Yesterday’s excellent post by PJ Parrish about the first pages of this year’s nominees for the Edgar Allan Poe Mystery Award brought me back to the year when I served as a judge for best novel of the year. I looked at it an an honor–a rite of passage, of sorts, in the same vein as jury duty. I would set aside hundreds of hours of my life over the coming year as a means of paying tribute other writers, in service to this artform that I love so much.
Of necessity, much of the process is veiled in secrecy. As such, I have no idea if my judging experience bears any resemblance to that of any other review committee. And, to honor commitments I made to keep the process quiet, I won’t just keep titles to myself, but I won’t even mention the year in which I served. (Hint: It was a long time ago.)
We’re talking a lot of books. Every hardcover mystery, thriller, or genre-adjacent book published between January 1 and December 31 of the year under review. The number that I recall is 492, all delivered to the front door. The UPS driver got a very good Christmas bonus that year.
“Best book” is an absolute. This was the first speed bump for me. Best is best, hard stop. The standard is not really, really good, or “Wow, that’s an original take!” Best is “none better.” No silver medals here. It’s daunting.
The books don’t arrive all at once. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. During the first few months of the 12-month submission period, I received books at a rate of a manageable trickle. Easy-peasy. Well over 100 arrived during the month of December, a good number of those squeaking in just under the New Year’s Eve deadline. Bummer for those authors.
Judging is done by committee. As I recall, I was one of 7 judges on the best novel committee that year, each of us representing a different corner of the suspense writing universe–cozies, thrillers, hardboiled, etc. I don’t know if that’s typical, but I though it was a touch of brilliance. We were well wrangled by an under-appreciated and overworked committee chair. I forget the details of how it all worked exactly, but as tranches of books arrived, each of us would provide ranked lists of our favorites (top 10 at first, winnowed to top five toward the end), which often bore little resemblance to each other.
Confirmation bias is real. For me, it boiled down to best being best. Given the numbers involved, if what might have been the greatest book ever written didn’t become interesting before page 20, it surrendered its shot at being absolute best. (Ironically, if that book had been one of the initial submissions in the slow times, it might have had a shot. If it had been submitted in the December tranche, it would have been lucky to have a 10-page fuse.) Other judges refused to consider books written by certain famous names. Hey, judges are people, too.
Production values matter. This one is really an aside, but its an important one. There’s a look and feel to a well-produced book–factors that go above and beyond the quality of the writing itself–that have a big impact on the overall reading experience. Font size, binding, paper quality, and I’m sure a bunch of other qualities I don’t understand make a subliminal difference to a reader. Something for all of us to keep in mind.
It’s all friendly until the end. As I recall, our final submission deadline for nominees was sometime in early February. Seven judges, each reading roughly 500 books, represents 3,500 individual reading experiences. There’ll be disagreements. By this time, though, the obvious non-starters have been eliminated, and we were down to the last 20-30 books that not only were all very good (okay, I didn’t particularly like two of them), and we have to narrow it down to a total of one winner and four runners up. Exactly four, not five. In my year, the winner was the book that was common to each of the judges’ top-five lists, though not necessarily in the top slot. As for the runners up, that’s where the fighting occurred. My top two picks don’t appear anywhere on the final list. I’m confident that other judges can say the same thing.
So what do awards mean in the end?
Having won the Thriller Award for Best Paperback Original in 2016, I can tell you that it means a lot to be recognized by one’s peers. It’s humbling. And I deeply appreciate the honor.
But being involved in the process taught me that “best” does not, in fact, mean “best” because such a standard cannot exist in an arena as subjective as art. What “best” really means is engaging and entertaining enough to rate inclusion on lists that also include other writers whose works I admire and whose talent I envy.
The final takeaway is this: Cliche notwithstanding, the true honor lies in being nominated in the first place.
I’ve begun my annual Edgar banquet chairman duties. I enjoy this a lot because it forces me to pay close attention to some of the best writing our genre has to offer. This year, as in the past, I thought I’d share the openings of the six nominees for Best Novel. Some really seasoned vets in the mix and a couple you might not know. I tried to break the excerpts off at logical places to give each writer enough time to find their narrative legs. All typos are mine, by the way. I had to hand-enter these. Curse you, Amazon…
Let’s take a look at how they have chosen to open their stories. My comments follow each excerpt.
Flags On The Bayou. By James Lee Burke.
Morning on the Lady of the Lake Plantation can be grand experience, particularly in the late fall when the sky is a clear blue, and the wind is blowing in the swamp, Spanish moss lifting in the trees, and thousands of ducks quacking as they end their long journey to the South. However, in this era of trouble and woe it is difficult to hold on to these poignant moments, as was the case last evening when our Christian invaders from the North lit up the sky with airbursts that disintegrated into curds of yellow smoke and descended on the grass and swamp in configurations that resembled spider legs.
A twisted piece of hot metal landed no more than ten feet from the chair in which I sat and the artist’s easel on which I painted, but I did not go inside the house. I would like to tell you that I am brave and inured to the damage cannon fire can wreck on the bodies of both human beings and animals. But that is not the case. There’s a Minie still parked in my left leg and I need no convincing of the damage Billy Yank can do when he gets up his quills. The truth is I both fear the wrath of our enemies, as I fear the wrath of God, and at the same time wish that I could burn inside its flame and be cleansed of the guilt that I never thought would be mine,
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Well, you know you’re in Burke-landia from the get-go, right? This is a writer renowned for his lyricism, and we are firmly in the narrator’s point of view here. I admire, as always, Burke’s descriptive power. I love the image of “curds” of yellow smoke, and I am a sucker for a vivid sense of place. But such a leisurely build is not everyone’s cup of tea, including mine. The pace is slow and deliberate, thanks to the long paragraphs and phrasing. I do like the way Burke gently reveals details about his narrator — he’s a wounded vet who now finds peace in painting. And that last subtle line is terrific — he needs to be free of a guilt that he might feel is not rightly his. That last line would make me set aside impatience and read on. How about you?
All The Sinners Bleed by S.A. Cosby
Charon County was founded in bloodshed and darkness.
Literally and figuratively.
Even the name is enveloped in shadows and morbidity. Legend has it the name of the county was supposed to be Charlotte or Charles County, but the town elders waited too late and those names were already taken by the time they decided to incorporate their fledging encampment. As the story goes, they just moved their fingers down the list until they settled on Charon. Those men, weathered as whitleather with hands like splitting mauls, bestowed the name on their new town with no regard to its macabre nature. Or perhaps they just like the name because a river flowed through the county and emptied into the Chesapeake like the River Styx.
Who knows? Who could know the thoughts of these long-dead men.
What is known is that 1805 in the dead of night a group of white landowners, chafing at the limits of their own manifest destiny, set fire to the last remaining indigenous village on the teardrop-shaped peninsula that would become Charon County.
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Another slow, measured opening that, like Burke’s, centers around the sense of place. Cosby has chosen to establish Charon County as a character, including an overt mythological reference to Charon, the ferryman who carried souls over the river Styx that separated life and death. Nice, that. Sort of forebodding. We don’t get a clear sense of who is narrating here. I suspect, unlike Burke’s, it’s omniscient. I like the pacing: The opening graph is long but relief comes with the break “Who know?…” Then we get the kicker graph that tells a village and its people was brutally wiped off the earth. A couple fine images here, including “weathered as whitleather.” Had to look that up: Whitleathering is a special tanning process that keeps leather white. I would definitely read on.
The Madwomen Of Paris by Jennfier Cody Epstein
I didn’t see her the day she came to the asylum.
Looking back, this sometimes strikes me as unlikely. Impossible, even, given how utterly her arrival would upend the already chaotic order of things at the Salpetriere — not to mention change the course of my own life there. At times I even forget I wasn’t present at that pivotal moment, for I can see it so clearly in my mind’s eye: The bloodstreaked clothing and skin. The wild eyes and unnkempt hair. The slim legs, bare of stockings, covered with bruises and mud. That single bare foot — for she had lost her boot at some point — as white and fragile as an unshelled egg. My mind replays her screams as the orderlies drag her from the ambulance, an otherworldly mix of falcon and banshee interspered with strangled pleas: nonono, don’t TOUCH me and I will kill myself and — most chilling of all: They are coming. Do you hear me? THEY ARE COMING! I marvel at the sheer physical strength I saw — or think I saw — her displaying, at the way she fought so viciously against the men attempting to drag her into the administration building that they had to briefly lay her down to attend to a wrist she had bitten, a cheek she had scratched, a kick she had successfully landed to a loathsome man’s privates…It’s all etched into my head with such clarity that, more than once, I’ve consulted the journal I kept at the time, scanning through its scribbled pages to affirm that these “memories” are, in fact, not memories at all. That rather, they are imaginative reconstructions, woven together from various medical reports and doctors’ musing, and from snippets gleaned from those who did witness her arrival — or else were party to it, and bore the injuries to prove it.
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Do you notice a pattern here? We seem to be getting all slow-build, contemplative narrations. No action to be found. I found all six entries to be of the same nature. With Epstein’s, I am a little put off by the dense second paragraph. When I read it cold the first time, I didn’t care for it at all. By having to retype it for this post, I was forced to slow down and consider it more carefully. I love the opening line and the fact the writer chose to set it off by itself. But that big chunky second graph is a lot to chew on. Lots of descriptive memories embedded. Too many? What do you all think? Again, like Burke’s opening, we are locked into the narrator’s memories. Everything is in the past. I’m guessing Epstein is using an unreliable narrator here — she’s in an asylum, says she never saw the patient, and even admits her “memories” might be false. Intriguing, if a bit turgid for my taste. Not a fan of all those colons, elipses and dashes. And I found some points repetitious, especially her telling us several times she actually witnessed nothing.
Bright Young Women by Jessica Knoll
You may not remember me, but I have never forgotten you, begins the letter written in the kind of cursive they don’t teach in schools anymore. I read the sentence twice in stinging astonishment. It’s been forty-three years since my brush with the man even the most reputable papers called the All-American Sex Killer, and my name has long since fallen to a footnote in the story.
I’d given the return address only a cursory glance before sliding a nail beneath the envelope’s gummed seam, but now I hold it at arm’s length and say the sender’s name out loud, emphatically, as thought I’ve been asked to answer the same question twice by someone who definitely heard me the first time. The letter writer is wrong. I have never forgotten her, either, though she is welded to a memory that I’ve often wished I could.
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I like this opening best. Yes, we are in narrator’s memories AGAIN. But Knoll keeps things tight and moving along, taking us quickly back to the present with the image of holding the letter at arm’s length. There’s a lot of good tension building here. We know immediately we’re dealing with a serial killer. We know the narrator has a relationship to her. We know it’s haunting her. Tight and tense. Well done, I say.
An Honest Man by Michael Koryta
The yacht appeared nine weeks after Israel returned to his father’s house, and even from a distance and under the squeezed red sun of dawn, he could see that the vessel was in trouble. Adrift, rudderless, a possession of the sea rather than a partner of it.
Like anyone who’d grown up on an island off the coast of Maine, he’d seen boats drift before — five of them he would later recall for investigators — and in four of those circumstances, the boats had been empty. In the fifth, a child had been aboard, alone after cutting the lines at a dock and letting the tide take him. The boy’s goal had been to teach his parents a lesson and Israel supposed he’d succeeded, because the boat was in the rocks before they got to it.
So five times he had watched the meandering, listless behavior of a boat without a human hand to direct it, that drunkard’s drift, and five times no one had been hurt. The sixth time would be different.
Why? What was so different about this one? the investigators would ask.
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Again, we are getting another slow build, the storytelling unfolding through a narrator’s memories. Must be a trend. The action has ALREADY HAPPENED and thing are now in the hands of investigators. Given that I had read the similar approaches of the other nominees, I was longing for an active opening by this point. But I like this opening. It creates tension via the idea that Israel (the narrator) has seen many “drunkard drift” boats before (nice line, that) — but there’s something really hinky with this sixth boat.. I’d read on, but I am really longing for some present-time action and less remembrance. Which leads us to…
The River We Remember by William Kent Krueger
The Alabaster River cuts diagonally across Black Earth County, Minnesota, a crooked course like a long crack in a china plate. Flowing out of Sioux Lake, it runs seventy miles before crossing the border into Iowa, south of Jewel, the county seat. It’s a lovely river filled with water that’s only slightly silted, making it the color weak tea. Most folks who’ve grown up in Black Earth County have swum in the river, fished it pools, picnicked on its banks. Except in spring, when it’s proned to flooding, they think of it as an old friend. On quiet nights when the moon is full or nearly so and the surface of the Alabaster is mirror-still and glows pure white in the dark bottomland, to stand on the hillside and look down on this river is to fall in love.
With people, we fall in love too easily, it seems, and too easily fall out of love. But with the land it’s different. We abide much. We can pour our sweat and blood, our very hearts into a piece of earth and get nothing but fields of hail-crushed soybean plants or drought-withered cornstalks or fodder for a plague of locusts, and we still love this place enough to die for it. In Black Earth County, people understand these things.
If you visit the Alabaster at sunrise or sunset you’re likely to see the sudden small explosions of water where fish are feeding. Although there are many kinds of fish that make the Alabaster their home, the most aggressive are channel catfish. They’re mudsuckers, bottomfeeders, river vultures, the worst kind of scavengers.Channel cats will eat anything.
This is the story of how they came to eat Jimmy Quinn.
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This is a prologue. Nice and short, thank goodness, because you know how much I dislike them. Krueger, like Burke, is known for his ability to create a memorable sense of place. It’s his hallmark. Again, a slow build, a leisurely fat first graph to tell us where we are — this river is special, Kreuger is stressing, so special you fall under its spell. But then things start to turn darker. The water “explodes” with jumping fish and the worst are the rapacious catfish. And that last line — set off in its own paragraph, please note! — what a good kicker. This opening reminds me of David’s Lynch’s famous opening shot from Blue Velvet: To the accompaniment of Bobby Vinton’s romantic song and chirping birds, the slow-mo camera reveals an ldyllic suburban street with children playing, white picket fences, red roses. A man angrily battles a snake-like garden hose and has a stroke. Then the camera burrows into the grass, the music is replaced by awful gnawing sounds and we get creepy close-ups of devouring beetles. Like that, Krueger sets up a lovely normal then plunges you into cannibal-abnormal. Bill, I didn’t know you had it in you, man.
Crook Manifesto by Colson Whitehead.
From then on whenever he heard the song he thought of the death of Munson. It was the Jackson 5 after all who put Ray Carney back in the game following four years on the straight and narrow. The straight and narrow –– it described a philosophy and a territory, a neighborhood with borders and local customs. Sometimes when he crossed Seventh Avenue on the way to work he mumbled the words to himself like a rummy trying not to weave across the sidewalk on the way home from the bars.
Four years of honest and hard work in home furnishings. Carney outfitted newlyweds for their expedition and upgraded living rooms to suit improved circumstances, coached retirees through the array of modern recliner options. It was a grave responsibility. Just last week one of his customers told him that her father had passed away in his sleep “with a smile on his face” while cradling in a Sterling Dreamer purchased at Carney’s Furniture. The man had been a plumber with the city for thirty-five years, she said. His final earthly feeling had been the luxurious caress of that polyurethene core. Carney was glad the man went out satisfied — how tragic your last thought to be “I should have gone with the Naugahyde.” He dealt in assessories. Accent pieces of lifeless spaces. It sounded boring. It was. It was also fortifying, the way that under-seasoned food and watered-down drinks could provide nourishment, if not pleasure.
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See what I meant about the narrator-memory trend? Must be something in the drinking water this year. I like the cleanliness of Whitehead’s style — no fussy colons and commas, a good mix of long and short sentences. Note that even though both graphs are longish, that long-short mix helps the pacing. The voice feels authentic, weary-wry, and that’s what drew me in here. (I should have gone with the Naugahyde!) I like this guy Carney and I want to know what pushed him off the “straight and narrow.”
Whelp, that’s it, crime dogs. Would love to hear what you all think about these openings. All our lines are open to take your calls.
And just because this is my post and I love this opening so much, here’s Blue Velvet.
It seems that going down a rabbit hole while doing online research is a given. Sometimes we find what we need at the outset and can escape within minutes, but I’ve spent hours following one lead to another only to wind up watching cute puppy videos.
When writing these days, I might come to a place that needs specific details such as a type or caliber of pistol, or what to call the round hole in a wood stove (the hob), or the vegetation in a specific part of Texas, but I do my best not to get sidetracked. Instead, I use those opportunities as short breaks from the work in progress to add bits and pieces of accumulated background information to my story, instead of spending days or weeks digging around to find so much minutia that the manuscript will resemble an eycyclopedia.
But I’m working on the second weird western in a new series (the contract is almost here!) and this time needed a little background information about the lands owned and controlled by the Comanches in the middle to late 1800s. I’d looked at a number of online maps to get a sense of the area called Comancheria, but I needed to walk the country and see and smell it up close for myself.
To do this, another couple we’ve known for decades joined the Bride and I in a week-long getaway to the Texas Panhandle, and specifically the Palo Duro Canyon, the Lone Star version of the Grand Canyon.
Some of our plans went awry when wildfires swept across the panhandle, preventing us from visiting a couple historical sites I wanted to see. Instead, we traveled south of that area, settling ourselves in a wonderful house on the rim of the canyon. It became our base camp of sorts.
The first trip was to visit the Charles Goodnight home, a restored structure built in 1888 by a bigger than life cowman and plainsman who was instrumental in settling west Texas. He served as a Texas Ranger, scout, established the JA Ranch in the Palo Duro area, invented the chuckwagon, and blazed a number of trails for cattle drives all the way to Wyoming.
We hiked the canyon, found the location of Goodnight’s 1877 ranch at the bottom, watched wildlife, sunrises and sunsets, and studied the light that seemed to change down in there every hour. We stood where Comanches camped, and imagined what it was like when the cavalry finally caught up with them one morning and broke the back of that tribe’s resistance forever by massacring women and children.
When we returned, my traveling buddy, Steve Knagg, (who has been a fan of Mr. Goodnight for years) gave me a biography first published in 1936. A history buff anyway, and knowing this volume contained enormous amounts of information, I sat down to read and couldn’t stop.
Before long it was full of notes on scraps of paper, marked pages, and sticky tabs. I quickly realized that Goodnight and the country he rode would figure predominantly in my next manuscript. However, it won’t be the first time his exploits have appeared in a fictional novel.
Most native Texans know the story of Goodnight, and the establishment of cattle trails in the 1870s and 80s, and are somewhat familiar with the famous Goodnight-Loving trail. I’d read books about this time period and these men before, and knew that Larry McMurtry loosely based Lonesome Dove on their adventures. I was surprised to see how well he used history to support the storyline.
The fictional and actual events paralleled closely as I read the real account of early Texas, written by J. Evetts Haley. It was eerie, since I’ve absorbed the novel Lonesome Dove at least half a dozen times, and watched the movie more times than I can recall. It sparked an interesting sense of déjà vu.
That came from the amount of real history McMurtry wove into that Pulitzer Prize winning novel released in 1985.
For example, did you know that August McCrae and Woodrow Call were based on Charles Goodnight and Oliver Loving? Many Texas history buffs have an inkling, but those two wonderful fictional characters are rooted in Texas lore.
The near-fatal engagement between Gus and the Cheyenne in Montana was based on a fight between Goodnight and a Comanche war party. It really occurred on the Pecos River in New Mexico and his real partner who escaped to find help was named One-Armed Wilson (in the book it was Pea Eye, played by Timothy Scott in the movie).
In the book, Gus lost his leg in Miles City after a long cattle drive, but in reality, Oliver Loving lost an arm to gangrene in New Mexico. Both eventually passed away from their wounds.
Like Woodrow Call who hauled Gus back from Montana to a pecan grove in Texas, Goodnight brought his old friend back from Ft. Sumner, New Mexico, to Weatherford, Texas for burial, (nearly 450 miles), but he didn’t make the trip alone. He was accompanied by half a dozen cowboys who escorted the body in a somber funeral party.
One of the characters in the book, a scout named Deets, was inspired by a cowboy and close friend to Goodnight, Bose Ikard (inset below). Unlike Deets who was killed by a young warrior, Ikard died of natural causes in 1929, but Goodnight’s respect for the man was so high that he really did carve a headstone with some of the same phrases later used in the book and movie.
Actual Epitaph: Served with me four years on the Goodnight-Loving Trail, never shirked a duty or disobeyed and order, rode with me in many stampedes, participated in three engagements with Comanches. Splendid behavior.
Fictional Epitaph: Josh Deets. Served with me 30 years. Fought in 21 engagements with the Comanches and Kiowa. Cheerful in all weathers.
I’ve had writers tell me they’re afraid to use real people or events because they feel it’s some kind of plagiarism, or they’ll face legal challenges from family or other entities, or at the very least, it’s stealing in some sense. The discussion above proves it’s perfectly all right to base characters on historic figures who inspire a story, and by changing the names, locations, and specifics to suit the plot under construction, the fictional actors are yours.
McMurtry did it, and wove an incredible story of two men who have immortalized the old west, even though Lonesome Dove was never meant to be a faithful depiction of Charles Goodnight and Oliver Loving, but became a wonderfully failed attempt to demystify traditional westerns.
Oh, and full disclosure about that great author, I have a story about how he snubbed me over twenty years ago by turning his back and walking away as I thanked him for his inspiration and body of work, but that’s another story.
Here’s the point. It’s all right to draw from history to create fiction, and the truth be told, I followed McMurtry’s lead and used historical characters and events in my aforementioned upcoming weird western, Comancheria, so I’m-a doin’ it again with this second book in the series.
The saying, “All good things must come to an end,” is attributed to Geoffrey Chaucer, 1374 (Random House Dictionary). The phrase was originally “Everything has an end.”
Another quote, “Good things come to those who wait,” is from Lady Mary Montgomerie Currie, who wrote under her pseudonym, Violet Fane.
So, which is it? Do all good things end? Or do good things begin if we wait?
How about both? And how about relating that to our reading and our writing?
Mickey Spillane said, “The first chapter sells the book; the last chapter sells the next book.”
Maybe we could say, Good beginnings lead to good endings lead to good beginnings?
The archives here at TKZ are loaded with discussions of both beginnings and endings. Just use the search box.
Today, let’s keep the assignment simple.
For Readers: What techniques or content in the ending or last chapter of a book are most likely to make you look for another book by the same author?
For Writers: What tricks and techniques do you use in your endings to capture the reader and make them want to read your next book?
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A thank you to readers and participants:
After several years of blogging here at TKZ, I am stepping down because of family responsibilities. This has been an incredible opportunity, and I wish to express my appreciation to all the TKZ writers who have made this possible. I also want to thank those of you who have read and commented on my blogs. Your participation has made this a high point in my writing life.
I will continue to send a monthly newsletter/blog post to those who wish to follow my writing and pen making. You can sign up on the home page of my website – https://stevehooleywriter.com/ – The newsletter will contain a Bookfunnel link to a free book, Bolt’s Story, a prequel to my Mad River Magic series, and will also provide regular opportunities to sign up for drawings to win one of my hand-crafted, legacy pens, made with antique wood.
As I’m still in New Zealand, I’m delighted to have James L’Etoile as my guest today. I first met James at a Left Coast Crime conference, where he endeared himself to me forever by handing out chocolates wrapped with images of his recent release’s cover. Yes, chocolates. Yes, I’m easy. Oh, and he writes good books, too. I have no idea what day or time it is, or when or if I’ll have internet access, so James will be responding to comments. Take it away, James.
Hey there! Terry left a key under a rock by the back door and told me to let myself in. Terry was nice enough to offer me a guest post slot here on The Kill Zone if I promised to clean up after myself. I found a note reminding me no loud parties and be mindful of the curfew. Terry asked me to talk about how I went from a life of crime to writing about it. She may not have phrased it exactly that way…
I was in prison for 29 years as a result of choices I made. Oh, I should probably clarify that I worked in prison as opposed to having been sent there by a judge. I served as a hostage negotiator, captain, associate warden in a maximum-security prison, and director of California’s parole system. Still, it was doing time along with 3,000 men who couldn’t function in society without killing people.
Every day brought new challenges and demonstrated the worst humanity had to offer. My goal at the end of each shift was to have no new holes in my stab-resistant vest. So, what does this have to do with writing crime fiction? It’s not what you might think.
I didn’t begin writing until after I escaped (retired) from prison. One spring morning, I sat in the backyard with my coffee and a book. The coffee was good—the book—no so much. I tossed it aside and muttered, “I could do better than this.” Could I? It became a challenge. Could I lean to write commercial fiction?
Writing commercial crime fiction meant learning story structure. It meant discovering dialogue, tone, point of view, and pacing—all new territory for me. Books, online resources helped, but it wasn’t until I began attending workshops and classes that it started to come together. In particular, I credit the Book Passage Mystery Writers conference with putting me on the right course. It’s a small writer-focused weekend bringing in established authors who present craft sessions and offer their insights and encouragement. It gave me the basic tools of the trade.
But there was something missing. Sure, I had the technical skills in my pocket. But could I truly write crime fiction? The confidence—the can I really do this factor—held me back. Until I thought back to one of the first jobs I held as a probation officer preparing presentence reports for the sentencing judge.
A presentence report gives the judge a complete picture of the case and the defendant. I would interview the convicted person in the jail and get their take on the offense. Did they express remorse? Blame the victim? I read all the investigative reports, interviewed the detectives, spoke with the victim, or the next of kin, all to get a sense of the defendant and the crime. All this information would be cobbled together in a narrative for the judge. Years later, it dawned on me that I’d been writing crimes stories all along.
The realization that I’d done this before was enough to give me the confidence to take on writing crime fiction. I’ve learned how to use my experience in the system to help bring a little authentic flavor to the stories I write.
Face of Greed, for example, was based on one of the first murder cases I worked. The real-life situation was a home invasion which took a deadly turn. A real estate broker was shot in front of his family by three gang members. After they were arrested, the gang members claimed the victim was a drug dealer who had been holding out on them. One claimed the killing was self-defense because the victim pulled a handgun from a floor safe. Their story quickly fell apart, and the gangsters turned on one another for better plea deal. The truth was the home was targeted because the homeowner was believed to keep large sums of cash in his safe. The jury saw through their fiction and quickly convicted all three.
The case stayed with me after all these years and when I thought about a novel with an opening scene featuring a home invasion, I thought—what if there was something more going on in that house?
Now, working on the draft of what will be my twelfth novel, I’ve come to realize it doesn’t get any easier, but I’ve got the tools and confidence to see it through. Oh, I did meet that author—the one whose book I tossed aside. I thanked them for giving me the inspiration to become an author. I didn’t tell them exactly how they inspired my path. Sometimes you don’t need to tell the whole story.
How about you? If you’ve tried something new, where did you find your source of inspiration?
James L’Etoile uses his twenty-nine years behind bars as an influence in his award-winning novels, short stories, and screenplays. He is a former associate warden in a maximum-security prison, a hostage negotiator, and director of California’s state parole system. His novels have been shortlisted or awarded the Lefty, Anthony, Silver Falchion, and the Public Safety Writers Award.
Face of Greed is his most recent novel. Look for Served Cold and River of Lies, coming in 2024. You can find out more at his website, jamesletoile.com
Let’s flashback to September 2020 when an anonymous Brave Author submitted a first page entitled The Recruiter for critique. I was fortunate to be the critiquer. The page demonstrated excellent craft skills. The first-person voice was both funny and grim, reminding me of Raymond Chandler, my all-time favorite author.
It was also a difficult page to critique because there was almost nothing wrong with it. Comments from other readers were overwhelmingly positive.
I’m always glad when a Brave Author steps forward and responds to feedback. This BA shed his cloak of anonymity and introduced himself as Gregg Podolski.
Gregg Podolski
A subject we often discuss here at TKZ is the right place to begin a novel. Gregg recognized this scene, although action-packed, was not the best beginning.
Another frequent TKZ subject is “Killing your darlings.” This is always a difficult decision for authors to make. Fortunately, Gregg realized that, as much fun as he had writing the scene, and, despite favorable feedback comments, this page had to go.
Other readers and I asked Gregg to let us know when the book was published.
But…from first page critique to publication is often a loooooong journey. I wasn’t holding my breath because many good novels unfortunately don’t see the light of publication.
Then, in 2022, Gregg emailed me to say Blackstone Publishing would release The Recruiter in July 2024.
Wow! Wonderful news!
He also mentioned I was the first person outside his family to read and offer feedback on the story. That made me feel good because it’s especially rewarding to see a piece I’d admired come to fruition.
Several weeks ago, Blackstone sent me an ARC (advanced review copy) which I’d requested.
I’m pleased to say the book far exceeded the potential shown back in 2020 in that original first page.
The Recruiter is a tense, gritty, contemporary noir thriller with hard-boiled echoes of Philip Marlowe and Sam Spade. It’s in the first-person point of view (POV) of Rick Carter, a world-weary alcoholic who deserted his wife and children. He earns a living by recruiting assassins, gun runners, and assorted unsavory thugs to do dirty work for wealthy, powerful clients concerned with preserving their upstanding reputations.
Yeah, I know. Rick Carter sounds more like a villain. Yet Gregg managed to infuse enough humor and humanity into this anti-hero to keep me reading and fascinated.
I invited Gregg to discuss his journey from first page critique to publication in today’s interview.
Debbie Burke: Gregg, welcome back to TKZ and big congratulations on the upcoming release of The Recruiter! Where did the idea of an executive recruiter for criminals come from?
Gregg Podolski: Thanks so much for having me, Debbie! As far as the idea, I’ve been a professional recruiter for the last 17 years, and it dawned on me that there really wasn’t a lot of books about my profession in the fiction world. I didn’t just want to do a John Grisham book but with recruiters instead of lawyers, though. Instead of writing about a recruiter who was a good guy caught in a bad situation, I thought it would be more unique—and more fun—to write about a guy who recruits bad people to help other bad people do bad things. See if I could turn a character who would be a secondary villain in a typical thriller into the protagonist of an entire novel.
DB: How long have you been writing? Have you attended classes, workshops, or conferences? Any previous publications?
GP: My first short story, “The Horse Raised by Wolves,” was published in Highlights Magazine when I was 7 years old. Six years later, in 8th grade, I wrote my first thriller novella, “Poison 101,” which my dad submitted to Reader’s Digest, but was rejected with a very nice letter from their editor who encouraged me to keep writing. Both stories are available to read on my website, greggpodolski.com, for anyone who’s interested. I’ve been writing ever since, with no specific training or extra classes. I wrote two full novels, half of another one, and a collection of humorous essays before writing The Recruiter during the early days of the pandemic in 2020. None of those earlier works were published, though a few got some mild interest from agents.
DB: Your lead character Rick Carter starts off as a big jerk. When you originally envisioned the story, did you have his entire character arc/transformation in mind? Or did he evolve during the writing process?
GP: I always knew this book was going to be about Rick reconciling the man he used to be with the man he’s become, but how he accomplished that definitely evolved as I wrote. The biggest change is evident if you compare the first page you critiqued with the character he is in the finished novel. The guy you met in that since-discarded first page was a little tougher than the guy he turned into. I just really liked the idea of writing a book in which the action hero is kind of bad at the action stuff.
DB: The plot of The Recruiter has many reversals, course changes, and surprise twists. I gotta ask—are you a plotter, a pantser, or a combination?
GP: Definitely a combo. I always know how a book will begin and end before I start, and then the connecting story beats come to me as I go. My phone is filled with notes ranging from a single line of dialogue to an outline for an entire scene. I type them up as they come to me and then try to work them in wherever they make sense. So, in a way, I sort of plot as I pants.
DB: Can you share the process you went through to get The Recruiter accepted for publication?
GP: I always knew I wanted to go the traditional publishing route, as I am far too lazy to self-publish. The Cliff’s Notes version is that I wrote the first draft from March-June of 2020, revised it twice, then started querying agents in September. By June of 2021, I had racked up around 50 rejections/no responses and two offers. I picked the one who I felt best connected with both me and my manuscript, then we revised it again over the summer. We went out on sub right before Thanksgiving and I received the offer from Blackstone Publishing in March of 2022.
DB: In the epilogue, you left the door open for more adventures with Rick Carter. Is another Recruiter book in the works?
GP: Not only in the works but written and submitted to Blackstone, waiting for their approval! I would love nothing more than to turn this into a book-per-year series, for as long as readers are interested in seeing what Rick gets up to next.
DB: Anything else you’d like to add?
GP:Just to say how appreciative I am of you and the entire TKZ community. I’m more of a lurker than a commenter, but I check the site every day as part of my morning routine, and recommend it regularly to anyone looking for writing advice. The feedback you provided on my first page critique and the wealth of knowledge and encouragement in the comments section was exactly the boost of confidence I needed as I dove into the query trenches, even if that first page remains in my Deleted Material file. That’s why this interview is so special to me, and is without a doubt one of the most meaningful I have done or will do. Thank you all!
I specialize in murders of quiet, domestic interest. –Agatha Christie
* * *
Agatha Christie is the best-selling novelist of all time. Her sales are exceeded only by the Bible and the works of Shakespeare. According to her website at agathachristie.com, “She is best known for her 66 detective novels and 14 short story collections, as well as the world’s longest-running play – The Mousetrap. “
Agatha Christie’s books have sold over two billion copies worldwide!
Given Ms. Christie’s extraordinary success, it might be a good idea to see if we can discover some of her secrets.
* * *
A few years ago, I watched a documentary entitled “The Agatha Christie Code” (available on Youtube) in which researchers examined various aspects of Christie’s writing. These researchers included
Dr. Richard Forsyth, Research Fellow in Applied Linguistics at the University of Warwick
Dr. Pernilla Danielsson, Academic Champion of Communications at the University of Birmingham
Dr. Marcus Dahl, Research Fellow at the School of Advanced Study – London University
They used computer technology to analyze Christie’s work, and they found interesting patterns in her stories that may give us a clue as to why she’s so popular.
Word Choices
Christie used simple language in her books, so readers were free to focus on the plot rather than the language. For example, the researchers found she used “said” often in an attribution rather than other words like “responded” or “answered.”
Christie also often repeated words within a short section of prose – something I’ve been warned against. Here’s an example from the novel Sad Cypress that was used in the video. (My notations in red.)
The researchers thought the repetition cemented the information in the reader’s mind. My editor would probably faint if I sent something like that to her, but maybe we should rethink the multiple uses of a word in a short section of prose.
Verbal Structure
The most interesting part of the video for me was when one of the researchers evaluated Christie’s works on the three criteria of
Word length
Word frequency
Sentence structure
Dr. Danielsson plotted information about these aspects on a three-dimensional graph and plotted the same criteria from Arthur Conan Doyle’s works on the same graph. Christie’s books exhibited a consistency shown visually by her plotted points being clustered together while the points of Doyle’s stories were spread farther apart indicating his works were more dissimilar when compared to each other. This indicated that Doyle’s style had changed through the years while Christie’s had remained remarkably consistent.
Plot
Christie’s mysteries almost always create a world where
There is a dead body
A closed group of suspects are introduced
A detective (either professional or amateur) is a character
Red herrings are spread throughout
There is a denouement scene where the detective identifies the murderer and brings closure to the story.
Some critics claim Christie wrote the same story over and over, but that’s not fair. For example, The Murder of Roger Ackroyd, Murder on the Orient Express, and And Then There Were None introduced novel twists to the standard murder mystery although they used a typical Christie template.
However, this general structure reassures the reader that there will be a logical puzzle that will be solved in the end, and that contributes to the sense of satisfaction.
Characters
While some famous characters appear in multiple books and are popular with the reading public (e.g., Hercule Poirot, Miss Marple, Captain Hastings), the number of characters in each novel may be just as important. This prompted an interesting theory by David Shephard, Master trainer in Neuro-Linguistic Programming.
Mr. Shephard pointed out that people have a limited focus and a conscious mind can only concentrate on five to nine things at a time. When presented with more information than that, a person will enter a sort of hypnotic trance.
Since Christie’s stories often have more than nine characters and several plot lines, Shephard thinks the reader’s mind can’t handle the overload of information, so he/she begins to “feel” the book rather than just think about it. This emotional connection makes readers want to return to Agatha Christie’s books again and again.
I’m not sure I can buy that explanation, but it’s very interesting and makes me think I should count the characters in my future books to see if I can put my readers into a trance.
Content & Style
As we all know, Agatha Christie’s mysteries contain no explicit sexual scenes and no explicit violence. So why do so many readers still buy her novels? Readers of Christie’s books know there will be a logical solution to the murder, the killer will be caught, and the clues are all available to solve the mystery.
David Suchet, who played the part of Hercule Poirot in the television series Agatha Christie’s Poirot, compared Christie’s books to sudoku puzzles. He believes readers enjoy the books because they’re completely absorbed in figuring out the solution to the puzzle.
Length
Although I found a site with the number of pages in each of Agatha Christie’s novels, I only found a reference to the word count on https://thewritepractice.com/word-count/. That site had an article that states Agatha Christie’s mystery novels average between 40,000 and 60,000 words. That’s a little short for most novels today, but it could explain why people found them easy to read.
Pacing
Agatha Christie controlled the speed at which her books were read by laying out more descriptive passages at the beginning, but picking up the pace of the story as it progressed. Hypnotist Paul McKenna had an interesting take on this. He felt her particular pattern of writing caused certain brain chemicals to be released, resulting in a sort of addiction in the readers. This theory goes a little beyond my pay grade, but I do think picking up the pace is a technique that works well in mystery writing.
* * *
So there you have it. While I’m sure there are other reasons for her success, these aspects of Agatha Christie’s writing are worth considering.
* * *
So TKZers: Have you read many of Agatha Christie’s books? Why do you think they’re so popular? Have you viewed “The Agatha Christie Code” video? Is there anything you think we can glean from the data in this post that will help with our own writing?
* * *
“Very few of us are what we seem.” –Agatha Christie
Private pilot Cassie Deakin lands in the middle of a mystery and discovers things are not always what they seem.
“Pushing the envelope means testing limits and trying out new, often radical ideas. The expression comes originally from mathematics and engineering, where an envelope is a boundary, but was popularized by test pilots.” (Termium Plus)
It has been said that Thomas Edison tested 10,000 different materials before finding the right filament. In reality, “Edison tested sixteen hundred different filaments—everything from coconut fiber to human hair—before settling on carbonized bamboo fiber.” (theartof.com)
Throughout history, it has been creative efforts and experimentation that have brought us all the great new inventions. By definition, all creative endeavors involve creation – definition – “the action or process of bringing something into existence.” (Oxford Language Dictionary)
Writing fiction is no exception. In the beginning of Jack Bickham’s book, Scene and Structure, the author summarizes the history of changes in the structure of fiction from epic poetry, to personal letters, to journal or diary entries, to a personal “conversational” structure, and finally a sequence of scenes played in the here and now as if they were taking place as the reader reads and imagines them.
We sometimes forget that most inventions continue to change and improve. Just look at your personal experience, especially with computers and telecommunication, from the time you started a job to the present.
Readers change, and books have changed. As writers, we are involved in a creative occupation, and it is good (Dare I say our responsibility?) to continue to experiment, to learn what works, and discover what doesn’t. Maybe even try something truly different.
We must learn the rules before we try to break them, but never stop pushing the envelope. Never stop testing the boundaries. Never stop learning!
Questions:
What major changes (inventions) have occurred in your occupation prior to becoming a writer?
What do you think are the most significant creations/inventions in story telling?
What experiments have you done (or do) to create improved ways to serve up a story for your readers?
Country music master Toby Keith has left us for the Grand Ole Opry in the sky. Mr. Keith was only sixty-two when he passed last month after a brave battle with cancer. It’s a sad loss not just for America but to the entire entertainment world. A brilliant singer, songwriter, producer, actor, and businessman is gone.
Toby Keith started his career in 1998 with his debut super-hit How Do You Like Me Now? Over the next twenty-six years, he recorded five albums that went gold or better. Outstanding are the songs he wrote: American Soldier, Should’ve Been a Cowboy, Courtesy of the Red, White, and Blue, and I Love This Bar.
Of all the songs Mr. Keith wrote, played, and produced, there’s one I think is superb. Just outstanding. Don’t Let The Old Man In.
Story goes that Toby Keith met Clint Eastwood at an event. (Eastwood, now ninety-three, is currently directing and producing his newest upcoming movie titled Juror No. 2.) Keith asked Eastwood what the secret was for staying so active and healthy at his advanced age. This is what Clint Eastwood said:
Every day when I wake up, I don’t let the old man in. My secret has been the same since 1959—staying busy. I never let the old man into the house. I’ve had to drag him out because he was already comfortably settled, bothering me all the time, leaving no space for anything other than nostalgia.
You have to stay active, alive, happy, strong, and capable. It’s in us, in our intelligence, attitude, and mentality. We are young, regardless of our ID. We must learn to fight to not let the old man in.
That old man awaits us, stationed and tired by the side of the road to discourage us. I don’t let the old, critical, hostile, envious spirit in—the one that scrutinizes our past to tie us up with complaints and distant anxieties, or relived traumas and waves of pain.
You have to turn your back on the old murmurer, full of rage and complaints, lacking courage, denying himself that old age can be creative, determined, and full of light and projection.
Aging can be pleasant and even fun if you know how to use your time if you’re satisfied with what you’ve achieved, and if you still maintain enthusiasm. That’s called not letting the old man into the house. These words immensely resonated with Toby Keith. They inspired him to write Don’t Let The Old Man In which is dedicated to the legend who is Clint Eastwood. Here are the lyrics:
Don’t let the old man in
I wanna live me some more
Can’t leave it up to him
He’s knocking on my door
I knew all of my life
That someday it would end
Get up and go outside
Don’t let the old man in
Yeah, many moons I have lived
My body’s weathered and worn
Just ask yourself how old would you be
If you didn’t know the day you were born
Try to love on your wife
And stay close to your friends
Toast each sundown with wine
Don’t let the old man in
Hmmm Hmmm Hmmm Hmmm Hmm Hm
Yeah, many moons I have lived
My body’s weathered and worn
Ask yourself how old would you be
If you didn’t know the day you were born
When he rides up on his horse
And you feel that cold bitter wind
Look out your window and smile
Don’t let the old man in
Look out your window and smile
Don’t let the old man in
This story—the lyrics, the music, and the video—resonates with me. I’m sixty-seven, and to some, I’m an old man. But I don’t see myself that way. To me, I’m more productive/busy than I was in my thirties and forties. And my productivity/busyness keeps increasing.
I’m blessed with longevity genes. I lead a healthy lifestyle. I don’t smoke. I’m a social drinker. And I’ve never done drugs in my life. Not even inhaling second hand weed.
I’m active. My wife of forty-one years and I stick-walk with weights and aim for 5K steps per day. (On ambitious ones, we’ll do 10-12K.) I have a proportionate weight-to-height ratio and get proper sleep. My stress level doesn’t exist, I have no worries, and at my last medical checkup the doc said I was operating like a 30-year-old.
And I have a purpose. This is the key to senior survival—way, way beyond worries. A definite purpose with a burning desire to achieve it.
I never gave much thought to why I’m like that. Not until I heard Don’t Let The Old Man Inand understood the lyrics. I guess I’m this way because I won’t let the old man in.
Kill Zoners — I know there are contributors and followers who top my place on the seniority chart. How do you deal with the old person at the door? Let’s hear from those junior and senior to my 67th-out-of-100 rank.
Dedicated to my 75-year-old life-long friend and mentor Ed Hill www.edhill.art.com
“If you’re going to shoot, shoot, don’t talk!” — Tuco, from The Good, The Bad, And The Ugly.
By PJ Parrish
Man, I was this-close to loving the book. It was a bestselling thriller. It leapfrogged from Rio to Paris. It had a terrific manly-but-vulnerable reluctant hero. It had more plot twists than Père Lachaise.
I get to the climax. The hero is in jeopardy, trussed up like a turkey by the bad guy. All looks grim. This being a thriller, I know he will prevail but I was hooked because I had to find out how he was going to worm out of this. But then came…
The speech. The villain spent two and half pages telling the hero why he had to kill him.
Argh! Just kill me now.
Gawd, why do writers do this? Why do we have to get, in otherwise good books and movies, grandiose monologues where the villain tells how everything unfolded since their rotten childhood and ends with why they are hell-bent on detroying the good guy to get even.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I adore a well-rendered black hat. Directors love them because they light up the screen. Actors love to play them because it’s a chance to be remembered. James Cagney smashing a grapefruit into Mae Clarke’s face in Public Enemy. Robert Wagner pushing Joanne Woodward off the building in A Kiss Before Dying. Alan Rickman’s Hans Gruber before he shoots the executive: “That’s A Very Nice Suit, Mr. Takagi. It Would Be A Shame To Ruin It.”
But a good villain is not an easy creation. We have many great posts on this subject in our archives, so I won’t belabor the usual how-to points here. I just want to make the case for why you shouldn’t let your bad guys flap their lips at the end. And forgive me for using so many movie references, but they tend to be more universal and easy to excerpt here.
Evil gloating is one of the worst tropes in fiction. It s a crutch to prop up a lack of solid character-building. All good villains, as we’ve said here often, have their own backstories and complex psychologies. It is your job as the writer-in-charge to lay this all out over the course of your story rather than depending on a tiresome monologue in the third act.
There are some variations on this trope:
Revealing the Evil Plan: This is where the villain lays out exactly why he had to A.. Invade Fort Knox. B. Find the Holy Grail to prove Mary Magdalene had a daughter living in the south of France. D. Put Hitler’s brain in a jar so he can be revived and take over the world.
Emotive motives. This shows up alot in mediocre TV cop shows. After the killer is caught, he whines about his past, usually in a long, self-pitying speech about why he had to do it. “My brother stole my girl and kilt my dog, so he had to die!”
I won’t quote it here because it’s way too long. But one speech that really irked me in both the book and the movie comes at the end of The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo. The hero Mikael Blomkvist is being tortured by the murderer Martin Vanger. Vanger goes into a monologue that actually starts with, “Sit down, relax, have a drink. I like that part a lot. Having a chat when both of you know that one of you is going to die.” Ugh. Well, it does give Lisbeth time to sneak up and whack Vanger with a nine iron.
Why you suck. This time it’s personal. In a speech, the bad guy just can’t help telling the good guy how pathetic he is. There’s a great site called The True Tropes Wiki (hat tip to them, by the way, for helping me research this.) They call this one The Hannibal Lecture after this great dialogue tidbit: “You’d like to quantify me, Officer Starling. You’re so ambitious, aren’t you? Do you know what you look like to me, with your good bag and your cheap shoes? You look like a rube.” But in lesser hands, this trope is really tiresome.
Sometimes, as with Hannibal Lecter, a villain speech isn’t a bad thing. Inserted in the right moment, and kept short, it can illuminate character and propell plot. The “Greed is Good” monologue that Oliver Stone gives to Michael Douglas in Wall Street is a prime example.
And I love this bad guy speech from The Good, The Bad And The Ugly. It turns the trope on its head. Watch the very brief video. It’s worth it.
There’s also a wonderful villain monologue in Shane. Yeah, it’s a speech, but it works. The set-up: Shane, the gunfighter with a mysterious past, rides into town and is hired by hardscrabble rancher Joe Starrett. He tells Shane that a war of intimidation is being waged on the valley’s settlers, led by a ruthless cattle baron, Rufus Ryker. At one point, Ryker gives a long motive speech trying to justify his actions:
Look, Starrett, when I come to this country, you weren’t much older than your boy there. We had rough times, me and other men that are mostly dead now. I got a bad shoulder yet from a Cheyenne arrowhead. We made this country. Found it and we made it. With blood and empty bellies. The cattle we brought in were hazed off by Indians and rustlers. They don’t bother you much anymore because we handled ’em. We made a safe range out of this. Some of us died doin’ it but we made it. And then people move in who’ve never had to rawhide it through the old days. They fence off my range, and fence me off from water. Some of ’em like you plow ditches, take out irrigation water. And so the creek runs dry sometimes and I’ve got to move my stock because of it. And you say we have no right to the range.
Boo-hoo, you might say. But it works here because it humanizes the black-hearted Ryker and gives the turf war context. You need to do this for your bad guys.
I can’t let this post go without one last thing. We have to talk about the evil laugh. It’s a very old trope, dating back to 17th century literature. But we think of Vincent Price, at the end of Michael Jackson’s Thriller video. Or the Wicked Witch of the West. Or Hedley Lamar in Blazing Saddles, just before he chokes on his candy. Sometimes, the evil laugh tapers off into the wicked chuckle. But at it’s finest, it’s just…
Muahahahahaha…Hahahahahahaha… AAAAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
And nobody does it better than Glenn Close. I leave you with Cruella:
released in 1985.
James L’Etoile uses his twenty-nine years behind bars as an influence in his award-winning novels, short stories, and screenplays. He is a former associate warden in a maximum-security prison, a hostage negotiator, and director of California’s state parole system. His novels have been shortlisted or awarded the Lefty, Anthony, Silver Falchion, and the Public Safety Writers Award.
Several weeks ago, Blackstone sent me an ARC (advanced review copy) which I’d requested.
Dr. Danielsson plotted information about these aspects on a three-dimensional graph and plotted the same criteria from Arthur Conan Doyle’s works on the same graph. Christie’s books exhibited a consistency shown visually by her plotted points being clustered together while the points of Doyle’s stories were spread farther apart indicating his works were more dissimilar when compared to each other. This indicated that Doyle’s style had changed through the years while Christie’s had remained remarkably consistent.
While some famous characters appear in multiple books and are popular with the reading public (e.g., Hercule Poirot, Miss Marple, Captain Hastings), the number of characters in each novel may be just as important. This prompted an interesting theory by David Shephard, Master trainer in Neuro-Linguistic Programming.
Although I found a site with the 
“Very few of us are what we seem.” –Agatha Christie
