Sex, Drugs, and Rock and Roll

By Andrew E. Kaufman

As an author, I find it difficult to write about murder without taking a trip to the Dark Side. After all, I think on some level we sort of expect that. Logically speaking, if you're going to have a killer, then you're going to have deviant behavior. The two seem to go hand in hand. But just how dark and how deviant?

For me, I draw the line where gratuitous begins, and most often, that's where I find trouble lurking between the pages of novels. Using sex, drugs, or violence just for the sake having it or for shock value does a book little good. In fact, I think, it'll do more harm. Readers know the difference, and they know when they're being played. If you don't believe me, check out some of the emails I get. These folks know their stuff, and many understand plot structure as well as any author.

In my novel, While the Savage Sleeps, there is violence. No question. It's graphic and it's frequent. But here's the thing: it's also absolutely necessary. Not only are the plot and the characters driven by it, but the final resolution also depends on it. Without that element, the story would fall flat and the reader would likely feel short changed. Context is the key, and I think a good question for any author to ask him or herself when considering whether or not an element belongs is: Would this story suffer without it? If the answer is no, then chances are you don't need it, and chances are the reader will feel the same way.

As for sex, typically, I don’t put it in my books—not because I’m a prude or that I have anything against the act itself. It’s just that logistically it doesn't seem to make sense.

Here’s an example: There’s a killer on the loose, and Sam and Linda are running for their lives because he’s hot on their trail. If all that weren’t enough, Detective Holiday thinks Sam could in fact be the killer. The clock is ticking and the two must not only prove Sam’s innocence, they must also find the real suspect.

I don’t know about you, but I’m thinking sex is going to be the last thing on Sam and Linda's minds. Not only that, but it would seem in addition to slowing down the pace, adding this element would also detract from the story. Now I'll agree that there are authors who can expertly weave sex into a suspense thriller rather seamlessly, and I applaud them for that. It just so happens that I’m not one of them. But from what I’ve read, neither are a few others, and when I see it needlessly thrown in, it comes across as contrived and gratuitous. It’s also the exact point where they lose me.

There’s been a lot of discussion about the F-bomb, namely, whether or not it belongs in novels. I'd guess the answer depends on the reader’s tolerance level. Personally, I don’t have a problem with it, and I use it whenever I feel it’s necessary in terms of character development. My job is to make fiction seem real, and the reality is, people do use the word. I also believe that when implemented correctly it can add authenticity to a character. Think of it this way: if a cop said,“darn it” in a novel, would it make you want to continue reading? Not me.

Of course, throw in a drug-addicted, sexually compulsive, cussing sociopath, and really, anything goes. Again, it’s all about context.

Overall, I know opinions on this subject vary, and as an author I’m always interested in knowing what readers think. So I’d like to ask: Do these elements bother you in a book, and just how far is too far?

Old School Hollywood

Bit Player by Jeri Howard*

Reviewed by Marlyn Beebe.

Browsing in a Hollywood memorabilia shop, PI Jeri Howard comes across a poster that reminds her of her paternal grandmother, Jerusha Layne Howard who had been a bit player in the movies before her marriage.
The elderly man behind the counter of a Hollywood memorabilia shop tells PI Jeri Howard that her paternal grandmother and namesake Jerusha Layne Howard, once a bit player in the movies, had been involved in the investigation of the murder of a British actor named Ralph Tarrant. He didn't specify what Jerusha's role was, but the comment is enough to pique Jeri's curiosity.

She contacts her elderly Aunt Dulcie, in the hope that Jerusha's sister might remember something, and is thrilled to learn that Dulcie has saved the letters she received from Jerusha during those years. Reading them, Jeri finds out that her grandmother had shared a house with three other young actresses, and that one of them had dated Tarrant.

While searching for background information about the old man in the memorabilia store, Jeri stumbles onto the murder of a woman who collected Hollywood memorabilia, who had refused to sell any of her items to the store. When another collector is killed a few weeks later, Jeri begins to wonder if the present-day murders might be related to the decades-old case involving Jerusha. As Jeri investigates, the reader learns along with her many real details about the early days of the movie industry.

Dawson's first Jeri Howard novel since A Killing at the Track(2000), is a riveting mystery, at once historical and contemporary, for which she has obviously done deep and thorough research into the Golden Age of Hollywood.

*FTC Full Disclosure: Many thanks to the publisher, who sent me a copy of the book for review purposes.

Why Are Sleazy Protagonists Popular?

by L.J. Sellers, author of the bestselling Detective Jackson mysteries

Alcoholics, sex addicts, porn stars, thieves, and kidnappers. In today’s crime fiction, these characters are often the protagonists, and as a reader, I’m expected to root for them. I rarely can. I’ve put down many well-written and well-plotted novels lately because the main character was not someone I could relate to.

For example, in one story, the protagonist—a reformed criminal, living a good life—participated in a kidnapping to keep himself from going to jail. If I had not been reading the book for discussion, I would have put it down immediately. For me, there was little point in reading about a protagonist I wanted to see caught and punished, especially since I knew he would not be.

In another story, the character was well developed, resourceful, and good-hearted and I really wanted to like her. But the world she inhabited was sleazy and everyone she encountered gave me the creeps. Despite the terrific writing, I finally gave up, because spending too much time in her world was a little hard to take.

Don’t get me wrong. I love crime fiction! And I’m certainly not a prude. I write a mystery/suspense series, and the first book is called The Sex Club. My main character is a homicide detective who’s a hardworking family man. Not perfect, by any means, but he’s also not a cynical, pill-popping alcoholic with dysfunctional relationships. I’m tired of that cop stereotype, and I want my character to be someone readers can relate to.

But it’s not a clear-cut issue. Two of my favorite books last year had protagonists who were criminals…or at least they had been. In Beat the Reaper, the main character is an ex-hit man who becomes a doctor. But he’s trying to redeem himself, and it’s a terrific (and often funny) story. The Lock Artist, another novel I loved, is about a psychologically mute safecracker. But the reader knows from the beginning that Michael goes to jail and hopes to change his life. So I rooted for both characters all the way.

For me, good characterization for a protagonist, especially a recurring character, means creating someone readers will care about, like, and/or respect in some way. (I make an exception for Elmore Leonard’s stories, in which everyone is shady, but often likeable, and I can always cheer for a charming thief, especially if he’s played by George Clooney.)

I realize I may be somewhat alone in this thinking. In my book discussion groups, many other readers say they don’t have to like the protagonist to find the story compelling.

How do you feel about protagonists who are unlikable, deeply flawed, or simply not someone you’d ever spend time with? Does it spoil the story for you? Can you name a novel you thoroughly enjoyed even though you didn’t like the protagonist?

I thought I only had to stick a microphone in his face

Superb interviewing is an art to be practiced. When it's done well writers can get telling little details that can be dropped into their writing like the perfect spice to highlight the best tastes of the  meal. That said, there are some tricks that writers can use to move them along in the right direction.

A colleague at the St. Paul Pioneer Press, where I worked as a reporter a while ago,  suggests that interviewers notice details about their subjects, then ask questions. For example, you may notice that the medical examiner you're interviewing wears a watch on each wrist. Two watches? Why?  You may learn the doc travels a lot and can't keep local time zones straight and wants to always call home before his daughter goes to bed. Or, the doc may be nuts about being on time and figures two watches will double his chance of punctuality. Or, one may have been a gift from someone important to him but it loses minutes and he relies on the other watch to tell accurate time. In any of those cases, you've got a personality quirk that can help you define the medical examiner in your mystery.

Then you've got to figure the best way to record those answers. Some writers use digital recorders, often built into their phones, while others go the good old fashioned paper and pen route. I think there are advantages and disadvantages to both.

When using a digital recorder writers can forget about taking actual notes and hone in on the subject instead, confident that the device will do all the work. That can be very effective if all goes as planned -- which it never does. I've done that a time or two, only to learn the recorder didn't work, or couldn't pick up the voices or got accidentally deleted. Then I don't have a scrap of reminder to tell me what the guy said.

With paper and pen writers don't have to worry about technical malfunction, but unless the writer takes shorthand some words are going to be lost. Besides, paper doesn't capture inflection or weird little turns of phrase that, again, can be descriptive details for a character. Some subjects get nervous when they see a pen scribbling across a page but seem to forget when a recorder is capturing their every ummm.

Myself, I like to use both. Paper is a good backup to the recorder, and vice versa. But to be honest, I try not to refer exactly to the notes/recording after the interview, although I tuck both away in my files in case I change my mind. Rather, I like to just let the subject's words marinate in my head for a while before I write. That way, the most important details seem to bubble up, while I forget the stuff that would clutter up my pages with non-telling detail. But that's just me. What method do you use?

Show, Don't Tell

by Jodie Renner

“Show, don’t tell” is the most common mantra among advisors to fiction writers. It’s about bringing the scene alive and putting the reader right there, inside your characters, experiencing her fear along with her, feeling the sweat on his brow and his adrenaline racing, your pulse quickening right along with theirs, muscles tensed, ready to leap into action.

            A common mistake among aspiring fiction writers is to describe or narrate (tell) events as if they took place at some point in the past, instead of putting the reader right in the middle of the action and showing the events as they occur, in real time, along with the characters’ reactions, feelings, and actual words (direct dialogue).

To clarify what is meant by “show, don’t tell,” think of it this way: Which would you rather do, go see a great movie in a theatre with a big screen and surround sound (“show”), or hear about the movie from someone else afterward (“tell”)? That’s the difference we’re talking about here.

            According to Ingermanson and Economy, “Showing means presenting the story to the reader using sensory information. The reader wants to see the story, hear it, smell it, feel it, and taste it, all the while experiencing the thoughts and feelings of a living, breathing character. Telling means summarizing the story for the reader in a way that skips past the sensory information and goes straight to the facts.”

Janet Evanovich considers “show, don’t tell” to be one of the most important principles of fiction: “Instead of stating a situation flat out, you want to let the reader discover what you're trying to say by watching a character in action and by listening to his dialogue. Showing brings your characters to life.”

As Jack Bickham says, “Not only does moment-by-moment development make the scene seem most lifelike, it’s in a scene [with dialogue and action and reaction] where your reader gets most of his excitement. If you summarize, your reader will feel cheated – short-changed of what he reads for – without quite knowing why.”

            Shelly Thacker points out, “Readers of popular fiction don’t want to experience the events of your novel at a distance; they want to FEEL what’s happening. They want to laugh, cry, hope, worry.” Shelly advises, “Strive for more dialogue than narrative. … Narrative tends to slow things down and usually leads to telling instead of showing…. Showing with action and dialogue creates vivid characters and a fast pace; telling only bogs down your story.”

Also, the bulk of the scene needs to be about a conflict of some kind between characters. No conflict = no scene. According to Jack Bickham, the conflict part of the scene “draws readers out through a moment-by-moment drama, extending the scene suspense with pleasurable agony.”

Of course, you can’t show everything, or your book would be way too long, and it would tire your readers out – or worse, end up boring them. According to James Scott Bell, “Sometimes a writer tells as a shortcut, to move quickly to the meaty part of the story or scene. Showing is essentially about making scenes vivid. If you try to do it constantly, the parts that are supposed to stand out won’t, and your readers will get exhausted.”

The rule, says Bell, is “the more intense the moment, the more showing you do.” That’s the difference between scene and summary. You don’t want to describe every move your characters make at down times, or when going from one place to the other. That’s where you summarize or “tell,” to get them to the next important scene quickly, without a lot of boring detail. 

           The main thing to keep in mind is to never to tell the reader, after the fact (or have a character telling another character), about a critical scene. Instead, dramatize it in the here and now, with dialogue, action, and lots of sensory details to bring it to life for the reader.

Resources: Revision and Self-Editing by James Scott Bell; The 38 Most Common Fiction Writing Mistakes (And How To Avoid Them) by Jack M. Bickham; Writing Fiction for Dummies, by Randy Ingermanson and Peter Economy; “10 Tips for a Top-Notch Novel” by Shelly Thacker (www.ShellyThacker.com).

Jodie Renner, a freelance fiction editor specializing in thrillers and other fast-paced fiction, has published two books to date in her series, An Editor’s Guide to Writing Compelling Fiction: WRITING A KILLER THRILLER and STYLE THAT SIZZLES & PACING FOR POWER (Silver Medalist in the FAPA Book Awards, 2013). Both titles are available in e-book and paperback. For more info, please visit Jodie’s author website or editor website, or find her on Facebook or Twitter.

The Decision

By Peg Brantley




Traditional or Independent?

How will one of my best friends in the writing world feel when she finds out my vision has shifted? Will she think I’ve abandoned my dream? Will she think that since I’ve redirected my focus to readers rather than publishers my talent is less? Will her nose suddenly begin to look like a pig’s snout whenever she hears my name? (Ugh. Didn’t mean that to sound ugly. Really. And she wouldn’t. But still.)

There is, beyond any doubt, the question of affirmation. When an agent champions you, and a publisher puts their money on the line, you know you’ve managed to convince some pretty key professionals you have what it takes. Nothing wrong with that. But for every worthy manuscript that goes to print via a traditional publisher, there are countless more, perhaps better manuscripts, that get rejected. I’m not the only one who has read some dogs, right?

But damn. What about when, as a writer, I’m done with the drama? When I decide I want to be truly self-employed and not subject to someone else’s idea of what might make them profitable? An employee driven to make the bottom line or risk losing his or her job? Haven’t we all had enough of that?

If affirmation is the thing (and for me it is), what are some of the other ways I can measure my value? Can you tell I’m an approval seeker? Yep, it sucks.

My dream, though shifted, remains as big and strong as ever. And now? The affirmation will come from readers—one at at time—that I’m so happy to meet now rather than later. Or never.

Come join me as I take this indie author thing on. My dream is muddled right now, but it’s clear in that I want to offer readers, when I’m ready, something they will enjoy.

What about you? As writers, what’s your dream? Is it for readers to get their hands on your story or a publisher to tell you you’re worth their investment?

And as readers, what are the things you’re looking for when you make the decision to buy a book? Is it the publisher? Does it matter to you if it’s a hardback on the bestseller list? What really, really matters? How do you separate the chaff from the wheat?



It’s all better with friends.

My Visit with Death

By Andrew E. Kaufman

Of all the questions readers ask me, what seems to interest them most is my trip to the autopsy room during the research for my novel, While the Savage Sleeps.

“What was it like?” they’ll often ask.

Pretty gross, actually, but at the same time, illuminating because it confirmed my theory that one of the best ways to draw the reader into a story is to experience that which you describe. Googling a topic may be a good start but won't cut it if you're trying to create a solid and meaningful sense of setting.

A former television journalist, I know how to combine words and pictures to tell a story. However, writing fiction, I've discovered, is a completely different world. Unlike with TV, in novels there's no video to convey the tone and mood of a particular scene. Here, your words are your pictures, and if readers can't see them in their minds, you'll lose your audience in a heartbeat. With my autopsy chapter being one of the most critical in the book, I couldn't afford to do that, and despite a rather strong visceral resistance, I felt I simply had no choice.

You may find my reluctance a bit odd considering I'm often accused of writing some very gritty stuff in my novels. Besides that, I'm no stranger to blood and gore—I'd seen a fair share during my tenure in television news. Still, somehow, the autopsy room seemed different to me, like an intimate dance with death, a messy one, which I much preferred to sit out of. But as it often does, logic won, and like it or not I was off to experience my first—and hopefully last—autopsy (at least from a vertical point-of-view).

First stop, the freezer. This is where they keep the bodies before examination, a thirty by fifteen room with shelves lining three walls, stacked three high. At the time of my visit, every seat in the house appeared to be taken, standing room only. I walked in, gazed at the sea of body bags, then stopped in my tracks. I'm pretty sure this was the exact point where reality finally set in: I was surrounded by dead people, lots and lots of dead people. Guess it makes sense that with a city as large as San Diego, plenty of folks die each day, and they all have to go somewhere; I just don't think I had expected to be standing among all of them.

Next stop: the autopsy room. But first, a little advice before entering: I was shown the exits and told to use them if I began feeling ill.

Reassuring.

Once inside, besides an all out assault on the senses (no need for explicit detail here), I think what surprised me most was what a busy place the autopsy room was. Now, I'm going to show my age here, but as a member of the Quincy generation, my preconceived notions were far more simplistic than I had imagined. In my world, I expected to see a lone autopsy table center stage with the medical examiner standing over it and a sanitized view of what went on. All this and, of course, wrapped up in less than an hour.

So not the case.

The place was busier than any newsroom I'd ever worked in, except it wasn't the clicking of keyboards I heard—it was the buzzing and whining of saws; probably why they had me change into a white space-suit-looking getup with transparent facemask before entering. Yes, folks, cutting, sawing, and drilling human remains is messy business. Things do fly.

Ten stainless steel tables lined the wall, each with a faucet at the top, a drain at the bottom, and yes, each with a body laying on top—all in varying degrees of examination, and most of them clearly missing things that shouldn't have been. I have to say that the ones without heads were the most unnerving. As they say, parts is parts, but parts belong where they belong. Looking around at the people working here, I got an odd sense of extreme desensitization, that this was business as usual and walking past headless bodies was like a walk in the park.

Wish I could have felt the same.

As for the autopsy itself, after getting past the initial shock, it did become somewhat easier to watch. I’m not saying it was a piece of cake—it wasn’t—but one does adjust to their surroundings if they stick around long enough. Even in situations like this.

As an added bonus, the medical examiner not only described what he was doing as he removed the organs—he also handed each of them to me (luckily I was wearing gloves). Kind of gross, I know, but nevertheless a valuable experiences for a mystery writer. After all, you never know when you might need to introduce a disembodied organ or two into a story—a kidney here, a spleen there. Like I've said, I'm known for writing grisly scenes.

I could go on describing every detail, but at the risk of losing those of you who have made it this far, I'll stop and say this: Despite everything, my autopsy chapter never would have been the same had I not gone through this experience. Unpleasant as it was, the truth is that as writers, we sometimes need to get our hands dirty—in this case, very dirty—but it’s all for the sake of the craft. Simply put, sometimes you have to give until it hurts. I did—I'm pretty sure of it.

Did I achieve my intended goal? I hope so, but if you'd like to decide, here's a link to the chapter, along with a warning: It's a bit gruesome, but at the same time, depicts reality, and that's what we, as writers, should always strive to do.

Andrew E. Kaufman is the bestselling author of While the Savage Sleeps, a forensic paranormal thriller.

The Odd Couple?

Heads You Lose by Lisa Lutz and David Hayward.*

reviewed by Marlyn Beebe.

I was uncertain what to expect when I opened Heads You Lose, especially after I had watched this promotional video.

Lisa Lutz, the author of the popular Spellman Files series, decided she wanted to write a collaborative novel with her old friend (and ex-boyfriend) David Hayward. She was to write the first and all odd-numbered chapters, and he would write the even-numbered ones. Neither of them was allowed to undo a plot development created by the other, so commented on each others' chapters using footnotes. They also wrote each other notes between chapters; these notes are included at the chapter's end. (This is explained in a letter from the Editor at the beginning of the book.)

The novel is the story of orphaned twenty-something siblings Paul and Lacey Hansen who live together in their family home, scraping by on the profits from Paul's pot farm and Lacey's job as a barista.

Late one night, while taking out the trash, Lacey stumbles across a headless corpse. Not knowing who it is (without the head, the body has no face), but not wanting to call the police because of their less-than-legal garden, they decide to dispose of the body, and quietly try to determine the body's identity and why it had been deposited on their property.

Although it might be expected that Lutz's chapters would be written from Lacey's point of view, and Paul's from Hayward's, this is not the case; both write from a third-person viewpoint, and seem to enjoy inserting details to frustrate the other.

Reading the footnotes and the between-chapter messages in which each bemoans this tendency in the other is almost as much fun as the story. Although these asides are distracting, most of the chapters are long enough to absorb the reader's attention (until the next footnote or comment).

For this reader, Heads You Lose was not the type of book that was so absorbing that bedtimes were missed, but it was a light, fun read. And, despite the unusual nature of the relationship between Lutz and Hayward, the messages included in the book might even be helpful to authors (even solitary ones) in terms of the writing process.


*FTC Full Disclosure: Many thanks to LibraryThing Early Reviewers, who sent me an Advance Review Copy.

Just for fun, I'm doing another giveaway. I have one copy of Jasper Fforde's latest Thursday Next book One of Our Thursdays is Missing for one person who comments on this blog post. Deadline to comment is midnight on Tuesday May 3.