QUIBBLES & BITS

For those who live in the States HAPPY INDEPENDENCE DAY

This week my Quibble is called:

THAT DIRTY WORD

No, no, not that word. I'm talking about

PROLOGUES

Some readers hate 'em [or say they do].

My dictionary defines prologue as "the preface or introduction to a literary work." Does that mean that if/when I write a prologue I've written a literary work? Cool.

Another definition is: "An introductory or preceding event or development."

And that, my friends, is what I believe a good prologue should be . . . and most of the time they are. But, somehow, the prologue has gotten a bad rap. It's a dirty word.

What I hear - a lot:

"I skip prologues."
"I don't think you need 'em."
"Why can't it be Chapter One?"
"I read a prologue that had nothing to do with the book."

That last quote is valid, IF a prologue has "nothing to do with the book." But I can't believe a professional author sets out to write a prologue that has nothing to do with his/her book [or a book that has nothing to do with his/her prologue]. So WHY does the prologue have a bad rep?

I pulled a few books - at random and I didn't cheat - from my bookshelf.

John Grisham's The Firm doesn't have a prologue.

Clive Cussler's Raise TheTitanic has one, except he calls it a "Prelude."

Pat Conroy's The Prince of Tides has a Prologue that ends thusly:
I will tell you my story.
Nothing is missing.
I promise you.

Tess Geritsen's Body Double has a Prologue. Skip it and you've missed an important part of the book.

Harlan Coben's Tell No One has no prologue. But it's not Chapter One, either (that starts on page 11). The prologue that isn't a prologue isn't headed by any title. Clever Harlan.

And last but not least, Gordon Aalborg's The Specialist. No Prologue, but Chapter One has a subtitle that reads:
Tasmania                                           
[Where there be devils]
Clever Gordon!

Once upon a fairly long time ago, I wrote a Prologue for FOOTPRINTS IN THE BUTTER. The Prologue took place at a high school reunion dance. Shortly thereafter, one of the reunionites gets thunked over the head with a miniature reproduction of "The Thinker." Chapter Two has Ingrid [my sleuth] discussing the murder with her friend Cee-Cee [who at age 60+ is still sleeping with her ex-husband, a cop - that way I can bring the cops in without bringing the cops in :::grin:::]. Ingrid talks about the people at the reunion dance and their motives and Cee-Cee responds. My agent asked if Cee-Cee "knew these people." My answer: "She does if she read my prologue."

The Prologue became Chapter Three -- what I fondly called my "flashback  Chapter." And yes, I had to rewrite the Ingrid/Cee-Cee scene. [To your left is the large-print edition - Trade paperback in the US, hardcover in the UK,]

Today I'm schizy about putting Prologues in my books. As a mid-list author, I can't afford to lose one potential reader, so I tend to write my prologues under the guise of an introduction.

Here's a [short] intro to my next book, THE LANDLORD'S BLACK-EYED DAUGHTER, a "paranormal history-mystery romance."


                        6, April, 1766

            Seated beside the open coffin, the watchers waited. They waited
to see whether Barbara Wyndham's body moved. They watched intently while
mourners trailed past. Blind belief said that if Barbara's body began to
bleed, 'twould identify her murderer.
            There was some question as to whether Barbara had suffered a
seizure of the heart and fallen and hit her head on a rock. Or had she been
struck by some unknown hand?
            Seven-year-old Elizabeth Wyndham watched with the watchers, but
her mother remained motionless.
            "Mama," Elizabeth whispered, "are ye sleeping?"
            "Your mother sleeps evermore, my Bess," said Lawrence Wyndham,
lifting his daughter up into his arms.
            Elizabeth pressed her tear-streaked face against his shoulder.
At the same time she wondered with a twinge of fear how it would feel to
sleep evermore.

Is that a prologue? Sure it is. It's a "preceding event" -- a thread that runs throughout the book. But I "cheat" by heading it with a date [rather than "that dirty word"].

The other day I found an interesting prologue. It's on my pillow. It says: "Do not remove tag under penalty of law."

It's a very successful prologue because I want to know more. Like, why?

Over and Out,
Deni

New Mexico Vacation

Pari Noskin Taichert

It's vacation time for many people in the U.S. this week. I'm going to take a little break too. Rather than contemplate heady concepts about marketing, writing, or the mystery community, I thought it'd be nice to show you some pictures from our three-day family vacation to Ruidoso, NM. Okay, there was a little work there; I had a book signing in that small mountain town, but the bulk of our time was spent exploring South Central NM.

I had difficult time getting all the photos to line up with my narrative captions in this entry. Please pardon any of the confusion. When I tried to move them, it didn't work and I decided to get this post up before the entire day passed. If you can't figure anything out, just post a comment and I'll explain it.

Here goes . . .

Acomilla rest stop is about 60 miles south of Albuquerque. It's one of my favorites because of its spectacular setting. As you can see, it's built on stilts. I assume that's to keep some of the dust out when the wind sweeps this landscape. 

The photo to the right shows a bit of the view from the rest stop.

Heading into Carizozo, you come upon an unlikely landscape of black lava rock. Here, in the distance, you can see El Capitan, the volcano that erupted to produce this particular anamoly.

The picture to the right is at the beginning of the Valley of Fires State Park. 

The following are two photos from Bonita Lake a few miles outside of Ruidoso. They show both the landscape and the fact that the lake is far below its normal level due to the drought. The picture on the right is exposed lake bed.

Ah, here we get to the business of the trip. On the left are Becky and Myk Ewing of Books, Etc. This couple is an example of the best in booksellers. They live in a fairly conservative town and make a point of bringing as much variety to their bookstore as possible. Notice Myk's tee-shirt.

 

So many of New Mexico's
museums are located in improbable places. To the left is the "Cube," the interior of the NM Museum of Space History. We arrived too late to enter, but it didn't matter. Outside there is a park with space and military objects.

It's an astounding site. To the right is a anti-aricraft missile aimed right at the town of Alamogordo. I've also included one more picture of the location because it was so odd and gorgeous.

Southwest of Alamogordo is one of the most marvelous national parks in our country. White Sands is a place you mustn't miss. In the summer, the park is open until 10 pm most evenings. On full moon nights, it stays open until midnight. People come to have dinner -- as we did -- and then play on the dunes until it gets too dark to see.  The sand here is unlike anything you've ever experienced. It embraces you in fine warmth. My husband, who eschews most "spiritual" references said that he felt healed after spending time in the park.

The little pod-like structures are small picnic shelters. It's wonderful to be in this frozen tundra landscape and to feel such warmth. Of course, you can see 40-60 miles in any direction as well -- but that's common in NM.

Many people bring sleds to slide down the dunes. We brought old aluminum snow dishes--but they were too sticky for the gypsum sand. It didn't matter one iota.

The last day of our trip, we drove from Ruidoso to Cloudcroft in the heart of the Sacramento Mountains. Much of this land is owned by the Mescalero Apache tribe. While many Native Americans ended up with horrid, waterless reservations when they dealt with the U.S. Government, the Mescaleros had the opposite experience. They own some of the most gorgeous and fertile acres in our state. The pictures below show a bit of the mountains and, distressingly, evidence of poaching.

  While taking a short hike,
in the area to the left, we found two elk carcasses. Both had been left just off of the path -- and both had been killed for their antlers which had been sawed off. It was sad to see these mighty animals so wasted. The hunters didn't even bother to harvest the meat. I'd say this was the only low point of our trip.

  On the drive down the mountain from Cloudcroft, on the left side of the road, is the remnant of an old logging bridge. Can you imagine cross that thing -- even when it was new?

Finally, I'm going to end this little travelogue with pictures from another one of my favorite places in the world. Three Rivers Petroglyphs Park is located between Tularosa and Carizozo. Nearly 20 years ago, I went there with some friends. At the time, these petroglyphs weren't protected. I'm grateful they now are. The thing that shocked me then, and still does, is that visitors can walk among them -- they can leave the path and climb over rocks to see as many as they want. Granted, they might find a rattlesnake or two -- but that's kind of cool, too.

To the left is the path that now leads to the hundreds of petroglyphs. The photo to the
right gives you a small idea of the splendor of the location of Three Rivers in the Tularosa Basin.

On the left is a butterfly. I could have taken -- and inserted many more pictures of Three Rivers, but just wanted to give you a small feel of the place. The last photo in this missive is, to me, one of the most precious.

When I came to this site nearly 20 years ago, I found this face and stopped dead in my walk. Most of you don't know that my mom collected Asian art and I got my undergrad degree in Asian Studies. One particular interest of mine was Tibetan art.  This face looked so Tibetan to me, I never forgot it. It also convinces me that many of the "primitive" cultures of the U.S. came from Asia. What do you think?

Well, thank you for indulging me. I hope all of you have a safe 4th of July -- if you celebrate it -- and if you don't.

This trip through a small part of New Mexico gives you an idea of how large my homestate is. I hope it also gives you an inkling of why I adore my home so very much.

Cheers.

Coming Not Very Soon

Jeffrey Cohen

When Lawrence Block sold the rights to his Bernie Rhodenbarr novels to Hollywood, do you think he expected the part to be played by... Whoopi Goldberg?

Now, don't get me wrong. I think Whoopi Goldberg can be a terrific actress (watch The Color Purple sometime, and you'll see what I mean), and I have no sexist predisposition toward keeping a character the same gender, if there's something to be gained by changing said gender. But did you see Burglar? What were those people smoking?

The minute a writer finishes typing "THE END" at the bottom of a page, s/he starts thinking about who should play the featured character in the story when it (inevitably, in the author's mind) becomes a movie. Sometimes, we think about it before writing the novel, to let you in on a trade secret. And that's fine. People will often ask me who I think should play Aaron Tucker on TV or in the movies, and my standard answer is "oh, that is so far off in the distance. I don't think about that."

Yeah, right.

The fact is, the day I sold the first Aaron novel, the publisher himself asked me who I thought would be right for a film version of For Whom the Minivan Rolls. And the question did not catch me off-guard by any means; I'd given it plenty of thought already. Since enough people already thought I'd modeled the character after myself, I decided to suggest people who weren't astonishingly handsome, just so I wouldn't seem egotistical. Then I realized there are only four people in Hollywood who aren't astonishingly handsome, and three of them are over 70, and probably wrong for the part. Debbie Reynolds, for example (and no disrespect: she was darned attractive in 1956). I don't think she'd be good as Aaron.

It's a game we all play. I have my preferences in the fantasy version of my movie. I won't actually say who I'd prefer for Aaron, since I don't want Tom Cruise to feel he's out of the running (Tom, I lost your number--give us a call). Aaron is rather noticeably height-impaired, but I imagine that if they wanted to buy my book, I'd be tickled if we could get it going with Kareem Abdul-Jabbar in the lead.

That's the point: we authors need to understand that our books are many things, but one of those is a property. If we choose to sell the rights to that property, we really can't complain if someone makes changes to it of which we don't approve. We opted to sell. We could have opted not to sell, and then they wouldn't have been able to make the changes.

If you own a car, and you decide to sell it so you can buy a new car, you place an ad in the newspaper or on the Internet, and you find interested buyers. After negotiating, you come to an agreement with one, and that person gives you the amount of money (or chickens, or Oreo cookies, whatever) you have agreed is fair. You give him the car, or more specifically, the title to the car.

Suppose the next day that guy decides to take his new car and paint it orange. With pink polka dots. And chartreuse flames on the front fenders. And maybe rip out the Corinthian leather seats that you insisted on at the dealership and put in some with zebra upholstery. And then he takes out your state-of-the-art stereo system and replaces it with a radar detector and two tin cans with a string.

You could decry the bad (in your opinion) taste the new owner is exhibiting. You might feel betrayed, duped, appalled. Sure. But you can't tell him what he can do because it's his car now. You want to express an opinion? Go ahead. You want to tell your friends about the concrete-brained imbecile who bought your baby and turned it into a junkheap on purpose? Feel free.

But the bottom line is, it's his car, and he can do what he wants with it.

The same principle, alas, pertains to those of us who are fortunate enough to attract some interest in our books from those who produce television, movies, radio and for all I know, educational filmstrips. We solicit (sometimes through our agents) their interest. We welcome their offers. And then, if we're supremely lucky and especially persistent, we get some of their money in exchange for the right to produce entertainment based on our original ideas. And that's where it ends.

If you cash the check, you have sold your right to the material. The purchaser, who now owns it, can do with it as s/he likes. If they want to take your 19th Century Anglican bishop and turn him into a talking llama, they can do it. You cashed the check.

The only way to have control over what happens to your story once it hits a screen of any size is to use your own money to produce the film, and then write the screenplay and direct it yourself. And even then, because filmmaking is a creative process, you will have to collaborate with actors, cinematographers, editors and a host of other technicians and creative artists who have more experience doing this than you do.

Deal with it.

I have not yet had one of my novels torn to shreds by Hollywood, but I'm certainly open to it. If the day comes that I am lucky and persistent, and someone from the land of disposable entertainment feels moved to hand me a chunk of cash in exchange for the right to completely obliterate what I slaved over and fretted about for months before handing it over to a publisher, I will weigh my options.

And then I'll take the money. Believe it. I have two kids to put through college and I'm a freelance writer. How much do you think I have saved?

Once that check is cashed, I may become appalled at how my precious ideas are discarded, defaced and otherwise mashed into something I'd be ashamed to call my own. It's possible. Maybe given the way things go, it's probable. I hope I'm lucky enough to find out.

But you won't hear me complaining publicly about it (maybe to friends and family, but not out in the world). Not once.

After all, I will have cashed the check.

Welcome Guest Blogger P.J. Parrish

By P.J. Parrish

It hit me the other day – as I was watching that cheesy old Clint Eastwood movie “The Eiger Sanction” – that publishing is all about mountain climbing. And we are all on different parts of the mountain, hanging on by our Lee’s Press-Ons, digging for whatever footholds we can find on what seems like an increasingly icy slope.

Bear with me here, I used up all the good metaphors on the just-finished book).

Now, I’ve never climbed a real mountain, but a friend who has tells me that you need stamina, skills and guts. I’d like to add something – ingenuity.

I know those of you who are just starting out don’t want to hear this, but here goes: It is damn hard to get published. But it is even harder these days to stay published.

You think it’s easy to climb Mount Everest? Wait until you have to camp on it.

When you’re first trying to get published, it’s like you’re standing at the bottom of this towering mountain. It all looks so intimidating but still exciting and you’re dizzy with the possibilities.

But damn, it’s perilous. One false move, and you can have what my climber friend calls a “zipper fall.” This is a fall of such length and velocity that the climber's protective devices are ripped from the rock in rapid succession. AKA: Your publisher went bankrupt, your agent disappeared into the witness protection program, your C-drive crashed, and the manuscript you’ve been working on for ten years, “The Rembrandt Rubic” just came out with Dan Brown’s name on it.

But most us who are climbing the mountain will experience something less dramatic. We will simply hit a plateau and find ourselves stranded on some cold, windy tor. Maybe this has already happened to you.

Maybe it is because, after climbing for so long, you’ve just run out of gas in the ever-thinning air. You might have starred reviews in PW and window display in Black Orchid. You snagged an award or two. Hell, even Kirkus likes you. But you just can’t seem to get any higher. You are stuck on Midlist Mountain.

What do you do? Two choices: Sit there and freeze your ass off or find a way to reinvent yourself and get moving again.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the extremes authors go to to survive these days. I am involved in the Mystery Writer of America’s mentor program and have been trying to help a writer who was on a fast track, lost her footing and went into a free fall. Her first novel was named to PW’s Best Books of the Year list, she had great reviews and name-in-lights promises from her Big Name Publisher. They gave her a huge print run. You can guess what happened: her sell-through was abysmal because, let’s face it, not a lot of readers are going to shell out $25 for an unknown. And now, her name is “poison” because whenever the buyer at B&N punches it into a computer, the bad numbers come up.

None of this was her fault. I read the book and it’s terrific. But her publisher, by overprinting a debut, set her up for failure. So now she is trying to climb back out of the crevasse.

So how does she get around this numbers game? She could take a page from some of the strategies other authors are using to keep ascending the mountain:

1. THE DEBUT REDUX: So you’ve got four or five books out there and you’re doing okay. But your sherpa agent says he’s taken you as high as he can. The new attack: You come up with a new name and go out as a “first-time” author. Your name isn’t in any bookstore computer, so you have a blank slate. Take the case of Lisa Unger. The author of the April release “Beautiful Lies” got starred reviews in PW and Booklist, the latter saying: “An outstanding debut...Unless readers scan the biographical information first, they will never guess that Unger is a first novelist.” Well, she’s not. Lisa Unger is Lisa Miscione, who wrote five fine books featuring New York crime writer Lydia Strong. Do I begrudge the author this strategy? Hell no. Lisa Unger nee Miscione is now a New York Times bestseller. She’s not sitting on her butt in the cold anymore, folks.

2. THE NOM DE GUERRE: Many authors have gone this route, starting a new series under a new pen name. Reed Farrel Coleman, whose “The James Deans” has been shortlisted for the Edgar, Macavity and Shamus this year, has a new book coming out this October called “Hose Monkey” written under the name Tony Spinosa. It’s third-person POV to his usual first, and he calls it “grittier, sexier, harder edge.”

He tells me, “I did it under a pen name just to create some buzz and some separation from the Moe Prager books. It's kind of a lark. However, there are legitimate reasons to do series under a pen name. I think publishers are almost more comfortable with a blank slate than they are with numbers that might be okay but below expectations. It's easier for publishers to sell unknowns to Borders and Barnes and Noble. By using a pen name, you take history out of the equation. Do I wish things were different? Of course, but wishing never counted for anything in this world.”

3. THE PAPERBACK TRAIL. This strategy is suddenly hot in New York, with publishers taking their hardcover midlisters “back” to PBO in the hopes of generating the higher numbers needed to grow a mass market audience. This is mostly being used with titles by promising -- but not yet blockbuster -- authors.

I have several friends traversing this route up the mountain. When Paul Levine wanted to get back into the novel-writing biz after a stint in Hollywood (writing mostly "JAG") he found “the publishing industry wasn’t exactly kicking down my door.” Despite the fact he had eight critically acclaimed crime novels behind him, he had to sell his new comic courtroom novel “Solomon vs Lord” on spec. When his editor at Bantam, Kate Miciak, suggested that the best way to build an audience quickly was in mass market with books published six or seven months apart, Paul wasn’t happy.

“This wasn't exactly what I wanted to hear,” he says. “All seven of my Jake Lassiter novels and one stand-alone were published in hardcover. But I put my ego under wraps and agreed to a four-book deal with all the paperbacks to be ‘Super Releases’ and Bantam doing ample promotion.”

He’s happy with the results. "Solomon vs. Lord" (Oct. 2005) did well; "The Deep Blue Alibi" (Feb. 2006) showed growth; and the outlook seems bright for "Kill All the Lawyers" (Sept. 2006). Paul says it’s an exhausting schedule, “especially because I also wrote a pilot for CBS last winter. Now, I'm working on the fourth book of the Solomon series and, if all goes well, looking forward to moving into hardcover with the next contract."

And apparently, there’s no loss in quality: “Solomon vs. Lord" is nominated for both the 2006 Macavity award and the Thurber Humor Award.

Another example of HC to PBO success: Jim Swain, author of the popular series featuring casino-crime expert Tony Valentine. With great hardcover reviews and a solid base of loyal readers already in hand, Jim recently agreed to a book deal that would make most authors slit their wrists. He is writing two $6.99 paperbacks that will be released five weeks apart.

"I know a hundred great writers in this field," he told the Wall Street Journal recently. "The key is reaching readers. You need them to try you at least once. All the advertising in the world won't accomplish anything if a person won't pick the books up."

Did Swain’s switch work? Here are some numbers: 150,000 copies of both his PBOs "Deadman's Poker" and "Deadman's Bluff" in print. His earlier hardcovers have sold 30,000 to 35,000.

I know what Paul and Jim are talking about when they mention the ego thing. My own 1999 debut “Dark of the Moon” came out in hardcover. But then a veep took over who had made her chops in breaking out authors in mass market. So back to the paperback ghetto I went.

Sure, I was upset about less prestige and fewer reviews. (But you’d be surprised how many PBOs DO get reviewed). But I got a tradeoff payoff. My press runs have steadily increased over seven books. The books are now in outlets like Costco and Walmart, which are, sad but true, now essential to bestseller success. We have made the lists of USA Today and even the extended New York Times.

Do I still yearn for hardcover? You betcha. But I ask myself one question every day: Would I rather have 25,000 chances to win a new reader or 250,000? Forced to choose, would I rather be reviewed in the New York Times or be on its bestseller list?

The answer is simple. In these tough times, I want to make a living doing what I love to do, and that’s tell stories. And I want those stories to find readers.

My climber friend says there’s a slang term called “scuzzing.” It means to gain a hold on the rock with body parts other than the hands or feet, however tenuous or aesthetically displeasing.

So here I am, bivouacked with my buds on paperback hill. Some might call it scuzzing. I call it surviving.

P.J. Parrish is the author of the critically acclaimed Louis Kincaid series. Her books have been nominated for an Edgar and three Anthonys. She just received her fourth Shamus nomination this week.

The Plot Thickens

JT Ellison -- Who is in Phoenix at ThrillerFest and loving every minute of it.

When I’m working on a story, the plot thickens, the characters are faced with new challenges that will help move the story forward, and all the loose threads come together in a seamless, cohesive package. Yeah, right.

What happens more often than not is my plot doesn’t thicken the way I’d like. Or it gets so unwieldy that I throw up my hands and run, screaming, to the backyard for a moment of peace and quiet. I’m constantly surprised at how often that seems to happen.

So, what do you do when your plot isn’t working?

I read a great story about Tess Gerritsen. She was writing VANISH, her Macavity and Edgar nominated latest. I’m paraphrasing here, but she was struggling with her plot. It just wasn’t happening. A sudden flash of brilliance told her that she needed to entirely change the gender of the bad guy. Girl. Suddenly, everything fell into place.

Now, reading that made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. I mean, if someone as brilliant, accomplished and seasoned as Tess can have an issue with her plot, then we’re all in very good company.

So last week, when I was staring at the notes for the convoluted plot of my newest book, trying desperately to figure out a way to make it work, I had to concede. Several months ago it seemed like a brilliant idea – unique, never done, and so far reaching that my readers would be astounded that I pulled it off. I was wrong. The plot gods were conspiring against me. It just wasn’t going to work.

It’s really a horrible feeling, to tell you the truth. This story has been percolating for months, ever since Hubby and I were out with friends, enjoying an adult beverage. The story came alive for us, right there in the bar. I had that lightning bolt flash, started scribbling on cocktail napkins, and before long, there were several patrons sitting with us, “helping”. Maybe that’s where it went astray. More likely, the scope of the story was just too big.

I started thinking that there was no way this could be a Taylor Jackson novel a couple of months ago. Life has been so crazy over the past months that I brushed the thought aside every time it reared its ugly little head. But when I refocused my attention on the story, I realized that it was well and truly hopeless. I had to start over.

With some much appreciated guidance from my agent, I trashed the original plot. It hurt me to do so, but at the same time, it was liberating. All of a sudden, the ideas began to flow again. The story morphed into a much more doable scenario, one which was a lot more realistic. I’ve got the new story in my head now, and scenes are building themselves from the dark recesses of my mind. I’ve talked it out, put the general storyline up on the whiteboard, and it’s coming together.

I’ve always said that writer’s block is your story’s way of telling you something isn’t right. I’ve proved my theory again.

Wine of the Week -- Vina Rey Tempranillo

Also, from Jan Burke's wonderful Crime Lab Project...

Two Phone Calls for Forensic Science

Those of you who are Americans can help to improve forensic science services in all 50 states and the U.S. territories by making two phone calls, one to each of your U.S. Senators.

Please ask your senators to increase funding for the Coverdell National Forensic Sciences Act.

To learn your senators' phone numbers, go to the U.S. Senate Website. In the upper right corner, you'll see "Find Your Senators" and a pulldown menu for your state. Congressional contact information is  also available on the Crime Lab Project Website.

Please make these phone calls today!