The Wildcard Tuesday New Year Interrogation

Zoë Sharp

The first moon of 2013

Welcome to the first Wildcard Tuesday blog of 2013, and an enormously Happy New Year to you all. For this I asked a few lighthearted questions of fellow ‘Rati past and present, and below are their answers. I hope you find them worthy of a giggle.

(As a small aside, I started off searching for sensible author pix, but what I’ve actually ended up going for are the silliest pix that came up on the first page of a Google Images search on that author’s name.)

ALLISON BRENNAN

Where did you choose to celebrate the holiday season this year?

Home, as usual.

What would have been your ideal location?

Home! (Though, I would have liked to have gone to Disneyland right after Christmas ... maybe next year!)

What was the best—or worst—gift you've ever received?

My husband once gave me an electric grout cleaner. Needless to say, I never used it.

The best—or worst—meal or item of food you've been served—or served to others?

The absolute best Christmas dinner we've had was when I decided to cook prime rib instead of the standard turkey or ham. It was pricey, but oh-so-delicious! I think that was back in 1997 ...

What's your idea of the Christmas From Hell?

Traveling for Christmas.

Looking back, what was your favourite moment from 2012?

Watching my oldest daughter graduate from high school—and hearing her and the Seraphim Choir sing the National Anthem. They were amazing.

I'm not going to ask about New Year's resolutions, but do you have one ambition, large or small, you'd like to achieve in 2013?

Walk daily, meet my deadlines, don't sweat the small stuff.

And finally, what book(s) have you brought out this year?

Two Lucy Kincaid books from Minotaur/SMP—SILENCED and STALKED; a short story in the anthology LOVE IS MURDER; an indie published novella MURDER IN THE RIVER CITY.

And what's on the cards for the early part of 2013?

A Lucy Kincaid novella in March (RECKLESS), and two more book STOLEN and COLD SNAP. Plus a short story for the NINC anthology and maybe another indie novella. If I have time.

DAVID CORBETT

Where did you choose to celebrate the holiday season this year?

Home alone, if "choose" and "celebrate" are the correct verbs. Mette arrives on the 28th, so things should get merrier at that point.

What would have been your ideal location?

Buenos Aires. Ireland. A beach in Mexico.

What was the best—or worst—gift you've ever received?

Best gift I ever "received" was one I gave. As a gag gift I bought my late wife a red flannel union suit with a button seat flap that she absolutely loved. Slept in it all the time. Cozy as hell. Damn, she was happy.

The best—or worst—meal or item of food you've been served—or served to others?

When I was a kid one of my classmates' families came over during the holidays and brought cookies that literally made me gag. I picked one up, sniffed it like a cocker spaniel, recoiled, and put it back. My brother started bellowing, "You touched it, you have to eat it." Unfortunately, King Solomon (my father) agreed. I almost upchucked trying to get it down.

What's your idea of the Christmas From Hell?

Oh, let's not go there.

Looking back, what was your favourite moment from 2012?

A weekend in San Antonio for the wedding of one of Mette's dearest friends, when I got introduced to the inner circle. Also, the moments when I read the cover quotes I received for THE ART OF CHARACTER. I was incredibly humbled and grateful so many writers I respect said so many kind and generous things.

One ambition, large or small, you'd like to achieve in 2013?

Make the new book a success, and wrap up the novel I'm working on to my own persnickety satisfaction.

And finally, what book(s) have you brought out this year?

Open Road Media and Mysterious Press re-issued all four of my novels in ebook format in 2012, with a brand new short story collection titled KILLING YOURSELF TO SURVIVE.

And what's on the cards for the early part of 2013?

The new book, THE ART OF CHARACTER, comes out on January 29th, 2013 from Penguin.

ALEXANDRA SOKOLOFF

Where?

New Orleans.

Ideal location?

It's hard to top New Orleans.

Best/worst gift?

Well, there's this pretty spectacular amethyst necklace...

Best/worst food?

I've served many a bad meal to others. For everyone's sake I stopped trying to cook long ago. Personally I don't care much what food gets served, but I do remember one Christmas morning in London with blackberry jam on waffles and whisky for breakfast. The blackberry jam ended up all sorts of places and it was all very lovely.  I could do that again.

Christmas From Hell?

It's hard to narrow that down, actually. Endless scenarios spring to mind. I hate being cold, though, so winter is perilous.

Favourite moment from 2012?

For public consumption, you mean? The general reader response to HUNTRESS MOON has been a real high.

One ambition in 2013?

I'd like to find a really wonderful place to live.

Books this year?

My crime thriller HUNTRESS MOON, a boxed set of three of my supernatural thrillers called HAUNTED, a novella called D-GIRL ON DOOMSDAY in an interconnected anthology with three other dark fantasy female author friends: APOCALYPSE: YEAR ZERO. And I got several backlist titles back and put them out as e books at wonderfully affordable prices: THE UNSEEN, BOOK OF SHADOWS, THE HARROWING and THE PRICE.

And for 2013?

The next book in my Huntress series comes out in late January:  BLOOD MOON. My next book in the paranormal Keepers series, KEEPER OF THE SHADOWS, comes out in May.

I'm selling my house in January and buying another as soon as possible, probably in California.

PD MARTIN

Where?

Every year we have Christmas Day at our home (in Melbourne) and then go down to the Mornington Peninsula (seaside) for most of January. It's the hottest time of year here in Oz, so it's great to be near the beach. We stay in a 1970s holiday house my grandparents bought in 1972, and given I spent summers down there as a kid it's particularly special to now be going down there with my children.

Ideal location?

The Peninsula is pretty good :) Although we've always said that one year we'll do a white/winter Christmas in New York or something.

Best/worst gift ever received?

Best gift I ever received was actually for my birthday this year—my Kindle. I'm a complete convert to the point where I can't imagine ever reading a 'real' book again. I prefer the Kindle reading experience for some reason.

Best meal?

I am biased, but I make a mean Tira Misu. I got the recipe from a chef and it's divine! And great because you make it a day or two before, so it's one thing to cross off the food preparation list early.

Christmas From Hell?

Mmm....I guess having to run around. You know, multiple visits. We do that a bit on Christmas Eve, but I enjoy the fact that then on Christmas Day we just kick back. We start with oysters at midday, then it's prawns (yes, on the BBQ), then an Asian style salmon fillet dish then Tira Misu (at about 4pm). Then a movie!

Favourite moment from 2012?

That's easy for me—picking up our son, Liam, from Korea and making our family of three a family of four :)

One ambition, large or small, for 2013?

I've got a few books I'd like to finish. And hey, a best seller or a lotto win wouldn't go astray either.

Book(s) this year?

THE MISSING (two short stories), WHEN JUSTICE FAILS (two short true-crime pieces), HELL'S FURY (new book in spy thriller series), and two novels for younger readers that I've released under the pen name Pippa Dee—GROUNDED SPIRITS and THE WANDERER.

What’s next?

Probably what I've been doing the past few months—juggling motherhood and writing...and feeling like I'm going to crack under the pressure! 

JT ELLISON

Where?

Nashville and Florida.

Ideal location?

A family trip to Italy would have been fun.

Best gift you've ever received?

I got engaged during Christmas 1994, so that ranks up there....

Worst meal?

Italy, Cinque Terre, a large full fish the size of a cat, with its baleful eye staring up at me... I swear the thing was still breathing. Ugh! 

Christmas From Hell?

There's no such thing. I love Christmas.

Favourite moment from 2012?

Seeing my DH in his gorgeous new kilt for the first time. *fans self*

One ambition, large or small, for 2013?

I want to learn how to paint. In oil, large canvas abstracts. 

Book(s) last year?

A DEEPER DARKNESS, EDGE OF BLACK, STORM SEASON

And for 2013?

Writing, writing and more writing. Deadline January 30!

 MARTYN WAITES (half of Tania Carver)

Where?

At my in-laws. The kids wanted to go to see all their cousins. They love a big family get together. As for me, I'm pretty bah humbug about it. I don't care where I go or what I do or whether I get any presents or not. As long as I get to see Doctor Who, I'm happy.

Ideal location?

Somewhere abroad. Morocco would be good. If they were showing Doctor Who.

Best/worst gift ever received?

I've been lucky enough to get plenty of presents. I can't think of specifics in terms of best or worst, but for me the worst kind of gift is the thoughtless kind that someone has put no effort, time or care into. The best ones are the ones you absolutely want. Even if you don't know you do until you get them. I was lucky enough to get one of those this Christmas.

Best/worst meal?

At Christmas? It's all the same. I'm not a fan of Christmas dinner. Or any roast dinner for that matter. I eat it, but that's because it's what you do at Christmas. Like getting into water and swimming. The best meal I was ever served was at a Persian restaurant in Birmingham in 1988. It involved chicken and pomegranates and I've never tasted anything like it to this day. The restaurant disappeared soon afterwards in a kind of Brigadoon fashion and I sometimes wonder whether I actually went there. As for bad food . . . loads. In fact, it probably outnumbers the good food. That's why I try to remember the good ones.

Christmas From Hell?

Being forced to spend time with people I hate. That goes for the rest of the year as well. And not seeing Doctor Who.

Favourite moment from 2012?

Well, I wrote about my favourite cultural things on the last Murderati post—Y Niwl and the Hammer films retrospective—so they would be there in a big way. But other than that, it was something very small and personal that I'm afraid I couldn't share and that I doubt anyone would be particularly interested in.

One ambition, large or small, for 2013?

I do. I can't say anything about it in case I jinx it, but it will be the culmination of a lifetime's ambition. Or at least I hope it will.

Book(s) this year?

CHOKED, the fourth Tania Carver book came out in September in the UK. THE CREEPER, the second one, came out in the States. There have been other editions round the world and I think Russia finally got round to publishing my 2006 novel, THE MERCY SEAT.

And 2013?

Finishing the new Tania, THE DOLL'S HOUSE, which I'm uncharacteristically quite pleased with. Although it could all go horribly wrong. And then there's the afore(not)mentioned secret project . . .

GAR ANTHONY HAYWOOD

Where?

At the family's new home in Glassell Park, which we moved into in October.

Ideal location?

At the family's new home in Aspen, Colorado, which doesn't exist.

Best/worst gift ever received?

The best was a dictionary.  It was given to me many years ago by a wonderful woman who at the time was my mother-in-law to be.  She knew I was an aspiring writer and gifted me accordingly, which, oddly enough, no one in my immediate family had ever thought to attempt before.  I still own that dictionary, too.

Don't get me started on the worst gifts I've ever received.

Best/worst food?

The best, far and away, is the egg nog my godfather makes over the holidays. It tastes great and man, does it have a kick to it.

Never been given a fruitcake as a gift, and I pray I never am.

Christmas From Hell?

I think I actually experienced it last year.  Attended the worst Catholic midnight Mass possible: cornball music, pointless sermon, and theatre lighting (the service was being video-taped) that would make a mole cover its eyes.  Awful.

Favourite moment from 2012?

The family's spring break vacation in the Galapagos.  Unbelievable!

One ambition for 2013?

Completion of a manuscript that a conventional publisher buys for a tidy sum.

Book(s) last year?

Didn't have a book published this year, though my Aaron Gunner novels were re-released as e-books by Mysterious Press/Open Road.

And for the early part of 2013?

Early?  Maybe my first book for middle-graders, which my agent is shopping now.  Later in the year?  With the grace of God, a publication deal for my first Aaron Gunner novel in almost 10 years.

STEPHEN JAY SCHWARTZ

Where?

Stayed at home with the wife and kids—enjoyed the beach and the beautiful Southern California weather.  Played Scrabble and hung out in cafés.  Enjoyed a big meal of matzoh ball soup and tofurky.

Ideal location?

Ireland.  Clifton or Dingle, to be precise.

Best/worst gift ever received?

I haven't paid attention to holiday gifts for a long time.  I think the worst gift I ever got was for my bar mitzvah—it was a belt buckle.  No, actually, perhaps the worst was the beer stein my father gave me for my high school graduation.  This, instead of the car I had my eyes on.

Best/worst item of food?

Probably that tofurky we had last week.

Christmas From Hell?

Again, tofurky takes the price.

Favourite moment from 2012?

Seeing my son come back healthy and happy after a two-month hospital stay in Wisconsin.

One ambition, large or small, for 2013?

Main ambition—work to live a creative life, 24/7.

Book(s) this year?

Move along, nothing to see here.

What's on the cards for the early part of 2013?

Move along, nothing to see here either...

BRETT BATTLES

Where?

The first half I spent in a hot, tropical location with my feet in the water, a beer nearby, and a Kindle in my hand; the second half at home in L.A. with my kids, my parents, and my sister and her kids.

Ideal location?

Nailed it this year.

Best gift ever received?

This year I got the complete set of Calvin & Hobbs from my parents. It was perfect!

Best food?

I made a pretty awesome ham this year that was juicy and delicious. Hmmm, I'm craving leftovers right now!

Christmas From Hell?

Not being able to spend time with my family.

Favourite moment from 2012?

It was a pretty good year all around, so one event...? Going to San Diego for a week with my kids and parents was pretty damn fun!

One ambition for 2013?

Just more of the same ... write, travel, and spend time with friends and family.

Book(s) last year?

2012: THE DESTROYED (Quinn #5), PALE HORSE (Project Eden #3), THE COLLECTED (Quinn #6), and ASHES (Project #Eden #4)

And for 2013?

At least four more novels (hopefully five), including a secret collaboration I can't quite talk about yet.

TESS GERRITSEN

Where?

At home. With family.

Ideal location?

Exactly the same place.

Worst gift you've ever received?

An orange pantsuit.  I mean, really. My husband has not bought me anything orange ever since. (I’m guessing it didn’t look like this, then, Tess? ZS)

Best/worst meal?

For Christmas?  Not one bad meal sticks out.  On Christmas, everything tastes wonderful.

Christmas From Hell?

Being stuck in an airport. Far from family.

Favourite moment from 2012?

Standing on the Great Wall of China, with my husband and sons.

One ambition, for 2013?

To finally plant a vegetable garden that the deer can't demolish.

Book(s) out last year?

LAST TO DIE was published this past summer.

And what's on the cards for 2013?

Early 2013, I am headed to the Amazon River.

PARI NOSKIN TAICHERT

Where?

At home in peace. No requirements, no expectations. I just let myself be.

Ideal location?

The only other place I can imagine being this calm and relaxed would be Antibes . . .

Best gift?

Probably the best gift I've received so far is an essay my younger teen wrote about a difficult incident we shared last year and how it has taught her empathy. Made me cry, it touched my heart so.

Best/worst meal?

The best meal remains one brunch I had in Puerto Rico: fresh flying fish brought in that morning from a catch in Barbados, steamed bread fruit, Barbadian yellow hot sauce, fresh mangos picked minutes before from a tree just steps from where we ate.

Christmas From Hell?

I think it would be one filled with efforts to make it perfect, so many efforts that they'd hit the tipping point and tumble down to the other side of happiness.

Favourite moment from 2012?

The one where I finally realized I'm going to be all right, that the trials of this last year may continue . . . but they're not going to pull me down into the depths of despair anymore.

One ambition, large or small, for 2013?

Yes.

1. I'd like to e-publish the book that "almost" sold to NYC. It's the first in a new series and I'd like my character to meet readers and vice versa.

2. To continue to explore my creativity in whatever ways it's now manifesting, to give myself permission to let it fly.

Book(s) last year?

Nothing in 2012. I've been in hibernation for many reasons including the whole copyright issue and the divorce.

And for 2013?

To begin writing again and to enjoy it . . .

ZOË SHARP

As for me, I also spent Christmas this year with my family, which was where I wanted to be.

My ideal would probably have been a ski-in/ski-out chalet somewhere with plenty of snow. Not necessarily for skiing, but definitely for sculpting. I never did get to finish that Sphinx …

As for my ambitions for 2013, to find a life/work balance and to continue to improve my craft.

And books? In 2012 I brought out two e-boxed sets of the first six Charlie Fox novels, plus several short stories, and of course, DIE EASY: Charlie Fox book ten.

In 2013, DIE EASY is hot off the press in the States. I’m also editing two new projects—a supernatural thriller called CARNIFEX, and a standalone crime thriller called THE BLOOD WHISPERER, as well as working on the first in a new trilogy, the first in what I hope will be a new series, a novella project I can’t say too much about yet, and—of course—Charlie Fox book eleven. That should keep me going for a bit :)

So, it only remains for me to wish you all an incredibly Happy New Year, and to thank you for your comments and your feedback during 2012.

IT'S THE LITTLE THINGS

by Gar Anthony Haywood

My writer Facebook friend Jeff Cohen recently posted a lament regarding a great pet peeve, one to which all but the most successful published authors among us can relate.  He'd recently gone to a party and had some thoughtless dumb-ass ask him The Question.  You know the one I'm talking about, because you've almost certainly heard it yourself:

"So, are you still writing?"

Naturally, Jeff was somewhat irked, as we all are when our choice of career is similarly treated with such disrespect and disdain.  But if we were to give the party guest who'd accosted Jeff the benefit of the doubt, and tried to understand why he (or she) would ask such an asinine question, we might be less ready to condemn.  Because this, in my opinion, is what The Question really breaks down to whenever it's asked, in terms of what the person asking it is actually trying to find out:

"Since your writing hasn't yet made you rich or famous, and you pour so much of your heart and soul and time into doing it, why are you still bothering?"

Granted, that's still a rather insensitive inquiry, but I can see how people might wonder.  Why do we authors keep writing when the ultimate rewards we seek --- fame and, if not fortune, a decent living independent of a day job, continue to evade us?  What in the hell keeps us going in the face of all the discouragement and rejection we regularly endure?

The little things, that's what.

Those small, golden moments in which we are made to feel, however fleetingly, like a winner.  Unexpected notes of recognition from surprising corners of the universe that serve to prove we are not, in fact, writing in a vacuum.

Example: Not two weeks after my first novel, FEAR OF THE DARK, was published by St. Martin's Press way back in 1988, the family and I went to pick up some photos we'd dropped off at the local Fotomat.  (Remember them?  Those little drive-thru booths in strip malls just big enough for a cashier and about 100 rolls of film to fit in?  How about film?  Do you remember film?  Nevermind.)  Anyway, I'd paid the old guy behind the window for our developed photos and was about to walk off (yeah, we'd walked up, rather than driven through) when he said, "You aren't Gar Anthony Haywood the novelist, are you?"

Huh?

Turns out he'd found my book in the library, read it, and liked it.  A lot.

I floated on air the rest of the day.

That's a "Little Thing."  And we all experience them, sooner or later.  And this being Wildcard Tuesday, I thought I'd ask some of my other writer friends to share their favorite Little Things with you.

Enjoy.

Tess Gerritsen, author of LAST TO DIE

The incident that stands out for me was while flying aboard a British Airways flight from Boston to London. A short time into the flight, the male flight attendant quietly approached and said the crew were all wondering if I was the famous author. I never had such attentive service!

Bruce DeSilva, author of CLIFF WALK

Howard Frank Mosher ("Waiting for Teddy Williams") is my favorite living novelist, the closest thing we have today to Mark Twain. So I was stunned to receive an unsolicited email from him shortly after my first crime novel, "Rogue Island," was published. He raved about it, calling the book "a highly serious work of fiction combining a fascinating evocation of a twenty-first American city with a lyrical tribute to the dying newspaper business." When my second novel, "Cliff Walk," was published in June, he got in touch again, saying my protagonist, Liam Mulligan, is "the most human, unpredictable, and anti-authoritarian fictional character I've met since Ranger Gus McCrae of "Lonesome Dove." But that's not even the best part. My hero and I are email buddies now.

P.D. Martin, author of HELL'S FURY

I remember when my first novel got published and my 'publicist' rang me to introduce herself and chat. The whole idea of a publicist sounded pretty special and made me feel very much like a celebrity! And then I went to my first event with her, and she was like: "Can I get you a drink? Coffee, wine?" Might be the closest I come to having 'people'!

Aaron Philip Clark, author of A HEALTHY FEAR OF MAN

I don't have too many stories about folks recognizing me or any of those cool happenings. However, I did receive an email from a reader who thanked me for "writing a character with a soul" and said she typically didn't read mysteries unless it was something Mosley had written. It put a smile on my face.

J.T. Ellison, author of A DEEPER DARKNESS

So many wonderful experiences: Winning the thriller award in New York last summer. It was an insane night – I was dreadfully ill, had laryngitis, a wicked case of nerves, and two of my literary heroes were in the room: John Sandford and Diana Gabaldon. To win a prestigious award in the presence of two of the writers who shaped me was incredible and gratifying. The very first Thrillerfest in Phoenix, 112 degrees and all the people I’ve only ever heard of there in the flesh; meeting Lee Child and having him react with, “Oh yes, I’ve heard your name.” I was floored. What? How? OMG!!! Allison Brennan talking to me like I was a real writer. The moment my agent called to tell me I had my very first deal – and not just for one book, but three. The day my agent called to tell me he wanted to be my agent. The first time I finished a book – Christmas Day, 2003, at my parents’ house in Florida, and the exhausted realization I’d finally done something special. But the very best was the very first sentence I ever wrote with intention to follow it with another, and another. I finished that paragraph and began to cry. There’s true magic in intention.

David Corbett, author of KILLING YOURSELF TO SURVIVE

Do They Know I'm Running? produced some of the most generous and heartfelt communications from readers I ever received in my career. I was deeply touched by many of the comments people shared, this one in particular:

"My father-in-law was finishing your book when I got home tonight. When I mentioned I met you, he right away asked, 'Is he a cholo with a white boy's name?'

I said nope, a white boy.

He got quiet for a second, then said, 'He is a poet of my people.'"

Pari Noskin Taichert, author of THE BELEN HITCH

I was at a party the other night. It had nothing to do with my writing or writing at all, just a social gathering mostly of people I didn’t know. I introduced myself.  A woman in the group recognized my name, squealed loudly and said, “I can’t believe this! I’ve been waiting and waiting and waiting for you to get me another book! When are you going to write one?” Then she gushed about my books to me and to the group.  It was a small moment and an utter surprise. And it made my evening.

Brad Parks, author of THE GIRL NEXT DOOR

I was at a doctor's office, doing some routine intake stuff with my wife, who has a different last name than me (and who, of course, carries our insurance, because her husband is a ne'er-do-well writer). Anyhow, the doctor got through asking my wife all the questions she needed to ask, then turned to me. "And what's your name?" she asked. "Brad Parks," I said. The doctor gasped and blurted, "The author?!?" She then launched on a 90-second rave about the great pleasure of reading my books and the tremendous admiration she had for me as a writer. I loved it and try to visit that doctor whenever possible. Strangely, my wife doesn't use her anymore.

Zoë Sharp, author of FIFTH VICTIM

I’m constantly both humbled and honoured when I hear from readers who have enjoyed the Charlie Fox books. I try not to read reviews, so when people make a point of getting in touch directly it really means something special. It’s hard to pick out individual occasions, but three relatively recent ones spring to mind.

I have a fan in New Zealand, Karen, who is a huge champion of Charlie on Goodreads. She is always making sure the book covers and the details are correct, and she is an absolute wonder.

The second is reviewer and blogger Judith Baxter, who has done some wonderful posts about the books, and even about her surprise that I would get in touch to thank her for her kind words.

And thirdly is US singer/songwriter Beth Rudetsky, who wrote an amazing song for FIFTH VICTIM: Charlie Fox book nine called ‘The Victim Won’t Be Me’. I am just so moved by this.

Alexandra Sokoloff, author of HUNTRESS MOON

I was thrilled that Shelfari's mystery and suspense group picked Huntress Moon as their August read, and the incredible discussion questions they're coming up with are making all the work worthwhile.

Brett Battles, author of THE DESTROYED

When my first book (THE CLEANER) came out, I was still working at E! Entertainment Television. Every summer we would have this big party with a top named musical artist...can’t remember for sure, but think LL Cool J might have been that year. I had given a copy of my book to Ted Harbert, President of the network and he read and loved it. I had heard that he might say something when he was up on stage talking to everyone. He did...unfortunately I was in the bathroom at the time and never heard it. But I did have several folks later come up and congratulate me.

Robert Gregory Browne, author of TRIAL JUNKIES

I remember a young aspiring writer approached me at a conference and was so nervous he could barely stop shaking. I assured him that there was nothing to be nervous about—I mean, for godsakes, I'm NOBODY—but to think that someone was as nervous around me as I would be around, say, Stephen King or Donald Westlake, certainly got me to reflect for a moment on how I see myself. I rarely take time to realize that I'm doing what others only dream of and I'm a very lucky man, indeed.

Bill Crider, author of MURDER OF A BEAUTY SHOP QUEEN

In 1980 I attended Bouchercon for the first time.  It was a very small convention in those days, and I hadn't published a novel yet.  (My first one, a book in the Nick Carter series, came out in January 1981.)  I was, however, writing reviews and articles for a number of fanzines like Paperback Quarterly, The Mystery FANcier, The Poisoned Pen, and The Armchair Detective.  I was looking at paperbacks at a dealer's table and found one I wanted: The Case of the Phantom Fingerprints by Kendall Foster Crossen.  I can't remember the price, but it was more than I wanted to pay.  I asked the dealer if he'd take less, and he looked at my name tag.  "Bill Crider," he said.  "Are you THE Bill Crider?"  I told him I was the only one at the convention as far as I knew, and he told me how much he'd enjoyed reading my articles in Paperback Quarterly.  Then he said, "I've enjoyed them so much, I want to give you the book."  This was particularly gratifying because the publishers PQ were standing there beside me, amazed.  I thought that as soon as my Nick Carter novel was published, things like that would happen all the time, but of course nothing like that's ever happened to me again.

Gary Phillips, author of VIOLENT SPRING

One of my biggest thrills early on was being on a panel with Ross Thomas at the downtown main library.  We both talked about having worked for the same national union -- AFSCME- and among his books he signed for me was the Seersucker Whipsaw, his novel about, among other things, union shenanigans.

Timothy Hallinan, author of THE FEAR ARTIST

Aside from the thrill of getting on a plane a few times and seeing someone reading one of my books (rocked my world) my biggest thrills come from fan mail.  My hero, Poke Rafferty, and his Thai wife, Rose, have adopted a little street child, Miaow, as their daughter.  Once or twice a year I get email from people who have become cross-cultural adoptive parents who want to say how accurately my books describe the joys and pitfalls of bringing someone into your family who has different beliefs, experiences, and expectations.  The emails practically paralyze me with pleasure--not only because the books mean something to these people but also because I blithely wrote the relationships in Poke's little family without giving a thought to the possibility that I'd get it all wrong.  The best of these letters arrive with photos of the children.  The VERY best of them came from a 15-year-old Korean-American adoptee whose father wrote me in 2006 and now, six years later, she was old enough to read the book (A Nail Through the Heart) that had prompted his letter.  She wrote to say that I'd told aspects of her story so accurately that parts of the book had almost seemed to be about her.

Stephen Jay Schwartz, author of BEAT

The very best "shout-out" I got was when I stood in the back of a Michael Connelly signing at Mysterious Galaxy - a room packed with almost 200 people - and a woman in front of me asked Michael what authors he liked to read.  He answered that he didn't always read in the genre in which he writes, but occasionally someone will send him the work of a new author.  "Like the author behind you," he said, "Stephen Jay Schwartz's work is exceptional."  At that point every one of his fans turned around to look at me and my face went completely white.  I nodded to him, thanking him for his kindness.  That was an amazing thing for him to do, at his own signing.  I really love him for that.

Questions for the Class: Writers: What Little Things motivate you to keep writing?  And readers, have you ever done a Little Thing that may have inspired a favorite author to keep on writing?

7 UP

By Stephen Jay Schwartz

David's blog got me started. Thinking of that "evil" little boy at the mercy of all those repressed nuns and priests. "When sister or I enter the room, you don’t just stand up. You leap up. LEAP!" I mean, Jesus, like that's not going to have some kind of negative effect on the REST OF HIS LIFE.

It ain't right, I tell ya.

His blog came to mind again last night when I was clicking through options on Netflix and came across a documentary called "49 UP."

Do you know the "UP" series? It began as "7 UP" back in 1964, the year I was born. It had a simple premise - "Give me the seven year old and I'll give you the man." (Maybe they should have said, "...and I'll give you the adult," since half of the kids interviewed were girls. But, hey, this was 1964 and people weren't particularly PC at the time.)

The idea was to interview fourteen seven year olds (half from lower, working class backgrounds and half from the privileged class) and ask them about their beliefs and dreams for the future. There was a lot of emphasis placed on the socio-economic backgrounds of the kids, with the assumption that each child's social class would determine what he might or might not be able to achieve in life.

So, the kids were interviewed when they were seven and then seven years later they were interviewed again.

The series has been a life-long project for film director Michael Apted ("Coal Miner's Daughter," "Gorky Park," "Gorillas in the Midst," "Nell"), who has been the interviewer and organizer since the kids were interviewed at fourteen. No matter what's happening in his career, Apted always returns to "UP."

I was introduced to the series when it was "21 UP." I was riveted, watching each interview juxtaposed to the next, seven and fourteen years apart. For the most part, the kids held to their dreams, but their socio-economic backgrounds did in fact determine the level of difficulty involved in accomplishing their goals.

Another seven years, and another set of interviews. "28 UP." Another seven years and the kids were 35. Then 42.

I watched them last night turning 49. It didn't occur to me until this very moment that a new installment is about to be released, and that the participants are now 56.

I find this hard to digest. It's both beautiful and horrifying. The participants seem to feel the same and some have stopped participating in the project altogether. The ones that remain are aware of the social import of this life-long examination, but they remain troubled by the fact that their lives are ripped apart every seven years and presented to the general public to devour and judge.

It freaks me out to see the progression of their lives. I remember when I was in college I saw a copy of Life Magazine with pictures of people growing from babies into senior citizens.  One picture to the next, each taken approximately five years apart.  I was fascinated, I couldn't put the magazine down. But it was also like watching a horror film--you want to turn away, but you're glued to every frame. I just can't get over the fact that it's happening to all of us. That it's happening to me.

As difficult as it must be to be a participant in the series, I wish I'd had the opportunity. I'm an incredibly nostalgic person -- I make every effort to document even the most difficult and personal experiences of my life. I remember making tape recordings of my teenage years, recording my feelings about life, my political views, my dreams and my sorrows. I told myself I did this for the children I would some day have; to show them that their father had the same fears and concerns that they themselves might have. But I really did it for myself. So that I can look back at my teenage years as an adult and map the way my life evolved.

It would have been hard, I know, but I would have endured it. I imagine what Michael Apted's camera might have seen...

Age 7. Deciding to become a vegetarian after my older sister visits a meat-packing plant on a sixth-grade field trip. My mother thinks I'll last two weeks. Who knew it was a life-long decision? I'm sure I'll become a veterinarian. I carry around a little, black doctor's bag filled with gauze, band aids and surgical instruments. Ready for the next run-over dog. My mind is set.

Age 14. I wake up and join my mother for breakfast. She is tired, her eyes puffy. She tells me my father has left, he's gone to live with another woman. Other children. I am pissed, I say the joke isn't funny. I run from the table. She calls after me, "I'm not joking! Your father is gone!"

Age 21. Bouncing around different bars in San Francisco with a girl I met in Santa Cruz. Celebrating the fact that I can drink. My father killed himself the year before. I am confused, depressed, angry. I just finished writing my first screenplay and a couple short stories. Everything is influenced by the loss of my father. And I'm headed to Hollywood.

Age 28. "Out of college, money spent, see no future, pay no rent." The Beatles remain a huge force in my life. Been with the same girl now for three years. I'm working in the international marketing department at Disney Studios, as an assistant. I'm still trying to finish the 35mm film I made with my friends. I'd shot the thing on cash-advanced credit cards, loans and donations from people who wanted to see me succeed. Chuck Connors had a role in the film, donating his time. He used to say, "Schwartz, are you going to finish this film before I die?" And then he died.

Age 35. Married now with one little boy and another on the way. Working for film director Wolfgang Petersen. It all seems great except it isn't. I haven't become the big screenwriter or film director I dreamt I'd be, and it's becoming clear it won't happen as long as I remain where I am. There just isn't any room for more than one story-teller, and Wolfgang is it. Meanwhile, I'm living a secret life; gentle father and husband by day, street-cruising sex addict by night. I wonder if Michael Apted's lens captures the chromatic duplicity.

Age 42. Two beautiful boys and a marriage barely saved. The cameras see me attending twelve step meetings and sitting in counseling sessions with my wife. They missed the total chaos that unraveled just a few years before. My wife and I are struggling to work things out, and we're growing closer in the process. I started writing something new and it helps keep me sane. I call it "Boulevard."

Age 49 hasn't come, but it's just around the corner. If the camera was here it would capture a man content with his life, at last, after finding success as an author. Creativity setting him free.

One thing I noticed after watching those kids turn 49 was that the Sturm und Drang of their lives had subsided. They seemed to have settled into themselves, content with where their lives had led them. Many had not realized the dreams they had at seven, fourteen and twenty-one. They found other dreams to pursue and pursued them.

At 47 I'm no longer the angry young man. I'm not exactly where I want to be, but I'm pretty happy where I am. I've been through a lot and the worst of it wasn't that bad. I appreciate the good fortune I've had. And I've made good friends along the way. Which, I've learned, is the crux of it all.

My voyage to this point looks a lot like the ones I observed in the "UP" series. It makes me wonder if we're all destined to follow the same path. Maybe it's the human condition, universal.

I used to think that growing old meant I'd lose my passion for life. I treasured my anger because it showed that I cared, deeply, about being alive. I realize now that the anger was mostly wasted energy. Too many years spent gnawed by anxiety. What did my anger provide? Maybe it lit the fire that wrote my books. There was anger in my books.

Perhaps I don't have to live the anger to write it.

I'm ready to be content, like the forty-nine year olds I saw on TV.

And Corbett seems to have turned out all right, despite the attack on his spirit by the fathers and nuns.

Still, I haven't seen "56 UP" yet.  Maybe things fall apart and it's Mahler all over again. Maybe there's a post-midlife crisis I haven't considered. 

I guess I'll stay tuned to find out.

THE LINEUP

By Stephen Jay Schwartz

Words

dropped arbitrarily on a page

as if shaken

from a container

A word or two

or three

strung together

forms an image

expresses an emotion

blocks of letters

and white space

somehow

calms me

I'm not a student of poetry but I know what I like. Some great poems and some great poets have influenced me greatly. My favorite poem is “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock,” by T.S. Eliot. It was read to me aloud when I was seventeen, by a girlfriend's father, at dinner, with wine and jazz on the stereo. The setting could not have been better. It affected me then and has affected since. The words evoke a nurturing melancholy that I choose to indulge. The poem touches me on a spiritual and physical level. It's difficult to explain, but I guess that's poetry.

Another poem which caught me early was “The Road Not Taken,” by Robert Frost. His simple words have provided a guiding hand for the big decisions I've made in my life. I'm also in love with playful poets, such as ee cummings and Ogden Nash. And Dr. Seuss.

I fall for the authors whose novels are poetic. James Joyce, Jack Kerouac, John Updike. Katherine Anne Porter. Jhumpa Lahiri. There are so, so many. I'm always amazed when I find poetry in unexpected places. For instance, I'm reading Marya Hornbacher's memoir of anorexia and bulimia, called “Wasted,” and I've been captured by the stunning, lyrical quality of her poetic prose.

I'm also taken by the gritty poetry of Charles Bukowski. I like writing that is accessible. I like to experience the reflections of writers dealing with painful, often tragic issues. I like honesty in writing and I search it out in the poetry I read. Bukowski gives me that. He always makes me think, and he grounds me.

I suppose I strive to achieve a sense of poetry in my writing. I had an English teacher once who told me that everything I write should be original, that I shouldn't depend on the creativity of others to form my thoughts. He was talking about my use of cliches, which he succeeded in eradicating from my work. But I took it one step further and applied it to the sentences I write. The last draft or two I do when writing a novel is dedicated entirely to finding ways to rewrite every sentence. I search for poetic, often obscure ways to reinvent the paragraph. It's exhausting, but it's my favorite part of the process.

Although I love poetic prose, I don't consider myself a poet. I really haven't put in the hard work to learn what I feel I should know about poetry. I don't know any of the classic meters, I don't recognize any of the literary references. I'm sure that Pound and Whitman and Yeats have amazing things to say, but I tell ya, I don't understand the half of it. Someday I hope to enrich my life with a college class or two on the subject.

You can imagine how honored I was when Gerald So asked me to contribute some poetry to his fourth issue of the crime poetry magazine, THE LINEUP. I'm especially honored because the other authors I've joined are so renowned—Reed Farrel Coleman, David Corbett, Ken Bruen, Keith Rawson and numerous other authors whose works I've just been introduced to.

The work of these authors does what I had hoped—it takes me to a place of enraptured contemplation. Their poems examine the dark side of life, the moral ambiguity that drives people to commit crimes, the consequences that criminal behavior has on its victims. Bukowski-esque. Poetry about crime—what a great concept. The collection brings new insight to the phrase, “poetic justice.”

I hope you'll check the book out. Copies can be purchased by clicking here, where you can also hear a free sampler of the poems being read. You can hear me read my contribution, called “Street Girls: Selected Memories.” You can imagine where that will take you...

Meanwhile, Gerald's offer to participate has prompted me to dig out the poetry of my past. I wrote a lot after my father's suicide, and while dealing with decaying relationships, and while searching for a place in this world. The stuff everyone writes about. And I've purchased a few more books of Bukowski's work, just to keep the rhythm going in my head. Maybe Gerald has set me on a new course. If so, I'm indebted to him for getting me started.

Who do you feel are the “essential” poets to read? Who are your favorites? How does poetry affect you differently from prose? What do you think I should do to become a more learned student of poetry?

Noir, Tragedy, and Other Dreary Bummers (Ho Ho)

By David Corbett

First, I want to say that I’m flattered  to be invited to join the Murderati Cabal. The folks who run this joint are not just some of the finest writers but some of the nicest people in the biz. I promise to do my best not to soil the linens, or leave too many surprises in the punch bowl.

To that end: I’ll launch my life as a Murderatero with something I’ve been chewing on for some time, and have written about in one form or another before—on the peculiar perils of being deemed a writer of “noir.” (Don’t worry. It won't hurt much. Just a tiny little sting.)

The term “noir ” has become so universally misused—like other vague descriptives such as “Freudian,” “post-modern,” and “cute”—that it’s virtually a cipher, obscuring more than it clarifies.

Ask three different people if a certain writer is “noir,” you’ll get three different answers. (Yes. No. Go away.)

Is Charles Willeford “noir?” James Elroy? Lynne Cheney?

This is sloppy, it’s wrong, but mostly it’s annoying—especially when the marketing flacks at major publishing houses slather the term on a book jacket to scare off the pious scoutmasters, breathless virgins and hysteric spinsters whom the publisher fears will fall into palsied seizures in the bookstore aisles if they mistakenly crack the cover.

I speak, sadly, from experience.

If words, like people, can be known by the company they keep, then “noir” might benefit from a higher class of friends. You never seem to see Our Friend Noir without his sidekicks Gritty, Brutal, Grim or the ever-faithful Uncompromising. Throw in Brooding, Dark and Relentless, you’ve got one mean set of dwarves.

And never, never, never be so simple as to believe that calling a book “noir” will boost its sales. One might as well just slap DEPRESSING! on the cover. The only thing conceivably worse than being labeled "noir" is to be considered "political."

I speak again, sadly, from experience. But I digress.

Getting back to our original question: What exactly is this thing called noir?

To answer these and other questions, I turned to Dark City by Eddie Muller—the “Czar of Noir.” I was particularly struck by his distillation of the noir protagonist’s philosophical dilemma: He can’t choose the world he lives in, only how he intends to live in it. (This leaves out, of course, the question of rent.)

In a way, this formulation calls to mind Sartre’s immortal, “Each of us gets the war he deserves.” Mention of Sartre in turn evokes existentialism, everybody’s favorite easy credit. I have sometimes wondered if the noir protagonist is in fact nothing but the existentialist hero—alone against “the benign indifference of the universe,” stripped of certainty and even a knowable self, burdened by guilt—or, if he plays his cards right, a full-blown psychosis.

Or, put it this way: Maybe the noir protagonist is simply the existentialist hero inserted into—get this— a crime story.

I know. I'm so bright my mother calls me Sonny.

Concerning protagonists: Sophocles is credited with the invention of the tragic hero and he used the word deinos as a descriptive. It is normally translated to mean “terrible, wondrous, strange,” and his heroes were seen as both repellent and admirable.

The Sophoclean hero was also unique at that time for his isolation, especially in relation to the gods, who were largely absent. This absence of divine guidance resonates with the “benign indifference of the universe” I already mentioned (the coinage is from Camus).

Euripides, a contemporary of Sophocles, went one better. His gods weren’t absent, they were regrettably all too present: petty, callous, vengeful.

In many of the plays of both Sophocles and Euripides, the protagonist faces a crisis in which disaster can only be averted by a compromise that, in the hero’s view, would constitute betrayal of something he or she holds to be supremely important. The hero refuses to make this compromise and, as a result, is destroyed.

Put otherwise, the great bulk of Athenian tragedy can be synopsized with: Damned if you do, damned if you don’t. In case you were wondering why Sparta won the Peloponnesian War.

Aristotle, writing a century later in his Poetics, argued that the best tragic protagonist was neither a righteous nor villainous man, but “a man not pre-eminently virtuous and just, [but] whose misfortune . . . is brought upon him not by vice or depravity but by some error of judgment.”

Or, once again seeking to encapsulate the point in a pithy bon mot, Aristotle considered the major premise of most great Greek tragedy to be: Oops.

But what does any of this have to do with noir, I hear you cry.

Let us review: We have before us a form of drama in which a psychologically and morally complex hero, who is both repellent and admirable, neither pre-eminently virtuous nor just, prone to error, stands alone in the face of an indifferent if not actively hostile universe, confronting a choice between two alternatives, neither of which is acceptable and the one ultimately chosen leads to destruction.

If I may: What’s not to noir?

A great deal, as it turns out. In noir, one often finds a protagonist whose misfortune is brought upon precisely by vice or depravity—his own. Think Frank Chambers in The Postman Always Rings Twice. Think George Neff in Double Indemnity. Think any number of Thompson’s or Willeford’s or Woolrich’s or Goodis’s protagonists. The strength of this approach lies in its ability to submerge the reader in a treacherous, unforgiving world she would normally never visit and, I would argue, a world which the authors believed pretty much resembled what modernity had to offer.

The limitation is thematic: Bad things happen to bad people. Crime doesn’t pay. These motifs are hardly startling, but it isn’t so much the destination as the journey that delivers the pay-off. And besides, as I've already mentioned, you can reduce the theme of even the greatest drama of all time to a caustic one-liner.

And though it shares a lack of sentimentality with tragedy, noir discards the necessity for “the moral nobility of suffering” one often finds in tragedic drama. In noir, even nobility is seen as sentimental. And here again the existentialist influence returns. "Existence precedes essence," the great bumper-sticker slogan of existentialism, means we're making it up as we go along, there is no transcendental meaning to be had, and there's nothing inherently noble or degrading about anything. (To borrow a line from Zen: The situation is neutral.)

But another thing noir and the Greek tragedies have in common is their matriculation in the course or the aftermath of a lost war. The "neo-noir" films of the late 1960s and early 1970s—The King of Marvin Gardens, Scarecrow, Mean Streets, Midnight Cowboy, The Killing of a Chinese Bookie, The Friends of Eddie Coyle and, of course, Chinatown—are a case in point. Though America had not yet “lost” Vietnam when some of these movies appeared, there was an overwhelming sense that it had lost something. And this was true of noir as well even after victory in World War II. Battle-scarred veterans recoiled from the notion of themselves as heroes because they knew all too well that pitiless luck and certain varieties of “vice and depravity” were what it took to survive combat.

Then again, maybe this is all just a bunch of cynical—and therefore, sentimental—hooey. “Like all dreamers, I mistook disillusion for the truth.” That’s jolly old Jean-Paul Sartre again. How come nobody ever calls him noir?