Lighting

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Lighting
Terry Odell

Light and Color

Image from Wikimedia Commons

In a couple of hours, the Hubster and I will be heading out on a vacation. I confess I’m a food junkie, and watch a lot of cooking show, so when I saw there was a “Chefs Making Waves” cruise where TV celebrity chefs would be taking over the restaurants, I didn’t need a lot of virtual arm-twisting to sign up. Once we board, I’m going off the grid (the cruise line wants $30 or $40/DAY for ONE device for their internet package) and I’m too cheap for that.
I should be around today to respond to comments, but between having edits for Deadly Ambitions to finish and being in travel mode, I hope you’ll forgive a rerun of a 2020 post I did on dealing with light in your writing.

Light is important when we’re writing—and I’m not talking about having enough light to work by. I’m talking about how much we can describe in our scenes. One of my critique partners questioned a bit I’d written (yes, it’s from one of my romantic suspense books).

She stepped inside and closed the door behind them. Placing her forefinger over her lips, she shook her head before he could speak. She unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. Then walked her fingers to the second, sliding the disc through the slit in the fabric. Then to the third, then the next, until she’d laid the plaid flannel open, revealing the tight-fitting black tee she’d seen at the pond this morning when he’d given her the shirt off his back.

His comment: “It’s night. Do you need to show one of them turning on a light?” Maybe. More on that in a minute.

In a book I read some years back, the author had made a point of a total power failure on a moonless night. There was no source of light, and the pitch-blackness of the scene was a way for the hero and heroine to have to get “closer” since they couldn’t see.

It didn’t take long for them to end up in bed, but somehow, he was able to see the color of her eyes as they made love. I don’t know whether the author had forgotten she’d set up the scene to have no light, or if she didn’t do her own verifying of what you can and can’t see in total darkness. Yes, our eyes will adapt to dim light, but there has to be some source of light for them to send images to the brain. If you’ve ever taken a cave tour, you’ll know there’s no adapting to total darkness.

In the case of the paragraph I’d written, the character had seen the man’s clothes earlier that day, so she’d probably remember the colors, especially since the tee was black. And you’ll note, I didn’t say “red and green plaid shirt.”

I won’t delve too deeply into biology, but our retinas are lined with rods and cones. Rods function in dim light, but can’t detect color; cones need more light, but they can “see” color. (All the “seeing” is done in the brain, not the eyes.)

We want to describe our scenes, we want our readers to ‘see’ everything, but we have to remember to keep it real. This might mean doing some personal testing—when you wake up before it’s fully light, check to see how much you can actually ‘see’. The ability to see color drops off quickly. So even if you see your hands, or the chair across the room, or the picture on the wall, how much light do you need before you can leave the realm of black and white? What colors do you see first? When it gets dark, what colors drop off first. Divers are probably aware of the way certain colors are no longer detectable as they descend.

Here’s a video showing what happens.

And another quick aside about seeing color. Blue is focused on the front of the retina, red farther back. This makes it very hard for the brain to create an image where both colors are in focus. It’s hard on the eyes. For that reason, it’s probably not wise to have a book cover with red text on a blue background, or vice-versa. You can look up chromostereopsis if you like scientific explanations. For me, I’m fine with “don’t do that because it’s hard to read.”

How do you deal with light and color in your books? Any examples of when it’s done well? How about not well?

New! Find me at Substack with Writings and Wanderings

Deadly Ambitions
Peace in Mapleton doesn’t last. Police Chief Gordon Hepler is already juggling a bitter ex-mayoral candidate who refuses to accept election results and a new council member determined to cut police department’s funding.
Meanwhile, Angie’s long-delayed diner remodel uncovers an old journal, sparking her curiosity about the girl who wrote it. But as she digs for answers, is she uncovering more than she bargained for?
Now, Gordon must untangle political maneuvering, personal grudges, and hidden agendas before danger closes in on the people he loves most.
Deadly Ambitions delivers small-town intrigue, political tension, and page-turning suspense rooted in both history and today’s ambitions.

Preorder now

Terry Odell is an award-winning author of Mystery and Romantic Suspense, although she prefers to think of them all as “Mysteries with Relationships.”

Flathead River Writers Conference Recap – Part 2

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by Debbie Burke

Two weeks ago, I reviewed the 35th Annual Flathead River Writers Conference in Kalispell, Montana. If you missed that, here’s the link. There were too many great speakers and too much information to cram into one post. Today is a continuation of the conference summary.

Author, poet, and educator Jake Arrowtop

Fiction author and educator Jake Arrowtop wasn’t even interested in poetry until he realized that could be a positive influence at an alternative high school on the Blackfeet Reservation in Browning, Montana. With obvious affection, he describes his students who are either “fighting” or “giggling.” He encourages them to write poems as a release for the pent-up emotional energy of teenage angst combined with historical, intergenerational trauma. His male students especially struggle with “indigenous masculinity, the notion of a warrior who has nowhere to go.”

After Jake read a poem written by one dropout, his support inspired her to write more. Soon she had a stack. He printed her poems and bound them into a book—a piece of art she could proudly hold in her hands.

Another moving story came about when he took six boys to Yellowstone to hunt buffalo. The night before, the boys had crowded into Jake’s motel room to hang out, giggling, eating junk food, and goofing around until he finally shooed them to their own rooms at 2 a.m.

Early the next morning, they trekked to the “killing fields” outside the park boundaries where hopeful hunters wait for buffalo to emerge from the national park sanctuary. Jake honors the hunting tradition and appreciates the massive amounts of meat that sustain him and his community.

When he spotted a buffalo, he aimed his rifle and shot. Although it was a solid hit that should have been a kill shot, the buffalo leapt around like a jackrabbit for several seconds until Jake’s second shot dropped him.

The boys gathered around Jake, hooting and cheering.

Instead of celebration, guilt and regret overcame Jake. He broke down, crying in front of the surprised boys.

It took time for him to sort out and write about his complex feelings. Later, he realized the act of taking the boys to teach them hunting had connected him with the heritage of untold generations of nomadic, Native people, following buffalo across the plains. He felt the heavy grief, sorrow, and profound loss of their way of life. He says it was good for the impressionable boys to see him cry and that gave them freedom to express complicated emotions in their own poetry.

Jake works to channel the students’ energy away from fighting and instead to a positive, creative release through writing. “My biggest goal is to introduce kids to community-shared experiences.”

From listening to him, I’m certain he’s already achieving that goal as a teacher who makes a lasting impact on his students.

 

YA author Jess Owen Kara and graphic author Jonathan Fetter-Vorm

Jess Owen Kara attended her first Flathead Writers Conference at age 16. Now she’s featured at the conference as an award-winning author of YA fantasy series and contemporary realistic YA fiction. Her publishing routes include indie-publishing, crowd funding, and traditional. She offered words of advice for writers to sustain themselves on the long and sometimes frustrating journey.

Writers often see traditional publication as the magic bullet to fame and success. Jess puts that in perspective. Following traditional publication of her novel Furry Faux Paw, the boss at her day job asked how sales were going. Jess replied, “I’m still here.”

Her attitude of equanimity grows from realistic expectations and how she defines success. Rather than dreams of NY Times bestsellers and movie deals that are out of the writer’s control, she counsels writers to ask: “What is your idea of success today? It may be to write XX number of words.”

More wisdom: “Don’t compare yourself to other writers. Comparison is the thief of joy. Compare only to learn from others.”

Despite conventional advice to build a brand, Jess believes, “You are not a brand, not like shoes or cereal. Good storytelling is the most effective sales tool.”

She quotes Michelangelo at 85 who said, “Still I am learning.”

Last, “the only way to fail is to stop writing.”

Jess is a survivor. We’ll continue to hear from her for many years to come. 

 

A writing conference is a great chance to build a mailing list. I took the opportunity to encourage sign-ups for my list with a prize drawing—a hand-crafted wood pen inspired by my book, TheVillain’s Journey-How to Create Villains Readers Love to Hate. My good friend and TKZ emeritus Steve Hooley created the stunning pen.

Do contests work? The winner Bill Bond was thrilled and here’s the stack of sign-ups from the conference.

The upside of the Flathead Writers Conference: many excellent speakers. The downside: too many excellent speakers. A good problem to have even though it resulted in a jam-packed schedule with breakout sessions. I wanted to hear both speakers scheduled at the same time but couldn’t. Drat!

One session I missed was the panel with editor/publisher Cindy Spiegel (Spiegel and Grau), and literary agents Abby Saul and Julie Stevenson.

Literary agent Julie Stevenson

Later, I chatted with Julie and she shared her impressions: “It was such a wonderful weekend—so thoughtfully organized, and filled with warmth, inspiration, and a true sense of community. I came away feeling renewed and grateful to have spent time with such an engaged and generous group of writers and publishing professionals.” Julie graciously offered her assistance with future events, adding: “I’m a big fan of the conference and want to see it continue to thrive.”

Wow, how wonderful is that from a veteran agent?

As always, one-on-one appointments with agents and editors are popular. People can submit pages from their WIP in advance and receive individual professional feedback. Appointments always fill quickly, and writers come away with true insider perspectives to improve their work.

 

Did I mention the abundance of great information that came from this conference? As before in Part 1, this post is running long and I still haven’t covered all the high points. Come back in two weeks for Part 3 about the Flathead River Writers Conference, featuring memoirist Robert Petrone, graphic nonfiction author Jonathan Fetter-Vorm, and romantasy novelist J.D. Evans.

~~~

TKZers: At a conference, have you ever had a private appointment with a publishing professional? What did you learn from it?

~~~

 

Hot off the presses: brand-new box set of Tawny Lindholm Thrillers, Volumes 1-3. 

Three exciting novels only $7.99

Profluence in Writing

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Profluence (noun) –  a copious or smooth flowing

* * *

I was re-listening to a Great Courses lecture the other day entitled Writing Great Fiction taught by professor and author James Hynes. The particular episode I re-visited was on the fundamentals of plotting a novel, and Hynes mentioned the importance of profluence in story-telling.

“Profluence” must be a relatively new word because you may not find it in every dictionary. Dictionary.com only has the adjective form “profluent,” but the word has made its way into the online Merriam-Webster dictionary.

However, I couldn’t find the term “profluence” in any of my books on the craft of writing, so I was naturally intrigued.

Hynes credits John Gardner with defining profluence as the feeling you have when you’re reading a novel or short story that you’re getting somewhere. Even if the story isn’t told in chronological sequence, the reader needs to feel the forward momentum.

Specifically, in his work The Art of Fiction, Gardner wrote:

“By definition – and of aesthetic necessity – a story contains profluence, a requirement best satisfied by a sequence of causally related events, a sequence that can end in only one of two ways: in resolution … or in logical exhaustion.”

Along the same lines, in Aspects of the Novel, E.M. Forster defined the singular merit and fault of a story:

“… it can only have one merit: that of making the audience want to know what happens next. And conversely it can only have one fault: that of making the audience not want to know what happens next.”

Professor Hynes had his own take on this concept.

“A work of fiction can only have one merit: that of making the reader want to keep reading. And it can only have one fault: that of making the reader not want to keep reading.”

So we can think of a novel as one scene followed by another, each drawing the reader further into the plot. The goal is always to get the reader to turn the page. Even if the sequence of events is out of chronological order, the author’s job is to create the sense of forward momentum by leading the reader through the story, one scene at a time.

Forster makes one further distinction between story and plot. He defines a story as “a narrative of events arranged in their time-sequence.” A plot, though, according to Forster is “also a narrative of events, the emphasis falling on causality.” He goes on to use this illustration:

“The king died and then the queen died” is a story. “The king died, and then the queen died of grief” is a  plot.

In the first example, readers will turn the page to find out what happens next. In the second, readers will want to know what happens next and why it happened. That sense of causality adds depth to the story and encourages the reader to keep turning pages.

* * *

As authors, we know we should create stories with interesting characters, a strong plot, and sentences that are well-constructed and grammatically correct. But the notion of profluence seems to move beyond the mechanics of writing and into the way those elements interact to produce the elusive flow that will keep the reader engaged.

In an article on the Writers Unite website, D. A. Ratliff provides several ideas on how to create and maintain that flow. Here are a few of those suggestions:

  • Create an intriguing hook at the beginning that will grab the reader’s attention
  • Don’t overly describe what’s going on. Let the reader wonder and anticipate learning more in a later chapter
  • Use clear language so you don’t confuse the reader
  • Use effective transitions. Cliffhanger scene endings will compel the reader to turn the page
  • Vary sentence types to create a musical flow

So there you have it. A novel is not just a series of scenes. At its best, it’s a continuous flow of story that’s impossible to put down.

* * *

So TKZers: Have you ever heard the term profluence before? How do you create the flow in your stories to keep readers turning pages? What would you add to the suggestions above?

* * *

 

 

KNIGHTS IN MANHATTAN

Reen & Joanie are always moving forward. Whether it’s in dark, secret passageways or running through some of the most famous landmarks in Manhattan, they’re relentless in their pursuit of the bad guys.

Click the image for a link to all retail platforms.

On Starting a New Project

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by James Scott Bell
@jamesscottbell

Evan Hunter author photo from The Moment She Was Gone

Today is release day for Romeo’s Truth. (Ebook at deal price; print to follow shortly.) Tomorrow I begin working in earnest on Romeo #11.

I make it my goal to hit the ground running on a new project as soon as a book is released. I’ve written before about being like a movie studio. I want to have a main project and a few in various stages of development, waiting to get a green light.

Starting a new novel is always a high. I know there will be low points, like the “30k wall.” I don’t know why this happens, but I’ve heard other authors experience it, too. When I get to that mark I begin to think of the long road ahead, and also wonder if my foundations are strong enough. I look at my outline and structure. My main concern is having the hero locked into a death struggle. My definition of great fiction is that it is the record of how a character fights with death. Death comes in three forms: physical (as in the thriller); professional or vocational; and psychological/spiritual. The stakes have to be that high to generate optimum reader interest.

There’s always a way to break through the wall, or at least climb over it. Once that’s done, I’m off and running again to the end.

I always celebrate when I finish a book. Do something fun, like take my long-suffering wife out for a nice dinner. Or cook our favorite meal at home, which always involves a ribeye steak and nice bottle of California Cabernet, followed by a movie or one of our favorites shows, like a Sherlock Holmes with Jeremy Brett, or a Poirot with David Suchet.

 Before starting work on the new book, I pause. I’m anxious and ready to go, but there’s also a little knot of hesitation. How do I do this again? Write a whole book? Thriller writer J. T. Ellison once said, “It’s the whole getting started thing for me. I forget how to write a book. The first ten thousand words are like digging fossils from rocks.”

In a TV interview, Dean Koontz expressed a similar feeling, So he goes into a huge room in his huge house, where shelves are packed with all his books, foreign and domestic. He looks a them and says, “I did it before, I can do it again.” That’s Dean freaking Koontz! (Over 140 novels, 500 million sold).

So I have a little ritual. I settle into my chair with a cup of my favorite java. I look at the visual inspirations in my office. There’s a photo of John D. McDonald, pipe in mouth, typing away. There’s an author photo of Evan Hunter, aka Ed McBain, looking at me as if to say, “Don’t give me any excuses. Write!” There’s the black coffee mug with WRITER on it, which  I bought the year I decided I was going to be a writer, even though naysayers had told me I couldn’t learn how. I put that mug where I could look at it every day, which I did for the seven years it took me to sell my first novel.

Then I put on coffeehouse sounds via Coffitivity, wiggle my fingers, and start typing.

How do you feel about starting a new project? High, hopeful, or hesitant? Do you have any writing rituals?

Movie Words of Wisdom

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Today we dive into the TKZ archives for some wisdom from the silver screen. P.J. Parrish gives us lessons for writers from several movies, Joe Hartlaub discusses two flicks available on Netflix at the time of his post, and James Scott Bell dives into the film The King’s Speech.

All three posts are well worth reading in their entirety, and are date-linked from the bottom of their respective excerpts.

As Good As It Gets: Write what you know

When the poor secretary asks romance writer Jack Nicholson how we writes such great women, he delivers one of the greatest comebacks in all of moviedom (above clip). The lesson here is that yes, the chestnut “write what you know” is useful but only to a point. A fiction writer MUST be able to write outside her gender, race and limited world. But unless you have deep empathy and acute powers of observation, and, maybe most important, the ability to take a specific experience (especially if it’s your own) and make it universal so it connects with Everyman, you won’t succeed. I am not sure this can be learned. It might just be the special province of talent.

Adaptation: Know when to quit

Not quit writing. Just what you are writing. “Adaptation” speaks to all of us writers on many levels, but its most gut-wrenching lesson is about the despair of trying to be passionate about a book you don’t really care about. I’ve had to make the hard choice to abandon a book in midstream. But I’ll let my friend Sharon Potts tell you about this valuable lesson:

“For the past year, I’ve been struggling with a book that frequently feels like more than I can handle. Too many subplots that are all tangled up and I can’t seem to bring them to a satisfying resolution.  And then I realized, my problem is more than plotting. It’s my protagonist.  I don’t ‘feel’ her anymore.  I don’t care if she saves herself and the world. So how can I write if I’m not passionate?  And if I don’t feel it, will readers care when I finally finish the book?  In the meantime, another story has been poking at me.  A story that ties to my mother’s past and to historical events I’ve always cared about.  Even before I write a word, I can already see my protagonist clearly. She’s so real to me that she overpowers the heroine in the book I’ve been struggling to finish.  So I made a decision.  After a full year and over 100,000 words, I’m putting aside my ‘frustration’ novel.  I’m going to write the story my heart wants to tell.”

Deconstructing Harry: Know when to keep going

This is not my favorite Woody Allen movie; it’s a vulgar uneven portrait of a self-serving user who turns everyone in his life into fictional fodder. (Sorry, can’t get this video link to work!) One character tells him, “This little sewer of an apartment is where you take everyone’s suffering and turn it into gold.” Tough to watch. But I like the ending because it strikes the only note of light when Harry Block realizes “his writing, in more ways than one, had saved his life.”

Not a bad lesson, all in all. What are your favorite writer movies and what did you learn from them?

P.J. Parrish—July 23, 2013

If you’re going to watch Netflix but you want to justify paying the time bandit instead of following your Muse you can actually learn quite a bit by judiciously choosing what you watch. I’m going to briefly discuss a couple of movies that you can find in Netflix’ nether regions that you either may not have heard of or which flitted across your attention due to not being your type of movie. I’ll also mention another that just hit theaters (remember theaters? Those big cavernous places that you stopped going to because half of the audience thinks they’re on Facebook, and can yell out everything they want?) yesterday. Without further ado:

— Train to Busan: I quit watching Walking Dead when Rick’s son lost his eye and then pretty much gave up on the zombie horror sub-genre altogether. Someone recommended Train to Busan on Netflix as a zombie movie for people who were tired of zombies or hated the genre. My friend was right. Train to Busan, a South Korean horror film, hooks you in the first three minutes, giving you a hint of what is to come, stepping back and featuring a bit of human drama, and then putting you on the edge of your seat for an hour and a half or so. The set up is that an overworked hedge fund broker takes the morning off to accompany his young daughter (who is the cutest little kid who ever walked the face of the earth) on a high-speed train to visit her mother. The zombie apocalypse breaks out on the train and off we go. These zombies, by the way, aren’t the usual shambling dodos that can be taken out with a well-placed arrow. They are fleet of foot (they can somehow stumble and run like hell at the same time) and extremely aggressive. My favorite line of the film occurs when a passenger gets on the train intercom and says, “Conductor, we have a situation!” No kidding, Sherlock. The film itself features an excellent example of how to hint at a problem at the beginning of a work, let the problem percolate off-screen (or off the page), and then bring it back with a vengeance. It also is a reminder that light rail, buses, trains, boats, or planes are to be avoided at all costs.

Hell or High Water: This contemporary western finally made it to Netflix and will cause you to trade in your bird box or whatever. A man gets out of prison to find that the family farm has gone into foreclosure during his absence. He and his brother embark on a scheme to rob the branches of the regional bank which holds the mortgage and then use the money to pay off the loan on the farm. It could have been a comedy — and yes, as an exercise you could rewrite it as a comedy — but it isn’t. Things don’t go exactly as planned and the brothers soon find that law enforcement is after them. Jeff Bridges, in what might be the performance of his life, plays a Texas Ranger who is just weeks away from retirement. His investigation into the robberies will certainly be his last case and he wants to retire on top by identifying the robbers and bringing them in dead or alive. There is plenty of moral ambiguity to be had all around, a few quirky characters, and an ending you won’t see coming. There’s a bit of action and plenty of drama, all of it perfectly placed and paced,  but you will want to take notes on the dialogue, which is first class from beginning to end and which is just as important for what is not said as for what is.

Joe Hartlaub—January 26, 2019

The King’s Speech (2010) won Oscars for Best Picture, Actor, Director, and Screenwriter. How did they pull that off?

Through the power of character bonding and the magic of story structure. You can do just about anything with your novel so long as you have a reader intensely and emotionally invested in your Lead and put him through the beats of a well-crafted tale.

Let’s talk about emotional investment first. In Plot & Structure I discuss various ways a writer can join reader and character in the bonds of holy storytelling. One of the strongest bonding agents is hardship—at the beginning we are introduced to a character who faces a physical or emotional challenge.

In The King’s Speech, the hardship is both physical and psychological. Prince Albert, the Duke of York (Colin Firth) has a severe stammer which not only prevents him from delivering a simple speech; it also keeps him locked in a prison of self-doubt.

As the movie opens we see Albert nervously stepping up to a microphone to speak to a crowd. His stuttering talk bombs. People look embarrassed and disappointed. Prince Albert’s hardship has caused him massive public humiliation.

We’ve all been embarrassed, though not on so grand a scale. So we have immediate sympathy.

But that’s not all. There’s another powerful bonding agent I call the Care Package. This is a relationship in place before the story begins, showing that the Lead is not merely self interested. If we see someone who cares about someone else, it gives us hope for his ultimate redemption.

Early in Act 1 there is a lovely scene that gets me every time. Prince Albert, all done up in a tux, comes to say good-night to his two daughters. They want a story! “Can’t I be a penguin instead?” he asks. Clearly, he doubts even his ability to tell his children a simple bedtime tale. But they insist!

And so, out of love and fatherly duty, he makes the attempt. He tells a story about two princesses whose papa was changed by a witch into a penguin. This made him sad, for a penguin does not have arms to embrace his children. Not only that, the witch banished him to the South Pole. It’s obvious he is talking, metaphorically, about himself. The story ends with a restored father hugging his daughters. We can’t help but wonder if Albert will be healed, too. By now we hope so, because we are firmly invested in him.

The Duchess (Helena Bonham Carter) arranges a meeting for Albert with an eccentric speech therapist named Lionel Logue (Geoffrey Rush). Here we get another structural beat: The Argument Against Transformation. Unconvinced Lionel can help him, Albert is about to leave when Lionel asks him to try something. He puts headphones on the prince and plays classical music while having the prince read the famous soliloquy from Hamlet. After a minute or so Albert rips off the headphones and shouts, “Hopeless!” Then: “Thank you, Doctor. I don’t…feel this is for me.”

This sets up the arc of transformation that pays off at the end. (In Casablanca, Rick argues against his ultimate transformation by saying, “I stick my neck out for nobody.” At the end, of course, he does that very thing.)

James Scott Bell—December 1, 2019

***

There you have it, wisdom from the movies.

  1. Do you have a favorite movie about writing and writers? What lessons does that movie give us?
  2. In the spirit of Joe’s post, is there a movie, good or bad, on the streaming service of your choice (including the library) that has “goosed your muse” and given you food for creative thought?
  3. What favorite movie of yours invests the reader emotionally right off the bat, like The King’s Speech? Do you have a cinematic favorite argument against transformation?

Reader Friday-School Daze

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What was your absolute favorite subject in school? Can be grade, middle, high school or college.

Mine was history.

When I was a junior and senior in high school, I had the same history teacher both years. He was a great teacher and made us work hard. We had to keep a “journal” of the things we learned that were most interesting to us.

I tried to make stories out of them. Go figure!

No…not that one! 🙂

 

 

Over to you, TKZ readers and writers. What was your favorite, how old were you, and are you still fascinated by the same subject?

 

 

 

 

 

The Fine Art of Editing

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Dear Readers,
Recently I broke two ribs, and I’m in a bit of a fog. I’ve reposted a favorite blog about editing. I still write for the same publisher, Severn House, and I’ve learned so much from their editors. — Elaine 

 

By Elaine Viets

Here’s one reason why I like my London publisher, Severn House: Editing.
Like most writers, I try to turn in clean copy. I’m also an editor myself. So I appreciate the masterful way Severn House edited my Angela Richman mystery, Late for His Own Funeral. The editors took care to fine-tune the sentences with small but significant changes.
Take a look at these. The way I wrote the selection is first. The edited version is second.
(1) In this first example, Angela is recalling her friend’s doomed marriage. The change helps set the scene.
Elaine: Back then, Sterling had seemed awed by Camilla’s cool elegance, and she fell in love with his humor and energy.
Severn House: When they first met, Sterling had seemed awed by Camilla’s cool elegance, and she fell in love with his humor and energy.

(2) Elaine: I walked over to him and looked right into his red eyes. We were both the same height.
Severn House: I walked over to him and looked right into his red eyes. We were the same height.
This change gets rid of a redundancy. If Angela could look the man in the eyes, then they were the same height. I didn’t need that “both.”

(3) Elaine: The cut on her forehead had been stitched. She’d have a heck of a bruise there tomorrow.
Severn House: The cut on her forehead had been stitched. She’d have a heck of a bruise there.
I didn’t need that “tomorrow.”

(4) This change makes the sentence sing.
Elaine: The child wore a pink polka-dot T-shirt and jeans, and had pink ribbons in her hair.
My editor rearranged it as:
Severn House: The child wore jeans and a pink polka-dot T-shirt, and had pink ribbons in her hair.
(5) Here’s a shorter way of saying the same thing:
Elaine: We were at my car now.
Severn House: We reached my car.

(6) Elaine: I fired up my iPad and opened up the Death Scene Investigation form.

Severn House: I fired up my iPad and opened the Death Scene Investigation form.
No need for that second “up.”
(7) Another unnecessary phrase bites the dust:
Elaine: “It’s going to be rough for a bit,” I said. “But you’ll get through it. I promise. You have a real advantage – one of the best lawyers in the Midwest.”
With that, Mrs. Ellis entered the room carrying a tray. “I’ve brought you some food, Camilla dear.”
Severn House: “It’s going to be rough for a bit,” I said. “But you’ll get through it. I promise. You have a real advantage – one of the best lawyers in the Midwest.”
Mrs. Ellis entered the room carrying a tray. “I’ve brought you some food, Camilla dear.”

(8) This small change makes for a cleaner sentence.
Elaine: I was on duty at midnight tonight, so I packed a small overnight bag with my DI uniform and added my office cell phone charger.
Severn House: I was on duty at midnight, so I packed a small overnight bag with my DI uniform and added my office cell phone charger.

(9) Elaine: Millie watched fascinated while the server mixed the ingredients together in a large glass bowl, then added the dressing and tossed the salad.
Severn House: Millie watched fascinated while the server mixed the ingredients in a large glass bowl, then added the dressing and tossed the salad.
If the ingredients were mixed in a bowl, naturally they’d be “together.”

(10) Here’s another two-letter change:
Elaine: Linda’s apartment, 615, was in the middle of the hall. I could hear the TV on and hoped Linda was home.
No need for that “on.” If I could hear the TV, it was definitely on.
(11) One last one-word change.
Elaine: I went home to my place, feeling discouraged. Chris and I didn’t have a fight. I just wanted to be alone tonight.
Severn House: I went home to my place, feeling discouraged. Chris and I didn’t have a fight. I just wanted to be alone

Most of these changes were small and subtle. Also, I don’t have to accept any that I don’t like. Some got lost in translation when they crossed the Atlantic. Like this one:
Angela says: “I was a bridesmaid in her wedding ten years ago, and we marched down the same aisle now blocked by her husband’s casket.”
The copyeditor had changed it to: “I was a bridesmaid ‘at’ her wedding.” I had to explain that if you’re “at a wedding” you’re attending it, while if you’re “in a wedding,” you’re an attendant.
Sometimes we truly are two countries divided by a common language.

************************************************************************

Preorder now! Sex and Death on the Beach will be out in paperback this December. https://tinyurl.com/r5z89jz6

Psst . . . They Secretly Want You To Fail

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By John Gilstrap

Every parent has confronted some form of the same horrible moment when their child declares their desire for the unobtainable. Perhaps it’s the skinny, five-foot-four high school junior who wants nothing else in life but to be a professional football player. Or the 13-year-old aspiring ballerina who cannot walk across the room without tripping over her feet. What’s the right call here? Do we tell them the truth and shatter their dreams or smile and say supportive things, knowing that they will fail? We love them more than life itself, but coaches and lessons are expensive. And c’mon, there’s the opportunity cost of the time lost not pursuing something where they’d have a better chance of success (and which might more closely fit with the plan we’ve always had for their lives).

Do we presume failure and shut the door on their unlikely dreams, or do encourage them and hope for a Rudy moment? (If you don’t recognize the Rudy reference, stop reading right now and go watch the movie. With the family. Bring Kleenex.)

Now, let’s take it a step farther (further? I’m never sure). You’ve exhausted the carefully collected 529 Plan money to see your son, Billy, graduate with honors from a prestigious engineering school, and during the celebration dinner, he announces his plans to go to New York to try to be an actor on Broadway.

Or his plans to take a year or two off to work at a coffee shop while he writes the mystery novel that’s been floating around in his head.

I’m going to take a guess at what what your initial reactions would be:

  • Like hell you are;
  • I’ve raised an idiot;
  • Do you realize how much money we just dropped on your education?
  • You’re going to starve.

But Billy is no fool. He’s thought through all of these objections. He’ll come back with:

  • I’m only young once. This is the best time to take chances.
  • It’s just me. I don’t need a lot of money. I’ll find a way to feed myself.
  • Mom and Dad, this is my dream. If it doesn’t work out, engineering will still be there for me.

This is where you tee up the failure speech:

  • The entertainment business is brutal. It tears people up and spits them out. It’s soul crushing. (All of this coming from articles you’ve read, having never actually attempted to live the life you’re trashing.)
  • You were born to be an engineer, not a writer or performer. (Translation: We’ve spent a lot of money on our dream for you. We’ve told all our friends that you’re going to be an engineer. They’re going to roll their eyes and scoff when we tell them that you want to do this. Just as we’re doing right now.)
  • Even people who are successful can’t maintain their success. Even if you can sell that first novel for a lot of money, it might not sell through and your career could be over. Even if your first song is a hit, there may never be a second song. You don’t want to risk the humiliation of being a one hit wonder, do you?

Finally, when Billy goes forward with his stupid plan, you hope he’ll fail early and spectacularly enough that it will set his head straight. Even if you keep a good poker face, your real thoughts will likely shine through.

You will launch your beloved son into his future armed with the knowledge that pretty much everyone who’s ever loved him has their thumb on the scale for him to fail. Those aren’t the words anyone speaks, but Billy can hear the “I-Told-You-So Chorus” being rehearsed in the wings.

And in his heart of hearts, no matter what he says, Billy expects to fail as well. Let’s face it: The odds are woefully stacked against him. Of the tens of thousands of hacks who push books out every year now that gatekeepers are gone and self-publishing is easy, how many actually make enough to buy a decent meal, let alone fund a lifestyle? Ditto the thousands of members in the Screen Actors Guild who make little more than pocket change. Who the hell is Billy to think he can succeed when so many others fail?

The answer is simple. Billy is better than all those hacks. He just needs to make the world realize it.

He can start by projecting success. Billy didn’t make this shift from engineering to the arts on a whim and a desire. Yes, he has passion, but he also has talent. How does he know? Because he does. He knows when his stuff is bad and because of that, he knows when it’s good. In the arts, that’s what talent is. True talent. Having it is the key element that separates him from the dreck peddlers. It’s what separates Broadway from dinner theater.

When Billy goes to a reading or a literary event, he makes it his mission to introduce himself not just to the author, but to the author’s agent or publisher or publicist who will likely also be there. If he attends a conference, he will sit among the cadre of authors he knows he will one day join. He will work the room in a way that only a confident person can. People will remember him not for being cocky or loud or even because he had a nifty idea for a book, but because he was interesting.

The entertainment business–of which writing is a part–is a business of relationships, and people love to help interesting people.

If Billy’s smart, he will stay away from anyone who sneers at his decision to pursue his dream, taking solace from the fact that those who sneer will be the same ones who want to take selfies with him after his dream proves to be successful. Billy should make a commitment to himself never to apologize to anyone for the artistic path he chose.

Everyone who has seen any level of success in the entertainment business started as Billy. They all share the common elements of talent, drive, focus, more than a little luck, and the ability to see rejection merely as a slammed door that opened a window.

A lot of Billys quit. Most, probably. They go home to the “I-Told-You-So” concert and complain that the industry isn’t interested in new talent anymore. They’ll testify without evidence that traditional media is dying anyway. The real route to success, they’ll say, is doing it all yourself because even if they buy your book, they’ll turn on you like jackals if the book under performs.

As evidence, Whining Billy will regurgitate the one-hit-wonder trope of their friend John who was really, really good. The industry paid him a lot of money, and got behind his first two projects. They sent him on tours, and while the books were bestsellers, they didn’t earn back the money the company spent, and now nobody will return his phone calls. Poor John.

Whining Billy glosses over the lede here–that John had a hit. For a period of time, however short, he got to live the dream. He got to see his name on bookshelves around the world. And while he beamed with pride of accomplishment, the world belittled him because he didn’t do it twice.

Perhaps Whining Billy–having quit and started a garage band, or maybe gone into teaching creative writing classes–was unaware of the fact that while John was having trouble getting his phone calls returned, he was still in the game making calls.

Yes, we’re talking about me now. And perhaps it’s pure hubris, but I never stopped believing in my abilities during the dark times. I never once saw rejection as personal. I understood the quiet happy dances performed by that handful of veteran authors who’d never made a fraction of what I’d been paid for those under-performing books.

I didn’t care that large elements of my extended family celebrated my slump because it’s what I expected of them. I think they had a lot to do with my desire to escape into fiction in the first place.

That noise doesn’t matter to me. I can’t let it matter to me.

To the outside world, it looked like my slump ran from roughly 2001 to 2006, but what no one outside of my very tiny circle of trust knew was that I had made the pivot of a lifetime. I was researching and writing my first and only nonfiction book–the first book ever to receive cooperation from the Army’s super-secret Delta Force. That book became Six Minutes to Freedom, co-authored with Kurt Muse, whose story it tells, and when it was done, we couldn’t give it away to the Big Five. (Nobody cares about Central America, Special Forces is overdone, neither of us is a “journalist” and therefore we’re not qualified to write the story.) I actually had to fire my agent over the book because she refused to represent it.

That’s when I remembered that Steve Zacharias, then a senior executive (now CEO) of Kensington Publishing had always been a fan of my work. My new (and better) agent, Anne Hawkins, sent him the manuscript, and he bought it. Boom! I was back in the game, and the research for that book provided the launch platform for the Jonathan Grave series.

The success of the Grave series allowed me to launch my Victoria Emerson Series, and now my Irene Rivers thriller series. That’s thirty books and counting folks.

And Six Minutes to Freedom is slated to be released by Netflix as a feature film in 2027.

The human tapeworms who troll the interwebs either spreading promises of quick riches through self/hybrid/vanity publishing or spreading rumors of doom and misery in the traditional world are lying to you.

Talent. Relationships. Persistence. The ability to tune out the naysayers. Those are four legs on the stool that defines success in the entertainment business. We talk a lot about tying your butt to the chair and writing. Well, yes, that’s important. But you have to get out there and meet people, too. Build relationships.

Your work has been rejected? Ah, that’s a shame. Get over it and try again. And again. And again.

Or quit. There’s no shame in that. Just remember that it was your choice to quit. Dismissive agents or cranky editors didn’t make you quit. You chose to quit.

And somewhere, you left and editor or an agent hungry for exactly what you’d written. After fifty rejections, you’ll never know if you would have discovered each other on your 51st query.

Novels That Make Us Better Writers

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By PJ Parrish

There are countless good non-fction books out there on how to write novels. They’ve come up in our conversations here mutliple times over the years. Stephen King’s On Writing is probably most quoted here. Sometimes for its basic advice on craft:

The road to hell is paved with adverbs.

But sometimes for the personal truths he reveals that resonate with anyone facing a blank page:

I have spent a good many years since―too many, I think―being ashamed about what I write. I think I was forty before I realized that almost every writer of fiction or poetry who has ever published a line has been accused by someone of wasting his or her God-given talent. If you write (or paint or dance or sculpt or sing, I suppose), someone will try to make you feel lousy about it, that’s all.

Man, I can relate to that one. Or I suspect any of you out there can who have heard variations of “When you gonna get a real job?” Or “Why don’t you write someone good?”

Another books on craft have illuminated my way through the craft caverns. I love Blake Snyder’s Save The Cat! The Last Book On Screenwriting. Because we can all learn stuff from good screenwriters. One of my fave quotes:

You can be near the cliché, you can dance around it, you can run right up to it and almost embrace it. But at the last second you must turn away. You must give it a twist.

But my favorite book on writing is Anne Lamott’s Bird By Bird. This single quote helped change my writing style. It also helped me let go of my obsession with geometrically folded towels:

Perfectionism is the voice of the oppressor, the enemy of the people. It will keep you cramped and insane your whole life, and it is the main obstacle between you and a shitty first draft. I think perfectionism is based on the obsessive belief that if you run carefully enough, hitting each stepping-stone just right, you won’t have to die. The truth is that you will die anyway and that a lot of people who aren’t even looking at their feet are going to do a whole lot better than you, and have a lot more fun while they’re doing it.

Okay, so I’m still anal about my linen closet but I no longer restack the dishwasher after my husband does it and when he helps me decorate the Christmas tree, I don’t rehang the ornaments after he goes to bed. I am still going to die someday, but at least I don’t fret about getting caught in old underwear when it happens.

Since I have been doing a lot of reading lately due to vacation, family business, and a bout with the RSV virus, I have also come to realize that novels have much to teach us about craft. Let me suggest just a few and what they have taught me.

Beloved by Toni Morrison

This book gave me two gifts: First, that theme is the backbone of every memorable story. Beloved grapples with huge social themes rooted in our complex history, but even our modest crime genre novels are elevated when the writer moors the story in theme. Beloved also taught me a valuable lesson early in my writing career: that I didn’t have the craft chops to handle a two-story plot. Morrison seamlessly toggles between two parallel stories; I learned that I had to abandon one of my early parallel plots to make my story work. Know your limits, perhaps?

Silence of the Lambs by Thomas Harris.

This book drove home for me what Kurt Vonnegutt preaches: Every character must want something, even if it is only a glass of water. Character motivation is one of the pillars of great fiction, and Clarice Starling is a stellar example of how “want” must go beyond the superficial. What does Clarice want?

  1. To catch Buffalo Bill before he kills Catherine. (classic ticking clock plot)
  2. To prove herself among the male FBI trainees. (classic underdog story)
  3. To impress her boss Jack Crawford (in the book a relationship is implied)
  4. To live up to the memory of her beloved sheriff/father who was killed in line of duty.
  5. To silence her own inner demons. After her dad’s death, she is taken in by a relative on a sheep ranch where she tries to save a lamb from slaughter and as punishment is sent to an orphanage. (A story she reveals to Lecter). The book ends with Clarice sleeping peacefully. (The movie ending is better, imho).

The five levels of “want” are criticial to our understanding of Clarice, as they represent a descent into her psychological oubliette — symbolically as unsettling as the horrific basement well where Catherine is kept hostage. This relates to an exchange between Lecter and Clarice regarding Buffalo Bills’ motivation:

What need does he serve by killing, Clarice? He covets. How do we begin to covet? We begin by coveting what we see every day.

As writers, we must know what our characters want. Not just at the superficial level. We must be willing to explore the deepest dungeons of what they covet.

The Road by Cormac McCarthy

I  read this book 20 years ago on a trip to Chennai, India. It was August and it was so hot the aspalt steamed at night. There was something jarring in the juxtaposition of beauty and ugliness, in the cacaphony of bright colors, noise, and relentless press of too many human beings. In some moments, the city’s chaos felt apocalyptic. The imagery of McCarthy’s book haunted me:

Hydrangeas and wild orchids stand in the forest, sculptured by fire into “ashen effigies” of themselves, waiting for the wind to blow them over into dust. Intense heat has melted and tipped a city’s buildings, and window glass hangs frozen down their walls. On the Interstate “long lines of charred and rusting cars” are “sitting in a stiff gray sludge of melted rubber. … The incinerated corpses shrunk to the size of a child and propped on the bare springs of the seats. Ten thousand dreams ensepulchred within their crozzled hearts.

There is one scene I cannot get out of my head. The man and boy, surviving cannibal “bad guys,” discover a cache of canned food in a cellar. They sit in the rubble and eat peaches, a symbol of the lost world and of hope. What did this book teach me about writing? That imagery is the lifeblood of any powerful story. Not just passages of description but of that one telling detail, that can encapsulate your entire theme — peaches. McCarthy’s spare but evocative imagery taught me to be braver — and briefer — in my own descriptions. Less is more. But the “less” must be more effective.

Oh geez. I’ve flapped my gums too long again. I have four other books I wanted to talk about here, but I’ve run long. Quickly: Rowlings’ Harry Potter books taught me that a swift-flowing and sure-footed plot can make up for meh writing. Madame Bovary gave me the courage to write a male protag. (Louis Kincaid, c’est moi!) Charlotte’s Web (yes you can — indeed, must — kill off a sympathetic character).

What novels have made you a better writer?

Do FBI Profilers Mistake Writers for Serial Killers?

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You might be surprised by how many traits writers share with serial killers. FBI profilers have actually profiled a subject only to discover s/he’s not a killer. They’re a writer. Here’s why a profiler might mistake writers for serial killers.

We work alone.

Writers spend hours alone, plotting and planning the perfect demise. We let the fantasy build until we find an ideal murder method to fit our plot, and a spark ignites our creativity. We’re giddy with excitement and can’t wait to swan-dive into our story.

Serial killers also spend hours alone, plotting and planning the perfect demise. They let the fantasy build, evolve, until they find an ideal murder method, and a spark ignites them to act. They’re giddy with excitement and can’t wait for the inevitable kill.

In fact, this stage of serial killing is called the Aura Phase.

Joel Norris PhD is the founding member of the International Committee of Neuroscientists to Study Episodic Aggression. In his book SERIAL KILLERS, Norris explains the serial killer’s addiction to crime is also an addiction to specific patterns of violence that ultimately define their way of life.

A writer’s addiction passion for crime (romance, sci-fi, fantasy…) writing is also an addiction the pursuit of patterns of violence routine that ultimately defines our way of life.

Still not convinced a profiler might mistake writers for serial killers?

During the Aura Phase, the killer withdraws from reality and his/her senses heighten. Time stalls. Colors become more vibrant as though the killer’s literally viewing the world through rose-colored glasses. The killer distances themselves from society, but friends, family, and acquaintances may not detect the psychological change.

The same is true for writers.

Think about that shiny new story. What do we do? We withdraw from reality, into our writer’s cave, and our senses heighten. Time stalls as our fingers race over the keyboard. And our worlds spring to life. On the outside we may look “normal” to family and friends while obsessing—a psychological change—over details, lots of details, details about characters, plots, subplots, dialogue, and yes, murder.

Trolling

When a killer is on the hunt he’s trolling for a victim. Rather than state the obvious, I’ll pose a question: How much time have you spent deciding which character to kill?

via GIPHY

But they looked so normal.

How many times have we heard a reporter interview a serial killer’s friend or neighbor? And they all say the same thing. But they looked so normal. I had no idea.

Now, think about the first time a friend/relative/acquaintance read one of your gritty thrillers. Stunned, they close the cover. But they looked so normal. I had no idea this was going on inside their head. Or they’ll say to the writer’s significant other, “You must sleep with one eye open.”

Search History

Smart serial killers might research things like:

• How to commit the perfect murder.
• Will my fingerprints be in IAFIS if I’ve only been arrested for a misdemeanor? For non-writers, IAFIS stands for Integrated Automated Fingerprint Identification System. Why am I only addressing non-writers? Because writers know law enforcement acronyms, like CODIS (Combined DNA Index System), NDIS (National DNA Index System), BAU (Behavioral Analysis Unit), and SOP (Standard Operating Procedure).
• What’s the fastest way to dissolve a corpse?
• How long does it take to strangle someone to death?
• What’s involved in decapitation?
• Jurisdictional map of [insert state].
• How to pick a lock.
• Will a 3D-printed gun set off a metal detector?
• What’s left of a body after being hit by a train?
• Will black bears consume human remains?
• How many hours after death till rigor mortis sets in?
• Will Luminol detect bleach?
• How deep is a standard grave?

Writers, can you honestly say your search history doesn’t look similar?

An organized killer might brush up on forensics and/or law enforcement procedures to avoid detection.

via GIPHY

How many of you have pondered: Where should I dump the corpse?

via GIPHY

Let’s face facts, writers are a different breed. The only ones who truly understand us are other writers and writer spouses. If anyone deserves an award, it’s the writer’s family. I mean, c’mon, how many of you have dragged them to check out that out-of-the-way swamp to dump a fictional corpse? Or said, “Stop the car!” while passing a wood-chipper?

A writer’s “uniqueness” affects the whole family.

The other day “The Kid” called, his voice bursting with excitement. “I found the perfect place for a murder. No one around for miles. You could really do some damage there.”

Now, normal parents might be concerned by this conversation…but I’m a writer. So, I said, “Awesome! Shoot me the GPS.”

Y’know what? He did find the perfect place for a murder.

via GIPHY

Is it any wonder an FBI profiler might mistake writers for serial killers? 😀