Waiting for March ’08, when my book “Chasin’ the Wind” finally makes it into bookstores, has been frustrating. I turned in the final copy of the novel to the first editor in mid December. I would take it as personal if the publishers’ panel at SleuthFest, held in Miami in March, hadn’t discussed that it takes up 16 months from acceptance to publication.
After the New Year, I began working on a sequel, though I had no guarantee that the publisher would take it. Again, the publishers’ panel at SleuthFest talked about sales driving publishers’ desire for a sequel to a first novel. Sales! Not commitment to the author. Less we forget, publishing is a business and a dwindling business at that. Small publishers, God bless ‘em, are the best hopes for publishing a first novel.
The advance is small, but they will look at works from un-agented writers. Trying to get a reliable agent is a whole other blog and horror story! So there’s only a small advance and, most likely, no money to help in a book signing tour. The print runs are low, also. And a second printing is going to depend on (you guessed it!) the early sales.
My publisher, Five Star, does send out copies of the book to reviewers and that is a positive. A few good reviews will help sales and the early ones may even get on the back jacket of the book. A real good one from something like the New York Times Review of Books would probably make it on the cover! Of course, a NYT review would definitely help sales.
It is up to the writer to promote his/her book and make sales. May son-in-law, Paul Carpino, works in a business with a marketing department and he was able to get me a list of all the major US newspapers’ book editors and their addresses. Some were on the Five Star distribution list, but many weren’t. Five Star will give me up to 15 books to send for reviews. So, from the list I have to choose 15 publications to send copies of my book to. It’s one step toward sales.
LA writer Robert Crais reminded me that many of the bookstores I haunted when I lived in LA were still open, and he suggested I test the waters by approaching them. I did last June, when I visited LA, and received positive responses from Mysteries to Die For, in Thousand Oaks; the Mystery Bookstore, outside UCLA; Flintridge Bookstore and Coffeehouse, in the La Canada-Flintridge neighborhood; Dutton’s, in Brentwood; Book ‘Em, in South Pasadena, and Mystery & Imagination, in Glendale.
I will be touching base again, after the reviews come out, and send my press package of review clips, book cover art, my photo and blurbs form other writers. And a T-shirt with the book cover on the back and a little blurb on the front with my website address. I just hope I don’t send a large to someone that would fit nicely into a small!
Yeah, T-shirts are another way of promoting the book. I expect to give away many and, with a little luck, sell a few to help make up the costs. I am fortunate to have Bill Lane, from Fastlane Advertising (www.fastlaneadvertising.com), as a friend and he has helped me with suggestions on promo ideas and some great art.
T-shirts and postcards are not that expensive and if some of the T-shirts sell at the signings, they may pay for themselves. The postcard will go in my press package and, hopefully, the bookstores will leave them on the counter or put them in the bag with purchased books.
I thought about bookmarks, but then realized most of the stores already had bookmarks that promoted their store. I didn’t want to be in competition with them, so I am going with the postcards. Postcards are also bigger than bookmarks and may get a second look when it comes out of the bag and before it’s thrown away. Maybe it will be saved and stuck on the frig, as a reminder of a book to buy.
Another good promotional item is the local library. Monroe County has a library system that includes three or four branches between Key West and Key Largo. Speaking to reading groups and the Friends of the Library will help sell books and the writer. If only a handful of people show up, and even if none of ‘em buys a book, and if I give a good presentation, they will talk about my book and me to friends and eventually some of them will buy copies.
I talked to Tom Corcoran, who can fill a movie theater in Key West when he signs, about how he does so well on stage. Especially with his readings. He had a great suggestion. He told me to pick a few short paragraphs, maybe from different sections of the book, and read them. They don’t need dialogue, he said and that made me feel better. I’ve been to readings where the writer reads dialogue and takes on the roll of each speaker. I am not up to that quality.
Another point Tom talked about was making the piece read leave the reader wanting to know more. Don’t tell ‘em too much and leave them wanting what followed. Sounds like an old fashioned snake oil salesmen’s pitch, don’t it?
Now I need to sit down and worry, because writers are such an insecure bunch; most of us, anyway. I will keep working on the sequel, hoping to finish it by September and then get to work on a short story I’ve blocked out. Jerry Healy told me to keep writing after the novel is finished and the short story works best for me.
If you have any ideas on self promotion, let me hear them.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Friday, August 10, 2007
More story ideas or why I drink
If you read an earlier blog, you know my friend Art, one of the managers of the Hog’s Breath Saloon, has decided to write a novel. I think his words were something like, “If you can do it, so can I!” He's discovering it is not as easy as he thought.
“I read you recent blog,” Art said and bought me a Jameson on the rocks. “Insightful,” he nodded and smiled.
I knew there was more to come, so I waited and sipped my Jameson.
“Thank you, Art,” I finally said.
The Carter Brothers, Tim and Danny Carter, were setting up on stage and when they began to play I wanted to listen, so I needed Art to get to what concerned him about writing.
“How’s the novel coming?” I took a sip of whiskey, to keep from smiling too widely.
“I haven’t gotten to the writing, yet,” he mumbled.
“You’re plotting?” I said without looking at him. “Good way to go, for the first one. Get all your ducks in a row.”
“I’m looking for a fresh idea.” He still mumbled. He moved closer. “When you read the newspapers and magazines, what do you look for? I mean, to stimulate your ideas?”
I lit a cigar and turned in my barstool. “Something unusual. Maybe a little quirky.”
“How do you know if it’s unusual or quirky?” He lit a cigarette and sat down.
“Art, you’ve lived here too long,” I finally laughed. “If you find something in the paper that strikes you, a long-time resident of Key West, as unusual or quirky, you can bet your paycheck that the rest of the world will think so too.”
“Okay,” he sighed, and I knew he wanted more. “How do you incorporate it into your story?”
“Maybe you do, maybe you don’t,” I blew thick cigar smoke into the night. “Sometimes I cut it out and file it for a future date.”
“Why?”
“Because later I may remember it and that way I have it to reread.” The Carter Brothers were almost ready to do a sound check. “I don’t trust my memory. I clip newspapers and magazine stories, I take notes of things I hear and people I see.”
“Why?” he frowned.
“Because, if I hear an unusual phrase, I want to save it, to remember it, so I write it down. Or I run into a person with a trait I think a character could have, I write it down.”
“Can you give me an example?” He twisted in his seat.
I looked around the large outdoor bar. It was getting crowded, as show time approached. Across the bar a young women, dressed in black, with dyed black hair, black nail polish and a pierced nose, sat talking to a young guy who dressed like a yuppie. They were talking into each other’s face, but not touching.
“See the couple over there?” I nodded toward the couple. “She’s Gothic and he’s a yuppie, probably on vacation together. I see that and I wonder why? What do they have in common?”
“Sex?” Art suggests.
“That’s a good first guess, but how’d they get to the point of sex?”
Art studied the couple and smoked another cigarette. “They guy’s sister is married with kids and she was the baby sitter.” He spoke quickly and smiled when he’d finished.
“Good, Art. And maybe at home he’s ashamed to be seen with her, so they’ve escaped to Key West.”
“Yeah,” Art agreed. “And they want to make a life together here.”
“But, you’re forgetting something, Art.”
“What?”
“This is a mystery novel, so there has to be some mystery. A murder or a robbery or both.”
“Maybe to get the money to move here they committed a robbery and someone was killed?”
“That’s workable,” I told him and finished my drink, hoping he’d buy me another before the band started.
“I think it could be a short story,” he said, as he removed a small notebook and pen from his shirt pocket. “I need to get this down,” he said and began writing in the notebook.
I ordered a fresh drink from Frank and when I turned around Art was walking away, muttering to himself. It might have been dialogue and he wanted to hear how it sounded.
“I read you recent blog,” Art said and bought me a Jameson on the rocks. “Insightful,” he nodded and smiled.
I knew there was more to come, so I waited and sipped my Jameson.
“Thank you, Art,” I finally said.
The Carter Brothers, Tim and Danny Carter, were setting up on stage and when they began to play I wanted to listen, so I needed Art to get to what concerned him about writing.
“How’s the novel coming?” I took a sip of whiskey, to keep from smiling too widely.
“I haven’t gotten to the writing, yet,” he mumbled.
“You’re plotting?” I said without looking at him. “Good way to go, for the first one. Get all your ducks in a row.”
“I’m looking for a fresh idea.” He still mumbled. He moved closer. “When you read the newspapers and magazines, what do you look for? I mean, to stimulate your ideas?”
I lit a cigar and turned in my barstool. “Something unusual. Maybe a little quirky.”
“How do you know if it’s unusual or quirky?” He lit a cigarette and sat down.
“Art, you’ve lived here too long,” I finally laughed. “If you find something in the paper that strikes you, a long-time resident of Key West, as unusual or quirky, you can bet your paycheck that the rest of the world will think so too.”
“Okay,” he sighed, and I knew he wanted more. “How do you incorporate it into your story?”
“Maybe you do, maybe you don’t,” I blew thick cigar smoke into the night. “Sometimes I cut it out and file it for a future date.”
“Why?”
“Because later I may remember it and that way I have it to reread.” The Carter Brothers were almost ready to do a sound check. “I don’t trust my memory. I clip newspapers and magazine stories, I take notes of things I hear and people I see.”
“Why?” he frowned.
“Because, if I hear an unusual phrase, I want to save it, to remember it, so I write it down. Or I run into a person with a trait I think a character could have, I write it down.”
“Can you give me an example?” He twisted in his seat.
I looked around the large outdoor bar. It was getting crowded, as show time approached. Across the bar a young women, dressed in black, with dyed black hair, black nail polish and a pierced nose, sat talking to a young guy who dressed like a yuppie. They were talking into each other’s face, but not touching.
“See the couple over there?” I nodded toward the couple. “She’s Gothic and he’s a yuppie, probably on vacation together. I see that and I wonder why? What do they have in common?”
“Sex?” Art suggests.
“That’s a good first guess, but how’d they get to the point of sex?”
Art studied the couple and smoked another cigarette. “They guy’s sister is married with kids and she was the baby sitter.” He spoke quickly and smiled when he’d finished.
“Good, Art. And maybe at home he’s ashamed to be seen with her, so they’ve escaped to Key West.”
“Yeah,” Art agreed. “And they want to make a life together here.”
“But, you’re forgetting something, Art.”
“What?”
“This is a mystery novel, so there has to be some mystery. A murder or a robbery or both.”
“Maybe to get the money to move here they committed a robbery and someone was killed?”
“That’s workable,” I told him and finished my drink, hoping he’d buy me another before the band started.
“I think it could be a short story,” he said, as he removed a small notebook and pen from his shirt pocket. “I need to get this down,” he said and began writing in the notebook.
I ordered a fresh drink from Frank and when I turned around Art was walking away, muttering to himself. It might have been dialogue and he wanted to hear how it sounded.
Tuesday, August 7, 2007
Where do your story ideas come from? Or, truth is stranger than fiction!
As a writer, I read newspapers and news magazines. It’s as mandatory as writing, as far as I’m concerned. I read to stimulate ideas. I don’t always spend time on the headlines, but look for the short pieces that carry unusual news. You never know when something strange might kick your imagination into gear. I can read a piece from Alaska and ask myself, “what if, in Key West . . .?”
I also watch TV news, both the Miami channels and CNN.
I watched, as most of the world did, in horror recently as the bridge in the Twin Cities collapsed. It was caught, wide angle, on a surveillance camera. It looked like something out of the new Bruce Willis Die Hard movie.
Of course, it wasn’t entertainment. It was death of innocent men and women and destruction. Today, days later, the disaster is still affecting the daily lives of the people that drove over that bridge to go to work, to go out for dinner, to go on a date, to go home from picking kids up at day care. It is unimaginable.
Or is it?
It was a very visual event, both during and afterward. Maybe, because of the visual affect I thought of the movies instead of a book. I’m sure I am not the only mystery writer who watched the TV footage and wondered what kind of story he/she could build around the tragedy. It’s what we do. I said a silent prayer for the victims and their families, but that was all I could do from Key West.
I don’t know if I will use the incident, but we do have a lot of bridges – one is seven-miles long – on the ride from Miami to Key West, so the possibility is there. In the newspapers, I’ve followed the reports about the condition of bridges throughout the United States.
An optimist might say it’s a good report because there are so few bridges in the same condition, or worse, than the one in Minneapolis; a pessimist might say it was a bad report, a warning of our failing infrastructure. I think most writers are, in their writing, pessimists because that’s where the mayhem comes from. Optimists don’t often commit mayhem; I don’t like to say never. But I think you get my point.
So, is truth stranger than fiction?
I have a family friend who lives in Orlando and doesn’t visit because of her phobia of driving over bridges in the Keys. I used to laugh at her phobia. I assumed that our bridges were safe because the government was looking out for our safety!
After the disaster in Minneapolis, I am beginning to wonder if government regulators and agencies do their jobs. Is the FAA really doing its job with the airlines? Traffic controllers? I'm having second thoughts.
Imagine a book that’s premise is the demise of America through the failure of its infrastructure. Where would you begin it? With the roads and bridges? The airlines? Communications? The legal system?
When I open the morning paper now, my hands shake because what I am seeing is the origins of a great thriller and you and I are characters in it. There’s a clown leading the nation, a Congress of inept (at best; corrupt, in a worse case) men and women who have not accomplished anything in almost eight years, even though the voting public told them to do something.
The list goes on and on. I’m sure you can add to it from your city or county. I guess another thing reading and searching through newspapers teaches is that truth is stranger than fiction, and less believable.
Where do your story ideas come from?
I also watch TV news, both the Miami channels and CNN.
I watched, as most of the world did, in horror recently as the bridge in the Twin Cities collapsed. It was caught, wide angle, on a surveillance camera. It looked like something out of the new Bruce Willis Die Hard movie.
Of course, it wasn’t entertainment. It was death of innocent men and women and destruction. Today, days later, the disaster is still affecting the daily lives of the people that drove over that bridge to go to work, to go out for dinner, to go on a date, to go home from picking kids up at day care. It is unimaginable.
Or is it?
It was a very visual event, both during and afterward. Maybe, because of the visual affect I thought of the movies instead of a book. I’m sure I am not the only mystery writer who watched the TV footage and wondered what kind of story he/she could build around the tragedy. It’s what we do. I said a silent prayer for the victims and their families, but that was all I could do from Key West.
I don’t know if I will use the incident, but we do have a lot of bridges – one is seven-miles long – on the ride from Miami to Key West, so the possibility is there. In the newspapers, I’ve followed the reports about the condition of bridges throughout the United States.
An optimist might say it’s a good report because there are so few bridges in the same condition, or worse, than the one in Minneapolis; a pessimist might say it was a bad report, a warning of our failing infrastructure. I think most writers are, in their writing, pessimists because that’s where the mayhem comes from. Optimists don’t often commit mayhem; I don’t like to say never. But I think you get my point.
So, is truth stranger than fiction?
I have a family friend who lives in Orlando and doesn’t visit because of her phobia of driving over bridges in the Keys. I used to laugh at her phobia. I assumed that our bridges were safe because the government was looking out for our safety!
After the disaster in Minneapolis, I am beginning to wonder if government regulators and agencies do their jobs. Is the FAA really doing its job with the airlines? Traffic controllers? I'm having second thoughts.
Imagine a book that’s premise is the demise of America through the failure of its infrastructure. Where would you begin it? With the roads and bridges? The airlines? Communications? The legal system?
When I open the morning paper now, my hands shake because what I am seeing is the origins of a great thriller and you and I are characters in it. There’s a clown leading the nation, a Congress of inept (at best; corrupt, in a worse case) men and women who have not accomplished anything in almost eight years, even though the voting public told them to do something.
The list goes on and on. I’m sure you can add to it from your city or county. I guess another thing reading and searching through newspapers teaches is that truth is stranger than fiction, and less believable.
Where do your story ideas come from?
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Sometimes small packages hold big surprises!
I recently flew into smoggy LAX and was picked up by my niece, Alexis Bolter, and we met my sister Patty – Alexis’ mom – at a small café in Brentwood for lunch. My sister lives in Malibu, where the temperatures hovered around the mid 70s! I came prepared for summer and explained that 74-degrees was winter temps in Key West. I needed to borrow a sweatshirt to sit outside with them, in the evening.
After unpacking, I checked my e-mails at home. Of course, I am not there and I receive an e-mail from an editor saying he had attached an edited copy of my book and that I need to go through it and yeah or nay the corrections. Most of the editing had to do with punctuation after quotes. Let me simplify it, after a quote I used a comma when the words were spoken as the speaker did something while talking.
Example: “I think you should’ve shot him,” Norm tied his shoes and smiled. I thought that was correct, the editor doesn’t. Now, example: “I think you should’ve shot him.” Norm answered the phone. I thought that was right, and the editor agrees. So, now I have to print out the whole manuscript and reply by line, by page that I agree or do not.
There are a couple of other things. They question my spelling of “Durty.” The name of the bar is “Durty Harry’s,” so I have to explain why I spelled it that way. I am saving this project for when I get home.
Wednesday morning Patty drove me to South Pasadena and I visited Barry at Book ‘em, a mystery bookstore I used to haunt when I lived in the LA area.
I put together a small package with a copy of the March/April issue of EQMM with my short story in it, a list of blurbs from writers about my book, and a brief synopsis of the book, and a color photo of me. The idea for that is that if they were going to do a signing they could post the info and photo. I also included a sheet from the publisher giving the store a 40-percent discount on its order, if the books were for a signing.
Patty and I were joined by my friend Norm Cote and his wife, Annie, for lunch at Damon’s in Glendale. Norm and I go back a long way and it was nice getting to see him again. After lunch, I went to Book Fellows down the street from Damon’s and left my package, since Christine who owns the shop is only available on Sunday and Monday.
James Lincoln Warren, a SoCal member of Mystery Writers of America, met me Thursday at Mystery Books in Westwood, where he introduced me to the bookseller and I left my package. We had lunch and then James took me to Dutton’s in Brentwood, where I dropped off another package.
Dutton’s made the news recently, because the property owner has plans to teardown the building and go high-rise. Apparently, the store’s regular customers raised hell and the media has reported that the new building will house the bookstore. I went to a lot of signings in that old building and am glad it isn’t going away, but it will lose something – in my opinion – when it moves into a modern building.
Check out James' blog, Criminal Brief, a link is off to the right.
Friday, I had an interesting experience. While still in Key West, I received a report that a new neighborhood bookstore was opening in Flintridge, Ca. I e-mailed the store and asked about dropping by and received an e-mail back saying to come in. I met Sandy Willardson, the store’s event coordinator, and we discussed my book and website. The Flintridge Bookstore and Coffee House has a nice mystery section and I look forward to signing there. In talking with Sandy, she mentioned she also does event coordination for Vroman’s Bookstore in Pasadena. Vroman’s has two stores in Pasadena and has to be one of the oldest in the area. Of course, I said yes!
I think that's the whole purpose of this post. Never judge a bookstore by its size or location. I will gladly sign wherever I am asked, and in the case of the Flintridge Bookstore, it turned into an opportunity to sign at one of Pasadena's oldest and largest stores.
As soon as I can confirm a publication dates, it looks like I will have a few book signings in the LA area. If you are close by, I hope to see you there.
I am off to look at the edited version of my book. I need to print it first … oh well, I’ll tell you all about it, later.
After unpacking, I checked my e-mails at home. Of course, I am not there and I receive an e-mail from an editor saying he had attached an edited copy of my book and that I need to go through it and yeah or nay the corrections. Most of the editing had to do with punctuation after quotes. Let me simplify it, after a quote I used a comma when the words were spoken as the speaker did something while talking.
Example: “I think you should’ve shot him,” Norm tied his shoes and smiled. I thought that was correct, the editor doesn’t. Now, example: “I think you should’ve shot him.” Norm answered the phone. I thought that was right, and the editor agrees. So, now I have to print out the whole manuscript and reply by line, by page that I agree or do not.
There are a couple of other things. They question my spelling of “Durty.” The name of the bar is “Durty Harry’s,” so I have to explain why I spelled it that way. I am saving this project for when I get home.
Wednesday morning Patty drove me to South Pasadena and I visited Barry at Book ‘em, a mystery bookstore I used to haunt when I lived in the LA area.
I put together a small package with a copy of the March/April issue of EQMM with my short story in it, a list of blurbs from writers about my book, and a brief synopsis of the book, and a color photo of me. The idea for that is that if they were going to do a signing they could post the info and photo. I also included a sheet from the publisher giving the store a 40-percent discount on its order, if the books were for a signing.
Patty and I were joined by my friend Norm Cote and his wife, Annie, for lunch at Damon’s in Glendale. Norm and I go back a long way and it was nice getting to see him again. After lunch, I went to Book Fellows down the street from Damon’s and left my package, since Christine who owns the shop is only available on Sunday and Monday.
James Lincoln Warren, a SoCal member of Mystery Writers of America, met me Thursday at Mystery Books in Westwood, where he introduced me to the bookseller and I left my package. We had lunch and then James took me to Dutton’s in Brentwood, where I dropped off another package.
Dutton’s made the news recently, because the property owner has plans to teardown the building and go high-rise. Apparently, the store’s regular customers raised hell and the media has reported that the new building will house the bookstore. I went to a lot of signings in that old building and am glad it isn’t going away, but it will lose something – in my opinion – when it moves into a modern building.
Check out James' blog, Criminal Brief, a link is off to the right.
Friday, I had an interesting experience. While still in Key West, I received a report that a new neighborhood bookstore was opening in Flintridge, Ca. I e-mailed the store and asked about dropping by and received an e-mail back saying to come in. I met Sandy Willardson, the store’s event coordinator, and we discussed my book and website. The Flintridge Bookstore and Coffee House has a nice mystery section and I look forward to signing there. In talking with Sandy, she mentioned she also does event coordination for Vroman’s Bookstore in Pasadena. Vroman’s has two stores in Pasadena and has to be one of the oldest in the area. Of course, I said yes!
I think that's the whole purpose of this post. Never judge a bookstore by its size or location. I will gladly sign wherever I am asked, and in the case of the Flintridge Bookstore, it turned into an opportunity to sign at one of Pasadena's oldest and largest stores.
As soon as I can confirm a publication dates, it looks like I will have a few book signings in the LA area. If you are close by, I hope to see you there.
I am off to look at the edited version of my book. I need to print it first … oh well, I’ll tell you all about it, later.
Saturday, June 23, 2007
Summer thoughts
I had wrist surgery for tendonitis the middle of June and enjoyed the company of my twin daughters, Seanan & Chela, along with Seanan’s husband Paul and Chela’s fiancé Bryan and Paul’s friend Guy, a NYC cop, and his wife Jodi, while I recouped.
I did spend a little time editing the sequel to “Chasin’ the Wind,” “Free Range Institution,” during this time, but typing a few thousand words was out of the question.
Before the surgery, I wanted to reach page 200 and I beat it by one!
I see Dr. Collins (no relation to Padre Thomas Collins in my books) on Monday morning to have the stitches removed and I expect he will release me with no restrictions. So it will be back to the gym (and after the time off, I need it!) and the keyboard. I hope to have the sequel to “Chasin’ the Wind” done before the end of summer, let it sit for a month and when my grandson Shane comes in October for a couple of week I will use my mornings to edit/rewrite.
Now I am on my way to visit my sister Patty and her family in Malibu, California. I am actually using the trip to visit some of the bookstores I haunted while I lived in Southern California and pitch my book, in hopes they will order it and welcome me back for a signings in March or April.
I am also looking forward to seeing my long-time friend Norm Cote and his wife Annie while I am in LA. Norm and I share a lot of history, most of it exciting and revolving around boxing in LA and bullfights in Tijuana, Mexico. My other good West Coast friend Rob Murdock will be out of town while I am there, so I will miss the opportunity to swap lies with him.
Thank you for taking the time to check out my blog and please take a look at my website – www.michaelhaskins.net – if you haven’t already. I will get back to keeping the blog as up to date as possible after July 4th.
I did spend a little time editing the sequel to “Chasin’ the Wind,” “Free Range Institution,” during this time, but typing a few thousand words was out of the question.
Before the surgery, I wanted to reach page 200 and I beat it by one!
I see Dr. Collins (no relation to Padre Thomas Collins in my books) on Monday morning to have the stitches removed and I expect he will release me with no restrictions. So it will be back to the gym (and after the time off, I need it!) and the keyboard. I hope to have the sequel to “Chasin’ the Wind” done before the end of summer, let it sit for a month and when my grandson Shane comes in October for a couple of week I will use my mornings to edit/rewrite.
Now I am on my way to visit my sister Patty and her family in Malibu, California. I am actually using the trip to visit some of the bookstores I haunted while I lived in Southern California and pitch my book, in hopes they will order it and welcome me back for a signings in March or April.
I am also looking forward to seeing my long-time friend Norm Cote and his wife Annie while I am in LA. Norm and I share a lot of history, most of it exciting and revolving around boxing in LA and bullfights in Tijuana, Mexico. My other good West Coast friend Rob Murdock will be out of town while I am there, so I will miss the opportunity to swap lies with him.
Thank you for taking the time to check out my blog and please take a look at my website – www.michaelhaskins.net – if you haven’t already. I will get back to keeping the blog as up to date as possible after July 4th.
Monday, June 11, 2007
Do characters really take on a life of their own?
I bought a new computer and it arrived (kind of) mid week. Kind of, because the monitor didn’t arrive. After two days of phone calls to Dell they accepted that the two packages they sent did not include the monitor; the second package held the fancy speaker for the monitor, but not the monitor. I am not computer savvy; I am probably not savvy in anything, but by knowing that about myself, I usually avoid situations where savvy is important or necessary.
I don’t name my computer, like some writers I know do. To me the computer is basically a fancy typewriter that corrects my spelling and saves me a lot of trouble when it comes to editing. Transferring files from the old computer to the new one took all Saturday afternoon and early evening.
With nothing to do but deal with my frustration, I went to the Hog’s Breath to hear my Texas friend Clint Bullard sing. He’s at the Hog’s mid shift – 5-9 p.m. – through June 15th, so go to http://www.hogsbreath.com/ and catch him on the bar’s live video-cam.
I was sitting there, enjoying a good cigar and some Jameson on the rocks when Art, one of the managers, came over and says he doesn’t believe I don’t control what the characters I write about say and do. He got that from one of my blog posts that mentioned characters sometimes take on a life of their own.
“You’re like God, you have total control and can do what you want with them,” he said, and told Julie my drink was on him.
I love Art and Andy and Patrick and Lori – the other bar managers – when they do that.
With all the time I’ve spent in Key West bars – not to mention bars I’ve enjoyed in other cities I’ve lived in or traveled to – I would not presume to tell bar managers how to do their job. I say something like that to Art.
“Yeah, but I have a real job, you just write stories, so you don’t have bosses or rules to follow,” he replied with the innocence of one-year old.
I didn’t feel it was my responsibility to explain the reality of writing to him, because he wouldn’t have believed me. Deal with editors and agents and deadlines, I wanted to say, but didn’t.
“Let me give you one cryptic example of how characters take on a life of their own,” I said instead, as I sipped from my iced Irish whiskey and let its flavor slide down.
“Why does it have to be cryptic?”
“Because I don’t wanna give away the story,” I had another sip. “If I do, you won’t be surprised when you read it.”
I relit my cigar, because of too much talking it had gone out. “Early on in the new book.”
“What’s this one called?” he interrupted.
“Free Range Institution,” I answer him.
“Isn’t that the title of a Scott Kirby song?”
“Yes it is.”
“You’re stealing his song title?”
“Art, which topic do you want to discuss here, because the ice is melting and diluting my drink,” I chewed my cigar and blew smoke into the air.
“Go on,” he sat down, ready for a long story.
“Early on in the new book, there is a conversation about killing people . . .”
“Because you write murder mysteries,” he interrupted again.
“Yes, Art, because I write murder mysteries,” I agreed with him. “The topic is brought up between Mick Murphy, Padre Thomas . . .”
“The Jesuit, right?”
“Yes,” I sipped my Irish before it lost its taste. “And Mick’s friend Norm and Tita . . .”
“The spy and the girlfriend,” he smiled, proud of remembering my first book.
“Very good,” I chewed ice from my plastic cup. “You read the proofs.”
“Go on, I want to hear your explanation,” he rushed me.
“One of the characters mentions taking a life, for any reason has to have an affect on a person, even if that loss of life is justified . . .”
“Has to be Padre Thomas . . .”
“Art, I can’t tell you who,” I grumbled. “Let me finish.”
“Okay,” and he signaled Julie to refill my drink. Gotta love the guy!
“I wrote the conversation a few months ago, I am at least one-hundred pages more into the story when I begin to wonder about my ending. Someone has to kill the corrupt city commissioner . . .”
“Which commissioner is it?”
“It’s fiction, Art,” I tried to explain to him. “It’s not a real commissioner.”
“Yeah, but I bet I can figure out who it is when I read it.”
Everyone in Key West sees themselves or someone they know as characters in books by local writers. Just ask Tom Corcoran.
With a deep sigh and fresh drink, I went on. “I am thinking about the ending when the earlier conversation pops into my head and I think ‘what if so-and-so kills the commissioner to save Mick’s life,’ and pow, I have my ending. I have major conflict and surprise,” I puffed on the cigar and sipped the chilled Jameson, proud of myself. “That was not anywhere in my plans for the book,” I explained. “It came from a conversation I never thought would have anything to do with the ending.”
“That’s your argument?” he sounded disappointed.
“Yeah,” I mumbled, smoked and took a good swallow of my drink. “It happened without my doing it. The character popped out with something from earlier in the book. Something I never gave a thought to, until I looked for an ending.”
“You didn’t have an ending before you began?” his disappointment was growing.
“I knew how I wanted it to end, but not exactly,” I said. “I had my notes, but they're only guides that usually get lost as the pages mount up.”
“You aren’t going to be mad at me, if I write a mystery, are you?” he stood up. “I can just plot something out and write it. I wouldn’t let characters tell me what to do. That’s why it takes you so long to write a book.”
“I tell you what, I’ll trade places with you,” I suggested. “You write the book and I’ll take your shifts managing the bar.”
“No, I am not sure you could handle real work,” he began to walk away. “But thanks for the insight, it was a lot of help.”
As Art walked away I could almost see him formulating his future novel in his head. I smiled to myself and wondered if God ever had days like this.
I sipped my drink and listened to Clint sing a few of his original songs and thought maybe I should become a songwriter; it sure looked easy as he performed on the Hog's outdoor stage, people singing along and yelling for more. Hell, how many words in a song? I can write short stories and novels, how hard can it be to write a song?
I don’t name my computer, like some writers I know do. To me the computer is basically a fancy typewriter that corrects my spelling and saves me a lot of trouble when it comes to editing. Transferring files from the old computer to the new one took all Saturday afternoon and early evening.
With nothing to do but deal with my frustration, I went to the Hog’s Breath to hear my Texas friend Clint Bullard sing. He’s at the Hog’s mid shift – 5-9 p.m. – through June 15th, so go to http://www.hogsbreath.com/ and catch him on the bar’s live video-cam.
I was sitting there, enjoying a good cigar and some Jameson on the rocks when Art, one of the managers, came over and says he doesn’t believe I don’t control what the characters I write about say and do. He got that from one of my blog posts that mentioned characters sometimes take on a life of their own.
“You’re like God, you have total control and can do what you want with them,” he said, and told Julie my drink was on him.
I love Art and Andy and Patrick and Lori – the other bar managers – when they do that.
With all the time I’ve spent in Key West bars – not to mention bars I’ve enjoyed in other cities I’ve lived in or traveled to – I would not presume to tell bar managers how to do their job. I say something like that to Art.
“Yeah, but I have a real job, you just write stories, so you don’t have bosses or rules to follow,” he replied with the innocence of one-year old.
I didn’t feel it was my responsibility to explain the reality of writing to him, because he wouldn’t have believed me. Deal with editors and agents and deadlines, I wanted to say, but didn’t.
“Let me give you one cryptic example of how characters take on a life of their own,” I said instead, as I sipped from my iced Irish whiskey and let its flavor slide down.
“Why does it have to be cryptic?”
“Because I don’t wanna give away the story,” I had another sip. “If I do, you won’t be surprised when you read it.”
I relit my cigar, because of too much talking it had gone out. “Early on in the new book.”
“What’s this one called?” he interrupted.
“Free Range Institution,” I answer him.
“Isn’t that the title of a Scott Kirby song?”
“Yes it is.”
“You’re stealing his song title?”
“Art, which topic do you want to discuss here, because the ice is melting and diluting my drink,” I chewed my cigar and blew smoke into the air.
“Go on,” he sat down, ready for a long story.
“Early on in the new book, there is a conversation about killing people . . .”
“Because you write murder mysteries,” he interrupted again.
“Yes, Art, because I write murder mysteries,” I agreed with him. “The topic is brought up between Mick Murphy, Padre Thomas . . .”
“The Jesuit, right?”
“Yes,” I sipped my Irish before it lost its taste. “And Mick’s friend Norm and Tita . . .”
“The spy and the girlfriend,” he smiled, proud of remembering my first book.
“Very good,” I chewed ice from my plastic cup. “You read the proofs.”
“Go on, I want to hear your explanation,” he rushed me.
“One of the characters mentions taking a life, for any reason has to have an affect on a person, even if that loss of life is justified . . .”
“Has to be Padre Thomas . . .”
“Art, I can’t tell you who,” I grumbled. “Let me finish.”
“Okay,” and he signaled Julie to refill my drink. Gotta love the guy!
“I wrote the conversation a few months ago, I am at least one-hundred pages more into the story when I begin to wonder about my ending. Someone has to kill the corrupt city commissioner . . .”
“Which commissioner is it?”
“It’s fiction, Art,” I tried to explain to him. “It’s not a real commissioner.”
“Yeah, but I bet I can figure out who it is when I read it.”
Everyone in Key West sees themselves or someone they know as characters in books by local writers. Just ask Tom Corcoran.
With a deep sigh and fresh drink, I went on. “I am thinking about the ending when the earlier conversation pops into my head and I think ‘what if so-and-so kills the commissioner to save Mick’s life,’ and pow, I have my ending. I have major conflict and surprise,” I puffed on the cigar and sipped the chilled Jameson, proud of myself. “That was not anywhere in my plans for the book,” I explained. “It came from a conversation I never thought would have anything to do with the ending.”
“That’s your argument?” he sounded disappointed.
“Yeah,” I mumbled, smoked and took a good swallow of my drink. “It happened without my doing it. The character popped out with something from earlier in the book. Something I never gave a thought to, until I looked for an ending.”
“You didn’t have an ending before you began?” his disappointment was growing.
“I knew how I wanted it to end, but not exactly,” I said. “I had my notes, but they're only guides that usually get lost as the pages mount up.”
“You aren’t going to be mad at me, if I write a mystery, are you?” he stood up. “I can just plot something out and write it. I wouldn’t let characters tell me what to do. That’s why it takes you so long to write a book.”
“I tell you what, I’ll trade places with you,” I suggested. “You write the book and I’ll take your shifts managing the bar.”
“No, I am not sure you could handle real work,” he began to walk away. “But thanks for the insight, it was a lot of help.”
As Art walked away I could almost see him formulating his future novel in his head. I smiled to myself and wondered if God ever had days like this.
I sipped my drink and listened to Clint sing a few of his original songs and thought maybe I should become a songwriter; it sure looked easy as he performed on the Hog's outdoor stage, people singing along and yelling for more. Hell, how many words in a song? I can write short stories and novels, how hard can it be to write a song?
Friday, June 1, 2007
Writing and drinking, it's only a myth
A friend said my recent blog sounded like I drank and wrote (she doesn’t mind the cigar). She suggested I straighten out the misconception.
She’s right. I do not drink alcohol at home and then write. I drink alcohol at home and go to sleep! My days of trying to out do Hemingway are gone, and I am surprised my liver is still hanging on. Not to say I don’t enjoy a good stout or Irish whiskey. Most Friday nights I meet friends at Finnegan’s Wake for a few pints and some of the best chicken wings on the island.
Or I may meet friends at the Hog’s Breath and sip a Jameson on the rocks and listen to songwriters performing their music live. Over the years I have made friends with many of the singer-songwriters who play at the Hog, so when they’re in town I stop by. They are writers too, poets even.
After three beers or two Irish whiskies I’m drinking bottled water. I have too much going for me to get involved in a DUI; or worse, cause an accident that seriously hurt someone else.
What I do, sometimes, when I am sitting at the bar, or under my stilt house, with a drink and cigar, is to let my mind wander without the pressure of a blank screen staring back at me. Enjoy the drink and cigar and let my unconscious mind work for me, while consciously I am relaxing and enjoying myself, listening to live music or something from my CD collection. Of course, when people come up and talk to me, as happens in bars, my unconscious mind shuts them out and continues on with its search for the solution to my problem, while I go on being sociable. Great, ain't it?
Let’s look at this weekend. It is raining today, so maybe I get a stout at Finnegan’s, since the Hog is an open bar and heavy rain will keep the musicians off the stage and clear out the outdoor section of the restaurant. We need rain in Florida; I only wish it would take a break for a few hours.
I will get home sometime between 8 – 9 p.m. (wild life I live!) and probably read. I have Elmore Leonard’s new book and his dialogue is to kill for. I just finished Robert Gregory Browne’s book, Kiss Her Goodbye. Wanna read some intense writing that moves so fast it leaves you breathless? Check out Rob’s book or go to his Anatomy of a Book Deal blog, check my link section.
I guess this is as good a time as any to mention that writing includes a lot of reading. I read blogs, newspapers and books galore! My home office has a floor-to-ceiling bookcase made of 2-inch-by-12-inch shelving. Heavy, but I guess it’s a complex leftover from my years in earthquake prone Southern California. I made my computer desk the same way.
The shelves are full of books I’ve read and then stacked on their sides are more books I need to read; a few histories, but mostly mystery novels. In 1998 I lost about 2,000 books, mostly signed first edition when my floating home floated away in Hurricane Georges! Looking at my bookshelves now I wonder why the sucker didn’t sink from the weight of my books.
So, to me, reading is as much a part of writing as the pounding of keyboard keys. You need to read the masters, old and true (Chandler, Hammett) as well as people like Leonard for his ability at dialogue or James Lee Burke who can make you smell and taste New Orleans; Michael Connelly, who makes you step over the dirt and grit of Los Angeles and Robert Crais, whose mixture of the Hollywood Hills and tortured souls, helps you see the dirty little angels who survive there.
These writers are so damn good, I sometime want to hang up my keyboard. Of course, I can’t. As a writer I need to write, even if that’s only in my mind while trying to workout a problem in moving my story forward. I don't believe never writing has ever been an option in my life.
Think of how lucky I am, I get to roam Paradise, have a few drinks and good cigars, listen to great live music, talk to characters you would probably have to be locked up in a mental health facility to find anywhere else, go sailing and then sit down and find the words to explain it all without an alcohol haze in stories formed in my imagination.
I may never catch up to my writing heroes, but I am enjoying the hell out of the chase.
She’s right. I do not drink alcohol at home and then write. I drink alcohol at home and go to sleep! My days of trying to out do Hemingway are gone, and I am surprised my liver is still hanging on. Not to say I don’t enjoy a good stout or Irish whiskey. Most Friday nights I meet friends at Finnegan’s Wake for a few pints and some of the best chicken wings on the island.
Or I may meet friends at the Hog’s Breath and sip a Jameson on the rocks and listen to songwriters performing their music live. Over the years I have made friends with many of the singer-songwriters who play at the Hog, so when they’re in town I stop by. They are writers too, poets even.
After three beers or two Irish whiskies I’m drinking bottled water. I have too much going for me to get involved in a DUI; or worse, cause an accident that seriously hurt someone else.
What I do, sometimes, when I am sitting at the bar, or under my stilt house, with a drink and cigar, is to let my mind wander without the pressure of a blank screen staring back at me. Enjoy the drink and cigar and let my unconscious mind work for me, while consciously I am relaxing and enjoying myself, listening to live music or something from my CD collection. Of course, when people come up and talk to me, as happens in bars, my unconscious mind shuts them out and continues on with its search for the solution to my problem, while I go on being sociable. Great, ain't it?
Let’s look at this weekend. It is raining today, so maybe I get a stout at Finnegan’s, since the Hog is an open bar and heavy rain will keep the musicians off the stage and clear out the outdoor section of the restaurant. We need rain in Florida; I only wish it would take a break for a few hours.
I will get home sometime between 8 – 9 p.m. (wild life I live!) and probably read. I have Elmore Leonard’s new book and his dialogue is to kill for. I just finished Robert Gregory Browne’s book, Kiss Her Goodbye. Wanna read some intense writing that moves so fast it leaves you breathless? Check out Rob’s book or go to his Anatomy of a Book Deal blog, check my link section.
I guess this is as good a time as any to mention that writing includes a lot of reading. I read blogs, newspapers and books galore! My home office has a floor-to-ceiling bookcase made of 2-inch-by-12-inch shelving. Heavy, but I guess it’s a complex leftover from my years in earthquake prone Southern California. I made my computer desk the same way.
The shelves are full of books I’ve read and then stacked on their sides are more books I need to read; a few histories, but mostly mystery novels. In 1998 I lost about 2,000 books, mostly signed first edition when my floating home floated away in Hurricane Georges! Looking at my bookshelves now I wonder why the sucker didn’t sink from the weight of my books.
So, to me, reading is as much a part of writing as the pounding of keyboard keys. You need to read the masters, old and true (Chandler, Hammett) as well as people like Leonard for his ability at dialogue or James Lee Burke who can make you smell and taste New Orleans; Michael Connelly, who makes you step over the dirt and grit of Los Angeles and Robert Crais, whose mixture of the Hollywood Hills and tortured souls, helps you see the dirty little angels who survive there.
These writers are so damn good, I sometime want to hang up my keyboard. Of course, I can’t. As a writer I need to write, even if that’s only in my mind while trying to workout a problem in moving my story forward. I don't believe never writing has ever been an option in my life.
Think of how lucky I am, I get to roam Paradise, have a few drinks and good cigars, listen to great live music, talk to characters you would probably have to be locked up in a mental health facility to find anywhere else, go sailing and then sit down and find the words to explain it all without an alcohol haze in stories formed in my imagination.
I may never catch up to my writing heroes, but I am enjoying the hell out of the chase.
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