Master Class

My stories are being used in the classroom environment to teach students about literature.  Wow, can you say, a feather in your cap?

It’s quite a compliment to learn that my work is being used for literary study, especially at the university level.  It’s weird that my stories have made it into a university classroom when I never did.

The stories are being used in an honors English program in a class for interpretive reading.  The students select a piece from a bunch of stories and remark on the symbolism in the story and the crux of what the author intended to say.

Seeing as I’m alive and not dead, the professor asked if I wanted to see a summary of what the students had found in my work.  Furthermore, the professor asked if I wanted to remark on their findings because the students wanted to know if they were right with their interpretations. 

I wasn’t sure at first.  These were students (with an education) viewing what I write on an academic level.  I don’t write that way.  I write stories because I’ve thought of a great idea for a story and I want to tell it.  I write genre fiction, because I like genre fiction.  I’m not trying to be literary.  I’m trying to be entertaining.  Even though the thought of clever minds picking through my stories sounded as appetizing as hearing about an analysis of my stomach contents, I said sure.  Deep down, I was flattered by the fact the university was using my stories and I wanted to hear what they thought.

“Bring it on,” I said.

Hmm.  The results weren’t what I was expecting.  Their analysis was very complimentary.  They said some very nice things, but boy, did they read a lot into those stories.  They formulated theories and concepts that sounded so convincing that I almost believed them.  It sounded great.  I came off as a genius.  But they read far more into the pieces than I had intended.

I know it’s said for truth, read fiction.  Animal Farm was an allegory for Stalin’s corruption of communist Russia and not a child’s fairytale, although it can be read as both.

Students saw a heavy Christian message because of the perceived Catholic symbolism in one story and detailed a compelling argument for it.  The problem is that I’m not a Catholic and it had nothing to do with the story.  When another of my stories was selected, I asked the professor if they’d made a connection between the story and the war in Iraq. 

“They did,” the professor said.  “And was there one?”

“No,” I replied.  “I could just see where they might get that idea.”

It’s made me wonder if these interpretations say more about the reader than the writer.

This isn’t to say their interpretations are wrong or that my stories are entirely shallow, escapist fun.  It’s just that my inspiration for a story comes from strange places, personal experiences, half conversations, backhand remarks, other people’s lives, or a sandwich I had last week.  From that I’ll think of an interesting premise and inject a conflicting character into that situation.  And from that I hope to have an interesting tale.  I try not to inject an agenda into my stories, because when I read them all I see is the agenda and I’ve crossed the line from entertainment to a sermon and I don’t want that.  I’m a storyteller, not a politician or a preacher.

This experience has made me a little self conscious about the lines I read between when I’m reading other people’s work.  Do my assumptions go beyond what the writer intended?  Because sometimes, a story is just a story and nothing more.

Happy reading,
Simon Wood

Everything You Want to Know About Library of Congress Numbers, ISBNs and More

NAOMI HIRAHARA

Ever since I’ve struck out on my own in 1997, I’ve worked consistently on some element of book publishing–writer, editor, publicist, and yes, publisher. In addition to writing fiction and doing some public relations on the side, I have a small, tiny press–Midori Books (not to be confused with the S&M bondage outfit). I call it a legacy press; it’s not vanity in that we don’t publish anyone’s work indiscriminately.

Instead of depending on the consumer market, I’m paid by organizations, families, and individuals to either write and/or produce history publications or memoirs. I use freelance artists, copyeditors, and sometimes production managers. Not all of the books are sold over Amazon or retail stores; instead they may be distributed by corporations/nonprofit organizations to employees, members, and stockholders or families to friends, relatives, and colleagues.

Since I worked as a newspaper editor for almost ten years, the transition from creating newspapers to producing books was not that big of a leap. But there are some differences. The two most distinct differences are related to numbers: 1) Library of Congress catalog number and 2) ISBN.

Let me first explain these numbers to you:

1) Library of Congress CIP vs. PCN

Every bibliophile has heard of the Library of Congress. I’ve never had the opportunity to visit, but picture it as this vast, hyperorganized tomb of books, pristine marble floors and columns, and row after row of book shelves. I’m not sure if the reality is as idealized as my image, but after perusing its web site, I’ve concluded it comes pretty darn close.

Anyway, there are two numbers available to publishers:

• Cataloguing in Publication (CIP)
• Preassigned Control Number (PCN) (How’s that for sexy?)

The CIP is the luxury model of the Library of Congress number. The publisher sends an electronic file of the manuscript weeks before the book is due to be published to the Library of Congress and the staff creates bibliographic information based on the contents. Sometimes the bibliographic information is sparse, consisting of only the title and the author’s name. This information, which is often printed on the copyright page of a book (usually opposite the title page), is available to library and book vendor databases throughout the nation.

For instance, my first mystery, SUMMER OF THE BIG BACHI, published by Bantam Dell, has the following subject headings:

1. Japanese Americans–Fiction

2. Los Angeles (Calif.)–Fiction

3. Gardeners–Fiction

4. Aged men–Fiction

5. Revenge–Fiction

I especially like the last subject heading. So I suppose if some student is doing a research paper on revenge for an English class, he or she can look up Revenge-Fiction and come up with SUMMER OF THE BIG BACHI. It’s too bad that Hiroshima or the atomic bomb wasn’t mentioned. Oh well.

My bibliographic information also includes a number, the title, my name, and heaven forbid, my birth year. I understand that the birth year is important to distinguish one Grace Lee from another Grace Lee or perhaps a Jeff Cohen from another Jeff Cohen, but a Naomi Hirahara? How many Naomi Hiraharas are out there? Age is not that big a deal for me, but I’ve noticed that many authors don’t necessarily have their birth year published on their copyright page. Well, enough said about that.

As a tiny, tiny press, Midori Books is only eligible for a Preassigned Control Number (PCN), not a CIP. The books that I publish unfortunately do not get a bibliographic record. As a result, I don’t have to e-mail the manuscript to the Library of Congress. I merely provide them with the exact title, publication date, ISBN, etc. In usually less than a week, a nice woman (or at least a computer program with the nice name of a woman) sends me a number that I’m supposed to place on the copyright page. This number provides libraries with a unique identification number that is used for cataloguing purposes. It’s up to the publisher to then send the printed product to the Library of Congress, which then decides whether the book is worthy for the tomb.

2) ISBN

Everyone knows what ISBN stands for, right? Okay, I see some of you scratching your heads. ISBN is the International Standard Book Number. Oh, so what the heck does that mean? It’s basically the fingerprint of your precious book–the "unique identifier" assigned to each book format (hardcover and paperback versions of the same book get different ISBNs) for booksellers throughout the world. Or at least Amazon, which requires it and a corresponding bar code, as well as a whole lot of retailers. It usually consists of 10 numbers, or digits, that is until January 1, 2007. That’s kind of the Y2K time for ISBN numbers. Because officially those numbers need to be 13 digits by the beginning of next year.

Why? Well, just like overflowing land fills, there’s too much junk–excuse me, books. Or not enough space. So yes, what I’m saying is that we have an ISBN shortage. And apparently 13-digit number would conform more readily to the international standard.

So how does a small publisher get an ISBN? Let me tell you–it’s become increasingly difficult, at least from my limited experience. I suspect that the popularity of self-publishing and POD print services, which have contributed to the 195,000 books published in 2004, have caused a numerical logjam. The keys to these numbers in the U.S. are owned by an agency called R.R. Bowker in New Jersey. In 2000, when I applied for a set of ISBNs for one of my clients, there was no problem. We filled out the application and paid our 200-plus dollars and wha-la, in a month’s time, we received a set of ten spanking new numbers.

But after I created Midori Books and applied for my own numbers in 2003, I hit a major roadblock. Month after month passed and no numbers. Our book was at the printer in Vermont and no number. I sent e-mail after e-mail and even called this mysterious place called Bowker multiple times, and finally, after much cajoling, my numbers arrived in an e-mail. Now I could proceed–I then ordered and received a bar code over the Internet almost instantaneously.

The ISBN is a mighty number, and I discovered this week that libraries depend on the ISBN more than the number issued by the Library of Congress. "[The ISBN] is always available by the time a book is bought for the library. It is the most frequently used point of identification for a book. Public libraries rarely use the Library of Congress number, preferring the ISBN," explained Viccy Kemp, a technical services manager of a library in Texas who also worked as a bookseller for 10 years. This doesn’t mean, however, that the publisher should forsake filing for a Library of Congress number as the ISBN will get recorded into the library system during the application process.

With the implementation of ISBN-13, those publishers with 10-digit numbers like me will have to obtain new numbers with the prefix of 978. But it’s not like an additional area code; I can’t just tack 978 onto my existing numbers. That would be too easy. Instead, I’ll have to go to the ISBN converter to punch in our old numbers to get some new replacement ones.

Large publishers and bar code service bureaus have already prepared for ISBN-13. If you look at the bar code on the back of most any book, the new ISBN-13 number should be underneath the stripes (it'll have the 978 prefix). In fact, my latest book published this year, SNAKESKIN SHAMISEN, has both the ISBN-10 and ISBN-13 numbers on the copyright page.

What does this all mean for authors? Not a whole heck of a lot. Only that you may have to update your promotional material in 2007, because ISBN-13 will soon be here. And for you neurotic ones, you will have three more numbers to press on your phone when you check your Ingram numbers in 2007. Happy Early New Year!

SISTERS IN HOLLYWOOD: It looks as though the SinC Goes to the Movies: Selling Your Book to Hollywood conference is close to being filled. But there might be some slots still left. (The event is only open to 100 participants.)

The beauty of the Nov. 3-5 conference is that the Author’s Coalition will be reimbursing all participating Sisters in Crime members–who must be published by a traditional publisher–the $100 conference fee. The event seems extremely well organized, complete with group signings at area bookstores on Saturday, Nov. 4. What a great idea! (Unfortunately, the deadline to put your name in for the signings was this past Monday.)

I don’t harbor any illusions that a Mas Arai feature film would ever be made. Hey, there’s not a Jack Reacher film yet, so you know that the deck of cards is stacked against you. For 14 years, Robert Redford had to scratch and claw his way into making Tony Hillerman’s novels into PBS movies. Robert Redford, with all his connections!

But I’m going there to learn–maybe a film student someday might want to try his or her hand in turning Mas into celluloid for a short film/school project–and besides, the event is in my backyard. Best of all, out-of-state friends will be in L.A., and I’m just thrilled that Sujata Massey will be coming out west (I think her L.A. fans will be, too). Sujata and I will be teaming up to do a program together at Pacific Asia Museum in Pasadena on Thursday, November 2. I’ll keep you posted with details as we get closer to the date.

And I just learned this week that Murderati’s Pari Noskin Taichert will be making the trip from Albuquerque as well! Double-trouble, I’m telling you.

WEDNESDAY’S WORD: inu (SUMMER OF THE BIG BACHI, page 108)

Dog. Do you know that 2006 is the Year of the Dog? Since the Asian zodiac repeats itself every 12 years, anyone born in 2006, 1994, 1982, 1970, 1958, 1946, 1934, etc. is officially a dog–known, of course, for being loyal. In contrast, for second-generation Japanese Americans incarcerated in World War II U.S. detention camps, inu also refers to being an informant to authorities, a snitch, a stool pigeon, a backstabber.

QUIBBLES & BITS

Deni Dietz

When I'm up to my armpits in alligators, the hands on my office clock rotate as quickly as the hands on a clock in a John Garfield/Lana Turner movie. I received the galleys for my "paranormal history-mystery romance," THE LANDLORD'S BLACK-EYED DAUGHTER. They are due back "yesterday." The clock hands are rotating faster than a speeding bullet. And yet I know I should use my Murderati Tuesdays to write something relevant, something really profound, like...

CAN ONE WRITE A BOOK AND DIET AT THE SAME TIME?

The answer is yes, and I'll tell you why.

Before my Landlord galleys arrived, I was "tweaking" the glitches in the scanned versions of my Ellie Bernstein/Lt. Peter Miller "diet club" mysteries, TROW DARTS AT A CHEESECAKE and BEAT UP A COOKIE, for backlist publication. Naturally my thoughts turned to how many readers will actually buy these updated versions, and will my publisher negotiate with the fantastic cover artist, Peter Caras, who created the covers for my mass market paperback editions, and my...

WEIGHT

Don't turn away, guys (or click off this blog). Don't pretend you never think about how you'd look in spandex and/or jeans that mold your butts.

So I'm happily tweaking, eh? And thinking about when these books first came out. Thinking about the pretty clothes I wore to my booksignings and conferences and my one TV appearance - someday I'll tell you about my first -and last- TV appearance! Thinking about the straight black skirt that molded MY butt, and the skin-tight jeans with Mickey Mouse as a cowboy embroidered on the back pocket (in those days you could see my back pockets because I tucked my shirts in).

Thinking how I actually said "No, thank you" to Diane Mott Davison's brownies, when we did that Denver booksigning together.

Thinking about the skinny T-shirt Tom and Enid Shantz gave me, as a gift, when I signed Beat Up a Cookie at the Rue Morgue.

Thinking about how that skinny T-shirt fit!

Without a bra, even.

Recently, some really nice people sent me pictures from last June's Murder In The Grove conference.

So, okay, you can look in a mirror and fool yourself. You can look in a mirror and see what you want to see. But you can't hide from photos. No matter which way you turn a photo (even upside-down), you can't change your appearance.

So, for the record, I'm back on Weight Watchers. And writing a new book.

Recently, when Julia Buckley interviewed me for her blog, she asked the following question: Deni, you used to be a Weight Watchers lecturer.  I've joined Weight Watchers three times, and each time my starting weight is higher.  What would group leader Ellie Bernstein say to me?"

My answer: It took Ellie two tries to reach her goal weight. The first time she attended a party and saw her ex-husband and his new wife -- a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader -- at the party, and she scarfed up the party goodies like a recently-repaired Hoover. Then she binged for weeks, always planning to go back on her diet "tomorrow." When she finally rejoined Weight Winners and reached her goal, she called her experience "WW II" -- "Weight Winners II." As for what Ellie would say to you, she'd say, "You're a wonderful person, thoughtful, intelligent and talented, and you deserve to be healthy and attractive. But losing weight isn't everything. Be proud of who you are and what you've achieved." She might also quote Dave Barry, who said "The leading cause of death among fashion models is falling through street grates."

Julia also asked: Can we ever eat what we want to again and still lose weight?  Keep in mind that what I WANT to eat is a big chocolate cake.

My answer: Eat as much chocolate cake as you like. Just don't swallow it.

The entire interview is on Julia's blog.

Remember my blog entry on "Walking the Dog"? Remember how I said if you write one page a day,

at the end of a year you'll have a book? I'm thinking if I lose one pound a week...

This is what I look like at the end of a busy, up-to-my-armpits-in-alligators day.

Over and out,
Deni

Flying Chairs

by Pari Noskin Taichert

"If Hell exists, it's filled with old boyfriends . . . and a cat."

So begins the manuscript I'm editing right now in which Sasha Solomon, my protagonist, is plagued by nightmares about relationships gone bad. Because I'm thinking so much about her life, I'm remembering fragments of my own.

Many years ago, I had a boyfriend who was an artist. Since our first interactions neglected talking in favor of aerobics, we didn't get to know each other much until we were well into being "a couple."

One day, he showed me his art.

I broke up with him that night.

You see, I didn't get it -- his art, I mean. He spent hours with pastels and watercolors creating images of flying chairs. These weren't chairs with wings; I think I would have liked that. No, his renditions were chairs moving through the air -- white background, slightly bent chrome or wooden legs, and blah upholstery. Like I said, I didn't get it.

I broke up with him because I felt our relationship had no future if something so important, something that tagged his essence as a human being, evoked mocking emotions in me.

As writers, we know writers. Every convention, every trip to the bookstore or library, offers oppportunities to read friends' works.

What do you do when you care for the person, but not for his story -- or craft?

I'm not thinking of anyone in particular here -- not when it comes to mystery authors -- but I know it's happened to me. I've picked up a book by someone I like, wanted to love it, and haven't.

It's an uncomfortable, incomplete, and slightly treacherous response -- and it needles me when I see that person later.

Right now, I can imagine several of you are wondering if I'm writing about you.

Don't go there.

I'm not thinking of anyone in particular.

Honest.

I simply want to explore this uneasy subject because it's one of those things we don't talk about -- and it stymies forthright communication and makes us cringe internally.

So, I want to know: How do you handle it when a friend asks you to read his book -- or expects that you have -- and you have . . . but you don't want to talk about it because you couldn't get past p. 40?

Me?

I've begun to search for the good in every work -- something I can praise or admire. But it can be difficult and I still feel like a traitor for not adoring the entire tome, the baby that it took a friend or acquaintance so much effort to create.

Has this ever happened to you?

How have you handled it?

What Do You Read? Huh?

Jeffrey Cohen

I am a bad mystery author.

Quite often (okay, once every few months, but for me, that's often), I'm asked by a reader, an interviewer, or just this guy who always follows me into the Stop & Shop, "what do YOU like to read?" The guy at the supermarket asks everybody that question, so I'll discount his participation, but the others seem to think that, as a published author, my taste in reading is in some way more relevant than their own, which it's not.

Because I have a reputation, and a very minor one, for including humor in my writing, I can get away with a snappy comeback like "I read graffiti," "I read my wife's moods, in order to stay alive," "who said I could read?" or "I read grocery lists," which really only works on the supermarket guy. But the truth is, I'm embarrassed to say what I really read, because it's not what they want to hear.

I'll confess it here: I'm a mystery author. I don't really read mysteries all that much.

It's not that I don't find the form interesting. It's not that I don't ENJOY the odd mystery book here and there. But the sad fact is, after a day of toiling away at my own meager work, it's depressing to read someone who does it better, and whose book is, after all, finished. It all seems so easy for those other authors--even though I know it's really not, their work is between covers and has a copyright date on it, and everything, so it feels like they're just flaunting their success at me.

Besides, I've seen enough words for one day. Spending hours staring at a screen with words on it, I believe, has a finite capacity. After a certain number of words, my brain goes into a fetal position and gives up for the day. I just can't deal with any more, especially if the words are actually challenging.

And the sad fact is, when I do read for pleasure, I tend more toward non-fiction than fiction. I'm currently listening to an audiobook of Manhunt, a description of the assassination of Abraham Lincoln and the pursuit of John Wilkes Booth, by James L. Swanson. Booth has just gotten to the home of Dr. Samuel A. Mudd to get his broken leg set, and at the rate I'm going, it'll be a lot more than twelve days before they shoot him in a barn in Virginia.

Why don't I read more mysteries? Well, for one, I don't want to steal stuff inadvertently (or even advertently) from other authors, and there's sure to be some morsel of plot that will make me go: "oh yeah, that would work perfectly with the story I'm working on now!" I'd have to suppress that impulse, and would do so, but it's just too upsetting to go through the process.

There are certain authors I can't read when I'm writing. For days, my work will sound like a bad imitation of theirs. Scarier than that, I've been told at least once (okay, once) that at least one (okay, one) author can't read me while writing. I assume reading too much of my writing while working on one's own would lead to an upset stomach. Lord knows, that's what happens to me.

On the other hand, I do sometimes read mysteries by friends I've met through this adventure of an industry. For example, this week I read the ARC of Julia Spencer-Fleming's upcoming All Mortal Flesh, and I've gotta tell ya, it's dynamite. Luckily, Julia and I don't write on similar themes--her heroine is an Episcopal priest, and my characters are about as not an Episcopal priest as you can get without actually being a different species. But Julia writes with humor, with emotion and with an evil sense of plot and pacing that will keep you turning pages, which is what this business is all about. I'd ask her how she does it, but then she'd just tell me, and I still wouldn't do it as well, and that would be the waste of an afternoon.

What was I talking about? Oh yes, what I read.

A few years ago, an interviewer asked me what my favorite book was, and I said, Groucho, Harpo, Chico and Sometimes Zeppo: A Celebration of the Marx Brothers and a Satire on the Rest of the World, by Joe Adamson. For some reason, the interviewer thought I was kidding. I wasn't. Concerning itself with one (well, four) of my favorite subjects, this is the book that I would have written if Adamson hadn't gotten there first. It's out of print now, but you can find a copy. The information is copious, and it's a funny, funny book.

I know what I was supposed to say. I should have looked thoughtful and said, "you know, my real influences have been Chandler and Hammett, but I'd have to say my favorite book is The Canterbury Tales. What a depth and breadth of character!" Of course, I wouldn't have a clue what I was talking about, and I wouldn't know one Canterbury Tale from another, but that's what you're supposed to say. (Although you can substitute Moby-Dick or Ulysses for The Canterbury Tales and still be considered acceptable.

A lot of people cite Dickens, Shakespeare, Salinger or (god help us) James Joyce as influences. For me, it was Joe Adamson for how to make non-fiction entertaining, and for storytelling, I had to go to Irwin Shaw. A storyteller beyond compare, Shaw's novels had lots of juicy plot to chew on, and characters who weren't stupid, which is a plus. If you haven't, check out Nightwork, in which a hotel clerk's life changes when he comes across a tube filled with money one night. Some would say shallow; I say, ahh.

You don't get to choose your influences, or everybody would be writing in iambic pentameter, and wearing accordion collars. And those would chafe like crazy in this heat.

What it comes down to is, it doesn't matter what an author reads. It matters what an author writes. And you should read what you want to read. Assuming, of course, that my books are included on that list.

After all, a guy's got to have priorities.