Two quick book notes this morning.
Sociopaths in Love by Anderson Prunty
I first heard of this book from Gabino Iglesias. The title kind of says it all, huh? This isn't a book for everyone but those that like their fiction dark will want to check this out. Unlike many dark works of fiction this one goes there, and then some. Interesting characters, depraved situations, at times surreal and absurd, at other times grounded in the everyday and mundane. If you want to take a chance on something dark and unlike anything else try SiL. All others stay away.
Recommended
Get Katja by Simon Logan
This is the sequel to 2010's Katja From the Punk Band but it isn't necessary to have read it. It follows the same form as its predecessor. Multiple point of views will overlap and weave a chase story through a dystopian type setting. Odd characters, a fast pace and lots of conflict propel the story.
Recommended
Monday, April 7, 2014
Sunday, April 6, 2014
Finding Beauty in Tragedy
I like to believe that I write crime fiction for the same
reasons I’m a newspaper crime reporter — no other stories have the depth and
breadth of life, the joys, the sorrows, or the bittersweet poignancy that crime
stories do.
Sometimes, if we do our jobs right, we are able to unearth the beautiful in the tragic.
For instance, last weekend at the newspaper was a rough one. I pissed someone off — someone who was grieving the death of a friend. When I came in to work the night shift I was handed a story about some college-age kids whose home had burned down. One kid was in critical condition at the hospital.
Shortly after I got to work, we got the news — he didn’t make it.
All his friends were talking about it on Facebook. I left a message on one page saying I was sorry for their loss and that if anyone wanted to talk to me about their friend, here was my number. I thought it was unobtrusive, but it made one girl very angry.
She asked why I didn’t wait longer before I left my message.
I couldn’t tell her the truth, which was that if we waited a day or two, at that point, a new tragedy would have captured reader’s interest. It’s awful, but true. I couldn’t tell her I had a limited amount of time and a limited amount of space to let people know a few details about this young man, to tell them something that would make him seem real to readers, so he was more than just a faceless victim. That is my job.
It isn’t always easy, but I feel a great responsibility to do this, so that when someone dies they are more than just a name in the paper.
So I just told this girl that I was very sorry for her loss and wished her well.
I also couldn’t tell her the story that makes me reach out to grieving friends and family, even when I don’t want to do so:
Years ago, I was at the Monterey (Calif.) Herald newspaper when I noticed a husband and wife had died within 24 hours of one another and decided to write a story about it.
I reached the couple’s daughter-in-law who told me what had happened: the wife had a stroke and died instantly. When the husband saw her body being taken away, he had a heart attack and died a few hours later.
This woman, Diane, told me about the love her in-laws had shared for the past 50 years. How they came over from Mexico and had worked in the fields picking lettuce since they were 18. How they raised six children and sent four of them to medical school this way. I was immediately captured by this love story — this couple’s life story, really.
Diane invited me to come to the wake the next day so I could talk to the couple’s other children.
When I arrived, I was told Diane was on her way and to wait inside. The house was packed with mourners. I stood in the corner feeling about as awkward and out of place as I ever have in my life.
Finally Diane arrived and herded all the siblings and me into a bedroom to talk. I explained that I wanted to write about their parent’s great love story.
One of the couple’s daughters glared at me and said, “I’m not talking to you. I got nothing to say to you!”
Saying she was hostile is an understatement.
However, before long everyone was sharing stories with me and laughing and crying — everyone except the one daughter who continued glaring at me.
I went back to the office and wrote my story, adding in some quotes from doctors who said they truly believed someone could die of a broken heart.
About a month later, I got a little envelope in the mail. Inside was a thank you card:
“Thank you so much for writing about my parents. I was the one who didn’t want to talk to you. But I’m so glad you were there. Your article is now a treasured keepsake in our family. Thank you so much.”
And so that, that right there, is why I make those painful calls and visits to grieving family and friends. It’s about finding the beauty, the hope, the love, and the basic goodness of people in a tragedy. And if I don’t care enough to make that call, then who will?
My question for you writer and reader friends:
What speaks to you about crime fiction? Why do you pick up these types of books over and over or — if you are a writer — continue to pen these types of novels?
Sometimes, if we do our jobs right, we are able to unearth the beautiful in the tragic.
For instance, last weekend at the newspaper was a rough one. I pissed someone off — someone who was grieving the death of a friend. When I came in to work the night shift I was handed a story about some college-age kids whose home had burned down. One kid was in critical condition at the hospital.
Shortly after I got to work, we got the news — he didn’t make it.
All his friends were talking about it on Facebook. I left a message on one page saying I was sorry for their loss and that if anyone wanted to talk to me about their friend, here was my number. I thought it was unobtrusive, but it made one girl very angry.
She asked why I didn’t wait longer before I left my message.
I couldn’t tell her the truth, which was that if we waited a day or two, at that point, a new tragedy would have captured reader’s interest. It’s awful, but true. I couldn’t tell her I had a limited amount of time and a limited amount of space to let people know a few details about this young man, to tell them something that would make him seem real to readers, so he was more than just a faceless victim. That is my job.
It isn’t always easy, but I feel a great responsibility to do this, so that when someone dies they are more than just a name in the paper.
So I just told this girl that I was very sorry for her loss and wished her well.
I also couldn’t tell her the story that makes me reach out to grieving friends and family, even when I don’t want to do so:
Years ago, I was at the Monterey (Calif.) Herald newspaper when I noticed a husband and wife had died within 24 hours of one another and decided to write a story about it.
I reached the couple’s daughter-in-law who told me what had happened: the wife had a stroke and died instantly. When the husband saw her body being taken away, he had a heart attack and died a few hours later.
This woman, Diane, told me about the love her in-laws had shared for the past 50 years. How they came over from Mexico and had worked in the fields picking lettuce since they were 18. How they raised six children and sent four of them to medical school this way. I was immediately captured by this love story — this couple’s life story, really.
Diane invited me to come to the wake the next day so I could talk to the couple’s other children.
When I arrived, I was told Diane was on her way and to wait inside. The house was packed with mourners. I stood in the corner feeling about as awkward and out of place as I ever have in my life.
Finally Diane arrived and herded all the siblings and me into a bedroom to talk. I explained that I wanted to write about their parent’s great love story.
One of the couple’s daughters glared at me and said, “I’m not talking to you. I got nothing to say to you!”
Saying she was hostile is an understatement.
However, before long everyone was sharing stories with me and laughing and crying — everyone except the one daughter who continued glaring at me.
I went back to the office and wrote my story, adding in some quotes from doctors who said they truly believed someone could die of a broken heart.
About a month later, I got a little envelope in the mail. Inside was a thank you card:
“Thank you so much for writing about my parents. I was the one who didn’t want to talk to you. But I’m so glad you were there. Your article is now a treasured keepsake in our family. Thank you so much.”
And so that, that right there, is why I make those painful calls and visits to grieving family and friends. It’s about finding the beauty, the hope, the love, and the basic goodness of people in a tragedy. And if I don’t care enough to make that call, then who will?
My question for you writer and reader friends:
What speaks to you about crime fiction? Why do you pick up these types of books over and over or — if you are a writer — continue to pen these types of novels?
Saturday, April 5, 2014
Serendipity Times Two
by
Scott D. Parker
Last week, I wrote about Aaron Allston’s Plotting: A Novelist’s Workout Guide and how it has helped me in how I think about my various works in progress. Now, I want to share a little about serendipity.
A week ago, I stopped in our local Trader Joe’s to pick up a couple jars of their cookie butter. (In case y’all didn’t know, this is basically a sweet peanut buttery type concoction that uses graham cracker type cookies to make a speadable treat. I spare my body the bread. I just eat it by the spoonful!) Seeing as it was late afternoon, I stopped by the tasting area for a quick shot of free coffee. As I was sipping the java, the man behind the counter did the thing that happens to me a lot. “Has anyone ever told you that you look like that guy on Gray’s Anatomy?” [When I say a lot, I mean about once a week.] He then drew a blank on the other guy to whom I am compared. “Um, that guy who was married to Madonna.” He struggled for a moment and then I nodded. “Sean Penn.” We started talking and we got around to our professions. “Technical writer who also writes fiction,” I said. “Independent filmmaker,” he said. It was a fun realization to know that a couple of folks in a grocery store who just started talking both had creative professions. Shortly, he commented that while screenwriting was something he knew how to do, he wasn’t sure he could write an entire novel. Well, I mentioned my process and [cue Allston] let him know about Allson’s book that I was then still reading. My enthusiasm for the process of writing and how the tenets in Allston’s book got me to refocusing my energies on the process of writing was clearly evident. He smiled and told me that my enthusiasm actually made him more excited to write. I gave him a card with Allston’s book title. Perhaps he went home and ordered it online.
Then, a day later, a co-worker who is a motivational speaker and a writer asked me how I prepare for writing a novel. Specifically, she asked me how I outline. Boom! I told her (via very fast typing in Skype with a lot of misspelled words-I was excited) how I used to outline, which basically was not much of one. I had a buncha scenes in a string, but not much else. And, it just so happened, I told her, that I was reading Allston’s book which not only described his process but provided a rough and writing outline. I think I helped sell another book.
On my own front, I’ve already used the things I learned from Allston’s book to start working on my unfinished novella. I’m already seeing a way not only to finish it, but tighten up the entire story. Thanks again, Mr. Allson.
Scott D. Parker
Last week, I wrote about Aaron Allston’s Plotting: A Novelist’s Workout Guide and how it has helped me in how I think about my various works in progress. Now, I want to share a little about serendipity.
A week ago, I stopped in our local Trader Joe’s to pick up a couple jars of their cookie butter. (In case y’all didn’t know, this is basically a sweet peanut buttery type concoction that uses graham cracker type cookies to make a speadable treat. I spare my body the bread. I just eat it by the spoonful!) Seeing as it was late afternoon, I stopped by the tasting area for a quick shot of free coffee. As I was sipping the java, the man behind the counter did the thing that happens to me a lot. “Has anyone ever told you that you look like that guy on Gray’s Anatomy?” [When I say a lot, I mean about once a week.] He then drew a blank on the other guy to whom I am compared. “Um, that guy who was married to Madonna.” He struggled for a moment and then I nodded. “Sean Penn.” We started talking and we got around to our professions. “Technical writer who also writes fiction,” I said. “Independent filmmaker,” he said. It was a fun realization to know that a couple of folks in a grocery store who just started talking both had creative professions. Shortly, he commented that while screenwriting was something he knew how to do, he wasn’t sure he could write an entire novel. Well, I mentioned my process and [cue Allston] let him know about Allson’s book that I was then still reading. My enthusiasm for the process of writing and how the tenets in Allston’s book got me to refocusing my energies on the process of writing was clearly evident. He smiled and told me that my enthusiasm actually made him more excited to write. I gave him a card with Allston’s book title. Perhaps he went home and ordered it online.
Then, a day later, a co-worker who is a motivational speaker and a writer asked me how I prepare for writing a novel. Specifically, she asked me how I outline. Boom! I told her (via very fast typing in Skype with a lot of misspelled words-I was excited) how I used to outline, which basically was not much of one. I had a buncha scenes in a string, but not much else. And, it just so happened, I told her, that I was reading Allston’s book which not only described his process but provided a rough and writing outline. I think I helped sell another book.
On my own front, I’ve already used the things I learned from Allston’s book to start working on my unfinished novella. I’m already seeing a way not only to finish it, but tighten up the entire story. Thanks again, Mr. Allson.
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