online editorial process produced benefits that came as a complete surprise. One was stronger stories than I believe could have been achieved by the passing back and forth of marginal scribbles and a couple of rounds of sticky notes. Another was a dialogue between editor and individual authors that took on depth and complexity throughout the process and created bonds that would not have existed otherwise.
Essential to the process was Track Changes. Compared to paper sticky notes (and before that, marginal slips you had to lick—remember those?), Track Changes balloons are infinitely expandable. It wasn’t just a matter of my offering a suggestion, making a correction, or asking for clarification; of the author complying, explaining, or offering an alternative. We could engage in an ongoing dialogue. In a sense, the margins became a mini-chat room. If we needed to converse at greater length, we could move on to emails at any time. The intensive electronic editing process—three rounds of edits—lasted from early April to mid-May. Then came a final trickle of queries through mid to late June, as I noticed unresolved issues, some quite important, while preparing to send the manuscript to the publisher, Level Best Books. In one case, when I got no answer to my email, I phoned the author, thinking the number I had, with a New York area code, must be her land line. Oops. It was her cell phone, and she was at a funeral in Montana—but she answered my question.
Our dialogue touched on many important elements of storytelling: voice, attribution, pace, when to start a scene, when to use backstory, how to introduce a character, what doesn’t need saying, what kinds of details readers skip over. For example, as an aspect of voice, a character mentioning the Brooklyn Bridge would not describe it in terms that might appear in a guidebook. In introducing a character, it’s awkward at best to inject a description of the new character’s appearance into the attribution:
"Stop, or I'll shoot!" the six-foot, blue-eyed, blonde police officer said.
Physical characteristics are better integrated into the narrative or left out altogether.
Certain small flaws cropped up in story after story, including my own. These were stage directions that failed to offer fresh language or to advance the plot.
He nodded.
She looked up.
He turned.
She stood up.
He sat back.
She shook her head.
I kept highlighting these brief sentences, noting: “Delete. Adds nothing, slows the pace.” I was an offender like everybody else. On the final pass, I found the following passage in my own story.
Jimmy and I looked at each other.
“She’s got a point, Mr. Jones,” he said.
“She is good at asking questions, Mr. Bones,” I said.
Out came “Jimmy and I looked at each other.” It wasn’t needed. Why hadn’t I seen that before? I hadn’t edited sixteen other stories before.
Since the New York/Tri-State Chapter of Sisters in Crime is responsible for the Murder New York Style anthologies, the contributors come from quite a small pool. Those of us who have been around for a while know each other. On the other hand, many of those who submit stories are relative newcomers. I couldn’t have put names to the faces of some of the authors whose stories I edited, though I might have met them at one or two of our monthly meetings. But after working intensively with them online, I did know them, and they knew me. We had developed a relationship.
As a psychotherapist with long-term online clients, I can assure you that genuine emotion, relationship, and personal growth are possible in text and in cyberspace. People who have greeted online writer friends with a hug the first time they met them face to face at Bouchercon or Malice know what I’m talking about. Did you ever hug an editor with whom you’d only exchanged query letters and paper manuscripts? Our SinC chapter ends the season with a party in June at a delightful venue, the Cowgirl Hall of Fame in Greenwich Village, before breaking for the summer. This year, every anthology author present whom I hadn’t known before had the same impulse I did: we peered at each other’s name tags, laughed, and flung our arms around each other.
Besides editing Where Crime Never Sleeps: Murder New York Style 4 (Level Best Books), which includes her story, "Death Will Finish Your Marathon," Elizabeth Zelvin is the author of the Bruce Kohler Mysteries, set in New York City, and the Mendoza Family Saga, historical fiction about a Jewish brother and sister who sail with Columbus and later find refuge in the Ottoman Empire. Liz's short stories have appeared in Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine and Alfred Hitchcock's Mystery Magazine. They have been nominated twice for the Derringer and three times for the Agatha Award for Best Short Story.
I did not have another girlfriend until I was a seventeen-year-old high school senior. Yvonne, a junior, served on the school’s newspaper staff with me, and we dated during the last semester of my senior year, the same semester my mother died during heart surgery. More than a girlfriend, she was one of the few people (along with my best friend Joe and my English teacher Mrs. Richmond) who helped me cope with the loss of my mother.
Over the years, I have survived many additional heartaches—the deaths of loved ones, the slow disintegration of relationships that began with such promise, relationships truncated for reasons beyond my control—and those heartaches bled into, and continue to bleed into, my fiction.
