Book Reviews - The Killing Floor, Open Season

I'm fairly certain the Internet masses aren't clamoring for my review of a couple of books published more than a decade ago. But I've read them and I'm on the train without another to read. Maybe I should write a bit.
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For those of you that stuck around after my enthralling open, let's get to it.

I'm two books into my "20 books by Thanksgiving" odyssey. Judging by my current pace, it'll be more like a 10 book odyssey. I should probably stop referencing it as an odyssey and switch to calling it a three hour cruise.

First I read The Killing Floor by Lee Child. It was great. Jack Reacher is a great tough guy and I look forward to reading about him in the following installments. Mr. Child does not need my help to sell books, look up his rave reviews on Amazon.

Next was Open Season by C.J. Box.

This one was unique for a couple of reasons.

1) It was out of the scope of my usual reading material. The novel is set in the Wyoming Rockies. The protagonist is Joe Picket, a Fish and Game Warden. This is about as far away from Spenser's Boston as one can get. I'm not a hunter. I enjoyed my trip through Glacier and Yellowstone National Parks, but I certainly didn't traipse through the countryside and become an outdoorsman. But Mr. Box did a good job painting a picture of the landscape.

2) The first half of the book honestly didn't engage me. I might even have put it down if I weren't reading to absorb the features of published work in order to shape up my own manuscript. The characters felt shallow and cookie-cutter. The plot felt soft and inconsequential. The writing itself didn't seem up to par. But halfway through the characters filled out and the plot picked up it's clip. I realized the issues with the first half of the book we easily explainable. The characters were new, they had to be introduced. And Mr. Box was writing a normal family. It's easily to grab attention with Jack Reacher, arrested in scene one. But Joe Pickett is a family man, and the author wanted to put that across. The plot felt slow because of a crazy thing called exposition.

I'm going to touch a bit more on the exposition. I know that my manuscript needs to have better pace for the first third or so. The exposition drags it down. But it's nice to see that Open Season spent almost half the book setting things up. It means I can add movement instead of stripping the exposition that needs to be there.

The most valuable lesson I learned so far? Cut the pronoun usage. It doesn't have to be "Sam raised his gun. He took aim. He fired in earnest," when " Sam raised his gun. Took aim. Fired in earnest," works just as well and reads better.

Don't forget, I'm taking suggestions. I'm even reading some books from Twitter followers Andy Straka and Mark Stevens.

Creative Inspiration

I don't know what it is specifically that makes others write. I think we'd all like to be rich and famous but if that's your main motivation you're likely to quit after realizing how hard the publishing industry is.

We writers obviously have a love for the printed word. We're usually readers first. But what drives us to put pen to paper (or to be more current--fingers to iPad) and create?

For me the answer is appreciation and inspiration. When I read/view/listen to some piece of artistic expression that really strikes me as wonderful it fills me from top to bottom with appreciation for the work, and inspiration to create something that will have a similar effect on another.

Yesterday I was listening to Adele and was amazed (as I always am) by the haunting quality of her voice. Her music feels to substantial, so meaningful, so much more than the rest of the current music scene. Yes, I'm a writer of novels, and it's completely apples to oranges, but hearing her creativity fueled m desire to contribute.

I get the same feeling each week watching the extraordinary writing on Parenthood. The characters are written so well that I feel like I'm watching a real family. It makes me want to write full characters and believable dialogue like that.

It's almost like a big artistic pay-it-forward system, where we all inspire enough to put forth our best and, in turn, inspire further.

Thank you, fellow writers, for inspiring me.

Schindler's List

I watched Schindler's list for the first time over the weekend (and into the week...and for what seemed like an eternity. Not the duration optimized for busy parents watching in the space between the kids bedtime and our inevitable decline into exhausted stupor). It was of course great. I'm probably the last person on the earth to have seen it, so I'm certainly not going to sing it's praises like they're new.

What stuck with me most coming out of the experience is the way it hasn't stuck with me. At least not the way a book would. Yes, the treatment by the Nazi's was horrible. Yes, the emaciated, frail bodies of the Polish Jews were sickening. Yes, the exploitation of slave labor and breaking apart of families was deplorable. And yet...

None of it stuck with me. A few days later I don't feel like I'm still carrying the weight of their burden. And here's why that's interesting; after reading about the same events I did.

The detail described in The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich was so thorough, so precise, and so vivid that it sickened me for days. The characters I connected to in Herman Wouk's War and Remembrance were so full of life and strength, and I watched them wither away in body and spirit over the course of a thousand pages. There were times while reading and after that I felt physically ill for them.

The point is that as great a job as Steven Spielberg did on that movie (not to mention Liam Neeson, Ben Kingsley, and the rest of the cast, including the inexplicably thin extras) there is no way to capture the true depth and breath, both in scope and character, of that event in a movie. Even if it is three hours.

Books connect in ways that film cannot. Sure, a picture is worth a thousand words. But how about a couple hundred thousand? Long live the written word! Now...if we could just get more people to read.
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Note: the one area that the movie succeed in a way that a book couldn't was the final scene wherein a procession of descendants from the Jews that Oskar Schindler saved made their way to his tomb and paid their respects. Seeing the sheer number of people who are in the world today because of him was much more powerful than reading a number (6,000).

Final Note: Yes, I know I'm missing the most obvious book to movie comparison - the book Schindler's List. So shoot me, I haven't had time to read it.

An Education in Crime Fiction

My next endeavor can be viewed as bass-ackwards (since I've already written a book) or an exercise in honing my craft.

I'm taking the vaunted advice gathered during by submersion in the shark tank to heart and setting up a reading list. I plan on reading 20 crime novels by Thanksgiving. This whirlwind tour is intended to educate me on the finer points of plotting, pace, forward momentum, and dialogue employed by published writers.

Here's where you come in: I'm looking for suggestions on which books to choose. Specifically in the mystery/thriller genre. I would most closely associate my style with Robert B. Parker (and hope to someday be good enough to inspire that comparison out of others). I'm open to any similar books. When in doubt, suggest a title, I'll certainly consider it.

Please be specific, give me a name and title, not just "anything by X". And if you're a writer, feel free to tout your own work, I'd love to read it.

This is no contest, there's no incentive to comment to win anything. But if you're reading my blog you're likely a lover of good books. And who doesn't salivate at the mouth to recommend a good book?

Recommend Away!

Rejection Foiled!

I love writing. The stuff that comes afterwards--not so much. I don't mind revising, editing, tinkering, etc., because that makes my product (the writing) better. Sure, I'd love to be Isaac Asimov, who once said that he never wrote a second draft because he couldn't make it better than his first, but I don't think I'm blessed with that sort of talent (if you disagree and think I'm the best ever, please say so in the comments. Unless you're a family member. Thanks anyway, Mom!). What is not my first love is the hyper-competitive nature of getting your work out for other eyes to view.

It hit be hard this morning that the reason I'm able to withstand the constant rejection that is a precursor to eventual success (stay positive!) is that I have a place to go where I'll never be rejected.

Mrs. HeWrites (SheWrites? Oh Hell, let's just stick with Mrs.) is always there for me. She reads my pages. She catches my errors and makes suggestions. She researches tips and tricks of the industry. She's even been known to spend evening following certain Twitter users with my account while I'm lounging on the couch (not you of course, my favorite Twitter friend, if you've made the trek to this humble blog. You I sought out myself with great determination and slavishly read your every tweet and blog entry). She asks about my progress with hopefulness and interest, and--undaunted--encourages me when I give her an update that in no way validates either.

We spend so much time as writers getting ourselves 'out there' and promoting our brand (that word always makes me feel like I'm Tony the Tiger). We have to of course. Ask anybody with half a brain and they'll tell you that their support system is what makes them who they are. I don't want to wait to be asked. And God knows I don't want to wait for the dedication line in my published book. It's important right now that Mrs. knows just how important she is to my efforts. That she keeps me going when it's tough and there's nobody else I'd rather celebrate a win with.

I'm sure you, dear reader (yes, I just did the literary equivalent of a direct gaze into the lens of the camera. It's my blog, I can break rules if I want), have a support system worth thanking. Do it today. Don't wait around for the publication. They should know now and know often how valuable they are.

Petunia

If The whole point of the blog is to develop a readership in advance of by big publishing break, the maybe I'd better post some writing for general consumption and comment.

(side note: the blog also serves the purpose of an outlet for my woes until aforementioned big break comes along)

I posted the query previously, so you have some idea of the plot and genre of my book. It's by no means a humor novel, though what I'm about to post is hopefully a funny little bit. What I've tried to do throughout is bring the humanity and humor present in everyday life (at least in mine, if yours is humorless then I'm sorry) to the pages. I see no reason that a detective out to solve a major crime can't go about his day with a bit of wit like the rest of us. Sam Oak is no scowling Jack Bauer, nor do I ever want him to be. Think more along the lines of Robert B. Parker's Spenser.

All that said here is a brief exchange (one of many in the book) between Sam Oak and Petunia, the gatekeeper to the DARPA headquarters building. Before anyone goes in, they have to register the purpose of their visit with Petunia. Since his first day Sam has been trying to win her over with his charm. So far he's not faring well:

As he approached the Visitor Control Center and the blank stare of Petunia the gatekeeper he had a thought. Ghostbusters. Maybe, just maybe, Petunia had a sense of humor and had once watched the supernatural comedy. And hopefully its sequel.

As he approached the desk he removed his gun and holster from his hip. Popped open the cylinder, emptied it, clicked it shut and pushed it to his right, where he knew his friend the security guard would now be waiting to bag and tag it for his pick-up upon leaving.

"Petunia, my dear," Sam started. He was not surprised that the endearment had no visible effect. But he was ever confident that she was melting inside her candy coated shell. "Did you ever realize you're the keeper of the gate? Or-" Sam switched into his best Rick Moranis imitation, and stared in a trancelike state, "the Gatekeeper."

Petunia looked at him with the same blank stare she'd given him every day since his arrival. He couldn't tell if she didn't know what he was talking about or didn't think it was funny. He was getting a fairly strong sense that she didn't care.

"Have a blessed day, Petunia." Said Sam. He lingered just a moment to see if perhaps the religious farewell struck a chord. He was reaching for anything at this point. Blank Stare, followed by the standard instructions for property retrieval upon exit from the building. It was a little creepy that she'd said the instructions in the exact same words each day. It was a lot creepy that she'd used the same inflection. It could've been a recording. For all Sam knew, it was. Maybe Petunia was simply an animatronic receptionist purchased and refurbished from Disneyland after the decommissioning of the Country Bear Jamboree attraction. It would explain the heft.

The security guard whispered softly as Sam walked by, "Stay strong, Stay-puff."

No luck for Sam this go around. Feel free to let me know what you think about the writing.

It's Always Sunny in Writersville

Agent websites, query how-to's, writer blogs, and all sorts of other online and print media share a common piece of advice: be resilient. Grow a thick skin. Let the rejections roll off like water from a duck. (I could continue. But then you'd probably stop reading.)

I took the advice to heart. I knew going in that it would be a long haul. And yet my heart still thumped when the first query went out with the woosh of my email app. And my morning outlook dimmed perceptively with the first rejection.

Here's the thing about even the best advice: it lodges itself in your head. I knew that my first query wouldn't snag me a deal. But I hoped it would. Can't override the hopes of the heart with the thoughts of the brain.

But that was query one, rejection one. I'm closer to thirty now, and chugging along. A funny thing happens to advice when it meets up with experience; it really takes hold. In my case, to an almost absurd level.

I've started making the most positive spins on my rejection letters. Here are a few examples:

From Janet Reid:
(Immediately following an email acknowledging my submission to query shark, which I didn't send)

**I think you got a reply about being in the QUERY SHARK pool, but that was my mistake.
I hit the wrong key. Sorry! :((

Followed by the rejection form letter. But did you see THAT? She added a personal note before the form letter. I think that qualifies as a personalized rejection. Sunny in Writersville.
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From Sara Crowe:

Thank you for thinking of me, but I am not a good fit for this. All my best, Sara

Could this have been typed directly to me? It's brevity lends it promise. There's no apology, no encouragement to try elsewhere because the rejection doesn't reflect the quality of my work. It's just a note. It's probably her standard reply, but even so I like it. Sunny in Writersville.
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And my personal favorite, received today and proof that I can turn ANYTHING into a positive:

From Dunham Literary, Inc.:

Dear Writer:

Thank you for your inquiry. We are sorry that we cannot invite you to submit your work or offer to represent you. Moreover, we apologize that we cannot respond in a more personal manner.

We wish you the best of luck elsewhere.

My name wasn't in that rejection form letter. But something better was. Did you see it? Look again. It's called validation. They called me a writer!

It's always sunny in Wrtitersville.

(Think I'm losing it? Let me know. Twitter or comment.)