THEY DON'T KNOW HOW WE DO IT

by Gar Anthony Haywood

Several months ago, I wrote a guest post for Timothy Hallinan's fine blog regarding the "writer's process."  Those last two words are in quotation marks because, as all of us here clearly know, there's no such thing as a singular "writer's process."  Every writer's process --- his way of getting words on paper so that they form a publishable manuscript --- is different.  Asking me to describe "the" writer's process is like asking all the Iron Chefs how to make a soufflé with the expectation of getting only one answer.

Anyway, one of the areas I touched upon in my post for Tim's blog (Tim's one hell of a writer, by the way; his novel THE QUEEN OF PATPONG is not to be missed) was where we writers get our ideas.  Big surprise that, huh?  Because that's always the first thing readers and others who don't write for a living want to know: Where the hell do we find all those incredible stories?

The question is usually posed as if the answer must be some deep, dark secret.  I think what the people who pose it are generally envisioning is a vast network of hidden depositories --- lockboxes that only we writers know exist --- in which Great Ideas are kept.  We surf to the Great Ideas website, login using our writers-only password, find a lockbox nearby and then slink off under cover of night to open the box and withdraw the Great Idea inside.

Voila!  Our next book is practically in the can!

(Oh, if it were only that simple. . .)

Naturally, there is no such network of lockboxes.  There are no hidden Great Ideas.  All our Great Ideas are right there out in the open for anyone and everyone to see.  Here's how I explained what I mean in my post for Tim's blog:

A Non-Writer and a Writer are walking down the street.  Both take note of a mismatched pair of running shoes dangling from their bound laces over the back of a vacant bus bench.

The Non-Writer thinks (if he or she thinks anything at all):

"Hmm.  That's funny.  I wonder what that's about?"

The Writer thinks:

"An all-clear sign left by one criminal conspirator for another."

"A poor man training for his last marathon before cancer takes his life has just boarded a bus and left his only pair of running shoes behind."

"A grifter's wife, throwing his worthless ass out again, has just tossed his clothes out of the window of their fourth-floor apartment, starting with shoes she's been careful to tie up in mismatched pairs just to twist the knife."

You see?  And none of this is particularly deliberate.  It just happens.  It's how our minds work.  We see or read something that piques our curiosity and runaway extrapolation occurs.  Mind you, it isn't always great extrapolation (as the three examples above probably indicate), but every now and then, something genuinely wonderful results from it.

So where do I get my ideas?  Everywhere.  The thing is, they're only "ideas" because, as a writer, I'm able to perceive them as such; what the Non-Writer dismisses as mere background noise I latch onto as seedlings that could grow stories in a hundred different directions.

Go figure.

I was thinking about all this yesterday during my thrice-weekly bike ride to the gym, because I caught myself finding Great Ideas in damn near everything and everyone I encountered.  Such as:

• Two police cars, one unmarked, the other a black-and-white, splitting off to cruise my 'hood in two different directions.

My first thought: Watch one of them pull me over.  On my bike.  Always trying to keep the Black Man down.

(Well, okay, this wasn't a Great Idea, it was just paranoia.  And no, neither cop gave me a second look.)

But my NEXT first thought was:

They're after the wrong guy.  Somebody's called in a false report, claiming they've witnessed a crime that never actually occurred, because. . .

• A long line of cars waiting at a Metro line rail crossing for a train that, it seems, is never going to come.

My first thought: Persons unknown have hacked into the Metro transit system, and this harmless traffic snarl is just a dry run for. . .

• Two old men, one at least twenty years older than the other, circling a car for sale sitting in a dry cleaner's parking lot: a classic, perfectly restored '64 Chevy Malibu.

My first thought: They're father and son, and the son intends to gift the car to the old man because it reminds them both of the son's mother, who. . .

• A homeless man stretched out on the sidewalk, unkempt but totally coherent, lighting a cigarette with theatrical flair.

My first thought:  This is a goddamn shame.  Exactly how and when did homelessness become something undeserving of America's outrage?

(But I digress.)

My NEXT first thought:  He learned to light a cigarette like that in Europe as a young man, when he served as a valet to. . .

• A pair of ornate, wrought-iron gates, flanking a quiet residential street;  open now but clearly once intended to close off the sidewalk on both sides to unwanted visitors.

My first thought:  Those gates weren't meant to keep people out.  They were meant to keep people in.  During World War II, this street led to a private hospital, where a former surgeon in the U.S. Navy was conducting secret experiments on. . .

And that's how it goes for me, all day, every day.  Springboards for stories are everywhere.  My wife sees a car at the curb, coated with dust and sporting a windshield crawling with parking tickets; I see the corpse going to rot in the back seat, behind the tinted windows that only days ago had served as a curtain for the last sex act the deceased will ever know.

Most of these Great Ideas of mine are anything but, and I forget about them as quickly as they come to me.  But some stick.  They grow and gather momentum, almost of their own volition, until I'm too drawn in to do anything but massage them into a full-blown narrative or die trying.

So there you have it: My answer to the dreaded "Where do you get your ideas?" question.  I don't go looking for them; I just stumble upon them, my writer's intuition (think of Superman's X-ray vision) enabling me, countless times a day, to see beyond the hard outer shell of something ordinary to the infinite and extraordinary possibilities lurking within.

But hey --- if anybody wants to create that secret network of idea lockboxes?  Sign me the hell up.

Questions for the class: Readers, what's the best answer to the "Where do you get your ideas?" question you've ever heard?  And writers, I'm not going to ask where and how you get your ideas --- that would be too easy.  But I am curious to know how often you come up with one too good not to keep.  Once a day?  Twice a month?  Exactly how efficient is your own personal idea-generating mechanism?

In a Flash

So I’m neck deep in my current manuscript, and realized I had little time this week to really concentrate on my post for Murderati. Actually, the problem is my head is so in the book, I can’t think of a decent enough topic to discuss. So I decided I’d do something different…a little early holiday fun…

Several years ago I published a few works of flash fiction online. It’s been awhile since any of them appeared anywhere, so I thought I’d post one of my favorite today. Some of you may have read this already, so apologies. Those of you who haven’t, I hope you enjoy!

VENTI LATTE

By Brett Battles

“The large one.”

“You mean venti?” the barista asked. She was probably just barely out of high school.

“Sure. Venti. That’s the large, right?” the man asked.

“That’s the large.”

“Good.”

“Can I get your name?”

The man looked around. “Why? Is there a line?”

There was no line.

“Right. Sorry. I’m a little nervous,” she said.

“This your first day?”

“No. Third.”

“You’re doing fine.”

And she was, too. Her customer service was all he could have expected.

“How much?” he asked.

She hesitated for a moment like she hadn’t understood what he was saying, then shook herself and rang up his drink.

“Three forty-five,” she said.

“Annie.” It was one of her co-workers. The red-headed kid who looked like he could use a little sun. “Just give it to him.”

“It’s okay,” the man said. "I don't mind paying."

He pulled a five dollar bill out of his pocket and handed it to the girl. Once she had given him his change, he dumped it all in the tip jar.

While the rest of her co-workers and pretty much everyone in the coffee shop watched, Annie made the venti latte. No one offered to help, but she seemed to have everything under control.

Somewhere in the distance, there was the faint sound of a siren.

The man waited contentedly as she finished frothing up the milk and adding it to his cup. Once she was done, she put a lid on top and slipped a safety sleeve around the base. Her hands weren’t even shaking as she handed the drink to him.

The sirens were closer now, probably only six or seven blocks away. The man took a sip of the latte, then smiled.

“This is great.”

“Thanks,” Annie said.

“You have a good day,” he told her.

“You, too.”

Except for his footsteps on the tiled floor, the coffee shop was silent. Everyone’s eyes were on him, but he acted like he didn’t notice. The only abnormal thing he did was step over the dead body of the would-be robber lying in the middle of the floor.

The unlucky bastard’s gun was still in his hand. An ancient .38 special. God only knew how much damage the kid had done with it in the past.

As the assassin opened the front door, he glanced back at the counter. Annie was still there, watching him. As he gave her a little wave, she mouthed the words, “Thank you.”

He smiled and walked out to his car. A glance at his watch told him he was still ahead of schedule. That was fine. It was never good to kill someone when you were in a rush.

Rolling with the Punches

~Quickly before my post, just wanted to say if you're in the San Diego are today, I'll be speaking and signing at the Mysterious Galaxy Bookstore at 7 p.m. tonight with fellow author Julie Kramer. Mysterious Galaxy is located at 7051 Clairemont Mesa Blvd., Suite 302, San Diego, CA 92111. Hope to see you there.

And since I'm on the road today, I may not be able to reply to comments, so I ask your forgiveness ahead of time. ~

One thing we writers need to be is flexible. This is especially true in our current economy and in the rapidly changing world of publishing.

We all know that the traditional routes to publicity - newspaper reviews, printed ads and the like - are quickly disappearing. Now we all must try to get as many online reviews as possible. Each of these may have a smaller readership than the newspaper reviews, but added together can potentially deliver as many readers as the traditional reviews used to.

Publishers are now starting to catch on to this whole online world, too. And it's not just the reviews. My own publisher has organized a blog tour for me through the month of August on sites that will, hopefully, expand my fanbase. We've seen these blog tours before with such folks as J.A. Konrath and M.J. Rose, and my guess is we'll be seeing many, many more. In fact, the whole area of marketing is evolving, and I'm sure we will see new oportunities and paths to get our names out there that haven't even be thought up yet in the near future.

But when I say we need to be flexible, I don't just mean marketing-wise. A sad fact is that some publishers are cutting mid-list writers, setting us adrift into a void where the future is far from clear. These untethered authors are forced to reinvent themselves or face the reality that our published years are behind us. Maybe this means a switch of genre, but more likely it means writing under a pseudonym for true reinvention. If we wish to continue in the business, we must be willing to take that step, and adapt...to be flexible. 

Even authors who are under contract, with publishers who support them, need to not just sit still as if everything is fine. If we do, it's like driving a car with our eyes closed. We need to do whatever we can to help our careers by being proactive with our publishers, presenting ideas that will benefit both them and us. We need to also listen to their suggestions, and work together more than ever to build the brand each of us are trying to establish. We also need to recognize opportunities that are presented to us, even if they are scary, and mean we have to take chances. We need to be willing to jump, because we can't afford to assume everything is going to be fine.

And for those of us who are not yet published, we need to realize that, especially this year, times are tough, and a lot of authors who might have gotten deals in a normal year, have not. But this doesn't mean it won't happen. We need to be patient, flexible, and always persistant.

Going forward we all also need to keep flexible with publishing itself. Over the next decade things are going to change. At some point, digital book sales are going to overtake sales of physical books. What is that going to mean to the traditional publishing world? Who knows? But whatever world we find ourselves in doesn't have to be bad. it will just be different. We have to be ready for it.

And if we are flexible, and roll with the punches, it can also be good world.

Okay writers, where are you in your careers? What do you see the future bringing?

And readers, does the future of books concern you? How do you see yourself reading a book in ten years? Digitally? Or the traditional current method?

To Be Made Flesh... Again

Many years ago, when I was still living in Honolulu, I went to a hypnotherapist for what's known as a past-life regression session.

For those of you who don't know, such a session is very similar to your typical hypnotic regression, but takes you beyond childhood and into your past lives -- all in hopes of helping you find out what happened way back when that may be screwing you up now.

I didn't, however, undergo this procedure because I was feeling screwed up.  Instead, I was researching an idea for a screenplay and wanted to get some first hand experience.

It was an interesting hour.  I don't know if I was actually ever under hypnosis -- it certainly didn't feel like it.  But I did find myself seeing visions of a previous life.  Visions that were either real memories or simply figments of my overactive imagination. 

I tend to believe it's the latter.

If the visions were real, then I was a Southern Belle during The Civil War who lived on a sprawling plantation.  If not, then I have problems that may well need to be addressed by someone with either a degree in psychology or intimate knowledge of the plot to Gone With the Wind.

Reincarnation is a subject that has interested me for many years.  I have no reason to believe it's possible, but then I have no evidence that it's hooey, either.  It makes perfect sense to me that we could well be living our lives over and over, in various forms, all in an attempt to finally get it right.

The woman who hypnotized me told me I'm a very old soul and am currently on my last life.  So I guess I'm finally getting it right.

One can only hope.

Reincarnation is one of those subjects that nearly everyone has an opinion about.  There are a ton of books about the subject and probably an equal number of movies and television shows that have addressed it.

While I've never approached the writing of a book from a commercial standpoint -- that is, creating a plot simply because I think it's hot and will sell -- I have to admit that the idea of plotting a story based on a popular subject like reincarnation was pretty compelling.  Over the years, I've found myself so consumed with the phenomenon that I've never been able to let go of the story premise that sparked that long ago hypnosis session.  A story premise that goes something like this:

What if a woman discovers that she's the reincarnated victim of a serial killer -- a serial killer who may still be alive?

This creepy notion was the jumping off point for my new book, KILL HER AGAIN, which I'm happy to say was just released in the U.S. yesterday.

KILL HER AGAIN is the story of Anna McBride, a disgraced FBI agent whose life is slowly being destroyed by terrifying visions of a kidnapped little girl.  And while my original premise plays strongly into the story, it really was just a jumping off point.

After pitching the idea to my friend Peggy White a couple years ago, she had one of those "what if" moments that really turned the premise on it's head and made me realize that it really was time to write this book.  So thank you, Peggy, for helping me make a good idea great.

I'd love to tell you more about the book, but I've already given you enough of a spoiler.  And if you're at all interested in the notion of past lives married to an unrelenting thriller plot, I would be a fool not to urge you to pick up a copy <big grin>.  I've been telling everyone it's a great beach book, and I certainly hope a lot of people will be going to the beach this summer...

Blatant self promotion aside, I'd like to bring this topic around to you, by asking you a few questions.

1. Do you believe in reincarnation?

2.  Who do you think you might have been in a past life?

3.  Who would you like to be in a future life?

And five of you who comment will be chosen at random to win a signed first edition of my debut thriller, KISS HER GOODBYE.  The deadline is midnight tonight, and the winner will be announced on my web page on Friday.

In the meantime, you're all gonna have to do the right thing and immediately rush out and buy a copy of KILL HER AGAIN.  If not, I may just have to come after you in the next life....