Fall's Favorite Reads

 Headstone, Ken Bruen. Wasn’t sure if I liked it through the middle, as the torments Taylor has to go through can be a bit much. By the end I was all in. Of course, it’s Bruen, so the writing was excellent throughout and got me over the rough spots.

Writing the Private Eye Novel, Robert J. Randisi, editor. Essays from more than twenty heavyweights circa early 90s, this is still a wealth of information for anyone interested in writing private detective fiction. Lawrence Block, Loren Estleman, Ed Gorman, Sue Grafton, Parnell Hall, and a dozen others join Randisi in exploring every facet of writing a PI novel, which often applies to writing fiction in general. I bought this after Bob died, as I wanted something of his on my bookshelf and this seemed a logical choice. It turned out to be far more educational and inspirational than I expected.

Lines and Shadows, Joseph Wambaugh. Non-fiction examination of a special team of San Diego police tasked with keeping predators from robbing, raping, and killing people sneaking across the border in the late 1970s, and how things eventually got out of hand. Focuses on more than the police work to shine a light on a too often forgotten aspect of the immigration problem: these are human beings deserving of at least a minimum amount of consideration and safety. The salient takeaway for me is how Wambaugh describes the US-Mexico border as an imaginary line separating two economies. Highest recommendation.

Floodgate, Johnny Shaw. I do loves me some Johnny Shaw. This is a departure from the Jimmy Veeder fiascos and Big Maria, and I was a little dubious at first. Not that it wasn’t good, just not what I expected. I got over that when I saw how compelling the story was and Shaw’s natural irreverence took over. Reads a little like a mash-up of James Ellroy and Carl Hiaasen; Shane Black could make the movie.

The Big Book of the Continental Op, Dashiell Hammett; edited by Richard Layman and Julie M. Rivett. It’s 733 small print double-column pages of every Continental Op story ever published, and one that wasn’t. (“Three Dimes.”) Contains the serialized version of “The Cleansing of Poisonville,” which became Red Harvest, as well as the original stories that make up The Dain Curse. The Beloved Spouse™ gave this to me as a Christmas gift in 2022 and I read the stories as palate cleansers between novels. It’s wonderful to see how Hammett’s writing improved as time went on and the stories became more complex and refined. I particularly enjoyed reading the opening lines of “Fly Paper.” (It was a wandering daughter job.)

The Capitalism of Publishing

 

The public is not typically aware that bookselling is essentially a consignment business. (Not all authors are aware of this, either, though they should be.)

Here’s how it works, in a nutshell. Bear in mind there are others that handle much of the logistics, but what’s here is the core process.

·       The publisher issues a catalog of what books are available to bookstores this quarter.

·       The bookstore orders the books it wants.

·       Customers buy those books from the store.

o   If they buy more than the store ordered, the store orders more.

o   If they buy fewer than the store ordered, the bookseller may return the unsold copies at the publisher’s expense.

·       Booksellers build the ability to return books into their business plans.

·       Publishers go along because they have to.

There are four major publishing houses that operate like this. Don’t be confused by the number of “publishers” that have their names on the spines of books. Those names are generally what are called “Imprints,” and a single house may own multiple imprints. For example, the Hachette Book Group owns Grand Central Publishing; Basic Books Group; Hachette Audio; Little, Brown, and Company; Little Brown Books for Young Readers; Orbit; Running Press Group; and Workman Publishing. Each of these has imprints of their own. If you buy a book published by any of these, the publishing company that runs the show is Hachette. The others in the Big Four are no different.

Since the big publishers can afford to accept returns and pay for display space dedicated to their books, theirs are what you see in your local bookstore. Since the local bookseller depends on this financial support to stay open, they do not as a habit stock books that

·       are put out by publishers that cannot afford to accept returns or pay for display space.

·       are self-published.

Rest assured, if you go into your local bookstore and ask for a specific title by an author not connected to any of the Big Four, your bookseller will order it for you. This is much appreciated, but it also means no one – literally no one – will find such a book by browsing the shelves, nor will it ever appear as a staff recommendation.

Where does this leave the small press or self-published author?

Shit out of luck.

Though it may sound like it, I’m not complaining. I accept this is how things work. I returned to self-publishing because I chose not to swim in the publishing business’s version of the Seine River during the Olympics. I have made my peace with it.

I’m writing here to encourage others to look clear-eyed at their prospects. Examine why you write. What do you want to get out of it? Money? How much? Fame? How much?

Or will the respect of those you would like to think of as your peers be sufficient? The joy you get from crafting something that, while imperfect, came out about how you wanted? The satisfaction of putting together a story others will enjoy reading, no matter how many – or how few – actually read it?

There is no right answer; there are wrong ones. By “wrong,” I mean, if you’re getting into it to make money and you don’t, whose fault is that? Is the system rigged against you? Sure it is, if only because there are more people who want to make money as writers than the industry can support. The lottery’s rigged against you, too, and you don’t bitch about that. (You have one chance in 292,201,338 to win the Power Ball jackpot.)

Telling stories for money is a privilege, not a right. It’s on you to come to accommodation with the industry. If you can’t, don’t bitch; quit. Not being a writer is the default state of humanity; there’s no shame in it. Those who make even a serious attempt are outliers.

“But I can no more not write than I can not breathe!”

Then save your breath and stop whining. No one is owed a living in their preferred profession. No one knows that better than I do. How I came to know it is a topic for another day.

Grammar and Spelling

 A conversation erupted on Facebook a few weeks ago about the importance of proper grammar and spelling. Opinions were all over the place. Some people were rigid for proper grammar and precise spelling. Others believed that, so long as the reader understood what you meant, anything goes.

I was busy at the time and unable to participate, though I have thoughts. (Surprise, surprise.) Here you go.

Regarding grammar, the entire field has become a refuge for pedants who would use strict interpretations as a crutch and demand everyone else do so. That’s bullshit.

I recently read Bill Bryson’s delightful history of the English language, The Mother Tongue; now I periodically dip into its companion Made in America, which shows how the language changed on this side of the sheugh. There are large chunks of “proper” grammar that come from a book by an English minister who appointed himself the Royal High Arbiter of English Grammar and pretty much decided what grammar should be. There were no definitive guides at the time – which makes sense, as there was no universally agree-on grammar either – people adopted his “rules” wholesale and we’re still hamstrung by them.

The purpose of grammar and punctuation is to make the writing clear to the reader, not to follow arbitrary rules. Placing the rules ahead of the purpose often serves to obfuscate the meaning, and that is something up with which I shall not put. (Thank you, Winston Churchill.) Last year I read Basil H. Liddell-Hart’s renowned history of the Second World War. It has a wealth of information, but the precise English public school grammar makes some sentences almost impossible to navigate; I sometimes forgot how a sentence began by the time it completed its Byzantine meandering to the end. You must give the reader a fighting chance to discern your meaning (Thank you Strunk & White), but grammar should always be the servant, not the master.

Spelling is different. Bad spelling forces the reader to divine the meaning of each cluster of letters. This not only slows things down, it violates Strunk and White’s “fighting chance” rule. Even the excuse, “This is how it should be spelled” is faulty, as readers from different parts of the country may perceive even a purely phonetic spelling differently.

Few people hand write things for others to read anymore. Keyboards and voice recognition reign. This means spell check is almost always available. If you can’t take the time to send your message through at least a rudimentary spell check, why would I think you spent any more time than that thinking about it, so why should I read it? (very brief social media and text responses are obviously not included, though you should still show some consideration for the poor bugger on the receiving end.)

Here’s the thing with grammar, spelling, and life in general: be sensitive of the intended audience. If you want them to read what you sent, make it easy for them. Think how you’d feel if someone forced you to trudge through turgid grammar and misspelled words in hope of figuring what they want to tell you and use your judgment accordingly.

Happy Anniversary to The Beloved Spouse™

 Today we celebrate the fifteenth anniversary of The Beloved Spousal Equivalent’s promotion to Beloved Spouse.

Notice how I did not say anything about it being ‘fifteen years ago today?”

That’s because it wasn’t. The actual anniversary was this past Wednesday, November 27.

Why the discrepancy?

In those days my parental units used to visit us over the Thanksgiving holiday. They’d arrive Wednesday afternoon and leave early Sunday morning so Dad could be home for the Steelers game. (He was old old school and didn’t believe in watching recorded games, no matter how much of his remaining time on earth would be saved by skipping commercials.)

The Sole Heir was still local then, a freshman at the University of Maryland in College park. She was home in Olney for the holiday weekend.

TBS and I had decided to get married but wanted something in our own…idiom. We arranged for a celebrant to come to the house on Black Friday afternoon, as Mom and Dad would be there and we could easily arrange a pretext to get TSH to the house.

Oh, yeah. We didn’t tell anyone except for the celebrant we were doing this. No one.

We were watching hockey – the Penguins would go on to lose to the Islanders 3 – 2 – with TSH and her then boyfriend now husband wondering what it was we’d hurried them over there for.

Three o’clock. The doorbell rings.

 Our celebrant, Heather, is at the door dressed in medieval garb. “Would anyone here like to get married?”

I turn to TBS. “Don’t we have that box of wedding stuff somewhere?” She says yes, tells me where it is – I already knew, this was theater – and everyone else wondered what exactly the hell was going on.

The wedding box contained, among miscellaneous festive appurtenances:

·       Tee shirts labeled husband, wife, mother, father, daughter. (We didn’t know Zack was coming, though he was more than welcome.)

·       Two small notebooks containing our “scripts;” the celebrant had her own scroll, for reasons that will become apparent later..

·       Heads on sticks of my brother, sister-in-law, two nieces, their dog, and two close friends who lived nearby and we knew would have come had we even hinted at this.

We then went through a real and legally binding ceremony while everyone else looked on with various shades of amusement, disbelief, or irritation. (It took Mom a while to figure out what was going on. She was still pretty sharp in those days, but no longer all that imaginative.)

I’ll not go through the entire brief, but not very solemn, ceremony here. Suffice to say it began thus, in script form:

HEATHER

 

Dearly beloved,

 

I know this was unexpected, so I will be brief.

 

(Allow scroll to fall open. It’s about four feet long.)

 

We are gathered here today on this not quite so solemn as some might have it occasion because when one heart exhibits migratory behavior toward another, it’s a force of nature, and not a question of where it grips it. Corky and Dana have married before. The marriages fell over and sank into the swamp. They tried again. Those marriages burned down, fell over, and sank into the swamp. So here they are, having learned from experience and lived as married in all but name (nudge, nudge, say no more) to build the strongest marriage in all the kingdom.

 

[References to Monty Python deliberate and numerous.]

Five minutes later we were married.

“This is all very nice,” you are asking, “but what does any of it have to do with not observing the actual date of the wedding?”

Good question. Actually, a great question. (What’s the difference between a good question and a great question? A great question is one I know the answer to.)

We were both still gainfully employed. We knew we’d always be off during the four-day weekend. November 27 might not always be convenient for an anniversary celebration.

The day after Thanksgiving would.

So here we are, celebrating our anniversary on the agreed-upon day, two days late by the calendar. Our prescience has been proven solid, as today finds us in Florida, where The Sole Heir, her husband, the baby, TSH’s mother, and Zack’s parents have all convened for the holiday. There are no better ways to celebrate important life events than with as many of the people who mean the most to you as can be assembled. That is exactly what we are doing.

Of course, the anniversary would still be a joy had it been just the two of us. The Pens play at Boston this evening – it’s later in the day than fifteen years ago, but the in-laws live in Massachusetts, so a friendly rivalry may be in order – even if we had nothing else scheduled. (Assuming the game is on in Florida.)

Every day is a bit of an anniversary with The Beloved Spouse™. We both do little things, intentional and otherwise, that remind us of why we chose to formalize a bond we’d already shared for five years. We are growing old together, not for better or for worse, but for better, as we are both well-equipped and willing to help the other through whatever vicissitudes old age visits upon us.

I wish I was as smart every day as the day I said:

DANA

 

I, Dana, take you, Corky, as my lawfully wedded wife, in this ceremony crafted to our own particular—uh—uh—

 

CORKY

 

Idiom

 

DANA

 

Idiom, to share in my great tracts of land in a very real, and legally binding sense. I promise never to make you live in a self-perpetuating autocracy, but in a an anarco-syndicalist commune. We shall take it in turns to be a sort of executive officer for the week, but all the decisions of that officer have to be ratified at a special bi-weekly meeting. Soft dirt shall not tempt me, even when I find unidentified and previously unannounced vegetables in my dinner, and I shall not say “Ni!” to you unless strenuously provoked.

 

Happy anniversary to The Beloved Spouse™. Never was a title more richly deserved.

Dead Shot: The Memoir of Walter Ferguson, Soldier, Marshal, Bootlegger is Available Today

 

Today is the climax of the relentless crescendo of hyperbole surrounding the release of my first Western, Dead Shot: The Memoir of Walte Ferguson, Soldier, Marshal, Bootlegger. Some may consider my use of “hyperbole” to itself be hyperbolic. Based on my standards of marketing, I do not.

Dead Shot was as much fun as I’ve had writing a book. The research was fun. Finding a voice I liked was fun. Even the first draft, which I usually consider to be the literary equivalent of searching excrement for intestinal parasites, was fun. Reading it to The Beloved Spouse™ was a lot of fun, especially when I saw her reaction, which was as encouraging as any I have received from her on a book, and she’s endured listened to them all.

In short, I enjoyed the entire process.

[Editor’s Note: It is generally accepted to be bad practice to use a loved one as a sounding board when judging the merit of a work in progress. This is not the case with TBS. She is not bashful about pointing out weaknesses or things that don’t make sense to her. While I don’t always take her suggestions, I always consider them, often discuss them, sometimes at length. Even if I don’t incorporate a suggestion, I have come to trust her opinion enough to know that, if she pointed something out, I need to make a change, even if it’s not the one she’d like.]

I shared a draft with J.D. Rhoades, author of the Jack Keller series (among others) as well as a highly acclaimed Western of his own, The Killing Look. Here’s what he had to say about Dead Shot:

"A fascinating, picaresque journey through a tumultuous post-Civil-War American West. Walter tells his tale with scrupulous honesty and wry wit as he encounters legends and makes a few of his own. Fans of Thomas Berger's Little Big Man are going to love this one. Highly recommended. "

I’m as happy with how Dead Shot turned out as I’ve been with anything I’ve written. What’s on the page captures when I had in my head as well or better as any previous work, whether novel, short story, or flash fiction. It’s even made me reconsider bringing out the Western I abandoned a few years ago, though that won’t be anytime soon, as I have ideas I want to work on stacked up like jets over LaGuardia Airport in bad weather.

One last excerpt before I leave you to your holiday preparations.

Knowing about marshals’ ability to collect rewards, you may wonder what I found attractive about bounty hunting. It was simple. As a bounty hunter I was not constrained by having to serve routine warrants, transport prisoners, or stand guard over a jail or courtroom. I was also not required to pay to bury anyone I might have to kill. So long as I turned in the wanted party, I was paid, often on the spot.

Bounty hunting was lonely work. You rarely took partners unless going after a gang, and then you kept one eye on your pards for fear one of them might decide to increase the size of his share by cutting down the number of shares. I typically stayed away from the big money bounties, or those marked “Dead or Alive.” I made a decent living picking up some of the lesser outlaws, as they were not as likely to shoot it out, especially with a man who had my reputation with a gun.

Dead Shot is available for free download through my website in MOBI, EPUB, and PDF formats by visiting https://danakingauthor.com/. 

Dead Shot Available in One Week

 My first Western, Dead Shot: The Memoir of Walter Ferguson, Soldier, Marshal, Bootlegger becomes available next Friday, November 22. This date was chosen as a courtesy to my dozens of readers, as I know the holidays are a busy time and you might like to get this order off your plate before Thanksgiving makes life hectic. (Canadian readers should ignore the Thanksgiving part. Yours has come and gone. I hope you had a good one.)

Over the past weeks I’ve posted about how and why I wrote Dead Shot,. Today I thought I’d talk a little about why Westerns matter at all, since the core of the book, Walt’s time on the range, took place 120 – 150 years ago.

Western stories – in particular Western movies – have shaped American culture and politics since their advent. The image of the lone cowboy riding into town to right injustice has become so iconic a lot of people in this country – too many, frankly – think that’s how things were and, even worse, should be today. To them, everyone should not only have the right to carry a gun, but should carry one. They believe that’s what it takes to be safe in a world far less dangerous than they would have you believe.

The people who lived on the frontier, where guns were often a necessity, would have liked nothing better than to see fewer of them. Rifles and shotguns were critical for subsistence hunting in a land where the closest meat market might be two days’ ride with no guarantee the meat purchased wasn’t already half spoiled.

Guns were also needed for personal protection. The frontier was a place where a farmer’s wife could watch him disappear over the horizon for a simple run into town for supplies with no assurance she’d ever see him again, no way to check on him, and no way to notify anyone if he didn’t return. Pa would be wise to arm himself on the way to and from town, even if he left the gun in the wagon while he was there.

Why would he leave the gun in the wagon? Because a lot of towns, maybe even most of them, eventually had ordinances that prohibited carrying firearms inside the town limits. People checked their guns the same way we check our coats now. The folks in those towns were painfully aware of the misery caused by every swinging dick in town coming heeled.

That element isn’t very romantic, though, so it’s often overlooked, especially in what I call the good haircut Westerns of the 30s through most of the 60s. You know what I mean: men came into town after three weeks on the range with their hair cut and combed, with maybe a day’s growth of beard. That right there should have been a tip-off that the image about to be conveyed would be inaccurate, no matter how compelling the story.

(I make two exceptions to the above rule: Shane and the original The Magnificent Seven. The grooming in both is still pretty good, but the depictions of the lives lived are also unvarnished.)

The turning point came with The Wild Bunch; Westerns would never be the same after Sam Peckinpaugh’s masterpiece. Clint Eastwood then became virtual curator of the genre with a series of classics, including The Outlaw Josie Wales, High Plains Drifter,  and his Western tour-de-force, Unforgiven.

There were others. Off the top of my head Young Guns, The Great Northfield Minnesota Raid, The Life and Times of Judge Roy Bean, McCabe and Mrs. Miller, Pat Garrett & Billy the Kid, The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford, Appaloosa, Open Range and especially Monte Walsh worked overtime to dispel the image built up over the previous forty years. On television, Lonesome Dove stands alone. Some were better than others. None glamorized the West, though they often displayed the heroism required to survive on the frontier.

Walt Ferguson’s story includes many scenes based on actual events. Action scenes that might lead one to believe this is just another shoot-em-up. I hope that’s not the general takeaway. I wrote the book to be entertaining, but I also wanted to show that Walt’s exploits were only necessary because the frontier was such a dangerous place.

One last excerpt from the book sums up Wat’s feelings toward his time on the frontier. The “current economic situation” he refers to is the Great Depression.

The frontier is gone now and will never return. That is as it should be, and while I miss it, I do not yearn for its renaissance. The world can never remain too constant or it will become stagnant, and a stagnant pool cannot sustain life except maybe mosquitoes and Lord knows we need no more of them.

What I do not speak much of, and why I am not sorry the frontier is gone forever, are the hardships. As bad as things are during the current economic situation, people who were not there have no idea of the depredations and suffering endured by those who made the trip west when the prairie had never felt a plow blade and was run by Indians. Even without the Indians it was a dangerous and unforgiving place where starvation and disease were constant threats. A relatively minor injury, easily treated by a doctor today, could prevent a man from working and cast his family into ruin.

My heart went out to the homesteaders who broke their backs and buried their children in small family plots. They had no thoughts of riches, only of a better life than the one they left. Maybe to give their children a leg up. They linger across the prairie in unmarked graves covered with stone to keep the scavengers away. The men like me who wore guns get all the attention nowadays but those unnamed millions deserve the credit. I could never have done what any of them did.

Important (For Me) Announcement

 The recent election had a side effect I’ll bet not too many of you saw coming:

Jeff Bezos can kiss my ass.

For those unaware – primarily low information Trump voters, I imagine – Bezos is the founder and owner of amazon.com and one of the two richest people in the world. (The other is Elon Musk, which should give you an idea what kind of high-quality individuals we’re talking about.)

Bezos also owns the Washington Post newspaper. Two weeks before the election, he decided the Post would not endorse a candidate for president. In a remarkably self-serving opinion piece, Bezos defended his action by stating he was returning the Post to the policy it observed until 1976. He argued it would imbue the paper with an aura of objectivity.

This is bullshit. Prima facie evidence to follow.

Bezos also owns Blue Origin, the company chosen by NASA to build the rockets that will return the United States to the moon. He is paranoid Trump will cancel the contract and give it to Dancing Elon (anagram: LONE SKUM), thus costing Bezos billions of dollars.

Let me rephrase: it will prevent Bezos from collecting billions of dollars.

Well, then, he can’t have any more of mine.

The Beloved Spouse™ and I are finding other sources for products we subscribe to on Amazon; we will not renew our Prime subscription. You can’t cancel those, so we’re locked in until August 2025. In the interim we will only use the services Prime provides for no additional charge, such as Free on Prime programming and the occasional sporting event. We will use Amazon as a shopping and information source for products we’ll buy elsewhere, even if it costs us more.

The reader in me has a more personal interest. The Kindle app of my iPad is more accommodating to my vision issues than most books; I’ll need to find another e-reader app and place to shop. (Suggestions welcome in the comments.)

My inner writer has a deeper dilemma.

I have long set aside my misgivings about Amazon, especially relative to physical bookstores, because brick-and-mortar stores don’t stock my books and are damn near impossible to book events into anymore. Bezos’s craven suck-up to Trump has severed that bond and I am removing from Amazon all the books under my control.

Where will I sell them? Nowhere. Anyone who wants one will be able to download it for free from my web site. Please stand by while the logistics are worked out. I hope to have physical copies through a POD source to sell at conferences, but that is also a work in progress.

I’ll still post notices here when books are available, as well as occasional reminders for the entire oeuvre. The books won’t be any harder to get to than they are now. You’ll just go to a different web site and it won’t cost you any money. If people are interested, I’ll see about working out a way print copies can be ordered from me directly, but that’s down the road and only if people ask for the service.

I hope this doesn’t inconvenience my dozens of readers; I’ll do all I can to see that it does not. The first book to go up will be next Friday’s release of Dead Shot: The Memoir of Walter Ferguson, Soldier, Marshal, Bootlegger. Once we get those logistics worked out, I expect to have everything moved over sometime in December.

Dead Shot: The Memoir of Walter Ferguson, Soldier, Marshal, Bootlegger Drops in Two Weeks

 

Dead Shot: The Memoir of Walter Ferguson, Soldier, Marshal, Bootlegger, drops November 22. I wrote a couple of weeks ago about what a departure it was for me to write a Western. Today I’ll come clean: it’s not as much of a departure as you might think. Dead Shot my second Western.

The still untitled novel was written in fits and starts several years ago after several western road trips put the bug in me. I squeezed bits in between drafts of Penns River and Nick Forte novels figuring I’d edit it into something usable.

The editing made it better, but I was still dissatisfied. The book struck me too much as a rehashing of my favorite scenes from other Westerns, both written and on film. I was pondering how to fix it, or if it was even worth fixing, when the character of Walter Ferguson came to me. The other book fell by the way during Walt’s lengthy gestation period.

These things happen. I’d thrown away thousands of words before. The Man in the Window, the third Forte novel, was almost half written when I decided I didn’t like where it was going. I salvaged what I liked and started over. The Man in the Window earned me a Shamus nomination as Best Paperback Original, so I guess I made the right decision.

The third Penns River novel, Resurrection Mall, started life as the fifth Forte. I was more than 30,000 words in and not liking how things were holding together – or, more accurately, not holding together – when it dawned on me what was wrong: this was a story better suited for Penns River. I threw away everything except the title and one sentence, shifted the whole operation to Penns River, and the rest went as smoothly as any book I’d written to that point.

Those experiences taught me to trust my judgment, so tossing a virtually finished novel did not keep me up at night. The time I worked on that book was well spent. I discovered what I needed to better understand to write a convincing Western, and that I needed to write a book in full, uninterrupted drafts if I wanted it to seem of a piece. I also needed a voice more suited to the period.

All those things not only made Dead Shot a better book, it made it a treat to write. I never had as much fun researching anything I’ve written, thanks mostly to the lively storytelling of those who wrote the histories and memoirs I used in my research. All the books listed below are well worth your time if you have an interest in Western history; the History Channel series, True West, is also recommended. (Alas, Wild West Tech has only random episodes available on YouTube.)

The Encyclopedia of Lawmen, Outlaws, and Gunfighters, Leon Claire Metz

The American West, Dee Brown

Why the West was Wild, Miller Snell

We Pointed Them North, “Teddy Blue” Abbott

The Johnson County War, Bill O’Neal

Deadwood: Stories of the Black Hills, David Milch (Focuses on the TV show but has a lot of good historical perspective)

Old Bill Miner: Last of the Famous Western Bandits, Frank W. Anderson

A Texas Cowboy: Or Fifteen Years on the Hurricane Deck of a Spanish Pony, Charlie Siringo

Famous Gunfighters of the Western Frontier, Bat Masterson

Dodge City, Tom Clavin

Gunfighter, Joseph G. Rosa

Beyond the Law, Emmitt Dalton

 

Last time I left you with a brief excerpt of Walt’s early life. Today I’ll tease you with a little of his military experience in the 11^th Pennsylvania Volunteers.

I would have been happy to have no cause to fire my weapon during the War of Southern Rebellion, but I ended up doing more than my share of killing. There were two reasons for this. At Chancellorsville I saw a Rebel blow the head off my best friend, Charlie Bagby, while Charlie lay wounded and helpless. I killed that man and the three who were with him. After that I took it as my part to kill my share and Charlie’s too. It seemed only fair.

The other reason I killed so many was that I was good at it. A man should never shirk a God-given gift. The Almighty made me so I could send a bullet anywhere my eye landed. To deny that talent would be akin to blasphemy.

I was fortunate to have a captain who recognized my ability and took full advantage of it. Much of my time between engagements was spent hunting to bring back game that added variety to a diet I would not wish on vermin. Some of the other men resented that I was excused from the less glamorous duties of a soldier, such as digging and filling latrines or standing night watch. They got over it when they realized Company C was the best-fed outfit in the regiment.

As for the other Western, I’ve seen and read quite a few in the past several years that are also mostly rehashings of classic plots and scenes; the secret is in the execution. So, as Billy Crystal said in The Princess Bride, it’s not completely dead.

Chandler's Misogyny and The Little Sister

 A few weeks ago I noted Michael Connelly’s love of Chapter 13 of Raymond Chandler’s The Little Sister. I have no quarrel with Connelly’s admiration for that passage. Reading it made me remember it had been a long time since I read The Little Sister, so I gave it another go.

Times change, but that rarely puts me off a book. What we would call “historical fiction” if it were written today gives an opportunity to see how things used to be without modern points of view re-interpreting the times for better or worse.

We change. Books I loved twenty years ago don’t do it for me anymore. (See Spillane, Mickey.) I can still appreciate the artistry, but the enterprise as a whole no longer moves me.

There are also books I didn’t care for when I first read them; second readings showed how badly I misjudged them. James Crumley’s The Last Good Kiss and Adrian McKinty’s Dead I Well May Be fall into this category. (In my defense, I read both for the first time during a month-long bout of mononucleosis I doubt I would have liked the movie L.A. Confidential during that month.)

Tangential to what’s above, I remembered an article in The Atlantic by Katy Waldman that discussed Chandler’s misogynistic tendencies; Megan Abbott followed up. At the time, my initial reaction was similar to Megan’s first impression. Also like Megan, I changed my mind. It just took me longer.

Full disclosure: I am not what anyone would consider woke. I say things that appall The Beloved Spouse™ on an almost daily basis. She knows they’re either for comic effect, because I’m trying out something for a character to say, or are strictly factual but insensitive. From what I’ve seen of the Warriors for Wokeness, these comments eliminate me right there, regardless of what actions I may or may not take.

That said, I was appalled by my recent reading of The Little Sister. Chandler wrote noir. Femme fatales are a staple of noir. I get that. It’s why he gets a pass for Helen Grayle in Farewell My Lovely. The problem with The Little Sister is that, while Dolores Gonzales may play that position, Chandler’s descriptions of the other primary women in the book are no more flattering.

Orfamay Quest, the little sister of the title, is a conniving sociopath who’d sell out her family for a few bucks. Gonzales is beyond slutty and either killed or fingered several people. Mavis Weld comes off best, and she’s a bitch for most of the book until he finds she at least has a bottom.

The lesser characters fare no better. There’s the orange-haired police stenographer and the woman in the city offices. Both are described in disparaging terms even though neither does anything damaging to Marlowe.

That got me to thinking about Chandler’s other novels. In The Big Sleep¸ Carmen Sternwood is a nut job and  Agnes Lozelle is a selfish harpy; Vivian Regan comes off best of the three and she spends most of the book sexually teasing Marloe to get him to do her bidding, though her motives are good. Eileen Wade in The Long Goodbye is a hot mess start to finish; the veneer of worthiness she’s given early on is due almost entirely to Marlowe’s sexual attraction. (It’s been forever since I read either The Lady in the Lake  or The High Window, so I’m leaving them aside for now.)

Don’t get me wrong. I’ve used women as bad guys. I even used one as a femme fatale. By and large, I think my female characters come off at least as well as the men. The only women in a Chandler novel I can think of who resembles a good person more than superficially is Anne Riordan in Farewell My Lovely.

Raymond Chandler’s books were among the primary reasons I got into writing seriously. I have no idea how many times I’ve read The Big Sleep, Farewell My Lovely, and The Long Goodbye. I can point to two things that have lowered him in my esteem;

1.    I read The World of Raymond Chandler: In His Own Words. Editor Barry Day uses Chandler’s letters to give a picture of the author, who never wrote a memoir. The image that emerges is that of a selfish prig who has serious problems with women. Anyone who knows the story of the relationship he had with his wife is already aware of this.

2.    I got into reading Dashiell Hammett and better appreciated the virtues of telling the goddamn story and getting out.

I’m not finished reading Chandler. I’m sure I’ll read the big three again, though he’s on an extended hiatus right now. It takes a lot to offend me when reading a book, but there were several places in The Little Sister where he had me thinking, “Okay, Ray, I get it. She’s a slut/bitch/cunt. Move on.” I’m sure that’s going to color my reading from now on, even when I’m not actively thinking it.

The short stories don’t have so much of this, nor of the other naval-gazing aspects of what it’s like to be a drugged Philip Marlowe, or his too often misanthropic observations. I have the complete collection. Maybe it’s time to give them another look.

Dead Shot: The Memoir of Walter Ferguson; Soldier, Marshal, Bootlegger To Be Released November 22

 Well, I finally got around to it.

After years of dithering and several abortive starts, I finished a Western. Dead Shot: The Memoir of Walter Ferguson, Soldier, Marshal, Bootlegger drops four weeks from today, on November 22, just in time for holiday shopping. (Hint, hint.)

Dead Shot is unique from my other books in several ways besides being my first Western. First, I didn’t “write” it; I am but the “editor.” The conceit is that I stumbled across the notes for a memoir by a western Pennsylvania native while researching a Penns River novel. Walter Ferguson (1844 – 1937) told his life story to a woman named Helena Elizabeth Judson, who took copious written notes and even a few wire recordings. Both participants died before the project came to fruition, and somehow the notes ended up at the Alle-Kiski Historical Society, where I found them. I then took it upon myself to complete what Walt and Helena had “begun.”

Another difference is that Walt crosses paths with historical figures and participates in documented historical events. Along the way he interacts with frontier notables, including Charlie Bassett, Butch Cassidy, Wyatt Earp, Wild Bill Hickok, Bat Masterson (and his brothers), Johnny Ringo, Al Swearengen, and Bill Tilghman among others. Walt also participates in the Second Battle of Adobe Walls and the Dodge City War.

I also had to come up with a new style and voice that felt more appropriate for the era. I read several memoirs of cowboys, lawmen, and criminals in hope of cobbling together something that would ring true as an oral history as told though Walt’s eyes without seeming too archaic.

I had a ball writing Dead Shot and The Beloved Spouse™ enjoyed listening to me read it to her; she is always a good judge of how well what I wrote is received by others. J. D. Rhoades, author of the Jack Keller series as well as the acclaimed Western The Killing Look, said, “A fascinating, picaresque journey through a tumultuous post-Civil-War American West. Walter tells his tale with scrupulous honesty and wry wit as he encounters legends and makes a few of his own. Fans of Thomas Berger's Little Big Man are going to love this one. Highly recommended.”

Here’s a tease from Chapter One:

My name is Walter Stewart Ferguson. I was born in Westmoreland County, Pennsylvania on January 17, 1844. Or January 14, depending on who you ask. I celebrate on the 17^th, as that is the date Mother told me and I figure she should know. It is also the birthday of the greatest Pennsylvanian of all time, Benjamin Franklin, and who better to share a birthday with than he? [Editor’s Note: The facts are unclear. Many local birth records were damaged or destroyed in the flood of 1936, as were the baptismal records of the Ferguson family church.]

I am the second of five children to survive more than one year, along with an older sister (Oneida), a younger brother (Seward), and two younger sisters, Ella and MaryLou. An older brother was stillborn and a sister, Ethel, was taken by the whooping cough in her first year.

I could always shoot. My father, Gordon, was a more than passable marksman, but I bested him the first time he took me out to learn. People said it was a gift from God, my ability to shoot accurately with whatever was in my hand, be it musket, rifle, pistol, or bow and arrow. Only God knows if that is true. All I can say for certain is that it led me to do things I am not sure God would approve of. I suppose one day I will find out.

Dead Shot will be available on Amazon November 22. Look for special pricing over that weekend.

(Note: I know, I know. Some might consider releasing a book titled Dead Shot on the anniversary of the Kennedy assassination to be in questionable taste. For reasons of my own, I always planned to drop the book on the Friday before Thanksgiving. I didn’t realize that was the 22^nd until I looked it up just now. If anyone takes umbrage…well, damn, people. It’s been 61 years. He’d be dead by now, anyway.)

That's Just, Like, Your Opinion, Man

 It’s a common topic around elections:

Should writers express their personal opinions publicly?

The traditional wisdom says, “No. It might cost you sales if you offend a reader or potential reader.”

My thought is, “Has anyone ever done a legitimate, serious study with empirical evidence?”

I’m willing to bet the answer is no to that, too. Publishers and marketing firms don’t have anything like hard data to tell why people buy books, don’t buy books, what marketing works, or what marketing doesn’t work. Everyone is just supposed to cede the field to their “experience” and “expertise,” which I have boiled down into a couple of sentences.

No one knows what will sell, but we know what won’t. And your book won’t.

So I’m not overwhelmed by the It might cost you sales argument.

Two other thoughts come to mind:

1.    Has anyone ever checked to see if expressing one’s opinion might increase sales, at least enough to offset those lost by the people you pissed off? Let’s face it, unless you’re in the Stephen King, Lee Child, Diana Gabaldon stratus of writers, very few people pay attention to what you say outside the confines of one of your books. If you tweet or Facebook discourteous things about MAGA, might that not get the attention of some actual patriots? If your opinions are pro-MAGA, while they might cost a few readers on the other side, it could tick up your sales to MAGAites. (Assuming they have someone who will read the books to them.)

2.    We are all humans and citizens in addition to being writers. I’ll go so far as to say our humanity and citizenship should take precedence over our writing. If you’re afraid to speak out because it might cost you sales, what about if the wrong side wins and the libel laws are changed to what The Felon would like to see? Or if you books are banned altogether because the First Amendment doesn’t mean what it used to? How’s that going to work out for you?

Crime fiction writers are well-known for their empathy. If our consciences allow us to stand quietly by while injustice is planned and perpetrated, how much of a conscience do we really have?

Writers, by definition, have a gift for using words. That gives us an obligation to speak out when we feel something isn’t right, or to pass along compliments when someone steps up and does the right thing.

We all know the famous poem by Martin Niemöller:

 

First they came for the Communists

And I did not speak out

Because I was not a Communist

Then they came for the Socialists
And I did not speak out
Because I was not a Socialist

Then they came for the trade unionists
And I did not speak out
Because I was not a trade unionist

Then they came for the Jews
And I did not speak out
Because I was not a Jew

Then they came for me
And there was no one left
To speak out for me

Well, if you – or anyone you care about – are an immigrant, person of color, queer, Jewish, Muslim, or a woman of any description, the MAGAs and their ilk, armed with Project 2025, are coming for you.

Will you stand quietly by and allow the others to be demonized and marginalized – and worse – until there is no one left to speak for you?

I’m not. And if that means I never sell another book, I’m good with it. Book sales have never kept me awake at night. MAGA does.

 

The Ethics of Fictional Detectives, Part 2

 Welcome back to One Bite at a Time. Today Bill Gormley and I will conclude our discussion on the ethics of fictional detectives. For those who missed last week’s installment, here you go.

One Bite at a Time (From last week): You mentioned characters can go from Moralist to Pragmatist and from Pragmatist to Rogue as conditions dictate. Does it work in the other direction? Can a Rogue evolve into a Pragmatist or a Pragmatist into a Moralist?

Bill Gormley:  That’s an excellent question, Dana, but a tough one to answer.  I find myself asking whether there’s a fictional detective out there who previously served time in prison?  I know that there’s a very successful mystery author who served time in prison for a capital offense.  Anne Perry.  I wonder if she’s ever featured a detective who was an ex-con in one of her books.  Do you happen to know? 

The one detective I can think of who’s sort of progressed from a Rogue into a Moralist is Sean Duffy, who’s featured in Adrian McKinty’s splendid mystery series, set in Ireland during the Time of the Troubles.  As a young man, Duffy, a Catholic, tried to join the IRA.  Had he succeeded, he would probably have killed many people outside the confines of the law. Very rougish. But he was rebuffed by the IRA.  At that point, he made an odd choice – to become a policeman for the Royal Ulster Constabulary, which  was the police force for northern Ireland.  A great story line, right?

Truthfully, Duffy is very hard to classify, for all sorts of reasons.  At times, he’s been a Moralist, a Pragmatist, and a Rogue.  Sometimes while working the same case!  Another way to put it is that he has his own moral code, which reflects the reality that neither side in the long, bloody Irish dispute had a monopoly on virtue.  Duffy tried to apprehend and punish lawbreakers, but he also administered his own moral code, even when it was clearly contrary to the law of the land.  What I really like and admire about Duffy, in addition to his wonderful sense of humor, is that morality is front and center for him.  Instead of siding with his tribe through thick and through thin, Duffy distances himself from both sides and tries to act as a just God might act.  Vigilante justice, in a way.  But fueled by an ethical code, not by hatred or a desire for revenge.***

OBAAT: None of Ann Perry’s series protagonists had criminal backgrounds; I didn’t dive into her other works. While several writers served time themselves – Chester Himes and Les Edgerton come to mind – I know of none who wrote detectives who had themselves been felons. Given today’s propensity for companies and governments to hire convicts as security consultants, this seems to be an area ripe for exploitation.

I’m glad you brought up Adrian McKinty and Sean Duffy. I’ve been a fan of Adrian’s work since I first read the Michael Forsythe stories. I can’t remember reading anything that was better than the Duffy novels at putting me in a different place and time. Cold Cold Ground is a harrowing description of life in Northern Ireland during The Troubles, with the horror made more real through Duffy’s casual description of how he deals with it.

More to our point about ethics, your comment about Duffy’s personal code got me to thinking that may be the common thread that runs through all the ethical trees of detectives: fictional detectives, especially PIs, live by their own codes. A Moralist’s code may be to do things by the book, but that was his or her decision. Rogues and Pragmatists may/will break the written rules, but always in support of their own vision of what needs to be set right and how best they can do it without crossing the lines they have drawn for themselves.

This seems to me to be a core element of fictional detectives. Can you think of any who lack their own internally imposed set of ethics?

BG:  Thanks for investigating Anne Perry's books.  She may be one of those rare novelists whose personal story would be even more riveting than a great work of fiction.  When I think of detectives or P.I.s with a troubled past, I think mainly of recovering alcoholics.  Like Matthew Scudder in Lawrence Block's outstanding mysteries.  A detective who did hard time has some potential.  Or a detective who committed a crime that has not yet come to light, as in the first Kate Burkholder mystery by Linda Castillo.  The back story, from an Amish community in rural Ohio, is compelling.

 I think you're right that most fictional detectives and P.I.s have strong views.  I'm less convinced that they have a well-formulated system of values.  Many of them are deeply committed to preventing crime, capturing criminals, and punishing criminals.  To some extent, they are playing a role.  At the same time, it is a role they have chosen, which means it is probably consistent with many of their views.

In many of the mysteries I read, detectives and P.I.s frequently collide with their bosses.  Supervisors want quick results, which encourages detectives to cut corners.  Supervisors want to protect the rich and powerful, which encourages a cover-up.  Detectives may comply or resist.

We can infer values from the choices detectives make when they clash with their bosses.  But I like it when authors give their detectives the chance to articulate what they believe and why they believe it.  To me, that makes for rewarding reading.  It's great to get inside other people's heads.

OBAAT: Your comment, “Supervisors want to protect the rich and powerful, which encourages a cover-up.  Detectives may comply or resist.” Reminds me that many of the best detective fiction – cop or private – uses the reluctance of the detective to go along with a protective coverup as the core of the story. This always brings to mind A quote from Raymond Chandler’s “The Simple Art of Murder”: “He is a relatively poor man, or he would not be a detective at all. He is a common man or he could not go among common people. He has a sense of character, or he would not know his job. He will take no man’s money dishonestly and no man’s insolence without a due and dispassionate revenge. He is a lonely man and his pride is that you will treat him as a proud man or be very sorry you ever saw him.” That describes a man who is not likely to accede to a coverup and, if confronted with one he cannot overcome directly, will exact his own idea if justice, however flawed.

Detective fiction, especially private detective fiction, waxes and wanes in popularity; I doubt it will disappear, for the reasons we have discussed these past two weeks. There are just too many ways of exploring too many things.

Many thanks to Bill Gormley for his time and insights. I hope he had as much fun as I did. If you’re at a conference and have a chance to catch him on a panel, by all means do so.

 

The Ethics of Fictional Detectives, Part 1

I became acquainted with Bill Gormley at last spring’s Malice Domestic conference after hearing him speak on a panel that discussed the ethics of fictional detectives. As a detective guy myself, what he said intrigued me and I asked him if he would send me his comments for use here in the blog. That led to a discussion that will play out here over the next few weeks. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed working with Bill to put it together.

Bill served as University Professor of Public Policy and Government at Georgetown University, where he co-directed the Center for Research on Children in the U.S. (CROCUS). He is the author of Too Many Bridges, a murder mystery published by Level Best Books in August. He is also the creator of Profs on Cops, a podcast that features interviews with criminologists and social scientists who are doing cutting-edge research on police practices and behavior. I’ve become a regular listener and it’s costing me money, as I find myself wanting the books several guests have written.

Bill Gormley: Most detectives and private eyes see their primary goal as solving crimes.  But how far will they go in pursuing that goal?  Will they ignore a direct order from a superintendent or client?  Will they lie?    Will they break into someone’s home or place of business without authorization?  Will they engage in violence?  And what if other goals come in to play?  Their reputation?  The well-being of their family members or friends?  Getting to take a vacation on schedule?

These are ethical questions.  Whether we like it or not as mystery authors, our detectives face many ethical dilemmas in their line of work.  How do they resolve them? 

As a starting point, I believe that detectives and private eyes can be placed into one of three categories:  moralists, pragmatists, or rogues.

A MORALIST is someone who obeys the law, who follows orders, who tells the truth, and who eschews gratuitous violence. Examples: Adam Dalgliesh (P.D. James);  Matthew Venn (Ann Cleeves);  Joe Leaphorn (Tony and Anne Hillerman);  Armand Gamache (Louise Penny);  Ian Rutledge (Charles Todd).

A ROGUE is someone who does not follow the letter of the law, who disobeys orders that get in the way of professional or personal goals, who lies or stretches the truth when it is convenient, and who sometimes inflicts violence on others out of anger or in pursuit of rough justice. Examples: Harry Bosch (Michael Connelly);  John Rebus (Ian Rutledge);  Liz Salander (Stieg Larsson);  Harry Hole (Jo Nesbo);    Dave Robicheaux (James Lee Burke).

A PRAGMATIST is someone who tries to be moralistic but who behaves as a rogue when fatigue sets in, when a conflict of interest arises, when the stakes are high, or when it is the most expedient way to solve a crime and identify or convict a murderer. A majority of fictional detectives are pragmatists:  Anna Pigeon (Nevada Barr); Zoe Chambers (Annette Dashofy); Kinsey Millhone (Sue Grafton); Joe Pickett (C.J. Box);  Easy Rawlins (Walter Mosley).

Dana King:  Why should we care about this?  And do you have a preference for one type of detective over another?

Bill Gormley: Stories populated by moralists have advantages and disadvantages.  Stories populated by rogues have advantages and disadvantages.  Highlighting ethical dilemmas adds another dimension, an important dimension, to our characters.  A window to their souls.  As a profession, we should be thinking about these issues.

Rogues are especially compelling.  It’s like watching a train wreck in progress.  Disturbing but riveting.  Moralists are especially admirable.  It’s easy to root for them.  They appeal to our better natures.  Pragmatists are especially realistic.  We recognize pragmatists in detective fiction, because most of us are probably pragmatists in real life.  For most of us, moralism is aspirational but not always attainable, while outright roguery is beyond the pale.

One Bite at a Time:  Are some settings especially fertile ground for ethical dilemmas?

BG: If you’re drawn to ethical dilemmas, there are plenty of opportunities to harvest them.  Ireland in the time of the Troubles (1968-1998) presents such an opportunity.  An abundance of searing conflicts based on religion, geography, and politics. Police at the Station and They Don’t Look Friendly (Adrian McKinty) is a good example. Anjili Babbar does a brilliant job of dissecting and probing the values of fictional detectives in Ireland and expats in the U.S. during the time of The Troubles. You can find her take on these issues in Finders:  Justice, Faith, and Identity in Irish Crime Fiction (Syracuse University Press, 2023).

Conflicts between whites and Blacks in the U.S. also present such an opportunity.  In the Heat of the Night (John Ball). Blanche on the Lam (Barbara Neely). Small Mercies (Dennis Lehane). All the Sinners Bleed (S.A. Cosby).  Crook Manifesto (Colson Whitehead). What does racial prejudice and inter-racial violence look like from a Black person’s perspective?  From a white person’s perspective?  What are your obligations to your family, to your community, to your race, to your employer, to your co-workers?  And what if they conflict? 

There are other ethical dilemmas out there waiting to be discovered by mystery writers.  What obligations, if any, do we have when a close relative needs a kidney transplant?  What obligations, if any, do we have when a close relative, near death, wants a push to the other side?  (See Richard Osman’s The Last Devil To Die.) What obligations, if any, do we have when we discover that a friend or colleague has committed a serious crime?  There is lots of grist for the mill out there, and it’s exciting to think about these possibilities.

OBAAT:  What types of detectives or P.I.’s do you think that readers prefer?  Moralists, Pragmatists, or Rogues?

BG: We read mysteries for different reasons.  If we want to see a criminal brought to justice, then we might be drawn to rogues, because they are willing to do almost anything to catch, prosecute, or kill a murderer.  If we like unpredictability, we might be drawn to rogues, because you never know what they are going to do.  Neither the law nor their department’s rules and regs nor their boss’ direct orders has much effect on their behavior.  But if we want to immerse ourselves for a day or two in a grim struggle between good and evil, then we might be drawn to moralists, because they are on the victim’s side but they also play by the rules.  They are respectful, thoughtful, admirable.  It’s easy to root for them.  And it’s easy to distinguish between them and the criminals they are trying to catch. 

Personally, a rogue hooks me on a book; a moralist hooks me on a series.  For example, I recall being very excited when I read Jo Nesbo’s first murder mystery, The Bat, featuring Oslo police detective Harry Hole.  He was a loose cannon but relentless in pursuit of the murderer.  A fascinating character.  But as the series wore on, I came to view Harry as annoying and self-destructive.  He was not a team player and he often got in the way of solving a crime.  His alcoholism was problematic. He also kept losing body parts!  For the long haul, I’d prefer to follow Armand Gamache, the Chief Inspector in Louise Penny’s marvelous series about the Quebec Surete.  You don’t know what tricks or strategies he’ll employ to snag a murderer, but you can be sure that he will be fair and honest and keep his eyes on the prize.  I enjoy following him in case after case.  Plus you get to enjoy a slice of life in Three Pines, where Penny has created some memorable and amusing characters.

OBAAT: Thanks, Bill. Reading this brought back the interest you piqued when I heard you speak at Malice Domestic. I particularly like how you allow for some blurring of the lines, e.g. how a Moralist might be pushed into becoming a Pragmatist by circumstances. The main detective in my Penns River series of procedurals is a Moralist, though he’s also a smartass who may tread a line verbally from time to time. On the other hand, my private investigator, Nick Forte, was a Pragmatist who has crossed over into Rogue status in recent books.

You mentioned characters can go from Moralist to Pragmatist and from Pragmatist to Rogue as conditions dictate. Does it work in the other direction? Can a Rogue evolve into a Pragmatist or a Pragmatist into a Moralist?

Come back next week as Bill and I continue our chat on the ethics of fictional detectives.

Summer's Favorite Reads

 Savages, Don Winslow. The more I read of Winslow, the more I like him. This is a more complicated story than The Dawn Patrol or California Fire & Lifer, but he handles the increased number of moving parts just as well, keeping the reader on the edge of the seat while never allowing the pace to become too hyper. The dry humor helps. Highly recommended, though the movie is eminently missable, even though Winslow has a partial screenwriting credit.

In the Electric Mist With Confederate Dead, James Lee Burke. Not Burke’s best but maybe my favorite. I don’t usually go in for books with supernatural elements, especially crime novels, but Burke’s touch is so deft I fell right into it. It doesn’t hurt that this book focuses on New Iberia and the surrounding swamps, which is where Burke always does his best work. Unlike Savages the movie In the Electric Mist is one you ought to find. It’s outstanding, though under-released in this country.

The County Line, Steve Weddle. It’s been quite a while since Weddle’s acclaimed collection of stories Country Hardball came out; The County Line is worth the wait, though let’s hope he doesn’t make a habit of such long intervals. The story of rural criminal gangs set during Franklin Roosevelt’s first year in office, The County Line brings alive the Depression era problems and practicalities and puts the reader right in the thick of them by gradually winding the stories of the main characters ever closer until everything everyone does affects everyone else in a manner that always makes sense.

Trigger Guard, Chris Grall. (Non-fiction.) Outstanding review of firearms, from blunderbusses to M-4s. Grall has an engaging writing style that makes a topic that could be dry as duct flow past the eyes like a river. My plan had been to read a chapter at a time as a palate cleanser between novels, but once I read the first chapter I was hooked and read it straight through.

The Ones You Do, Daniel Woodrell. Book 3 of The Bayou Trilogy, this one focuses on John X. Shade, father of the brothers who carry the first tow books. John X. – he’s never referred to as plain old John – is a pool hustler whose hands are no longer steady enough to support him and bad choices through the years are catching up. He’s a ne’er-do-well piece of shit when you get right down to it, but you can’t help but root for him, as none of the people he’s shit on over the years seem to hold it against him. All the wry humor and bizarre situation that made the first two book such treasure are here in this worthy conclusion to the Shade family saga.

The Mother Tongue, Bill Bryson. (Non-fiction) An informal history of the evolution of the English language. By “informal” I mean written in a breezy, engaging manner; the book is meticulously researched. Every page has something a lover of the language will find worth knowing, and Bryson’s easy writing makes the who enterprise a pleasure.

Black Betty, Walter Mosley. Maybe the best of the Easy Rawlins books I’ve read so far, though that could be because it’s freshest in my mind; Devil in a Blue Dress is very good. I’m glad I decided to read them in order, as Mosley’s writing becomes more refined and he keeps finding different ways to make Easy’s life hard.

An Interview With Robert Creekmore, Author of the Prophet Novels

 I first met Robert Creekmore at a Noir at the Bar reading in Hillsborough, North Carolina’s Yonder Bar, which may well be the ultimate venue for such events. The Venn diagrams of our writing lives overlap quite a bit even though we write considerably different kinds of stories, so we came to know each other more than we might have otherwise..

His first traditionally published novel, Prophet's Debt, was a Manly Wade Wellman Literary Award Finalist. The second, Prophet’s Lamentation, was a Lambda Literary recommendation for July 2023.

One Bite at a Time: Welcome to the blog, Rob. This should be fun.

You’re as personable as anyone I know and I don’t think I’ve ever seen you not smiling, yet your writing is dark. What draws you to that sort of fiction? Dear god, I hope it’s fiction.

Robert Creekmore: Darkness resides in us all, especially those who claim divinity. The difference between myself and a preacher is that I’m honest about mine and am better at interpreting it concisely.

OBAAT: You’re probably best known for your “Prophet” novels. Tell us a little about who the Prophet is.

RC: I based the original Prophet antagonist on a violent sexual abuser I knew of from the Evangelical Church of my youth. Several of the other characters are proxies for rotten individuals.

I was extraordinarily unkind to those characters. Specifically, Prophet’s Debt is said to have one of the most unique castration scenes in the annals of English literature. However, I’m not entirely sure it’s literature. More like a collection of snuff paragraphs.

In the novels, Proffit is a surname taken on by cult leaders. The first was Vernon Proffit. I named him as such and began the trilogy in 1993 because it was the year of the Waco siege. That was the spark that set off the modern Christian Nationalist movement, which we saw bear fruit on January the sixth, 2021.

Why Vernon? Because it was the birth name of Branch Davidian cult leader, David Koresh. I suppose it’s what you’d call an Easter egg. There’s another based around his name. See if you can find it.

I created him as a narcissistic sociopath who believed that the lives of others only existed to either benefit his goals or bring him sexual gratification. Those he’d finished with, especially forgotten children, were discarded in extremely cruel ways for his entertainment.

OBAAT: Your Amazon bio contains this quote: “Annoyed with the stereotype of the southeastern United States as a monolith of ignorance and hatred, [Robert] wanted to bring forth characters from the region who are queer and autistic. They now hold up a disinfecting light to the hatred of the region’s past and to those who still yearn for a return to ways and ideas that should have long ago perished.”

What drew your focus to the queer and autistic?

RC: I’m autistic myself, so that makes sense. However, I am a straight man, so I reckon my focus on queer characters requires some explaining.

Growing up, I had a friend who was gay. I didn’t know that at the time, neither did he. This was pre-puberty, pre-sexuality for either of us. Yet, somehow every adult in our lives seemed to know and treated him worse for it. I wasn’t treated particularly well either, so I chalked it up to the fact that we were both nerds. This was rural North Carolina in the 1990s, after all. In school, if another kid was interested in books and computers, it was reason enough to punch them. This didn’t result in consequences but rather laughter and adulation. 

In 1992, we made plans to watch the Perseid Meteor Shower, which is how Prophet’s Debt opens. We did so on the expansive property where I grew up. It was a bit cool that night, so I went back inside and asked my mother for a second blanket to lay atop ourselves. We were using the first to lay upon.

She made a derogatory comment to the effect that we were going to bed together. I was twelve and didn’t understand completely. Though, I knew that if I were it would have been the end of my life as I knew it. After that night, I wasn’t allowed to see him any longer. I was sent to a fundamentalist, evangelical school. He stayed in public school.

Luckily for my friend, he excelled. He later went on a full ride to Duke and moved to New York City. The two of us reconnected two years ago because of the publication of Prophet’s Debt. He even attended my first New York City Noir at the Bar reading.

I suppose I’d been trying to make up for what happened since that night. In 2006, I became the first Gay-Straight-Alliance faculty sponsor at the high school where I taught in Raleigh, one of the first in North Carolina. Since the publication of the first Prophets book, I have been contacted by several people who have said that it had helped them process trauma or talk to their parents about their youths. This is something I’m extraordinarily proud of.

One side note, my mother’s attitude toward the LGBTQ+ community has evolved greatly since my childhood. She no longer holds the same bigoted positions.

OBAAT: You and your wife lived for several years in a mountain cabin in western North Carolina where you raised your own food and did subsistence hunting. How has that experience shaped your fiction?

RC: It had everything to do with the realistic tapestry that is the backdrop of the Prophets series. I grew up on a farm in eastern North Carolina, so I was familiar with hunting and survival skills. However, the stakes are much higher and the skillset more difficult in the remote Appalachians. I wanted to live the reality before I wrote it.

OBAAT: Who and what are your major influences as a writer? Could be authors, individual books, movies, or television.

RC: Kurt Vonnegut would be at the top of that list. So would Albert Camus. The tattoo I have on my right forearm is a depiction of the black death as illustrated in the first English edition of The Plague. I’ve had it for twenty years. Camus’s picture hangs on the wall above my writing desk.

I loved Sylvia Plath’s The Bell Jar growing up and am currently writing a literary fiction novel that finds its inspiration within those pages.

I get compared to Chuck Palahniuk often. While I enjoyed his work as a teenager and younger man, I never realized how much I had internalized his style.

The other person my work gets compared to is Quentin Tarantino. I grew up on his movies and it shows. I think what the two of us share is the love of a good revenge story.

OBAAT: In July I heard you read your short story “Sole Survivor” at a Noir at the Bar at Yonder in Hillsborough, North Carolina. It’s a story that begins with cousin incest and becomes less mainstream from there. I laughed throughout, all the while thinking, “I probably shouldn’t be laughing at this,” which I consider to be high praise. That’s a long setup to a short question: Do you set out to drop humor into dark stories, or is it organic to how you write?

RC: Don’t you mean, COUSIN FUCKING? I believe that’s how I framed it that night after having to pause the story because of all the gasps. [Editor’s Note: Yep. He did.]

I don’t set out to write one way or another. I simply try to be my genuine self. Often, what comes out isn’t contemplated before jotting it down. The dark humor is an inexorable part of my flawed character.

The thing is, who I am has been controversial for so long that the things I’ve said, done, and written are only now being absorbed and considered by the public at large. Modernity has produced a mono-culture of cold, calculating phonies chasing clout and currency. To be authentic is difficult and messy in the best of times. Sure, I’m a bit strange but it’s very real, which puts others at ease for reasons I don’t understand.

But, this is neither the best of times nor the worst. I remember when my friends were afraid to be arrested for who they loved, so I’ll take what I can get. However, don’t be too complacent dear reader, descent into hell is only one broken ladder rung away.

OBAAT: What are you working on now?

RC: I’m working on a literary fiction novel about a young woman’s psychiatric break after witnessing the murder of her friend. I should have the rough draft done before the year is out.

After, I’m going to write a crime thriller that’s been begging me to get on the page for a couple of years.

While doing that, I’ve begun collaborating on a graphic novel version of Prophet’s Debt with Mikah Meyers, a graphic artist that I met at Creatures Crimes and Creativity Con in 2023. The first character sketches and cover art are amazing. Mikah is an absolute gem of an artist and person.