THE JEALOUS AUTHOR'S WISH LIST

by Gar Anthony Haywood

I have Author's Envy.

We all do.  No matter where a writer is in his career, there is always another one somewhere who makes him green with envy.

For instance, we all wish to God we had this woman's money:

And, except for those of us lucky enough to be even better looking, we would all like to have this guy's face:

(Yes, even the ladies.  He's that pretty.)

But enough about the superficial.  The objects of envy I want to post about today are those that go beyond the obvious.  Sure, I covet the way some authors write dialogue or craft plot, tell a story or create character --- but these are all skills of the trade I could conceivably develop over time.  The things I want most that other writers have have little or nothing to do with writing, per se.  For the most part, they are intangible.  They cannot be bought or sold.  They are lines on an unwritten resume that, in my mind, help make certain authors unique.  And since I can't claim these things for myself, I am envious of those who can.

Here are the specific traits and possessions I'm referring to:

The Generosity of LEE CHILD

Okay, show of hands: How many people out there have asked Lee Child for something --- a blurb, a signature, a few minutes of his time --- and been turned away?  Nobody?  Anybody?

I didn't think so.

If anyone in our business can afford to be less than gracious to others, it's Mr. Child, but that kind of behavior just isn't in his DNA.   He lends an all new, respectable heft to the otherwise lightweight term "nice guy."

The Self-Confidence of SOPHIE LITTLEFIELD

Anyone who's ever heard Sophie describe how she got her first book, A BAD DAY FOR SORRY, sold knows it wasn't a particularly easy road to hoe.  Because not every editor who read the manuscript was charmed by some of the language she likes to use.  She was encouraged on several occasions, in fact, to tone it down, if not eliminate it altogether.

But Sophie held her ground.  Her voice was her voice, and hell if she was going to change it just to get published.

Aren't those of us who've read her work thankful she had that kind of faith in herself?

The Voice of GARY PHILLIPS

I don't want the angry squint, nor the imposing, Sumo-like form factor.  He can keep his booming laugh and signature porkpie hat.  I just want Phillips's trademark speaking voice.  With that voice, I could do readings to make grown men weep and women swoon.   I could moderate panels with the authority of Zeus and stop a convention bar fight with a single call to "Cease!"

Never heard Gary speak, you say?  Well, it's sort of like this, only more powerful:

The Honesty of LEE GOLDBERG

Let's face it, when you're trying to build a readership and every live, book-buying body counts, honesty isn't always the best policy.  Saying the wrong thing, to fans and fellow authors alike, can have consequences, regardless of how much truth is in the telling.

Incredibly, Goldberg has managed to build a leviathan-like career, both in television and mystery fiction, saying what he feels needs to be said while staring any possible repercussions square in the face.  He offends and he ruffles feathers, but he always tells it like he sees it, without malice aforethought.

I've been on the receiving end of his Searing Blade of Truth myself at least once, so I know how much it can sting.  Still, there's something to be said for a man in our business, in which discretion almost always pays better than being frank, who consistently answers a question with what he really thinks, rather than what the questioner would most like to hear.

The Output of LAWRENCE BLOCK

Being prolific is one thing.  Being prolific and damn good, time and time again, is quite another.  Over a career spanning more than fifty years and multiple genres, Block's been churning out novels and short stories the way McDonald's makes hamburgers.  With that kind of production, you'd think he'd turn out a dud or two.  But no.  Quality plus quantity is how this Mystery Writers of America Grand Master rolls, and that's what makes his vast body of work so impressive.

LAURA LIPPMAN's Mastery of Social Networking

Neither Allison Pearson's 2002 book I DON'T KNOW HOW SHE DOES IT, nor its recent film adaptation, has anything to do with Laura Lippman, as far as I know, but that doesn't stop me from thinking of her every time I hear that title.  Because in addition to writing some ungodly number of words towards her next New York Times bestseller, her daily regimen also seems to include supervising home repairs, tracking down the world's best citrus butter cookies, composing open letters to JetBlue, putting younger women to shame at the gym, and informing a growing mob of fans and followers of all the above, as it happens, via every social networking platform yet known to Man.

If all her tweets and posts read like those of some ("Just brushed my teeth.  Next up, flossing."  Or: "Will be signing Sunday at Harriet's Pickles & More, would love to see you there."), this last wouldn't be so amazing.  But Ms. Lippman's missives are always cute, clever, and just goofy enough to be entertaining.

While others wield the power of social networking like a club with which to beat potential readers into submission, Laura makes a party invite of it, and to far greater effect.

ALAFAIR BURKE's Dog

Okay, this one I admit is a little creepy.  But readers love pets, and nothing makes them happier than knowing that their favorite author is a pet lover, too.  Do some writers use this knowledge to their advantage?  Yes.  And do some even go so far as to pimp their dog or cat just to steer readers in their direction?  Absolutely.  Is Alafair Burke one of those writers?  No.

No.

But goddamnit, the Duffer is cute.  And if an author has to have an animal best friend in order to maximize their sales potential these days, then it may as well be a canine as handsome as this guy.  Woof!

Question for the class: What does your "Author's Envy" list look like?

The Day the Honeybadger Accepted Mother Nature

by Alafair Burke

I pride myself on being a person who can TCB, take care of business. If I see a problem, I fix it. If someone says it can't be done, I figure out a way. I have plans, back-up plans, and back-ups to the back-up. There's a reason some of my friends have taken to calling me Honeybadger. (From this inexplicably viral video: "The honeybadger has been referred to by the Guiness Book of World Records as the most fearless animal in all of the animal kingdom. It really doesn't give a shit.")

So when I heard that all the Irene nonsense was threatening to interfere with my book event yesterday at Mystery Lovers Bookshop in Pittsburgh with Laura Lippman, I got to work. I stalked Irene on the internet like a bad ex-boyfriend, anticipating her descent on the city. I moved my return flight to Monday. I booked an extra night in a hotel. I figured out when I would make up my Tuesday classes at the law school, just in case.

Laura kindly offered to let me detour to her place in Baltimore if necessary, so I was armed with an arsenal of options and information: all flight and train schedules from Pittsburgh, Baltimore, and DC. I was going to kick Irene's butt.

But then something changed Friday afternoon. The mayor announced the closure of the entire public transit system starting at noon, a good eight hours before the earliest predictions of the storm. Car services stopped taking bookings to the airport. Still, I had faith my Saturday morning flight would be fine. Surely the airline would want to move planes out of the New York area.

Friday night, I got the news. My flight was canceled.

My inner honeybadger refused to give up. I could take the morning train to Baltimore in time to hop into Laura's car. The two of us would Thelma and Louise it to Pittsburgh (minus the rape, robbery, and suicide pact, of course). I would stay in the hotel and write until the storm passed. I would be the victor!

And then someone saner than I spoke up. In a calm, neutral voice, she asked me to imagine that the worst, most hysterical predictions were accurate. Did I really want to be on a train heading into the storm? Did I really want to risk not being able to get home in time for class? How would I feel in the hotel, watching the storm on the news if I couldn't get hold of my husband and the Duffer?

So at the end of the day on Friday, I did something I rarely do. I gave up. Or gave in. I accepted that some things weren't worth fighting. I may think I'm more clever than the average bear (okay, I am more clever than the average bear). But I can't predict the unpredictable. I can't control the weather. And as much as I adore Mary Alice and Richard at Mystery Lovers Bookshop, as much as I love me some Laura Lippman, this one wasn't going to happen.

I suppose I could feel beaten. I imagine some would say I should have to resign my Honeybadger status. But I think even the Honeybadger knows when to pick its battles.

As it turns out, Irene went out with a whimper, but there was no way to know that in advance and therefore no reason to have regrets.  Added bonus: The weekend turned out to be a pretty cool time in the city. 

Impromptu Irene book lending library in my apartment building lobby

When was the last time you decided not to try to control something?  What happened?

P.S. Speaking of my canceled event with Laura, here is a nice joint interview in the Pittsburgh paper about the benefits of a shared tour event. Some of you may enjoy it. Be sure to pick up a copy of Laura's new book, The Most Dangerous Thing. She's such a major talent!

FUN IS GOOD, PART III: WIT

In this, our third installment of what gives a book the elusive element of fun, I'm going to talk about something that may seem obvious, but which is hard to quantify: wit.

In these times where far too many people  treat ignorance as something of which to be proud, the word "wit" seems at times to have fallen into disrepute. It carries with it a vague aroma of snootiness, of elitism, of cruel jibes delivered over dry martinis by callous sophisticates.

But wit--which I define as intelligent, incisive language that also manages to be amusing--is one of the things that can make a book fun to read. As just one example, take the works of Laura Lippman. Laura writes two kinds of books: her standalones, like her most recent book I'D KNOW YOU ANYWHERE, are engrossing, heart-stoppingly suspenseful, and gorgeously written; her Tess Monaghan series, about a female PI in Baltimore, are all of those things, and they're also huge fun to read. The difference is wit. When Laura writes of a character, as she did in her book IN A STRANGE CITY:

Tess Monaghan couldn't help thinking of her prospective client as the Porcine One. He had a round belly and that over-all pink look, heightened by a rash-like red on his cheeks, a souvenir of the cold day. His legs were so short that Tess felt ungracious for not owning a footstool, which would have kept them from swinging, childlike, above the floor. The legs ended in tiny feet encased in what must be the world's smallest--and shiniest--black wingtips. These had clicked across her wooden floor like little hooves.

you can't help but see him, and you can't help but smile at the image, if you don't actually laugh out loud. The wit comes from the delicious, wicked sharpness of the picture. 

Sometimes wit comes out of a deadpan description of the mundane that ignores the big, dark, sometimes even scary thing that's really going on. The humor comes from  the dichotomy created by the characters' apparent obliviousness or nonchalance about the rabid elephant in the room. Examples are the opening conversation in RESERVOIR DOGS, or this exchange from Donald E. Westlake's BANK SHOT:

Kelp drove one-handed for a minute while he got out his pack of Trues, shook one out, and put it between his lips. He extended the pack sideways, saying, "Cigarette?"
"True? What the hell kind of brand is that?"
"It's one of the new ones with the low nicotine and tars. Try it."
"I'll stick to Camels," Dortmunder said, and out of the corner of his eye Kelp saw him pull a battered pack of them from his jacket pocket. "True," Dortmunder grumbled. "I don't know what the hell kind of name that is for a cigarette."
Kelp was stung. He said, "Well, what kind of name is Camel? True means something. What the hell does Camel mean?"
"It means cigarettes," Dortmunder said. "For years and years it means cigarettes. I see something called True, I figure right away it's a fake."
"Just because you've been working a con," Kelp said, "you figure everybody else is too."
"That's right," Dortmunder said.
Kelp could deal with anything at that point except being agreed with; not knowing where to go from there, he let the conversation lapse.

 Often, wit takes the form of an impossibly perfect and well-composed comeback, the sort of riposte that you realize no human being could ever come up with on the spur of the moment, but which you wish you could. Like this exchange from Chandler's THE BIG SLEEP:

      I grinned at her with my head on one side. She flushed. Her hot black eyes looked mad. "I don't see what there is to be cagey about," she snapped. "And I don't like your manners."

  "I'm not crazy about yours," I said. I didn't ask to see you. You sent for me. I don't mind your ritzing me or drinking your lunch out of a Scotch bottle. I don't mind your showing me your legs. They're very swell legs and it's a pleasure to make their acquaintance. I don't mind if you don't like my manners. They're pretty bad. I grieve over them during the long winter evenings. But don't waste your time trying to cross-examine me."

 It's sort of like one of those Eric Clapton guitar solos where he tears off on a phrase so long and harmonically  complex  that you can't imagine a human mind creating it, much less doing so on the fly.

 Other times, wit isn't so elaborate, but instead lightning quick, like the jab that you don't see till your opponent's pulling it back and you're wondering where that ringing sound is coming from.  Ken Bruen is a master at this sort of thing,  as in this quick yet perfect  description of a cop at a traffic stop:

He wasn't wearing shades, but he wanted to...and badly.

Note that you're unilikely to find the works I've quoted above are to be found in your bookstore's humor section. some of them, like Our Ken's work, are downright dark. All of them have humor, however. Smart, witty humor, and that's one of the things that makes them fun.

Tell us, O 'Rati: Who are your favorite witty, fun writers?

I'd Know Laura Lippman Anywhere

I'm sure other crime writers out there would agree that one of the finest perks of this writing gig is being part of a community of tremendously talented and suprisingly humble writers.  To form friendships with writers whose words you've known and loved for years, and to hear them discuss their craft, is pretty darn cool. 

Even among our nifty community, some authors have a special ability to articulate their commitment to and relationship with storytelling.  I think Laura Lippman is one of our best, both as an author on the page and as a spokesperson for the genre. 

Laura is the President of Mystery Writers of America

If you're reading Murderati, you probably already know a little about Laura.  A former journalist, she has won the Agatha, Anthony, Edgar, Nero, Gumshoe, and Shamus awards.  She is routinely mentioned as one of this generation's finest crime writers.    

Laura's new book, I'd Know You Anywhere, hits stores tomorrow.  It has already earned starred reviews from Publisher's Weekly and Booklist.  It is is one of Amazon's Top 10 Picks for August and also an Indie Next pick.  "Stoked by stinging dialogue and arresting evocations of the fog of fear, doubt, and guilt versus the laser-lock pursuit of survival, Lippman’s taut, mesmerizing, and exceptionally smart drama of predator and prey is at once unusually sensitive and utterly compelling." - Booklist

On the eve of her launch, Laura, with her trademark generosity, agreed to answer a few of my burning questions.

1.  Tell us a little bit about your new novel, I'd Know You Anywhere.

To me, it's a fairly simple story: A woman who has managed to create a happy, contented life for herself despite being the victim of a horrible crime is forced to confront that crime years after the fact when a man writes her from Death Row. She is his only living victim and he wishes to speak to her before he dies. She's terrified of speaking to him, but also terrified of not speaking to him. And she has no idea how to tell her children about what happened to her.

2.  You've written with such detail and heart about your hometown of Baltimore.  For this book, you've taken Eliza to the suburbs of Washington, D.C.  How does an author's choice about location affect the novel as a whole, and why did you decide on this location for I'd Know You Anywhere? 

I am a homebody and I've always gravitated to fiction with a strong sense of place. But part of Eliza's dilemma is that she doesn't feel at home anywhere in the world. Her family moved in order to grant her greater anonymity, but that well-intentioned change has led to a general feeling of dislocation. She has lived in London and Houston and now D.C., but she's not really at home in any of those places.

3.  You often find inspiration for your plots in real-life crime stories.  Where did Eliza's story originate?

There was a serial killer who let one of his victims live. Because that person is still alive and has a somewhat unusual name, I've decided to say no more. I got to thinking about the case one day and suddenly thought: Oh my god, what's it like to be that person?

4.  You and I share a fascination with the frailty of human memory.  How did you get interested in memory?  How has your study of our fallibility as historians and narrators affected your writing, both as a journalist and in fiction?

I used to think I had a great memory. Maybe I did. I got good grades, I was on a quiz team. But a few years ago, my husband told a story he had told many times, and a friend of his shot it down. I think that started my fascination, the idea that someone could have a story that was right, emotionally, but wrong on almost every detail.

Now I'm trying to come to terms with the fact that my memory is bad. But you know what? I think most people my age have bad memories. Perhaps imperfect is a better word. You and I saw each other a week ago. I don't remember what you were wearing. I can't even remember your shoes! I can, however, remember what we had for lunch at Coquette in New Orleans back in January. (I had that divine grilled cheese sandwich and you had P&J oysters, which are on my mind because P&J had to close down because of the BP spill.) I have a friend who says she can remember every restaurant meal and WHERE SHE SAT in the restaurant. And it's not like she goes out to eat only once or twice a year. She's a foodie.

I will say that I would find it hard to be a journalist again because so much of journalism relies on people's memories. Bill Bryson has a nice line in THE LIFE AND TIMES OF THE THUNDERBOLT KID, about how the memoir is true to his memory. But my memory seems full of blank spaces. I think fiction takes up too much real estate in my head. If you think about it, novelists are living multiple lives. It gets confusing.

5.  You move so successfully between standalones and your Tess Monaghan series (when you're not writing killer short stories).  When you have an idea for a book, how do you decide whether it's a Tess novel or a standalone?

A Tess novel is about Tess. That sounds simplistic to the point of being moronic, but while all the Tess books center on a mystery/murder, the real story is what's happening to Tess. If she can't be at the center of the book, it can't be a Tess novel. The idea for Every Secret Thing forced me to confront that notion. I am Tess's Boswell, for better or worse.

The stand-alones, by contrast, are more idea driven. What are the responsibilities inherent in survival? Does everyone deserve a second chance, a fresh start? Is there a right way to grieve, do we promote closure for the grieving or for ourselves, so we might feel better? Why do girls break each other's hearts? At what point does a parent's advocacy for his child cross the line and harm someone else's child.

6.   You were gracious enough to headline a dinner for the New York Chapter of Mystery Writers of America last fall.  One of the guests asked you which writers' careers you would most like to have.  I know you mentioned the uber-talented Megan Abbott among others.  I think many of us would also mention you.  Your writing just gets better and better.  What advice do you have for writers who are just getting started at a time when the publishing industry seems increasingly impatient for early commercial success?

I'm going to be honest: I worry a lot that I am not confronting these issues because the current system is treating me well. There's a part of me that's sort of la-la-la, fingers in my ears, I can't hear you! So maybe I'm not the best person to give advice. That said -- how can you go wrong, putting the lion's share of your writing time, whatever it is, into being a better writer? What do you have to lose by writing the best book you can? Writing a novel is a better gig than digging ditches, but it takes a lot of time. What do you want to have to show for that time? Money? Good luck, and I mean that in the best sense: Good luck, you'll need it, because luck is a big part of making money in fiction writing. Great reviews? I've had great reviews. I've had lousy reviews. Neither changed me. The bad reviews hurt more than they should have, the good reviews failed to make me younger and thinner, so what good were they? Awards? For everyone out there salivating to win awards, let me ask you this: Who won the Edgar for Best Novel in 2009? I was there and I can't remember. (Then again, see bad memory, above. I do remember your Grandmaster tribute. Oh, wait, I just remembered: C.J. Box won. But it took me a while.)

Look, if you don't HAVE TO write, don't. Be happy. Go live in the world. But if you want to be a writer, then want to be a writer. Not a millionaire, not someone who's beloved by strangers, not a guy, like Dan Brown, who can arrive at the airport without his license or passport and grab a copy of his novel to use as ID. Those are all fun things, but they have zilch to do with writing. Write. Write your way. Don't tell anyone else how to do it and don't let anyone tell you how to do it.

As for the publishing industry: Whatever shape it takes, professionalism is always valued. Meet deadlines, be nice. It's amazing how far those two things will take you.

See why this fawning fan girl finds such inspiration?

7.  We share a love for good food.  What's the most ludicrous thing you've ever done to partake in a good meal?

A week ago, Mr. Lippman and I finished a meeting in New York City and had to head for home. But, of course, we were going to eat lunch first. I threw out Di Fara, the Brooklyn pizza place that I think might have the best slice in the world. I used the I Want ap on my iPhone, checked the hours, got directions. We drove through hideous traffic only to find it was closed for vacation! And one of Mr. Lippman's cousins had driven in from Long Island to have lunch with us. So we drove to Totonno's on Coney Island. It was worth it. To be candid, I was a little bummed we let our cousin have the leftovers. Totonno's pizza travels really well. A few hours later, we were at the Walt Whitman rest stop on the New Jersey Turnpike and I was yearning for that leftover pizza.


Great, now I'm hungry for pizza.  And for yet another Laura Lippman novel.  Learn more about I'D KNOW YOU ANYWHERE and Laura at her website.  She's also fun to follow on Facebook.

Please feel free to leave comments for Laura below.

I'm curious: Have you read Laura's novels?  Which are your favorites?  And what are you reading right now?

Literary Look-Alikes: Who are the Doppelgangers?

Over at Facebook, folks are winding down Doppelganger Week, which called on Facebook users to change their profile picture to a celebrity they've been said to resemble.

As it turns out, I've been said to resemble a broad array of celebrities.  When I was in college, my father (around the same time he said my two sisters looked like Jessica Lange and Kim Basinger, respectively), maintained that I looked "just like" these knockouts:

Apparently age has treated me well, however.  More recently, I've been compared to these women:

Um, yeah... right.  Although I'm much happier to be compared to Kate Hudson or that actress who temporarily ruined Law & Order than either of the Rosies, I conclude from this mish mash of non-matching faces that I may not have a celebrity doppelganger.  But, lucky for me, other writers do.

You see, much like my father, I also have a tendency to swear that people look "just like" someone else.  I can't run into Andrew Gross, for example, without reminding him he looks like that totally hot kid on Weeds.

  

 And poor Michael Koryta has surely lost count of the times I've pointed out his resemblance to David Duchovny.

 

Marcus Sakey's probably sick of hearing that he looks like Starsky.

 

The late JD Salinger bore a strong resemblance to George Gershwin.

JA Konrath sort of looks like Ben Roethlisberger.

And Barry Eisler might as well change his last name to Baldwin.

It turns out some writers have lookalikes I hadn't thought of. Jason Pinter also played Doppelganger Week, posting a photo of Al Gore.  Now, Jason, can you say "Lockbox?"

Laura Lippman tells me she's often compared to Susan Dey.  No surprise there, right? 

  

But I was beyond amused to hear that in profile, she's a dead ringer for a fellow journalist who loved Underdog, Sweet Polly Purebred.

With some writers, the identification of a lookalike's a little more challenging.  And, boy, do I like a challenge.

With someone like James Born, for example, it depends which photograph you select.  In some pictures he looks a lot like that writer who once said I looked like Rosie O'Donnell.

But in other pictures, Jim, I've got to say it, you look more like MacGyver.

 

In my constant quest to identify lookalikes, I have an irritating tendency to tell friends they look like X and Y had a baby.  Harlan Coben, for example, looks like the offspring of Tony Shalhoub and Stanley Tucci.

+     =

And Victor Gischler could be the long-lost love child of Meat Loaf and Mario Batali.  (Wow, that sentence  actually made me hungry.)

+     =

 So here's today's challenge: Who are the other doppelgangers?  Do you have one, and this a good thing or bad?  And which other writers have lookalikes that I've missed?  Psychic gold stars for those who include links to photos!