The End

Many writers have a little ritual about their writing to celebrate a manuscript’s completion. I never type “The End” until I’m done with it, or as done as I can humanly be. Today I typed “The End” at the bottom of Grind Joint. Considering I sent another book in to be e-formatted this morning, I’d call that a rich and rewarding day.

Now I intend to take the summer off. Maybe I’ll outline the next book, write a short story or two, but nothing structured as a day in-day out activity. I did that for the first time last summer and it worked great. No burn out from the previous book, raring to go on the new project. (Thanks to Declan Burke for hinting that might be something for me to try. He’s quite wise, considering his youth.)

I’ll also spend some time this summer trying to get the word out about Wild Bill, but, since I don’t know yet when it will be ready (I’ve been told prep times are currently eleven weeks), I’m not going to get my knockers in a knot about it. It’s summer, it’s baseball season, the Pirates are flirting with .500, and if I wanted to stress about those things, I’d still be looking at traditional publishers.

Life is good.

Formatting Should Not Be an Afterthought

The two primary problems with self-published e-books are shitty writing and formatting so bad it detracts from the writing. (Not that big publishers don’t release e-books with shitty formatting, but some of the independent jobs practically have to be decoded to be read.) I’ve already done what I can about the shitty writing in Wild Bill; today I sent the manuscript off to be properly formatted, along with its ISBN number and hi-resolution cover image. (Thanks to Chris Kaknevicius for allowing me to use his photograph, which has a panorama and an angle I couldn’t have chosen better myself; and to The Beloved Spouse for tweaking the resolution and adding the titles.)

I’m willing to accept criticism for the writing, but the formatting is beyond what I want to spend time on, at least at this time. Charlie Stella was kind enough to refer me to a small company that does this, and after trading emails with the owner, I’m looking forward to working with them.

I’ll keep the blog current as event continue. I don’t remember if I mentioned this before (not surprising, as the AARP card in my wallet can attest), but I hope some novice to e-publishing such as I am now may benefit from seeing what mistakes and tribulations I’ve have to go through. Good judgment comes from experience, and experience comes from bad judgment. With luck, someone else can gain  experience from any bad judgments I might make along the way.

Best April Reads (and some catching up)

I went through a reader’s slump the early part of the year. Not that everything I read was crap; nothing appealed to me enough to recommend it. That ended several weeks ago, but, once out of the habit, the monthly recommendations failed to materialize. Rather than wait for the clamor sure to result should I cease these posts completely (brief pause for laughter), I ‘ll do some catchi8ng up here.


Rut, Scott Phillips. The scariest kind of post-apocalyptic story, one that shows what things could be like if we keep going the way we have been. Phillips’s dry wit and easy style make this a fun read even as it creeps you out.


Generation Kill, Evan Wright. The book on which David Simon and HBO based the miniseries, it provides context Simon had no good way to describe. Wright looks back and lets the reader in on why some things were done the way they were, while Simon has to keep you with the Marines full time. The afterword of the new edition (written when the series came out) also places some of the characters in context. The respect that built between Wright and the Recon Marines is as obvious here as in the series. For a dispassionate look at the Iraq War, look no further.


The Lost Girls, Declan Hughes. Not Hughes’s best, but he and Ed Loy are so good it’s still highly recommended. Few crime writers can resist dipping their toe into the serial killer pool at least once; this is Hughes’s edition. Not as gruesome as many, and Ed continues to show growth. If you’re already hooked on Hughes and Loy, you’ll be happy to see how things are progressing.


Blood of the Wicked, Leighton Gage. The first of the Chief Inspector Silva series. Good, taut story and crisp writing makes it easy to see how he got contracts for more books. The interplay between his cops has improved as the series has progressed, but it’s worth the time to see how they all started out.


Crashed, Timothy Hallinan. Taking a holiday from the Poke Rafferty series, Hallinan writes a lighter tale with a new hero, burglar-for-hire Junior Bender. Hallinan has a gift for creating protagonists who are interesting because of how they react to their lives, not because of their addictions, mental hang-ups, or psychological baggage. A welcome relief and an entertaining read.


The Creative Writers Survival Guide, John McNally. Not a book about how to write, a book about how to be a writer. McNally covers the writer’s lot in life from picking a school to finding an agent to how to make enough money to not starve while you’re writing all this deathless prose, and does it in an easy to read, entertaining style that makes you wish he’d gone on a little more.


True Grit, Charles Portis. As good as they said, and better than either movie, both of which were very good. Confession: I’m more into Jeff Bridges than John Wayne, but as the action picked up later in the story I heard Rooster’s lines in The Duke’s voice. A quirky and wonderful read.

A Little Reminder

I’m well aware my decision to forsake traditional publishing puts a glass ceiling over any writing career I might have, and I’m good with it. I’m even better after what happened today.

I want to state up front this is not a diatribe about agents. Agents have it tough now. The foundations of their business are set in quicksand and they’re getting squeezed on one side by publishers who want more out of authors all the time and on the other side by authors who think a book contract will buy them a villa in Capri. The agent I’m about to discuss is highly respected by everyone I know, including me. We’ve met, shared a couple of drinks in a small group, and my writing has always received a fair hearing. This rejection was complimentary, written with tact, and I have no quibble with the assessment.

It did, however, take the agent seven months to get around to it.

To me, that says more on the state of publishing than it does about this agent, and I’m too old for this bullshit. I’m fifty-five, and life is too short to live on gossamer-thin hopes that take the better part of a year to spin out. I don’t burn like I did as a young musician. I enjoy my quiet time more than I used to, and I’ve paid enough life dues that I don’t feel the need to wait indefinitely for someone to tell me to jump so I can ask how high.

I understand my path is not the way to fame and fortune; I’m not recommending it to others who may have different goals than I.

On the other hand, I’ve never missed a deadline, and I doubt I will.

The Creative Writer’s Survival Guide

Finding books on how to write is easy. Lay in the parking lot outside any building housing an MFA program and sooner or later one will fall on you. Actually publishing a book, or even placing more than one short story in a respected publication such as the Pennysaver is optional. Many of these books dispense such valuable information as, “show, don’t tell,” or “grammar is good.”

In much shorter supply are books about how to be a writer. What to look for in a school, what’s involved in selling a book or story, and what will be asked of you once a contract has been accepted. How to keep ends together. Even whether you should become a writer in the first place. John McNally’s The Creative Writer’s Survival Guide is a welcome addition to this niche.

McNally’s credentials are substantial: three novels, two collections of short stories, the editor of six anthologies. His fiction, reviews, and essays have appeared in over one hundred publications, and he is currently an associate professor at Wake Forest University. (Full disclosure: McNally was a visiting writer at George Washington University in 2001-2002, where I was fortunate to be accepted into his workshop.)

TCWSG is broken into six parts, each consisting of several sections: The Decision to Become a Writer, Education and the Writer, Getting Published, Publicity, Employment for Writers, and The Writer’s Life. These are bookended with a brief introduction (The Writer’s Wonderland—Or: A Warning) and the notes, bibliography, acknowledgements, and index such a book requires. The layout is logical, progressing through the stages of a writer’s life as they as most likely to be encountered.

The book works as well as it does because McNally has scuffed around as much as a archetypal writer should. He never starved in a garret, though he did freeze in a trailer, where he was almost overcome by the fumes of its kerosene heater. (A plan to work Alaskan crab boats before Most Dangerous Catch made it cool was narrowly averted.) Anyone who hopes to earn a living from writing will have few life events that aren’t at least analogous to something McNally has done.

The other element to the book’s success is McNally’s writing. If easy reading truly is hard writing, then John McNally busts his ass. Conversational without becoming colloquial, TCWSG is as much fun to read as his fiction. There are no sections to be trudged through. Even what may seem at first glance to be the lair of dryness may be spiced up with an anecdote or a well-designed phrase. McNally is expert at Elmore Leonard’s credo to leave out the parts people skip, often by finding a way to make them worth reading.

Yes, I’m in the tank for him. He convinced me I had some talent, and has been encouraging throughout our relationship. Still, the only book I’ve read about the writing life that comes close to TCWSG is John Scalzi’s delightful You’re Not Fooling Anyone When You Take Your Laptop to a Coffee Shop. (Stephen King’s On Writing begins with a long and informative biographical section, but it’s much of it is a purging of his demons, and, hopefully, of little practical use to other writers, except as a cautionary tale.) The Creative Writer’s Survival Guide is thought provoking and fun, which is the best way to learn anything.

A Writer's Life

Once again, The Onion knows more about what we do than most of us are willing to admit.

Crashed

I’ve been a devotee of Timothy Hallinan’s work since I was asked to review A Nail Through the Heart, the first of his Poke Rafferty series. The Rafferty books started strong and got better, capped (so far) by last year’s The Queen of Patpong. Knowing how much effort Hallinan puts into the Rafferty books, and the emotional fatigue that must have been induced in writing Queen, it was no surprise when he opted for something lighter for his next project.

Junior Bender is a burglar. Not some cheap smash-and-grab asshole, Junior works mainly on commission, stealing specific things on demand for pre-set prices. When stealing a Paul Klee painting from the home of a notorious gangster goes south on him, Junior finds himself engaged with two organized crime operations, a crooked cop, and the pornography industry.

The Rafferty books always had laughs in them, no matter how serious the content. Hallinan has a good ear and light touch with his humor, and an appreciation of how characters have the capacity for it—even if unintentional—during the toughest moments. Crashed is intended to be more of a humorous read, as the story breezes along with more odd circumstances and quirky characters than can be found in any of the Rafferty books.

That’s doesn’t mean it’s fluff. The core subject matter is life and death, and Junior has a harder interior than may first appear. Thistle Downing is a cautionary character, and the issues surrounding Junior, his ex-wife, and their daughter are real enough to fit far more standard occupations than professional thief. The ending isn’t sure until it’s over.  Still, the subtext is lighter, the smiles more frequent, and the cast more inclined to banter than in the Rafferty books.

What hasn’t changed is the quality of the writing. Hallinan  writes scenes as memorable as anyone working today, and his descriptions are Chandler-esque at times, without sounded dated or derivative.

It’s easy to see why Hallinan would need a departure from Poke Rafferty’s increasingly dark adventures. Crashed is just what could be hoped for, something different that still has the basic elements that make Hallinan  worth reading in the first place.

(By the way, if you haven’t read The Queen of Patpong, you really ought to get busy.)