By Elaine Viets

    Are there more typos in novels these days?
    Readers complain about “it’s” instead of  “its,” “grizzly murders” (beware of those killer bears), and plain old misspellings.
    Yes. There are more typos, in my professional opinion.
    I’m speaking as a professional proofreader. I worked my way through college proofreading everything from phone books (snore) to medical journals, including The Journal of Obstetrics and Gynecology, along with Allergy, Surgery, and more. Reading medical journals gave me a lifelong distrust of doctors.
     I’ve never forgotten proofing that stirring editorial in The American Journal of Surgery, reminding doctors to count their sponges and surgical instruments before sewing a patient back up.

      I proofread from 1968 to 1972, and made $1.59 an hour, forty cents more than the minimum wage. Each medical journal was proofread three times, by three different people. They were nearly flawless.
    Publishers can’t afford to do that any more. Now you’re lucky if your book is read once. It’s your job to catch those typos.
    Betty Wilson, a master proofreader, taught me the trade. She believed hunting typos was a matter of life and death – and for medical books she was right.
    It’s harder to proofread your own books. Your mind substitutes the right word for the mistake that’s there.
    But Betty’s three-step method will help you catch more. If you’re like me, you’re better at catching typos on paper than on a computer screen, so if you aren’t reading page proofs, print out the manuscript.
    Here’s how I read my page proofs:
    (1) Read the novel through once.
     Find a quiet spot with good light. Then turn off the TV, CD player and other distractions, and pour yourself some caffeine.

    If I’m reading a 320-page novel, I break it into 70 to 80 pages a day. Take short breaks every two or three chapters. Pour more caffeine, scratch the cat, stretch, rest your eyes, then go back to reading.
    (2) Read your book again, holding a piece of plain white paper under each line.
    You will be surprised how many typos you missed the first time.

    When you’ve finished with the white paper read, you’ll be sure you’ve caught every single mistake. Boy, are you in for a surprise. It’s time for Step three.
    (3) Read your novel out loud.
    You don’t need to shout it out. You can mumble quietly in your chair. Your family’s used to that. But reading your novel out loud is crucial. Also, crushingly boring. And hard on the throat.
     This time, skip the caffeine. It dries out your throat.  Drink water. Cold will do, but I use the radio announcer’s trick for scratchy throats. I drink hot water with a slice of lemon. It works.
  
So does reading your book aloud. You will be shocked to find still more typos. I guarantee you’ll catch at least four more this way.
    Will you get them all? Not this time.
    But you will see the last few typos – when your finished novel arrives.

                    ***
   
    DEAD-END JOB FANS: Enter for a chance to win an autographed copy of BOARD STIFF, the ultimate beach book, in time for Labor Day. Hope you get to take my 12th DEJ book to the beach. Hurry! Sweepstakes ends tomorrow, August 16. Click on  
 http://elaineviets.com/new/Contests/Contest_Enter.asp

We’re deep in the throes of preparing our house for sale, while simultaneously scouting out new digs in a neighboring beach town. I’ve never had such a hard time moving. Unlike  Clare, who has repeatedly and gracefully moved across oceans and continents, young kids in tow, with nary a complaint, I’m feeling the need to whine about the moving process to anyone who will listen.

Every previous move in my life has been simple and painless: In the past I simply called up some movers, who’d pack up my stuff and drive it in a truck to the next place, and then unpack. Finis! But this time is different, and in a horrible way. We’re lucky that we live in a nice house in a seller’s market. But, as our real estate agent sternly explained after touring the property, the Market here has certain expectations. In particular, the Market expects this type of home to be updated, pristine and uncluttered. The opposite, that is to say, of its current condition.

To meet the Market’s fussy demands, we’re using a Roman legion of professionals to whip our house into shape. The first legionnaire to arrive was a landscape architect, who drew up plans to Update our plantings. He even ordered us to replant our neighbor’s side garden, which flanks the walkway to our front door. (The Market evidently demands an attractive approach to front entrances.) Our neighbors seemed pleased, if slightly confused, by our sudden offer to replace their weedy garden strip with lucious ferns and impatiens. (These neighbors have lived in the same house for more than 20 years; obviously they haven’t heard the news about Updating.)

We did a pre-inspection review (which  gives the Market confidence that you’re not trying to sell it a lemon). The inspection report revealed a number of flaws that needed to be fixed, mostly because safety codes have been Updated during the eleven years we’ve lived here. The required repairs (which included a new roof) are being made by a rotating cast of contractors, workers, handymen, and a friend of ours named Dave who somehow got sucked into the vortex.  There were so many guys tromping through the house at one point that I lost track of who was doing what, or even who they were. As long as they were carrying tools and didn’t appear to be conducting a home invasion robbery, I simply gave them all cheerful waves and tried to stay out of their way.

Next came the Updating of the house’s cosmetics. This phase is being driven by Miriam, an interior designer. Miriam has been selecting Things That Can Stay during the showing of the house, and separating them from Things That Must Go. Everything that doesn’t make the cut will be sold, donated, or moved temporarily into giant metal pods. Miriam is daubing the walls with sample swatches of paint, plus purchasing a few select items that will Update our decor. These purchases are mostly things like colorful pillows, a rug, and timers for the lights. (The Market expects a house to be brightly lit at all times.) Our kitchen is about to become something called “two-tone,” which I didn’t even know was a trend. Miriam is constantly moving stuff around to “stage” things properly. One candleabra has moved its position about so many times, I could swear we’ve picked up a poltergeist.

 Miriam came as part of a package deal with a professional organizer named Heidi. Heidi manages her own crew of assistants. Heidi, a high-energy, smiling refugee from the corporate world, makes her living helping people like us get through complex projects such as Updating. (I’m sure Heidi doesn’t help people like Clare, because people like Clare are obviously well-organized, competent, and resourceful. They don’t need a Heidi.)

Heidi set up timelines for our “project,” and keeps an impressive spreadsheet up to date. She is researching and marketing excess items that are too expensive to sell on Craigslist or in a garage sale. For example: Heidi  discovered that a set of my dad’s old office chairs are Swedish-designer things worth about $1500-$2500 each. Which means I should call them “vintage” chairs rather than old, I guess. Bottom line: one has to be careful when getting rid of anything that comes from my family, especially funky old office chairs.

Watching over all this chaos from a strategic distance is our real estate agent, who made it clear from the beginning that she’d prefer to sell our house empty rather than with us still living in it. I have to say I’m beginning to agree with her. It would be so much easier if we could move everything into pods, check into someplace temporarily, let the professionals do their thing, and be done with the whole mess. Then we could forget about things like colored throw pillows and editing furniture, at least until we find a new house, when I guess the process kicks into reverse and starts up all over again. But my husband has vetoed moving out early as an option. So I’m coping as best I can.  F. Scott Fitzgerald captured my state of mind brilliantly in the last line of The Great Gatsby:

 “So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.”

The writing connection

I’ll bring this discussion back to writing. The publishing industry, as we all know, has been changing at a rapid clip. Indie publishing is in vogue, and longtime readers know that TKZ has a wealth of useful information about indie publishing in its archives. I’ve watched my colleagues step forth bravely into the new world, but I’ve yet to take the plunge. I’ll get there at some point, but I think I’d like to work with a project manager to get through the process, at least the first time out. I’ll need a project manager for indie publishing for the same reason I need Heidi the Project Manager for moving and selling our house–I don’t like dealing with the details of process. It isn’t my strong suit. I want there to be someone professional and trustworthy who can steer me through the whole thing. That person would 1) find a great cover designer for my new book, 2) direct me to a line editor, 3) format my manuscript, and 4) upload it to the appropriate outlets. Basically, I would pay this person to manage my indie publishing project, in the same way I pay Heidi to manage our moving project, or an accountant to manage my taxes. Does such a person or entity exist, or is a market being created? Because I’m one of those people who wants someone else to manage the nitty gritty process details, I’m nervous about falling into the hands of the sharks that prowl the indie waters. I certainly don’t want to pay a lot of money and be dissatisfied with the results.

I know we’ve talked endlessly about the how-to’s of indie publishing here at TKZ, but I’m wondering if there’s a solution for process-phobic people like me. Of course, the ideal solution would be for me to absorb all the good information we discuss here and learn how to master the process myself, but it might not ever happen. Just ask Heidi.

We all prefer to highlight the successful moments in our writing careers, but let’s visit the flip side for a moment. What mistakes or goof-ups have you made in your writing life? Did you learn any useful lessons from from the experience?

By Boyd Morrison

For the past week I’ve been on full-time puppy duty (and dooty). She’s an eight-week-old golden doodle we just got named Casey. Prepare to activate your “awwww” buttons.

Yes, we now have a living teddy bear in our house. She’s adorable, whiny, playful, clumsy, meek, and friendly. But she also looks at the world in a way that reinvigorates my approach to writing.

She’s curious, to the same degree that the Milky Way is roomy.

Everything is new to her. Every sight, sound, taste, smell, and feel is a wondrous, vibrant, scary, exhilarating experience for Casey. Sometimes she’s tentative in partaking of a new situation and sometimes she dives right in without thinking about it. A fire hose of sensory information is pointed right at her and she’s absorbing it all like a desiccated sponge. It really is a joy to watch.

I think that’s why I enjoy movies like Elf and Twins so much. Through the main characters’ eyes, it’s fun experiencing everything to which we’ve become jaded with a whole new appreciation and sense of wonder.

It’s hard for me to remember a time like that from my childhood with any fidelity. The closest recent experience I can recall was when I went to ThrillerFest for the first time. I didn’t know anyone. I didn’t know how a conference worked. I was new to the writing craft and business. I hadn’t even been to the conference location of Phoenix before then. The fire hose was turned on me and I could barely keep from drowning in the information bombarding me.

Now when I go to ThrillerFest, I know many of the attendees, I’ve been on numerous panels myself, and I’m a New York aficionado since the conference has been held there seven years in a row. Information new to me dribbles in.

The key is capturing that sense of newness and wonder in my storytelling. When I’m reading I want that fresh experience I’ve never before encountered, yet I’ve read so many stories it’s hard not to feel that I’ve seen it all before. If you’re well-read in a genre, you likely have had the same experience.

So my goal is to mirror Casey’s approach to the world when I’m staring at the blank screen. If what I’m conjuring doesn’t provoke in me that delight of discovery, then it’s probably crap that doesn’t belong on the page. And nobody wants to look at a pile of dooty.

By Elaine Viets

    The first chapter is the hardest – at least for me.
    In one page, I have to catch the reader’s attention, set the scene, and introduce the main characters.
    But I can’t overdo it. Too many characters, and my first chapter has “crowded room syndrome.” The plot can’t move forward and readers lose track of everyone. Also, a mystery has to pass the three-second test: That’s how long bookstore customers supposedly linger over the first page before they decide to buy it or put it back.
     I’ll spare you the whining, pacing, and time wasting it took to start “Board Stiff,” my new Dead-End Job hardcover. Here’s the condensed version.

     “Board Stiff” is the ultimate beach book.

I wrote about the cutthroat competition for tourist dollars on Florida beaches. I was inspired by a newspaper story about companies that rented paddleboards, surf boards and other beach toys and sabotaged their competitors. In my book, sabotage naturally became murder.
    Standup paddleboarding is the hot sport.

In “Board Stiff,” Sunny Jim Sundusky believes someone is destroying his paddleboard rental business. 
    I started the chapter with this quote:
   “They’re trying to kill me,” Sunny Jim Sundusky said. “They nearly succeeded in March, but I’m a tough old buzzard. I survived. They almost got me in April, but I escaped again.”     That’s a grabber, I decided. But who’s Sunny Jim talking to? And why? Most important, where are they? Some novels have snappy openings, but leave the characters floating in space for pages. I made sure Sunny Jim was securely grounded in the second paragraph:
   Helen Hawthorne and her husband, Phil Sagemont, sat across from Sunny Jim in their black-and-chrome chairs in the Coronado Investigations office. Sunny Jim sat in the yellow client chair, looking anything but sunny.     Now I’d introduced the three principals: Private eyes Helen and Phil, and this Sunny Jim character.
    The Dead-End Job mysteries are told from Helen’s point of view. Here’s her take on Sunny Jim:
    Sun-dried was more like it, Helen thought, as she studied him. His face was red leather. His blond hair was dyed and flash-fried in a crinkly permanent. But he did look tough.       

Helen has more to say more about Sunny Jim’s looks, but I needed to get on with the story. Why is he in their office?
     “They’re gonna keep coming after me until they stop me for good,” he said. “That’s why I wanna hire you two. I hear you’re the best private eyes in South Florida.”     I let Sunny Jim say the couple is the best in South Florida – and also pin the chapter to a place on the map.
    The response is typical Helen and Phil, and reveals something about the PI pair. Phil knows they’re the best detective agency in South Florida. He takes Jim’s praise as his due. Helen is more modest.
    “We were lucky to get good publicity,” Helen said.
    “That wasn’t luck,” Phil said. “That was good detecting.”
    “That’s what I need,” Sunny Jim said. “Detecting. I want you to stop them before they  stop me – permanently.”      Helen is the observant one. She watches Sunny Jim while he talks, and gives us a better picture of their potential client. 
    He stabbed his chest with a brown callused hand, right in the smiling sun on his yellow SUNNY JIM’S STAND-UP PADDLEBOARD RENTAL T-shirt. His arms and legs were roped with muscle and his chest was a solid slab.
    Helen had seen enough steroid hardbodies to know that Jim built that beef the old-fashioned way. She thought he was attractive in a dated disco style, except he was too young to have caught the seventies’ disco fever. She guessed his age on the shady side of thirty-five.     My novel’s first page ends with Sunny Jim’s demand for action:
   “So, you gonna save my business or not?” Jim’s eyes were hidden behind expensive shades – Floridians rarely had naked eyes – but his chin jutted in a challenge.   
    I patted myself on the back and kept on writing.

   
    What did my editor think? She wanted one change: “How can Sunny Jim call himself old if he’s around thirty-five?” she asked.
    Oh, right. I changed that line to read:
    “They nearly succeeded in March, but I’m one tough buzzard.
    “Board Stiff” was launched.
    *******************************************
Check out the “Board Stiff” book trailer: http://tinyurl.com/ljgyzen
Buy it as an e-book and hardcover from bn.com: http://tinyurl.com/mvzbtfz
Buy it on Amazon: http://tinyurl.com/kqdd8dj

 I apologize for posting late today–life intervened last week in the form of some surgery that is basically a tweak to some brain rewiring I had done a few years ago. (Anyone interested in the details can click here.)

The surgical tweak I had done last week went fine, but it has imposed a few constraints on my life. For the next few weeks I’m not allowed to drive; turn my head; walk faster than a snail on a hot sidewalk; wear contacts or glasses, which means I’m basically as blind as a cave fish. (I did some research to find which critter is the blindest of the blind in the Animal Kingdom, and it appears to be the cave fish. Let me know if you discover some critter that’s even more myopic than my fishy friend. You never know when that kind of IFNWK (Interesting Fact Not Worth Knowing) might come in handy in your writing.

The upside to this whole experience is that the surgeons have flung open the doors of the locker of Happy Drugs. So my mood is quite cheerful, although my writing seems to have gone on a wee little vacay. I’m thinking I’ll give it 10 days before I call the Writing Police to wrangle that little mongrel called discipline back into my brain.

I just reread that last line, and I suspect the docs have given me just a few too many Happy pills today. So I’ll leave you with a question: Have you ever had a physical issue that brought life to a screeching halt, and did it affect your writing? How did you find the road back, and what helped you the most?