I'm Old and I Read What I Want

This is probably going to irritate some people, but I’m old, which means I don’t give a fuck.

 Last week Rob Hart posted in Substack a piece titled, “DUNGEON CRAWLER CARL, why TWILIGHT is good actually, and the importance of reading bestsellers.” Rob is a helluva writer and a friend of mine. It’s always a good idea to listen to what he has to say. One of the best and most useful bits of writing advice I ever received came from him at Left Coast Crime in 2025 when he suggested an edit from back to front of a novel. I’ve done that for a couple of books now and it works great. Rob’s rationale was that it avoids the fatigue that comes as the end approaches in any edit; I also found it helps me to fix things that were not adequately prepared, as I don’t have to go back looking for them. They’re still ahead of me.

 I have enormous respect for Rob as a writer and as a person. With that in mind, I can still say three things with certainty:

1.      I’m not going to read Dungeon Crawler Carl.

2.      What I know about Twilight means I’m not going to read any of those.

3.      I’m not slavering at the mouth to grab hold of the next bestseller.

 As Percy Garris (Strother Martin) said to Butch and Sundance, do you want to know why?

1.      I’m as close to 100 as I am to 40 and therefore officially old.

2.      I appreciate I have a finite amount of time remaining to read anything.

3.      I’ve been reading for over sixty years, and I know what I like.

4.      I’m not trying to build a career as a writer. That ship has not only sailed, it is beyond the horizon.

The first three are all that matter to me. I don’t want to hear what anyone thinks I should read or need to read; I already can’t keep up with what I want to read. I know I don’t want to read

1.      Books that mix sci-fi and fantasy with video game rules.

2.      Forbidden love (with monsters), eternal commitment (to monsters), a love triangle (with monsters), et cetera, et cetera (probably also involving monsters.) If I want to read about monsters, I have the Trump Administration.

3.      Bestsellers, with rare exceptions. I understand there is a skill, even a talent, in writing a bestseller, and that I lack it. I’m okay with that. The greatest musician this country has produced, Leonard Bernstein, once lamented his inability to write a hit popular song and admired those who could do so routinely. I find most bestsellers to be facile, strain credulity, and spend too much time on description and things I tend to skip. (Hat tip to Elmore Leonard.)

Which brings us to Number 4 on the second list above. I’m not saying you shouldn’t do what Rob suggests. If you’re trying to build a career, or even gain a foothold in the industry, these are things you should at least be aware of.

 I, on the other hand, have made a conscious decision to stop thinking about a career in any form. I have not changed the kinds of books I write and I’m not going to. I haven’t adapted how the books are written to maybe make them more popular, and I’m not going to. I write what I write because those are the kinds of books I like to read. Period.

 I’m also retired and well into the back nine of life. I can afford this attitude, which allows me to create lists of entities who, in the timeless words of Senator John Blutarsky, can kiss my ass from now on (I promise this is the final list of this post):

1.      The publishing industry.

2.      Agents.

3.      The Trump Administration.

4.      Booksellers who make it almost impossible for indie writers to get shelf space.

5.      Grammar Nazis

6.      The Trump Administration.

7.      Pedants of any stripe.

8.      People who don’t read.

9.      The Trump Administration, Natalie Harp in particular.

10.  The Trump Administration in general.

(You may detect a pattern there.)

 

Do not comment that I’m old and cranky. I know I’m old and cranky. My lifetime allotment of fucks to give ran out about the time I learned my publisher would not provide sales figures except in the annual “quarterly” reports I received, and I found errors in those. So take everything here with a grain of salt.

 

And get off my lawn.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Effects of Bestsellers

There were no takers for today’s Diversity Friday slot, so I’ll fill it myself. If you’re reading this—and I sure hope you are or I’ll feel like a real dumbass asking you to do something—and are a woman, writer of color, LGBTQ, or basically anything other than a cisgender white male, please drop me a line at danakingcrime (at) gmail (dot) com and we’ll find an open spot for you. If you know a writer who fits any of the above descriptions and who might like an opportunity, please invite them to contact me. My goal is to feel guilty because I can’t accommodate everyone in as timely a manner as I would like. Work with me here.

Now to our regularly scheduled program.

Last Saturday was the tenth annual Gaithersburg Book Festival, a gem of an event that takes over downtown Gaithersburg MD and invites authors from all over the world. It’s become a must-go-to event for The Beloved Spouse™ and me the past few years and I recommend it without reservation for any readers.

Friend of the blog Ed Aymar was part of a thought-provoking panel that included John Copenhaver, Julie Maloney, and moderator Hannah Oliver Depp. Each author has a book out that handles some dark element of life we all wish didn’t exist, but does. As thought-provoking panels are wont to do, this one got me to thinking, though not necessarily in the way the panelists might have expected.

What makes a best-seller, and what do bestsellers say about us? Even more, how do the books affect us?

Bestsellers are, by and large, about events bigger than life. Donald Maas may not have invented the phrase “raising the stakes” in his Writing the Breakout Novel, but if he didn’t, he cemented it in the public consciousness. Maas is still the gold standard—he’s presenting his Breakout Novel spiel at a pre-Bouchercon event in Dallas—and books still break out because the situations become more dire; now things even start there and manage to get worse.

Human trafficking. Kidnapping. Remorseless and amoral drug cartels. Sociopathic spouses. Serial killers. These are the grist for the mill of mystery and thriller sales. When asked why these topics are so popular, the standard answer is that they provide safe havens for readers to explore the worst the world has to offer, but from a distance (our homes, where we feel safest), and with the knowledge that things will turn out at least relatively well.

What no one talks about is what effect such reading has on the life the art claims to imitate. I will not dispute the horror of human trafficking or drug abuse or serial killers or learning how vile the person is who sleeps next to you. All of these happen. What people seem to have lost is the perspective to remind themselves they don’t happen very often. With a modicum of care, one is more likely to be killed by a cow than kidnapped or tortured to death. (Don’t feel too safe. Cows kill more people than do sharks. That’s why I still eat steak, before the brutal bovine bastards decide it’s my turn.) It’s just that the kidnappings and torture killings are what makes the news and the bestseller lists, creating the impression the world is a far more dangerous place than it is.

Do I exaggerate? The “CSI Effect” is well documented, where juries demand DNA and trace evidence and hair samples and shoeprint matches because they see all that on the modern crime shows and think things really work that way. We have a surgical image of war in part because of what I call the Tom Clancy Effect, where all this marvelous hardware works exactly as it’s intended, every time. I saw a knowledgeable speaker asked once if our weapons actually worked that well. “In theory,” he said. “In practice something always goes wrong.” A complex military endeavor is as likely to turn into the abortive rescue of the Iran hostages in 1980 as the operation that killed Osama bin Laden.

It’s fun to watch movies or read books where intricate conspiracies spin out. Just don’t start thinking things work that well in the real world. The writers always have the godlike power for the conspirators to catch a convenient break, or for something to go wrong enough to raise the stakes. The child kidnapped for sale as a sex slave just happens to have a father with a unique and relevant set of skills and a stepfather rich enough to place Dad wherever he needs to be in a matter of minutes.

This is all well and good so long as everyone remembers that life isn’t like that. Do all these things happen? Sure they do. Are they horrible? Goddamn right. The question folks seem more likely to forget to ask anymore is “How likely is it?” what are the odds your child will be whisked away by a stranger in the United States? About 1 in 300,000.

Too many of us live fear-based lives; it’s more apparent in political campaigns all the time. The Beloved Spouse™ knows an intelligent man who comes heavy to the movies because he’s afraid to be caught there unarmed when the shooting starts. How many people are killed by gunman in theaters each year? One is too many, so too many. What are the odds one of them will be you? Infinitesimal. Be safe. Be vigilant. Do not be paranoid.

Nothing is guaranteed in life. A security system will not prevent someone from stealing your car or breaking into your house if they want to badly enough. The best we can hope for is to dissuade those who aren’t dead solid serious about it. The best we can do is not to let the fears we allow to be induced in ourselves, whatever their origin, to get the better of us.

Don't Read Shitty Books

Among the first—and best—pieces of advice every fledgling writers hears is, “Read. Read everything. The good stuff will inspire you and the bad will teach you what not to do.” While that’s sterling advice for a newcomer, I have an addendum that applies to writers who have found their way enough to become comfortable with their own voice:

Don’t read shitty books.

That’s good advice on a superficial because life’s too short. None of us has time to read everything we want to. Why waste precious reading time on something you don’t enjoy? Reading should always be a pleasure. True, academic or training texts often are not, but that’s the fault of the author. Even technical journals can be fun to read if done right. Not necessarily “ha-ha” funny, but not drudgery, either.

When it comes to fiction, though, enjoy everything you read. “But wait,” you say. (I heard you even if you didn’t yourself. I’m good like that.) “Haven’t you said that once one commits to being a writer one can never read solely for enjoyment again?” Yes, I have. “Isn’t this a direct contradiction, you hypocritical prick?” No, it’s not, and you need to take a deep fucking breath before this gets testy. (I’ve been bingeing Deadwood in preparation for the movie. Sometimes it shows.)

My position is unchanged. Once you commit to being a writer, you lose the luxury of reading solely for pleasure. Some part of your mind has to be analyzing the work. That doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy the reading of it. In a really good book you should enjoy even the analytical part, as appreciation for recognizing something done well, and wondering how you might improve yourself by this insight.

Shitty books are more inclined to lower your standards. The last thing you want when reworking a tricky passage is to remember the most recent piece of dreck you read and start to figure, even subconsciously, “This is already better than the book I’m reading now.” Down that path lies shitty writing with your name on it.

I know some friends who don’t read fiction when they’re working on a book. I see their point but disagree. Too many times have I been plodding along in a rewrite when I’ll see just the right thing in a novel and know exactly what to do next. Not plagiarizing. Noticing a technique that will work. Maybe a different POV character. Show by looking back through dialog. Scene reversal. Could be anything. 

The absolute last thing I want is for some shitty book to have that kind of influence, even subliminally. This takes eternal vigilance. Shitty books abound in nature, as natural as black mold on a wet wall. That’ll make you sick. Stay away from it. I’m not saying if the first page doesn’t grip you by the nether regions and drag you along you should quit, but if you’ve read 20 – 50 pages and have to talk yourself into continuing, leave. Even better, get the fuck out. (Which is leaving with extreme prejudice.) You’ll be happier and your writing will be better for it. 

To Read, or Not to Read?

There’s been a lot of talk on Facebook and blogs recently about readings and personal appearances. I’ve been told I have a (small) reputation for doing well at such events, so, willing to interject an opinion at the drop of a hat, I thought I’d weigh in. (Editor’s Note: “Small” is not meant in the Donald Trump sense of “small hands.” This is “small” as in, “He doesn’t have enough of a footprint in the industry to have a large reputation for anything.”)

I’m here to give tips so I don’t want to make too much of the hardest thing to teach: I’m one of those rare birds who likes to speak in front of other people. I can’t account for it. My musical career—such as it was—suffered mightily from bouts with performance anxiety but speaking in front of as many as several hundred people fazes me not at all. If you are one of those who fear public speaking more than death—and repeated surveys have shown more people do fear speaking more than death—I hope these tips give you some things to focus on to make the event fun for you because if it’s not fun, why do it?

That said, here are my

Top Ten Tips for a Successful Reading

1. You Don’t Have to Read.

I mean, if you billed the event as a reading, then, yeah. No one likes a bait and switch. Work this out in the planning stages. If you don’t feel comfortable reading, don’t. It’s your gig.

2. If You Do Read, Rehearse

A reading is a performance. Treat it accordingly. I read to The Beloved Spouse a lot, both my stuff and passages from other people’s work. I still go over the chosen selection at least once a day for several days before the gig. Experiment to see what works best. Record yourself and listen to the playback if you can bear it. (Bonus Coverage: When participating in a group reading where time limits have been set, rehearse with a stop watch. It’s okay if you run short, but you don’t want to have to hurry to the end—that detracts from your work—and you don’t want to be unintentionally discourteous to your fellow readers.)

3. Don’t Read From the Book

Read a passage from the book, by all means. Just don’t read it from the physical book. Print it up double-spaced in a large font. (I like 14 point Arial myself.) Mark it up with a brightly colored pen during rehearsals. Note where to pause, where to breathe, which words or phrases should have rising or falling inflections. You’ll forget under pressure, so lay everything out in front of you.

4. Listen to Other Good Readers

Live or via audiobooks. Gifted readers can bring a book to life in ways the author might not have thought of. This is not to say you should act out the parts or use different voices. It’s not a play; it’s a reading. You’ll still pick up many valuable tips even a relative amateur such as yourself can use. Example: good readers leave a small pause between dialog and any speech attribution or beat. Mark your printed copy (remember Step 3?) so you’ll remember them.

5. Talk About the Book’s Origins.

People love that. Trust me. Not just “Where did you get the idea?”—they love that, too—but find something to connect them to the book. I stumbled onto this during the launch for Grind Joint. The bookstore was a few miles from the towns Penns River is based on. Everyone there knew the area. I told a few stories about my connection: “I was born in Citizen’s General Hospital in New Kensington. It’s not there anymore. My parents took me home to an apartment at 1396 Fourth Avenue in Arnold. It has since burned down. Many of my friends’ parents and my relatives worked for Alcoa or Jones and Laughlin Steel. Those mills are gone now. This book is about what’s left.” I could tell by their body language I had them.

6. Answer All Questions Honestly

Don’t try to be someone or something you aren’t, and don’t try to make the book into something it isn’t. Readers come to readings—duh—and readers spot bullshit the way sharks smell blood. They’ll catch on and once you’ve lost them, they’re gone. Besides…

7. They Came to See You

They left the comfort of their homes, carved time from their busy schedules, and, hopefully, will give you some of their money and even more of their time for your book. They are pre-disposed to like you, even those who don’t know you personally. No one is going to take advantage of the Q & A session to ask about your extramarital affairs or the time you shot a man in Reno just to watch him die. (Unless you put that into the book, which is your own fault.) If there is something inherently controversial in the book, own up to it. Welcome those questions and give forthright answers. Not everyone likes your reply? Fine. A little controversy never hurts book sales. The key is for them to like you, and people like those who are honest with them. 

8. Funny is Good

Don’t try to be funnier than you are, but even if you have to prepare something, or have a plant in the audience ask you a set-up question, go for it. Just be sure it’s funny. If you’re not sure how funny it is, test drive it on someone before you go. While it’s nicer to be funny, it’s death for people to decide you’re not as funny as you think you are. It’s also a good idea not to be inappropriately funny. The audience may view it as a form of disrespect. On the other hand, if something unexpectedly goofy occurs, be a good sport. Run with it if you can.

9. Give the Same Effort Whether the Audience is Two or Two Hundred

I used to be a musician and it bummed me out when the ensemble outnumbered the audience until something occurred to me: Fuck the people who aren’t here. Only three people showed up? Fine. Those three really wanted to see you. Speak to them as individuals and make them glad they came. (Hint: speaking to people as individuals also works well in large crowds as a way to get around the tendency to talk at people and lessen your nervousness. Pick a person and speak to him or her for a few seconds, then pick someone else. Pick attractive people, if available. You should get to have some fun, too.)

Which brings us to Item Number 10, the one all the others were leading up to:

10. Have Fun

Personal appearances are a privilege most people never get because no one gives a shit about what they have to say. Your audience cares about you, which is supremely flattering. They want you to succeed, if only because they won’t have a good time if you crash and burn. Take their interest and consideration and make something of it. Just be sure to show their investments of time, effort, and money the respect they deserve.

Fuck it, Dude. Let's go Bowling.

I started a spreadsheet to track the books I read each year back in 2006 out of curiosity. People were talking about how man books they read in a year and I had no idea. (Turns out I finish between 55 and 70 books in an average year.) I track the date I finished reading, the author, title, and a few notes about each book. It’s a cool reference to peruse from time to time.

It was thanks to this spreadsheet I came to realize a couple of years ago that some favorite writers were falling through the cracks. I was shocked and dismayed to see how long it had been since I read anything by Carl Hiaasen or Robert Crais, and how much time had passed since I last read The Maltese Falcon. There were others, and I wanted to keep up with newer authors as well, so I unleashed my OCD and started tracking not just what I’d read, but what I would read next, creating a formula so I’d overlook no favorites and still find time for new writers, non-fiction, and some who aren’t exactly favorites but I also don’t want to let drop off the list altogether.

It worked for about a year, but now I feel more like Lucille Ball trying to keep up with the chocolate assembly line. Once you get behind something like that there’s no catching up. Good, new books and good, new authors pop up like dandelions in the spring. All my carefully curated system has done is to create another burden, something to be maintained. It’s made reading a chore, even when I’m reading something—or someone—I truly enjoy.

Enough of that shit.

I’ll continue to keep the ledger and a list of who I want to read, but not so I can see who’s turn it is. The new plan is to keep a list of the 50 or so writers I like to keep up with—or re-read—and list the dates when I last read one of their books. I’ll sort the list and check it when it’s time to buy more books. I’ll scan down the list starting with those it’s been longest since I read and see who catches my fancy that day. I’ll also pick up some books by new writers when one catches my attention. It’s unconscionable how long I’ve let some books and writers linger on the periphery of my awareness, knowing I want to read them but feeling the need to plow through what I’ve arbitrarily decided I should read first.

Yeah, enough of that shit.

I wrote last week that a writer must always have that part of his brain engaged; no reading can be solely for pleasure. Reading shouldn’t be a task, either. I’m trying to strike a balance between choosing what I’m in the mood for at a given time without leaving large gaps. As I’m sure you’ve already figured, I’m an OCD SOB by nature, and it’s a challenge at times to find ways to make that work for me instead of me working for it.

My recent self-imposed conundrum has also reminded me of something all writers should remember from time to time: readers do not need more books. Even I could probably live a contented reading life if all I ever read were the books I already own, going over them a time or three each. I liked them the first time or I would have got rid of them.

Few things are more sincerely flattering than to learn someone has read your book; even better if they liked it. A person gave you their money—indirectly—and they gave you their time; few people have enough of either. Think of that the next time you’re frustrated with all the books you’d like to read but don’t have time for. Your books fall into the same category with others. Never be upset by how many people don’t read your books. Rejoice that any do. It’s not like they don’t have options.