Interview with Karen Odden, Historical Mystery Author

By Debbie Burke

@burke_writer

Recently I attended a Zoom workshop by bestselling historical mystery author Karen Odden. The opening slide of her PowerPoint presentation wowed us. It was a striking photo of an old-fashioned steam locomotive that had rammed through a wall on an upper floor of a building and was hanging down to the street below.

Karen Odden, historical mystery author

 

For the next 90 minutes, Karen kept us riveted with tales of actual catastrophes from Victorian England. Those events launched her down the research rabbit hole for her historical mystery series. Every discovery led to new story possibilities.

In addition to sharing her research adventures, Karen incorporated an advanced character-building workshop with fresh ideas I hadn’t run across before.

She kindly agreed to visit TKZ for an interview.

Welcome, Karen!

Debbie Burke: The inspiration process for your historical mystery series is a compelling study in itself. Would you walk us through that, including the turning points in the development? What was the moment of realization when you knew you had a winning concept?

Karen Odden: My fascination with the Victorian era began in grad school at NYU, in the 1990s, with a class called “The Dead Mother and Victorian Novels.” The professor noticed all these orphans running around Victorian novels – Jane Eyre, Pip, Oliver, Daniel Deronda, etc. She suggested the orphan was a trope for a profound historical change in England. Whereas in the 18th century, someone’s fortune and social status was inherited from their parents, in the 19th century, people (largely men) could make their own fortunes, in manufacturing, shipping, or whatever. So the orphan was a marker for how it was newly possible to define one’s self without reference to parents.

I found this way of thinking about literature and history fascinating, and I took more classes on Victorian literature, reading everything from Browning’s poems to Henry Morton Stanley’s African memoirs to Darwin’s scientific papers. I wrote my dissertation on the medical, legal, and popular literature written about Victorian railway disasters and the injuries they caused – with an eye to showing how those texts provided a framework for later theories, including shell shock and PTSD.

After graduating, I taught at UW-Milwaukee and did some free-lance editing. But around 2006, I decided I wanted to try writing a novel. For my topic, I leaned into my dissertation, putting a young woman and her laudanum-addicted mother on a railway train and sending it off the rails in 1874 London.

After many false starts, it was published, and I have remained in 1870s London for all my subsequent books. It’s a world I know, down to the shape of the ship rigging and the smells of tallow and lye, and although I have been told (more than once) that WWII books are an easier sell, I hope my books show the Victorian world in all its messy complexity, with all the possibilities for redemption. 

DB: What is TDEC?

KO: TDEC is The Day Everything Changes. Basically, it’s the time when the main character’s equilibrium is thrown off, and (with few exceptions) it occurs in chapter one. For example, it’s the moment when Magwitch grabs Pip on the marsh, or Scarlett attends the ball that will devastate her as she finds out Ashley is engaged to Melanie. The reason TDEC is important is every character brings their own personal myth – what they have gleaned from their unique past experiences – to page 1, and that personal myth shapes the way they approach, perceive, and make meaning of every important experience that happens from TDEC on.

A funny story – when I was writing the book that became A LADY IN THE SMOKE (2016), TDEC is when Lady Elizabeth and her laudanum-addicted mother are in a railway crash. But I originally had it in chapter 8. (!) The first seven chapters were backstory about why Elizabeth and her mother didn’t get along and historical facts about railways, accidents, Victorian medical men, and so on. My free-lance editor told me I had to cut it. When I winced, she said it was fascinating; however, it needed to be in my head as I was writing, but not on the page, at least not like that. Much of the material in those 7 chapters is feathered in throughout the book, but the train wreck happens in chapter 1, as it should.

DB: One of your themes is PTSD, a psychiatric disorder that can be traced throughout history under different names. Could you talk about how you identified the condition in the past?

KO: One of the starting points for my dissertation was the account of Charles Dickens, who was in the Staplehurst, Kent railway crash in 1865.

Charles Dickens, Getty Images

He climbed out of his overturned carriage, helped his mistress Ellen Ternan and her mother out, and then began ministering to people. The railway company sent an express to bring passengers back to London, and Dickens went home to bed. But the next day he was so shaky he couldn’t sign his name. He developed ringing in his ears, nervous tremors, and terrible nightmares, dying five years to the day afterward.

Some of the medical men at the time called this “railway spine” — the theory being that all the shaking around passengers experienced inside the toppling carriage caused tiny lesions in the spinal matter, which resulted in symptoms across the whole body. Of course, these lesions were a complete fabrication — but under existing medical jurisprudence, people couldn’t obtain financial compensation for injuries that were only “nervous”; they had to be organic — literally, tied to an organ — and the spine counted.

I am persistently curious about what injuries and experiences “count” in our culture — and how they reach the tipping point of being worth discussing, litigating, researching, compensating, and curing. To my mind, the medical profession has failed us at certain times in history; and these failures can be devastating because the disavowal of injury lays on a whole second layer of trauma.

DB: You divide conflict into two categories: intrapersonal and interpersonal. Please explain the difference and how you use them in your fiction.

KO: For me, intrapersonal conflict occurs within a character and is usually the result of a conflict between an MC’s personal myth – the beliefs they have about the world and themselves, derived from past experiences – and their current lived experience. For example, in The Queen’s Gambit, chess prodigy Beth Harmon learned early on, in the orphanage, that mind-numbing drugs are an acceptable way to escape her world; but later, her lived experience shows that she loses chess tournaments when she plays hung over. So she must amend her personal myth, if she wants to achieve her desire of being chess champion. In parenting, sometimes this is called “natural consequences.”

Interpersonal conflict happens when two characters have personal myths that cannot be reconciled. In The Queen’s Gambit, Beth is a distrustful loner who doesn’t like to depend on others; but secondary character Benny Watts finds a sense of self-worth through teaching other people chess and being appreciated for his efforts. At the level of plot, Beth and Benny are in conflict because both want to be chess champions; at the level of character, they are in conflict because Beth’s personal myth includes the belief that gratitude is a sign of weakness, while for Benny other people’s gratitude contributes to his self-worth.

In my Inspector Corravan mysteries, Michael Corravan is a former thief, dock-worker, and bare-knuckles boxer who was orphaned as a youth and earned his place in his adoptive family by saving young Pat Doyle from a vicious beating. So Corravan comes out of Whitechapel scrappy, good with his fists, and with a belief that his value lies, in part, in his ability to rescue others. These are all fine traits for a Yard inspector.

But as his love interest Belinda points out, being a rescuer means Corravan never has to be vulnerable, and being vulnerable would make him a better listener and a better policeman. At first Corravan ridicules the idea, but when he finally allows himself to empathize with a powerless victim, the case breaks open. So there’s a combination of interpersonal and intrapersonal conflict that brings about a change in Corravan. He’s still a rescuer, but he understands the value of abandoning that role on occasion.

DB: Many writers fall into the bottomless well of historical research and can’t climb out to finish their story. How do you decide when you’ve done enough research and are ready to write the book?

Thames Disaster, Getty Images

KO: Often I begin with a single, large nugget of Victorian history – for example, in UNDER A VEILED MOON, it was the Princess Alice steamship disaster of 1878, in which over 550 people drowned in the Thames. But after a few chapters of writing, I wanted to add complexity to what history says was a mere accident, so I read more and discovered that there was no passenger manifest because it was a pleasure steamer, like our hop-on-hop-off buses. No one had any idea who was on the boat!

I also read some articles about anti-Irish discrimination and thought it would be a good element to have the Irish Republican Brotherhood blamed initially, especially as Corrovan is Irish.

What I’ve noticed about myself is that as I reach somewhere around the half-way mark and know how my story is unfolding, I stop directed reading about the topic, but everything I read and hear incidentally becomes fodder. As I was finishing A TRACE OF DECEIT (about the theft and forgery of priceless paintings), I happened to read a New Yorker article that mentioned a piece of little-known English law that added a new, crazy twist. I try to stay flexible; when I find something intriguing that might fit into my book, I give it a try.

To some extent, setting all my books in 1870s London makes it easy. I have a repository of historical information about economics, laws, social mores, buildings, railways, injuries and illnesses, etc. So I don’t have to reinvent the world with each book. In fact, I’ve recycled several secondary characters, most notably Tom Flynn, the newspaperman for the (fictional) London Falcon.

DB: In How to Write a Mystery, Gayle Lynds wrote, “In the end, we novelists use perhaps a tenth of a percent of the research we’ve done for any one book.” What percentage actually makes it into your books? Do you have suggestions of what to do with leftover material?

KO: I would agree with that! Somewhere around 10-20 per cent. The key thing is to have it firmly in my head as I write — the way I know how to use a toaster, for example — so that historical information feathers in organically. I try to avoid info-dumps (unprocessed history plopped in) and what I call shoe-horning. Sometimes I want to stick in some cool historical factoid, and it just doesn’t fit. So I save it for a fun blogpost!

DB: Is there anything else you’d like to talk about that I haven’t asked?

KO: I’d just like to share that I’ve found it vitally important to develop a robust community of practice. Writing is often solitary; but my books are certainly better because of my beta-readers, and my writing life more joyful and productive (and successful) because of the librarians, booksellers, and other writing professionals I have met. No one told me this about being a writer – that I’d find a smart, generous community, which helps immensely as we all navigate the often challenging publishing industry.

~~~

Thank you, Karen, for sharing your fascinating journey with TKZ!

USA Today bestselling author Karen Odden received her PhD in English from NYU, writing her dissertation on Victorian literature, and taught at UW-Milwaukee before writing mysteries set in 1870s London. Her fifth, Under a Veiled Moon (2022), features Michael Corravan, a former thief turned Scotland Yard Inspector; it was nominated for the Agatha, Lefty, and Anthony Awards for Best Historical Mystery. Karen serves on the national board of Sisters in Crime, and she lives in Arizona where she hikes the desert while plotting murder. Find out more about Karen’s books and writing workshops at www.karenodden.com.

FB: @karenodden

twitter: @karen_odden

IG: @karen_m_odden

~~~

TKZers: Do you read and/or write historical fiction? What era interests you the most? What’s your favorite research trick? 

Hats Off to Writing Heroes

I re-scheduled the post I had originally written for today after I heard that James Scott Bell had been presented a Lifetime Achievement Award at the American Christian Fiction Writers Conference over the weekend.

Congratulations, Jim!

There are many award-winning writers who contribute and comment here at TKZ, but a Lifetime Award is surely special.

JSB’s Plot and Structure was one of the first two craft-of-writing books I read when I decided to write a novel. (Many thanks to my friend Rachel Hills for recommending it.) His book taught me not only the elements of structure, but the very first chapter convinced me that even if I didn’t have the elusive writing “talent,” I could still be an accomplished author by studying and applying the craft. It was a lesson I took to heart. My bookshelves groan under the weight of a lot of craft-of-writing books, many written by Mr. Bell. Those books have served me well, like having a writer’s GPS to show me the way.

But Jim has done more than provide us with great craft books. He writes fiction, teaches courses, posts on TKZ and other blogs, and has provided many of us with encouragement and mentorship. As a newly published author in 2019, I asked him to be my interview guest on my blog. I expected him to reply that he was too busy, but he graciously agreed and has been an annual guest since then, spreading wisdom and knowledge to my readers.

Please join me in a round of applause for TKZ’s own writing hero: James Scott Bell.

* * *

So, TKZers: Who are your writing heroes? Tell us about them.

 

 

 

Um . . . Retirement?

By John Gilstrap

First things first. As I write this, it’s Book Launch Day! Harm’s Way, the 15th entry in my Jonathan Grave thriller series drops today. In this story, Jonathan is summoned by FBI Director Irene Rivers to rescue someone special from the grips of a drug cartel that has taken a group of missionaries hostage in Venezuela. Once the team arrives, however, they discover trouble far more horrifying than a standard hostage rescue. When the first book in the series appeared in 2009, I never would have thought it would have the kind of legs that it has.

Thanks to everyone who has shown support over the years. Hopefully, there’s much more to come!

Which brings me to the topic of today’s post: What does retirement look like for a writer?

Over the weekend, a friend (Jim) and his wife visited the West Virginia Compound for a good old fashioned cookout. As the meal was being prepared, Jim announced that he has finally made the decision to retire from the sales position in which he’s thrived for well over a decade. An affable guy, and very much a people person, he seems to me to be a perfect fit for the high-end products he sells, and to be honest, to the outsider (that would be moi), he seemed to make a really good living by not doing very much. He’d built his base of customers over the years, and now he just worked the phones for a couple of hours every day, and then he was done. He could have retired some time ago, yet chose not to, so “Why now?” I asked.

Management had changed, the compensation package had changed, and bottom line: his give-a-damn quotient had been met. He just didn’t want to do it anymore. Hey, I can’t think of a better reason to punch out and explore the rest that life has to offer.

Not long into the discussion, Jim turned the conversation to me. “How long are you going to keep doing this writing thing? Every time we talk, you’re on some deadline. You’ve got close to 30 books out there. When do you close the computer and retire?”

I confess that I didn’t have an answer. Sure, there are current contracts that need to be fulfilled, but that’s very short term. All it would take to walk away from the writer life would be a telephone call to my agent with the announcement that I don’t want to pitch another contract.

But I don’t think I could do that. It wouldn’t be a problem financially (though more is always better than less), but I think I’d have trouble with it emotionally. While being a writer is not a critical part of my identity in the psychological sense, it is the best job I’ve ever had. I’ve worked hard to build the “brand momentum” that I have, and I know that such momentum is not recoverable once I take my foot off the accelerator. That’s the practical side, reminding me that you’ve got to be very, very comfortable with your mooring location before you burn the lifeboats.

I enjoy the company of writers, and I love having a key to the clubhouse door. Back in the early aughts, when my career took it’s monumental dip and I didn’t have a book either recently released or even in the works, I felt like an outsider among my friends at conferences–like I was watching people enjoy the banquet while not having a seat at the table for myself. That’s all on me, and much of the angst was driven by the fact that I was not in charge of my situation. Being dropped by a publisher is an entirely different world than choosing to walk away. But still . . .

I don’t have any hobbies to speak of. The world of plants and vegetables considers me a mass murderer as I try my hand at gardening, I’d rather put a fork in my eye than chase a little white ball across a field with a golf club, and there are only so many holes to poke in paper from 50 feet (or 300 yards) away.

And let’s be honest. What I do for a living is what I used to do in my spare time before I did it for a living. I enjoy the process of writing, and I love seeing books with my name on them. I don’t enjoy deadlines, and as I’ve written here before, I can’t sit and type for long periods as I used to.

I can think of very few things in life that trigger the same sense of contentment that comes from creating a scene or an exchange between characters the is just right, just what I wanted it to be.

So, no. I’m nowhere near close to burning the lifeboats. In fact, I plan to start yet another thriller series.

What about y’all? What does retirement look like for you?

 

 

I Hear A Symphony

Writing prose without thinking about cadence is like trying to seduce a man by handing him your résumé. The facts are there, but the electric charge isn’t.—Meaghan O’Rourke

By PJ Parrish

I was listening to Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony the other night.  And it suddenly struck me how similar it is to a really good mystery. It has a specific structure. It has themes. It has peaks and valleys of emotion. And it builds to a rousing climax wherein all that has come before makes perfect sense, even if you didn’t hear it coming.

And here’s the cool part: Although a symphony adheres to a formula, within that is room for endless variety. Sound familiar? That’s what we do when we write crime fiction.  We are working within an old and venerable tradition with a time-honored structure. Yet look at the variety we come up with!

You’re not going to mistake Brahams for John Adams. You won’t mistake P.D. James for S.A. Cosby.

So, I was wondering, are there lessons for us from say, Beethoven?

Now, I have studied music some, but not symphonic structure. So I had to go do some research. Bear with me here for a moment. I’ll try not to get obtuse and artsy-fartsy.

A symphony is usually divided into four parts that conform to a standard pattern — The first movement is lively and sets a mood. The second is slower, more thoughtful and develops the theme. The third is an energetic dance or has boisterous surprises. The fourth is a rollicking finale.

Or in our terms:

Movement 1. The action set-up. Or as James Scott Bell often calls it “the disturbance in the norm.” The first “movement” often poses an unanswered question that gets answered by the novel’s’ end.  Here’s some good examples, as presented by Hallie Ephron in her essay for Mystery Writers of America:

  • A baby is found abandoned on the steps of a church. Unanswered question: Who left the baby and what happened to the mother? (In the Bleak Midwinter, Julia Spencer-Fleming)
  • A criminal defense attorney meets her new client— a woman accused of killing her cop boyfriend. The woman extends a hand and says, “Pleased to meet you, I’m your twin.” Unanswered question: Is this woman the attorney’s twin sister and is she a murderer? (Mistaken Identity, Lisa Scottoline)
  • PI Smith receives a late night telephone call from the NYPD, who are holding his 15-year-old nephew Gary. Unanswered question: Why would Gary ask for Smith, whom he hasn’t seen for years? (Winter and Night, S. J. Rozan)

Movement 2. Complications and conflicts. The pace slows down some as the hero investigates. Obstacles fall in his path and clues are dropped. Character is layered in with backstory to deepen our connection with the protag.

Movement 3. The pace quickens as the plot moves toward the final conflict. Roadblocks and problems escalate. You put your protag in physical danger. (Indiana Jones, who hates snakes, ends up in the snake pit). Inner demons affect protag’s ability to act. (but of course you’ve established those demons back in part 2). The stakes keep rising. The clock keeps ticking.

Movement 4. The final conflict and climax. The last shoes drop. The puzzle is solved.. The final face-off happens. The bad guy is vanquished. The world is put back on its correct axis. The orchestra (and you) are now at full power bringing everything to a rollicking and satisfying finale. After your opening, it’s the most important part of your book.

Take a moment and listen to just the first minute or so of the opening movement to Beethoven’s Ninth. (Or if you’re bored with this post, listen to the whole Ninth. I won’t mind).

Isn’t this like the opening chapter of a really juicy thriller?

First, there’s a nervousness in those trembling opening notes. Like we’re looking into this dark place and the hairs are raising on our necks. Then this tiny melody seeps in (the theme in its earliest form). Then suddenly, an explosion of sound that grabs you and says “I have something to show you! Pay attention!” (A body has been discovered? A gun has gone off in the dark?) But then the music pulls back — it’s a scream followed by a regrouging. (The hero has now arrived).

I won’t go into each other movment with such detail. But if you love the Ninth as much as I do, I urge you to listen as if you were reading great mystery. Listen to where the themes are repeated. Listen to where the complications appear. And listen for the echoes and layers of backstory. And listen to that triumphant but poignant ending.

I’ve written here before about how much I think good writing and music are intertwined. Sure, you can write a pretty good book without rhythm. You can even get famous. But you won’t write a book that people remember.

Those who write with rhythm do it in such a subtle way that you, the reader, don’t even realize you’re being moved along a current, oarred along by master with a great ear. Often you’ll hear a book’s style described as “lyrical.” James Lee Burke is the usual reference here. Here’s a graph from Bitterroot:

I picked up my fly rod and net and canvas creel from the porch of Doc’s house and walked down the path toward the riverbank. The air smelled of the water’s coldness and the humus back in the darkness of the woods and the deer and elk dung that had dried on the pebbled banks of the river. I watched Doc Voss squat on his haunches in front of a driftwood fire and stir the strips of ham in a skillet with a fork, squinting his eyes against the smoke, his upper body warmed only by a fly vest, his shoulders braided with sinew.

I don’t think “lyrical” is the same thing as having rhythm. The former is more about description (see above). The latter is more about cadence sustained over the book’s whole structure. Not every sentence or paragraph needs to have rhythm. In fact, if you overdo it, you look, well, pretentious. Sort of like Foreigner or Robert James Waller. Sometimes, good rhythm is just moving your characters through time and space with clarity, brevity and precision.

Good writing is an aural thing. But to get that aural vibe right, you have to be visual. You have to pay attention to how your writing looks on the page. Your rhythmic tools are:

  • Sentence length
  • Paragraph length
  • Sentence fragments
  • Punctuation
  • Pacing.
  • Alliteration. This is a potent spice. Use it sparingly.

Too many long paragraphs? It looks old-fashioned and boring. Too many short paragraphs? That makes your rhythm choppy and nervous. (BUT…if you’re writing dialogue, you want short paragraphs to mimic speech. Also, in action scenes, where you want to rhythm to be tense, of course you go shorter.) Longer paragraphs and lush sentences convey a slowing down, good for description. A tense scene might begin slow but escalate into shorter sentences.

And watch out you don’t fall into the trap of nice writing. This is passage after passage of nice, even-paced, unoffensive prose with neat, grammar-perfect, complete sentences. I had to call Delta yesterday. I was on hold for 20 minutes lisening to this nice mundane melody, over and over. I was really to blow my brains out. Note to Delta CEO Ed Bastian: Why don’t you slip Tom Waits’ “Rain Dogs” into your Musak?

E.L. Doctorow was obsessed with music when it came to his writing. His father ran a small music shop and his mother was an excellent pianist. When upset, she would play Chopin’s “Revolutionary Etude” — a wild piece whose chords Doctorow always interpreted as a signal to get out of the house. He once told an interviewer:

At a certain point, the difference between music in music, and music in words became elided in my mind. I became attentive to the sound of words and the rhythm of sentences in some way that I’m not even aware of.

Indulge me and allow me one more quote. It’s from an essay I ran across about 20 years ago and I still have the yellowed old copy. In it Haruki Murakami, a musician and novelist, describes the role that music plays in his writing (I’ve condensed it some):

Whether in music or in fiction, the most basic thing is rhythm. Your style needs to have good, natural, steady rhythm, or people won’t keep reading your work.Next comes melody — which, in literature, means the appropriate arrangement of the words to match the rhythm.  Next is harmony — the internal mental sounds that support the words. Then comes the part I like best: free improvisation. Through some special channel, the story comes welling out freely from inside. All I have to do is get into the flow.

And lastly, he speaks of that magic that happens when all the music comes together:

Finally comes what may be the most important thing: that high you experience upon completing a work — upon ending your “performance” and feeling you have succeeded in reaching a place that is new and meaningful. And if all goes well, you get to share that sense of elevation with your readers (your audience). That is a marvelous culmination that can be achieved in no other way.

And on that note, I leave you. Hit it, Frederic.

 

Do You Have Dirty Links?

All our links need to work. Especially buy links. What if the link to your new release prevents your ARC readers from leaving reviews on Amazon? What if the link prevents all your readers from leaving reviews on Amazon, even verified purchase reviews? Or worse, Amazon shuts down your account because you’re violating their rules.

It happens more often than you may think, and many times the violation stems from a dirty link — the link you used in your marketing. That’s how important it is to clean your links. Trad-pub authors, don’t think this subject doesn’t apply to you. It does. In fact, that’s where I learned about dirty links, from my very first publisher.

What is a dirty link?

Your new book baby goes live on Amazon. If you search for the title on Amazon rather than go through your KDP dashboard, you’ll get a link that looks like this: https://www.amazon.com/Tracking-Mayhem-Sue-Coletta/dp/B0C91HLCJ6/ref=sr_1_1?crid=1EHIC52HI29T3&keywords=Tracking+Mayhem&qid=1692542716&s=books&sprefix=tracking+mayhem%2Cstripbooks%2C107&sr=1-1

That is a dirty link. It even looks ugly, right?

I want to draw your attention to this half of the link:

ref=sr_1_1?crid=1EHIC52HI29T3&keywords=Tracking+Mayhem&qid=1692542716&s=books&sprefix=tracking+mayhem%2Cstripbooks%2C107&sr=1-1

Everything after “ref” is filled with information for Amazon, information that can bite you in the butt. This tells Amazon who searched for the book. If the author conducted the search, then everyone who uses that link must be friends or family of said author.

Though you and I know that’s a ridiculous statement, Amazon disagrees.

If you have a connection to a reader, even if it’s on social media, Amazon presumes they’ll rate your book favorably. Doesn’t matter if you have 1M friends or followers. If someone buys your book from that dirty link, you are friends and/or family in Amazon’s eyes. Period. Hence why it’s also never a good idea to link your Goodreads (Amazon owned) to your Facebook.

As you probably know, Amazon doesn’t allow friends and/or family to review your book. If they do, Amazon can delete it from your book’s page. If you continue to violate this rule, Amazon can shut down your account.

So, the first thing you should do is delete everything from “ref” forward, leaving you with this: https://www.amazon.com/Tracking-Mayhem-Sue-Coletta/dp/B0C91HLCJ6/

Looks better, right? That link is now clean, but we can shorten it even more. The title and author are also irrelevant as far as the link is concerned. Let’s delete both. https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0C91HLCJ6/

If you’re working with limited space, you also don’t need “www.” You’ll end up with this: https://amazon.com/dp/B0C91HLCJ6/

Now that’s a spotless link! A far cry from the original, right? And with no added information for Amazon to track.

While we’re on the subject of links…

Most profile sections on social media only allow you to include one link. Wouldn’t it be great if you could house all your books, website, blog, newsletter sign-up, etc. under one link rather than choosing which one to include? You can!

The creative minds behind LinkTree solved the one-link problem.

Did I mention it’s free? When you sign up, they’ll ask you to customize your link with your name. Don’t use your book title or a clever alias. That defeats the purpose. You could use your pen name if that’s the only name you write under. Or create a new link for additional pen names.

Personally, I only want one link, but you do you.

Here’s how mine looks: https://linktr.ee/suecoletta

You can customize the links inside, with headings, color, button style, thumbnail images, etc.

Of course, you can upgrade for statistical data and other bells and whistles, like affiliate marketing. Though the free account does accept affiliate links for books without the upgrade.

Are you using affiliate links?

 If you’re unfamiliar with affiliate marketing, here’s what Amazon says about its program:

Amazon’s affiliate program, also known as Amazon Associates, is an affiliate marketing program that allows users to monetize their websites, blogs, or social media. Amazon affiliate users simply place links to Amazon products on their site, and when a customer makes a purchase via one of their links, the user receives a commission.

Every time we pay for a promo spot, you can bet the book site is including their affiliate ID in your link. Which is fine. It’s their site.

Quick funny story…

When my debut released, I thought a certain book site was the cat’s meow for sending me a universal book link to use in all future marketing. So nice, right? Yes and no. What I discovered later was they included their affiliate ID in the universal link. So, for well over a year, I gave away commissions that I could’ve earned. Kudos to them. They got me good. Now, the only links I use are the ones I create. If anyone’s gonna earn commissions from my marketing efforts, it’s me.

Do you use affiliate links? Do you clean your links? Have you ever had reviews removed by Amazon? Has a book site ever created a universal link for you? 😉 

The Classics

I was a voracious reader as a kid, and read well beyond my grade level. When other kids were reading the Bobbsey Twins, Nancy Drew, Half-Magic, and Pirates Promise, I picked up To Kill a Mockingbird, Tom Sawyer, and believe it or not, The Dirty Dozen.

Because of my reading habits, I’d already blasted through such novels as The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, Lord of the Flies, Farenheit 451, and Death of a Salesman well before some of those were assigned in English class. One I couldn’t stand was The Great Gatsby, and still didn’t like it upon re-reading the novel last year.

Not too long ago I started thinking of those classics I’d read as a kid and decided it was time to revisit those novels. Now that I’m pushing 70, I wanted to see how those novels apply these days after a lifetime of experiences, and it was fascinating.

I started with Steinbeck, and the first novel I ever read by this Nobel Prize winning author was Travels With Charley, and that was somewhere around age fourteen. It sparked an interest in U.S. travel that has continued to this day. Then I went back and read Of Mice and Men and by the time I was in high school, The Grapes of Wrath, all before my senior year.

The Bride and I were in Palm Springs a couple of months ago and I ran across that title in an antique store. See, there’s that travel thing and I coughed up five dollars for the well-thumbed paperback reprint circa 1969. Book deadlines left it in my travel bag until last week.

I just finished it yesterday, and was surprised how well it held up. Those who know me understand my fascination with the Dust Bowl, so much that my novel last year entitled The Texas Job was set in the Great Depression. Maybe it’s because of the stories I heard from my family members who survived on scratch farms during that time.

To me, Grapes of Wrath is haunting and somewhat of a minor horror novel, based on what the Joad family endured on their way out to the promised land that proved to be something entirely different. I’d forgotten Steinbeck’s writing style that I feel might have sparked my own, though I don’t always write in third person. He switches back from third, to social commentary in alternating chapters that is unique to this author.

He wrote of the people I grew up with, and his dialogue and descriptions are as comfortable as an old shoe. He used words like “strowed,” and “pone,” and “flour and lard,” and phrases like, “the men squatted on their hams,” and “we got to make miles,” and “she looked down at her hands tight-locked in her lap.” It felt like I was hearing the old folks talking again.

I’d also forgotten that his book was banned after its release back in 1939, because critics said it promoted organized labor, extramarital sex, and violence. Still, to this day, it continues to be a source of controversy for some of those reasons listed above. Reading it today, this novel about as harsh as watching an episode of Law and Order.

Next in line for me is Of Mice and Men, then on to either On The Road, or Lord of the Flies, all read over fifty years ago.

Which classics do you need to re-read, and which ones impacted you?

 

 

Reader Friday: What made you decide to become a writer?

John Grisham, before going to college and law school, becoming an attorney, and beginning to write, had several occupations. As a teenager, he worked at a plant nursery, watering bushes. He was soon promoted to the fence crew. Later, he began working as a plumber’s assistant, then found work on a highway paving crew. When a gun fight broke out among the workers, he sought safety in a restroom, where he remained until the police had cleared the scene. He hitchhiked home, and began thinking seriously about college. His next job was in retail, as a sales clerk in a department store men’s underwear section.

What occupations did you have before you became a writer, and what made you decide to become a writer?

The Pareto Principle for Writers

The Pareto Principle is the 80/20 Rule. It’s an economic concept stating roughly 80 percent of effects come from 20 percent of causes. Put otherwise, 20 percent of input accounts for 80 percent of output.

The name comes from its conception maker, Vilfredo Pareto, who was a nineteenth-century Italian polymath. Story goes that one day old Vilfredo was out working in his garden and observed that about 80 percent of his peas came from around 20 percent of his pea plants. That got him thinking, and he applied his 80/20 observation to economics.

Pareto discovered that 80 percent Italy’s wealth was held by 20 percent of the Italian population. Note this was in 1900, so adjusting for today’s imbalance via the mega-lopy of Gates, Musk, Bezos & Zuckerberg ‘et al’, the real ratio might be more like 90/10 or 95/5. You get my drift.

I’ll partially quote from the Pareto holy grail authority which is a 273-page academic paper titled The Pareto Principle — The Secret to Achieving More With Less by Richard Koch. You can download it for free here.

The 80/20 Principle asserts that a minority of causes, inputs, or efforts usually leads to a majority of results, outputs, or rewards. Taken literally, this means that, for example, 80 percent of what you achieve in your work comes from 20 percent of the time spent. Thus, for all practical purposes, four-fifths of the effort—the dominant part of it—is largely irrelevant. This is contrary to what people normally expect.

So, the 80/20 Principle states there’s an inbuilt imbalance between causes and results, inputs and outputs, and efforts and rewards. A good benchmark for this imbalance is provided by the 80/20 relationship: a typical pattern shows that 80 percent of outputs result from 20 percent of inputs, that 80 percent of consequences flow from 20 percent of causes, and that 80 percent of results come from 20 percent of efforts.

In business, many examples of the 80/20 Principle have been validated. 20 percent of products account for 80 percent of dollars per sale. So do 20 percent of customers.

In society, 20 percent of criminals account for 80 percent of crimes. 20 percent of drivers account for 80 percent of accidents. 20 percent of students attain 80 percent of the educational qualifications available.

In the home, 20 percent of carpets receive 80 percent of wear. 20 percent of your clothes, you’ll wear 80 percent of the time. And if you have a burglar alarm, 80 percent of false alarms will be set off by 20 percent of the possible causes.

Another example of the 80/20 rule is the internal combustion engine in your car. 80 percent of the fossil fuel energy input is wasted with only 20 percent of output energy being delivered to the drive wheels.

So, what about applying the Pareto Principle to writers?

For writers, the Pareto Principle is a time management and production output tool. It’s not meant to be precise… as it in can’t be 60/40 or 75/25, only 80/20… it’s not that bracketed… not that prescriptive… not that anal. But it’s a good rule of thumb to know about avoiding time distractions and focussing on the important, yet small percentage, of tasks that give the highest return in creating value.

It comes down to managing what available time you have to effectively produce and promote a product. That might be a blog post like this, a novel manuscript, a screenplay, or whatever you have on the go. Your WIP.

Here’s a link to another piece on the Pareto Principle from Simply Psychology that gives direct examples of how to manage time, minimize distractions, and complete tasks. I like this quote:

When used correctly, the Pareto Principle helps prioritize tasks, optimize resources, and improve overall efficiency. It provides a useful framework for understanding complex systems and identifying key areas for improvement.

When not used correctly, the Pareto Principle can lead to an excessive focus on short-term gains over long-term planning and stability.

The 96 Minute Rule

A great point from Simply Psychology that puts time consumption in context is the 96-minute rule. 20 percent of an 8-hour workday is 96 minutes. According to the Pareto Principle, 80 percent of your daily work accomplishments come from 96 minutes of your time. As a writer, what high-value tasks do you most accomplish in those 96 minutes that push forward your long-term goals?

Ideating?

Researching?

Composing?

Editing?

Publishing?

Marketing?

Networking?

Visioning?

To wrap, the Pareto Principle’s 80/20 rule isn’t a magic formula. It’s a hypothesis to be aware of and use as a tool to get where you want to go in your writing world just a little more efficiently. And maybe it’ll free up time to have fun in the rest of your life.

Kill Zoners — Do you consciously apply the 80/20 rule in your workday? What’s your experience with it? Any direct tips on making it work? And does anyone have other production aids and/or time management suggestions? Please comment.

How Are They Talking?

How Are They Talking?
Terry Odell

This topic has come up here at TKZ before, but I recently read a book by a best-selling author, traditionally published, that had my teeth on edge, so I’m revisiting it.

Dialogue. Characters are talking. It’s up to the author to make sure the reader knows who it is uttering those gems. The terms I’ve learned are “tags” for things like he said, she asked, etc., and identify the speaker.

“I’m hungry,” Gordon said. “What’s for lunch?” she asked.

Note: It’s also considered acceptable to use “said” for questions.

Beats show a character’s action. Gordon opened the refrigerator. “I’m hungry.”

Note: It’s better to use either a tag or a beat, not both for the same dialogue line.

What was my problem with the book I read? The author (or her editor) seemed reluctant to use the word “said.” Reluctant? It was as if she thought a rattlesnake would strike every time she did, and she used more “creative” words instead.

While there’s nothing creative about said, it has the bonus of being invisible. I was reading novel by the late Robert B. Parker when I was a beginning writer, and I stopped to evaluate his dialogue. The man tagged almost every single line of dialogue with “said” and yet I realized I’d read three full pages and hadn’t noticed a single one.

What do these creative tags do for the reader? For this reader, they jump off the page. Instead of simply letting me know who’s saying the line, they’re making me stop and think. They’re distracting. After a few chapters they become downright annoying.

What word choices did this author use? Let me count the tags.

corrected, allowed, accused, argued, tossed back, explained, grumbled, muttered, murmured, suggested, noted, offered (that was a favorite), interjected, reminded (him), insisted, implored, urged, warned, added, demanded, agreed, promised, explained, tacked on, allowed, pressed, put in, pointed out, challenged, ordered, urged, agreed.

And this was in the first 5 chapters, after which I stopped tracking them. I counted a whopping 8 uses of said in these chapters, and one of asked. Most of the “said” uses were connected with action beats, as in “She said as she poured the coffee.” Both aren’t needed for the same line.

Although this was a good story, the read was an effort for me as the creative tag words made me stop and think about them. I’d rather be thinking about the story.

What about you, TKZers? Do you prefer the invisible said or do you enjoy the creative alternatives? Why?


Cover image of Deadly Relations by Terry OdellAvailable Now
Deadly Relations.
Nothing Ever Happens in Mapleton … Until it Does
Gordon Hepler, Mapleton, Colorado’s Police Chief, is called away from a quiet Sunday with his wife to an emergency situation at the home he’s planning to sell. A man has chained himself to the front porch, threatening to set off an explosive.


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