Why?

By Andrew E. Kaufman, author of psychological thrillers

Photo courtesy: Nikopoley

It's a loaded question, yes?

As a small Andrew, I was what one might call a Why Kid—you know the type, right? Every answer to every question was followed with a Why?  This would go on heedlessly (and perhaps annoyingly) for quite some time, until the person being questioned—usually an adult, often a teacher, and sometimes another kid—would get frustrated and yell, Shut the hell up!

Then I would be annoyed.

If we were tracking trends (also something I do rather obsessively), we might surmise this is why I ended up making a career out of answering the eternal question: Why?

And really, isn’t that what being a writer is all about?

When people ask how I come up with my ideas, how I create my characters, or how I plot my stories. Guess what I say?

Why?

Why, of course I do. In this case, however, it’s not actually a question (a relief, I’m sure), but more, it’s a truth, because every story I write begins this way.

In my first book, While the Savage Sleeps, it was: Why are two people, who have absolutely nothing in common and live in two different cities having seemingly similar creepy experiences that seemingly have nothing to do with each other?  Well, there were perhaps quite a few bodies dropping like flies everywhere and in rather hideous manners, but that was mainly the mood music.

In the Lion, the Lamb, the Hunted, it was: Why did Patrick find evidence of a murder among his hideously abusive, and incidentally, dead, mother’s belongings?

And in Darkness & Shadows, I asked: Why did the love of Patrick’s life die twice? Well, maybe that one’s more of a how, but you get the idea.

 

The point to all this? There are a few (What, did you expect the Why Child to only have one?)  

First, I think authors write books for the same reason that people like to read them. We’re insatiably curious (read: insatiably nosey). It’s not just enough to know that an eighty-six year-old grandmother was planting bodies in her tulip garden. We want to know why the hell she was doing it.

Second, whether we realize it or not, we’re all students of the human mind. We like to know how people’s brains work, or, for those of us who write our slightly off-color stories (read: bent), what makes them not work so much.

And last, never tell a writer to shut the hell up.  Don’t do it.

We get very annoyed.

Then we kill you off in our books.

Sexy on a Stick, or Broken and Flawed? How do you like them?

By Andrew E. Kaufman-Author of psychological thrillers

The tattooed, bad boy biker.

The sexy, iconic rock star.

The brooding detective with a tortured soul who always finds the killer.

Let’s face it, those characters are likeable and appealing, and they’ll always sell. It’s why we see them every day on TV, read about them in novels. If I’m going to be completely honest, I may or may not have even fantasized a time or two about being a few of them. Maybe even pondered the idea of changing my name to Chance, Shane, or Luke.

But those characters have never felt very real to me; in fact, other than their tough exteriors and chiseled jawlines, there’s not much else I remember about them.

When I sat down to create Patrick, the protagonist in my bestselling psychological thriller, The Lion, the Lamb, the Hunted (and its newly released sequel, Darkness & Shadows), I was hoping to break the hero mold. I didn’t necessarily want perfect—I wanted perfectly flawed.  I wanted a hero who was not your everyday hero.

So how did I do it? I went against the thriller grain and broke some rules.

What I ended up with was a very un-Hollywood male lead who could still be appealing. After stripping down the tough exterior you often see with typical heroes, I allowed Patrick’s emotional vulnerability to not only be blatantly exposed, but to help tell the story and drive the plot. Yes, he’s a victim of a horribly tragic and abusive childhood, but he refuses to remain that way. He’s not out to save the world—he’s desperately trying to save himself.

To further his depth and complexity, Patrick suffers from OCD. He’s a journalist obsessed with making lists, consisting of the same words over and over, page after page. His OCD is a coping tool used to survive his unthinkable childhood. Instead of experiencing his pain associated with the abuse, he instead learned to list it. The problem? What saved him then, haunts him now.

But that wasn’t enough for me. More damage, more layers, more angst. More! I gave Patrick a disease where even the slightest cut can make him bleed to death. While this makes for some great and terrifying action scenes, it’s also a powerful metaphor that runs through these books: his childhood has left him emotionally scarred and afraid of being broken open. With his blood disease, he’s as susceptible on the outside as he is on the inside.

And last, but certainly not least—because he’s never had it—Patrick wants desperately to be loved. And he wants to give love. This is his journey in life, and much like everyone else, he has to find himself first.

Typical? Well, not so much, I guess, when you consider the gold standard for some fictional heroes--but I wasn't going for the standard. I was going for flawed. I was going for vulnerable. 

I suppose it was only after I’d completed the first book, that I became a bit worried about how Patrick might be seen by readers who were hoping for a more archetypal male lead, but I write from instinct, not logic. Was it a risk? Sure, but I'm a firm believer in taking them when instincts dictate, and it seemed to have worked. But even today, I still have difficulty breaking him down and capturing his appeal.

So for balance, I looked for a female point of view. My friend and fellow author, Jessica Park, had this to say:

“Look, I’ve read about the hot, perfect, studly leads. In your books, you give us a character, Patrick, with all his raw, emotional, tortured pain. And you also give us Patrick as a hopeful, determined, insightful, and beautiful person. Female readers fall in love with him because of his willingness to examine his own damage, to tear apart his years of hurt, and to battle against the past so he can find a better future for himself. It’s in his pain, and in his fight, that we see meaningful bravery and strength. That makes for powerful, intoxicating reading. And that also makes us want to scoop up that hottie and take him home with us.”

Authors and readers:  How do you like your heroes? Tough as nails? Sexy on a stick? Metrosexual? Self-actualized? Really, there is no right or wrong, and when I think about it, maybe we actually need them all.

Happy Thanksgiving,  everyone!

To Prologue or not to Prologue

By Andrew E. Kaufman, author of Psychological Thrillers 

I like prologues—actually, I love them. As a writer, I use them to set a mood or tone—a layer of emotional subtext, if you will—before the actual story begins, which I don’t feel I could have otherwise achieved.  

In my upcoming release, Darkness & Shadows, the prologue is steeped in surrealism and tragedy. Patrick, my protagonist, is having an imaginary conversation with the only woman he's ever loved as she burns to death inside a building. The fire and death have actually happened, but the prologue is a product of his subconscious desire to find answers he can’t find in the tangible world. I felt there was no better way to portray this than through the use of a prologue. Sure, I could have allowed his internal dialogue throughout the book to convey his thoughts and feelings—and to a large

extent, it does—but by adding this additional element, I think (or at least I hope) that I was able to dig deeper on a more visceral level, leaving the reader inside Patrick’s mind in a way that will resonate by the time they reach the first chapter. I don’t know if I could have done this as well without it.

My last book, The Lion, the Lamb, the Hunted, didn’t have a prologue. As much as I love them, and as much as I wanted to have one, I found it just didn’t work for the story, so I left it out. I’ve often read books with prologues and found myself wondering why the authors bothered, because they didn’t add anything to the story that wasn’t already there. They made the mistake of slapping the word “Prologue” across the top of the page for what is essentially just a first chapter.

When I read a brilliant prologue I get chills that tell me I have to move on to the first chapter. When I read a bad one, I get a different kind of chill that makes me want to put the book down and never come back to it.

Some people, authors and writers alike, don’t like prologues. I’ve even heard a few say they dislike them so much that they won’t even read them and often skip to the first chapter of a book. So as an author, for all the reasons above, and probably many more, it’s an important decision whether to include one, and even more, how to write it. I know that if not done right, it can make or break the rest of my book. I can’t control whether my readers will look at it, but I can make sure it’s as relevant and effective as possible just in case they do.

What’s your take on prologues? Do you like writing them? Do you like reading them?

The End

By Andrew E. Kaufman

I’ve been thinking a lot about endings lately. No, not my own. The ones in my books. The reason for this moment of reflection is that I’m wrapping up my third novel.

As I’ve mentioned here before, I’m beginning to gain a better grasp on my process as an author. I’ve done it enough now, that I kind of know of what to expect as I stumble my way through. That’s not to say it’s always easier—it’s not. In fact, in some ways, it’s actually harder. I’m more the daredevil author these days, more willing to strap on my helmet and try things I would never have considered before, and with that comes its share of problems.

But the one thing I still pay very close attention to are my endings. They're important to me—really important—both as a reader and a writer.

As a reader, nothing bothers me more than a book that keeps me in suspense and turning the pages only to reach a conclusion that feels tacked-on or falls flat on its face. It doesn’t matter how engaging or well written the story is up to that point. If it doesn’t satisfy, I feel cheated. In fact, in those cases, that makes it even worse because my expectations are higher and the disappointment, greater. Reading is an investment, one that requires a payoff, not just in money but in time. Especially time. Since I've started writing books, I find I have far less of it to read. What little time I do have I want to feel worthwhile and enjoyable.

As an author, I know I won’t satisfy everyone, but I want to leave as few feeling disappointed or cheated as possible. So while I’m writing, I try to pay special attention to my reader’s mind as well as my writer’s. Part of that means making sure I’ve laid the groundwork and weaved my story in a manner that makes the ending feel organic rather than out of the blue or as my editor often cautions, “just in time.” I also try to pay close attention to both the story and the emotional plots. Two very different things but ones that are equally important. Since my stories are character driven, I want my readers to feel the emotional impact on my protagonist, and I want it to hit them hard. If my main character is feeling deep sadness, I want tears. If he’s feeling joy, I want the reader to experience that as well. When he’s in danger, I want them to know they have a pulse and to really feel it.

Recently, a writer-friend expressed her annoyance when she got to the end of a book and discovered there really was no ending at all. Lots of loose ends and no mention of a sequel. Bad move. She decided not to buy that author’s books anymore.

Another told me he bought a second book from an author after falling in love with the first, but when he did, it was a big disappointment. The reason? The ending was a big letdown. 

These examples illustrate rather well how important an ending is in a book and how it can make or break an author's career.

So as I wind up to the ending of my own novel, I’d love to get your input. Readers: what bothers you most about endings, I mean, what drives you absolutely crazy? Writers: what do you do to make sure your endings measure up?

My Tangle with CreateSpace

By Andrew E. Kaufman 

One of the reasons I worked like a madman to get my latest novel finished was because I wanted to have it out by Christmas. Books make great holiday gifts. Lots of holiday gifts mean lots of sales, and  therein lay my motivation. As it turned out, I was able to release the e-book on December sixth.

Then there was the paperback.

I uploaded the file around the same time as the e-version, and to my satisfaction, it appeared I was on schedule. I ordered a hundred books—many of which already had buyers—then waited for the estimated December 19^th delivery date.

They arrived on schedule, but when I opened the boxes, I got an unpleasant surprise: it wasn’t the book that I’d uploaded. Well, it was, but it wasn’t, because this one was riddled with formatting issues: paragraphs that had no breaks between them and other problems. Now granted, I knew those problems had existed, but I also knew that we’d fixed them, then uploaded the corrected version; yet somehow, the one with the errors was what ended up being printed.

I saw red.

Immediately, I got on the phone and called CreateSpace (the Amazon company responsible for printing and distributing the book). The lady I spoke with seemed dumbfounded. She confirmed they had the correct file yet had no idea why the bad version ended being printed. Apparently it was some sort of glitch on their end, but since she couldn't figure out what that was, she told me they’d need to have technical support take a look, assuring me they’d re-ship the new books once they knew what had gone wrong.

“How long might it take for them to do that?” I asked.

“Two-to-three days,” she replied.

“But you don’t understand. I have nearly a hundred people waiting to buy  books as Christmas gifts. I can’t give them these.”

“It would be impossible to get the new ones to you by then.”

A deep sigh. “But this wasn’t my fault.”

“I'm very sorry,” she said, “but until technical support investigates the matter, there’s nothing we can do, and that will take at least—”

“Two to three days. Yeah, I know. Isn’t there a way to expedite the process?”

“I’m afraid not. They’re very busy this time of year.”

Now, besides having three boxes filled with books that will never see the light of day, besides not being able to sell them before Christmas, there was another problem, a much bigger one: a lot of people had already purchased the paperback on Amazon. People I don’t know and have no way of reaching. People who laid down their hard-earned money expecting to have a good book to read. People who were not going to get that.

Those people  will likely take one look at my book and decide I’m some yayhoo who thinks he can write. And that, in my world, is far worse than having three boxes filled with very expensive firewood.

So I asked the lady: “What about the customers who have already bought the book? Isn't there some way to alert them that they got a bad copy, maybe send them the good version once it’s available?”

“I’m afraid not,” she said.

I don't know if I've mentioned this here before, but I’m fiercely loyal to my readers. I have great respect for them, and I always put them first. It’s why I work so hard to create the best work I can. They deserve that. So the thought of them receiving a defective book makes me want to gnash my teeth to powder.  Now, luckily, the majority of my sales are on Kindle, and that version is fine. But I wouldn’t care if just one reader had bought the paperback—as far as I'm concerned, that's one too many. I don’t want anyone getting less than what they paid for. Not one.  

As it stands now, I'm still waiting for technical support to conclude their investigation. There will be no books for Christmas; in fact, I've pulled the paperback from Amazon to prevent any further sales until the matter is resolved. And, of course, I have three boxes of books that will likely either be headed back to Amazon or to the dumpster.

So why am I telling you all this? For one, I think it's good to share these experiences with other indie authors so they can be aware. But beyond that,  I also think there’s a lesson to be learned here: technology is a beautiful thing, and it’s made our lives better in so many ways.

But it’s far from perfect.


Incidentally,  if anyone reading this post bought the paperback version of The Lion, the Lamb, the Hunted, please contact me as soon as possible (mail@andrewekaufman.com)  so I can figure out a way to get the good version to you. I’m hoping Amazon will make good on this, but if they don’t, you have my promise: I will, even if I have to replace every one of them myself.

Damaged Goods?

By Andrew E. Kaufman

For those of you who haven’t heard me shouting it from the rooftops, I’ve just released my second novel. A lot of things happen to me during the course of writing a book. Quite often between my fits of frustration and desperation, I also have bursts of revelation, and those moments seem golden. As I dig deep within myself to create my characters and my stories, I also discover things about myself and about the world that I never knew before. Sometimes those discoveries are immediate, but sometimes I don’t see them until after I’ve had a chance to decompress and breathe a little.

In this case, my main protagonist taught me the lesson. His name is Patrick, and to date, I think he’s the one I’ve enjoyed writing the most. Like many of my characters, he’s deeply flawed. Some would call him damaged goods, but I don’t see him that way at all; he’s human, and like all of us, he has challenges. When I created him, I wanted to raise the stakes like I’ve never done with any other character before, to push obstacles in his way that seemed insurmountable—at least to him—both on an internal and external level. Then I wanted to see him fight like hell to overcome them. Funny thing happened in that process: as I wrote the book, I found myself struggling right alongside him like I’ve never done before—I had to, in order make the story come to life.

Patrick suffered a horribly abusive childhood, has Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, and as if that weren’t enough, he’s a bleeder. The blood disease is a metaphor; he’s been deeply injured, and as a result, is deeply vulnerable. On a physical level, he lives with the day-to-day fear of being injured, of bleeding to death, and his emotional state is much the same—he’s scared of being exposed, of being wounded. Because of those internal and external fears, instead of living his life, he becomes imprisoned by it.

Enter the next layer. With the OCD, his particular compulsion is listing; he writes the same words over and over. To raise the stakes even more, he’s a journalist: a writer, trapped by his own words. The irony in that fascinated me, and I used it as a device to show his tension. As his situation becomes more dangerous, his disorder becomes more pervasive, so he's fighting his battles on two levels.

I grew to love Patrick just as I would my own child. It happens with many of my characters, and I’ve often tried to figure out exactly why that is. True, I create them, and in order to portray them in a realistic and meaningful way, I often need to throw myself into their minds and experience their emotions much as they would. Mentally, it can be exhausting, however, in the process, I suppose, some sort of bond occurs. But I’ve always suspected there was more to it than just that; I just couldn’t figure out what it was.

Then Patrick showed me.

I began to realize that the reason I liked him so much was because those very flaws, the ones he felt so crippled by, were the ones that made him seem so much more real, and as a result they endeared me to him.

Imperfections aren’t what separate us; they’re what connect us as humans because we all have them. And just as in real life, watching people triumph over them makes us feel like we can do the same. Think about it (I’m dating myself here): how did it make you feel watching Rocky climb to the top of those steps while that exuberant theme song played? For me, I might as well have been right there alongside him; I sure felt like I was.

Being vulnerable is like opening a door; it allows people in, helps them understand us a little better, helps us connect.

Patrick taught me that.

Is it a Crime to Skip the Sex?

By Andrew E. Kaufman

I did it again.

That second-guessing thing I do. The one where, as my novel nears the release date I begin wondering if I’ve inadvertently missed some vitally important element in the story, if maybe I should go back and rethink things. In this case it was sex, the fact that I don’t have any.

In my book, that is.

Actually, to be more exact, my two main protagonists don’t have any, and they didn’t in my first novel, either. This got me wondering: is it a crime in crime fiction to deprive characters the pleasures of the flesh? Is it even necessary? I gave it some serious thought.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not a prude, and I’m pretty sure I have no deep-seated Freudian Oedipus tugging at my psyche (at least, that’s what my therapist tells me), but in the

final analysis what it boils down to is a case of simple mechanics. With danger lurking behind every corner, having my protagonists stop to do the Wild Thing just doesn’t make much sense. Sure, a romp in the hay would be good fun and all, but there’s a time and place for everything, and if some killer’s got a bullet with their name on it, they’re not going to be thinking about getting it on; they’re going to be thinking about getting the hell out. Period.

Besides that, in suspense pacing is everything, and it seems to me this would only slow things down, and if it doesn’t serve a purpose, isn’t it just gratuitous?

And then there’s the predictability factor. It’s just too easy. How many times have we seen this in books and movies? Guy meets girl. Guy and girl get thrown into some ridiculously dangerous situation, and then somewhere amidst all the chaos, guy and girl fall in love. It doesn’t work that way in real life, so why should it work that way in fiction? We’re not sexually attracted to everyone who crosses our path.

Of course, this isn’t an across-the-board condemnation of sex in crime novels. I’m all about the theory that if it works, use it. And I’m sure that under the right circumstances it could actually work. But so far for me, not so much. In the end I decided I was okay with not having any sex.

In my book, that is.

But what about you? Readers: how do you feel about it? Sex or no sex with your novels? And authors: Do you use it, and if so, how? I'm interested in hearing both sides.