First Offenders

I Was Busy Revving Up The Powerful Mach 5

When I was a kid, I wanted to be Speed Racer.

I mean, I wanted to be a lot of other things, too – a baseball player, a fireman, a member of the Brady Bunch – but I really wanted to BE Speed Racer. The opening of the cartoon would come on and I would just lean forward, consumed by Speed’s world. Here, watch:

It’s still awesome. I know that song by heart. And I still lean forward.

And now they are making a live-action version of Speed, that, I have to admit, looks pretty freaking cool:

I wanted a car like the Mach 5. I wanted that blue shirt. I wanted a pet monkey. I wanted an older brother like Racer X. I wanted to be Speed. (Granted, I had no idea that this was originally a Japanese cartoon that was then dubbed into English – that might’ve taken away some of the magic.) So I’d run around the house, pretending to be driving my Mach 5, looking behind me, trying to figure out a way to beat Snake Oiler and SAVE THE WORLD.

I think I can directly trace my roots as a writer to things like that. It was wish fulfillment, getting to be an imaginary character that you think is totally awesome. You get to be someone you want to be in a world you want to live in. We do the same thing when we write fiction. You get lost in a world of your own choosing.

Who did you want to be when you were a kid?
Jeff

Winging it

We've discussed research here before: how much we do or don't do. I generally don't do a whole lot of research. I just get in my car or walk around New Haven, making sure I know where things are (otherwise the copy editor will point out my errors). For DEAD OF THE DAY, I did slightly more. I got a book about the history of Fair Haven, which is where I set a lot of the action.  I also had a scene where Annie has to go to the emergency room for stitches.  I sent her to the medical center in Guilford; it's affiliated with Yale and is right off the highway. I've passed it many times while driving.  But I've never been inside.

Yesterday, I found myself on a gurney in a johnnycoat in the hallway of that very same medical center, after being poked and prodded and X-rayed and ultrasounded.  (I will tell everyone now that the result of this was rather anticlimactic considering, but it was a huge huge relief and antibiotics are a truly beautiful thing.)  As I sat there, with all my worldly goods in a plastic bag at my feet, I observed the activity, listened to the conversations, watched patients come and go, spoke at length with a lovely volunteer who got me a blanket.  And I realized that I got it right in the book.  Go figure.

Research is at our fingertips: on the Internet, on TV, knowing people who are cops, police officers, lawyers, doctors.  As fiction writers, we want to get it right, but sometimes we do have to just use our imaginations and wing it. I don't think there's anything wrong with that. There will always be readers who want total accuracy, but if it's a good story well told and it moves quickly, it can be just as satisfying. And how many of us crime writers out there have actually been taken hostage/shot at/beat up/seen dead people?  There are some, but most of us are winging it.

How about you?

Karen

Jeff Shelby is kicking my ass at Scrabulous!

By Alison

So last week, I blogged about guilty pleasures (or, as JD better words them, "dumb fun"). Cheesy music videos, junk food, action movies from the 80s.... all harmless, non-substantive things that enrich your life in ways you might be a little embarassed to admit. They might take you away from your work, but only momentarily... Like, if I decide to put aside my HEARTLESS revisions because I feel like watching American Idol, why not? Idol only lasts an hour, and when it's done, I usually don't think about it until it's on TV again.

Not so with what I want to write about this week: Obsessions.

I don't know about you, but I tend to get obsessed with things. Knitting, for instance. After a very difficult period of knitting dozens of scarves when I had writing to do, I realized I cannot -- just can't -- even buy a skein of yarn while I'm working on a book. I'm also obsessed with postsecrets. I've already written about them here and if you don't remember, you can check them out (www.postsecrets.com) so I won't go into what they are again. But I will tell you that they change them every Sunday. And if a Sunday goes by and I don't get to read my secrets... well, it just isn't a Sunday for me. I'll get obsessed with a certain CD (most recently Mika's Life in Cartoon Motion) and I'll play it over and over until I've memorized every word of every song, and still it won't be enough...

Get the picture? It isn't a pretty one. Plus, I'm a huge procrastinator, which makes me more obsessive about things than ever when I've got a deadline to meet... which is why I want to KILL JEFF SHELBY RIGHT NOW! Jeff, Karen and I are all Facebook members and, while I've managed to withstand most facebook-related obsessions -- movie quizzes, vampire and zombie fights, Q&As that tell you what roman emperor you were in a previous life-- Jeff started us both on games of Scrabulous. And I don't know about you, Karen. But I'm hooked.

For those of you fortunate enough to be unaquainted with either Scrabulous or Jeff, I will tell you that it is a virtual game of Scrabble and it is just too much fun. Jeff makes a move, and then he emails me to let me know he's made one and I make a move...I can't explain it, but I love it. The great thing is when somebody comes up with a funny word (Jeff just did "LUBE") or builds on one of your words in an unexpected way. (Jeff just made Rainy off of my Corny.) God, it's just the best. If Jeff stayed online all day, and I did too, I would devote probably every waking moment to this damn, stupid game.

Why the obsession? Well, to be honest... a lot of it has to do with the fact that this rewrite has been arduous. And during those few happy moments when I'm moving my squares, I'm actually having fun with words again. Lots and lots of dumb, obsessive fun.

Damn you, Jeff Shelby. Your move.

Got any obsessions? Tell me about them.

AND ON A DIFFERENT NOTE: We'd like to join the more than 300 writers, publishers and other creative types announcing the release of Patry Francis' new book THE LIAR'S DIARY. Since Patry is suffering from cancer and too ill to promote her own book, bloggers around the world have joined together to do so, and we think that's a terrific idea.

Here's a blurb about it: Answering the question of what is more powerful—family or friendship? this debut novel unforgettably shows how far one woman would go to protect either.
They couldn’t be more different, but they form a friendship that will alter both their fates. When Ali Mather blows into town, breaking all the rules and breaking hearts (despite the fact that she is pushing forty), she also makes a mark on an unlikely family. Almost against her will, Jeanne Cross feels drawn to this strangely vibrant woman, a fascination that begins to infect Jeanne’s “perfect” husband as well as their teenaged son. At the heart of the friendship between Ali and Jeanne are deep-seated emotional needs, vulnerabilities they have each been recording in their diaries. Ali also senses another kind of vulnerability; she believes someone has been entering her house when she is not at home—and not with the usual intentions. What this burglar wants is nothing less than a piece of Ali’s soul.
When a murderer strikes and Jeanne’s son is arrested, we learn that the key to the crime lies in the diaries of two very different women . . . but only one of them is telling the truth. A chilling tour of troubled minds, The Liar’s Diary signals the launch of an immensely talented new novelist who knows just how to keep her readers guessing.

And here is the amazon link: http://www.amazon.com/Liars-Diary-Patry-Francis/dp/0452289157/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1201634661&sr=8-1

Buy books!

Multiples...Or What's Your Point of View?

Lori here~

I just finished CJ Box's - BLUE HEAVEN and like Jeff, I loved it, on a number of levels. Mr. Box uses six or seven different third person POV's (point of view) in this book--which is very ambitious and he totally pulls it off.

Writing Julie Collins in first person was a conscious choice for me. I knew I'd be limiting myself to only seeing events, persons and clues from her point of view. I did deviate and get into the killer's head in a couple of books. In SHALLOW GRAVE, I even slipped into her partner Kevin's head for a chapter. And it worked, but that doesn't mean it'll work for every book. Nor do I want every book to be...predictable. Insert Killer POV here; insert sex scene here, insert violent scene here. Even when I'm writing romance, I mix it up, having as many as four third person POV's in a single book with intertwined storylines. Switching back and forth for me, makes sure every character's voice matters, and it strengthens my personal mantra to keep what I'm writing interesting.

In the new mystery series I'm writing for Touchstone/Fireside, I write my main character, Mercy Gunderson, in first person POV, but I have two other characters who get their time on the page. It was a challenge, and a departure for me on a number of levels too to mix first and third in a novel, because I realized it ain't as easy as it looks. I admire the heck out of any writer who can write up to ten separate POV's, make each one a different and unique voice, and have it add to--rather than detract from--the story. Some stories drive me crazy, they'll constantly jump into the head of a security guard, or a bystander, for no apparent reason, and for no length of time and we don't hear from those characters again. In some of those cases, I think it's a cop out and a cheat. Yet, I'll admit once in a while it works.

Stephen King is a master at juggling multiple points of view. So is Nora Roberts. For recent authors I've discovered, I'll throw JR Ward in there too.

What's the most POV's you've ever written in a book? Or do you have plans to change it up and tackle a project with multiple POV's?

The Space Aliens Would Totally Be Into Jello Shots

Maybe you’ve been following this story down here in Texas. A town about 100 miles southwest of where I live has made lots of national headlines lately, as many of the residents have claimed to have seen a few UFOs on January 8th. At first, everyone was like “Oh, there’s probably a reasonable explanation for this.” Then everyone was like “Wow, there doesn’t seem to be a reasonable explanation for this.” Because the usual suspects in UFO sightings – the United States Air Force – said that, no, they did not have planes up in that area and their pilots do not dress up like little green men. This sort of freaked everyone out.

But then yesterday, the Air Force released a statement that said “OOPS! We DID have planes up in that area that night. Our bad. Everyone can relax now. UFOs aren’t real and if you think you saw one, then you are crazier than Tom Cruise. Well, maybe not that crazy, but seriously. UFOs aren’t real, people of the United States. Do not worry. Go back to worrying about the economy and whether or not the Oscars will be held this year.”

I’m not buying it. I think the government is lying, that they didn’t have planes up in that area that night and that they released that bogus statement yesterday just so people will stop taking UFOs seriously and they can go back to covering them up. I totally believe in UFOs. I find it very arrogant to believe that we happen to live on the only planet with life and that all the other planets are just dirty, lifeless orbs. I am pretty sure that those people in Stephenville saw some UFOs from another planet and that the passengers in the UFOs were casing the joint, looking for a place to spend spring break, some place where they might be able to get drunk and hook up with hot earthlings. (Cancun, space people! Cancun!)

So, yeah, I believe in UFOs. Never seen one, but I’d like to. I also believe in ghosts and my wife and I will tell you with straight faces that we lived with a ghost in the first house that we owned. (It wasn’t a scary ghost. It was playful. And I’m telling you right now – it was real. My wife is the sensible one in this relationship and even she will tell you it was the real deal.)

So I believe in UFOs and ghosts. What do YOU believe in?
Jeff

At random

We’ve all had to call tech support at some point, and we’ve all had the discussion about new technology. I saw this first over at Chris’s blog, and apparently it’s been posted elsewhere, and I feel compelled to share it. Especially since it’s that time of year that I think every needs to laugh a little more while we wait for spring.

And here’s another video, culled from Sandi’s blog:

There’s no question today. Just leave your random thoughts.

Karen

What's your (guilty) pleasure?

By Alison

I've got something to confess. I freakin' love this song:

Back in college, when all my theater major friends were listening to Kurt Weil or Einstursen de Neubauten or Scraping Foetus off the Wheel, I'd nod appreciatively, sure. It was all very cool, very smart, very different... But when I really wanted to blow off steam and feel as young and silly as I truly was, nothing beat this song or this video -- bubblegum pop masquerading as hard rock, sung by a bunch of guys in supertight pants with hair like cotton candy. It has a great beat, fantastic lyrics and the amazing CC DeVille, who has the best name ever and plays guitar on his back. It just made you want to drive fast and stick your head out the window and scream at the top of your lungs.

And for me, it still does.

The other day, I was driving back home from a late night at work, thinking about the mountain of revisions I'm facing on my new book, about bills that need to be paid and errands that need to be run and feeling... welll... my age. I'm flipping around the radio dial and all of a sudden, after 20 years, Brett Michaels is asking me to talk dirty to him. I didn't stick my head out the window and scream. But damned if I didn't smile, and turn up the radio and drive just the slightest bit faster and think, "Quit worrying so much and have a little fun."

With all the stress of being a grown-up, I find I treasure my guilty pleasures more than ever -- whether they're American Idol, cheap, unauthentic Mexican food, Lifetime movies or Poison's Talk Dirty to Me. Others might be afraid to admit to you that they like -- okay, adore - these things. But, hey, I feel like I'm among friends. And the fact is, indulging these needs sustains me enough so I can write books that may very well be other people's guilty pleasures.

What are your guilty pleasures? I've told you mine, so it's only fair...

The Nature Of Competition

Lori here~

With the announcements of the Edgar nominations last Friday, there's been a firestorm of blogging about what was - but mostly what wasn't - on the lists.

Isn't that Monday morning quarter-backing? I don't get it. MWA chose diverse judges, who had diverse tastes and picked what THEY thought were the best representations of the mystery novels. Would I have picked the same ones? No. You? Probably not. But that's the beauty in it. We didn't have to choose. Go back and look at the lists bloggers posted here on their favorite books of 2007. Not a lot of repeats. A list of favorites is different than the official list sanctioned by a well-respected organization.

Art is subjective whether written, or drawn, or performed. What I love, you might think is schmaltzy. What you love I might think is overblown. There is so much to choose from it's amazing any of us can agree on anything - in all aspects of the arts.

This again, is a more personal post, but it does have a parallel.

We are dealing with the "subjective judging" issue in the Armstrong household this weekend. Our oldest daughter, a violinist, and our middle daughter, a violist, competed against each other in the Black Hills Symphony Young Artist Competition. Grand prize is being featured playing the selected piece with the entire Symphony. Our oldest daughter has received honorable mention the last two years - quite an accomplishment in and of itself. This was the first year our middle daughter could compete. Since they each play different string instruments, this was the first time they were competing against not only each other, but musicians playing a variety of instruments: cello, trombone, piano, trumpet, flute, violins, violas and even a marimba.

As I'm sitting there, listening to the contestants, I flipped over the back of the program and saw the qualifications of the judges they'd flown in. One judge had a doctorate in piano performance and teaches at the college level. The second judge, also with a doctorate in music, specializing in brass instruments at the college level. The last judge, yet again another doctorate in music teaching at the college level, specialized in cello. My first thought was shit. No violin or viola judges, so in my mind, the kids playing the brass, the piano, the marimba and the cello immediately got a leg up in the competition (barring any onstage screwups) because the judges knew how to judge those particular instruments.

Then I thought these judges are professional musicians. Who am *I* to judge how they'll...judge?

Our daughters played early in the morning to a mostly empty room. They played practically flawlessly, and that isn't just a proud parent speaking. I've been to hundreds upon hundreds of recitals, performances, workshops in the last 13 years we've been "string" parents and I know what constitutes a great performance. I heard them play these pieces last week at a pre-concert program, and knew they hadn't just talked about honing the minute problems with the pieces, they'd done it. So in listening to the other contestants, all really good performances, I ranked them in what I expected would be the final four. My four weren't the same as my husband's four. See? Subjective.

After the last contestant played, the judges were out for 45 minutes. When they returned with the results, the head judge spoke and said - none of them had picked the same winner. So they had to hammer out what "mattered" - and he said in the end, musicianship and musicality trumps technical skill every time.

And then they announced our 15 year old daughter, Haley, as the winner.

Honorable mention went to our 17 year old, for the 3rd year in a row, 3rd place went to a cellist, and 2nd place to the trombonist. While we were receiving congratulations, there was also grumbling around us that "so and so" should've won, or our honorable mention daughter should've placed higher than her younger sister, or how come "so and so" wasn't on the podium or the judges didn't know how to judge such and such an instrument....etc, etc, etc.

Subjective.

And I'll admit. It took away some of our daughter's joy, when people - well-meaning to be sure - expressed such shock at her winning. See, these people were judging her not on her performance (because they hadn't been there to hear it) but on who they'd heard perform after her. Who they thought should win. Who they wanted to win.

I don't envy contest judges their jobs. It is pretty damn thankless. Because you can't please everyone, so ultimately, you must please yourself. No different than in real life reading or music choices - you read, you play, you watch TV or movies or sports to make yourself happy, and there you *do* get to judge.

So, I will be leaving Left Coast Crime a day early, so I can be in the front row, when our daughter plays Shulman's "Theme and Variations" on her viola for more than 3000 people.

Our pride in her? Not subjective at all. The kid freakin' rocks :)

That Book Was Awesome! I'm Screwed!

Self doubt is something every writer faces at one time or another.

But, sometimes, other writers make it worse.

I just finished reading Blue Heaven by C.J. Box. It’s the first book outside of Box’s outstanding Joe Pickett series, which itself has won a ton of different mystery awards and hit the NYT list. And Box was the first published writer I ever got to really sit down with and whose brain I got to pick. He’s been a tremendous resource for me and a good friend, as he’s a helluva nice guy to boot.

But I’m pissed off at him today.

Blue Heaven is just about the best stand alone thriller I’ve ever read. I know, I know. We’re all prone to superlatives when we get excited about a book and we especially like to trumpet the work of people we know and like. But if I’d never met Chuck, never read one of his other books, I’d still be saying “Wow. Wow. Wow.” The book has everything – a tremendous plot about a group of retired cops gone bad who are hunting two young kids, multiple POVs that actually serve the story rather than make the author’s job easier, a complex set of characters that are fully drawn, no definitive lines between good and evil, a few scenes that are terrifying and a few that really pull at the heartstrings. All of that compressed into a timeframe of about 48 hours and set against the rugged backdrop of North Idaho. For me, it’s exactly the kind of book I love to read and exactly the kind I’d like to write.

But as I was ripping through the book the past three nights, all I kept thinking was “I can never do it this well.” In truth, it’s not that I don’t really think I can do it that well – as much as self-doubt is something we face, we also possess a certain amount of confidence that we do know how to tell a story - but it makes me wonder if I’m pushing myself enough as a writer to get to that level. Am I settling for what I can already do well enough or am I pushing as hard as I can to do something bigger, better and stronger? When I read this kind of book, I tend to think that I settle rather than push. It motivates me to think harder about what I'm putting on the page every time I sit down.

So - damn you Chuck for writing such a kick ass book.

Talk about pushing yourself.
Jeff

Copy cats

As fiction writers, we have permission to make shit up.  This was quite the departure for me after 20 years in journalism, where making shit up is a major no-no.  Just ask Jayson Blair or Stephen Glass or Janet Dailey. Although, of course, in the weird way that America works, being a journalist who makes shit up could get you a lucrative book or film deal, thus blurring those lines.

But this isn't about journalists who are supposed to write the truth and not make it up.  This is about fiction writers who, for some reason, feel compelled to lift words from another author's books and not cite them.  I just don't understand this.  Writing fiction is liberating, because we can create whole worlds, characters, stories that don't exist.  We can use our own words, our own creativity to do this.  So why would a fiction writer need to copy someone else's words?  Has that writer lost the ability to come up with his/her own words?  Does he/she have a bad day and suffer from itotallysuckitis to a point where he/she just says "screw it" and pick up another book he/she admires and say, "Hey, that writer says it perfectly. I can't improve on it.  And it's in the middle of this big book, so no one could possibly ever notice."

In these days of the Internets, that writer is sadly delusional.  Because when bloggers like those Smart Bitches get ahold of something like this, it spreads like wildfire and actual passages are printed so everyone can see and it can ruin a writer's reputation.  Is it worth that? 

Plagiarism is serious, and I was taught at a young age that lifting words out of a book and pretending that they're mine is totally not acceptable. I'm teaching my daughter that, now that she's writing book reports.  She's writing one now about a biography she read about Clara Barton, and when I was reading over her report, I noticed she had a sentence about how Clara Barton "bowed out."  This seemed to be an odd phrase for a fifth grader to just come up with on her own, and I asked her pointedly if she'd lifted it from the text, explaining that it's wrong to do that, she needs to use her own words.  (The phrase "against the law" may have come into it, too, but I don't want anyone to think I'm strongarming a 10-year-old.)  She told me that she'd seen the phrase in one of her favorite "Warrior" books, a series about warrior cats (that's another blog post) and thought it would apply.  This was acceptable, and we moved on.

Nonfiction writers must reference their work. They rely on other sources to help make their points.  Fiction writers, on the other hand, should have no need for references because they do not rely on using the words of outside sources.  We trust that they are creative enough to come up with their own words. It really is very simple.  (Except, maybe, for James Frey...)

What do you say?

Karen