Cover Quotes – Credible Praise or Irredeemable Corruption?

By David Corbett

First, some business to square away – I’m teaching a couple of courses I’d like everyone to know about. If you or someone you know would like to register, follow the links I provide below.

The first is an in-person weekend class and workshop at Book Passage in Corte Madera on December 1^st & 2^nd. The class is titled Character Spines and Story Lines, and will focus on how to integrate character with story to create focused, compelling, character-driven plots.

The second is a ten-week online course, beginning January 16^th, offered through the UCLA Extension Writers’ Program. It’s titled The Outer Limits of Inner Life: Building Consistent but Surprising Characters, and covers the art of characterization from conception of the character through development and execution on the page.

Also, Open Road Media and Mysterious Press have re-issued my third and fourth novels -- Blood of Paradise and Do They Know I'm Running, respectively -- in ebook format with, imho, killer new covers:

They've also created a swift little video for the rollout, in which I characteristically talk far too quickly about nothing much:

Follow the links to purchase the titles, and remember there are two days left of the special November promotion in which The Devil's Redhead (and 99 other stellar titles) are all available for $3.99 or less (TDR is a lean, mean $2.99).

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Now, to our regularly schedule programming:

I had a lot to be grateful for this Thanksgiving. I got to meet my girlfriend Mette’s parents for the first time – they spend much of the year abroad, living for several months in Bergen, Norway, another several in Izmir, Turkey – and spent several restful days at a lakeside cottage in the Putnam Valley (not far from Sleepy Hollow), eating sumptuous meals, hiking in the woods, and listening to vinyl on our host’s knockout stereo (his record collection ranged from Bowie to Herbie Hancock to Fela to Sonny Boy Williamson to, well, you get the picture).

I also received from my editor at Penguin, Tara Singh, a jpeg for the finalized cover up my upcoming book, The Art of Character:

Oops. My apologies. I tried to post the cover, but I only have a pdf file,

and apparently I need a jpeg or similar file. I'm going to try something here -- let's see if it works. If not, sorry.

 

The cover was completed after I was able to scrabble together some blurbs from assorted friends, colleagues, comrades in arms. Given the rather ragged path to publication this poor little book has endured – I’m on my third editor, for example – I was given a very narrow time window (two weeks) to gather these quotes, which all but guaranteed that we’d come up short-handed.

All the writers I know are super-busy, and asking for a quote in such a short time frame was almost embarrassing. Many of the writers I asked simply couldn’t oblige, but luckily there were a significant, generous few who were able to take the time and respond.

As you know, this past year there was a rather heated debate over the use of “sock puppets” to praise one’s own work and, in extreme cases, attack the work of others. Alexandra and Martyn both posted blogs here on the topic. And the resulting discussion all around the web brought into high relief the entire issue of garnering favorable opinion for one’s work – whether in the form of friends writing Amazon reviews, writing reviews oneself under pseudonyms, or good old-fashioned, genuine third-party praise.

Barry Eisler, in addressing the sock puppet phenomenon, put it in the context of acquiring blurbs, a system he considers “irredeemably corrupt.” I’m not quite as jaundiced as Barry, but I’m no fool. I realize that many cover quotes are written as personal favors or as a kind of quid pro quo for kindnesses or acts of generosity provided elsewhere. I also know they don't always reflect a genuine knowledge of the work. As Robert B. Parker famously remarked: "I'll blurb the book or read it, not both." (I'm paraphrasing.)

I think most people understand all this. Readers don’t take cover quotes as gospel any more than they read Yelp reviews without a certain reasonable skepticism. Ultimately, we evaluate several reviews and/or blurbs, "weigh the source," glimpse at the book ourselves, and form our own opinion.

That said, I was absolutely overwhelmed with the generosity, kindness, and respect my fellow writers showed my humble little book. My editor was frankly stunned – and ecstatic. Here’s a sample:

"David Corbett has written a wise, inspiring love letter to all the imaginary creatures inside our minds—so we might conjure them whole on the page. I predict that massively underscored copies of The Art of Character will rest close at hand on writers’ desks for many years to come."  —Cheryl Strayed, Best Selling Author of Wild

“I once made the mistake of writing a story with David Corbett. The man smoked me. He can delineate the character and personality of an accordion in three strokes. I didn't even know accordions had character. This act of generosity and wisdom from a very good writer will help anyone who is staring at a blank page, any day, any time. Highly recommended.”  —Luis Alberto Urrea, Pulitzer Finalist and Bestselling Author of The Hummingbird’s Daughter

“Corbett’s The Art of Character is no "how to" book or "writing by numbers" manual.  It is a writer’s bible that will lead to your character’s soul.”  —Elizabeth Brundage, Best Selling Author of A Stranger Like You

Indispensable. Few are the writer’s guides that are written as beautifully, cogently, and intelligently as a well-wrought novel. This is one of those books.”  —Megan Abbott, Edgar-Winning author of The End of Everything

"David Corbett's The Art of Character belongs on every writer's shelf beside Elizabeth George's Write Away and Stephen King's On Writing. An invaluable resource for both the novice and the experienced hand, it's as much fun to read as a great novel."  —Deborah Crombie, New York Times best-selling author of Water Like a Stone

"The topic of character development begins and ends with David Corbett’s The Art of Character. This is the book on the subject, destined to stand among the writings of John Gardner, Joseph Campbell, and the others of that select few whose work is fundamental to understanding the craft of storytelling."  —Craig Clevenger, author of The Contortionist’s Handbook and Dermaphoria

"David Corbett's The Art of Character offers a deep inquiry into the creation of character for the novice writer, with valuable nuggets of wisdom for the seasoned storyteller. If you are a writer, it should be on your desk."  —Jacqueline Winspear, National Best Selling Author of A Lesson in Secrets

“Clear-headed and confident, David Corbett takes us through the steps of characterization in a manner that resists formula while at the same time demystifying a process that has likely daunted every writer since Homer. “  —Robin Hemley, Award-Winning Author of Turning Life into Fiction

“David Corbett has combined his unique talents as a gifted writer and an extraordinary teacher to create a superb resource on character development. Deftly crafted and impeccably researched, The Art of Character is a thoughtful and insightful book that is immensely readable and practical.”  —Sheldon Siegel. New York Times Best Selling Author of Perfect Alibi

 "It is rare to find the deep philosophical questions of literature (and life) met with such straight-forward and inspiring instruction. But David Corbett is that writer, and The Art of Character is that book."  -—Robert Mailer Anderson, author "Boonville"

“This fine book is about as thorough an examination of character and what it means in all sorts of imaginative writing as you're likely to find anywhere.”  —Robert Bausch, Prize-Winning Author of Out of Season

Yes, they all could be lying, or exaggerating, or simply doing me a good turn. But I think, when readers look inside the cover, they’ll be able to determine for themselves whether the praise was warranted or not. In the meantime, I’m basking in the glow – and feeling very fortunate indeed.

So, Muderateros – how do you appraise the value of cover quotes on a book you’re thinking of buying? Do you agree with Barry Eisler that the system is so ridden with underhandedness as to be worthless? Or does the opinion of a writer you admire still carry weight?

* * * * *

Jukebox Hero of the Week: I mentioned that I got to listen to Fela this weekend at my lakeside hideaway. For those of you unacquainted with this African megastar-hero’s work, this is an excellent introduction – “Zombie,” from 1976:

What The Heck Do They WANT?

by J.D. Rhoades

A few days ago, a tweet (or maybe it was a blog post) from the extremely cool and uber-talented paranormal suspense writer Kat Richardson pointed me at this cartoon from fantasy writer Jim C. Hines:

It was one of those observations that's been, in the words of Jimmy Buffett, "so simple it plumb evaded me."

Sometimes the discussion on book blogs can get a little, as they say, "inside baseball". Some of us talk about e-publishing and platforms, royalty rates and market shares of various formats. Some of us talk  about process and outlining and marketing,  and we make predictions and projections and pontifications about the future of publishing. It's interesting to writers, both currently published and pre-published,  because knowing about and discussing this stuff is part of our business.  It's interesting to some readers, because they like seeing how the business works (or sometimes how it doesn't work).

But I get the feeling that there is a larger mass of readers out there--Hines' "average readers"-- who couldn't really care less about why Amanda Hocking went with St. Martin's or whether Barry Eisler made the right decision to self-pub or whether Joe Konrath is the Antichrist (answer: probably not). They may not even read book blogs, and it's highly doubtful they read Publisher's Weekly or Galleycat. They're the equivalent of Richard Nixon's "Silent Majority": the "real' Non-"elite" folks who  every politician of every stripe claims they  represent. 

Which leads us to the question: as authors, how do we reach these people? And what the heck do they want?

The knee-jerk response "they want a good book" is glib but empty, because no one agrees what consitutes a "good book," at least until enough people like something enough that it sells a great number of copies. In that case, however, there'll probably be a considerable number of people who'll tell you that no, that top-ten bestseller is not a good book; it is, in fact, absolute crap, while this book over here that sold less than a thousand copies is, actually, the best book ever written.

It gets even more confusing when you begin to realize that the people whose job it is to determine what that great silent-but-hungry mass of consumers wants often don't really know either. We've all heard the multitude of stories about writers rejected by dozens of publishers who went on to become bestsellers. And how many times have we seen the author that was supposed to be the Next Big Thing in publishing turn out to be the literary equivalent of the Segway? (You remember the Segway. It was supposed to be the future of personal transportation, "transforming the way you work, play and live," according to the company's website. So, do you own one?)

Even some of the things you'd think would be reliable predictors of popular success sometimes fail us. Our Alex has brilliantly explained the idea of "high concept": those ideas that have already staked out a place in our "mental real estate" so that when you see one, you go "Yes. That. Want that."

 As an example, she uses PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN. Because everyone knows pirates, right? They're cool.  Everyone wants to see a movie about pirates. So explain to me why POTC became a franchise while 1985's CUTTHROAT ISLAND bombed so badly that it took Carolco Studios down with it.

It even has a monkey, for Chrissakes!

Likewise, one series of  YA books about young wizards at a magical academy spawned multiple sequels and made its author one of the richest women in the world; another, earlier one...well, they're doing okay, but they didn't make Diane Duane a millionaire, more's the pity.

Yes, that "average reader" (or viewer) is an enigmatic critter. They want something just like something else, only different, and every now and then they want something really different.   The only way they speak is with their cash or plastic, and they seem to be saying something different all the time.

So, since no one really knows what's going to be big and what's going to bomb, what are we to do? Why, whatever makes us happy and gives us pleasure to write. Unless you can tell me what readers really want....

We Don't Know Jack

Traditional publishing (aka Big Publishing, Legacy Publishing, etc) is in decline, probably on its way out entirely, or at the very least, doomed to become a niche market like vinly records.   You only have to look at the success of independent e-publishers like Amanda Hocking to see that. They're dinosaurs and their business model is bad for writers. The only sane thing to do is e-publish.

Except:

Amanda Hocking, the darling of the self-publishing world, has been shopping a four-book series to major publishers, attracting bids of well over $1 million for world English rights, two publishing executives said.

People who think they're going to duplicate the sucess of outliers like Hocking and J.A. Konrath are fooling themselves.  Traditional/Big/Legacy publishing may have its problems, but it can still do things that self-publishing can't. The only sane thing to do is try to find a traditional publisher and let  them handle the whole package, including e-books.

Except:

 In a recent interview, novelist Barry Eisler said he turned down a $500,000 book deal and decided to self-publish his work.

The revelation came in a 13,000-word interview with novelist Joe Konrath. Eisler last published with Ballantine Books, but his self-publishing experiment began with “The Lost Coast,” a $2.99 short story. Konrath quipped: ‘Barry Eisler Walks Away From $500,000 Deal to Self-Pub’ is going to be one for the Twitter Hall of Fame.”

So who's crazy? The young woman who's had enormous success with electronic self-publishing who's now seeking to publish with a "Big 6" house, or the NYT bestseller who's decided to forsake the comfortable traditional route and light out for the digital frontier on his own?

Damned if I know. Right now there are an awful lot of self-proclaimed "experts" telling us with complete confidence how the publishing business is going to go and where we'll be in the next ten years. But, you know, "experts" in publishing  have been confidently predicting what the public wants for decades. Orwell's ANIMAL FARM got turned down by a publisher because "it is impossible to sell talking-animal stories in America." Theodore "Dr. Seuss" Geisel was told his first book was  "too different from other juveniles on the market to warrant its selling." And so on.

Meanwhile, remember John Twelve Hawks? He was supposed to be the Next Big Thing. THE TRAVELER was supposed to be the next DA VINCI CODE. Heard much about him lately? Me neither.

Almost exactly two years ago, I wrote here about a panel of industry experts who'd frustrated a conference audience because, in the words of a commenter who was there, "there wasn't an ounce of new think going on." In that piece, I  quoted one of my favorite thinkers on New Media, Dr. Clay Shirky of NYU:

During the wrenching transition to print, experiments were only revealed in retrospect to be turning points. Aldus Manutius, the Venetian printer and publisher, invented the smaller octavo volume along with italic type. What seemed like a minor change — take a book and shrink it — was in retrospect a key innovation in the democratization of the printed word. As books became cheaper, more portable, and therefore more desirable, they expanded the market for all publishers, heightening the value of literacy still further.

That is what real revolutions are like. The old stuff gets broken faster than the new stuff is put in its place. The importance of any given experiment isn’t apparent at the moment it appears; big changes stall, small changes spread. Even the revolutionaries can’t predict what will happen. Agreements on all sides that core institutions must be protected are rendered meaningless by the very people doing the agreeing.

Two years down the road, and while there are any number of opinions delivered with complete assurance, I can't say that we're any closer to really knowing any of the answers. We don't know for sure what big changes are going to stall, or which small changes are going to spread. People are going every which way, and no one knows if Eisler or Hocking has made the smarter decision...or if, indeed, one can be said to be smarter than the other.

There is this to consider, though: in the end, decisions about what's going to sell are always made by the buyers, the readers, not by the so-called experts. Decisions on what works are made from the ground up,  not the top down, no matter how we may convince ourselves otherwise. 

So, 'Rati: seeing as how we're all experts, and all fools, tell us: who's crazier, Eisler or Hocking? Are they both crazy like foxes? Look into your crystal spheres, cast the bones,  and tell us: what's the future hold? Not what you want it to be...what's it going to be?

Lay some prophecy on me, brothers and sisters.

Turning 40 and Missing Bouchercon

by Alafair Burke

This Friday is October 16, significant to many people, I’m sure, for a variety of reasons.  Odds being what they are, someone reading this is probably having an anniversary.  Or a birthday.  Or a new book published.

According to the handy dandy Interwebs, this Friday will mark a number of important historical events: the guillotining of Marie Antoinette in 1793, the births of Oscar Wilde and Eugene O’Neill, n 1854 and 1888, respectively, the beginning of the Cuban Missile Crisis in 1962, and the launch of Ross Perot's infomercial in 1992.

But I have my eye on this Friday for two reasons.  First, it’s the Friday of Bouchercon weekend.   There’s no shortage of terrific programming for the weekend, and Friday is chock full of good stuff:   2009 Anthony nominees for short story, like Sean Chercover and Jane Cleland, discuss their work; panels on setting, plotting, and noir (oh my!); talk of police procedurals, PI novels, series characters, and women in the genre; and, of course, Michael Koryta’s interview of guest of honor (and god of writing) Michael Connelly.

 So much for a photo with both Michaels at the same time

I think I just felt a tear roll down my right cheek.  Why?  Because I won’t be in Indianapolis.  Nope, no Bouchercon for me this year.  Why not?  Because the second reason I’ve been eyeballing the approach of October 16, 2009, is that it marks the fortieth anniversary of my birth.  I believe that makes it my fortieth birthday.

When I first realized last winter that Bouchercon fell on my birthday, I assumed I’d go.  Given the timing of the annual conference, I’ve had Bouchercon birthdays before.  I spent my 33rd at that memorable hotel in Las Vegas.  My editor took me off-site to see Tom Jones where I was not the only birthday girl, but was apparently the only one who held on to her lingerie.

But as early 2009 whizzed by and my travel plans went left unmade, I realized I was procrastinating for a reason.  I was trying to guess how I’d feel on the big day.  I was imagining my own future state of mind.  Stupid idea.  Speculating about the future is risky.  Understanding one’s current mood and its relationship to external factors is also imprecise.  Throwing the two together was…well, stupid.

Several months ago, past-me imagined future-me on October 16, 2009, and did not like what she saw:  Me wandering around alone at Bouchercon; sitting at my signing table, saying goodbye to the last person in my modest line as the crowd waiting to see the author next to me tried to mask its pity; sobbing into my martini at the bar as I realized I was officially half way to eighty, well over a third of the way to dead.

Bummer, huh?

Turns out past-me sucks at both remembering the past and predicting the future. 

As Bouchercon approaches, I find myself recalling not those past moments of humble pie (almost) every rookie writer experiences at Bouchercon -- meandering around with a hotel map and a conference brochure as the seasoned vets exchange enthusiastic and kissy welcomes and hold court at the bar.  Instead, my mind is flooded with good memories of friendships formed and a love of writing shared: the Reacher Creature parties; that amazing panel in 2006 with Ken Bruen, Laura Lippman, and fellow Ratis, Cornelia Read and Zoe Sharp; the night these guys became my pals and we smiled like people in a toothpaste ad:

Bouchercon Chicago with Ben Rehder, James Born, and Barry Eisler And, although October 16 is still a few days off, it looks like past-me also got the future wrong. I don’t feel like crap about 40 after all.  I have an amazing husband and two kickass jobs.  I get love from good friends and my awesome dog.  I ran twenty-five miles last week, which I couldn’t do when I was 30.  Or 20.  And I live (and get to write about) the coolest city in the world.

If I cried at the Bouchercon bar about entering a fifth decade of this life I've got, I’d deserve to get my butt kicked.

Yet for reasons I had months ago, I won’t be in Indianapolis.  I’ll be having a different kind of fun: that husband and a few of the good friends I mentioned will be hanging out at a beach house, frying a turkey.  Today’s me predicts Friday-me will have a fabulous time.

But I’ll miss you folks who are going to Bouchercon.  I hope you’ll use the comments to remember the past or predict the future.  What are some of your favorite Bouchercon memories or most anticipated Bouchercon events?  Feel free to throw in some birthday chat as well.  You never know…Friday-me might need the encouragement after all. 

You know what's wrong with Bouchercon?

by Alexandra Sokoloff

Look, I did my raves already, here.   And I’ll fight anyone to the death who even dares to hint that Ruth and Jon and Judy didn’t just put on the greatest show on earth.   But let’s get honest, now.   There’s something missing, endemically, intrinsically, about the whole Bouchercon experience.

There’s no dancing.

Yeah, yeah, I can feel the skeptics of you out there going skeptical on me already, but trust me, this is leading somewhere you might just want to go.

Because of my confused genre identity, and because romance readers love them some ghost stories, I end up at a lot of romance conferences.   And there is dancing there, oh, is there.   No hangovers ever at an Romantic Times or RWA conference, because you just dance it right out.   Great exercise, too – no one needs to bother with the gym at these things.   And it’s great bonding. But there’s a major problem there, too.

No men.

Oh, well, there are the requisite half-naked beefcake cover models.  And Barry Eisler.  Unfortunately not half-naked, but simply working it.

But besides that - pretty testosterone-deprived.

It’s not that I don’t love dancing with three hundred women at a time.  I do.  It’s just that it’s not exactly… the same.   I love women.   I love men.   But what I love most of all is women and men together, all variations, doing whatever they do, in all possible permutations.

My favorite advice columnist, Miss Manners, said that “Flirting is what adults do because they know it’s not practical or even desirable to have sex with everyone you’re attracted to.”

Well, that’s precisely the point with dancing, but with more full body contact.   That’s what social dancing was invented for – the preservation of monogamy while maintaining healthy levels of fantasy promiscuity.

Social dancing is maybe the one thing that the sixties really screwed up, and I’m from Berkeley, where the sixties never died, so you know I wouldn’t say anything like that unless I really meant it.  When people started to dance free-form, non-contact, by themselves (which is what tends to happen when you’re tripping) a whole way of life started to crumble.   The sexual revolution had a lot to do with it.  Men realized they were going to get sex anyway, so they didn’t have to go to the trouble of learning how to dance in order to get laid.  And somehow women let them get away with it.   But oh, the loss.

I’m sure it was fine in the seventies, when people were still sleeping with each other left and right.   And in the eighties, before the dark age of AIDS and during the age of, well, cocaine.   

But then suddenly rampant random sex was not happening any more. But when we lost the random rampant sex, we somehow didn’t go back to the socially sanctioned safe-sex substitute of dance.   

Which leaves us – not screwed, but pathetically UNscrewed, I think is what I mean to say.

I haven’t been at this author thing that long, but my observation is that as a group, authors are overwhelmingly…

Married.   And faithful.   

And it’s a lovely thing – commitment, fidelity – I’m all for it.   Cheating is bullshit.

But that doesn’t mean I don’t want a cheap feel from a friend - or an attractive stranger - once in a while.   And social dancing used to make that not only possible, but pretty much mandatory.   

Whoever invented compulsory social dancing really, really, REALLY knew what they were doing.   Because within that context, you’re allowed to try out dozens, no, hundreds, even thousands, of different partners.   Feel how they move, see if they have a sense of humor and sense of adventure, get a good taste of their passion or lack of, see if they’re generous or selfish, see if you FIT with them.   All without saying a word.

And then even once you have your perfect partner (who may not be a great dancer at all, btw – that’s really not the point – you could laugh all the way through the dance of the four left feet and know at the end of it that you’ve found the love of your life) – you don’t have to give up all those other partners.   You get them every weekend, all those hundreds and thousands of three-or-five-or-seven minute living fantasies, as long as you’re still able to stand.

What a perfect system!

Let’s apply this to our own situation for a moment.

Some of my favorite times at B’Con this year were with girlfriends, dishing about the guys.  And the maybe couples – are they or aren’t they?

Yes, I know we were all there working it.  But in the meantime, weren’t you, you know, looking?   And thinking?   

Is Marcus Sakey too young, or would you make an exception for his old soul?   Why do so many women name Dr. Lyle as one of the sexiest men in the mystery community?   Did anyone, ever, have a professor like Derek Nikitas in college, and if you did – well, did you?   Can anyone’s voice shake you to the – uh – core - like Gary Phillips’?   Wouldn’t you love to feel Ken Bruen’s soul in a dance the way you can reading him on the page?   How many of the rest of you have secretly wished that Jim Born would just take out the damn handcuffs? This year especially, didn’t you just want to just line up the Brits?   Or at least have them talk at you until you passed out?  And how about those Teds, as we say in So Cal – the big, comfortable, easy guys you just want to curl up on... er, with…   Brett, Rob, Dusty, Bill Cameron, Jason Pinter, Ali Karim?   

JA Konrath, angel or demon?

And let’s not forget the agents and editors.  I’d put Scott Miller up for a Men of Mystery calendar any day.  Joe Veltre was looking mighty fine, and Lukas Ortiz is not only a hottie, but after a five-hour bike ride with him last year in Anchorage I can testify to his endurance. Marc Resnick is so sly and smart – and Eric Raab has that rock star soulfulness – could be Adam Duritz’s brother.

And speaking of brothers and rock stars - when we have two tall elegant brilliant Englishmen like Lee Child and Andrew Grant skulking about the proceedings - and they’re brothers?    Or Michael Palmer, pere, and Daniel Palmer, fils, doing the rock star thing at ThrillerFest?   I mean, this is better than twins, people.   Doesn’t the mind run wild?

Talking about it is fun (Louise Ure and Lori Armstrong and Tasha Alexander and Christa Faust, I’ll dish with you any hour of any day).   Talking to people is fun.   But after 14 hours or so of it I’m talked out.   When the lights get lower and the cocktails are flowing, I want more.

How breathtaking to have a socially sanctioned excuse to leave all that talking behind and simply step into someone’s arms.   Repeatedly.

And I’m not talking about drunken groping.  I’m talking about people being skilled enough at the LANGUAGE of dance to get out on the floor for three or four minutes and have a whole thrilling, surprising, funny, sexy, touching, mindblowing conversation – every bit as complicated as writing  – through rhythm, through touch, through teasing, through holding back and then pushing through, anticipating and riffing on each other’s moves – all without a word.   (Is this reminding you of anything?   It should be.)

There’s that disconcerting feeling you get as a powerful, independent woman - to have to surrender to his hold.  And how thrilling to find that he knows exactly what he’s doing.   Yeah, it’s a little flustering that he as the lead is in ultimate control (I tell my male friends that men don’t really dance, they STEER) – but as the woman, or follow, you have any number of opportunities to change the game on him – to halt the step, to change the pattern and make him adjust to you, or just make him watch and know that everyone else in the room is watching while you seduce them along with him.

Dance is conversation to music, too.   The music is really another partner, a whole dimension, as much a part of the experience as the person you’re with.   If you listen to the great swing tunes, you’ll see that the music changes constantly within the song, from swing to rumba to mambo to, hell, a tap break.   If you and your partner are on the ball, you can follow  not just each other, but the different dances within a single song.   And when you dance a lot, there are certain songs that you just crave to dance with a certain man, to see if he’s up to it.   And if he isn’t, you could always dance it with someone else.  Dancing doesn’t have to be just one-on-one.  You can be dancing WITH someone – but dancing FOR someone else entirely, if you see what I mean. 

Think about this for a moment. Let’s just imagine that you CAN dance, just like you can talk, because you’ve been in classes and at cotillion and social dances from the time you were eight, then on to the jazz clubs and Latin clubs, or shag or tango competitions - depending on where you’re from.  You can speak dance as well as you speak – if not quite English, then French or Spanish or whatever you speak as a second language.  Because that’s the way it used to be.  Salsa, Rumba, Swing, Foxtrot, Samba, Lindy Hop, Waltz, Tango, Shag in the South… everyone spoke those languages.

(And let me tell you another thing – age means nothing in dance – it’s all about the conversation.   I’ve been tossed in the air by high school kids and danced down a ballroom staircase with the then-85-year-old maestro Frankie Manning (pioneer of the Lindy Hop) and every experience is uniquely wonderful.)   

Now, what if that was simply the thing that we all did – from nine or ten pm on?

That’s the way it used to be.   

Do you get just a glimpse of what I’m talking about?   Can you blame me for being a little nostalgic for that time of night when the talking was done, and a whole other level of communication opened up? 

Oh, and the best thing?   It’s understood: What happens on the dance floor - stays on the dance floor.

So, if you could…

Who would you want to dance with?   At B’Con or Thrillerfest or LCC or wherever.   And don’t even pretend you don’t know.   Most of you probably have a whole list.  Writers are the sexiest people around, and that’s just the truth.

So that’s the question for today.  Who would you dance with?   Truth or dare.

And if you don’t quite dare, is there something besides writing or reading that does you the way dance does me?