THE THRILLER GUY

Facebook

2012-01-26T08:18:00.000-08:00

It is now accepted as gospel that no popular author can sell books without having at least a Facebook page, and better, a Twitter account as well. Several months ago,TG set out to find how many popular bestselling authors were actually on Facebook. He was surprised to find that the answer was, pretty much all of them. And not only were they on Facebook, they actually managed their own page and dealt with their “friends” personally. A few had reps who fielded the questions and answers, but most were on-site, hard at work in the evenings and weekends interacting with their fans. Here's a list of some of the authors TG contacted and who got back to him quickly: Jeffery Deaver, Brad Thor, Richard North Patterson, Eric Van Lustbader, Jeff Abbott, Keith Thomson, Alex Kava, Dale Brown, Charles Cummings, Daniel Silva and many others. TG is sure you will recognize these names as some of the biggest in the business, writers who you would think were far too lofty and busy to be putting in the hours on social media chatting with fans. But there they were.

Example: Jeffery Deaver. Deaver turns out at least one book a year and in June his version of the latest James Bond hit the shelves. His Facebook page is an Author page which is run by his website administrator, but he stays in very close contact with anyone who writes to him. TG sent him a message on this page and sure enough, a couple of hours later TG was corresponding by email with him. When asked about social media he responded: “I have this mental image of someone in the Middle Ages sitting in a pub and saying, 'Blimey, you hear about this chap Gutenberg? He's making books that don't have to be written by a monk, by hand.' And I picture his mate saying, “Forgedaboutit. That's high-tech garbage... it'll never catch on.” (one wonders if Deaver has seen the very funny YouTube bit about the two monks discussing just this scenario.) Deaver goes on, “Technology and story telling have always gone hand in hand. Yes, I have a Facebook page, I Twitter and I have a number of videos on YouTube. I write at least a book a year, usually 550 manuscript pages, and that keeps me busy about 8 to 10 hours a day. But I absolutely believe in connecting to readers via the social networking sites; it's the wave of the future.”

One thing no one seemed to really know was if Facebooking, etc. resulted in increased sales. Publishers insist on it, and if an author is big enough to resist on a personal level (i.e. Tom Clancy) they, the publishers, or even the writer's fans, will put up a page on their own. Most authors responded to TG's questions by saying that it gives them increased ability to connect with readers and advertise upcoming books, but beyond that no one had any facts or real figures.

And what does Thriller Guy think? Actually, no one really cares about what TG thinks, but if he was in the position of these writers he would probably be right in there flacking his product. Come to think of it, TG has already done so, berating one and all to buy Allen Appel's Kindle book, Abraham Lincoln: Detective on Appel's Facebook page. (Heads up: Appel's first time travel book, Time After Time will soon be available as a Kindle book at a cut-rate price) So, yeah, Deaver has 69,803 people on his Facebook page, and Appel has 142 friends, so the comparison is not really apt, but the point is, even the lowliest writer probably has to join in and start Friending if he/she is going to get anywhere at all.

So here's the question: if everyone reading here goes to Appel's Facebook page and Friends him and if he sells enough of those Lincoln Kindle books, will he be asked to write the next James Bond book?

No?

Hey, it's the Internet; anything is possible.

Cooking a Book

2012-01-11T18:45:00.000-08:00

The other day Thriller Guy was arguing with his wife, which is not an uncommon occurrence. Regular readers of this blog will know that TG is more than a mite tetchy, although he struggles to control this unfortunate bent to his personality. Anyway, the subject of argument was some dinner that TG had cooked and his wife asked if he had a recipe for this dish, and, if so, what was that recipe? This annoyed TG, even though most folks would see this as a perfectly reasonable request. Unfortunately, that's not the way TG's brain works. So a minor scuffle ensued. Later that day, TG tried to figure out why the question, innocuous enough, annoyed him so. The answer came in a flash of insight: because TG cooks the same way he writes.

TG is a fairly accomplished home cook (and the father of a professional chef). He has cooked virtually all the meals his family has eaten at home for the last 28 years. Why? because being a professional writer often means working at home, and if one's spouse, partner or other, works away from the house the cooking chores almost always fall upon the one at home. Unfair? Probably. But practical. TG has written before in these pages about the various realities of the stay-at-home writer and this is just one of them. Suffice it to say, after all these years TG has acquired a pretty fair knowledge of the basics and beyond of cooking. Those same 28 years have been spent churning out thousands of pages of novels, stories, articles and non-fiction books. TG hopes that along the way he has acquired a pretty fair knowledge of the basics of the writing craft as well.

By now, you may be asking yourself, what's the point here, TG, where do these two skills cross? And, more to the point, why the hell does it annoy you when your beloved wife asks you a simple question about a damn recipe.

Here's how TG writes... First an idea appears, usually while driving, showering, while asleep, at the beach, at the gym or while having lunch with his pal Larry. TG has written on the phenomenon of creativity in earlier pages of this blog. First, there is the Idea. If the Idea sticks around for a few hours, TG will do a bit of basic research on the Internet. Not only to see if the Idea has been done, but if it looks as if there might be interesting material to inform the basic thought. If this seems likely, the Idea is put away in a mental drawer where it should percolate on it's own for a few days or better, up to a week. It can be peeked at from time to time, but the intention is to just leave it the hell alone. As TG's writing guru Bill G. suggests, if it pops back up, push it back down again and try to pay no attention. (If you're worried you are going to forget the Idea, write it down in one sentence and put it in a real drawer. But if the Idea is any good, you won't forget it, and if it isn't, it's no loss if you do.) I believe the proper term for this Idea procedure would be gestation.

After a week, TG does some more research and starts a file on his computer. Now things are getting more serious. As time goes by, he spends a little of each day working on a broad outline, trying to put together some notion of a beginning and an end. After more time passes, TG will suddenly realize that the idea is good and that he's worked up a decent plan of action, that he's constructed an outline that will work as the scaffolding for a better outline and he's ready to try an opening. So he begins writing.

But first, be warned, and TG cannot stress this enough: TG never talks to anyone about his Idea! The natural impulse is to drag in all number of people and tell them the cool idea you've come up with so you can get feedback and, more importantly, some sort of approval (yes! This is a great idea! It's smart to devote the next several weeks, months or years writing it!) This is always a mistake. First of all, if one talks about an Idea, it bleeds away any power it might have. TG has no idea why or how this happens, but it's true. Secondly, one seldom gets the sort of approbation that you think the idea is going to elicit. The impulse is to believe that your wife, spouse or other is going to pat you on the back and tell you how smart and clever you are, and how this Idea is going to make you a million bucks. Maybe in the early days of your relationship this would happen, but as you age, harsh reality rears its ugly head and the truth is, in the vast majority of cases, your writing really isn't bringing in that much money. And probably won't in the future. So fabulous ideas, to wive's, spouse's or others, begin to sound a little thin. TG, and you, should understand that fame and fortune probably are not the natural, inevitable outcome from your Idea. But TG, and you, must believe that it will be. Otherwise why would you drive yourself half mad by subjecting yourself to the perilous writing process. And don't tell TG it's because you must write, that you are driven to do so because the creative urge forces you to the keyboard. Bah. Horseshit.

Keep it to yourself. Do not talk about your Idea. Do not talk about what you will do, simply do it.

Note: all of the above is a solitary endeavor. Writers, with few exceptions, create alone. Writers are responsible for their product. There is no one else to blame if the product is not good, and very few to thank if it works out well, besides what one may think in the face of the modern day, multi-page acknowledgements sections of novels.

Moving on...

Here's how TG cooks... First an idea for a meal appears – while reading the food section of the newspaper, from a picture in a magazine, while looking at a restaurant menu, in the shower, on the beach or the bus, or, more usually, while standing in front of some section in the grocery store, the meat counter or the produce section. Or an idea will just pop into TG's head: (“Let's see, pork shoulder is on sale, oh, the leeks look great today, do they go together? Why not?”) Leeks and pork are purchased.

Home. Unpack groceries, sit down at the computer, Google: recipe, leek and pork. Yes! There's a bunch of them. The first up is pork loin with leeks, which essentially says you saute the leeks for a few minutes, brown the pork loin and toss them together and cook for a couple of hours. Great. That's all TG wants. He doesn't even look at any other recipes. All he wants from this round of searching is to know that something is possible.

Chop the pork up into one inch chunks, (in this case pork shoulder, a far more succulent cut, and cheaper, than loin) slice the leeks longways, throw away the really tough top parts, put the deep green section into the broth bag (more on that later) in the freezer, wash the leeks well, (look out for sand) cut them into half inch slices and toss them into a frying pan with a nice chunk of butter and cook until they're translucent and maybe just a tiny bit brown. Careful, leeks burn if you don't pay them constant attention. Take the leeks out of the pan, put in the chunks of pork, brown, put the leeks back in, toss in a bottle of beer or maybe some wine, any variety, salt and pepper, bring to a boil, cover and put it on the burner for a couple of hours or until the pork is fall-apart tender. Serve over rice with a side of greens: mustard, kale, collards, whatever looks good at the market. Dinner. (Warning: TG has not actually cooked this meal, he has simply thought it. It is here for the purposes of illustration. If you cook it, send TG a comment and tell him how it turned out.)

Note: At all points in this process, TG is alone. Yes, at any point there could have been collaboration. TG is sure there are many couples who cook together, who wrangle companionably over details, recipes, and cooking methods. TG wishes these couples the best. But for TG, cooking, like writing, is best done alone.

Understand, that cooking one meal is not akin to writing a novel, it is akin to writing one scene in a novel. Maybe one day's worth of writing. Cooking a major meal, say a dinner party for eight is a longer and more intensive procedure, maybe like writing a chapter. But the basic rules of cooking food, the recipes, all the practical aspects of the endeavor, are not all that different than cooking a book. TG intends to expand on this thought in further blogs. Maybe he'll throw in some of his more successful recipes.

Just don't ask him to talk about it beforehand.

A lack of Imagination?

2011-12-08T14:30:00.000-08:00

In a recent post about Matthew Dunn's book, Spycatcher, commenter Jack states that he feels that the cover art is kind of "cheesy." Thriller Guy had not given this much thought, he generally doesn't pay much attention to the covers of the books he reviews, but on thinking about it, a small bell began to jingle in the back of his mind. So he looked at the ever-growing mound of books that sit near his desk and just mining the top layer of the most recent books turned up the following. Is it just TG, or do these covers not illustrate a paucity of imagination on the part of the editors and art departments in the world of publishing? In all but one the color scheme is the orange at the top with darker colors at the bottom, except in the case of the Grippando where it is reversed. TG bets that a trip to the bookstore would turn up even more examples. And yes, it is true, book cover styles tend to go in cycles with styles going in and out of fashion, but really...

Perhaps TG can summon his pal Bhob Stewart, who knows about these things. Bhob has an excellent Blog about the history of comics, Potrzebie that is well worth a gander for those who are interested in that sort of thing. Bhob, oh Bhob, are you out there?

But first...

Here's the Dunn...

And here are some others

Adventures Redux

2011-11-29T11:11:00.000-08:00

Jack, one of the followers of this blog, asks if anything more has happened with the robbery that occurred at casa TG a few months ago. Well, Jack, not a hell of a lot. To refresh the story, (see several blogs earlier) TG had used the reverse phone book and found the address of the criminal, Juan, (the perp) who seems to reside not far from where TG lives. There are two Juans listed, which TG assumes are father and son. It's unclear if they are any kin to the lady, Ms Cash, who seems to be renting the townhouse where they all reside. For the first several weeks after the robbery, the local detective answered all of TG's phone calls, and after TG gave him the names and address of the perp, promised “to go by with a couple of uniforms and see what they have to say.” After a couple of weeks, TG called again and the detective said that he went by twice and the woman who rents the house said there was no Juan living there. Which is bullshit, because TG has been driving by the house most days of the week and the guy who must be the Juan the father is often outside standing around. But no sign of the younger Juan.

The detective tells TG that there's nothing more he can do at this point. That he can't get a warrant to get into the house, so he's going to leave it to TG to get a look at the young Juan, at which point the detective will bring some books over and if TG can ID the kid then the detective will have reason to go in and get him. Or something.

This all sounds pretty thin to TG. But he understands. TG lives in a county right outside Washington DC that is known for its crime. In the last month there have been four robberies and an assault at his local metro station alone, to say nothing of the almost daily murders and other assorted crimes. TG himself was attacked one night at the subway station when coming into the parking garage after a night out with his writer's group. TG fought his way out of that situation, (the transit cop said, when TG reported it, “That was really stupid, buddy, next time just throw them your wallet and get the hell out of there.” Goods words of advice which TG intends to follow. Next time. Well, probably not. TG's point is, he understands that the detective doesn't really have the time to investigate and pursue a $300.00 crime which very well may have been committed by TG's next door neighbor. So TG rides by the perp's house every day or two, but has never seen the kid. Someday he will. Then we'll see what happens. And TG is not going to throw his wallet at the kid and run.

Dunn, continued

2011-11-22T13:23:00.000-08:00

TG is taking some heat for giving Matthew Dunn's book, Spycatcher a good, if qualified, review. TG's wife (TGW) read it and took great pleasure in reading aloud the clunkier sections of dialogue while making noises of great disgust. Others have written to say that TG is an idiot. Oh well, it's not the first time.

Almost everyone (checkout the slams on http://Amazon.co.uk/) starts off by mentioning a scene right at the beginning of the novel where Dunn's hero, Will Chochrane, takes three slugs to the gut during a firefight in Central Park. A couple of days later and Will is on an airplane headed for London with barely a complaint about any medical difficulties. Readers are crying foul. Impossible! Ridiculous! Totally unrealistic! Yes, TG would agree wholeheartedly. When TG read that, he thought much the same thing, but where most readers found this a fatal flaw, TG just thought, “Oh, so that's the sort of book this is: a superhero spy who will do near superhero deeds.” Indeed, TG was looking for a scene late in the book where Will's extraordinary physical abilities are shown to be of biomedical or some other fantastical property. In other words, TG decided at that point to just strap in and go along for the ride where many (most) others decided that they weren't having any of it. These are both perfectly reasonable responses.

One of the dangers publishers face is over-touting an author's background and capabilities. Much was made in the business about Dunn's five years as an MI6 professional with 70 missions, which was announced on the back cover of the book. Right away, that seems to be an inflated number, averaging out to be more than one a month. Or perhaps some were just mini-missions? The reader certainly doesn't know. And then after a few pages into the book one reads of Will's serious wounding with little noticeable result. It's too much, too quickly for most folks, so they complained bitterly.

TG wonders, though, if readers are sometimes unfair this way. Most thriller readers, especially of the military/spy variety, are quite willing to read through innumerable scenes where the hero is able to dispatch legions of evildoers in the most fantastic ways. These readers not only don't question these supernormal abilities, but relish them. Incredible feats of strength, endurance, marksmanship, stealth and man-killing go by with nary a quibble. But a guy gets shot and these same readers expect the author to take his hero through three months of medical procedures and rehab before the story can get back on track? All in the sake of realism? So why, you might argue, have the hero shot at all? Because that's what happens to heroes, they get shot because they shoot a lot of people, and you figure at least every once in awhile one of them has got to get hit. After all, are you looking for realism or not?

TG thinks this disconnect may come because of the way readers think as real human beings. They know they have no abilities when it comes to man killing and performing feats of daring, but they know what it feels like to get hurt. You fall down and you hurt yourself, you get a damn paper cut and it hurts, you twist your back weeding the lawn, bang your head on the car door, all of these things hurt. So what must it be like to get shot? It's your everyday hurt multiplied a gazillian times. The point being, we can relate enough from a small hurt to imagine what we would feel like with a gigantic hurt and we know that if we have to lie down and rest after a hard day working on the lawn that we sure as hell aren't going to be on a plane three days after taking not one but three to the midsection. So it's OK for the hero to perform extraordinary feats of physical prowess except when it comes to physical damage? That's the point where the reader feels justified, and even smug in crying foul? Maybe, but it seems a little ingenuous to TG.

But TG is probably over-thinking this. Readers say they want realism in their fiction all the time. We conveniently overlook the fact that 99% of spying is sitting in cars, standing on street corners, drinking in bars and chatting up people at cocktail parties, to say nothing of listening to thousands of hours of phone recordings and untold hours of reading the Internet. Only the biggest blockhead would want to read that sort of realism.

So maybe TG cut Dunn too much slack. Is he a great writer? Not by a long shot. He gets the job done while using more than his fair share of cliches and awkward dialogue. So do a hell of a lot of other writers, many of them best sellers. His hero's romantic moments are sometimes silly, his background is needlessly tortured, the villains are absurdly villainous. All the same “sins” perpetrated by legions of the same bestseller writers. Trust TG, he reads more thrillers in a year than any reader of this blog, and he knows how bad this stuff can be. And yet many of the same books TG reads sell in the hundreds of thousands and millions of copies. So do thriller readers really care about realism, much less good writing? They seem to when it comes to details about the hero's medical maladies. But they're also able to swallow any number of other absurdities for the author's they love.

Here's the lesson, Matthew Dunn: you can make your hero able to leap tall buildings, but beware of having him bleed. At least excessively. TG may let you slide, but your Amazon reviewers are taking you to task.

Spycatcher

2011-11-02T14:06:00.000-07:00

Several months ago, the Washington Post reviewed Spycatcher, by Matthew Dunn. (Review here)

Thriller Guy also reviewed the book, favorably, and also interviewed Dunn. The author is a veteran of Britain's intelligence agency MI6, having led more than 70 missions around the world. He is now retired and living in London. Faithful readers of this blog will know TG's opinion of “insiders” who turn to thriller writing in their retirement: he doesn't like them, as a rule. They usually seem primarily motivated by the possibility of making vast sums of money off their expertise, and driven by the thinking, hey, what's so hard about writing a thriller anyway? The results are usually clunky at best, and generally show the authors have no working knowledge of the rules and regulations of writing a thriller. TG says to hell with these opportunists, and they usually get a bad review.

But Dunn is different. Spycatcher is a solid debut. TG has a question for you, gentle blog readers, but it will come at the end of this piece, so hang in with TG here.

Dunn's MI6 agent, Will Cochrane, code name Spartan, is in New York City on a mission involving an Iranian intelligence source. The mission goes bad, as these things are wont to do, and Will is shot a number of times. After a brief (very brief) stay in a secret hospital, he is assigned a new operation whose goal is to find the mastermind leader of Iran's Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps, known as Meggido, who is planning a massive terrorist attack. Will tracks down Lana Beseisu, a freelance journalist now living in Paris and rumored to be the one-time lover of the terrorist leader. Will and Lana form an alliance and an instant attraction, though Will knows he has to keep his hands off this beauty until the mission is successful. When Will learns that the Iranian terrorist was responsible for the death of his own father, revenge adds impetuous to the search. The stage is set for the inevitable clash between the super terrorist and the super agent.

It's not exactly a novel plot as these things go, but Dunn's book is redeemed by his knowledge of the spy world and the dark arts therein. The writing is good, the pace assured and the structure hews to the standard rules of the genre. The man seems to have done his homework and even to have read within the genre. This is good, honest craftsmanship and TG always enjoys seeing someone new whose first book promises more good things to come. If TG has a quibble with the book, and TG always has a quibble, Dunn struggles a bit with the romance between Will and Lana, making Will too susceptible to Lana's charms, too juvenile in general for a guy who is supposed to be this hard core. This is a common mistake in many thrillers and TG thinks this happens because the authors want to show that their heroes are “human.” Bullshit, heroes aren't supposed to be human and vulnerable. Here's TG's advice to all thriller writers: if you've simply got to have a romance, make it low key, or better yet, don't do it at all. It's a cliché the way most of you are handling it, at worst laughable and at best, usually only a bit less laughable.

But the Washington Post had another beef, which raises the question TG wishes to pose to his blog readers. Here's an excerpt from the Post review...

“But while building this compelling storyline, Dunn falls into some unnecessary exaggeration. Not just a special agent, Cochrane has to be a super agent — the sole member of a top-secret Spartan program. As one handler tells him: “You are the ultimate killer of killers, the man who terrifies his enemies and allies, the man who can start wars and end them, the man who is the West’s deadliest and most secret weapon.” Similarly hyperbolic, Megiddo’s plot promises “a huge massacre the likes of which the world has never seen before,” and Megiddo himself is cast as some dark overlord: “Not one major terror act against Western or Western-allied targets can take place without his implicit or explicit authorization. Even groups that are the sworn enemy of the regime of Iran find themselves working for him, usually without knowing they’re doing so.”

That unevenness — stark realism meets cartoonish excess, male fantasy mars persuasive credibility — undermines what otherwise stands as a stylish and assured debut.”

Hmmm, it seems that TG has blathered on and run out of space. Rather than continue the discussion now, TG will make this entry a two-parter and ask his question in the next issue. Meanwhile, if anyone wants to read Dunn's book, TG will send the first person who asks for it a crisp new hardback. Send your request as a comment.

Free Book!

2011-10-05T15:33:00.000-07:00

Listen up, out there. TG has been telling you in these pages the secrets of how Big Time writers crank out their boatloads of thrillers, year after year. Yes, much of it is crap, but like the old saying goes, much of everything is crap. As a man who has read more than anyone's fair share of thrillers, TG can reduce the formula for success to a couple of sentences: What readers want in a thriller or pretty much any genre novel, is a story that follows the rules of the genre, and adds something different. Easy, no?

The first part, following the rules, can be learned easily enough. You just have to read long and hard into the genre you intend on working. But you'd be surprised how many writers sound like unoriginal dopes because they don't bother doing their homework and turn out novels that have all the elements that have been done to death. TG has found that the most egregious sinners here are European writers who get published in this country by swinish publishers trying to ride on a European best seller and reader be damned if it's a copy of what's already been done in the US, or by stupid publishers who are trying to capitalize on the thriller genre's successes in recent years. For whatever reason, TG always, always, gives these boring, copycat thrillers a shit review. So beware, publishers. These unoriginal books are also often written by “insiders' who are ex-spies or worked at NSA or some other government organization, now retired. Publishers are suckers for these people and pay them chests of money for the possibility of something new, and 95% of the time the result is, yes, you guessed it, just more of the aforementioned crap. Why? Because there are no more editors who actually edit, rather than just acquire. But don't get me started, that's another blog for another time.

Then there are the writers who get it right. TG recently reviewed Sanctus, by Simon Toyne. Billed as the first in a trilogy, TG found it perfectly fine as it dealt with all the familiar elements of the religious artifact thriller. Set in the fictional city of Ruin in modern day Turkey, within the ancient halls of a church called the Citadel, carved out of a mountain, inhabited by cowled monks, blah blah blah, a young woman who comes to the church to find her long lost brother, a secret that will change the world, blah blah blah, yes, yes, fine, just get to the damn secret that's going to change the world. You see, there's always a secret that's going to change the world.

Here's the thing. If a book promises one of these world-changing secrets or weapons, or villains, then TG had better be surprised when the big reveal is, well, revealed. TG has read them all. TG knows that right now, even as we speak, someone is penning another thriller, probably in France, where it's going to turn out that there's evidence that Jesus Christ was just a regular guy who didn't really rise from the dead, didn't cure the lame and the halt, and didn't rise up to heaven in a blast of glorious trumpets, and of course the Catholic Church has to suppress this evidence, so they send some coldly efficient madman who whips himself with scourges, pokes holes in his hands, wears wires around his balls or some other nutty religious nonsense, to kill the hero and his girlfriend. And what always happens is this nutter is defeated by the hero and then here comes a landslide or a flood or an avalanche and the evidence is lost forever. Snore. Wake me when the last page is turned. And this is just one of the many tropes that have been written over and over by people -- TG hesitates to call them writers -- who are attempting so suck off some of Dan Brown's money. They are legion, and TG curses their names.

So, OK, TG is reading along in Sanctus, having a pretty good time, Toyne is staying in the thriller boundaries and the writing is good, when he gets to his big reveal. When it comes, well, picture one of those comic book illustrations of surprise where the character's jaw drops to the ground and the eyes bug out like they're on springs. Yup, that's TG to a T. The surprise, the Big Secret in Sanctus, was something the jaded, seen-it-all writer and reviewer known as Thriller Guy has NEVER thought of and COULD NEVER have thought of. Yes, TG is aware that he's shouting. That's how surprised he was. Enough to even employ an exclamation point, and you know how TG feels about exclamation points.

YOW! TG gulped. He sure didn't see that one coming.

So here's the deal. The publisher has slung a free hardback copy of the book TG's way and he's now going to send it to one of you lucky readers out there in blogreaderland. For the first person who gets me a new follower, (those are the gang of folks on the right hand side of the blog,) TG is going to send a copy of Sanctus. Then they can write in and tell us if they were as surprised as TG was. Or they can tell us that TG is full of crap and doesn't know shit from Shinola. (Do folks out there even know what Shinola was?) So sign someone up and let TG know. When the little ticker over the Follower section goes up by one, we'll have our winner. If there's a tie, I've actually got a couple of these books. So keep checking in on the Comment section under this blog. Let me know when you've signed someone up, TG will respond in the Comments and then you can send him your address in an email.

What a deal, a 26.95 book. Who sez TG doesn't love ya?

Adventures

2011-08-24T18:24:00.000-07:00

TG was out of town for much of the last month. He arrived home on Tuesday evening and found that he had been robbed. Someone came in, pushed under the mattress, looked through his wife's drawers (no, not her underwear, her underwear drawer) and jewelry boxes. They left computers, iPads, jewelry behind, and stole a very heavy jar where TG keeps all his change for beach week. (That's the week he goes to the beach with his writer's group, referenced in an earlier blog.) Probably $200.00 to $300.00. Sounds like a kid crime, no? So TG's next door neighbors have keys to his front door and have been picking up the mail and putting it inside. Their son,who will now be referred to as D, 15 years old, is the only one who was around much of the time. On Monday he was playing basketball with his friends Juan and Donald. At one point he went inside to change his clothes. TG figures that's the time the crime happened. TG, after discovering the crime, tells D that the police are going to suspect he and his friends of doing the deed. D swears he had nothing to do with it. At this point it's late, so TG tells D to call his friends and ask them if they know anything. In the morning (Wed.) TG sees D and D says he called Juan and Juan said he did it. He spent the money and the jug (a family heirloom) is somewhere in the back yard where Juan threw it. TG tells D to look around the yard (large, 3/4 of an acre) while TG changes his clothes to help in the search. TG comes back downstairs and lo and behold, D has found the jug! It was behind a tree in the back yard. Took him about two minutes to find it. This, of course, means that either D is one hell of a locator, or maybe he knew just about where that jug was?

An aside. TG is really good friends with these neighbors. Eat at each other's cook outs, take mail in and out when on vacation, keep an eye on each other's houses when away, the usual neighbor stuff. TG knows many of D's friends, though he doen't know Juan or Donald. Oh, yeah, D does not know either Juan or Donald's last name, though Donald is in his class at school.

So TG is loath to immediately call John Law when dealing with a neighborhood problem. TG's local cops can be pretty rough and he's tangled with them a number of timeslf in the past. So TG tells D to call Juan and tell him that TG is pissed and wants his parent's phone number, that if he pays TG the money back and sits down with TG and his parents to discuss the situation TG won't call the cops. D has until 5:00 to get this done. At 5:00 D shows up and says Juan has not returned his call and begs TG to wait till the next day.

The next day, D not having come up with anything new from Juan, TG I calls the cops and gets a massive response, 5 patrol cars roll up all at once, etc. TG calms everyone down and begins dealing with a detective. Nice guy. TG spends the day on this bullshit and eventually D shows up and the detetctive questions him. D gives his usual story. Cop asks for Juan's phone number. Whatta ya know, D's phone "cut out" last night and wiped out part of his phone numbers, Juan's included. He doesn't know where Juan lives, exactly, just the general area. Eventually D leaves and the cop and TG agree, it looks like D is our man. This is upsetting to TG because it's about to change what has been a years' long relationship with these neighbors. OK, hang in there, TG is getting to the funny part.

TG has a weird skin condition. Probably picked up in Nam, probably has something to do with Agent Orange. At any rate, it crops up every once in awhile and one thing that helps is to slather TG's skin with mineral oil. So on this particular morning, TG slathers his body with oil. and then figures, what the hell, there's no one around, so why not walk around naked until the stuff dries. Eventually, TG is sitting outside on his screened in porch, naked as a jay bird, drinking coffee and reading the newspaper, when he hears voices from the side of the house, in the driveway, which TG can't see. He realizes instantly that, A. the thief has returned either to pick up the coins stashed somewhere in the back yard, or B. the thieves have returned to rob the house because as far as they know, TG is still on vacation, and C. TG is completely naked! TG is tough, but even he finds it really difficult to fight in the nude. Yes, sure, the Spartans did it, but these are modern times. TG leaps up, dashes through the sliding glass door, (after opening) runs upstairs and pulls on jeans, T-shirt and sneakers. TG dashes back downstairs, outside onto the screen porch but there's no one there. Pant, pant. TG comes back inside and notices, in a half second, out the window on the other side of the house that there's someone, male, black, looks young, wearing a white T-shirt, black jeans and he's carrying a red plastic cup. He's walking through TG's side yard away from the house.

TG runs to the front door to grab his axe handle, (main weapon of self defense) and of course someone has moved his axe handle, TG finds it, leaps out onto the front porch and there's no one there. TG runs around to the side of the house, ditto, the miscreant has run off.

No luck. The kid is no where to be found.

That night, TG is going to bed and wifey goes next door and suggests that the father go on the Net and find the son's Verizon account and the calls coming in and out. Great idea, since one could then find the call to the mysterious Juan, the perpetrator, when D called and heard him confess, on Tuesday evening. Remember, D has said, to the detective while being interviewed that his phone "cut out" and there is no more phone number for Juan. Convenient, no? So the father does so and hands the list over to TG, who now has a list of phone calls from the Internet from the kid's phone three weeks old. (Can't get anything more recent than that.) ITG starts with the first number and goes to one of the reverse phone book sites on the net. TG doesn't want to spend any money on this, but he knows from past experience if you screw around with it you can get at least the first one free. So he gets a hit, a Lavern Cash right in the neighborhood. TG thinks, why not do a cross search with Juan and Cash? Bingo! there's a Juan Cash at the same address. TG has found the mystery thief.

So TG calls the detective, and he picks up and TG tells him of his brilliant sleuthing which is met with dead silence. TG says, jokingly, hey, detective, how about a little kudos here for cracking the case. The detective says, distractedly, Oh, yeah, good job, it's just that I'm in the middle of a shooting here and can't really pay close attention. TG, chastened, imagines bullets whistling overhead. The detective says to print everything out (already done, chief!) and he'll be over later tonight when he can break free.

Is D innocent? TG has got so say, he thought that the Juan business was complete bullshit. But but he doesn't believe in coincidences. TG drives by the address he has for Juan Cash, the perps house and there's a car up on jacks out front. And if that isn't a sign of criminality TG doesn't know what is.

Stay tuned.

Book Covers: Flops and Tops

2011-07-16T15:40:00.000-07:00

Thriller Guy's alter ego, Allen Appel, has had a lot of books published, hence there have been a lot of book covers. Makes sense, no? His first cover, for Time After Time, the first in his award-winning, mildly successful series (soon to be available as Kindles one of these days) of time travel books, sucked. There's nothing like the feeling of opening that box of just printed books for the first time, and seeing a cover that you know is going to doom the book to oblivion because it's just plain bad. The book was published by Carroll and Graf, a small publisher who didn't do any of their art in house, so they threw a few bucks at some second rate designer who would cobble together some sort of cover illustration. To be fair, they published a number of these books and most of the rest were pretty good. But not the first one. We'll save the example for the end of this entry.

TG always has a good laugh at the Little Ones who write to him and talk about what their book covers are going to look like when their book is published, how they're going to be fully involved in the process, blah, blah blah. No way, Little Ones, publishers don't give a crap about what the author thinks the cover should look like. Sure, some of the really Big Guys may have some say in the cover art, but most of them know to keep their noses out of that end of the business. And TG has writer friends who tell him they have a clause in their contracts that allows them to consult on the cover, or even approve, but when TG asks to actually see these clauses, excuses get made. That's because publishers don't easily give such rights and agents don't like to fight for them because they're far more interested in money issues. So listen up, Little Ones, just write your damn book and forget about thinking you have anything else, artwise, to bring to the process.

Oh, what's that? You have written your book? And you're going to put it up as a Kindle so you're going to have to come up with a cover? Hmmm, TG spoke too quickly. Yes, the earth has shifted under the publishing industry and ebooks are gaining ground and for the first time in history writers actually have an opportunity to participate in the marketplace without prostrating themselves under the boot of a "legacy" publisher. The chances these authors will succeed are just as dim, if not dimmer, than their chances of being picked up by a regular publisher, but what the hell, the opportunity is there, so TG salutes all of those folks who are flinging themselves into this particular fray.

So where do you get a cover? You can make your own, it's not that hard with photoshop these days, or you can hire yourself a designer who, for money, will be happy to lend you a hand. If one is having a book printed by an on-demand publisher, they will put you in touch with a designer, or you can just hit the Interweb and find one yourself. These days you can get quality work even in the $250 to $350 range. Really top notch art is going to cost more, but really, how much difference is it really going to make?

What's the purpose of the cover anyway? To catch the eye of the reader. The book buyer approaches a shelf, (or browses through the Amazon Kindle book section) sees something that looks interesting, picks it up and reads the publishing info to learn what the book is about. If it sounds good, he/she may very well buy the book. So the cover actually is important, because if you can't compel someone to pick up your book and take a closer look your not going to sell a copy to anyone who's just browsing. So what makes a great cover? TG is glad you asked, because he's got a couple of examples. The first is the cover of Time After Time, produced by a cheap publisher, and the second is the cover for the same book when it was republished by Dell, a far classier operation.
Cover number one.

Cover number two.

The second cover, the Dell edition, was made by the legendary Fred Marcellino, who, unfortunately, is now dead. You can read about him here on a Wiki page, where this book cover is used as an illustration of his work.

So which cover would you pick up off the shelf if you were browsing? See, it matters. Quality pays.

Next week, TG asks his faithful readers to help one of his pals pick a cover for a Kindle edition.

Ah, Vacation

2011-06-23T10:24:00.000-07:00

Yes, Thriller Guy has been on vacation. And for once “vacation” didn't mean humping an 80 pound pack, lacing up the desert boots and carrying heavy weaponry. The thing is, Thriller Guy's wife (T.G.W.) doesn't allow weaponry when on holiday. And that's a good rule, generally.

You may remember (if not, shame!) TG's rules about creativity, primarily the four places that are particularly conducive to creative thought.

Bed, bath, beach and bus. Among these four, Beach is the most powerful. Back when TG was a younger man, on vacation with his wife and two fine children, the family would head to the beach, usually North Carolina but sometimes Maryland, where he would rent a fine house and spend a week. TG never headed off for one of these beach trips without a firm writing goal in mind: coming up with a new idea for a novel, beginning a new novel, banging away at a current novel, or finishing a novel. After a fine day spent in the ocean, walking the beach, eating at places that featured the word “shack” in their name, everyone would go to bed. Then, in the hours before dawn, TG would arise and move to the highest point in the house where he would set up his laptop and begin to work in the blessed silence. And as he would write the sky would lighten, the sun would rise, the ocean would supply the steady heartbeat of the surf, and the words, the ideas, would flow and the world was a glorious place. Then the rest of the family would climb out of bed and it would end, but for that day, several hours of hard, meaningful, useful, creative work would have been done. Yes, the same amount of work could have been accomplished at home, deep in TG's subterranean writing lair, but at the beach, in the sun, as the sky turned from pearl grey to brilliant blue, the world, the words, would be golden.

Many years ago TG remembers reading the Author's Guild magazine and finding a little offhand squib in the back about the mystery writer Parnell Hall who had been seen standing in the ocean up to his chest with a small tape recorder (does everyone remember what tape was?) yacking away. TG thought, at the time, what a good idea, what a great way to stretch that predawn morning creativity into the very bowels of a trip to the beach, away from the family, subject only to the forces of the tides as one talked out another few pages in the never-ending struggle to put together a manuscript. So when TG began to write this blog entry on beach creativity, he remembered that squib and thought, what the hell, let's see if Parnell Hall remembers those days. Let us all now thank God, or whomever, for the Internet. TG found Parnell and asked him, did he remember that item?

I never saw the squib in the Author's Guild magazine, but it's quite true. It would have been Jones Beach, and I wasn't writing a memo, I was writing a book. And it wasn't just some fleeting idea, it was the whole damn thing. I wrote my first book longhand in spiral notebooks, then typed it up on an electric typewriter. This was a while back, shortly after man had discovered fire. My agent got me a two book deal, which shocked the hell out of me, I was happy just to have sold one, but it wasn't enough to quit my day job. I was working as a private investigator at the time, driving around New York City signing up clients for a negligence lawyer, and my wife gave me a micro-cassette recorder, so if I had any ideas while I was driving I could click it on and make notes so I wouldn't lose them. It took me about a week to go from making notes to dictating the whole damn book. I've dictated all my books ever since. I can do it anywhere. At home, in the park, in the car, or standing chest deep in the ocean. In the summer I would drive out to Jones Beach a lot. It's at least an hour drive, depending on traffic. I'd dictate all the way out there, swim, stand in the waves and write some more, then dictate on the way home. In the afternoon I'd put on a headset and transcribe what I had written.

TG here. Parnell Hall has been writing excellent mystery fiction for years. When TG first read him, it was the beginning of the Stanley Hasting series, Detective, a book that was funny, true, compelling and an honest mystery, all at the same time. Now there are 17 more in the series, plus his clever Puzzle Lady series that is ongoing. TG can recommend any of these books for a good read and suggests that savvy readers who own Kindles can pick up some great Parnell Hall values on the Amazon Kindle store.

So while TG had Parnell on the line, he asked him a few more questions:

What are you doing these days?

The KenKen Killings is out in hardcover now. The next Puzzle Lady, $10,000 Dollars In Small, Unmarked Puzzles, will be out in Feb 2012. Review copies should be ready soon. In the former, Cora Felton, a whiz at solving crime but a charlatan as a crossword puzzle constructor (she couldn't solve one with a gun to her head--she's the sweet, grandmotherly face on her niece's nationally syndicated Puzzle Lady column), is actually quite good at number puzzles, and is delighted to find a crime involving KenKen puzzles. In the latter, she deals with a blackmailer, a stalker, and a killer, not to mention her least favorite ex-husband, Melvin.

Right now I'm writing Stakeout, my next Stanley Hasting private eye novel. It will be out next year from Pegasus books. Last year's Caper will join Hitman in trade paperback this fall, also from Pegasus.

And I'm making music videos! King of Kindle, on YouTube, is a hoot. It features several well-known writers, including Mary Higgins Clark and Lawrence Block. Check it out. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C-oGJvgHyKI

Funny video! All you smart-ass mystery readers out there, how many of the faces in the video can you name?

Ahem. Back to business. Any advice for the aspiring writers who tune in to TG's blog?

My advice to aspiring writers is that my advice is worthless and won't help them. You have to find something that rings a bell with you. Shortly before I wrote my first novel, I saw Robert B. Parker interviewed on TV. He was asked, "Why do you think people like your books?" I figured, poor Bob, he'll have to say something about Spenser being not just a macho guy but also a gourmet cook, and intellectual, sensitive to women or something like that. He said, "I think they like the way the words sound." The interviewer was baffled, but Bob said, "Yeah, if the words sound good, people like reading them." I thought, come on, no one reads this stuff out loud, but I went back and reread Looking For Rachael Wallace, and he was absolutely right. The words sounded good. There was a rhythm, a style, and it was great to read. When I started my first book, Detective, a few months later, I had no plot or outline, and I didn't know what I was writing, but I wanted it to sound good. My point is, that helped me, but it probably won't help you. Find something that will.

And how about vacations?

They're a wonderful way of doing research without expending any effort. And if you write about them, you can write it off on your tax return.

Whoa, TG never had the balls to write off his vacations, but if Parnell says it's cool, then TG's tax return next year is going to feature a beach house. Thank God, (or whomever) the IRS is too slow-witted to follow the Thriller Guy blog. Right? Right?

Demo Dick

2011-06-02T06:40:00.000-07:00

In Thriller Guy's last post, the joke was how much better, at least as far as getting the story out to the public, the raid on Osama's compound would have been if they had invited along Dick Marcinko and co-author Jim DeFelice to write down the main plot points and add the humorous details. For those of you who don't know Marcinko, (shame! shame!) he's the Navy man who many years ago designed and developed Red Team Six, the SEAL unit that killed Osama. Dick – aka The Rogue Warrior, Demo Dick, Shark Man of the Delta, The Geek -- led Red Team Six for three years, after which he was tasked with coming up with a unit that would test the vulnerability of US military forces around the world. This unit, known as Red Cell, succeeded in infiltrating naval bases, nuclear submarines, ships, airports, embassies, Air Force One and God knows what else. Marcinko claims that he and the boys stole nuclear devices complete with launch codes. And Thriller Guy believes him.

Marcinko was such a pain in the ass to his superiors they contrived to get him arrested and imprisoned for supposedly defrauding the government over contractor acquisition contracts for hand grenades. He did his time, and TG bets that no one ever attempted to make a little girl out of Dick Marcinko.

Dick published the autobiographical account of his career in 1992. Rogue Warrior became a big bestseller, and it deserved to be. Thriller Guy, under the name of his alter ego, Allen Appel, began publishing novels in 1985 with the first of the Alex Balfour time travel books, Time After Time. TG was several books into the series and thinking of branching out into military-type thrillers, which he did so in 1994 with Hellhound, written with Craig Roberts and TG's own son, Thriller Guy Jr. As research for this sort of writing, TG bought Marcinko's book and read it with pleasure. Marcinko's schtick, carried on through the thirteen or so of the following novels, is to tell the story of Dick Marcinko in his various adventures as a SEAL and later as the leader of his own military contractor agency, Red Cell, as the story of Dick Marcinko and his band of merry, deadly, warriors. In other words, Marcinko the author refers to himself as Marcinko the fictional warrior. It's a bit too tricky and self indulgent at times, but really, would a guy like TG who refers to himself in the third person have a leg to stand on if he decided to chastise Marcinko for this Point Of View? Of course not. Actually, TG thinks that Marcinko's authorial voice is spot on: funny, self-deprecating and perfect for telling his tales.

So way back in the day, when TG was just starting to write action thrillers, when it came time to write a big battle scene he would head for the bookshelf, let his copy of Rogue Warrior open to virtually any page, read along in one of Dick's action scenes for awhile then head to the computer and dive into his own battle scene. This is a method that TG still recommends to those who write him asking for tips and tricks in the thriller writing trade. TG is not telling you to steal from another writer, simply to use that writer to fire up your own physical and intellectual heat while writing your own scenes. TG doesn't really need this kind of kick-start these days, but he looks back with some nostalgia on those times when he was just entering the thriller field.

So imagine TG's surprise last week when he was assigned the latest Dick Marcinko/Jim DeFelice thriller, Domino Theory, for review. TG has reviewed many Marcinko thrillers over the years, and he feels that they just keep getting better and better. The early ones were co-authored with John Weisman, and they were fine, but TG feels that DeFelice “gets” Marcinko's voice better. TG has no way of knowing how much input Dick has in the books, but one would like to think that he at least comes up with the idea, gets together with Jim and the two of them slam down enough Bombay Gin (Dick's favorite) until they have the major plot points worked out so Jim can head off to his personal writing lair and put the book together.

And if not, if Marcinko doesn't do anything to write the book other than be the headliner and split the profits with DeFelice, if the drinking is all by himself in Rogue Manor where he strides the hallways in his smoking jacket, puffing on a Cuban cigar, where he laughs a little too loudly and flatters the fabulous babes who gather round, and where he dives into his money vault like Scrooge McDuck and gambols – paying little attention to his battle-scarred, aging body -- in his many millions earned from his storied military and writing career, well, fine, good for him. The guy has earned it.

The hard way.

Ding, Dong, Osama's Dead

2011-05-18T08:11:00.000-07:00

Thriller Guy is not at liberty to say whether or not he was connected with Seal Team Six in any way in the mission to take down Osama. TG can say that the U.S. Government has had an ongoing relationship with thriller writers of note in brainstorming various missions, not that this was necessarily one of them. Enough. TG can say no more.

This is not the first blog entry TG has written about Osama, but the last one has been relegated to the dust bin after the news that the world's most famous terrorist was a porn fiend, casting all of TG's jokes into a weird light. Probably just as well that it's been tossed out.

Of course TG is glad they finally nailed the bastard, but he must admit that it was all, weirdly, sort of anticlimactic. Oh, how many times has TG reviewed military thrillers where various heroes have taken on Osama. In doing so, writers have employed a number of strategies. The lag time of a novel is usually, from turn-in to publication, 18 months. During this time the manuscript/book is in a pipeline and the words cannot be easily changed. This has led to many a nail-biter as the writer waits for history to change the playing field, leaving his/her novel looking kind of silly if circumstances are radically altered. One tactic used in many of the books TG has read where Osama plays a role, is to use weird names for him, as if readers won't know whom they are referring to. I.e. Tom Clancy and Grant Blackwood in Dead or Alive have a character called The Emir, who is obviously Osama. As if they could say, (if Osama were killed before the book was published,) “We didn't mean Osama Bin Laden, this is another deadly terrorist, architect of 9/11 who is purely fictional.”

When the reports began to come in of the real attack, TG felt strangely unmoved because he has read so many fictional battle accounts that were identical down to even the smaller details. Actually, the fictional accounts were generally far more exciting and not just because there was so much more information. Really, what the SEALs needed was their old compatriot, Dick Marcinko, riding into the compound with them, supplying the quips and narrating the action. The same feeling of deja vu occurred on Sunday when TG cracked open his New York Times and saw the headline at the top of the front page on the right: “Secret Desert Force Set Up By Blackwater's Founder.” Well, duh. Snore. How many times has TG read that particular plot? Many.

In Tuesday's Washington Post, Patrick Anderson reviewed Richard North Patterson's new thriller, The Devil's Light. (In the last few weeks TG has reviewed this book, plus Matt Richtel's The Devil's Plaything and James Rollins' The Devil Colony. Time to retire the word Devil for awhile, thriller writers.) Anderson is the Post's chief thriller reviewer and the author of the excellent book, The Triumph of the Thriller: How Cops, Crooks, and Cannibals Captured Popular Fiction, a history of the modern thriller. Those of you who are writing thrillers, or planning to write them, should read this book if you haven't. Anderson tells you what is important in the genre and gives you a solid list of great books to delve into. The single most grievous error TG finds made by today's thriller writers is not the continual cliches or the knocking people out of their shoes when shot but a lack of knowledge of the genre. This is particularly true of European writers who often turn out books with plots and characters that have already been done, and usually done better, by writers on this side of the pond who have gone before.

Anderson liked, with a few quibbles, Patterson's book. TG agrees with that assessment in general. Patterson is a meticulous researcher and writer, and he has no doubt Patterson walked every foot of ground he used in the novel. In his way, he has written a book like Tom Clancy's latest using the same basic plot. Both men brought a wealth of material to the task; in Patterson's case we get lots of history and the rational behind both the good guys and the bad guys, and Clancy brought lots of great new technical gear and weapons, but both would have been better books if they had had come out several years ago when the nuclear attack by terrorists plot was fresher. TG has to wonder if these two gentlemen are keeping up their end of the research not just in trying to come up with the best detail for their novels, but in paying attention to what others in the field are doing and what has already been done. Is this fair, wishing that a novelist had worked faster, come out with a book sooner? Probably not, but fair isn't always what matters in publishing, or, for that matter, in life itself. Will it matter to the sales of these two books? Probably not a bit. Their fans will buy their books no matter when they come out, or, frankly, what they are even about. But still, TG wishes that he were not reading the same plots over and over. It's boring, even when that particular tired plot is well done. And the one sin that a thriller writer should never make, is to let the word or feeling of boredom anywhere near their work.

So, Osama is dead, and that's a really good thing for thriller writers. No longer do they have to dance around the issue of how he is used as a character. He's gone, so terrorist bad guy characters can go back to being fictional, and no one will ever again have to mention or write around that giant elephant in the room, the old man with the beard. And please, those of you who are out there gearing up what you think is a clever plot where Osama really isn't dead, that it was all a conspiracy, a set-up instigated by a secret cabal in the US government, right-wing military officers, a rogue CIA element, the Iranians, the Taliban or a twin or a double who had been playing the role of Osama for years, or a plan by Osama himself to fake his own death, or whatever, but please, don't do it! It's not clever. It's obvious.

TG is tired, oh so tired of crazed Muslim terrorists planning the big hit against the US. Evildoers who had to watch when they were children as their parents were gunned down or sisters raped or grandpas or older brothers or best friends executed by agents of the US. Terrorists who have finally got their hands on one of those old suitcase nukes the Russians sold off years ago, barrels of radioactive medical waste for dirty bombs, tons of explosives loaded onto ships that are making suicide runs into the Statue of Liberty, all those same tired plots.

TG wants something new. Wake him up. Surprise him.

Osama is dead. Time to move on.

Now, you know the tune, munchkins, sing it loud and proud:

Ding Dong! The Witch is dead. Which old Witch? The Wicked Witch!

Ding Dong! The Wicked Witch is dead.

Wake up - sleepy head, rub your eyes, get out of bed.

Wake up, the Wicked Witch is dead. He's gone where the goblins go,

Below - below - below. Yo-ho, let's open up and sing and ring the bells out.

Ding Dong the merry-oh, sing it high, sing it low.

Let them know

The Wicked Witch is dead!

Back Again.

2011-04-28T17:15:00.000-07:00

OK, Thriller Guy is back in the blog harness after several weeks away while writing a real article for money. (Note to all those writers who TG interviewed for the article and who did not make it into print. They edited the hell out of the piece because of space constraints, so many of you got cut, for no particular reason. Sorry, your wonderful answers to TG's questions will eventually appear on this site or in another article if TG can talk them into it.)

For all of you writers and readers out there who are successful, unsuccessful, unpublished, happily published, tortured, cursed with longing, blissful, eaten up with envy, or whatever, TG suggests that you go to Salon.com and read Laura Miller's terrific interview with publishing great Robert Gottlieb. There's a lot of excellent material in this article about the process of writing and editing that Gottlieb says far better than what TG has been trying to say over the past few years. And TG knows that some of you, on reading the words 'publishing great Robert Gottlieb,' are going to roll your eyes and figure you don't really have the time, and it will probably be boring, etc., etc. TG would like to say, just read the article because it's really good. Has TG ever steered you wrong?

TG had a recent email conversation with an excellent, extremely popular, bestselling author who TG admires, who said he had looked at TG's website and felt, generally, that it was “... about Fitzgerald and Hemingway and topics like that and didn't have anything to do with me.” And that some day he might read the archives, but that right now he was just an everyday kind of a salt-of-the-earth writer who didn't have time for that sort of erudition. But he did like it when TG told writers to stop whining and get off their asses and write. First of all, TG was flattered that a guy of this caliber would read this humble blog, and, secondly, mortified to think that the advice TG was slinging week after week could in any way be construed as, well, highfalutin? Intellectual? TG sees this stuff as Practical. Necessary. Basic. No bullshit. A kick in the ass. A tonic for what ails the poor, misunderstood, hard-working everyday writer. The men and women who labor without much in the way of recompense or honor, who live in pain while trying to come up with the right word, the right collection of words, to create something, if not of beauty, but at least something that at least makes sense. That tells a story. TG thinks of writing like he thinks of digging ditches: When it's done right, at great physical (and mental) labor, the cool water eventually flows in the correct direction.

Ah, stop it, TG, you're killing me here.

Anyway, here's a little sample, (below) from the Gottlieb piece. TG has always sensed that what Gottlieb says, in this instance, might be the case, but was afraid that it was true. How many times has TG read a book and thought, What a piece of shit. How could any editor, self respecting or not, let this crap through? How many times has TG thought, and even written, “What this book needs is a good editor.” Well, from Gottlieb, here's at least one answer:

“Whenever a review says "What this book needed was more editing," it's usually the book you spent the most time editing. That's because its problems were so severe that you've worked the text (and the writer) as far as possible. There comes a moment when either you the editor or you the writer cannot look at it again: It's over, and you have to let it go”

Who knew? TG has been waiting for years to read this explanation. And he apologizes for ever thinking that editors (or at least many editors) were stupid. It turns out that in many cases they have done all that they can do. That they probably feel, professionally, spiritually, and personally that they can do no more. That the contracts and promises of those in the publishing company, made by those who are far above them, have decreed that this book, as crappy as it might be, is going to be published and will make the company money because its readers may not really care about editing niceties or even the basics of good sense, so just shut your damn mouth, fix what can be fixed, don't piss off the writer because he might abandon ship and head to another house. Just get the book onto the shelves.

Or you're fired.

Bears and Men

2011-04-07T17:51:00.000-07:00

Yes, Thriller Guy is aware that he has neglected his blogging duties recently. In his defense, he can only say that he has been working on a large project where he has been talking to many thriller writers, some of the biggest out there, and this diligence will pay off in material for future blogs.

TG has received several e-mails saying he's being too tough on the cheapskates who own Kindles and who have not immediately bought a Kindle copy of Abraham Lincoln: Detective, from Amazon. TG is grateful for those of you who have done so and assures you that every cent TG makes off the book will be squirreled away to pay for him to write another in the series, someday, maybe in the next hundred years the way sales are going right now. TG is, he must say, a little disappointed in some of you out there. No need to name names, you know who you are. It's the same feeling one has when one has a book signing where sales are disappointing. Regular readers of this blog might remember the rule taught to TG by his early mentor, Kent Carroll of Carroll and Graf Publishers, who told TG the following when asked how many books one should order for a signing: Write down a list of names of those friends and family who you are absolutely certain are going to buy a book, and then cut that number in half, then cut that number in half again. That's how many books you're going to sell, and let TG tell you from personal experience, and the experience of most of his writer pals, it's usually a pretty sad number, but almost always correct. There's nothing like seeing some of your best friends not only leaving the bookstore with nothing under their arms but looking pissed off because you didn't give them a free, personalized copy of the book.

Normal people have no idea that the number of free books the publisher gives to writers is usually very limited and usually written into the original contract between writer and publisher. That number starts out at five and if you can get your agent to argue about it they'll easily go to ten, but anything more and they get really grumpy. TG learned years ago to not worry about it in the contract because you can always get freebies out of the marketing department who will gladly give you as many as you want.

OK, you want to know what's really got TG ticked off this week? He was reading a thriller by a pretty famous guy for review and right up near the front the writer describes a character as “a shambling bear of a man.” TG is aware that most thrillers are, sadly, riddled with cliches, but he was stunned to find that particular old war horse still in circulation. Good God, does the writer have no shame? Does the editor have no shame? Or is he afraid to tell the writer that the phrase makes him look like a tyro? (Now there's an excellent word you don't see around much these days.) Have all the excellent proof readers who used to point out mistakes like this all been fired? TG was reminded of his early days in the business when he read a manuscript as a favor for his busy publisher and was shocked to find two separate characters described as shambling bears of men, and then stunned when another character was described as “a shambling leviathan of a man.” TG gently pointed out that the word leviathan almost always refers to whales or sea monsters, creatures who could hardly be expected to shamble anywhere. The publisher, looking very unhappy, took that reference out but still left the two earlier instances in.

Never forget TG's rule when it comes to cliches: when one comes to mind while in the process of your daily writing, pause and try to come up with something better. If you can't, don't waste time on it but mark the offending phrase in boldface and then go back the next day when doing your rewrites and change it to something original. This is usually pretty easy the next day when your brain is fresh.

Which leads to TG's next rule, which is when starting out your writing day, always read over what you wrote the day before and do quick rewrites. It gets you into your own voice and will put you well into your new day's work.

A Word to the Wise, Continuing Sales, Some Recommendations

2011-03-21T17:48:00.000-07:00

First of all, Thriller Guy is sick, sick, sick of grown-up thriller writers having heroes, tough guy heroes, chuckle. Enough! No more chuckling! Really, has anyone actually seen anyone chuckle? It's a childish, stupid word. Stop. Right now. Never again.

Thriller Guy's ongoing experiment in selling Allen Appel's period mystery, Abraham Lincoln: Detective, in the Kindle format continues. In the month since the book was put up on Amazon, 12 copies have sold. Pitiful, really pitiful. The roll-out has been purposely slow with mentions of the book on this blog, Facebook and now TG's wife has notified her friends. Profits are hovering around $70.00, enough to buy a middling bottle of Balvenie whiskey. Obviously, if Appel thinks he's going to make any real money on the project he is deluded. Actually, thirteen books were sold and one person came to his senses or something and quickly canceled his order and got a refund.

The book chronicles the adventures of Abraham Lincoln and his sidekick law partner, William Herndon as they try to get to the bottom of a mystery surrounding the disappearance and possible death of an addle-brained visitor to their hometown of Springfield, Illinois. Lincoln's on-again, off-again girlfriend, Mary Todd, involves herself in the detecting, much to the disgust of Herndon who could not abide Mary Todd. The fiction is based on a real case that Lincoln once wrote a short article about. He was never able to solve the mystery, but Appel has helped him out with a solution. Along the way readers will, one hopes, learn a great deal about Lincoln and the period.

Here's the deal: the book is fun, funny, clever and damn interesting. If you don't believe Thriller Guy, go to the Amazon Kindle site and take a gander at the three reviews there. TG feels so strongly that you will like this book that he's offering the following terms: If you download the book, read it and don't like it, TG will send you your $9.99 back. Yep, no strings, just comment on this blog with an email and TG will get in touch and send you your money. Now what could be more fair than that? Jesus, what does it take to pry ten bucks out of TG's reader's pockets?

OK, now that's out of the way... On the physical book front -- you know, books, the ones printed on paper -- TG has a few new recommendations.

Mike Lawson continues his entertaining series of mystery/thrillers (House Rules, House Secrets) with House Divided, starring Senate fix-it man Joe Demarco. Joe works for John Mahoney, Speaker of the House of Representatives, a larger-than-life, blustery politician based on the Tip O'neil mold, though in this book Mahoney remains offstage, in a coma. This is a gutsy move for Lawson as this character is a good one and he's taking a chance leaving him off the page. TG can report that the gambit works all right, but he would advise author Lawson to not try it again. TG has some tales of woe that come from his own experience of killing off a well-loved character in a series much to the dismay of readers who were very upset at the move. One of these days, TG will devote an entire blog to this mistake. Anyway, those of you who like a Washington-based mystery will like this series. TG suggests that you start with the first and read them in order, which though not strictly necessary will give you a better look at Joe Demarco's continuing history.

The Burning Lake by Brent Ghelfi is a tough, dark book set in today's tough, dark Russia. Ghelfi's hero is Alexei “Volk” Volkovoy, a man who wears many hats – soldier, spy, criminal, assassin – and who works for the mysterious, dwarfish criminal kingpin known only as The General. The story is built around the disappearance of Volk's girlfriend, a journalist who writes under the name Kato, who is investigating a dead zone in the Urals where a radioactive reservoir exploded 50 years ago. Readers interested in Russia today and who can handle some rough stuff will like it.

TG has some more new thrillers here on his desk to tell you about, but they'll have to wait until next week. Meanwhile, stay tuned for the actual numbers on the book that TG mentored and which was mentioned last week. You will be amazed.

Good News

2011-03-05T08:02:00.000-08:00

But First...

OK, Thriller Guy will get to the good news in a minute. First, though, he'd like to point out that after the spectacular unveiling last week of the entry announcing the excellent book, Abraham Lincoln, Detective, written under TG's pseudonym, Allen Appel, a Kindle book, he was surprised to see that only one of you (Thanks, Joel! Love you, man!) seemed to have ten lousy bucks to download a copy. Really, out of 34 followers and who knows how many lurkers, only ONE of you was able to cough up that sort of petty cash? No wonder the book business is in the dumper. TG can't even buy one Tanqueray martini (you don't expect him to drink rail liquor, do you?) from the proceeds of one sale ($7.00). And don't give TG the excuse that you don't own a Kindle, you can download it to your phone or even your computer. OK, since you folks seem to be so poor, TG will send anyone who is too broke (there's no shame in it) a free copy of the book in a nice compact electronic file, just because he feels sorry for you. Just send him a message at appelworks@gmail.com telling him how poor you are and he'll get it right out to you. No one in this great country should have to do without the joys of literature because they can't come up with a sawbuck.

And don't expect TG to stop flacking this book in this blog. Consider it the commercial you have to sit through to get to the good stuff.

Now for the good news.

Those of you who are constant readers of the blog (TG loves you!) know that every so often he mentions that he is mentoring several young writers in their quest to produce that all-important first novel. About a year ago a young writer, we'll call him The Kid, (not that he's a kid, but compared to the grizzled TG he is) got in touch with TG about a book he was trying to sell. TG suggested that The Kid read the TG archives and send him the novel. The Kid had been receiving good initial reviews on his partial, but when the entire book was sent he was getting polite but respectful turn-downs. After reading the book in its entirety, TG felt that The Kid was a terrific writer, but he needed help with the structure of the book. So TG told him what he always tells writers in this situation: dump the book and simply write a new one. Really, it's a hell of a lot easier, no matter what anyone else will tell you.

So The Kid agreed, and TG and he began tossing back and forth plot ideas. When The Kid came up with a workable plot , TG agreed and The Kid started to write. Every few months he would send TG what he had done and TG would read, offer a few comments, but mostly say -- looks good, keep on working. The Kid didn't need much more than encouragement, some basic line editing and a few observations and suggestions. He's a real worker. And he didn't have an attitude, didn't complain, didn't explain, he simply understood that when someone points out what might be a mistake, the answer is not to get your back up but to go back and look at what's been pointed out because something is wrong and it needs fixed.

Time goes by. The Kid keeps working. After a year he has a draft. He also has an agent who recognized from the first book that The Kid could really write. The agent offered to work with him while he put together the new book. So everyone was in harness and all pulling together. Notes were given and the Kid hunkered down and did the work to fix all the parts that needed work.

Last week the agent put it out to several publishers. A bidding war ensued. The book sold for more money than you can possibly imagine. After the publisher releases the news on the sale, TG will hand out some real numbers, but at this point it's not appropriate. But it's a big sale. Big. Trust me. Big.

TG would like to take more credit than he deserves for the success of this book, but he's not going to. The credit goes to The Kid who kept his yap shut and did the work. No attitude, no writer bullshit. No excuses. Just did the work. So here's the moral of the story...

The writer dream is still alive. Publishing is in the worst hole that TG has ever seen in his long, checkered career, and yet one guy worked hard and caught the brass ring. Here's the way TG has always envisioned it. Use your imagination...

All the writers who are worth a shit have done the work. Thousands of them. They've written their book. Not just talked about it, not just hoped it would be done, but actually did the work. So we/they are all now sitting around the edges of a gigantic room, waiting. Think Stephen King, no ceiling, just blue sky and fluffy clouds up above. We're sitting in flimsy orange plastic chairs. Cheap linoleum on the floor. Suddenly a door smashes open and the Hag of Fame and Fortune staggers through. She's old, she's dressed in rags, she stinks, her hair is greasy and there's a big mole on her hairy chin. She lurches around the room, falling, dragging herself to her feet, cackling, spinning this way and that, farting, snorting, Christ, she's a real mess. And yet all the writers are shouting Pick me! Pick me! Then she staggers toward the wall, reaches out her bony hand, points an arthritic finger at one of the writers cowering in his or her chair, touches him with her long, thick, sickening, filthy fingernail and croaks, “You! You! You are the one!”

This time it was The Kid she touched.

Next time it could be you.

Shut up.

Get to work.

Shameless Plug

2011-02-26T11:25:00.000-08:00

Many of the astute readers of this blog have tumbled to the fact that Thriller Guy often writes under the pseudonym of Allen Appel. Appel has written many books, both fiction and non-fiction, and he is proud to announce he has just published a Kindle edition of his heretofore unpublished novel, Abraham Lincoln: Detective. This novel is written from the point of view of Lincoln's law partner and biographer, William Herndon. It's based on a case that Lincoln wrote about himself, the Trailor Murder Mystery. Lincoln begins a letter to his friend Joshua Speed about the Trailor case thusly: Dear Speed: We have had the highest state of excitement here for a week past that our community has ever witnessed; and although the public feeling is somewhat allayed, the curious affair which aroused it is very far from being over, yet cleared of mystery. Because Lincoln was never able to solve the mystery, Appel has done so. The book is available to all you Kindle owners here.

Appel did a great deal of research on Lincoln for the last entry in his series of time travel books, In Time of War. During the course of which he discovered new Lincoln material that had never been made public. One item was a list of the 39 murder cases in which Lincoln was involved as the defense attorney. He lost only one of them (his client was hung) and some of them he was involved in only tangentially, but there were seven or eight that were very interesting that are virtually unknown. The most famous of these is known as the Almanac Trial, which many people have heard of, but there were others that had never been written about. Appel decided he would start a series of novels with Lincoln and Herndon playing the Holmes and Watson roles. Abraham Lincoln: Detective, is the first of the series.

Why Kindle? This novel is one of two that Appel's agent has been peddling around NY for some time. The last several years have been a terrible time to sell manuscripts. Publishers can be a cowardly sort, unwilling to try anything new, continuing to whine about the business while squeezing their a-list authors to produce books that are known quantities, no matter what the quality. They are content to rest their fortunes on a book-buying public the majority of which is perfectly happy with more of the same, no matter that the product is stale, off the shelf rehashes of what their big sellers and their imitators have been cranking out, year after year. Hence the scores of Da Vinci Code knock-offs that Thriller Guy has to wade through every month. So why not give Kindle a try? Just owning an e-reader puts an individual into a category of eager, intelligent book consumer willing to try something new. Sounds like a perfect market to TG.

If you have a Kindle, the link at the end of the first paragraph and again here will take you to Abraham Lincoln: Detective. If you don't have a Kindle you can download a free App that will let you read Kindle books on your cellphone, or even your PC or Windows computer. So now nobody has an excuse to not join the 21^st Century.

You can also go to the Amazon Kindle store and browse around amongst the hundreds of possible good reads. Yes, much of the independently published work is crap, but as Theodore Sturgeon once famously said, while rebutting the naysayors who declared that 90% of science fiction is crap, “Ninety percent of everything is crap.”

TG says give the book a try. It's good. And when has TG ever lied to you?

Jigme Norbu

2011-02-16T07:44:00.000-08:00

I'd like to call a pause in my usual ranting about publishers, agents, editors, writing and books to comment on the death of a very good man.

Several years ago I was driving through West Virginia coming home from a visit with my aging mother. It was an overcast day, cold and rainy, and I was speeding up the side of a mountain. There were no other cars in sight. Up ahead, I noticed two people wearing cardboard signs walking at the side of the road. My first thoughts were how rare it was to see anyone walking along the road, my second was to wonder if they had hiked up the entire length of this extremely long and steep incline and my third was what the hell were the signs going to say. As I blew past them at 75 miles per hour I read Walk For Tibet.

At that speed one can go some distance while the brain processes an anomaly like this one. I'm a guy who, once started on a long drive, will go to any lengths to not stop or divert from my path, but this was so unusual I decided to go back and see what it was about. Remember, this was West Virginia, not Berkley, California. It took awhile, but I finally came to an exit, got myself turned around and then turned around again so I could pull off to the side of the road.

Jigme Norbu and Wangchuk Dorjee told me they were walking across a large chunk of the United States to draw attention to the plight of Tibet. We didn't spend much time on politics as I was aware of Tibet's woes with the Chinese. I talked to them about how hard the walk must be, but both were cheerful and completely upbeat. Norbu put a little camera on the trunk of my car and took a picture of the three of us, his arm around my shoulder.

There are small and large moments in life that ring true and clear. Sometimes we notice them, sometimes we don't; this was one of those moments for me. I asked if I could contribute to the cause, he said sure, I retrieved my wallet from the car, found I had one lone twenty dollar bill, which I gave to him. I also found a bag of pepperoni rolls, a West Virginia specialty and my road-food of choice, which I also gave to him. He cheerfully accepted and made appreciative comments about the rolls.

Just as there are certain moments of truth, there are certain people we run across who embody those truths. Jigme was one of them. If I were a younger man, I would have happily asked for a little help from these two, pushed my car over the edge of the cliff and joined them on their trek. I didn't, of course. As I drove away I looked at them in my rear view mirror; they were headed down the hill, Wangchuk gaily swinging the bag of pepperoni rolls. That night I went on Jigme's website where he was chronicling his walk and found the picture of the three of us and a short note of thanks for “the West Virginia bread.”

By then I realized that they couldn't have eaten the rolls as surely they were vegetarians, but part of me hoped they could have at least nibbled away the exterior and left the pepperoni along the trail for the wild animals. I fired off a donation check to help them with their cause and put the experience down on my life list of unexpected moments of grace, sure that Jigme would walk on an on until his country and his people were free.

Yesterday I read that Jigme had been struck and killed by a car while walking down the highway in the dark in Florida. It shouldn't have surprised me -- walking in the dark on the edge of a highway can be dangerous -- but it did. And the depth of sadness that struck me also surprised me. After all, I had known, if known is the right word, the man for only a few passing moments. But there was something about him, that something that I am struggling to describe, that is rare, that we seldom come in contact with in our ordinary lives. This is the part where, if it were a better story than it is, I would announce that I have thrown off the shackles of my mundane life and was headed out to walk beside the highway with a Free Tibet sign. But I'm not. That's not my path. There are other Jigmes out there walking hard roads for good causes, and I salute them. It is not in me to give up the pepperoni in the roll. I can only say the world was a better place with Jigme Norbu and his friends in it, and a sadder place without him.

Walk on, Jigme, walk on.

TG Errs Again

2011-02-08T14:30:00.000-08:00

As the intelligent Sparky points out in her comment on the last entry, Max Perkins was F. Scott Fitzgerald's editor, not his agent! (Sound of TG slapping his forehead.) Of course he was, TG knew that, he was just carried away with his rant about Agents These Days and how good writers used to have it back when men were gentlemen. So here's the story...

Fitzgerald had two agents, Harold Ober was his East Coast literary agent and his Hollywood agent was H.N. Swanson. Swanson was the far more interesting of the two; TG will get to him in a moment.

Ober graduated from Harvard in 1905 and two years later became a litereary agent. He opened his own agency in 1929 and represented authors such as Fitzgerald, Agatha Christie, William Faulkner, Pearl Buck and J. D. Salinger, among other writing luminaries. His agency, which is about as blue chip as it gets, is still in operation though Ober died in 1959.

Now for Swanson, known to one and all in Hollywood as Swanie. There's a good article from People magazine about him, which is where TG stole most of the following info.

In 1924 the 27-year-old F. Scott Fitzgerald asked H.N. Swanson to read his just-completed novel, Trimalchio in West Egg. "I told him it was the best thing he'd ever written, but I told him he had to change the title. The one he had wouldn't sell eight books. He asked what I had in mind. 'Gatsby.' I told him. 'The Great Gatsby? Scott was a smart man. He took my advice."

Swanie was Clark Gable's friend and golfing partner, he lunched with Disney, barhopped with Bogie and partied with the wild Fitzgeralds. (At one soiree Scott gleefully emptied guests' handbags into a kettle of water, then brought the brew to a boil.) In the early 1940s he negotiated a $750-a-week screenwriting contract for Raymond Chandler, then an unknown. ("He was an odd man, but he could write like a fool and had a great cynical flair for screenplays.) Swanson claimed that Heningway "didn't have a friend in the world and couldn't write without booze, which was true of many of my writers." (TG has discussed this in an earlier entry). Swanie introduced Faulkner to producer Howard Hawks, gave screenwriting tips to Fitzgerald and discovered Elmore Leonard in the mid-'50s. "He was a pup writing Westerns," Swanson said. "I told him to forget the cowboy stuff and write stories with women in them. He did, and I made him a millionaire."

Swanie worked hard right up until the end. He was 90 years old when he landed a $4.5 million, two-book contract for Elmore Leonard. "I get top dollar for all my writers," says Swanie.

TG would have liked Swanie. What fun these guys had, drinking, dumping the contents of the lady's purses into boiling water, living the life of manly writers. Scott burning through money like the drunk that he was, Zeldo going nuts. As an aside, or maybe it's the real point of this entry, TG drove by Scott and Zelda's grave the other day. Drove by, yes, because the small graveyard where they are enterred is now literally in the middle of the highway in Gaithersburg, MD. Maybe they like it there: it's loud and there's action, just like the way they used to live.

No More Whining; Look Out for that Suitcase Nuke

2011-01-30T16:32:00.000-08:00

Thriller Guy knew this was going to happen. He turns over the blog for one week and that guy Appel comes in and starts whining about the writing business. How many times has TG warned everyone that it's a terrible business and they should stay far away from it. Yes, it looks good, all cats lounging on typewriters, tweed, leather elbow patches and pipe smoking, but those days are long gone. Appel says he now knows he should have been a prick to his agent. At least to the point of insisting that the guy should actually try and sell his work. There was a time when Max Perkins and F. Scott would sit around in front of a crackling fire drinking scotch while Scott or some other writer would tell Max or some other agent his newest cockamamie idea for something he wanted to write, and Max or some other agent would gently try to steer the writer in a more profitable direction. When that didn't work and the writer wrote what he wanted to write, the agent would heave a sigh and then get down to work and try and sell whatever the guy wrote, because he was the writer's agent and that's what his job was. These days if you're lucky to get an agent many of them feel like they can pick and choose among what the writer has written or is writing and then if they can't sell it after a couple of tries, they give up and move on to another writer. They don't work for their writers, they work only for themselves.

So a writer has to be tough, has to be willing to fire an agent if he or she isn't trying hard enough or is simply cherry picking through the work looking for something to make a quick sale. TG doesn't think that everything a writer produces is going to sell, or that everything is of equal merit, that's being foolish, but if the work is professional it deserves to be put on the market and pushed if that's the business you're in.

So TG will offer his usual piece of advice to those who are dumb enough to try and make a buck cranking out words: shut up and get back to work. And if you've got to get tough with your agent, get tough.

On to the normally scheduled business...

Here are some things that are presently pissing TG off.

A recently reviewed thriller had four, count 'em, four, references to the “If I told you, I'd have to kill you,” gag. And this was in a WWII historical thriller, where it seemed even more inappropriate. TG has asked writers to stop doing this, it's so dated and stupid it only makes them look foolish. Four times in one book? (Picture TG shaking his head in dismay.)

TG is sick of women romance novelists trying to break into the thriller market by disguising romance for thriller by building plots around Arab terrorists or Nazis or Russian gangsters. Somewhere into these books the descriptions of hunky heroes start piling up and scenes of lovemaking ensue and pretty soon any thrills of the action kind are taken over by romance tropes. These books are more and more commonly being written under male pseudonyms. Be warned, romance writers! Thriller Guy is not tricked by these silly ruses! If you want to write romance, great, if you want to write thrillers, even better, but stop mixing them up and thinking TG is not going to notice. You will be reviewed fairly, and you will pay the price.

TG is now declaring a moratorium on writers employing suitcase nukes for their plot devices. Yes, the Russians might have made a bunch of them years ago and, yes, some of them may have gone astray, but none of them are going to blow up now the way they worked back then. There have been a number of recent articles about this, but writers are still using these devices as their too-cool-for-school weapon of choice. Sorry, guys, Tritium has a half-life of 13 years and Polonium's is even shorter. You could use a conventional bomb and pack it with the nuclear material to make it “dirty,” but that just isn't as exciting as leveling the U.S. Capitol and a mile of the surrounding cityscape, is it? So it's time to put the suitcase nukes back on the shelf. Do your research; come up with a new terror weapon.

Anyone else out there have a plot device that they're sick of? Something that you think has been done to death? Send 'em in, TG will be happy to publish your pet thriller peeve.

Whose Fault is it Anyway?

2011-01-21T16:19:00.000-08:00

OK, he's yammering at me again, my alter ego, Allen Appel. Wants to do the blog this week, something on his mind, something he wants to rant about. OK, OK, go ahead, be my guest.

Thanks, TG, for your gracious invitation. I'll try to leave everything just as I found it and turn out the lights afterward.

Today I received an e-mail question: How many unpublished manuscripts do you have? This came in just as I was cleaning out my basement office and throwing away all the proofs from published novels, final manuscripts that had been proofread by the publisher, galleys, cover mock-ups and all the other detritus that goes along with getting a book published. I figured, who gives a crap about this stuff anyway? It's not like I'm expecting a Harvard undergrad to do his thesis on my work, so why keep this stuff around? Into the trash it goes. So I was thinking about publishing anyway, and then the question came in, I had to sit down and think about it.

I counted six unpublished novels and then I Skyped my son (Allen Appel IV) with whom I sometimes write, and asked him. How many books have I written? How many books have we written? He's not only a better writer than I am, his memory is far superior to mine. He came up with four more that I had forgotten about. So here's the list. But first an explanation.

Many, many years ago I worked for the Washington Post as a free-lance photographer and illustrator. One day I looked around at my pals there, who were all having books published, and I thought, I'm at least as smart as these people, why don't I write a book? At the time my first book, Proust's Last Beer, was just being published (I was the illustrator) and I had a very smart editor at Viking, whose name suddenly escapes me. We were sitting at a bar in NY and he gave me some very good advice, which I'm now going to pass along to you. He said, "If you want to write a novel, go to a bookstore and stand in the center of the room. Look around the walls and you'll see words that say, Mystery, Western, Romance, Science Fiction, etc. Pick one of those categories and write a book that should be shelved there." What he was telling me was not to write a cross-over book, a mystery with romance elements, a spy book that had a science fiction element, a book that was too hard for the dimwits in publishing to classify. So I decided I'd write a book that fit into each of the categories at the bookstore. That way I would learn to write. And so I did. Most of the books that resulted were never seen by anyone, a few were seen by an agent but after they were turned down I never did anything more with them. Here's the list:

The Sheriff of Paradise was a western. Lots of fun to write. The Bright Red Swoosh was a detective novel set in Washington, DC, about old guys who were retired from government agencies and who had banded together and opened a private eye firm because they hate retirement. (I was writing that one with my pal, Larry.) Cross was about a human/chimpanzee cross resulting in a hybrid child, The Body in the Paradise Pool was a mystery about a stay-at-home dad who lives in the suburbs and solves crimes. The Hours of Love was a romance I wrote under the name Cecily St. Ives. (There were at least one if not two more romances, maybe more, I've blocked that period out.) The Taken, written with my son, a science fiction novel about alien abduction. My most recent novels are Amazons, where modern day Amazons take over the world, (Volume One) and Abraham Lincoln: Detective, the name says it all, and the unpublished Alex Balfour time travel novel, The Sea of Time which I send out as an electronic file to fans of that series who write and ask for it. If I thought harder I could probably come up with some others. I've got a drawer full of screenplays as well and treatments for at least three or four other novels. A few months ago I was cleaning up and came across 150 pages of a Civil War novel that I have only the vaguest recollection of writing. And it's pretty good.

OK, what's the point here? Why didn't any of these novels ever see the light of day? The first ones weren't all that good; I was just learning the ropes. But the ones after were perfectly fine. That's right, nothing wrong with them, the writing was at least as good as 75% of the novels Thriller Guy gets in the mail every day to review. So, why?

Two things. My agent, who will remain nameless, didn't really push the books. Why? Because I didn't push the agent. To succeed in the publishing business, you've got to be a little bit of a prick. I liked my agent, he was my friend, and I never gave him any grief. When he didn't like a novel very much, he demurred and I just let him off the hook. After all, how hard was it to just write another book? Not as hard, evidently, as insisting that my agent at least try to sell what I was giving him. Eventually I changed agents. The new guy, SuperBob, started off strong but doesn't seem to be doing much these days with Amazons and Abraham Lincoln: Detective. And am I leaning on him, have I learned anything in 30 years in the business? Evidently not.

Oh, I've had plenty of books published, at least ten, which is about the same amount of those that I have sitting around in drawers here, so I don't want to sound like I'm complaining. But I am. I've published many more books that many of my friends who are better writers than I. I should have had more of a career, made a decent living at it. But I didn't. Maybe it's my fault. Maybe not. But I wrote the books, they're sitting here, waiting for someone to publish them.

Like I said: Whose fault is it?

More On Clancy

2011-01-13T10:42:00.000-08:00

Since were on the subject of Clancy, here's a piece from Thriller Guy's pal, Kathleen Ewing.

“I’ve been writing stuff all my adult life, mostly on the subject of fine art photography for press releases, artists’ biographies, short catalogue entries, etc., etc. At the suggestion of my dear friend, Bill Garrison, I did write one book, A. Aubrey Bodine, Baltimore Pictorialist, Johns Hopkins University Press, 1986. I believe that would qualify me as a published author and, as a result, a veteran of book signing events.

Researching, writing and illustrating the Bodine book in three short months is a story unto itself. But this little essay is about enduring the agonies of a public book signing event.

When my Bodine book came out in the fall of 1986, I thought I had died and gone to heaven. The publication was just what I had hoped for: a scholarly essay on Bodine and his place in the history of American Pictorial photography and 62 full plate duotone illustrations of his best work from the 1920s to the 1960s. As a result of the Johns Hopkins connection, I was immediately considered a “Maryland author” and began to receive numerous invitations to participate in events for “Maryland authors.”

The first of those events was scheduled for a bookstore in a shopping mall outside of Annapolis. Full of high hopes and great expectations, I arrived in my best purple outfit with several black pens in my purse. I had been told some 15-20 “Maryland authors” would be attending the book signing, but no list of authors had been provided in advance. To my shock, I found myself seated next to Tom Clancy, whose enormously successful first novel, Hunt for Red October, had been published that same fall season. I had seen the ads, President Ronald Reagan says it’s a “great read,” and the rest was history. How could I be so lucky, seated next to the great Tom Clancy?

Not only did I write a book about A. Aubrey Bodine, I represented the estate and was actively working to sell his extraordinary photographs to museums and private collectors. This would be a golden opportunity: Tom Clancy, a native of Maryland, with ties to the Baltimore area, now with plenty of money. Just ripe to become a Bodine collector. All I had to do was be my usual pleasant personality and make a new friend.

For four hours, I set next to Tom Clancy and he never once looked in my direction. For four hours, his stack of books went from 20 high to 1 or 2 and another 20 books would miraculously appear from the hands of some invisible store clerk. The line of Tom Clancy fans stretched down the halls of the shopping mall. He shook hands and greeted everyone as if they were great old buddies. I kept smiling, but no one gave me a second glance. My stack of Bodine books started at about 20 high and at the end of the afternoon there were still 19 sitting in front of me.

When there was a momentary lull in Clancy’s popularity, I purchased four copies of Hunt for Red October, asking to have them personally signed as Christmas presents for my brothers and other good friends. Clancy never took one second to look at my Bodine book.

At the end of the afternoon, when we politely shook hands to depart, he finally looked me in the eyes and said, “Success is hell.”

Thank you so much, Tom Clancy.”

Tom Clancy Dead or Alive

2011-01-06T18:36:00.000-08:00

Ok, Thriller Guy is back from all the holiday fun and ready to get back to work. As promised in the last entry, today's topic of discussion is Tom Clancy and his latest book, co-authored with Grant Blackwood, Dead or Alive.

Blackwood seems to be the go-to guy for the big boys to entrust with their valuable franchises. He writes his own series and also authors with Clive Cussler. TG read his and Cussler's Spartan Gold, the new series starring Sam and Remi Fargo, a book TG liked but after reading the reader's reviews on Amazon TG wonders if he's been in the thriller trenches so long he can no longer tell what's good or bad. So, Clancy's Dead or Alive; thumbs up or thumbs down? First, a little history. This is the first Jack Ryan book to appear in seven years. The Ryan character first came onpage in 1984 with The Hunt For Red October, then Patriot Games and on through to this, the thirteenth installment. During this time, Ryan has risen from history professor/CIA agent to retired president of the United States.

It's easy to dismiss Clancy as something of a dinosaur from the early ages of the thriller era, but one would do so at one's peril. This is a man who almost single-handedly invented the modern, military thriller genre. Yes, TG understands all the others who were slightly ahead and quickly behind and who filled out the genre, so don't write chastising little notes of correction. Here's the way it is, Clancy is a giant in this industry and his latest is a great example of what the genre has become. (Side bar: Clancy lives a few miles from TG. Way back in the mists of time TG went to a local bookstore, now, sadly, out of business, and found a pile of The Hunt For Red October with a sign, crudely lettered on a piece of shirt cardboard, that said: Local Author. When TG quizzed the woman who ran the bookstore, he found that she firmly believe that it was her hand-lettered sign that had led to Clancy's great success. TG wrote to Clancy and told him this story many years ago. TG is still waiting for a response.)

All of this leads to the question: how much of Dead or Alive is Clancy's and how much is Blackwood's? TG wishes he could use his vast powers as an industry insider to answer this question, but he cannot. With his reading of the Cussler/Blackwood books, TG gets the feeling that Cussler may mutter a few sentences of plot to Blackwood and then Grant takes it from there, but TG came away from this one with the feeling that Clancy was an active participant in the writing process. (Sidebar number two: TG would like to know how one applies for and is awarded these writing jobs. Obviously, Blackwood has a far better agent than TG. Sorry, Bob, but maybe it's time to hook TG up with a couple of big-name authors who are tired of writing their own stuff.)

Back to the book. Jack Ryan Sr. is sitting in his Chesapeake Bay home writing his memoirs. Meanwhile, unbeknownst to his father, Jack Ryan Jr. is working for the Campus, the secret arm of the CIA invented by his father. The job that Ryan Jr. and his father's old compatriots are pursuing is the takedown the world's greatest terrorist, known as The Emir. Read Osama, Bin Laden. The plot is nothing that hasn't been seen by thriller readers many times over the last few years: an attack on several key areas with the hoped for result being the breakdown of the American economy. Yawn. But the thing is, Clancy has more cool information than all the other guys. TG assumes this is because the secret higher-ups know him as the top dog in the field and are willing to speak, off the record of course, to him and give him the good stuff. Vince Flynn, eat your heart out. And it is this insider info that pushes the book to the top of the thriller heap.

Yes, there's the usual Clancy gear writing: “Along with the standard load-out of fragmentation grenades and flashbangs each man would also be armed with an MK23 .45 caliber ACP with a modified KAC noise suppressor and a tritium laser aiming module – LAM – with four selector modes: visible laser only, visible laser/flashlight, infrared laser only, and infrared laser/illuminator. Favored by Navy Special Warfare teams and the British Special Boat Service, the MK23 was a marvel of durability, having been torture-tested by both the SEALs and the SBS for extreme temperature, saltwater submersion, dry-firing, , impact, and a weapon's worst enemy, dirt. Like a good Timex watch, the MK23 had taken a licking and kept on ticking – or in this case, kept on firing.” If this is the sort of writing that wets your knickers, TG suggests that this book will keep you very happy indeed.

So the final judgment? If you like Clancy, it's good. Maybe not the most exciting of the series, but still plenty good. If you're just starting out, why not go back thirteen books and start at the beginning? That will give any new military thriller reader plenty to look forward to.

Busy Busy Busy... Leigh Russell... Tom Clancy

2010-12-20T06:49:00.000-08:00

OK, OK, Thriller Guy is well aware that he has been remiss in his blogging duties, but it's been a very busy time here in the shop. You probably thought TG was going to use the hustle and bustle of Christmas as an excuse, but he hasn't even begun to come to grips with all that entails. No, the latest celebrity novel proposal has had to have extensive work; why can't agents just understand that their job is to obtain TG money so he can just write the damn book. Why all the fuss over plots details, structure, advance endorsements and on and on. Please, the book will get written expeditiously, and it will be good. Just get TG the money! And don't get TG started on whatever the foolish publisher is going to want before they fork over the cash. As if they knew anything anyway.

The there was the rush review on the new Tom Clancy book. What a behemoth. 950 pages. When TG started this job, lo those many years ago, he thought that he would soon acquire a newfound ability to speed read, but it hasn't happened. Barring that, he figured that in some dire circumstances he'd just cheat and skip along, pausing to dip into a page or two every once in awhile just to keep track of things, but that hasn't worked out either. TG has found, much to his annoyance, that he's unable to cheat on the reading. First of all, there's his eagle-eyed editor who often has queries about various plot points, and if that isn't bad enough TG has found that rattling around in the further reaches of his fervid brain is a set of moral standards that don't allow cheating, standards that he wasn't even aware of before he became a paid member of that elite crew, Big Time Book Reviewers. So, no luck, it's just read every damn page, which, Thank the Book Gods, wasn't really a chore because the Clancy was good, just long. More on the actual book later. And the length of manuscripts and books is a good topic for another day. TG's agent has two of his unpublished novels -- and he's had them for quite some time now -- one is really really long and one is really short, but both of them remain unsold. Come on, Bob, get with it! Sell at least one of them! Does TG have to do everything?

Now that we have that out of the way... the last several entries here have dealt with the problems of coming up with an idea worth building an entire novel around. Those of you who aren't up to speed, jump back and read a couple of the earlier blogs... There. All caught up? Good. Note that the British crime writer Leigh Russell commented on the last blog – thanks, Leigh – saying “My plots always seem to start with a body... and everything spins out from there.” TG went to her excellent blog and found she had addressed the point of coming up with good ideas herself. Leigh was recently interviewed by TG's pal Syd on his fabulous Scene of the Crime Blog, and in a private note to TG, which proves that he wasn't just trying to suck up to a writer, Syd said that Leigh's books were damn good. TG looks forward to the day that he can actually pick up a book that isn't a thriller and just read for pleasure. When that day comes, Leigh Russell's books will be at the top of the heap. Anyway, here's what Leigh had to say...

"Readers often ask how I think up plots for my crime novels and the answer is simple; I start with a ‘What if...?’ question, imagining a worst case scenario. Let me give you an example. Let’s say you have a job in an office. One evening you are the last person to leave. Going to bed you remember that you left your mobile phone on your desk at work, so you go in early next morning to arrive before any of your colleagues. Entering the office you discover a dead woman sprawled on the floor. Only a few people have keys to your office, and no one admits to knowing the murder victim. This raises a number of questions. Who is the unknown victim? Why was she killed? You were last out at the end of the day and first in next morning - does suspicion fall on you? How do the police find the killer? If you write answers to the many questions raised by the body in the office, a basic crime thriller will virtually write itself. Of course it’s not that simple."

Not that simple, indeed. TG would contend that in some way all novels begin with the question What If? And that question comes up again and again as one writes, until one doesn't even notice it any more, it just becomes the engine that pushes the plot forward. Leigh's What If always begins with a dead body and she works her way forward, and backward, from there until she's filled in the why and who. This is the way to build a mystery novel, and it differs from a thriller. For thriller writers, the What If plotting begins with a situation, rather than a body. There will be bodies involved, of course, but the What If usually is the primary entry point: What If Terrorists steal an atom bomb and float it down the Potomac River in a boat just as the president is being sworn in; What If the head of the CIA is a sleeper mole who has been groomed as a spy since birth? You get the point.

And since it's Christmas, TG is going to leave all you writers out there who are searching for a cool plot, character or situation, with a news report that came out this week. But hurry, I guarantee that someone's already got the first chapter written.

And I guess the discussion of the new Tom Clancy will have to wait.

Click here for Thriller Guys' excellent plot idea.

Three Excellent Plots

2010-11-29T08:00:00.000-08:00

So, as promised, here are three plots that TG liked in the last year. This doesn't mean the resulting books were necessarily that fabulous, just that the plots had a lot of promise. Please don't write TG that you went out and bought the books and were disappointed. It's plots were talking about here, people, not execution.

Just to recap. For those of you who have not read the previous two entries (shame!) they focused on Clive Cussler and son and their process of coming up with mind-stretching plots. TG's method of plotting usually consists of discovering an interesting historical event and then writing fiction around that event. (See his alter ego's Pastmaster, time travel series starring historian Alex Balfour.) The Cussler's approach seems to come up with several historical events and then find ways to connect them. They certainly didn't invent this method (though on giving it two seconds of thought, TG wonders if Cussler wasn't right there on the cutting edge of this tactic, at least as it applies to thrillers?) But the connection system, even though it can produce excellent results, seems forced to TG at times. As if those employing it are trying not to just find interesting events that can lead to a connection, but to find two events that are so radically different from each other that to connect them shows brilliance on the part of the writers. Which is not the same as brilliance on the page. And now, TG fears he has strayed too far into what his wife, in commenting on these pages, calls “inside baseball.”

And so, without further ado, three interesting plot ideas:

Venom, by Joan Brady. A new species of honey bee produces a venom that turns out to lead to a serum that cures radioactive poisoning. Bad guys are testing it on unsuspecting residents near Chernobyl. This is a sequel to Brady's Bleedout. Brady can write well, very well, but regular thriller readers used to non-stop action will find it kind of slow. But the whole deal with the bees is cool. Who could have thought of such a thing?

The Capitol Game, Brian Haig. A company discovers a polymer that when painted on military vehicles cloaks them with an invisible barrier that is impenetrable to enemy firepower. A kind of Armor in a Can. The book is not about the polymer, but the predatory companies who seek to own the process and market it. It's a financial thriller, and a damn good one, but TG would have gone with the implications of the polymer under combat conditions. In the hands of one of the genre's military practitioners who specialize in military action, this could have led to terrific battle scenes. Haig, son of former US Secretary of State Alexander Haig, usually concentrates on his wisecracking series hero, JAG lawyer Sean Drummond, and his adventures as a military lawyer. Here he seems to be setting up a new series.

The Cobra, Frederick Forsyth. The U.S. president, disgusted by the horrors wrought by illegal drug trafficking, decides to bring the entire weight and resources of the federal government to bear against the international cocaine trade. The first, and most crucial step, is to declare drug traders and their cartels to be terrorists, subjecting them to new and extensive legal procedures that the government can employ under those conditions. Then he brings in ex-CIA director Paul Devereaux to head the team that will implement the effort. Devereaux, known as The Cobra from his operations days, is old school – smart, ruthless, unrelenting, and bestowed by the president with free rein to call in any arm of the government to support the effort to crush the cartels and their leaders. Forsyth lays out how it would all work, and readers will follow eagerly along, always thinking, yes, why the hell don't they do this in real life? Sadly, Forsyth supplies a convincing answer to that question as well. Many readers might be under the impression Forsyth was dead. After all he's the guy who wrote The Day of the Jackal, which pretty much invented the modern thriller, but no, thankfully, he's still alive and working at the top of his game

There you go. See, it is possible to come up with a new idea. Get to work.

More on Cussler and Killer Plots

2010-11-21T16:46:00.000-08:00

Over at the excellent mystery and writing blog Murderati, Pari Noskin Taichert interviews Dirk Cussler who talks about how he got into writing, how he works with his father and what he thinks makes a good thriller. TG recommends heading over there for a read not only of this interview, but of the blog in general.

The Cussler's latest book is Crescent Dawn. TG reviewed this book and was decidedly underwhelemed. While TG likes much of Clive's work -- the man certainly deserves the Thriller Academy Award for Lifetime Achievement – but Crescent Dawn, while initially intriguing, quickly descends into an undistinguished compilation of subplots and ideas that have been around for years in one form or another, i.e. the Church of England attempting to hide details of the life of Christ; (at least it wasn't the Vatican) ships laden with explosives headed toward familiar targets; an attack on the Dome of the Rock in Jerusalem (snore) and others. One has to wonder if the Cusslers have fallen into the trap that snares so many thriller writers today -- not keeping up with what other writers in the genre are doing. But realistically, TG has to ask if a writer was as successful as these two guys, father and son, are, would you be spending your time reading the work of others? Especially if your readers didn't seem to care? If it were TG, he would be driving fast cars, diving the seas, drinking, eating at fabulous restaurants, buying his wife expensive baubles and generally living the good life someplace warm. Which is probably what the Cussler's do with their well-earned cash. But that's the subject of another blog.

When asked about Crescent Dawn, Dirk describes it thusly on Murderati:

“ As with most of the Pitt books, a historical element provided inspiration for the story. In this case, there were actually two events. I became interested in the loss of the H.M.S. Hampshire, a British cruiser that sank under mysterious circumstances in World War I, while transporting Lord Kitchener to a secret meeting with the Russian Czar. Dozens of rumors and theories abounded after the sinking, including speculation that the ship was sunk by the IRA or even the British government, rather than a suspected German U-boat. It all seemed to me like good fodder for a fictional sub-plot. At the same time, Clive was intrigued by Helena, the mother of the Roman Emperor Constantine, who traveled to Jerusalem in 327 A.D. to search for relics of Christianity. The trick was then to tie the two events into a contemporary-staged thriller.”

TG finds several points of interest here. The loss of the H.M.S. Hampshire with Kitchener aboard is an interesting plot device, one which has been explored before but still remains a fresh subject for thriller writers. Then there's his father's interest in early roman relics of Christianity. These relics (paintings of Jesus, the writings of Jesus, etc.) are a mainstay of religious conspiracy thrillers and are becoming pretty shopworn, which is one of the reasons TG found the book unoriginal, which is not a word one often uses in the same paragraph with Clive Cussler. What is instructive here is the way the two men took two wildly dissimilar topics and set about finding a way to bring them together. TG will now define this as the Seven Degrees of Separation for Developing Plots. The linking of two disparate plot ideas in the same way it is possible to connect Kevin Bacon with any other human in the world. All one needs to do this is to sit down with a pal, set a bottle of booze on the table along with two shot glasses and get to work. Don't forget pen and paper to take notes; trust TG, you're going to need them.

Taichert asked several other questions that are of interest to TG and the readers of this blog:

What's the division of labor? “ Most of our joint work is at the front end. We'll meet together regularly over the course of several weeks to kick around plot ideas and then hash out an outline. Once that is set, then I'll go off and do the bulk of the actual writing, with my father editing along the way. I would say the challenges of working together are few, beyond the normal struggles of writing a book. It's a real pleasure picking the brains of my father, however, as his creativity seems to have no bounds.

What do you think are the essential elements of good storytelling? “ I might say that the three C's of Character, Conflict, and Compulsion are at the heart of any good story. Writing action adventure tales, we don't necessarily delve too deeply into the psyche of the characters, but it's always important that the reader can empathize with one or more of the main figures. Some measure of action is required, typically driven by a conflict or odyssey of some sort that leads the characters forward, either physically or mentally. And it all must be done in a compelling manner that keeps the reader turning the pages, be it by mood, dialogue, style elements, or the conflict or action itself.”

Add Dirk's Three C's to TG's Four B's and you've got the basic formulae for developing a winning thriller. Now just make sure you're reading what others are writing so you don't bore TG with shopworn retreads. Oops, TG has run out of space once again.

Next: Those three new interesting plots that TG keeps promising.

Old Plots, New Plots

2010-11-17T06:37:00.000-08:00

This turned out to be a long entry so Thriller Guy is going to break it up into two. He'll be putting the other half up in a few days.

TG has spoken many times about the difficulties in coming up with great plot ideas. Oh, how many times have the Little Ones gathered at his knee and pleaded, (pled?) “Oh, TG, tell us your secret, how can we too come up with killer plot ideas?” Constant readers of TG's thoughts know that he is a big fan of Gin when it comes this question, and he ascribes to the Four Bs of Creative Cognition – that's Bed, Bath, Beach and Bus – which are great places for ideas to suddenly spring into one's head. Don't forget to keep that notebook somewhere close so when brilliance strikes in the middle of the night you can get up and write your brainstorms down. If any of you pros out there would like to share your secrets vis-a-vis plot concoction, send them in and Thriller Guy will post them for the edification of us all.

TG reads a ton of books, and most of them are running through the same old plots, mash-ups and ripoffs. As he pointed out in last week's entry, he is heartily sick of Da Vinci Code imitators and all their secret codes and other paraphernalia. TG understands that there is a solid core of readers who love this sub genre and he is happy to point them to the best (and warn them away from the worst) of this material, because that's TG's job, but personally, he's mighty tired of these books. Most of the military adventure genre are still cranking out copies of Tom Clancy and Larry Bond, although the spy books are being refreshed by a new bunch of British writers who are using terrific writing to reestablish themselves as the heirs to not only le Carre (though le Carre is still writing beautifully) but all the other classic espionage guys.

But instead of continuing to rail against the paucity of today's plots, TG is going to reprise an old plot and give you some new ones he likes over the last year's reading.

Clive Cussler used to be the master of the over-the-top, bizarro plot. He's still cranking them out (plots, that is) but back in the day when he was probably still actually writing his own books he really stretched the limits of credulity, even when most readers are/were happy to suspend their disbelief. Take for example, the plot of Cussler's 1992 Sahara. Click here if you really want a long Wikipedia dissection of this complicated plot, but let TG summarize...

It's 1865 and the Confederate ship CSS Texas takes on a special prisoner and fights her way out through a Union blockade. Flash forward to 1931 when Kitty Mannock is flying over the Sahara in an attempt to set a new aviation record. She crashes into the dessert and records in her diary finding an “odd ship in the sand.” Enter Cussler hero Dirk Pitt (still going strong today) who is in Egypt searching for the source of a strange pollutant that is causing an overgrowth of red tide that, dare we say it, threatens the existence of the world. Much mayhem ensues as Dirk is taken captive, escapes, taken captive again, escapes again, builds a wind powered sand yacht out of pieces of Mannock's airplane, then...

OK, TG is too tired to go on. Suffice it to say that it turns out that Abraham Lincoln is the prisoner on the CSS Texas and he and the ship itself have ended up in the desert. That guy who got shot in Ford's Theatre? That was an actor who was hired by Edwin M. Stanton.

The point is, it's one hell of a plot. It must taken a serious amount of gin to come up with it. Crazy? Lincoln captured by the south and the ship carrying him away ends up in the Sahara desert? Totally whacky. But Cussler pulls it off because he's not afraid to plunge ahead in the face of believability through sheer balls and a story that refuses to slow down. Could you pull off like this today? Hard to say. Maybe. TG is happy to read what you come up with.

Next up: More about Cussler and his son and co-writer Dirk Cussler (yes, he named his kid after his series hero) and three new plots TG thinks are pretty cool.

Comments and Conundrums

2010-11-09T15:03:00.000-08:00

OK, Thriller Guy needs to discuss some of the comments that have come in over the last few entries since he can't convince most readers to actually click on the comments button. TG made the point in the last entry that he is getting mighty sick of the same old plots, characters -- both heroic and evil – situations, geographic venues and motivations, again, both heroic and evil. Syd, from over at Scene of the Crime, comments “Problem here is lack of contact with your product area; if readers don't read a lot, they don't know they're being a copycat.” My point exactly, Syd, except I think you meant to write "writers" rather than "readers." I find this to be particularly true of our European cousins across the pond who produce thrillers that are pale imitations of American books that came out years before theirs. TG always advises that anyone who writes thrillers should read deeply in the genre if they are not intimately familiar with those who have gone before. The International Thriller Writers have a good book titled Thrillers: 100 Must Reads that anyone wanting to work the genre should study, and yes, they should read all 100 thrillers recommended therein. Patrick Anderson, the Thriller reviewer for the Washington Post has an excellent book, The Triumph of the Thriller: How Cops, Crooks and Cannibals Captured Popular Fiction that gives a solid history of the backlist with many examples that should be read. It would seem that anyone with a modicum of intelligence would understand that this sort of research would be just as important as making sure you get the caliber of the weapon correct, but TG has to say that this is, sadly, not the case. And, in fact, he's going to go out on a limb here (one of his favorite places to be) and say that it seems like these European writers seem to take a particular satisfaction in being uninformed. That they somehow feel as if they are so good they don't need to bother with what the provincials have done. Not the British writers, but those on the continent. So keep it up, fellows, and you'll keep on receiving those reviews from TG that point out your utter lack of originality.

On this same topic, Anonymous comments on this entry as well: “The bigger question is: why do publishers pay authors to write this stuff? We know that good writing seems to pass the publishers by – is the “sameness” and “familiarity” you describe required to sell a book these days? Are there any publishers reading your blog who'd care to comment?” Anyone who's been in this business very long quickly notes that most publishers are terrified to try something new and vastly prefer to crank out copies of a winning formula. The Day of the Jackal, The Silence of the Lambs and The Da Vinci Code are just three examples of books that spawned sub genres that are still selling strong today. Publishers and movie folk still like to hear their pitches refer to these sorts of progenitors, as in...”You're going to love this C.J. the show's a cross between The Da Vinci Code and Glee.” They love it because the examples are known even to them as popular hits that have made money. And making money is what they're all about. So, Anonymous, to answer your question, yes, familiarity can be a big factor in selling a book these days. Always remember that most publishers are craven, greedy corporate whores who are interested only in their bottom line. Not all of them, but most of the big ones. Though even in the big ones TG has worked with many decent, courageous editors and others who struggle against the machine to put out good, original books. Lucky is the hard-working writer who has found his or her way to one of these angels. But for the most part, they are no longer interested in a quality product, only how much money they can make. And you know what? They're probably right. TG has read many a book that is so bad that he would be ashamed to have his name anywhere near it, and these same books shoot to the top of the bestseller lists. Why? Thats a subject for another blog.

Any of you publishing professionals out there who want to take TG up on this? We'd love to hear your side.

Time for one more comment: Joel writes: “You ever think, perhaps, that you are reading too much of other people's crap and it's wreaking havoc with your own creative process?” Curiously, Joel, I don't think that is the case. The problem is that I read so much of other people's crap it discourages me to the point of giving it all up. But we've already been through that, haven't we?

Pink Mist and Burritos

2010-11-04T08:27:00.000-07:00

In Thriller Guy's last entry he asked for readers to supply some alternative to the tired cliché used to describe someone who has just been head shot: “His head disappeared into a pink mist.” How about this from a novel TG recently reviewed: “She saw his head explode like a burrito in a microwave.” A little over the top, and probably not true, but TG kinda likes it. Later on in the same book the author gives us: “His head exploded as if touched by the hand of God.” Nice. Unfortunately, the rest of the book was just rehashed thriller tropes. TG hates to say it, but he is really getting sick of reading novels that are just more the same: head shots, females in peril, the hero's family is always killed so he first quits the life, retires to a shack on the beach and lets his beard grow until he is coaxed back into service to avenge his loved ones and save America. The villains are always the same -- Arab terrorists attempting to restore the Caliphate, their families (brother, mother, father) have been killed years earlier by the Crusaders; evil industrialists who feel that America is headed down the wrong path and can only be saved by their ultra-conservative agenda, suitcase nukes (in reality the half life in these Russian bombs has run out and they are now longer workable), various bio weapons, suicide bombers, blah blah blah blah. It makes TG tired to even write such a list, which could go on and on.

Yes, it's tough coming up with an original plot. TG has faced this problem himself and recommends to those flailing about for an original premiss to just say no to writing anything until you come up with something new. If your book never gets written, then that's a plus; one more unoriginal thriller that TG doesn't have to slog through. One more bad review that TG doesn't have to write. Anyone who thinks that reviewers like to write bad reviews, that it's “fun” are sadly mistaken. Bad books are difficult to read, the pages seem endless, and saying they are bad in print always feels as if one were trampling on some writer's dreams and children. And then there is the feeling one experiences when one has, sadly, tried to warn readers away from a book only to see it rocket to the top of the best seller list. This is not in any way a new phenomena – bad books selling millions of copies – but it doesn't ever get easier to take by those who enjoy well-written books and who are paid to help others of like mind find these books and warn them away from the stinkers.

Which is why TG always tries to simply describe a book so that those who like a particular sort of book can be alerted to when one comes along. But it is a reviewer's duty, usually in the first line or two, to say whether a writer has succeeded or failed. TG tries to be helpful with his criticism; TG tries to not rub it in. But... A recent book under review featured a villain who at one point is trying to get a woman to tell him something. He tortures her for awhile. When that doesn't work (the woman doesn't know anything to tell) he pokes out the eyes of the woman's eleven year old daughter while the woman watches. Really, does anyone really need to read this sort of thing? Does this sort of heinous behavior make a reader say to himself, gee, that's really cool, this man is really bad. I love this book. But does TG's personal repugnance at this sort of overkill (pun intended) allow him to let these feelings color his review? No, it does not, but fortunately those authors who go to those lengths almost always fail in many other ways, thus garnering a poor review in any case. Yes, TG knows he has railed about this before, but it never seems to go away. Thoughts?

This weeks Gunfire Hall of Shame: “The hailstorm of automatic weapon fire that slammed into his body sent him dancing off the floor like a marionette.”

TG Returns

2010-10-22T06:34:00.000-07:00

Thriller Guy is back in harness after his week at the beach with the Squatting Toad, his writer's group. He found, once again, that he's not very good at introspection: sitting on the beach, gazing out at the endless waves, pondering his future. Boring. So TG would like to thank all the commenters who wrote to tell him to just shut his cake hole, quit whining and get back to work. Point well taken. TG promises no more of this sort of self indulgence.

So, the first order of business is to warn thriller writers that if they continue to use the cliché, “Time to get out of Dodge” he will be forced to eviscerate their puny novels with such lashing invective that the howls of pain and rending of garments will be heard throughout the length and breadth of the land. The last two thrillers TG read contained that hoary old line, as have many, many others of the the last several years. Ditto: “His/her head erupted in a burst of pink mist.” Can we not come up with another way to say this? TG doesn't believe it anyway; any readers out there ever witness such a phenomena when someone is hit in the head by a bullet? And while TG's at it, he is heartily sick of any variation of the old, “If I tell you I'll have to kill you” joke, even when uttered sarcastically. Enough.

Which brings TG to the subject of wisecracking heroes in general, and those who are not funny in particular. Some authors, you can tell when reading their books, find their own attempts at this sort of banter absolutely hilarious. The rugged hero jests back and forth with his underling buddy, accusing each other of various sorts of masculine deficiencies, commenting on a woman's obvious attributes, cracking wise under fire. The results are often painfully unfunny. TG is, and he knows this is difficult to believe, unable to come up with a fix for this problem. Obviously, the writer's friends, family and editors are all either moronic enough to think that the snappy repartee is actually funny, or afraid to offend his/her writerly feelings by suggesting they either come up with better material or just cut out the humor altogether. Which is what TG suggests; if you don't really have solid evidence that you are in fact actually funny, just resist the urge to josh and stick to coming up with thrills.

The same can be said with authors intent on clever dialogue between a hero and his love interest. Before accusing TG of rampant sexism for use of the word “his,” be advised that thrillers featuring a female hero with a male in the buddy/love interest role are virtually non-existent. TG invites any suggestions where this is the scenario. An exception to this rule is last September's Spartan Gold by Clive Cussler and Grant Blackwood. This new series features Sam and Remi Fargo who are treasure hunters who stumble upon a WWII Nazi mini-sub which leads them, eventually, to two solid gold Persian columns previously discovered by Napoleon and hidden in the Alps in 1800. The plot is the usual Cussler mind-bending stretch, but Blackwood (TG is guessing here, but after reading a zillion Cussler books he doesn't think Mr. C. is supplying much more than an outline or even just a story idea these days) is the pen behind the witty dialogue between this married couple. Both Sam and Remi are pretty much equal and both are cool under fire and dash into various frays side by side. TG is looking forward to the next adventure featuring this likable duo.

So there you have it. TG hopes one and all will forget his last dip into the well of self pity as an aberration brought on by the loss of a giant book contract that would have changed his life forever. And someday TG is going to tell that story; it's a real doozy.

Could This Be the End of TG?

2010-10-04T12:42:00.000-07:00

TG just finished a military thriller/mystery that he liked quite a bit. He can't share much about it until the review runs, but it was by an old pro who also writes a lot of non-fiction. The man has a nice style. Here's how one of the chapters begins. (A group of Army men and women are on the beach at night in Mexico. Is there any scenario more fraught with the possibility of danger?)

“Our fire had gone out. A crescent moon barely shown, but starlight paled the beach. The sea rasped. You could feel the hot weather coming by the lingering warmth in the sand. Jerry passed the bottle of tequila.”

The coming hot weather, that bottle of Tequila...you just know that something bad is going to happen. And it does.

Next week TG is headed out to his annual Beach Week with his fellow members of the Squatting Toad Writers Group, who have been mentioned in these pages before. It will surely be the usual bacchanal: writing, arguing, drinking, staggering along the beach at night (cue the bottle of Tequila) watching an entire season of Dexter over six days. But it is also a time of reflection, a time when the aging TG sits on the porch, smokes a few cigars and thinks over his years in the publishing business and ponders that eternal question: “When the hell is it ever going to pay off?” It hasn't so far.

Sure, TG's life sounds glamorous: reading free books day after day; penning quick, biting reviews that can break or make a fellow writer's career; interviewing famous thriller masters -- oh how we laugh and joke -- drinking heavily to ensure a steady flow of ideas (see earlier blog entry on the place of alcohol in the profession); astounding Mrs. Thriller Guy with his clever observations and profundities. And being paid, albeit poorly, for all of the above fun. Yes, it's a heady existence. But, and TG hates to say this, it's beginning to pall.

Truth be told, the publishing business has been in, as TG has mentioned before, a terrible slump. Two of TG's novels, a long one and a short one, remain unsold even though his tireless agent continues to send them out. (Don't forget, Harry Potter was rejected 12 times before some publisher had the glimmer of intelligence it took to take it on.) And recently TG lost a celebrity ghost writing deal that fell apart at the end because of perfidy on the part of the celebrity, unseemly behavior by a pair of agents, words shouted in anger where TG was pronounced, “Not only a terrible writer, but The Worst Writer in the World!” Surely that can't be correct, can it? And the amount of money that eventually went to some other writer (good luck to you, pal, whoever you are) was simply staggering. Yes, TG has had many such deals such as this collapse under him before. But this one was different, somehow; it had the ring of finality. The sound. as one of my writer friends once put it, of the slap of a shovel on the earth of a newly dug grave. See, now TG is so upset he's gone and mixed his metaphors.

SO TG is going to think about it. Maybe he's spent enough time in this scribbling life. Maybe it's time to wash the stench of ink stained words from his arthritic hands. (God, this man can Really Write.) Let's try out the words to see how they might sound.

I quit.

TG will let you know what he decides.

Another Book TG Won't be Reading Anytime Soon

2010-09-26T13:55:00.000-07:00

Followers of the Thriller Guy have heard reference to TG's writers group, Squatting Toad, six published mystery writers who have been meeting for Chinese once a month for the last fifteen years or so. TG couldn't make last Friday's meeting because he had to wait for the repairman to come and fix his broken AC unit (you probably thought TG had staff to handle these sort of problems; sadly, no) and by doing so he missed meeting a Literary Great. This report in from one of the members:

“We had been drinking for some time when I noticed two men and a woman come into the bar and sit down. I leaned over to one of our group and said in what I thought was a whisper, but I'd had a few drinks so it probably wasn't, 'Hey, that guy who just came in looks just like Jonathan Franzen. Remember when Oprah picked his book for her book club and he bad-mouthed her and she dumped the book. Ha, ha.' I then sensed movement on my right, and I looked up and the guy standing there said, 'Hello, I'm Jonathan Franzen and that's not the way it happened.'”

Franzen went on to explain his version of events, nicely, then went back to his table.

TG was mighty glad he wasn't there. While it would have been nice to meet America's Greatest Living Writer, according to several recent reviews of his new book, Freedom, but the fact is, TG has been unable to read any of Franzen's work without falling asleep, in particular his last novel, also greatly acclaimed, The Corrections. Every decade or so a new master of literary fiction is anointed (TG calls to mind Harold Brodkey in the early nineties) and the Reading Public rushes out willy-nilly to buy their book and proclaim themselves devotees, even though most of them never actually read the book. These are the same people who display tomes by Stephan Hawking on their coffee tables but never consume much more than a single page.

So TG wonders if this “fault,” his inability to read literary blockbusters, is because he has become stupid in his later years, that perhaps his brain has grown slack and lazy after reading hundreds of thrillers rather than “quality” material? Are thrillers somehow of less quality than literary blockbusters? Certainly many of them surely are. TG figures that of all the books he reads in a year, 10% are terrific, 20% are terrible and the other 70% run the gamut from barely acceptable to pretty damn good. Does TG now need the stimulus of action and adventure to keep him mentally engaged, where more subtle writing is too soporific to keep him turning the pages. Perhaps.

Ah, to hell with it. Even writing about it is getting boring. TG will leave you with Franzen's 10 rules for writing fiction. These appeared in an article in The Guardian in February of this year. Some of these rules TG agrees with, some he doesn't, and some he doesn't even understand. Maybe all these thrillers really are making him stupid.

1. The reader is a friend, not an adversary, not a spectator.

2. Fiction that isn't an author's personal adventure into the frightening or the unknown isn't worth writing for anything but money.

3. Never use the word "then" as a conjunction – we have "and" for this purpose. Substituting "then" is the lazy or tone-deaf writer's non-solution to the problem of too many "ands" on the page.

4. Write in the third person unless a really distinctive first-person voice offers itself irresistibly.

5. When information becomes free and universally accessible, voluminous research for a novel is devalued along with it.

6. The most purely autobiographical fiction requires pure invention. Nobody ever wrote a more autobiographical story than The Metamorphosis.

7. You see more sitting still than chasing after.

8. It's doubtful that anyone with an internet connection at his workplace is writing good fiction (a TIME magazine cover story detailed how Franzen physically disables the Net portal on his writing laptop).

9. Interesting verbs are seldom very interesting.

10. You have to love before you can be relentless.

How Many Times Does TG Have to Tell You?

2010-09-22T12:53:00.000-07:00

Thriller Guy thought that by now several things would have become obvious: one, any thriller writer with the sense God gave a goose would have by now become a strict follower of this blog; two, all thriller writers would have received the word: Stop knocking people down with bullets! Now you've done it, you've made TG use a damn exclamation point. You're lucky he didn't resort to ALL CAPS.

TG is continuing his practice of noting these errors and, for the time being, no names will be mentioned. But be warned, you've got about another six months for the word to spread, after that when TG “outs” you for this foolishness he's gonna start naming names. This is akin to having your moniker published in the newspaper for frequenting prostitutes, or, as Lincoln supposedly told the story, when the man who had been tarred and feathered and ridden out of town on a rail was asked how he liked it, said, “If it were not for the honor of the thing, he would much rather have walked.”

This week's honoree of shame...

“The report of the pistol was little more than a cough, but McLeod's body was flung backward by the impact of the shot. His chair toppled over and he crashed to the floor, limbs splayed, his mouth opening and closing, his eyelids flickering.”

Pretty exciting, but wrong, wrong, wrong. For those of you who are new to these pages or those of you who can't remember why you're not supposed to knock people down with bullets, here's the original entry on the subject.

Now let's move on to more pleasant subjects: What TG has been reading that's good. But wait, first another complaint: in the last five books TG has read and reviewed, the following words were found in the titles: Secret, Templar, (twice) Code, and Ark. In fact, the last two novels TG read were both about a couple who, over the course of several books, seeks to find the lost Ark of the Covenant and in the process stumbles upon a secret that will Change the World as We Know It. Interestingly, one of these books was good and one was terrible; why this is so will be the topic of a future entry. Suffice it to say, TG is getting tired of these DaVinci Code knock-offs though he supposes that there are still plenty of readers out there who can't get enough of the religious artifact thriller. These books often enough make the bestseller lists.

The hard part is winnowing out the ones that are good and add something original to the overall concept. One such recent novel is Search, by Judith and Garfield Reeves Stevens. Their take on the archeological quest format includes alien visitors seen as Gods by early man and an entirely new species that cross breeds with humans. Modern day humans are tasked with the keeping of the Secrets of these early visitor/ancestors and their vicissitudes in doing so makes for a compelling read. Those of you who aren't still entranced with these sorts of thrillers should probably not bother, (TG is weary of hearing from people who take all of his recommendations to heart and end up disliking his suggestions) but aficionados who still can't get enough of the genre, this is a good one.

Old veteran thriller writer Frederick Forsyth has a new book out, The Cobra, and TG gives it his stamp of approval. All newbie thriller writers are given one piece of advice first thing, read Day of the Jackal, by Forsyth. The book was published 40 years ago and was one of the first, if not the first, to use journalistic methods in writing fiction. Forsyth was a journalist and he meticulously follows The Jackal as he researches his target -- General DeGaul -- and assembles his sniper kit and makes his way to the killing ground to set up his attack. The book is still a good read, and while many, many others have followed in Forsyth's footsteps one still can do far worse than structuring one's thriller on Forsyth's template.

In Forsyth's new book, The Cobra, an American President who sounds a lot like Obama decides that he will bring all the resources of the U.S. to bear on eradicating international drug trafficking. He does this by first declaring drug traders and their cartels to be terrorists, which allows him to use all new and extensive legal procedures to destroy them. He brings in retired ex-CIA director Paul Devereaux to head up the team that will implement the effort. Devereaux, known as The Cobra from his CIA days, is old school, smart, ruthless and unrelenting in using his widespread powers within every arm of the government. Forsyth meticulously lays out the way this would work in the real world, and gleefully goes about putting the operation into motion with devastating, for the drug traffickers, results. Then he shows why this wouldn't work in today's world, and it's a rare reader who won't wish that it weren't so. TG's only reservation is that Forsyth is a strict conservative and occasionally his political leanings come through a bit on the soap box level and mar the even flow of the action. While it is true that no president will ever give any individual the powers to take on such a task, most readers will feel, as did TG, that wouldn't it be nice if our politicians would some day stand up and have the balls to actually kick some bad guy ass? Don't look for it happening any time soon. If ever.

Drowning in Books and The Writing Life

2010-09-12T10:57:00.000-07:00

Thriller Guy has too many books. They are piled high around what the family laughingly calls his office, threatening to topple over and crush him as he wends his way between stacks to get to his chair and computer. Like one of those obsessive recluse collectors they unearth every once in awhile in an old Manhattan brownstone, entombed in a pile of old newspapers. The photo above is a pile of approximately 100 Advance Reader Copies (ARCs) of recent thrillers that have already been reviewed. There are many such piles around the room, and many more reference books used in the creation of TGs novels. What, oh what, is to be done with all of these books?

In the old days, book reviewers considered review copies to be part of their pay. Back then you received an actual copy of the book you were reviewing, which you could resell to a used bookstore. You weren't supposed to do it, but what were the publishers going to do? Hunt you down and have you thrown in book reviewer jail? In the age of the Internet it's possible sell them on ebay and many do, though TG frowns on such behavior. Used bookstores won't buy ARCs because they aren't supposed to be resold.

Several years ago TG's wife (Mrs. TG) had a friend at work who sent boxes of books to her son, a soldier in Iraq and TG gave the ARCs to her, but the Army changed its policy and no longer allows this because of security concerns (TG can't figure that one out). You are supposed to do it through organizations. A search of the Web turned up only one such place, and it's religious in nature and had some weird conditions that TG was loath to agree to. So that route seems to be out.

Recently he has taken to putting boxes of them out when the used item donation people come to collect the old clothing that Mrs. TG donates to charity. That works, but somehow it seems disconnected from TG's desire to hand the books over to someone who actually wants to read them. Any suggestions, Thriller Guy readers?

A Room of One's Own

TG gets letters and emails from The Little Ones Who Long to Write, plaintive missives that say, If only I had a room to write in, a room to myself, if I had the right surroundings I could pen a book that would make publishers, readers and critics like TG weep at the beauty of my words. TG reads these wistful notes and stops to look around the office described above, the one with the teetering piles of books. This “office” is in a basement with no windows, a room only slightly removed from a bellowing furnace which blasts on and off over the winter months. It is dark, lit by table lamps and some harsh fluorescents. Damp, untidy, cobweb festooned. Piles of paper and more books are strewn around the computer which rests on a desk which is just a door on two-by-four legs. It's a real mess. TG's wife hates it. TG loves it. TG comes down here every morning to work, not host a damn tea party.

A modern fairy tale... Many years ago TG was married to a Very Wealthy Woman (VWW) and lived in a beautiful house in a far western state in a town chock-a-block with other writers, all far more famous than TG. He lived like a modern-day prince. Shortly after moving into this grand abode he decided he would write a book. After all, he was just as smart as the other folks in town who wrote books for a living. Besides, how hard could it be? So he decided to set up a writing room that would fulfill all his fantasies of such a creative haven. The room chosen (one of the half-dozen spare bedrooms) was on the top floor of the manse and looked out through a wall of windows at a breathtaking view of snow-topped mountains. The light streamed in on the beautiful oak work table where a fancy electric typewriter sat, neat stacks of lovely white bond on one side, freshly sharpened pencils, erasers, paperclips and sundry writer's items on the other. Spare, modern bookcases lined the walls. There was a comfy chair where TG could sit and read after a hard day of writing. It was lovely.

So TG sat at his desk every day, a steaming cup of fresh coffee at his side. And sat, and sat, and sat. The mountains were indeed beautiful. The coffee was tasty. And TG's head was as empty as an old tin can. If you dropped a pebble in his cranium you would have heard it echo on and on, finally fading away into silence so overwhelming it was as if the entire world has simply disappeared, vanished, leaving behind... nothing.

So, TG, abandoned this aerie, moved an old beat-up metal desk into the basement right next to a converted coal burning monster of a furnace, surround by walls chipped and peeling. The floor was unadorned concrete and not one damn window anywhere. TG sat down in this damp lair and wrote his first book. Forty years later the Very Wealthy Wife is long gone, as is the castle, and TG is in another basement living happily with Mrs. TG, with more than a solid dozen books written and published and he's glad to be down here.

There's a lesson in there that you don't have to be a genius to figure out. So shut up, you mewling posers, shut up and write your damn book. Write me again when you've finished the first draft.

He's Back...Le Carre...The Eyes Don't Have It

2010-09-04T16:00:00.000-07:00

Thriller Guy has returned from vacation. It was cold there, not winter, but when you get high enough it's pretty much always cold. The hunting was not great, more of a matter of winnowing down the places where something isn't, rather than where it is. Hiking all day, MREs for chow, sleeping on the ground; TG is getting too old for this type of fun. Maybe it's time to hang up the boots – desert, jungle, mountain – all of them.

A bright spot. TG always packs a book. When you're humping eighty pounds already what difference does a paperback make? You're strapped into the webbing of a C130 and you're too old to have an iPod so you need something to break the monotony. In this case it was an advanced reading copy of the new John Le Carre, Our Kind of Traitor. Due out in October.

Of course TG loved the early Le Carre's. What thriller aficionado didn't? Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy; The Spy Who Came in From the Cold; Smiley's People. You know the ones. But the last three or four, TG just couldn't get into them. Very sad. Had the man simply gone off the rails? Or was it TG himself, grown old and too stupid to catch the brilliance? Very troubling.

TG is happy to report that the new book is terrific. Because of the usual contractual rules, the blog review will have to wait until the publication date, but the cast of characters include a Russian mobster, an Oxford history professor who becomes entangles in a spy operation and the usual back stabbing, ass covering, double crossing perfidy in the upper levels of the secret world that Le Carre does so well.

How Not to Write

And now, back to those less brilliant than Le Carre. TG recently read an author who must remain nameless (one of these days TG is going to start naming names and then the shit is really going to hit the fan), a man who has been around for years and retains the affections and dollars of millions of readers. A man who long ago stopped writing his own books, a description that fits at least ten bestselling authors. TG feels that in most cases the fact that these old bull writers quit writing their own books is a good thing because, in general, the co-authors or ghosts who do the actual heavy lifting are actually better writers than the originators of many series. But this is not always the case.

The book in question was not particularly good overall, but one small pice of crappy writing kept grating on TG's nerves. The descriptions of a character's eyes. This is often a sore spot with TG, but in most books he usually lets it slide because from personal writing experience he is aware that, for some reason, it's a tough thing to do. TG solves this problem by seldom writing anything much to do with eyes, and when it seems necessary, keeping it damn simple. But the particular book under discussion had so many references to eyes, and most of them were so bad it began to threaten TG's veritable sanity. Here are a few, garnered from a quick riffle through the pages:

“The drummers eyes lit up.” OK, that one and variations thereof is so common we can let it go.

“Her violet eyes beamed with relief.” Ditto on letting it slide. Not sure how eyes can beam, with relief or any other emotion, but...

“his eyes red with anger.” Not possible, but you get the point.

“His eyes nearly shot flames of anger.” Ugh. The word “nearly” makes it particularly odious.

“...he hissed, a rabid glare to his eyes.” Wha? Terrible. Villains who hiss are another thorn in TG's side.

“She eyed him with daggers...” Laughable. Terrible, terrible. Really, you could cry if so much money wasn't involved.

“He calmly stared back at her with probing eyes that danced above a deep scar on the right side of his jaw.” TG hates eyes that dance. And twinkle.

“Gutzman's eyes inflated like balloons.” This seems to mean the Gutzman was surprised. TG was certainly surprised. The image was almost too horrible to contemplate.

And finally, this beauty. A writer this bad should be taken out, buried to the neck and stoned by an outraged community of writers, made up of those who write by night, toiling honestly away to get something, anything published by an industry that is so crass, so greedy they will publish, seemingly unedited, the work of a hack who is an embarrassment, really, a travesty of what we should consider decent writing, not even good, much less superior, writing, not even workmanlike (a word often applied to TG's writing, and one that he is happy to bear) but writing so bad as to be laughable if it did not stray so close to criminal. A book that will, rest assured, land squarely on the best seller list. Shame, shame, publishers. You that have no shame.

“Only his eyes hinted at a personality quirk, dancing constantly in a pirouette of emotional intensity. They twitched with anger as they focused on the woman.”

Dear God, spare me. Oh, what a picture that paints. It's enough to make TG quit the whole business.

That's two careers TG has lost in the course of one blog entry.

Appel Here...

2010-08-19T10:04:00.000-07:00

Thriller Guy is still on “vacation.” A recent rather cryptic note from him refers to some very inhospitable conditions and indicates that he isn't sure when he will be back in mufti, sitting at his desk reviewing fictional derring do. Our best wishes go to TG and our hopes for a speedy, and more importantly, a safe return.

Continuing my fact-finding research to Custer's Last Stand on a lighter note...

After returning from the battlefield, I had a night to kill before flying out of Bozeman the next day. I decided to drive around, check out Bozeman and have dinner. It being a Sunday night, the town was dead, though I cannot attest to the fact that it might be just as dead on any other night. The only action I saw was a group of teenagers in an empty mall parking lot who appeared to be kicking and beating a victim who was on the ground. A closer drive-by showed that rather than kicking someone to death, they were playing a game of hacky-sack. In my defense, I can only say that the same group of kids in my neighborhood right outside Washington, DC would most assuredly have been up to no good.

There were few places open for dinner, so I was happy to come across a Japanese restaurant whose name I no longer remember. This was in 1987, well before there were sushi joints in every town in America, so I was curious how this restaurant ended up in a small town in the wild west.

I went in and found no other customers, only a young Japanese girl who was working on what appeared to be her homework on one of the empty tables. With a big smile, she escorted me to a table and handed me a menue. Her greeting was a jumble of English that was unintelligible, but decidedly enthusiastic. The menue, and the restaurant itself, proved to be pretty generic Japanese, which was fine with me. I went for the sushi and one of those Japanese iceberg lettuce salads with the strange orange dressing. Dinner was fine, unremarkable except for the older man and woman who while obviously making my dinner kept peeking out of the kitchen at me. The daughter, for that's who I decided she was, hovered close, making sure my every need was met. It was all slightly weird and a bit uncomfortable as no one else ever came in.

After indicating that I was finished, I asked for the bill. At which point the older Japanese couple, dressed in what looked to me to be standard Japanese garb, marched out of the kitchen bearing an unordered dish, which was placed reverently on the table in front of me, with much smiling, bowing and clasping of hands. The older gentleman said, in extremely broken English what sounded to me like, “Special for you, Cowboy.” I couldn't help laughing at this because while Thriller Guy could easily pass for a rough rider, I am more the small, intellectual type who looks totally ridiculous in a cowboy hat. But I appreciated the sentiment.

The dish consisted of two iceberg lettuce leaves, on which were two mysterious globs of something; pale white, sort of jiggly, totally beyond my ken. I decided the lettuce was part of the dish, so I rolled each around the glob and ate it. Not bad. Luke warm, kind of squishy with an odd taste which I could not identify. The three Japanese, formed up in a line at the end of my table, watched my consumption with a sort of bated astonishment. When I finished off the leaf and its mysterious filling, they all clapped their hands, smiling and chattering among themselves and bowing in my direction.

“Very good,” I said. “What exactly was it?” not really expecting to understand.

They looked back and forth for someone to come forth who could actually speak English; when no one appeared, the older lady said, “Tess-teek-a.” I acted like I understod while she repeated it a few more times. I smiled, bowed to everyone, paid my bill and drove back to my motel. Yes, you've probably figured it out by now, but it took me a few minutes to work it out.

Test-teek-a. Test-teek-a. Testicle.

I know that are plenty of people who have had them deep fried or cooked in some manner, but I'll bet there are damn few of you out there who have had them sashimi style. I'm pretty sure I'd never order them on purpose, but the entire experience felt right, like I had held up the honor of America.

Special for you, Cowboy, indeed.

In the Realm of the Dead

2010-08-03T11:13:00.000-07:00

Thriller Guy is heading out of town in a few days so he's turning the writing chores over to his alter ego, Allen Appel. TG will return soon, but now he must go pack his kit with extra socks and his desert cammos, a few high-powered weapons and all the ammo he can squeeze into the side pockets. It's always better to have too much than not enough, and where TG is headed the probability is high that even too much might just not be enough.

Thank you, TG. I'll keep your space warm while you're out of town. Good hunting.

My old pal, mentor and teacher Bhob Stewart sent me a Publishers Weekly review of a new book on General George Armstrong Custer and the Battle of the Little Big Horn: Bloodshed at Little Bighorn: Sitting Bull, Custer, and the Destinies of Nations, by Tim Lehman. Bhob knows of my interest in the subject because he edited, critiqued and generally ripped apart my second novel in the Alex Balfour series, Twice Upon a Time. Bhob, for me, is that invaluable resource every writer should have: a veteran writer and editor who was willing to help out his less experienced brethren, and by help out I mean go over a rough manuscript line by line, offering criticism, corrections and withering sarcasm in the hopes that what has been written can actually be shaped into something readable and good. I don't care how famous, rich and powerful a writer becomes, everyone needs a Bhob to keep the work honest and free of bullshit. Because this help has meant so much to me and all of my books, I try to pass along this service to others in the business. It takes time and effort, but we should all do it for each other because in the world of real publishing, it is, quite frankly, us against them. That's the writers against the editors, publishers, agents, sales people, marketing idiots, bookstores and everyone else who isn't a writer. About the only people who are your real friends are the wonderful copy editors and fact checkers who go over your work and make you look like you know what you're doing.

The Custer book, Twice Upon a Time, is set in America. After the first book in the series, Time After Time, came out and was nicely reviewed in the New York Times the publisher was besieged with requests – well, maybe besieged is too strong a word -- but there were nineteen requests for copies from film producers around the world. Copies were duly sent and all decided against a film project because, and this was a consensus among them, it would be far too expensive to film a reenactment of the Russian Revolution. The message was clear: set the next one in America and choose a smaller war.

So here it was, America, circa 1876. There were cowboys and indians and Custer, Mark Twain, Walt Whitman and many other luminaries of the time. The hero, Alex Balfour, time-traveling historian, would interact with this fascinating world and solve one of the great historical mysteries: just exactly what happened on June 26, 1876, when Custer decided to lead his 700 men into battle against three thousand, well armed Lakota and Cheyenne warriors.

I love doing research. When writing this series I revelled in the sheer pre-Internet days of reading real books, spending days at various libraries and drowning myself in period details. I was drunk on knowledge, which I then distilled into what I hoped was an exciting story with fascinating characters. And since I made a little money on the first book I decided, after all my reading, to go to the site of my climax, what is now called the Little Bighorn Battlefield National Monument.

I flew into Billings, Montana, rented a car and drove 65 miles SE to the park. Along the way I saw fabulous scenery, made my way almost blind through a massive hoard of locusts and began to understand what the true poverty of an indian reservation really looks like.

The Battlefield park stretches along six or seven miles of moderately flat land with a river, the Little Bighorn, running along the southern edge. The land is mostly covered with tall grass and bushes. It is rocky and forlorn. You drive your car along a roadway that has markers where you can stop and read about the actions that took place there. The act of driving, getting out, reading, then driving to the next stop is tedious; I soon tired of it. I had studied the period and the battle for a year and I knew the story. Or at least I thought I did.

I drove to Last Stand Hill, which is just what you would suppose it to be, the site of the 7^th Cavalry's last stand against Crazy Horse, Sitting Bull and their mounted warriors. There were few other people in the park and the only other cars were far away: This is what it looked like:

Those people weren't there at the time. Through the windshield it is dull and uninspiring. I pulled to the side of the road and climbed out of my car. I don't remember the date, but the weather was overcast and cool. I was wearing a jacket. The only sound was a light wind as it ruffled the grass. I am a man of some imagination, but I am not given to over-dramatization in real life. I have few spiritual beliefs, no particular God. I certainly don't believe in ghosts. You can see this coming, can't you?

Down the slight hill to the right of this photo are the graves marking where Custer's men fell around him. I stuffed my hands in my pockets and leaned against the car. And then, I can hear them, the shouting, the shots, a bugle, faintly. But of course it is only the wind. Then I can feel them, somewhere down in the ground where they were buried, where they died. They feel, to me, unsettled. Lives unfinished. Pushing at the earth around them. I find that I cannot walk away from the car, cannot move closer; I cannot tread on them. They need to be left alone. It feels wrong to be here, voyeuristic. I got back in the car and left.

Later I would dream about that moment and hear again the faint call of the bugle. Later still I would write the last paragraphs in the novel.

“That night he held her and slept. And dreamed.

He was running. Easily, effortlessly. The tall prairie grass was a bright green sea washing over small red, yellow and blue flowers that grew tangled within the grass. He could feel the prairie, the grass and the flowers, and the wind that came cold and sharp down out of the surrounding hills, carrying the smell of old snow and tamarack pines.

He was in a valley, surrounded by black hills, beneath a brilliant blue cloudless sky.
It was as if he were all sensation, seeing and feeling with a clarity undimmed by thought. A faraway herd of buffalo moved at the end of the valley. Two antelope, white tails held high, leapt from a stand of high grass on his right, leapt and fled at his approach.

In the distance a troop of men on horseback rode up a grassy hill, away from him, and he ran after them and heard the faint call of a bugle, drawing the men away, drawing him toward them. There was a great freedom in all of it, and he was as much a part of it as the grass and hills and the sky and the animals, and they were a part of him. The clear clean wind poured in, filling him and he was giddy with the joy of it.

This time it was a dream, he was sure of it. Dreams were flowers and deer and buffalo. The past was heat and dust and grasshoppers.

This time it was a dream.

This time.”

Bhob Stewart's excellent blog about the comic's industry and much more can be found here.

Send me a true life story where you too felt the presence of the dead and I'll send one of you a signed copy of Time After Time.

Stupid, Like a Publisher & The Vagaries of Fate

2010-07-25T08:49:00.000-07:00

The International Thriller Writers organization recently released their prizewinners at this year's Thrillerfest. They are:

Best Hard Cover Novel:

THE NEIGHBOR, Lisa Gardner

Best Paperback Original Novel:

THE COLDEST MILE, Tom Piccirilli

Best First Novel:

RUNNING FROM THE DEVIL, Jamie Freveletti

Best Short Story:

A STAB IN THE HEART, Twist Phelan

Also receiving special recognition during the ThrillerFest V Awards Banquet:

Ken Follett, ThrillerMaster

in recognition of his legendary career and outstanding contributions to the thriller genre.

Mark Bowden, True Thriller Award

Linda Fairstein, Silver Bullet Award

US Airways, Silver Bullet Award (Corporate)

Thriller Guy was stunned to see that he had not read or reviewed any of these books. How could this have happened? TG has no idea. Mistakes were obviously made somewhere. But TG assures one and all that these books are quite probably excellent, so put 'em on your list, Thriller Readers.

One name did strike a note with TG, and reminded him of a day many years ago...

TG's alter ego, Allen Appel has written many books, among them a little gem, From Father to Son: Wisdom for the Next Generation. This book, first published in 1993, was the originator of the entire genre of parenting gift books. It stayed in print for many years and sold quite well. In 2001, Appel was contacted by his editor at St. Martins, who were the publishers of the little book, and told that the NBC Evening News had asked them if they could run an interview with Appel as a Father's Day feature on June 11, the interview to be conducted at their studios in NY. Appel's editor and the marketing person at St. Martins (both were around 14 years old, or seemed so) in all their publishing wisdom decided that the cost of this venture – around $40.00 train fare – outweighed the possible results. So they had turned NBC down.

Unbelievable, no?

Appel informed the two idiots at St. Martins they were nuts, got on the phone to NBC and told them he would be glad to do the interview. They said fine.

Appel showed up at the studio at the appointed time and was whisked into the makeup chair and made to look fabulous. After makeup Linda Fairstein swept into the green room, accompanied by a posse of minders, assistants and marketing folk. At that time Fairstein was still the head of the sex crimes unit of the Manhattan District Attorney's office and had written three or four of her mystery series starring Manhattan prosecutor Alexandra Cooper. She was being interviewed about her most recent novel. Appel sat quietly, trying to choke down a very dry bagel while the Fairstein army, all of them in constant motion, barked orders on cell phones, studied sheafs of papers and held important whispered conversations with their boss who never removed her cell phone from her ear. No one even said hello.

The interview went off without a hitch. Appel held up his little book, chatted amiably and charmed the world.

That night, back at home, Appel and his family counted down the minutes to the Evening News.

Fifteen minutes before 7:00, Timothy McVeigh, the Kansas City Bomber was executed. Officials had not announced that the execution was eminent. The event led, and dominated the news show.

Appel's piece never ran. Actually, that's not true, a few weeks later a fan from Australia sent an email saying he had seen it on a program at three AM in the morning.

Linda Fairstein's piece probably ran somewhere. She has gone on to quit her job as a prosecutor and pen a total of 12 books in her extremely successful series.

Whenever TG is assigned one of her books he gives her a respectful, if not very enthusiastic review.

Questions, Questions

2010-07-21T08:38:00.000-07:00

First, this Public Service Announcement.

Anybody who works the thriller genre should take note of the multi-part series of articles focusing on the world of anti-terrorism forces in America now being published by the Washington Post. If you don't take the Post, check it out at TopSecretAmerica.com. The series has been two years in the making and while the complicated intertwining connections may be too dry for most thriller readers, any writer worth his salt needs to know this information. Yes, you are writing fiction, but you'd better get the underpinnings right if you want Thriller Guy to not come down hard on your mistakes.

Now back to our regular blather, where TG is working with his alter ego, Allen Appel, on an extensive project. After being hounded by his writer pal, Larry, Appel has decided to put the first of his renowned time travel novels starring Alex Balfour up as a Kindle edition. First published back in the Paleolithic era (1985) there is no handy Word file (who knows what computer, if any, he was using in those days: Eagle? Atari?) so Appel is having to scan in the original hardback and use an OCR program to turn it into an editable file. What a pain in the ass. A competent typist could probably retype the book in less time than the scanning takes, but Appel is a two-finger man who can't touch-type so that option is off the table.

But here's the interesting point, which leads to a question, or rather several questions. In the course of scanning the material and fixing the inevitable flubs that the OCR process produces, it quickly became evident that Appel is a better writer now than he was those many years ago. The book is good, but here we find the author making many of the same mistakes that he rails about on this very blogsite: The use of the various forms of get/got, words repeated within a paragraph, to name just a few. These are sins we all commit, but these shortcomings should be taken care of in the rewrite process. Here's the question, or one of the questions: Should Appel bother to rewrite the manuscript for this version? Who knows what he might start changing if he dives into the pages and begins tinkering? Where does it end? Thoughts, anyone? And this is not strictly confined to Appel, as the questions will apply to other authors as they turn to the task of putting up e-editions and the like.

More interesting, though, are two other concerns. When writing a first draft, Appel just plows along, not bothering with writerly niceties, which leads to blank spaces left to be filled in later and sections marked FIX!. Also of concern are cliches. Appel believes they are fine in first drafts when he doesn't want to take the time to come up with an original way of description; he marks these offending passages and goes back in the first rewrite to fix them. (Appel does seven complete rewrites on every novel.) But, as we all know, errors will be made, resulting in the following paragraph in Time After Time:

“Alex jammed his hands into his pockets and found a surprise. Gloves. A pair of leather fur-lined gloves. Alex held them to his face, smelling the leather and feeling the smooth softness of the high-quality hide; imagining the former owner, some dissolute younger member of the pridvorny who had pawned his coat before heading off to an evening of vodka, women, wild Gypsy singing, and then later perhaps flinging himself off one of the many bridges of the city onto the frozen Neva. Alex sighed for his imaginary doomed young Russian as he slipped on the gloves. They fit like a glove.”

While Appel was writing the para the first time, he came to the end and thought about the last sentence...how could he describe how well the gloves fit? Like a second skin? Nope. Like they were made for him? God, no. So he just wrote, They fit like a glove. and appended a note. Cliché! Fix!

Who knows where that note went? Through rewrite after rewrite the sentence hung in there, somehow passing unnoticed, hiding, probably snickering to itself behind its gloved hand, and sure enough, it made it into print. Small matter, you might think. Think again. The book was extensively reviewed from the New York Times on down, and all of the reviews were pretty much glowing, except 85% of them, or so, had a line something like...”The writing is solid, except for the occasional cliché. At one point Appel's hero slips on a pair of gloves and remarks, “They fit like a glove.”

Oh, the horror.

So this time through, Appel was going to fix the damn line. He sat and thought, and thought and you know what? He still couldn't come up with anything good. So he simply wrote:

“They fit perfectly.”

OK, not fabulous, but it gets the job done. In fact, TG himself is unable to come up with anything better. So here's what we'll do, all you hot-shot writers out there. See if you can come up with something better. TG will run the best of the entries and he will have Appel send the winner a previously owned, personally autographed paperback copy of this fine book.

And stay tuned, in the next installment regarding this scanning/OCR process, Appel will discuss a HUGE, TOTALLY EMBARRASSING MISTAKE he made in this novel which he will fix...or perhaps not. No one has ever caught this goof, and Appel has sworn to go to his grave with the offending error unrevealed. But here is an opportunity to right this grievous wrong. But should it be fixed?

Or should it remain, a mystery for the ages...

The Science of Rewrites, Geography and Good Reads

2010-07-11T13:45:00.000-07:00

Weighty Matters

Thriller Guy was recently reading a review of a new book on touch, the name of which escapes TG who is too lazy to look it up, and found a piece of info that fits right in with one of his rules of good writing. Scientists discovered that when giving test subjects a document to review and edit on a clipboard, those subjects who had the heaviest clipboards did better work than those who had lighter. They seemed to feel, at least psychologically, the work was “weightier” and more important, so then worked harder. While not advising writers to go out and buy heavy clipboards, TG feels very strongly that rewrites are always best done in hard copy. Initial rewrites are fine on screen, but before any piece of writing leaves a writer's hand, it should have been printed out, edited with pen or pencil, reentered and then printed out and gone over at least one more time. Words on screen have no weight; words on printouts have a presence that demands attention. And final copy should be on better paper than early drafts, literally heavier and brighter than cheaper paper. Writing is serious stuff, hard work and important. Treat it thusly.

Mistakes

When TG was a brand new reviewer, he used to become upset by geography mistakes in thrillers. Syd Jones over at Scene of the Crime always asks his interview subjects if they have ever made any mistakes in setting for which readers have called them to task. The answer is almost always yes. This is something that most novelists dread, almost as frightening as making a gun-related mistake. (See entry below.) And yet, these mistakes are common, though over the years TG has noticed that they have become fewer and less egregious. TG lives in Washington, where an inordinate number of thrillers are set (Note to publishers: TG is heartily sick of seeing covers of thrillers featuring night photos of the Capitol Building. Please, is there no other, cleverer way of saying “Washington?”) Since TG lived in the District of Columbia for many years and now resides nearby, he is acutely aware of these geographical mistakes. One of the worst was when a writer had his hero come out of the Pentagon, go to a coffee shop across the street and then walk down the Mall to the Washington monument. Sorry, there are no coffee shops across from the Pentagon and the hero would have had to walk through the Potomac River to get to the Mall. Terrible mistake. TG has long ago stopped mentioning such errors in his reviews, but it is not wise (publishers, trust me on this) to send out a book that has errors that annoy the reviewer. So thriller writers, when you have a character set out to walk, ride or fly from one location to another, be very very careful.

Recommendations

Mike Lawson is an author who always gets his geography right. Mike has a series set in Washington that stars Senate investigator, political fix-it man Joe DeMarco. DeMarco has a crappy office deep in the bowels of the Capital building and answers only to his boss, John Fitzpatrick Mahoney, Speaker of the House of Representatives and Washington's premier political puppet master. The five books in the series, in order are: The Inside Ring; The Second Perimeter; House Rules; House Secrets; House Justice. There's no reason to read them in order, though TG suggests that you do so, that way one will keep DeMarco's various problems straight. One of the significant joys of the series is the colorful Speaker Mahoney, a Tip O'Neil politician whose outsize flaws approach if not encompass criminality.

While TG has enjoyed every one of these books, he feels that in House Justice, the most recent, Lawson is straying into a “problem” that often besets successful series writers at about this point in their work. Justice is a bit too long, a bit too complicated and a bit too serious. TG would counsel Lawson, not that he's asking, to ease up a bit both on DeMarco and on himself in his next entry in the series. Often it's a good idea to take a break and write a stand-alone (for a writer it can be a good idea, publishers hate it when a tried and true money-maker abandons a cash cow, even for one book) just to get back a little perspective on what was enjoyable about a character and setting in the first place.

Whatever Lawson does, TG will be looking forward to it. For those who want to see how good a Washington thriller can be, check him out. And you can be assured Joe DeMarco never, ever, takes a stroll through the Potomac River.

Blow 'Em Away

2010-07-04T18:21:00.000-07:00

Every book Thriller Guy reads has someone getting shot -- gunfire, snipers, up close and far away. Virtually everyone of them has the victim being knocked back, out of their shoes, generally ass over teakettle (how's that for an old-time phrase?) It's bullshit, and TG is tired of it. Thriller writers! Stop it! TG knows you love these action scenes, and he also knows that 99% of you are just regular guys with no expertise in firearms and particularly no expertise in actually shooting another living, breathing human being. You've done your research by watching Hollywood movies and they are totally bullshit.

TG hates to get into this gun stuff. Every writer I know who mentions a gun, shooting, ammo or anything to do with the above is courting a letter (email these days) from a gun aficionado who is eager, nay, frothing at the mouth to set the author straight. Usually these letters are vituperative, to say the least. But TG is also heartily sick of his beloved thriller writers perpetuating this stupid Hollywood myth. Listen up: people who are shot don't get knocked back. And they sure as hell don't get knocked out of their shoes.

Those of you normal humans who have no interest in the subject are now advised to tune out and head over to your favorite other site, whatever that may be. This is going to go on for awhile. Those of you who are interested, or who have a professional (writerly) interest, keep reading.

Just from the last three books I have read, and these are excellent books:

“The force of the bullet had knocked him off balance...”

“He saw the smoke and fire explode from the barrel of Foster's nine. Then the blockheaded cop was flying backward and crumpling to the floor next to Shannon's feet.”

“The force of the bullets lifted her off her feet and she flew face first into the pool.”

TG could go on all night. This sort of thing is in every one of the thrillers TG reads. Here's a small piece of an essay by Joel L., known to readers of this blog as the fellow that TG is helping with writing a thriller. (BTW, Joel is roaring right along with his book and doing an excellent job.) Joel has extensive knowledge of firearms.

“But no way will any of these lift someone off of their feet. Period. Hollywood is terribly guilty of this, and has for years. Writers are too. One author had in his story two guys being ambushed, great scene. Only problem was one when they were shot, they were flying 'out of their shoes, or off their feet when hit. This stuff just doesn't happen that way. Remember that every 'action' according to Newton, has an 'opposite and equal' reaction. Thus, if the bullet or shot has enough force to lift someone off their feet, the shooter would have an even greater force applied to them. There are very strange physiological reactions to getting shot however, but that is not what was described. Sometimes, when the adrenaline and endorphins are really cranking, someone might not be aware that they are hit, or at least not aware that they were hit by a bullet, until after the fight. Sometimes a person can be ambling along and get shot by a .22 in the foot and die from shock and another person can be in a raging fight and take multiple hits from a .357 and keep going. It astonishes me how hard people will fight to hold onto this myth. Not even a Barret .50 sniper rifle, which can penetrate stone walls or engine blocks, can ‘lift’ someone off their feet. Don’t believe me? Take a look at Mythbusters video... http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QCzD5uhSViY”

Then Joel cites a real life lawman who has written extensively on the subject:

Commander Jeffry L. Johnsons article:

(TG gives a big hand to Commander Johnson)

P1 Exclusive: The truth about handgun knockdown power

By Commander Jeffry L. Johnson

Long Beach Police Dept., Detective Division

Special contributor to PoliceOne

There is undoubtedly no other myth more perpetuated and closely held (even now) by many law enforcement professionals than what I have previously referred to as the “Demonstrative Bullet Fallacy,” or in plainer terms, the idea that any handgun of any caliber has “knockdown power,” in that the sheer size and force of the bullet can knock a person down. Closely related is the myth that bullet size — rather than shot placement — can determine or ensure a “one shot stop.” Both are inaccurate, unscientific, and dangerous, and have no place in the training of law enforcement professionals.

Not that any of this is new information. This fact has been generally known for about six hundred years or so. Notable intellects such as DaVinci, Galileo, Newton, Francis Bacon, and Leonard Euler all studied physics and ballistics, as did many others. It was Newton’s research that led Benjamin Robbins to invent the ballistic pendulum in 1740 (the first device to measure bullet velocity).

There is no mystery here — the truth has been documented time and again. So how is it that we still don’t get it? One word: Hollywood.

Ever since Dirty Harry came along with his .44 Magnum hand-cannon, when someone gets shot in the movies or on TV (and don’t forget video games) two things happen: 1) the victim is thrown back convulsively, through windows, off balconies, etc. and 2) there will immediately emerge a geyser of blood spewing forth from the wound, leaving no doubt that this person has been shot, and pinpointing exactly where the bullet has struck.

Many firearm and shooting magazines picked up on the idea as well, discussing and propagating the pseudo-scientific idea of handgun “knockdown power” and “one shot stopping power.”

The Truth

The Federal Bureau of Investigation Firearms Training Unit published a concise yet insightful report that speaks directly to this issue of firearm wounding ballistics and the misconceptions that have surrounded this area.

These so called [knockdown power] studies are further promoted as being somehow better and more valid than the work being done by trained researchers, surgeons and forensic labs. They disparage laboratory stuff, claiming that the “street” is the real laboratory and their collection of results from the street is the real measure of caliber effectiveness, as interpreted by them, of course. Yet their data from the street is collected haphazardly, lacking scientific method and controls, with no noticeable attempt to verify the less than reliable accounts of the participants with actual investigative or forensic reports. Cases are subjectively selected (how many are not included because they do not fit the assumptions made?). The numbers of cases cited are statistically meaningless, and the underlying assumptions upon which the collection of information and its interpretation are based are themselves based on myths such as knockdown power, energy transfer, hydrostatic shock, or the temporary cavity methodology of flawed work such as RII. (1)

The truth is, the whole idea of handgun knockdown power is a myth. It simply doesn’t work that way. The FBI report further clarifies:

A bullet simply cannot knock a man down. If it had the energy to do so, then equal energy would be applied against the shooter and he too would be knocked down. This is simple physics, and has been known for hundreds of years. The amount of energy deposited in the body by a bullet is approximately equivalent to being hit with a baseball. Tissue damage is the only physical link to incapacitation within the desired time frame, i.e., instantaneously. (2)

The report cites previous studies that have calculated bullet velocities and impact power, concluding that the “stopping power” of a 9mm bullet at muzzle velocity is equal to a one-pound weight being dropped from the height of six feet. A .45 ACP (45 auto) bullet impact would equal that same object dropped from 11.4 feet. That is a far cry from what Hollywood would have us believe, and actually flies in the face of what even many in law enforcement have come to mistakenly believe.

The FBI report also emphasizes that unless the bullet destroys or damages the central nervous system (i.e., brain or upper spinal cord), incapacitation of the subject can take a long time, seemingly longer if one is engaged in a firefight.

Failing a hit to the central nervous system, massive bleeding from holes in the heart or major blood vessels of the torso, causing circulatory collapse is the only other way to force incapacitation upon an adversary, and this takes time. For example, there is sufficient oxygen within the brain to support full, voluntary action for 10-15 seconds after the heart has been destroyed. (3)

More often than not, an officer firing at a suspect will not immediately know if he or she has even struck the target. The physics are such that the body will rarely involuntarily move or jerk, and usually there is no noticeable spewing of blood or surface tearing of tissue. Often there is no blood whatsoever. (4)

That is why military surgeons and emergency room physicians take great time and pains to carefully examine gunshot victims for any additional small holes. Often that is the only indication the person has been shot.

Personal Experience

But let’s be real here. I can cite numerous additional academic and scientific sources that support this article, but I know how cops think. We’re not always the most trustful of academics, especially when it comes to our street survival. So let me add my own personal experience to the data. Please allow me to go beyond the cold facts and share with you why I know what I’m telling you is the truth.

In the mid-1980s I was involved in my first shooting as a police officer. But to give the story context, I must go back to 1982 when I graduated from the Long Beach Police Academy. The first thing I was told by experienced training officers I trusted and looked up to, was to “get rid of that pea-shooter 38 they issued you and buy a real gun with some knockdown power!” Although we were issued .38 caliber revolvers, we were authorized to carry a number of different caliber weapons on duty, the largest of which was the 45 Long Colt.

The .45 Long Colt round next to the diminutive 9 millimeter.

Imagine my surprise when I was confronted by a suspect armed with a shotgun in a dark alley and my Long Colt didn’t live up to its billing. I fired five rounds at the suspect. It wasn’t until I fired my last shot — intentionally aimed at his head — that he went down. I can’t begin to relate to you the surprise and horror I felt when there was absolutely no outward indication I was hitting my target. It was the kind of situation cops have nightmares about.

What actually happened? I fired five rounds at a distance of about twelve feet. The first one missed completely. The second struck his upper leg and broke his femur. The third struck him in the shoulder/chest. The fourth round hit him dead center—in the heart. And of course, the fifth was a headshot. Three of the five rounds created fatal wounds, though only one had immediate results.

Needless to say, I was pretty shaken by the whole thing. Not by the morality of what I’d done; the suspect had already fired at a bystander and taken a hostage earlier. He was also high on PCP. That wasn’t my inner struggle. What shook me was how unprepared I felt; how totally off guard I was taken by what occurred. No one ever told me it would be like that. The reality was contrary to everything I thought I knew about deadly force.

That experience more than any research or study is the reason is why I am writing this article. Police officers risk getting into shootings every day; we need to know the dynamics of how a shooting incident may unfold. It will affect our equipment, tactics, and most important, our mindset. We need to know that rarely will one shot incapacitate an assailant. We further need to be able to explain this when our fellow officers are involved in shootings where multiple shots are fired. The public honestly believes it’s like the movies. Why would we ever need to fire twenty or thirty rounds to subdue an armed suspect? Problem is we can’t teach it or explain it until we understand it ourselves. (5)

Footnotes:

1. Patrick, Urey W., Federal Bureau of Investigation, Firearms Training Unit, “Handgun Wounding Factors and Effectiveness,” p.13. (1989).

2. Ibid., p.9.

3. Ibid., p. 8.

4. Newgard, Ken, MD, “The Physiological Effects of Handgun Bullets: The Mechanisms of Wounding and Incapacitation” (1992).

5. For you visual learners still unconvinced, I highly recommend viewing the Discovery Channel MythBusters segment, “Blown Away,” (Brown Note Episode, Second Season), where the knockdown power myth is visually and scientifically debunked once and for all.

What Thriller Guy is Reading

2010-06-28T14:39:00.000-07:00

Some of TG's readers are not writers, which means they can afford to take summer vacations. TG assumes they spend their time lolling on the beach, soaking up the sea, sand, and sun and reading. While the term “summer reading” usually canotes books that are trashy, TG offers three thrillers that are excellent, suitable for any time of year.

Rules of Betrayal by Christopher Reich

Reich's latest, Rules of Betrayal, follows the first two of this series: Rules of Deception, and Rules of Vengeance. One could start anywhere in this series, but TG suggests that thriller readers begin with Deception and work their way through the trio. Reich's hero, Jonathan Ransom, is a Doctors Without Borders physician whose wife, Emma, is killed in a skiing accident. While looking into this accident, Jonathan finds that his wife has a deep, dark past and was, in fact, a secret agent with the mysterious organization known simply as, Division. Soon enough, as in each of the series, Jonathan is on the run and finds himself utilizing instincts and skills that he was not aware he possessed.

The general organization of these books hew to the standard Thriller template (this is a good thing), his writing is perfectly fine, (TG himself delights when reviewers describe his own writing as “workmanlike”) and Reich is well grounded in the genre. In a small essay on Amazon, Reich lists his five favorite books: The Day of the Jackal, Eye of the Needle, The Bourne Identity, Noble House, and The Spy Who Came In From the Cold. TG suggests that any writer who wants to work the genre would do well to read and study all five of these books as they are excellent examples of what can be done and should be done. Many new thriller writers these days, particularly those from Europe, show a distinct lack of knowledge of the canon. There is a certain arrogance that comes across as, “We don't need no stinkin' American rules, we do what we want.” Unfortunately, many of these books suck because of this attitude.

The Reich books are particularly good because of Jonathan's wife, the mysterious Emma. She is sui generis in thrillerdom and each new entry in the series shows a side of her that leaves the reader gasping and wondering what the hell this amazing character is going to do next. And in fact, she goes so far at the end of Deception even TG was left shaking his head in admiration.

They're Watching by Gregg Hurwitz

TG has reviewed a number of thrillers by Hurwitz. He's an old pro who can always be counted on for a decent read, but in this year's entry he's upped the ante on sheer creepiness. Disgraced screenwriter Patrick Davis is in trouble professionally and personally. One morning he picks up the paper from the front porch and finds a mysterious CD inside. He plays it and finds silent footage of himself, shot from the outside through the window, entering his bathroom and using the facilities. Other DVDs follow, each more disturbing than the last, intil he receives a phone call that asks him, “So, are you ready to get started?” It's a clever, compelling premis that is followed by plenty of twists that at times left TG, a veteran, in the dust. The shoot-em-up ending was a little disappointing in light of the sheer originality of the rest of the book, but didn't really put a damper on what was a nail-biter of a read.

The Extinction Event by David Black

Black is a well known screenwriter, Broadway play and film producer and novelist. He knows how to create interesting characters and keep the suspense pot boiling. Mycenea, New York, lawyer Jack Slidel gets a call one night ordering him to go pick up his boss at a no-tell motel. There, Jack finds, you guessed it, his boss dead, and an unconscious prostitute laying on the floor with a fair amount of crack cocaine scattered around. Jack takes three beatings in quick order and finds himself being chased by a malevolent figure known only as The Cowboy. Jack's attempt to clear his name (he's a suspect in the murder, natch) is long and complicated but always interesting. This all leads to an ending that comes so far out of left field that it will leave some readers delighted and other's cursing the David Black name. TG still isn't sure how he feels about it and would be interested in someone else's opinion. TG will send the book to the first commenter who promises to write back and give an opinion on the ending.

So that's it, folks. TG encourages you to buy one of these or any other novel at your favorite local bookstore and drag it with you when you head out to the beach. TG will be at home, scribbling away, trying to patch together some sort of a living.

The Killers Among Us

2010-06-22T17:54:00.000-07:00

Thriller Guy's pal Syd Jones over at The Scene of the Crime has a very cool blog up that seems to be about Syd being recruited by the CIA back in his salad days as a young man in Vienna. Check it out. Syd's not saying that's what is going on, and I know for sure that the man is an excellent fiction writer, but still it sure sounds like, well, never mind, read it and see what you think.

This reminded TG of long ago in the days of yore when he was a long haired hippie with a wife and small child. TG's days were spent roaming the streets of DC looking for work, anything to pay the rent. TG saw a small ad in the Washington Post for an editor's job, just a bare bone's notice with a phone number. TG called, a resume was requested and sent (snail mail, this was the olden days) and pretty soon a note came in the mail offering a time to show up for an interview. The address was in Virginia. TG fired up the old Ford wagon (bought for $200.00 off a lot in West Virginia some months before. When asked about a guarantee the salesman sneered and gave TG two and twenty. That was two miles and twenty minutes once he got it off the lot. The car ran for four hard years. Take that, sneering used car salesman.)

So on the appointed day, TG drove to Virginia. When he arrived at the given address he found a large empty field. There must be some mistake. TG called the phone number (after finding a public phone, remember, there were no cell phones in those days) and received a new set of directions. After bumbling around the countryside for awhile, TG found himself in a small town in front of an abandoned building. Another mistake, right? No, a voice said after another phone call, TG was doing fine, here's a new set of directions -- which eventually led to another vacant lot. Another new set of directions and a half an hour brought him to a large, square, black concrete and glass building perched atop a giant mound of raw dirt. No grass, no trees, no greenery of any kind. The exterior was ringed with high powered lighting. On entering the lobby, TG was pointed toward an elevator with no buttons, which seemed to ascend upward several floors and opened on a plain hallway and a waiting soldier dressed in some sort of generic fatigues and carrying what looked like a light machine gun. By now, even the clueless TG (hey, TG was just a kid) knew something was up. This was not your standard job interview.

TG was escorted down a long hallway lined with oil paintings depicting every kind of military combat imaginable. Lots of explosions rendered in violent oranges and yellows. Finally, TG found himself in a strange dark office with a pudgy little man seated behind a grey metal desk that was piled high with file folders. In fact there were file folders stacked on the floor, windowsill (the windows were heavily curtained) and just about everywhere there was floor space. There then ensued an interview that TG can no longer remember, except for two bits of information. The pudgy man said if TG worked out editing raw material into readable reports, in time he might earn a spot in “the field” rather than behind a desk. Great. Then the pudgy man leaned over the desk, smiled and closed by saying, “We don't actually kill people here, but we certainly hope we're helping to.” TG was offered a job on the spot. TG demurred, saying he needed time to think about it. And fled.

It took hours to figure out where he was and wend his way back home to the safety of Dupont Circle. Early the next morning a city gas man showed up saying there had been a report of a gas leak. TG, wife and child were told to wait outside on the street while this was checked out. After an hour the family was allowed back inside. False alarm. That afternoon a man showed up from the electric company to check out the wiring in the hallways and our apartment. Everything appeared to be in order.

You have to understand, these were, in many ways, simpler times. John LeCarre was just beginning to publish his great spy novels. There was no archive of espionage literature. TG and his friends spent their days protesting the war in Vietnam and attempting to create great art; the nights were occupied with drinking. Lots of intense conversation. We were young, and TG now understands, foolish.

That evening, when the wife and babe were tucked away in the back room, sleeping soundly, TG sat in the only chair in the apartment, an old beat up kitchen chair that had been found abandoned on the street. The only real amenity in this sad apartment was a big bay window on the second floor that looked out onto P Street. TG left the inside lights off. The street was lined with cars, as always. Two shadowy figures sat in a blue sedan half a block down the street. Their cigarettes glowed, tiny red dots behind the dark windshield. Finally TG grew tired of watching the watchers and went to bed.

In the morning, TG called the number he had used to find directions on his odyssey of the day before. He wished to decline the job offer. He had no desire to kill anyone, or even to help to kill anyone, no matter how good the pay might be, or how hungry he and his family became.

The number rang and rang, then was finally picked up by a hollow, disembodied voice that said, sorry, the number had been disconnected. Hang up and consult your directory for the correct number.

No thank you.