Murder She Writes

So right now I’m at the RWA conference. Already it’s been a whirlwind week, but it’s only just begun! On Tuesday I took a couple of people to Napa for Brenda Novak’s Diabetes Auction prize. That evening, I spoke at the Kiss of Death AGM meeting. It was fun and everyone was gracious that I didn’t have a formal speech. Yep, did it on a couple bullet points because when I started to write something, I didn’t know what to say. Speechwriting is HARD. Talking is easy

Yesterday was the literacy signing and it was a blast. Then my agency party and finally, dinner with friends.

I wish I had more time to write, but it’s off to stuff bags for the Fog City Divas party tonight.

Oh . . . workshop I’m most looking forward to . . . Blake Snyder’s SAVE THE CAT workshop Saturday morning. If you haven’t read that book, you should check it out.

Last weekend I attended a genre conference and was tagged to sit in on multiple writing panels. The range of topics was vast, everything from how-to, to what-now. Usually when sitting on these panels, I enjoy the various points of view from the different participating authors. The operative word here is u-s-u-a-l-l-y. Protocol most often calls for a moderator on these panels, and that moderator’s job is to make sure the conversation flows smoothly by asking questions, prompting different sub-topics that fall under the main topic, and making certain each panelist gets an opportunity to speak. The challenge comes, though, when the moderator is a panel hog (meaning out of a 60 minute time slot, they talk for 55) or when the moderator relinquishes control of the panel by being too timid to divert the conversation away from a participating panel-hog. Unfortunately, both of these situations happened this weekend—moderator hog—participant hog. Arg!

Whenever these situations occur, I normally just sit back and tune out whoever’s talking. 99% of the time they rarely come up for air while jumping from one tale to the next without so much as a glance towards the other panelists. So it’s not like they realize I’m not paying attention anyway. The thing that really gets me, though, is if they’d even take a moment to look over the audience, they’d see that the majority of the folks sitting out there are either rolling their eyes, yawning and not paying attention, or downright sleeping in their chairs. What is it with these hogs? Are they deprived of attention in their everyday lives? Is it a control issue? Or could it be that they don’t realize they’re being obnoxious because no one’s ever told them?

Whatever the reason, it’s irritating as hell. Especially if they’re talking about a topic you know they know nothing about. Take this weekend’s Ms. Oink Moderator for example. The discussion was supposed to be about agents, how to get one, how to work with one, etc. This woman claimed, in a loud, smoker’s voice, that one shouldn’t be picky about the type of agent they get to represent them because agents didn’t come a dime a dozen, so they should be grateful for any agent who asks to represent them. To make matters worse, she insisted that all agents charged a reading fee now and that the majority took a 25% commission from whatever you made. HUH?!? Either this woman had gotten herself into bed with an agent from hell or she was shooting from the hip with a malfunctioning scatter-gun, hoping she looked like a sharp-shooter. NOT!

As Ms. Oink blabbered on and on, I looked at the other authors on the panel—they looked at me—we looked at the audience. Those who were listening to her appeared utterly confused. I waited until the woman drew a breath, which she only did every twenty minutes or so, then attempted to interject my thoughts on the subject. I barely got three words out before Ms. Oink interrupted, louder and more obnoxious than ever. No way was she going to let anyone get a word in edgewise.

I sat quietly for another couple of minutes, then could take no more. As she bellowed on about how part of an agent’s job was to help you promote your book once it was sold, and you should dump any agent who doesn’t, I grabbed my tote bag from the floor, shoveled the books I’d brought along into it, then stood up and interrupted her by saying loudly to the audience, “If all of you will excuse me, I’ll be leaving now.”

This woke the sleeping members of the audience and stopped Ms. Oink in mid-sentence. She looked over at me, and I noted the irritated expression on her face. It all but said, ‘Where do you think you’re going? How dare you interrupt my show!’

In response, I said aloud, “Mary, (name changed to protect the stupid) you really should get your facts straight about agents….viable ones anyway. The publishing business is tough enough without you adding bullshit to it.” With that, I left the room—amidst loud applause. Before I was out the door, every other author on the panel and damn near the entire audience were headed out as well.

I really didn’t want to get ugly with the woman, but somebody had to say something to shut her up. As far as I know, Ms. Oink might still be sitting behind that panel table in that same meeting room, ranting and raving to the walls about the obnoxious broad who dared to be so rude to her.

Ah well, such is life. Sometimes ya just gotta do what ya gotta do.

What about you? Ever have to deal with a panel hog?

Yes, I know I am late. So sorry, folks, but LIFE just won’t quit interfering with my, uh LIFE. I must have a lot of lessons to learn, or something, because I sure keep getting these “lesson type” events. The kind of “moral parables” I always heard in church, growing up.

I shall share a few of them (the lessons, not the parables).

1. Last Monday, I received my official furlough notice. I am no longer gainfully employed, although I am not fired. I just have to wait until they want me back. In the meantime, I am applying to other jobs. (For those of you who thought someone who has five or more published books should most certainly not require a day job to support her family? WRONGO. Plus the New York publishing industry does not provide insurance.)

2. On Thursday, my eight-year-old nephew was involved in an extremely serious accident. He was playing with a belt, on his bunk bed, and somehow fell, and managed to hang himself. The doctors did not think he would come out of it it, and that if he did, he would be brain damaged. He is not. He is talking, walking (albeit a bit shakily), and seriously pissed off at the hospital people who keep poking and prodding him. Okay, he’s not seriously pissed off. He’s such a nice kid, that he is very polite even when they are sticking needles in his arm–although it makes him cry. We are glad to see him cry, not because we like to torture him (well, perhaps his 13-year-old sister does, but the rest of us do not), but because he CAN cry. And he can talk. And he WILL recover.

3. Monday night, they hospitalized my Uncle John, after he locked himself in the bathroom and would not come out. Um, the hospitalization had little to do with his location, just so you know. It’s been a very strange, very fast slide into dementia for him. Last week he was in my parents’ backyard, and we went back to visit. He asked my mom who I was, and then said to me, “Have you met Doris?”

Oh, Doris? You mean the woman you have been married to longer than I have been alive? Yes, I’ve met her a time or two….

It went down from there. He is 85-years-old, but it is still a tough blow for my parents, especially my dad, because this is brother.

So I say, YIKES, no more please! We have had enough for a while. We’re good.

And that, folks, is why I am late posting today. Pretty good excuse, huh? (And ALL true.)

A pre-conference conversation with my husband:

My husband asked me, “Hey did you see the news story about the airplane that somehow had a hole blown in its side?”

I looked up from the book I was reading, “I’m ignoring new stories about airplane disasters.”

Perplexed, he said, “Why…oh. Yeah, you’re flying out in a few days.” He paused, then added helpfully, “The plane landed safely even with the hole in its side.”

“It had a gigantic hole in its side! I don’t define that as safely.” I have standards. I expect an airplane to land with all its sides attached. Not holes. Holes are unacceptable.

My evil husband said, “What kind of plane are you flying on again?”

“Shut up.” It’s one of those little prop thingies. I don’t even think it has a motor, they just wind up the propeller, point it in the right direction and let go. I didn’t even realize it when I booked the flight, but my husband did. He laughed then and now. My last experience with one of those airplanes had me turning an interesting shade of pale green and my friend saying, “Don’t worry, I could land this plane if I had too.” And me snarling back at her, “There is no scenario where you have to land this plane that is a good scenario!”

She laughed and it was then that I realized she was playing with me. Just as my husband was playing with me. I glared at him. “I’d better not see you checking the life insurance policy.”

He laughed. “Who me? How much is that policy again?”

Ha! “You’re worth more dead than I am.”

That made him frown. “Damn.”

Teach him to torment me, right? Now onto some tips that I’m planning to use at conference this year:

1) Listen. Listening is an important skill, and I learn a lot when I actually do it. But I don’t do it enough, I think. So I’m going to try to really listen this year. I want to hear what everyone (editors, agents, publishing professionals, the pubbed and unpubbed) are talking about. I want to know what others are writing or buying. I want to know what THEIR goals are. What worked for them this last year and what didn’t. I want to learn from their experiences, successes and failures. Just as I’m happy to share mine.

2) Ask the right questions. I don’t know what the right question will be until I listen to what somehow has to say. But I will ask it when I’m there. In a workshop, a bar, a party or a casual chat in the hallway. Asking questions can also get conversations started. People will talk about themselves if you ask them questions!

3) Set small goals. You are a professional, so you should know what you plan to get out of the conference. At my first conference, my goal was to succeed in my pitch session. I knew exactly what I meant by succeed—to pitch my book in as a professional manner as possible given my tremendous nerves (notice that I allowed myself to be nervous). It turned out really well. The editor requested the manuscript, although she eventually rejected it. That book never sold. But I was building small successes and those experiences kept me writing until I did sell a book. Set small reasonable goals that will make you feel successful.

4) Have fun! If you aren’t having fun, why are you doing this? If you are having fun, people will gravitate toward you. A smile will make you stand out more than anything else. I am naturally shy, and I often live inside my head. Much to my embarrassment, I walk by people I know all the time without realizing it. I once walked right by my husband in the airport. He was there to pick me up! At conference, I try to be more “in the moment” but I often drift in my head, especially when I’m tired. It’s part of being a writer, I think. But the more effort we make, the more it pays off. However, if I walk right by you without acknowledging you, I’m sorry! I truly don’t mean! And just imagine what my husband puts up with!

Those are my tips, what are yours?

And I have a full day ahead. Between planning for national next week, my daughter’s wedding (gah! Tried on MOB gowns yesterday. I HATE clothes shopping), writing and proming I have little time to sit down and breathe.

And since it’s been a slow week around here, I’m going to beg off blogging about something of interest today. My apologies, but my brain is truly consumed by a dozen other things to do today, another dozen to do tomorrow, and more the next day and the next day after that. I will blog from San Francisco next Friday though. It might go up a wee bit late. The Pocket dinner is Thursday night and it usually runs late and there is lot’s of really good alcohol…and well, Karin doesn’t do mornings.

So, if you are going to National please come by and say hello at the lit signing so I can put a face to your name.

Happy trails!

K*

Murder She Writes welcomes MICHELLE GAGNON!!!! (Cheers, cheers, shouts of joy!)

Now . . . Michelle!!!

Jeffery Deaver has a great anecdote about one of his drop in signings. He went to the counter with a stack of his latest books and offered to sign them. The dubious salesclerk asked, “How do I know you’re the author?”

Jeffery flipped to the author photo, held it up next to his face, and said, “See?”

To which the clerk replied, “But how do I know you don’t just look like him?”

Jeffery, being the witty man that he is, said, “So you get a lot of author impersonators in here?”

And the girl responded, “You’d be surprised.”

Someone recently gave me an amazing book appropriately entitled, “Mortification: Writers’ Stories of Their Public Shame.” It details the most embarrassing experiences of bestselling authors ranging from Stephen King to Margaret Atwood (and let’s all take a moment to picture that steel cage match).

It got me thinking about my own low points, in what has rarely been the glamorous career most people envision. So here are my most mortifying moments as a writer, in no particular order:

1. The time when a teenage employee at a bookstore outside Boston made me buy my own book. I was doing drop in signings (like Jeffery), and this was my sixth stop in four hours. Exhausted, I brought my books to the counter, asked to see the manager, and without thinking whipped out my pen and started signing. The clerk yelled at me, “Hey, you can’t do that!” I apologized, explained that I was the author, and asked if they’d like me to autograph copies. He did mind, as it turned out, and made me plunk down money for the one I’d “defaced” (his words, not mine).

2. This one was recent. I returned to the first mystery writers’ conference I’d ever attended, this time as a faculty member rather than a student. All puffed up with pride, I arrived at dinner the first night. Each faculty member was assigned to a table, and students chose who they wanted to sit with (and I’ll confess: on the drive up I pictured people scrambling for a seat at my table, while I cracked a joke about musical chairs. Yes, I am that pathetic.) I finally found my placard and sat down. Initially I wasn’t concerned, but as dinner was being served the realization slowly dawned that nobody- not a single person- intended to sit with me. Chastened, I grabbed my setting and moved to a different table.

3. Then there was signing where I showed up at the store, only to discover that a) they had no idea who I was, or why I was there and b) weren’t particularly interested in finding out. After dealing with a recalcitrant store manager for fifteen minutes, I was set up at a table at the back of the store where I spent the next hour directing people to either the bathroom or the self-help section.

4. This one is particular to genre writers, and it’s amazing how frequently it happens. I’ll share the most recent incident. I was at a cocktail party talking to someone I just met, who asked what I did for a living. When I say, “I’m a thriller writer,” she shifted nervously, laughed, and said, “Oh, I don’t read those kinds of books.” She glanced to the side, as if afraid someone might overhear, then leaned in and continued (sotto voce), “Actually, sometimes I do, on vacation? But I always feel so guilty afterwards.” (Yes, this actually happened. And it wasn’t the first time).

We get a bum rap sometimes for writing crime fiction, despite the fact that in my humble opinion these are tricky books to pull off. I can’t have my heroine move to a cabin in Minnesota fifty pages from the end, veering off in a completely new direction. I need to tie up all of those threads left dangling in the plot, in a satisfying manner, or readers will cry foul.

So if you’re willing to share, I would absolutely LOVE to hear about the most mortifying moments of your writing career (or from your life in general, if you’re not a writer). Best anecdote receives an autographed copy of my first novel THE TUNNELS (and yes, it will be the copy I was forced to purchase in Beantown!)

And if you don’t win, go to http://www.michellegagnon.com, click on “win,” and I’ll toss your name in the hat for an Amazon Kindle, iPod Shuffle, digital picture frame, Starbucks gift certificates, and other fabulous prizes.

Michelle Gagnon is a former modern dancer, bartender, dog walker, model, personal trainer, and Russian supper club performer. Her debut thriller The Tunnels was an IMBA bestseller. Her next book, Boneyard, depicts a cat and mouse game between dueling serial killers. In her spare time she runs errands and manages to embarrass herself in countless ways on a daily basis .

I had a completely different blog set for today, then the following came across my desk, and I chunked the first one. No way I could just let this slide by….check out the time line of events….

This was an AP news story released yesterday

AP) A 53-year-old wife and mother fatally shot herself shortly after faxing a letter to her mortgage company saying that by the time they foreclosed on her house that day, she would be dead.

“John didn’t even know about it, that’s the surprise,” Whitney said told The Boston Globe. “It’s just one of those awful, awful tragic events.”

This news alert was issued today….

House Passes Homeowner Rescue Bill
President Drops Opposition To Law Granting Government Aid To Homeowners And Lenders

(CBS/ AP) Rescue legislation sailed through the House Wednesday aimed at helping 400,000 strapped homeowners avoid foreclosure and to prevent troubled mortgage giants Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac from collapsing.

Hours before the vote, President Bush dropped his opposition to the measure, which is now on track to pass the Senate and become law within days. ……

The administration and lawmakers in both parties teamed to negotiate the measure, which accomplishes several Democratic priorities, including federal help for homeowners, a new permanent affordable housing fund financed by Fannie and Freddie and the $3.9 billion for hard-hit neighborhoods. The grants are for buying and fixing up foreclosed properties. ……

The rest of the article fell to the wayside for me. (If you want to read the entire post, you can find it here… http://www.cbsnews.com/stories/2008/07/23/national/main4285043.shtml) One day….had these who-hahs gotten off their butts just one day sooner, it’s possible that woman might still be alive. I just can’t figure it out. So much running to and fro about laws regarding gun control, when the one thing killing Americans faster than anything is hopelessness…

The scavenger hunt winner is at the END of this post, and if you don’t read the whole thing first, the entire thing will explode and you will… Okay, fine I am making that up. Go ahead and skip to the end, and you won’t hear all about how I am now setting myself up for a marathon writing month.

Interested? Read on.

I was officially “furloughed” today, from my job, which means I will be out of work for a few months. So, it is now “time to write.” It has been hard to be a single mom, take care of kids, chauffeur them around, do the dance stuff (I work for the new studio, just like i did the old one), and work overtime on a swing shift, usually until 2:30 a.m. I have written, but not enough.

Now there is NO EXCUSE. I must apply myself. I must finish THE TIES THAT BIND. Well, finish reworking it, actually. It’s done, but I’m not happy with it yet.

For one thing, I wrote this one in third person, and my other books have all been in first, aside from TWISTED SISTER. Of course, SISTERWIFE, my very first book, was also third, but all my books for St. Martin’s Press and Berkley Prime Crime have been in first.

So the switch is hard, although I believe it is warranted. That said, I feel “strong and confident” in first, and like a weak little kitten in third. Why is that? Why do I have so much more confidence in my work in first person?

I’ve decided I am going to ignore my insecurities and just write a damn good book, because I know I can do that. I know I can. I know I can. But it is going to require some real “getting my head into it,” and so I am going to set myself a very rigorous schedule for the next two months.

My goal is going to be at least four to six hours a day of intense writing. I can do that. Writing is work. You have to work for eight hours, so what is so hard about six hours of writing? Aside from my serious case of carpal tunnel, of course. We’ll just pretend I don’t have that.

Some people are good at self-direction and working without a boss staring at them, and others are not. Writers HAVE to be.

So, what tricks have you used to get yourself in “intense writing mode?” If you don’t write, how about another “task” you just knew you had to get done? How did you keep yourself going, and sticking to the schedule, without anyone BUT YOU riding the whip?

And now, for the moment you have all been waiting for…. The winner of the BLOG SCAVENGER HUNT IS…

Barb Radmore! Congratulations, Barb, and thanks to all of those who played along. If you enjoyed the hunt, let us know, and we’ll plan more of them for the future.