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.