The Previous Little Thing

By Russel D Mclean

Yeah, we’re all being lazy this week.  But since I was tagged ages ago by the awesome Zoe Venditozzi and have now been retagged again in the DSD next big thing week, I figured I might as well finally answer these questions and become part of an internet meme.

It seems most people I would tag or who I would expect to respond have done so. But I invite you, freely, to take this meme and run with it. With my blessings.

So without further ado, here’s a little bit that also serves as the public airing for the potential title of the next McNee novel (release date currently uncertain so hold yer horses):

• What is the working title of your next book?
Mothers of the Disappeared

(the title was given to me by the awesome Canadian author Sandra Ruttan a few years back, although the proposed book was utterly different in form then but now the title fits better)

• Where did the idea come from for the book?
Probably the ideas shop. Ha!

No, each McNee book furthers a background story while dealing with its own central crime. In this case, I was intrigued by the idea that an apparent victim of a crime would eventually come to believe the person arrested and charged with committing it may in fact be innocent. It’s a pretty horrific crime, and the whole moral quandary that erupts felt perfect for throwing in McNee’s path as he’s dealing with some fallout from the last few books.

• What genre does your book fall under?
Romantic cosy? Science fiction adventure comedy musical tragic romance?

Or hardboiled?

Yeah, guess I’m going with hardboiled crime.

• What actors would you choose to play the part of your characters in a movie rendition?
Ones who show up in front of the camera and remember their lines.

I still maintain that in an ideal world the recurring villain of the McNee novels would be played by Dundee’s own brilliant Brian Cox. The rest of the cast is up for grabs, though, especially McNee.

• What is the one sentence synopsis of your book?
Bad shit happens, some of it to good people.
(I really can’t give away much of the plot just now - - I can’t until its in a readable form and in front of my agent and publisher’s eyes, but trust me its there and its beautifully brutal)

• Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency?
I’m pretty traditional about my novels. Why? I like working with authors. Despite egomaniac ideals to the contrary, no book is actually written by one person. You need those other professional eyes on it, too.

• How long did it take you to write the first draft of the manuscript?
Three months. But then, writing is easy: rewriting’s where things get tricky. And long.

• What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?
Good ones, I hope.

I guess if you dig PI novels by guys like Ross MacDonald, Lawrence Block and George Pelecanos, but wish they wrote about Scotland, you might get a kick out of what I’m trying to do (but they’re all so much better at it than I am, except for the Scottish stuff).

• Who or what inspired you to write this book?
The promise of an advance. Even if it is a small one.

That and I love writing. Adore the process. If I hadn’t done this one, I’d have done something else.

• What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest?
There’s some good old fashioned violence and swearing in there, alongside some real painful emotional stuff. And since it’s the fourth act of five in an on-going story, reader’s who’ve been along with ride since THE GOOD SON should hopefully be put through the ringer. In a good way.

Oh, and if you do read this (or any of my books) you will get a warm fuzzy feeling inside from knowing that I get to eat another meal thanks to you. And doesn’t that warm your cockles and pique your interest?

Preview: FATHER CONFESSOR

By Russel D McLean

I'm redrafting folks, going through copy edits on FATHER CONFESSOR which, you know. is released in the UK this September. I know you're as excited as I am about this book, so you're going to want to pre-order from your preferred retailer.

So in lieu of actual content I present a little rough cut sneak preview of the opening page of FATHER CONFESSOR. Those of you who know the series will know that I start every book with a little teaser, and this book's no different.

So here, for the first time (since I read an early draft of this last year at Blackwell's bookshop), is a brief excerpt from book number the third:

I wasn't there.
    If I had been, things might have turned out different.
    I’d like to believe that.
    Some would argue, of course, that I’d only have fucked things up.
    For months afterward, I would spend  the hours past midnight – the hours when I couldn't sleep, when the guilt of the past always seemed at its strongest and when I felt at my most powerless and insignificant – thinking about what had happened that evening.
    Seeing events through his eyes.
    Trying to imagine what it must have been like. Trying to think about the chain of events that ended in a moment of blood and fear and pain.
    As I tried to imagine how he felt, my heart would pound as his must have. A surge of adrenaline. An expectation.
    He must have known that he was going to die.
    One way or the other. He must have known how things would end.
    Maybe he had come to terms with that idea.
    Looking back over his last few months, talking to friends and colleagues, I think they all knew that something was wrong with him. They had sensed his growing unease. They had noticed that he was more tense than usual. Most put this down to pre-retirement nerves. After all, he was due to quit the force in the next year. And like any good copper, he had a lot of unfinished business.
    So I can imagine how he felt that night.
    Walking into the warehouse, he might have called out. Perhaps listened to the echo of his own voice, heard it come back to him. A ghost-like echo. As though he was already dead. His own footsteps – polished shoes striking hard concrete – would have bounced and echoed around the wide space and made it appear as though there were others walking alongside him.
    Those for whom he was responsible.
    Maybe he was thinking about why he was here. The reasons he was alone in this warehouse, meeting a man he must have known could kill him.
    He would be thinking about his career. And his daughter.
    His daughter who was under investigation for possible criminal conspiracy. His daughter who had always been the centre of his world, who had idolised her father so much she followed him into the force.
    I would wonder what he was thinking.
    How he felt.
    And I could never know for sure. But I had to pretend, to try and gain some insight the hard facts could never uncover.
    I do know that he took the stairs to the mezzanine slowly. His shoes clanking off the metal grille, his hand running up the banister. A feather touch. More for reassurance than balance.
    But then, maybe his grip was tighter than usual. He was afraid of falling away. Of losing his grip.
    Maybe he came knowing that he faced death.
    He would do that on his own terms.
    The idea makes me feel better in a way.
    There had been no signs of a struggle when the coppers arrived on the scene. He did not fight back. He did not try to run.
    On the metal walkway high above the main floor, he would have been confronted by the man with the shotgun.
    Did they speak?
    Did he understand why the man was there to kill him?
     I don't know. I wasn't there.
    And I wish I had been.
    Some nights I wish it had been me and not him.
    The impact of the shot knocked him over the safety rails. Did he have time to register what was happening?
    Did he say a prayer as he fell?
    I wonder about his final thoughts. What he saw. What was revealed to him as he lay crooked on the floor of the abandoned mill, his blood pooling around his hand, his limbs twisted.
    Did he think of his killer?
    Of his daughter?
    I would have been the furthest thing from his mind. But if he felt a small twinge of disappointment, perhaps he was remembering me and the last time we spoke, the things I said to him.
    But I don’t know any of that.
    I just believe that I could sleep easier if I knew what he was really thinking in those last moments.

Better Late than Never

Planned on posting a big article about fear, but I'm going to do that next week. Well, it'll be written today and tomorrow, and posted next week. Well, that's the plan anyway. I mean... just wait you'll see.

Meanwhile, if you missed it the great Elizabeth A. White (no relation), posted this great review of Collateral Damage.

In the review, she mentions Russel's, Joelle's, Sandra's, and yours truly's stories.

You can buy the Antho here.

V-A-C-A-T-I-O-N

by Dave White

I'm on Winter Break this week. I'm taking it easy and relaxing, hoping we don't get too much snow. (Got two inches or so on Monday, but nothing really since.) But since I've been home, I've had a lot of time to catch up on my reading about reading... and books.

So I'm gonna link you to 'em, and give you some really cool stuff to read:

First off, you know about John's Let It Ride. It came out this week. Check it out.

Another great article: Jason Pinter writes about why this is the most exciting era for book lovers.

Sarah Weinman wrote a great review of a book called The Poisoner's Handbook.

Congrats to the 2010 Hammett Nominees!

Can Fred save his job? (Sorry, just thought I'd sneak that one in here.

And finally, Maureen Johnson, professional writer talks about daring to suck and getting an agent.

Okay, I'm going back to being lazy.