By PJ Parrish
I was sitting in my favorite breakfast place, dipping my rye into my sunny-side-ups and reading an old paperback that I had found at a yard sale. It was by a mega-bestselling author, and frankly, I was smugly happy that I had paid only 50 cents for it.
I looked up to see a familar face. It was Tom S., one of my pickleball peeps. He’s sort of annoying, on court and off, the kind of guy who slams the ball at your head and then disingenuously apologizes for almost taking out your eye. So when he asked if he could join me, I was dearly tempted to go with the truth. But no…I try to play nice, on court and off.
“Sure, have a seat,” I said cordially.
He sat down, his eyes slipping secretly to the paperback lying wantonly by my coffee mug. “I see,” he said insightfully, “that you are reading a book by XX.”
“Yes,” I said affirmatively, nodding energetically.
“Do you like it?” he asked inquiringly.
I wasn’t sure how to answer. See, Tom’s trying to write a book and my kind-hearted sister Kelly had recently offered to give him a quick critique. His WIP was a hot mess but she patiently offered Tom some some good tips about plot structure, the differences between thrillers and mysteries, and character building.
Tom wisely picked up on my silence. “So,” he said interrogatively. “I take it you don’t like the book?”
“It’s sort of meh,” I said flatly.
“In what way?” he asked inquisitively.
“Well, I can’t quite put my finger on it,” I said perplexedly.
“How is the plotting?” he asked ploddingly.
“The plot was okay. But it’s sort of falling apart toward the end,” I added brokenly.
“That’s too bad,” he said sympathetically. “Anything else?”
“The characters were okay but kind of cardboard,” I said woodenly.
“Really?” he said shockingly.
“Yes,” I acknowledged.
“But this is a New York Times bestseller,” he interjected suddenly, jabbing at the book pointedly with his extended right index finger. “It got great blurbs. And all the reviewers loved it.”
“Well,” I said deeply, with a exhalation of a sigh. “I just don’t know what it was about the book that I found tiresome but there was something.”
Tom gave me a nod of his head, shaking it up and down, and then added a small, understanding smile, displaying his Chiclet teeth. “Well,” he said philosophically. “Some books are just like that.”
And with that, Tom rose and sauntered away, slowly and casually, slipping out the door, sidling across the parking lot, and disappearing into the almost rainy, slightly foggy, early morning Michigan mist.
I was left with my bad book and my thoughts. I was thinking about all the good advice I had heard over the years at all the writers conferences I had attended. Thinking about all the great panels I had sat on, even a really special heated one about talent versus technique. I was thinking, too, about all the wonderful posts here at The Kill Zone that tackle such a wide range of topics on our craft — everything from yanking yourself out of the muddy middle to the sins of the semi-colon.
Gina the waitress refilled my coffee and I returned to my mega-bestseller. Only a couple chapters to go, and even though I knew in my heart I should have tossed the book aside a long time ago, I was determined to finish it. Maybe I just wanted to get my full 50-cents worth. Then it came, this sentence:
“I could have saved her,” he whispered quietly.
I turned the book to its cover and looked at the author’s name. It was in huge block letters and bright neon pink, the name bigger than the title.
I flashbacked to a panel I moderated years ago at Sleuthfest. Robert Crais was our guest of honor and he was waxing eloquent about our craft. But it was one sentence he said in his keynote address that I was remembering at that moment: “Adverbs are not your friend.”
He didn’t say it lightly. He didn’t it dramatically. He didn’t even say it succinctly. He just said it.
Point well taken, Kris.
“I don’t like hot dogs,” Tom said frankly.
“Never, ever hurt a canine,” Tom said dogmatically.
“I just ran over my father,” Tom said transparently.
You do my friend Tom S(wift) proud.
“Hilarious, Kris,” she said lightheartedly. “The post cracked me up from beginning to end,” she added fondly as she rose up and shook her right hand. “Thanks for the smiles.” She turned at three-hundred-degrees and stepped with her left foot to leave, following with her right. 😜
It’s actually a lot harder to write poorly once you know your craft.
Yup. Worked hard on this. Sort of like Lucillle Ball trying to sing badly as Lucy Ricardo. (She was famously a very good singer).
I was at that Sleuthfest conference, Kris, and I remember Robert Crais’s keynote, where he said, “Your words aren’t precious,” something his editor told him early on.
There must be something in the air, because my personal blog post’s topic yesterday was dialogue, including some Tom Swiftys.
“I’m no good at playing darts,” Tom said aimlessly.
“I’m a softball pitcher,” Tom said underhandedly.
“I like hockey,” Tom said puckishly.
“That’s a lot of hay,” Tom said balefully.
“Let’s get married,” Tom said engagingly.
“I forgot what I was supposed to buy,” Tom said listlessly.
“Mush!” said Tom huskily.
“I’ll have a bowl of Chinese soup,” Tom said wantonly
Love your collection! And the great line, “Your words aren’t precious.”
I cackled loudly when I read your post
Undoubtedly with great mirth, too.
I have rarely been so entertained on a Tuesday morn, Kris. Thanks for the grins.
And, BTW, if I look at my whiteboard, your name is on it. Right under this:
A hint is always more powerful than a hammer… For some reason that statement grabbed me and hasn’t let go. Not sure if it originated with you, but I think I saw it in one of your TKZ posts.
Have a greatly, marvelously designed Tuesday! (Yeah, that’s all I could come up with on just two cuppas…)
Back at ya, Deb. I just returned from my PT where my wonderful guys seems to always snap my poor aching back/hips back where they belong. So thankful for skilled medical folks.
“I love Tom Swifties,” she said whole-heartedly. One of my favorites:
“Don’t ask me why I was at the mausoleum,” Tom said cryptically.
{{{{bah-da-BUM}}} You win. That’s my fave today.
“A micro master-class in how to not write badly by writing badly,” he said enthusiastically. “It’s harder than it looks,” he added needlessly.
Bravo, Kris!
And the sad news is that the book was supposedly edited by a NYC publisher.
“This is not a novel to be tossed aside lightly. It should be thrown with great force.” Dorothy Parker
Ha…an apt quote for today. I so wish I could name the writer. He is wildly successful but man, he phoned this one in. Sigh.
Thanks for the lesson and the laughs, Kris. Here are a few more:
“I forgot what I needed at the store,” Tom said listlessly.
“I’d like my money back, and then some,” said Tom with interest.
“I dropped my toothpaste,” Tom said, crestfallen.
“I love hot dogs,” said Tom with relish.
“Another martini would be fine,” said Tom dryly.
“I know these are baaaaa-d,” Tom said, sheepishly.
I think you guys have had these stored up in your brain lint files just waiting for the right moment to unleash them. You’re shameless. 🙂
Adverbs are not my friend? Sure they are. And it’s not as if beginners aren’t equally likely to sabotage their prose with a superabundance of clumsy, ill-chosen, stinky, funny-looking adjectives. Let’s not be prejudiced.
Anyway, adverbs are an essential part of the language. The only reason people who avoid adverbs can write at all is that they can’t identify the ones that don’t end with -ly, such as near, today, and always.
Bad adjectives can be just as….stinky, as you say. I just like slow-moving targets and low-hanging fruit. (See my posts on semi-colons). 🙂