Pink vs Blue

I have admitted a great number of curiosities about what motivates people to write what they do. For the record, I think we all know now of certain characteristics it isn’t okay to wonder about, but limiting writers (and readers) to the influence of their gender, apparently, is just fine.

As much as I respect Ali, I found myself thinking that ”Clash of the Scottish Titans” was just keeping what should have by then been a dead issue alive. So I was glad I actually read the comments (which I often don't do, because my blood starts to boil), where he explains it was the discrimination against female writers he wanted to address, although my fear is that was sidetracked by all of the other stuff contained.

However, in the comments Ali posted a link to an old article, and a quick scroll down will bring you to the discussion of Tart Noir. As Ali quotes in the comments, this is a sample of the exchange between himself, Martina Cole and Stella Duffy:

Martina : I can tell you, that one of my readers (a man) actually puts a Stephen King cover on my books as he reads them on the train to work? Surely something's wrong?

Ali : That is a very sad indictment I must admit.

Stella : In fact what we really need to do is to encourage men to read more widely, and not women to change their writing style. Look everyone's talking about the lack of literacy in young men, so any encouragement in getting men to read more widely would certainly help. Look around you here (Stella points to the framed posters that adorn Waterstone's events room), there are 25 posters on these walls and only three and half of which are by women.

But that isn’t the reason I’m declaring gender fair game for discussion when it comes to what influences a writer. Rather, in the midst of an interesting piece Sarah Weinman wrote about Marilyn Stassio’s career there are comments that have their root with Stassio, but open the door to the smoldering topic of gender bias in the crime fiction community. (This quote is sourced via Sarah Weinman’s post on Stassio, and I’ll leave it as such so that anyone interested gets the benefit of her full post.) Check this out:

The publishing industry at this point is skeptical about the broader appeal of these women who are detectives and private investigators. Those in the industry hold that most readers of hard-boiled fiction are men, and the trade does not see them racing to buy books written by and featuring women. They are not so sure that women want to read them either.
''As a rule, women seem not to be as fascinated as men by the overtly violent action of such novels,'' says Joan Kahn, an editor at St. Martin's Press with 30 years' experience acquiring mystery fiction. ''The behavior in these books is too crude and simplistic for most women. 'I punched him, I shot him, I killed him, I dragged his body away.' I am sure that women could write that kind of bloodthirsty prose if they really wanted to. I'm just not convinced that they like to read it.''

Sound familiar? But that’s from 1985.

I have no doubt that there are very real prejudices women find themselves up against in this industry, but I have to say that I find some of the comments about what women prefer to read and write to be just as bad. We still clinging to the idea that women don’t have casual sex either? Man, I’ve known a few people I could fantasize about kicking, punching, shooting and dragging into an alley…

Maybe the reason I’m finding Joan Kahn’s comments harder to take than anything else is because they’re from a woman? Maybe I expect more? Maybe I feel like she's maintaining the gender conditioning and perpetuating that, saying what women are and are not interested in? Or maybe I just feel excluded because, eternal Tomboy that I am, as a child the books I was reading were Jack London’s The Call of the Wild and The Great Brain series and Gordon Korman’s Bruno and Boots books… and I never did read Anne of Green Gables. God, girls were so boring! The guys were out there, exploring the world, having adventures, doing things… That’s what I thought when I was a just a stupid little kid. (And rather hypocritical that I preferred to have my nose stuck in a book than actually go do something myself.)

But I can look back and see a certain amount of gender conditioning at play. I still remember begging to take karate, and being told that was for boys. (What I don’t remember is if my reason was because I was tired of getting beaten up – by girls! – at school. When I was assaulted when I was 14 it was by a group of girls, who incidentally had a reputation for starting street fights.)

What was that quote again? About the punching, kicking? Because it may be as simple for some of us to prefer a certain amount of realism in our fiction (another subject of debate we could have endlessly) and an understanding of the fact that people are violent.

Maybe the real reason I’m not a big fan of cozies is that the avoidance of physical pain and suffering seems so… girly?

I’ve made no secret of the fact that I don’t call myself a feminist. I’m a humanist. I believe in every person having the opportunity to do whatever they’re capable of, regardless of race, religion, gender, sexual orientation, eye color or anything else. I’m not interested in putting men above women or women above men. (And I’m not saying all feminists do, it’s just that some do. In the same way that all rights movements run the risk of not being about equality and starting to be about superiority at some point, there are definitely anti-male feminists out there. I just like to distinguish myself from that.)

However, I’ve also made no secret of the fact that I’ve had a tendency to read more books written by men. To, uh, be honest with you, I find guys fascinating. And part of the reason was that I’d tried some books by women that really didn’t work for me. It took a while for me to come up with a system to find the female authors that would appeal to me.

I have been thinking about gender issues a lot lately, in part because what I’m working on has three protagonists – two men and a woman. And while the catalyst character was a guy, the woman runs the risk of overshadowing both of the guys at times. I find her a fascinating character to write. Well, I enjoy writing them all, but as a cop, with Ashlyn I find myself walking the gender lines more. She is, in many respects, harder to write because I want her to have credit for her strengths as a person, while also being a woman.

I think part of the problem with discussing these issues is that it makes it seem like this is pervasive. As though this is ongoing discrimination that women come up against at every single turn. Now, that may be. I’m not saying that isn’t the case. What I am saying is I don’t know if that’s the case. One or two old comments come up, tacked on to a fresh one, and suddenly it’s as though women are getting letters from publishers telling them to stay home and get a new apron. Martina Cole is one of the top sellers in the UK, as is Val McDermid. Despite whatever prejudices women are coming up against, women are still succeeding in this business. And maybe – with problems getting reviews and with purchasers who won’t read books by women in the equation – that means we have to be twice as good as the guys to get there.

I think there are serious, legitimate issues that have to be addressed. Apparently, that’s why Sisters in Crime was started. Perhaps we need to sweep aside the other attention-getting aspects of recent “arguments” and get to the point where we focus on what’s really important here. An analysis of how the industry has (or has not) changed with regards to its attitude to women could be very interesting.

I’m certainly in the camp of lobbying for a change in attitude about what women like to read, though. Shania Twain’s Any Man of Mine is enough to send me over the edge – I hate that kind of attitude, and for some reason that editor’s comments have the same impact on me. In order for women to be fully accepted as equals we can’t have our own double standards, and that’s what it is about Twain’s song that pisses me off.

And that one line in bold sums up Ashlyn’s philosophy to a T.

But there are things I find myself wondering. Lately, I was having a terrible time, dealing with requesting something from other writers. I realized that, in the few times I’ve had to do this, the only people to completely ignore me were all women. I can look back at the blurbs for SC and see that men outnumber the women in terms of the five cover blurbs, and also I had more reviews from men than women… It would be horrendously unfair of me to go on a tirade about women not getting reviews, based on my own experience anyway.

Maybe instead of complaining that we’re discriminated against in the business we need to start putting our money where our mouth is, and showing more support for other women in the industry?

Maybe what we need to do is open a forum of discussion about the very real issues women are currently facing, at every level of the industry. And maybe instead of just talking we need to start finding our own solutions. The worst thing of all about this is that it seems as though, in twenty years, little has changed.

Not to make light of it...

But there are things worse than death.

Abstinence (thanks Norby)

Baby Got Book (thanks Brian)

For those who need their thoughts cleansed, I've posted videos below.

American Fast Food

It just cracks me up that you can see the strings. And I'm surprised they didn't get sued.

Steve Taylor - Lifeboat

Not your usual Christian fare and he offended many people during his career... but I loved him. And how many church guys do you see dressing up as women in videos?

Innocence Lost

You can almost always tell when I’m upset. I blog. Or I stop talking to everyone. Depends on which side of my personality is pulling the strings, I guess.

One of the things I absolutely hate is the feeling of being locked inside yourself. The feeling that you can’t talk about what’s bothering you. It’s the feeling you get when hope is lost in a relationship, the issues way beyond talking through. It’s the feeling victims of abuse often have, locked in a prison of silence and isolation.

And it’s a feeling that you can get when you care about a friendship or a person more than they care about you or your friendship. To speak may be to lose what little you have… and you have to decide if you’d rather have the person in your life to some small degree or not at all.

The end of a relationship shares similarities to facing death. Often, what people grieve for is more what might have been than what was. This is why many take the death of a child harder - they had their whole life in front of them. Endless possibilities. What you mourn isn’t just the child that was but all of the unknowns. Who they might have married, the children they might have had themselves, the career, the way their life may have touched others.

But there’s also something devastating about facing a loss and for it to come in twilight, after a lifetime has been spent, if you realize that what’s hurting most is the hope you carried, that things might be different between yourself and that person… and now that will never happen. You lived in a limbo, tolerating what was but always hoping for that moment when you could somehow reverse a decision, switch tracks, make things better than they are. Sometimes you’re left to carry the guilt of what you said and did. And sometimes, what’s tearing you apart is all the things you didn’t say.

It’s being caught between life and death that is the worst. When you can see that a friendship/relationship/person/career is on life support. The prognosis isn’t good. You know it’s inevitable. You might even know, on one level, that it’s time. And maybe sometimes you know it’s for the best, that the suffering is too great.

And you feel guilt for even thinking that, for thinking that it would be better to take away one single second of life prematurely. You play the ‘what if’ game. You know the one. The one where you ask, What if they find a cure? or What if they change their mind and want to start fresh?


What I’ve learned lately is that it’s more convenient to stand for nothing than to care, that defending a person, organization or decision is not only thankless, it’s heartwrenching, but that there’s a mourning that comes with giving up on people, and it’s the kind that rips your heart out and tears it into shreds because it’s the kind of pain you can feel over and over again, every time you have to face their choices. You wish to God you didn't care, but you do, and the greatest form of agony is the fact that as much as you want to, you can't find a way to stop.

And yes, my mood is affecting my writing today. No sunshine and lollipops.

It Cuts Both Ways

Months ago I talked about how the press has a tendency to misrepresent statements, and provided my own examples about how easy it is to do that. I referred to that earlier this week, and I hope this is the last time I find myself thinking about this for a long time. (This does get beyond the arguments, btw.)

When I posted yesterday the only name I mentioned was Ian Rankin’s. The reason was deliberate. Sure, it was the recent uproar in the press that brought up the topic, but it ties to other things I’ve talked about – the radio debate between David Roberts and Mark Billingham, for one, the recent online attack on Ken Bruen for another. And that’s why I said And there are a lot of people out there who have nothing to do with the other side of the writing community, left feeling uncomfortable over the comments made, feeling as though there's active hostility (which may or may not be true, depending on the argument and the people) and feeling as though they don't want to be around any of those people. It wasn’t just about Rankin. Certainly not just about Rankin and Val McDermid. Val was just one of the people who spoke out months ago when a comment Rankin made in an interview resulted in wide-scale criticism on him, with some alleging he was anti-lesbian, etc.

I think the broader issue to consider is one that Olen Steinhauer raised earlier this week when he asked, Can Novelists Just Be People?

The short answer? No. Whatever you say in an interview, at a public event, on a panel, on radio… all of it can come back to haunt you later. This is hardly a news flash.

At this point in their careers, I guess I’m stunned Val or Ian would be surprised by anything they see from the press and the public when they make comments in interviews or at public events. I was pretty quick to point my fingers in a different direction last fall, at the journalist who conducted the interview, and at the number of people who just took what was reported verbatim without even questioning it.

Today, Val McDermid has been reported as being upset for the way her own comments were represented in the press this week. Speaking to McDermid yesterday though, her anger wasn't directed at Rankin - but at the way the story has been reported. "Ian and I Instant Messaged each other when this story broke and were very amicable," she tells me. "We are still friends - he danced at my wedding, for Christ's sake!"

As we chat, McDermid is scanning reports of the incident on the internet, becoming increasingly incensed. "Why was only my sexuality mentioned?" she asks. "I was on stage with Denise Mina, who supported and expanded on what I said, but because she is, inconveniently, a self-confessed heterosexual, the only remarks reported on were mine.

"I did not even mention Ian's name," she adds. "Not because I was frightened to, but because I wanted to have a wider discussion about the issues. The way it has been reported makes me sound like a mad, paranoid lesbian." It's easy to see her point. Yesterday morning the page three headline in the Times read: "Revenge of the bloodthirsty lesbians."

McDermid is appalled at being referred to as "bloodthirsty" (although she is thinking very seriously about having a T-shirt made up with that headline). "It's preposterous nonsense," she says. "It makes me sound as if I'm some kind of ghastly bloodsucking demon, who shouldn't be allowed near small children. It doesn't help when the media uses such headlines, making me appear as if I have my meat cleaver ready to chop Rankin's gonads off.

"It couldn't be further from the truth," she quips. "I take my cooking seriously."

One thing I’ve learned from this is that, no matter how many news stories you read about something, you can’t be absolutely certain about the facts. I’ll take one report that’s questionable with a grain of salt. But when I see the same thing from a number of different sources it’s always seemed fair to conclude it’s been properly sourced and that things aren’t being blown too far out of proportion (assuming these aren’t wire stories).

The truth of this whole issue has been mired in misrepresentation from day 1, and nothing’s changed.

It’s a good interview, one that demonstrates we have yet another example of how things get twisted in the press. For all the reasons I argued vehemently last fall for people to not jump to conclusions over Rankin’s reported remarks (and the widely inferred meaning attached to them by people on blogs and forums) I should not have assumed there was any intention to dredge up an old argument yesterday, and I apologize if I gave anyone that impression.

Now that I’ve had an opportunity to read Val’s comments in the interview, I think I can (perhaps) finally understand why the issue was raised again. (I still wish it hadn’t been. No matter what the intention it’s come off badly, as evidenced by the strings of biting comments on all the news articles, as well as comments on author forums.) It really is a shame that that one topic overshadowed far more critical topics, such as purchasing managers for major chains not reading books by women.

The interview is good for other reasons. It reminds me of all the reasons I have so much admiration for Val’s work.

In one of the previous books in the series, The Last Temptation (2002), Jordan was brutally raped while working undercover to expose a people trafficker. Unlike most of the characters in male crime writers' novels, however, Jordan lived on to fight another case. McDermid writes about sexual violence in a way that humanises the victim, and believes in portraying the reality of such crimes and their effects. "I wanted Carol not to be a victim," she explains, "so women who also did not want to be a victim could aspire to her."

I’ve always had an appreciation for Val’s willingness to go at tough issues in her fiction, delving into things that aren’t easy to write about. And she doesn’t sugarcoat it either, which is good, because there’s nothing more insulting to people who’ve experience violence than to have people dismiss it and the way it can impact their lives.

I also think that it may be that many women write about violence because they’re more often the victims of sexual violence. (I’d add men that can be deterred from writing about rape because people start assuming they have rape fantasies. I’ve heard male authors state on panels and in interviews that they’re reluctant to write about pedophiles and rape.)

Whether men or women write the more violent crime fiction is a question nobody is likely to ever try to tackle directly, at least, not any time soon. I certainly know a number of male authors who write violence.

Putting my own 2 cents on the subject, I think women who are lesbians experience more discrimination, despite changes in society. I think about how everything I write can be interpreted, and even as a woman I worried about one thing I wrote some time ago (not published). After being raped a woman eventually begins a relationship with another woman. I worried a lot about that, about people assuming I was inferring that the reason women are lesbians is because they’ve experienced abuse. I don’t think that for a second. I think abuse can affect a person’s decision about who they’d like to have a relationship with, but it’s certainly not the reason someone’s gay, straight or otherwise. The character was, in part, inspired by a real situation I went through, when a woman talked to me about all the abuse she’d experienced from the father of her children and how she’d finally experienced a loving, nurturing relationship. And then she broke down and cried because the relationship was with a woman.

She felt so conflicted herself, there was nothing I could really say to her. Just listen. And think about how sad it is that so many people have terrible, unhealthy relationships. It seems so simple to just want to love and be loved, but it gets twisted and complicated and then people meddle, tell you who you are and are not allowed to be involved with, tell you what is and is not acceptable.

Me, I’ve never had a problem getting along with guys. On any given day about 70% of the emails I get from friends are from guys. There’s no universal truth that abuse or the absence of abuse will influence a person’s sexuality. That’s simplistic thinking.

But I still worry that if that character ever sees the light of day I may be forced to defend her existence. (Actually, this reminds me of an email I had from Al Guthrie the other day, but I can’t talk about that, or I’d have to kill everyone who read it.)

It goes back to what started this whole thing to begin with. People make assumptions, and judge, without all the facts.

Maybe it says more about us when we do that than anyone else.

I hated to think that there may be a real conflict between Ian and Val. It certainly came off as though there was a spat this week. I’m glad to be proven wrong about that. I am also aware of one... contrived publicity stunt in which authors agreed to publicly argue, within the past year, to raise their profile. When I touched on that the other day I wasn't thinking about Val and Ian, and I want to be clear on that point. I wish people wouldn't create and exaggerate arguments in public for publicity, because it's tense for everyone. There's enough to argue about already, without trying to create false drama. Believe me, if I express anger with someone, you can bet I'm seriously annoyed, but the majority of my real conflicts have actually been kept out of the public domain.

Exit Music

Via cellphone and email comes word that's the title of the forthcoming Rebus book, due out in September.

Explosive Elements

Arguments may get you headlines, but they’ll also get you a lot of heartache.

Last night, I was having trouble sleeping because of an argument. Not the shout-it-out-be-angry-and-be-done-with-it kind, either. The worst kind. The kind that simmers and festers and spreads over time and touches on other people.* And then, when I got up and came to my computer I was drawn back to an argument ten months old, one I hashed out more than enough about here, which didn’t help the sleep situation.

Recently at The Outfit Barbara D’Amato asked, “Why can’t we all get along?” Barbara was talking about hostile reviews, the kind that tear a book apart not because it’s been assessed on its own merits and found wanting, but the kind that attack a book just because it isn’t a genre the reviewer likes, the very existence of the book considered an offense. She said attacks don’t usually come from writers. Writers, “know how hard it is to write a book, and they are appreciative of others who do it, even the book isn’t what they like to read.”

I had to admit to being aware of several times writers have attacked other writers, and what they’ve done. That’s part of the reason I was so offended by the “blood-soaked corrosive rubbish” comments in the radio discussion I blogged about recently. It was a carte blanche attack not only on what I write but also on what I read. And nobody should presume to tell anyone else why they read and what’s acceptable and not acceptable. (And it isn’t even like it’s an original discussion point, which about sums up my thoughts today.)

And that wasn’t even the most recent attack I blogged about.

These are but two examples.
Today, I could dredge up a very
old argument, one that has been done to death already, but is now making headlines.

In all honesty, I don’t even like posting the links. But there are other links too, ones that will be familiar to some of you, where I have already said more than enough on the subject.


I was still upset when I saw the headlines. In fact, this whole bloody discussion deeply affected me last fall, when the issue first came up. The reason it bothered me was the number of people who just jumped on a bandwagon and went on attack over it, including many people who have candidly talked on their own blogs about being misquoted in the press. But boy oh boy, when it’s one of the top sellers in the crime fiction community there isn’t a moment’s hesitation in taking out the clubs and striking the blows. We’d all hope if it was us, with the meaning of a remark in an interview being twisted and interpreted, that people would give us the benefit of the doubt, wouldn’t we? But when it’s IR he doesn’t even get a moment’s hesitation before some sharpen the claws. Some wonderful, caring, supportive community spirit there. Let’s all gather round the fire, join hands, sing Kumbaya and pat ourselves on the back for how wonderful we are.

Right.

So, I’m left wondering why ten months later, here we are, again. Stir up an old argument. Rip open wounds, go on the attack.

It’s good for headlines but it’s also good for a lot of heartache. You know, it may even be that the authors behind some of these arguments have complete agreement about using them as a marketing strategy for all I know…

All I can say to that possibility is that if it’s true, what a shame. It would mean we now draw our audience through attacks, have to resort to scandal in order to drum up interest in what we’re doing. How very Hollywood.

And there are a lot of people out there who have nothing to do with the other side of the writing community, left feeling uncomfortable over the comments made, feeling as though there's active hostility (which may or may not be true, depending on the argument and the people) and feeling as though they don't want to be around any of those people.

A wise person once told me, in regards to this business, that if anyone says “What knocks?” they’re lying. Ironic, that as I was searching for the old links, I came across one of my favourite (word dripped in sarcasm) people attacking me. Yawn. All I can say is, I’m like a field mouse at a fox hunt – I mean, if you think it’s worth wasting your time attacking me, really how sad for you that you don’t have something better to do with your time. Bottom line is, if you have to build your career by stepping on the backs of others it’s a sad thing. We’ve gotten pretty far from writing being what wins out.

Another thing someone said to me: A person’s friends will know the truth about them, and you have to trust that your friends will stand behind you instead of assuming the worst.

Indeed. That’s why at the lowest moments in our lives we often find out who our real friends are, and are not. I have never believed the inferred meaning (and this I stress, because his words have been twisted to infer he was attacking lesbians, which has me wondering who even read the original interview, with all the narrative added in by the interviewer) from the comment Ian made, from the very beginning. It contradicts everything I’ve ever read about him and things he’s said to me himself. In the end, all this did was show who’s quick to judge and form conclusions, without even all the facts.

Chalk it up as a real stellar moment in the crime fiction world, another reason for us to be proud and look down our noses at others. Next person who says it’s the romance writers who are brutal to each other will prove one thing to me – they live with their head stuck in the sand. It might be easier to pretend nobody’s slinging mud that way, but you still get dirty.


*The argument in question has nothing to do with the writing world at all.

Job Hazards: Crime Author Charged With Murder...

...after police read his perfect plot.

This is rather a fascinating case, because it opens up all sorts of interesting questions. There is undoubtedly a risk when authors draw inspiration from real crimes. They risk offending family of the victim(s) and they also risk coming off as an opportunist, cashing in on the suffering of others.

However, I doubt many have found themselves on trial for murder.

Although the case sounds mostly circumstantial, "the book contained intimate details of the murder that could be known only to police — or the killer. Further investigations revealed that the victim was an acquaintance of Mr Bala’s estranged wife." If the police can prove that, they may just get a conviction. Since people have been convicted of murder without a body ever being found, physical evidence isn't always the clincher, or essential.

Whatever the outcome, this is food for thought for crime fiction authors. On the one hand, being charged with murder is one way to get free publicity and press coverage...

For myself, I do draw from real cases, in so much as they inspire me to think about certain issues. I have never taken an actual case and literally translated it into a story. I see there as being a huge difference. One exploits. The other is what I consider to be crime fiction at its best, using the forum to address current social issues. It can be a fine line between the two, but the reason I appreciate crime fiction with social relevance is that it actually has meaning and significance for the reader, and goes beyond mere entertainment value. Some people like their sitcoms and some people like their intense dramas and some like their news shows. I'm somewhere between the last two. If crime fiction didn't address issues, I wouldn't be reading it.

One thing's certain, though. If Mr. Bala gets off, I bet he'll be more careful about how exactly he replicates a real crime in his fiction in the future.

(My thanks to my good friend Steve from Edinburgh for the link to the story.)

What To Do When I'm Not Here

Read Brian's insightful piece on CROSS, the latest Jack Taylor offering from Ken Bruen. I haven't had time to properly digest it all myself... but it just figures Brian would come up with something must-read (and easily discussable) as I try to begin my hibernation cycle.

In Flux

Things are a bit chaotic at the moment. I have, regrettably, cancelled Bouchercon. After canceling Murder in the Grove for health and personal reasons, I had really hoped to make it to B’con (and I absolutely love Alaska). But too much has come up lately, and there’s no way I can juggle my schedule and make the trip. However, I have confirmed that both Evil Kev and I will be attending NoirCon in Philadelphia in April. And I’m already looking forward to the panel Evil Kev will be moderating, which is filled with an impressive list of people I really respect, including at least one who’s published some of my work. We’re also planning to tack on some travel, including our first visit to NYC. I’ve never been to that part of the US. I think my only regret is it won’t be fall, so we can’t rent a car and drive north for the fall colors. I would love to see Baltimore and Boston, but I don’t think I’ll be able to spare the time then.

Following the same path, I’m taking another blog holiday for a little while. Anything on here will be sporadic, at best, for at least a month, and that includes forums and lists as well. I know people don’t think I have them, but I’m in one of my more reclusive modes at the moment, and I have a staggering pile of work to do in the next two months. That’s where my focus needs to be. Don’t take it personally if you email and don’t hear back from me for a few days – that’s pretty much par for the course.

Meanwhile, Chris Holm has fantastic news, and it looks like I have more ammunition for the planned music debate Peter and I will be having later this year.

I won’t even need to re-read Ian’s books to prepare myself for this one, which means perhaps I can keep my series re-read to stick to my study of Rebus’s spirituality. The things I do for my own entertainment…

I must say, I’m glad some good things are happening to great people. Three friends have signed with agents lately, and I’m optimistic that it’s just a matter of time before there are book deals for them to celebrate.

Sex, Personality and Book Sales

As with most things, it’s all Kevin Wignall’s fault. Or perhaps I should call him Kuddly Kev, as he’s been labeled elsewhere… (Not by me! And not by Alex Barclay either, from what I hear.)

I may live to regret this, because anyone astute, with too much time on their hands and a pressing desire to find my assessments of some male crime fiction writers could eventually find a bit of running commentary from me on the subject of World’s Sexiest Writer 2007. (No, not on that thread.) But since I can’t talk about the only other thing on my mind this morning, sexy writers it is.

Vincent has not only started the topic of World’s Sexiest Writer over on Crimespace, where Daniel will be setting up a poll soon, Vincent is also assessing the merits of his photos on a dating site.

And proving that I occasionally not only have tact but employ it, I’m saying nothing on that one.

I’m proving myself a Gemini on this one, because I am completely of two minds when it comes to discussing sexy writers. I think Vincent’s post is hilarious and can’t wait to see how the poll shapes up. But I think it’s terribly shallow that people would be influenced to by a book based on what an author looks like, unless they’re selling a book on beauty tips or bodybuilding.

I think one of the very best lines at Bouchercon last year was when Oline Cogdil said she’d praised raging assholes and panned very nice people. And such is your lot when you’re a reviewer. As an individual, I’m far more swayed by personality. That will entice me to try a book. If I think a person is an idiot I’m not likely to want to read what they write, because I expect the writing to reflect that. And if I think a person is sharp, intelligent, witty, then I want to check out their work. That connection makes sense to me.

But even authors who are jerks can write great books. And yes, authors who are very nice people sometimes write stinkers.

Why is it I feel like I’m digging myself into a hole here? And now, everyone will wonder who I think is an idiot, or a jerk….

Truth is, it doesn’t matter. There are exceptionally few authors I have issues with on any level, in the grand scheme of things. Sometimes, it seems like a lot when I’m sorting spam for Spinetingler, or dealing with what happened over our last issue that prompted us to remove a story after the author started swearing at me in emails. We paid him and took the story down. At the time I was extremely pissed off, but the percentage of problem people is pretty low, though, all things considered.

While it’s definitely true that if someone is rude to my face they will not entice me to pick up their book at that moment (and in some cases when people have been ignorant I’ve moved their review copies to the bottom of the pile so that I can get the bad taste out of my mouth and be objective when I do get there) whether or not I like someone or agree with them has precious little to do with my endorsements either. Of course, I always like it when I discover an author I admire is a really good person – bonus. And I’m one of those people who doesn’t need to agree with someone about everything to like them.

But that’s me. I realize it isn’t the same for everyone else. I once had this naïve notion, that you’d just write stories and work from home and be an author and not have to worry about your appearance and all of that stuff. Of course, things have changed since I first thought about being an author when I was a kid.

So, part of me hates the idea of ranking authors based on their appearance. But the other side of me is curious to see who’ll make the list… and whether or not it will generate any interest in their books.

And I’ll confess this much. Brown eyes. My favourite feature on a person. Evil Kev and I both have hazel eyes – mine of the blue/green variety, his of the brown/green variety.

Anyone else going to confess who they’ll put on the sexiest writer list, or why? (You know, this is a stellar topic today. I won’t get any comments at all.)

The Song Says It Best

My current ms is hell to write. This story has been simmering in my brain for months, so this isn’t a surprise. After thinking I’d finally settled on a title that’s now up for debate… and I suck at titles. So, there’s that.

Then, there’s the issue of the actual subject matter. We won’t go there. It’s bad enough I have to write about it in the story. I’m not going to repeat myself here.

But every now and again a piece from a larger puzzle comes into focus, and I can see the moment perfectly, which is important, because this story isn’t about external action as much as it’s about internal turmoil.

This piece came about because of the title debate. For some bizarre reason, looking at my itunes playlists, I was drawn to Tom Cochrane’s 1986 album, although I hadn’t listened to it in ages. Funny that later this year I’ll be debating with Peter over the use of musical references in crime fiction. I’m just handing him ammunition here, admitting this, but I was convinced I’d find something on Cochrane’s album. And this is doubly strange because when I’m looking for musical inspiration I usually listen to Bruce Cockburn…

My favourite song by Cochrane is from Mad Mad World. It’s a cheery little song about love lost:

God I hate your needles and

Your dirty little vial of pills

I guess I love the sweat you put me through

I know I love your body

Like I used to love your mind

But now your soul's a slave

To all the things you use

I put you in the tub babe

With five big pounds of ice

If you don't get back up

I don't know what I'll do

I've walked around the room

Here nearly 37 Times

Can you hear me now

And am I getting through

That wouldn’t really fit this book. My instincts were correct, though. I may just have found a new title option because of this song, but that pales by comparison to the moment of clarity that some of the other tracks provided.
So, although this ms is proving to be torture, I at least now have music to go with the misery. And the song is just ambiguous enough to not really give any clues to even the three people other than my agent who have read What Burns Within. Much of it isn’t a direct correlation – it’s the sentiments that are more precise – but there’s one line in there of raw truth that connects to the story that it just guts me.

With that, I’m off to find Kleenex.

Another place in another time

I'd know that face anywhere

Without a trace and without a sign

Anytime you could come to me

In the night

When you thought

No one should have known

With your hard luck little girl look

And the trouble that you'd own

You'd come like the wind

When the night got so cold

And leave with the light

Like you didn't even know you'd

Come at all


CHORUS 

One more time

You could walk back in

One more time

It's the same south highway again

One less chance and then one less mistake

Some old habits are hard to break

Like you

If a heart could ever learn to say goodbye

And not let time take the best away

Still I Learn

Look down and I'd ask knowing why

Still this time is the destiny

I'd wait while you climb your golden stair

Hard luck then little girl

I know it's nowhere

Still you feel

They beat on you like a drum

If you get tired, torn and wasted

You know I'd never be one

CHORUS

So many times

When it gets hard to

See the truth

When you got to survive you

Tow the line and you compromise

Until you live a lie
Another place in another time

I'd know that face anywhere and I

Without a trace and without a sign

I still remember

Don't Spoil Wignall

As I was scrolling through the headlines from The Toronto Star, I saw something that’s become rather familiar:

A fine Potter farewell
WARNING: If you haven't finished reading Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, you may want to skip the third and fourth paragraphs of this story.

I am sick to death of everyone treating that book like it’s something special with regards to spoilers. You admit, “Yes, I read one of the leaked spoiler articles” and all of a sudden everyone’s jumping all over you saying, “Well don’t tell me!” Like, did I? Have I ever randomly posted spoilers all over the place? Do I make a habit of showing up on your blog and telling you how the book you’re reading allegedly ends? So why the hell do people assume I’d suddenly do this now?

That’s what pisses me off about it. Okay, from time to time I’ve posted a link to a review/article and didn’t realize the spoilers contained in it… In part because I haven’t been following the series so I don’t realize the significance of some things said. In light of a recent discussion about a specific book I posted a link to a write-up about the book and said some might find it interesting. It was posted in the context of a conversation about the book by people who’d read it (though I hadn’t read it myself) and someone went ballistic because the article had some spoilers. Be an adult – if you’re reading something and paragraph 2 of 12 it gives something away chances are there’ll be more spoilers before the end. So stop reading! (And why were you reading the book discussion to begin with if you didn't want spoilers?)

As much as I try to avoid spoilers or giving away too much of the plot in reviews, I do have a bit of a concern that some others might not be so diligent when it comes time to review the new Kevin Wignall book, Who Is Conrad Hirst? I have decided that since so many people just assumed I’d become a spoiler-loving witch over Harry Potter I’m actually going to defend a book that matters against spoilers – I’ll send my uncensored evil thoughts against anyone who gives away plot for Who is Conrad Hirst? for a whole day. Buy it. Read it. Keep the secret and just tell others to buy it and read it. What better way could there be to entice people to buy a book? You have to buy it and read it to be part of the club of those who know.

It’s actually a royal pain in the backside, because this is one of the most delicate reviews I’ve ever had to try to write. I thought Christa Faust’s Money Shot was tricky, because of the layers to the book that I didn’t want to give away, but WICH is proving trickier still.

The nice thing about going back and catching up on an author is discovering their work. This is one of the reasons I enjoy interviewing authors – motivation to read through their backlist. (Sometimes, the backlist is to big to do that, but I do read some of the books.) I recently tracked down a copy of For The Dogs and spent some quality time reading. I wouldn’t want to give anything about that book away either, but… well… what a story.

Read it. You won’t regret it. Unless you give away the story. In which case, I’ll hunt you down.

The Complete Idiot’s Guide To Being An Idiot

** With an important update! **

If bookstores are any indication, the average person must be an idiot. Shelves are lined with “How To” books, self-improvement books, formulas for uncovering the secrets to life…

Problems in bed? Check out The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Amazing Sex. Can’t get your cupboards suitably organized? Try The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Organizing Your Life. I must admit Evil Kev paled considerably when he saw that one, and began muttering the mantra he’s developed over the past eight years (‘No more storage. No more storage.’)

That meant he was actually tempted by The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Managing Stress. And who wouldn’t be tempted by The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Getting Rich? (Notice that it’s the books about getting rich and amazing sex that are in their third edition? Guess not as many people have issues with organization and stress. Of course, some say sex is a stress reliever, so perhaps the stress book is limited to sales to the celibate.)

The list goes on. Idiot guides to the Bible, to leadership, to English literature…

And we haven’t even touched on the ‘For Dummies’ books.

Who buys all these books? And what do you do with them when you have them? Bookshelves are either meant to be used for the books you read, or for stacking up volumes of books you want people to think you’re sophisticated enough to read. None of which matters in my case because I don’t let people in my house, but I have a hard time picturing all these idiotic guides lining the shelves. Take a date back to your place and shamelessly flaunt the fact that you need a complete idiot’s guide to tell you how to have better sex? Talk about proving the point of being an idiot – after all, I must get three hundred emails a day that tell me how to solve all my sexual needs… and I don’t have to pay for those.

I’ll actually admit to owning a few, though. We have one on sailing, because Evil Kev thinks he’s going to get a boat some day and sail the world. He’s waiting until he finds a girlfriend who’ll go with him, though.

I have one on criminal investigation and Forensics For Dummies, both of which prove CSI really doesn’t have a research department. But they have good make-up.

You know, I’m amazed by two things. One is the willingness of some people to let anyone tell them how to live their life. The other is the fact that everything has been reduced to a formula.

Seriously. What’s prompted my little tirade of the day is seeing a blog outline the simple steps to success. I shake my head at the idiocy of anyone who thinks you can get a book deal, become a movie star, make a million dollars or marry rich by following six easy steps. (And why do so many people readily take advice from people who aren’t successful? You think if some guy you’ve never heard of before knows the secret to wealth and success he’d take time off his yacht to tell you at a $399 luncheon? Be serious! Perhaps you need The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Recognizing a Scam.) But I almost have to have a grudging respect for the people writing these books, because they’re making money off the fact that people don’t know how to think for themselves anymore.

Now, it sounds like I’m specifically picking on the Idiot’s Guide books, but I really don’t mean to. It isn’t even that there are self help books out there… It’s the volume of them. I got thinking of this yesterday, after reading a blog where someone asked a stranger “What do I do now?” It wasn’t a life-and-death situation, wasn’t to do with grieving over the loss of a loved one, or coping with an illness. They were waiting to hear back about a job they’d applied for.

Goodness. Can’t anyone think for themselves anymore?

Guess it’s a good thing you can buy Think For Yourself! And while you’re at it you can Think Yourself Thin and Think Yourself Rich and Think Yourself To Health, Wealth and Happiness.

They’ll have me hook, line and sinker if they come out with Willing Your House To Clean Itself.

** When I put a title in italics in this post, it was a made-up title. Or at least, I thought it was a made-up title. I most sincerely apologize to the author of The Complete Idiot's Guide to Frauds, Scams and Cons for getting the title wrong. Perhaps I need to re-think my plans to attend NoirCon in Philadelphia next year... Or I should hope that nobody's written The Complete Idiot's Guide To Hiring A Hitman yet.

Knowing When To Walk Away

This week, an absolutely horrid thing happened to a friend of mine. In reality, that’s no different than almost any other week. What has stood out in my mind more than anything else this year is the ongoing spats between people over trivial issues, or in some cases out of pure spite and jealousy. In those cases, we tend to see what we saw happen to my friend: a completely unprovoked attack.

And I was uncharacteristically silent.

As I’ve said before, I don’t do particularly well when friends are attacked. I also don’t do particularly well with conflict. Evil Kev says I love to fight, but he’s mistaken. I love to fight with him. There’s a distinct difference. Fighting is part of the spousal job description.

But no matter how sincere the intention to keep issues to issues and the personal to personal, the lines tend to get blurred. And in the most recent example I’m thinking of, there was no effort to keep it objective. It was a blatant personal attack, the accuser hiding behind the veil of anonymity.

Big surprise. One by one I’ve left forums, lists and even some blogs because of that type of behaviour. Also, because I’m aware of my own weakness when it comes to standing up for someone I feel is being unfairly pushed around. But the emotional cost is high. On the one hand, I feel horrid for not standing up for people when they’re attacked. To be blunt, I think that’s pretty shitty. If you call yourself a friend, there are certain things you do, and standing with friends is one of them.

Unfortunately, that often means standing against someone, and there’s a cost there as well.

Whenever a person takes a stand, they’re going to have people who dislike them for it. People will disagree. And the more honest a person is about their opinions, the greater the chances they’ll ruffle some feathers. I doubt there’s a person reading this who doesn’t know of at least one conflict I’ve been in in the public domain.

Part of me wishes I could just be a smile. You know what I mean. The person who smiles and stays silent when the mudslinging starts. But then, I never feel comfortable with most of those people. They conceal all their opinions. In order to maintain an amiable public image they stand for nothing and nobody and even if a person’s attacked unjustly they’ll keep their nose clean. I never know what those people stand for, other than themselves.

There are people I disagree with about almost everything who I have more respect for, because at least they put their name behind their views and are passionate enough to express them.

But this week… this week I started seeing things differently. I got thinking about hiding. Just walking away for a while. Taking a break, being invisible. I go through this every few months (believe it or not) and sometimes it lasts a day and sometimes a few. This time, it’s been about a week.

Seeing a friend get hurt didn’t help. I felt so much rage I couldn’t see straight. And then there was the sense of powerlessness. There was nothing I could do that would fix things for my friend.

Why is it the path to hate, to division, to judgment and mudslinging is so much easier than the path to camaraderie, friendship, happiness?

Much of the time, I wonder what I’m doing here. I’m not a particularly funny person, so my blog lacks that entertainment value. There are others who whine better, others who report better, and others who do a better job dishing their opinions.

Plus, my life is actually pretty boring.

When I get in one of these modes, what I really start to think is that the only thing I’m doing here is being an idiot, because I’m opening myself up for personal attack from people who don’t like my opinions or decide they don’t like me.

When you put yourself out there, in any capacity, you can be subjected to criticism. There are people who will like your books. There are others who won’t. Some will appreciate the short stories. Others, well, not for them. Some people will like you. And others won’t. Industries being what they are you can be ‘in’ today and ‘out’ tomorrow.

I don’t particularly like that level of vulnerability. And after seeing the spats, the attacks and feeling my own anger and frustration at some things said, I wonder if it wouldn’t be better to insulate myself.

And then I remember that a big part of the reason I started this blog was for my own discipline, to write something on a regular basis, and to try to stick to one cohesive train of thought (which is a challenge for me). And part of the reason I’ve kept on with it is for the readers who email and tell me how much they (for whatever reason) enjoy the blog.

There have actually been so many spats and squabbles within our community this year that I’ve had to remember that those we see on the internet are but a small section of the community at large. Most of my emails come from people who’ve never commented here, but read in relative silence. Most of the people who read books don’t participate on lists or forums. And only a fraction of the authors in the genre are active online.

It’s the one bit of truth expressed in a cruel, cold attack. Blogs aren’t life. The internet isn’t life. But I also don’t think anyone here believes it is. This is just a way to keep up with people, to stay in touch, know what’s going on. Most of the blogs I read these days are written by friends – Angie, Amra, Vincent, James, Stuart, Mindy, Anne, Patti, etc. etc. etc. I want to know how they’re doing more than anything else.

And I think when reading stuff online gets me to the point where I’m angry, it’s as good a time as any to pull the plug and just stop reading those sources. Sometimes I have to get it out of my system here, but it is true that most of these ‘arguments’ can’t be won. People aren’t interested in genuine discussion – they’re interested in propping up their hobby horses.

Well, I suppose I have to give them the credit due for actually standing for something. But I’ve come to the point where I have a new respect for the silent smilers I was criticizing earlier. Sure, some may be only about their image and be the type who hoists a flag and follows the winds of popularity on any given day…

But some are people who are smart enough to know that most of these disagreements can't be resolved. And the cost is time, sanity and emotional energy that’s better invested elsewhere.

As much as I've been saddened by some who've stopped blogging (and been annoyed at others who've bullied people until they quit) what matters most is that my friends are comfortable with their decision. They'll have my love and support, even if I miss seeing them here.

The Death of the Series?

With some stories, it’s like taking the vegetables and throwing them in a pan of hot oil. You can’t walk away and leave them for ten minutes – you’ve got to start stirring them to keep them from burning. With other stories, it’s like taking those vegetables and putting them in hot broth. You’re going to give that some time to simmer.

The problem is, not all stories are the same, and even within a series some stories will be told in a different fashion.

I was discussing this with my friend Marsha last night, because she was uniquely placed to comment on my first book. She’d read it ages ago, a full two years before it was published, in its original form. Before a few massive rewrites. And now, she’d read the published version and she loved it and remembered much of it from before, but then she told me what she wanted to see more of from me in the future.

More description, and more time in the heads of the characters. And then she reminded me that the original had more of both. She understood that I’d probably had to cut some to meet length requirements…

This prompted a huge discussion about balance. I wasn’t surprised by her comment at all. Truth is, the person who cut up the book in the critiquing process could be said to have used a sword, not a scalpel, except that might suggest they just chopped away without reason. In fact, after cutting all I was told to cut, I went back and added in just over 3000 words that I’d taken out. I thought 15000 words was enough, 18000 drastic.

This is, for me anyway, one of the toughest things about writing. Well, after coming up with titles and settling on character names and writing synopses and queries… When it comes to the actual manuscript, this is what I find hard to balance. One book I read in the last five months, I really enjoyed. Great story. Had me hooked. I really only had one complaint with the story, and that was why the pov character had to think the same things over four or five times. And by that, I mean literally it was what they’d already thought about and didn’t add anything new to the equation. An otherwise brilliant book brought down just a touch because it was repetitive. Sometimes, an author will go so far into the detail, belaboring the story, I start thinking, Enough already. Frankly, if at any point in the story I’m tempted to start skipping bits it’s a mark against it, and if it’s a series book that’s when I start to wonder if it’s past due.

But then, there are other times where every single second in the story is perfection. Then there are times you truly don’t get deep enough. When Marsha and I were talking we discussed an author we both like, who we both feel needs to take us a bit deeper, and I said I didn’t know if they did it by accident or if it was intentional to leave us wanting more. But at some point, I think if we both feel we don’t get in just a bit deeper to understand the protagonist, maybe we’ll lose interest. Hard to say.

As I said, it’s a real balancing act.

Now, as Marsha knows, SC was intended as the start of a series, and I had drafted a sequel, so for her SC would have been perfect if the sequel had followed… because the sequel did go deeper. And that’s really what she wants in a series – to feel like you get to know more of the characters every book out. Me too. In the first book of a series I want to get a taste. Second book I want to know more. This is really the risk of not following through on a series. If you’ve said everything there is to say in the first book there’s no need for a follow-up, and if you’ve left things to cover then the first book is not entirely satisfying on its own, as far as characters go.

When I wrote What Burns Within it was go-go-go from the get-go. There’s a ticking clock and the emphasis is on procedure, not the personal. I tried to tell only as much about the characters as you needed to know for this story, with just a hint of some things that might be addressed down the road. In fact, one of the rejection letters I go said it was clear that the three protagonists knew each other before this case and they wanted to read that book. Yeah, well, that’s the plan. It was pitched as a series...

Working on book 2, it’s very different. WBW is repeatedly getting smacked in the head. Book 2 is like having someone stick a knife in your gut, slowly, and then twist it. The second book goes much deeper into the characters… WBW has the character reveals through the action of the story, but book 2 is far more personal. Marsha says that’s perfect… if it’s a series.

This is something I’ve been wondering about. I’m a huge fan of series. Give me Rebus and Jack Taylor, Thorne and Milne, McRae and Rourke, Tony & Carol… I love series books. I love getting back to characters I’m interested in and reading a book where the circumstances the characters face reveal more about them. And in general, I’m not in as much of a rush to read stand-alones, Laura Lippman being the most noteworthy exception. Stand-alones lack that sense of urgency for me that series books have.

However, times being what they are, more and more authors (especially unproven new authors) are getting signed to one book deals. And that does make it very hard to develop a series.

And then, as Marsha and I were talking I confessed to her what no author in my position ever wants to hear – I said I usually (usually!) don’t pay much attention to authors until they have three or four books out. I know, I know… But if the books are stand-alones it’s even harder to tempt me.

The real thing is, I want authors to fall in love with. I want to like a character to the point where I want to spend more time with them. And then I want to be able to do that. It’s very hard if an author puts out a book and then disappears. Or if book 2 is a real disappointment because the author spent 10 years polishing book 1 and could hardly function under a deadline for a second book.

It used to be that publishers could invest a few books to grow an author and build a readership. Now, market realities are changing that, and as a reader I’m getting nervous. Rebus will be off the force this year. Jack Taylor has a few books left. My understanding is the new Thorne book ties up a lot of loose ends and the next Billingham will be a stand-alone. No word on whether or not it’s back to Thorne after that…

I’m starting to wonder who will be the next great series characters that will fill the void. The reader in me feels that the relationship between reader and author is unique. People feel personally let down if they start to warm to an author and their characters and can’t get more. I understand series have to end, and would rather see them end strong than hang around whimpering long past the interest of the author. But when it comes to being tempted to try new writers, I hope for more than one or two books.

This is also making me rethink my approach with new material. Yes, I’m also working on a stand-alone, because as much as I find it heartbreaking as a reader to not be able to continue reading a series I’ve started to enjoy, I find it gutwrenching as an author to not be able to develop the characters intended for a series. And I'm wondering what it means if a self-professed series junkie is working on a stand-alone. Seems like a really bad sign.

Anyone reading book 2 or 3 of a series that they feel is one they’d recommend?

The Greatest Mistake

Last night we were caught between two tornadoes, apparently. But I’ll get back to that.

Mistakes. We all make them from time to time. I certainly have. Several months ago, a friend called. They’d moved across county and I hadn’t heard from them in about 8 months.

I lost their address, and have been hoping they’d call back ever since because Mr. P doesn’t seem to be listed in the phone book.

More recently, I opened up a manuscript and was skimming over the first page and caught a mistake. How many bloody times did I go over that thing? And it wasn’t only read by me – I can think of three other people who’ve gone over that section of the story with the actual purpose of giving me critique and we all missed it. The mistake? ‘His’ instead of “He’. Sigh.

I say this so it doesn’t sound like I’m picking on anyone, because last night, as Evil Kev and I continued the Homicide marathon, we were watching an episode that was a crossover with Law & Order. So not just one, but two teams of writers and whatever researchers they employ screwed up.

The storyline? To do with a gas attack on a subway that kills twenty people. The style of attack is similar to an attack on a church five years earlier, in Baltimore, that was never closed.

Through the Homicide episode in particular, Frank Pembleton continues to recall the scene outside the church, the row of bodies, one girl sitting over her father’s body. He mentions the burning in the air as he’s approaching the scene, how he can feel it in his nose etc.

Which is when Evil Kev tells me that would never happen. Why? Death from breathing in poisonous gas would result in quarantine of the bodies – they’d never leave them out there because they would expose others.

And of course, at the end of the episode when the suspect has a heart attack and they try CPR for five seconds and then give up, well, that wouldn’t happen either. Once you start you aren’t supposed to stop until paramedics call it, and cops would know that. Should know that. Even I know that. But, as Evil Kev said, “It’s more dramatic this way.”

This morning, I’m still left wondering if we really were caught between two tornadoes last night.

We certainly had the weather advisory. First it came over Evil Kev’s radio for the fire department. A tornado had touched down in Crossfield and was headed east at 40 km per hour. Confirmed the alert online. Heard it on the ‘real’ radio. Was actually standing outside as the rain came pelting down. We were spared the hail that fell just east of town, though.

Then, heard it on the TV. A second tornado, this one to the south and east of us, heading west.

A lot of things go through a person’s mind when they hear this. The first was get the dogs inside. The second was what else do we do? And you realize there isn’t much you can do. Certainly nothing to stop a tornado if it’s coming. And for all the predictions of where a storm system is moving and what they anticipate, nobody can tame the wind. The one thing you know is the weather system moving through is apparently perfect for creating twisters and you may or may not be sitting in the path of two of them.

This morning, nobody seems to know. Apparently, not enough people saw the tornadoes to confirm they existed and, thankfully, there was no damage directly attributed to tornadoes. Just thunderstorms and hail.

Of course, all during this Evil Kev’s getting ready, in case he has to go out.

Um, remember that post yesterday, about us not having our wills done? And Kevin’s explaining to me the process of dealing with a hazardous goods call as we watch Homicide, and talking about what you do when it’s gas, and then he’s preparing himself in case he needs to go out in a tornado.

Splendid.

I realize now that if Homicide hadn’t made those errors with the episode, I wouldn’t have received an earful about it. And it wouldn’t have reinforced the nature of the risks Evil Kev takes when he responds to a call. But even if I don’t think about them, or he doesn’t talk about them, it doesn’t mean he doesn’t take them.

It certainly is easier to cope, in some respects, by putting your head in the sand and ignoring reality. After all, if I don’t think about the risks, I don’t have to experience the fear, right? But it doesn’t reduce those risks. In some respects, it’s actually a horrid thing to do. You don’t take people for granted when they walk out the door to a call and are ordered to proceed with caution and wait for the police. A part of you is steeling yourself for the potential knock at the door.

Also, how can you really appreciate the enormity of what firefighters/paramedics/police do if you don’t understand the risks on even a basic level? You can’t.

A little piece of wisdom I got from a Christmas cracker:

Without the sorrows of life, the joys would not exist.

One thing I don’t think I mentioned here was that recently I had a bad dream about a tornado outside our house. And in the midst of it arguing with Evil Kev about windows.

Last night, faced with the possibility that there were tornadoes moving through the region, I remembered that the greatest mistake is not taking a bit of creative license with reality to make a story work, or even losing an address, much as that sucks.

The greatest mistake you can make is letting your life slip by. No risk, no rewards. Sure, there’s a chance you fail (and fail spectacularly) but I’ll always give people their due for trying to fulfill their dreams, even if things don’t always pan out the way they hope.

A Rather More Serious Schmooze

Having been declared schmoozeworthy by Christa, who is rather schmoozeworthy herself, I bring you my thoughts this Monday morning, which are about pulling the plug.



You see, Evil Kev ordered the complete dvd collection of Homicide, and we've been watching episodes. The other evening we watched an episode called A Doll's Eyes. A boy at the mall is struck by a stray bullet, left brain-dead and his parents must first come to grips with that and then decide if they should take their only son off life support. Yes, yes, a barrel of laughs all around and pass the popcorn please.

This prompted a rather serious discussion, because Evil Kev and I have not done our wills. Now, one might think that, after I nearly brought him home from Africa in a box I might have insisted on it, but it isn't exactly an easy subject. (And I think Evil Kev has a lingering conviction that when he dies it'll be at my hands or on the other end of my cooking anyway, so he doesn't want to make it any easier for me to off him.)

But what will really surprise you is that on Saturday I watched Last Holiday and between the Homicide episode Friday night and that movie Saturday afternoon, I bawled like a baby, damn these emotionally manipulative programs.

There was one thing that the main character in Last Holiday put in her will that got to me. She said she wanted to be cremated because she'd spent her whole life living in a box and she didn't want to be buried in one.

This much I know: I don't want to be kept alive by a machine. If my spirit's gone, let the rest of me follow. But I do like that sentiment about living in boxes.

Bet you all feel uplifted after dropping by this morning.

(And I guess I'm supposed to pick 5 schoozeworthy blogs? Well, I'll tell you some of my must-reads, even if I don't always comment:

The Bearded Wonderboy
Vincent
MG Tarquini
PJ Parrish, who recently returned to blogging
Trace
Detectives Beyond Borders
Hillbillies and Hitmen...

There are, no doubt, others. But I'm making this optional tag, because I know how busy people are.

Crime Fiction Should Know Its Place, According To Some

For the first time, as I listened to a radio special on Harrogate Crime Festival*, I was actually glad I hadn’t attended this year. Not because of the rain and floods, but because of the “spat” (as some called it) between David Roberts and Mark Billingham. I don't think I could have handled myself as reasonably as Mark Billingham did.

David Roberts throws down the gauntlet at the beginning: “What could be more old-fashioned and artificial than that? I’ll tell you what. It’s the gritty, realistic, blood-soaked corrosive rubbish that you see spattered all over Waterstones every day.”

Mark counters: “Crime fiction is uniquely placed to tackle rather important issues that I know you find terribly distasteful David, but issues such as child abuse and hate crime and terrorism. We live in a very scary and violent world and fiction that completely puts its head in the sand and refuses to address this is hopelessly out of date.”

David replies: “What is sad is that crime fiction, which is supposed to be entertainment, should try and think it’s superior enough to take on these major, gritty, realistic, subjects like child abuse and they love to have a violent scene with perhaps some woman or child being tortured. Is that what we want to read? Yes, if you’re a serious novelist, by all means tackle big social subjects but not if you’re a crime writer.” He goes on to say, “What we do want to avoid is the pornography of violence that is so prevalent.”

What’s with this recent trend making carte blanche statements against “blood-soaked corrosive rubbish”? In particular, the way this statement is made makes it sound like anything that’s a bestseller qualifies, which is hardly true. Roberts asserts that these books are detailing things such as torture and dismemberments, and yet the overwhelming majority of crime fiction I read – which undoubtedly falls on his ‘corrosive rubbish’ pile, does not detail such things. The majority of any violent acts happens off the page.

I have to say that if someone’s setting the rules that crime fiction can only entertain and not address serious issues, it’s time for me to stop reading crime fiction. I enjoy being entertained as much as the next person, but not at the expense of reality.

I realize that I’ve also had my say on this to a large degree a few months back, when I talked about how insulting it was to dismiss the harsh realities of crime. How the hell can you write crime fiction – make your living off of criminal acts – and then insist the books stay civilized, bloodless, without any pain or discomfort to anyone? That’s bullshit, and incredibly offensive to anyone who knows what it’s like to have a loved one murdered, raped, assaulted, etc.

And that doesn’t mean that you have to spend the book dwelling on that. But you don’t gloss it over and keep crime oh-so-civilized. Crime wreaks havoc, it rips lives apart.

You do not have to be gruesome in order to display that either. I know a friend who works in a Waterstones store has told me they’re getting more and more Laura Lippman in and the books are selling well, and I’d hardly call her work “blood-soaked corrosive rubbish”.

The truth is, the crime fiction genre is big enough for all manner of stories. I may not be particularly wowed by the idea of cat mysteries or cross-stitch mysteries myself, but they’re there for the people who like them. And as much as they aren’t for me, attacking them (and their readership) if I was so inclined would be a waste of energy. The people who primarily like those types of books aren’t as likely to be interested in my type of work. In some respects, SC is the ‘lightest’ thing I’ve written. While I don’t consider it hard-boiled, my work is definitely moving in darker territory, and that’s where I prefer writing. The readership is distinctly different.

What’s really unfortunate is that I found the comments made so distasteful, erroneous and offensive that it’s put me off reading/watching anyone Mr. Roberts commended. The truth is, sometimes I enjoy something that isn’t so bleak, but I have a hard time reading anything that’s serving as a way of looking down on the rest of the genre. And that, to me, was what really got me. It was the sense of this snooty attitude, of being more evolved and enlightened as to have better taste than those just putting out carnage.

You want to know what I admire most about Mark Billingham’s work? How careful he is to develop the victims. You have a sense of what they’ve gone through, of the loss, the cost. They are not used as items of convenience and dismissed. I try now to pay more attention to my victims, and that’s with particular credit to Mark.

And for the most part, the books I enjoy most are about the journey of the main character(s). As they are confronted by things, they struggle to deal with them. Over the course of time the crimes they’re confronting take a toll, and that is realistic. The problem with bloodless crimes that nobody gets too worked up over, in my opinion, is that your character can’t really be affected by them. After all, you’re taking such care to make sure nobody else is disturbed, so seeing a bad crime scene isn’t going to prompt your protag to drink, or keep them awake at nights. Let’s just keep it all nice and civilized so that nobody’s too offended by the crime… so why should anyone care?

Thing for me is, if I don’t care, why read it?

“The trouble with too many contemporary novels is that they are full of people not worth knowing. They characters slide in and out of the mind with hardly a ripple. They levy no tax on the memory; they make little claim on the connecting power of identification. They make only the skimpiest contribution to an understanding of the human situation. They leave you cold.” - Norman Cousins

Whatever else I’m guilty of, may I not be guilty of that.

And here’s another quote from Mr. Cousins:

"Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live."

Hence my interest in series characters and journeys. It doesn’t mean every book will end badly, or that there will never be moments of happiness. But that quote alone sums up what it is that captivates me about Jack Taylor. Its got nothing to do with any violence on the page – you either get it, or you try to find scapegoats to dismiss what you don’t understand.

Here’s to keeping it real, and those who do such a fine job not shirking from the realities of violence while also not glamorizing it.


* There will be a short lifespan on this link, as I expect come Wednesday it will be gone. That’s my guess, anyway, as I believe the ‘listen again’ feature is only good for a week.

If The World Is Your Playground, You Might Just Rub Shoulders With The Natives

I had refrained from commenting on minor whisperings of contention with the recent Dagger Awards but was aware of some expressed concerns at the number of foreigners who won. Perhaps the best place to read a summary on it is Mike Ripley’s Getting Away With Murder column at Shots, where he says:

All the major awards, it seems, have gone to writers from abroad. Admittedly two of them were colonials (American and Australian), but one, I was told in hushed tones, was actually French!

Pedants may point out that the Dagger in the Library was won by a Scottish person, Stuart MacBride, but I take that as cold comfort, for British crime writing seems in danger of becoming a minority sport.

According to my own personal database (where new titles are meticulously entered into a ledger by my factotum Waldo), it would appear that to date, some 529 new titles (books published in the UK for the first time) are scheduled for 2007. Of these, 264 are by British authors, but 265 are not. Of course, Waldo’s ledger will have more entries by the end of the year but the trend is ominous and 2007 could just be the year in which British writers form less than 50% of the gross crime fiction output.

(Can I have a minor rant about that ‘colonial’ bullshit first? I swear, the next time I’m in the UK and some pompous ass says “Oh the colonies” I’m going for blood**. I may have mostly British blood in my veins but I’ve heard too many people throw that at me with conceit and contempt, which just makes me want to emphasize my French surname all that much more. We aren’t some lesser hand-me-down Brits here, and if we are then stop your whining about Americans winning your awards right this minute. Good enough to sell your books to but still looking down your nose at us. It’s the root of that outdated and short-sighted attitude that could launch a whole rant about how crime fiction authors in this country are selling out their culture because the very people who criticize the use of stereotypes in fiction have Canadians limited to popular misconceptions that are spouted from the mouths of, well, idiots. Next time I hear a Canadian crime fiction author say they won’t write about Canada because it isn’t interesting, I have a simple suggestion for them if they don’t like it here: MOVE.)

Will we ever agree about awards? Will there ever be universal consensus on how organizations should run them? No. But it is not so much the awards, as the commentary here, that ruffles my feathers. The Daggers are not the only awards that are open internationally – The Edgar (save the ‘best first’ category, which is limited to Americans), The Barry, Anthony, Leftie (and probably a long list of others that I’m forgetting at the moment) all allow international competition.

Which is as it should be, in my opinion. The reality is that many British authors have won the Edgar, and many British authors have won fan choice awards in the US. Why is it suddenly worrying if foreigners are winning on British soil? After all, the award is for crime novel of the year. Not British Crime Novel, not American Crime Novel, not Crime Novel of the Year Written by One Of Our Own Kind… It’s for best novel. End of story. The very fact that anyone is publicly putting it on a blog that it’s a concern that too many non-Brits won suggests the perception that although foreigners might get nominated for the Daggers, they aren’t supposed to win them. And then those points are followed by numbers of titles being published this year by Brits and non-Brits.

What matters when it comes to awards is quality not quantity. It doesn’t matter if authors from the rest of the world are having as many books published in the UK this year as British authors are – what matters is the caliber of the books.

In fact, I find myself wondering if there’s a shift happening in the reading habits of the population that has yet to trickle through to the level of the awards. Allan Guthrie’s recent Theakston’s win for Two-Way Split, as well as his Edgar nomination for Kiss Her Goodbye show the kind of recognition he’s getting from the writing community, but the Theakston’s win was a bit of a surprise to me. Not because of quality, but because of the British love affair with police procedurals, and the fact that it seemed harder for Guthrie to earn a following on his home turf: It certainly was a bit harder for him to get a publisher there, initially. Two years attending Harrogate Crime Festival I can safely say most of the authors I rubbed shoulders with were writing in the mainstream. Police procedurals. If they were amateur sleuths they were lawyers or journalists (people with a reason to investigate). Al had a panel the one year, for new authors, but otherwise it seems that those writing about the meaner streets – Al, Ray Banks, Kevin Wignall, Ken Bruen – are missing from the equation.

If the British crime fiction community is concerned about the lack of awards this year, I hope they don’t have a knee-jerk reaction and just make foreigners ineligible. They need to get to the root of the issue, to look at what’s being published and perhaps ask why it is that particularly American authors have made such a strong showing. Get over your ‘colonial’ crap, forget the country on the passport and ask who’s producing what.

And for the record, a hard push from elsewhere can only be a good thing, because it pushes authors to be better. I always think when watching the Olympics, figure skating in particular, you don’t really want to win because the other guy fell. You want to win because everyone went out and skated their very best and you still outskated them. That’s what makes real champions. Nobody should get awards because of the country they were born in and nothing more – they should get the awards because they’ve earned them.

The truth is, I don’t put much stock in the awards. Okay, I’m very happy if friends are nominated. Happier still if they win. Hope that those who place in writing competitions will find themselves with contracts and book deals. Whatever works to build your career.

Ultimately, awards are subjective to a large degree. Taste is a definite factor. I didn’t find anything about the Dagger Awards particularly noteworthy, other than the number of nominations Gillian Flynn received. In hindsight, I agree her book has absolutely nothing to do with a James Bond-style thriller and haven’t a clue what’s going on with The Steel Dagger, which should probably be renamed or redefined if this is indicative of the books being nominated in the category.

But what I did notice lately from awards that left me perplexed had to do with The Barry Awards. George Easter, the Editor/Publisher for Deadly Pleasures, was good enough to explain how the awards worked in greater detail on 4MA, which alleviated most of my confusion. However, it’s the comments on The Rap Sheet that left me pondering awards in general, more than anything.

Says George:

”There are a handful of authors such as Lee Child and Michael Connelly who are so popular that if we listed one of their books as a nominee, they would win. They have each won two Barrys already and have asked not to be considered in the future so that others can be spotlit. We also try not to nominate the same authors in consecutive years, but we slipped up a bit on that front this year with Joe Finder and Simon Kernick. And speaking of Simon Kernick--I’ve got to go back a few years to see how many times he has been nominated without winning, but I would guess four or five times--I hope you are taking note of this exceptional writer and reading his books. I’d like to see him win one of these days. But he’s up against some tough competition again this year.”

I wish they’d post a list on their site of authors excluded because they’d win each year, or because they’ve requested not to be considered, or those not being considered because they were nominated in the previous year. That might sound a bit flippant, but I’m serious. There are always murmurings that awards are political, that people play favourites, or are sexist but this statement actually indicates that the Barry has an elaborate set of criteria that goes far beyond just what’s published in any given year. I had no idea if someone was nominated one year they’d typically eliminate them from consideration the next year (and am surprised, as Stuart MacBride won last year and has been nominated again this year). For the most part, I actually don’t care how awards are run, but just tell people how you do it so they can decide how much merit the award has.

This isn’t meant to be as critical as it probably sounds. Part of the reason I didn’t blog on it earlier was because it doesn’t matter that much to me. I guess there’s a part of me that finds sadness in the idea that award judging is entered with the preconception that specific authors are certain to win. I mean – gasp, shock, horrors – last year when I went to Harrogate I voted for Val McDermid for the Theakston’s prize. Everyone in the world (and probably various lifeforms in the universe that spy on us) knows who my favourite author is, and that person was shortlisted as well… But The Torment of Others was one of my favourite books and so I voted for the book on the list that I thought was the best, not the name of the author. (I mean, Val is one of my favourite authors, but you see the point I’m making…)

This is precisely why we’ve waffled over Spinetingler awards. We’ve talked about it. But every time we do I freeze up over the process. If we’re going to do awards I would want an open process in place. There are some awards that are limited to considering only the books the award givers choose to read (you can’t submit your book and be guaranteed they’ll read it). There are others that guarantee reading every title, but then have a little list of catches, similar to how the Barry works.

And then there are others that declare no process at all and who knows how they pick them.

You may be surprised to hear that the Barry Awards actually went up in my estimation (not that they were low before, but you know what I mean) when I understood how they worked. It actually made sense of some past lists that had – in my opinion – glaring oversights. Now, I know, not oversights. Just ineligibility for various reasons.

And the Edgar is certainly a respectable award.

What calls to question the credibility of the Dagger – and tarnishes it to some degree in my opinion – is the expressed idea that there’s a problem because only one Brit won this year. It infers an unstated belief that the Brits will always dominate the awards.

And it’s those unstated beliefs that surface that then give credibility to the arguments that the Daggers were trying to stack the awards in favour of British writers by removing authors who’d been translated from consideration for the top prize. Now it’s “look, we did that and the Brits still aren’t winning everything” instead of coming back with more determination to clean up next year.

As authors, I think it best for us to focus on writing the very best book we can, that fits the style of book we want to write, and not focus on the awards too much anyway. Recognition is nice, but nothing matches the experience of having someone tell you they read and loved your book. I had some fan mail this week, as well as a message left on my Crimespace page that said ”I think (Suspicious Circumstances is) excellent, and the best debut novel of the past year.”

And that, more than anything else, has me floating on air. I never even stop to think about the nationality of the person, usually, but this time I did. British. My other lovely letters of the week? Americans.

We live in a global village. My 2 cents to those flipping out over the non-Brit haul at the Daggers this year: Get used to it. We’re all happy for international sales, and that means we compete in a global marketplace. What’s next? Banning buying foreign rights so that local authors don’t suffer lack of sales too? I’m the first person to say that the UK features a number of incredible crime fiction authors that I’m a big fan of, but no industry can rest on its laurels either.

British crime fiction is strong. One anomalous result at the Daggers shouldn’t be enough to throw people in a panic, but my personal hope is that we’ll see Laura Lippman nominated for Best Novel next year. Now, that’s a nomination that’s long overdue, and I’d be thrilled to see her win.


** It is better to be referred to as an American, as Agent Phil regretted doing when I was last at Harrogate. What was incredible, though, were the Americans who pinpointed what part of Canada I was from off of accent alone. Kudos to them, because I doubt I could do likewise, despite my extensive travels in the US.

Flies, Honey and Shit

I’m one of those people that believes that if your heart isn’t in something, most of the time others can tell. And that if you’re doing something that you’re uncomfortable with, you’re more likely to make a mess of it and put people off than anything.

You mean you’ve never done anything you were uncomfortable with because you needed to? Sure I have. We all face things in our lives that can be awkward, but we have to go through them. Funerals. Waiting in the hospital to find out if a loved one will be okay. That sort of stuff.

What I’m talking about is a bit different. For one thing, my position with the library involves running programs. Part of our problem out here is that there are a lot of people moving to the general area, but they don’t necessarily know about local services. Those who have been here for ages who don’t use the library don’t always realize what we have going on. You can put a notice in the newspaper and hang them up on bulletin boards all over town, and still not connect with people. In fact, it isn’t just us. Community programs – particularly those for kids – are down in attendance by anywhere from 60-80%. I don’t know if we’ve had a significant shift in the ages of our local residents, but I haven’t heard anything about the local school suffering a massive drop in registration.

So I have been going door to door, all over the village. Not to talk to people (heaven forbid!). Just to leave a flyer with some information about our summer reading program and the library hours for local residents. And after I did three streets, I got one new child registered. It’s possible more will come, since it wasn’t a requirement for them to phone and register.

As I was doing this, I was thinking about how much I hate door to door sales, telemarketing, spam… and here I am, going door to door. But not knocking on doors. Just leaving a flyer in the mailbox (or inside the screen door if they don’t have a mailbox). I don’t particularly like doing it, but I realize it needs to be done. And part of the reason I’m okay doing it is because the library runs a lot of programs that serve the community – tutoring, early literacy, summer and winter reading programs – and has the only free internet in town.

When it comes to promoting myself and my work I can’t justify that level of self promotion. There’s no way I’d go door to door. It goes to my philanthropic nature. I’ve been able to get over going door to door, to some degree, because we have things to offer the community that benefit them. Selling my work, however, primarily benefits me.

I’ve been in the position again, surprisingly, where I’ve needed to stand on the edge of my comfort zone with regards to self promotion. I hit walls with this very quickly and once I start feeling uncomfortable I imagine it must be pretty obvious.

Now, I have a number of things going on, most of which I’m not able to talk about right now. There’s something that requires me to ask favours, under an extreme deadline. And this is important. It's something that will be 'etched in stone', as it were. Having the right ones matters... But (despite the fact that people think I know everyone and surely must have an endless list of people I can ask) there are very few people I feel comfortable asking this of. This morning, I hit my wall on it. I’m done. I'll have to live with what I get, because the whole situation is bothering me.

Leave me staggered that it never seems to bother some others to ask things of others, myself included. How do they do it? Either because it comes naturally to them or because they’ve learned they have to do ‘whatever it takes’ to survive in this business, there seem to be a lot of authors out there who have no reservations at all about pushing for stuff. In fact, there are authors who treat me as though (as a reviewer and interviewer) I’m their publicist. One gave me a deadline about making a decision on something. Many ‘inform’ me they want me to interview them. Um, no. That isn’t the way it works, not with me.

There seem to be two extreme camps in the writing world. There are those who’ve gotten big deals and massive publisher push from the outset and have never had to mail out a review copy in their life. They think all publishers do everything for everyone. Then there’s the other 99% of the authors out there, at various stages of learning that they have to do a lot of things themselves. I lost count of the number of times I heard, in the last year, an author say I don’t think I can afford to be published.

No matter what you do, there will always be some who criticize. If you don’t participate on blogs/forums/attend conventions etc. you end up with people who think you’re snobby and conceited. If you do participate, you run the risk of overstepping, of being too present. One thing I’ve definitely learned is that you can’t please everyone. But damn, you have to be able to live with yourself.

One other thing I know is that there’s such a thing as market saturation, and this is something more authors should pay attention to.

Putting posters all over town has limited potential because people tend to tune out familiar environments, and only notice significant changes. You have to rotate those posters to have them make more of an impact. Think for yourself – how many times have you gone to visit friends/a town you used to live in and said, Something’s different… and then you try to put your finger on what.

If authors are omnipresent it stops being important to see them/interact with them because you know you’ll have plenty of opportunities to do so. They aren’t going anywhere – they’re always there.

I can cope with stepping out of my box long enough to do the things I need to do. I can even enjoy myself doing some of them. But I can only last so long. I’m not interested in working the promotional trail ten months of the year. If I was, I'd be in sales, selling something I could make good money from.

Part of the reason I got thinking about this was because someone recently commented that lately they’d been seeing my name everywhere. I know I did an interview, and was interviewed as part of a group of people for an article, but I didn’t really think of that being much. Neither were things I went after, both were situations where the person approached me, either for interview or for comment, and I was happy to contribute as requested. But everywhere? I've been leaving lists left, right and sideways - no time, or no tolerance left for the steady stream of self promotion that comes with them. I thought I'd been more low-key than usual.

It seems it’s a good time for me to slither back under my rock completely.

I suppose I have to have some level of admiration for those people who can (in my opinion, with some of them anyway) badger reviewers for coverage. I stick firmly to the ‘catch more flies with honey’ and ‘don’t be a pushy bitch’ philosophy. But I can see now that this is part of the reason why some people do get pages of blurbs and reviews. Squeaky wheels and all that. And, truth is, you can catch a lot of flies with shit. Maybe people just get tired of having it thrown at them, so they break down. (Me, I become more adamant that I won't be pushed.) The other day, a ‘publisher’ phoned our library, pushing for us to buy these books. They’re expensive, and my personal book-buying budget for the year is higher than what the library has in its budget. The books are low-demand, reference, and buying them would take one year’s book-buying money.

And despite having that explained to them, this is the second time the person’s phoned. I suppose it’s like those Nigerian email scams. They must keep doing it because some people are suckered in.

But is that really how you want to feel about why people bought your book? That you suckered them in?

Whatever happened to genuine enthusiasm for a good book that gets more and more attention through word of mouth because it’s a good book?

Speaking of which, a book that’s sure to get a lot of word of mouth in the coming months is Who is Conrad Hirst? by Kevin Wignall. Wignall delivers a punch to the gut that will knock you to the floor. And I’m not saying much more, not until I’ve written my review.

A Few More Words on Harrogate

There is a growing collection of places online where you can get your Harrogate fix.

John Baker has a quick overview of his highlights up.

Steve Mosby does a thorough assessment of the weekend and Vincent has managed to find time when he should be working to put in a lengthy post.

And for me, I managed to get a lot more sleep this year than last year. That would be the positive of not going to a convention.

Hopefully Chris High and Shots will have posts up soon as well.