Alan Orloff's Blog, page 6

It Was the Best/Worst of Times…

Brave New World: Publishers and booksellers are perishing. But how are e-books, online bookstores, self-publishing and other new industry developments affecting authors? Is it a great time to be a new writer or are things too shaky for comfort?

I can say, without a doubt, it’s a great time to be a writer. With the (relative) ease of self-publishing, and the rise of the ebook, it’s never been easier for a writer to get his/her work to a vast number of readers, quickly and inexpensively. Social media lets writers attract and interact with readers on a one-to-one basis, whether they live in Denver, Dubai, Delhi, or Denmark. Word-of-mouth has become word-of-Twitter. You don’t have to actually know someone to hear their opinions, and if you’re lucky, word of your great book can go viral. And, if you do it all yourself, the lion’s share of the royalties go straight into your pocket.

I can say, without a doubt, it’s a terrible time to be a writer. Publishers have consolidated and, in turn, have put the squeeze on the midlist author. Advances are down. Royalties remain relatively low. Outlets (read: brick-and-mortar bookstores (ie, showrooms)) are dwindling in number and size. With fewer “gatekeepers” in place, self-publishing authors are flooding the market with books that aren’t quite ready (in many cases), creating confusion for the readers. Too many distractions—Fruit Ninjas, Netflix, YouTube, Instagram, ad infinitum (isn’t that the name of another social media site?)—compete for potential readers’ attentions.

I know what you’re thinking: Alan, you’re talking out of both sides of your mouth. Again.

So which is it? Great or terrible?

As it often comes down to in writing (and life, in general), it’s all about your viewpoint. If you’re a pessimist, then it’s a terrible time. If you’re an optimist, then it’s a great time.

Here’s what I do know. Optimist or pessimist, there’s one fundamental strategy to follow: There’s only so much you can control in this business, so write the best damn book you can. Then write another. And another.

Because it’s the writing that really matters.

(This entry is “simul-posted” on Criminal Minds.)

At the Scene of the Mime

If your computer's web cam was secretly on and broadcasting you while you're writing, what's the weirdest thing your audience would see you do in a typical workday?

You’d probably see me practicing some of my classic mime moves. You know, the dude trapped in the box, carrying an umbrella in a storm, sitting on a chair sipping tea, climbing a rope. All research for my story…

At the Scene of the Mime

Detective Ted Sullivan surveyed the scene. A dead mime sprawled on the sidewalk, face down, knife in the back. Off to the side, the uniformed cops had corralled three witnesses who belonged to the same mime troupe as the victim. All wore black pants and black turtlenecks. All sported black berets. All had black smiles painted on their ghost-white faces. Sullivan strode over to begin his questioning.

He addressed the first mime. “Okay. Tell me what you saw.”

The mime made an “X” over his mouth and bugged out his eyes.

“Look, I need to know what happened here.”

The mime started working his arms, laying flat palms against walls in the air.

“The victim was being held, against his will?” Sullivan asked. “In a box?”

Three shakes of the head. Now the mime climbed an imaginary rope.

“He was trying to escape? Climbing out of a hole?” Sullivan glanced around. No boxes. No ropes. No holes. He turned to the second mime.

“Who killed your friend?”

The second mime frowned and knuckled away a pretend tear, then began eating a non-existent ice cream cone. And he was making a mess.

“Are you trying to tell me the victim was eating when he bought it?”

The mime shook his head, then leaned against a counter. Or a lamppost. Or a wall. It was hard to tell.

Sullivan always hated cases involving mimes. He moved on to the third witness. “How about you, buddy? You got something to say?”

Another “X” across the mouth. Then the mime started to fight his way against a fierce wind. A moment later, he pulled out an invisible umbrella and tried to keep it from blowing away.

“Enough,” Sullivan bellowed. “Your mime friend is lying there, dead. And you’re not helping me one bit.”

The third mime stopped struggling with his umbrella. He laid it down on the sidewalk gently. He smoothed out his unwrinkled clothes, adjusted his beret, then faced the detective. “Okay. You cracked me,” he said, aloud. The other two mimes slapped their hands over their ears and recoiled in horror. The third mime continued, “I did it. I killed Marcello. I’m sorry.”

“You killed him?”

“Yes, yes, it was me. I stabbed him.”

The other two mimes shrank away farther, pretending to bawl.

“Why’d you do it?” Sullivan asked the mime murderer.

“Jealousy. He did the best walking-in-the-wind the industry has ever seen. I just couldn’t take being in his shadows any more. I do a great wind thing myself. You’ve seen it. But it didn’t measure up.” The mime started crying; this time, the tears were real. “Please, don’t put me in jail. Please.”

Sullivan simply shook his head. Don’t do the mime, if you can’t do the time.

 

(This entry is “simul-posted” on Criminal Minds.)

I Should’ve Zigged Instead of Zagged

How often do you write yourself into a corner and how do you escape?

I rarely write myself into a corner, mostly because I’m an outliner.

Of course, I outline myself into a corner all the time.

But the great thing about word processors is their cut-and-paste function. So I play around, adding scenes, deleting scenes, rearranging scenes, trying to find the best fit or testing out new sequences and new ideas. Different, more compelling, paths to the final destination. If I like the new order, or some variation of it, then it stays.

If not, I hit DELETE, and try again.

When it comes to the actual writing, I don’t slavishly follow my outlines, so I have been known to go astray (once or twice or several hundred times). Usually, I’ll just plow ahead, knowing that certain subplots or threads or tangents will need to be changed. I’ll make a note in the figurative margins, or I’ll highlight a scene in a different color, so that when I go back for the next draft, I’ll know I need to fix things in order to have my story make sense.

In other words, I usually address all the disjointed stuff when I work through the revision process. (After all, they (whoever they are) say that a good book isn’t written, it’s rewritten.)

In the first draft, I have one goal—to get it finished. BICFOK*, all the way!

Full speed ahead!

 

*Butt In Chair, Fingers On Keyboard

(This entry is “simul-posted” on Criminal Minds .)

RIDE-ALONG! FREE! FOR KINDLE!

If you’re reading this on Wednesday, August 14, RIDE-ALONG is FREE!

If you’re reading this on Thursday, August 15, RIDE-ALONG is FREE!

If you’re reading this on Friday, August 16, RIDE-ALONG is FREE!

If you’re reading this on Saturday, August 17, RIDE-ALONG is FREE!

Download your very own FREE copy!

 

Trey Powers never killed a cop before. Never had to.

But after his cousin Jimmy has been framed and murdered by Officer Karla Cheng, one of Hafton Police Department’s finest, Trey has no choice.

He must avenge Jimmy’s death, one way or another.

To get closer to his quarry, Trey joins the police department’s Citizen Action Team, and when a rival team member is killed, fingers point at Trey.

Now, he’s the hunted one, and the harrowing race is on: Can Trey bring Cheng to justice before she frames him for murder?

Or does something even worse?

Ultimately, Trey finds his life in jeopardy—along with the lives of those he loves—after embarking on a terrifying ride-along with Jimmy’s cold-blooded murderer.

Trey Powers never killed a cop before.

Never had to.

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RIDE-ALONG is a full-length novel of suspense, approximately 78K words.


ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Zak Allen also wrote FIRST TIME KILLER (thriller) and THE TASTE (horror/thriller), both ebook originals.

Zak Allen is the darker pseudonym of Alan Orloff, author of the Agatha Award finalist DIAMONDS FOR THE DEAD and the Last Laff Mystery series (KILLER ROUTINE, DEADLY CAMPAIGN), from Midnight Ink. Visit him at www.alanorloff.com

So Many Books!

What are you reading now? What have you read recently that you’d recommend?

I once picked up a book with a very cool premise. I read about 200 pages, then decided it was pretty ridiculous not to my liking. But I really wanted to find out what happened, so I finished reading it. And it didn’t end any better than it had started.

Fast forward about three years. I picked up a book with a very cool premise. I read about 200 pages, then decided it was pretty ridiculous not to my liking. But I really wanted to find out what happened, so I finished reading it. And it didn’t end any better than it had started.

Yes, that’s correct. I read the same book twice without realizing it until the very end. So I guess you could say I’m not very good about remembering books. At least not bad ones.

However, I am much better about remembering good books (not the plots or the characters, but the overall impression the book left me with).

Here are a few books I’ve read recently that I enjoyed:

The Poacher’s Son by Paul Doiron (award-winning debut in his Mike Bowditch series)

Shotgun Lullaby by Steve Ulfelder (the third in his excellent Conway Sax series, starting with the Edgar-nominated Purgatory Chasm)

A Wanted Man by Lee Child. (I love Jack Reacher)

Right now, I’m in the middle of Live By Night by Dennis Lehane (one of my all-time favorite writers).

What will I be reading next? Well, as I posted on Facebook last week, I have a new policy:

From now on, I will only read books that: are written by people I know, are written by people I don’t know (yet), have been nominated for awards, have won awards, have been overlooked for awards, seem interesting, have great covers, have, uh, interesting covers, are from experienced writers, are from debut authors, are in genres I like, are in a genres I usually don’t read, are serious, are funny, are recommended, I find on the shelf without any fanfare, are purchased, are borrowed, are received as gifts, OR are written in English.

BUT THAT’S ALL!

(The entry is “simul-posted” on Criminal Minds.)

House Call

I’m very pleased that my story, House Call (people really should be nicer to their physicians), is included in the current (Summer 2013) issue of NEEDLE: A Magazine of Noir!

It’s got fourteen great stories by a host of very talented authors (plus me) and is edited by the very noirish Steve Weddle (whose first book, COUNTRY HARDBALL, will be out in November!).

And look at that cool cover, too!

Get your copy today. HERE.

Bye, Bye, Beantown!

If you’d like to see my answer to this week’s question (If a dictator forbade me from writing crime fiction, what would I write?), click HERE.

I shall now answer last week’s question: If you were murdered, which fictional detective would you want on the case?

I’m sure there are plenty of capable, competent detectives who could take my case and run with it, delving into my shady past looking for motives and suspects, but I’d like to think I deserve the best. So I fervently hope I get killed in Boston.

Then my case could be a collaborative effort.

(But, seriously, who would want to kill me? What have I ever done???)

First, Medical Examiner Maura Isles would handle the autopsy. She’d be able to come up with a plausible scenario derived from all the microscopic clues she’d uncover. Then she’d feed it all to Jane Rizzoli, who would direct the official police investigation.

Of course, Rizzoli couldn’t do it on her own—there are some places/tasks only a private detective can negotiate. Enter Spenser. He’d talk to his myriad Boston connections and come up with a list of suspects, then poke around until someone got nervous. And if things got really rough, he’d call in Hawk to lend a hand (or a fist).

But since you can never have enough crackerjack PIs on the case, Patrick Kenzie and Angela Gennaro also would get involved. Their additional Boston street smarts would be like icing on the investigative cake. And if Rizzoli, Isles, Spenser, Hawk, Patrick, and Angie needed more muscle (or the talents of a sociopath), they could always turn to Bubba.

It’s comforting to know my murder investigation would be in good hands.

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I’m happy to announce that FIRST TIME KILLER is now available as an audiobook from Audible.com, Amazon, or iTunes. It’s ten hours of thrills and chills, narrated by the terrific voice professional Bob Dunsworth. Listen to a sample today!

(This entry is “simul-posted” on Criminal Minds.)

Now Hear This!

I’m happy to say that my ebook thriller, FIRST TIME KILLER, is now available as an audiobook (at Audible.com, Amazon, and iTunes).

Ten full hours of suspenseful, edge-of-your-seat excitement.

Best of all, it’s narrated by the fabulous Bob Dunsworth!

If you toss the movies Network, Play Misty for Me, and Talk Radio into a blender and add a liberal serving of Howard Stern, you’ll get the flavor of FIRST TIME KILLER.

Here’s a description:

In shock radio, nothing is too far over-the-top in the pursuit of ratings.

Not even murder.

During his twenty-six-year career, D.C. radio talk show host Rick Jennings steered clear of outrageous radio. Wasn’t his thing. So when WTLK execs tap him for the Afternoon Circus to land a lucrative satellite deal, Rick struggles to maintain his standards—and his dignity. A chilling call (“I’m a long-time listener, first time KILLER.”) leads to the discovery of an intern’s arm in a trashcan.

Rick spars with the “First Time” killer over the airwaves. The police are stymied. Ratings skyrocket. And First Time continues to knock off members of the Circus, phoning in to gloat afterward.
In a world of psychics and poseurs, crazy deejays and crazier callers, it’s up to Rick to bring First Time down before more people perish.

Listen to a free sample, then download your copy today!

Idaville’s Favorite Son

Who, in your opinion, is the greatest fictional
detective of all time?
(Whatever you take greatest to mean.)
Tough question. There are so many great detectives, but the greatest? Sherlock Holmes? Nero Wolfe? Spenser? Elvis Cole? Hercule Poirot? Kinsey Milhone? Perry Mason? Sam Spade? Nancy Drew? Harry Bosch? Sure, they all belong in the International Detective Hall of Fame, but I think I’ll take the little guy. Literally.

Put my vote down for Encyclopedia Brown.

Allow me to present the facts to make my case:

He’s a fellow of fine character and ingenuity.
He’s super smart.
He solves crimes without having to resort to gunplay.
He’s the Chief of Police’s ace-in-the-hole (and his son).
He and his sidekick, Sally Kimball, have never been stumped!
He’s neither an alcoholic nor a coke fiend.
He prevented arch-nemesis Bugs Meany from terrorizing Idaville.

Lets’ face it, Encyclopedia Brown has put together an impressive body of work:

His creator, Donald Sobol, won an Edgar Award.
Encyclopedia Brown was a book series, a syndicated comic strip, a TV series, and they’re planning to make a movie starring the boy detective.

So, should Encyclopedia Brown be in consideration for title of Greatest Detective of All-Time? If it’s on a pound-for-pound basis, then he’s a shoo-in!

(This entry is “simul-posted” on Criminal Minds .)

It’s Berry Time!

(a blog post rerun)

When it comes to my yard, I'm a naturalist.

Not exactly the kind of naturalist who works to preserve the environment (although I think that's important). I'm a naturalist in the sense that I am lazy--whatever nature wants to do, I'm cool with, as long as I don't have to lift a finger doing yard work. Fertilizer, shmertilizer, I always say.

Calling myself a naturalist somehow makes my lawn neglect more palatable. (My wife calls me a "delusionalist.")

I live on a fairly wooded, one-acre lot. It's tough for grass to grow because of all the shade.  I don't even bother trying. I'll cut whatever grows--mostly crabgrass and other weeds--but only in certain spots so the kids have a place to play catch or kick the soccer ball (and so the neighbors don't complain too much). I let the rest of the property grow wild.

Being lazy about yard work* has certain advantages.

Here's the (too-long) tale of one:

A few years ago, I noticed some blackberry canes growing in one corner of the yard (good thing I didn't cut the "grass" in that corner--I would have mowed the canes down!). I didn't pay much attention to them, and, months later when I went back to see if any blackberries were ripe, they were gone. Birds must have eaten them.

The next year, more canes grew and in June, I saw lots of little red berries popping out, on their way to becoming nice, juicy blackberries. Somehow, a rather large patch of blackberries also appeared in the front yard, intermingled with some azalea bushes (good thing I didn't weed out the azalea bed!).

Because we were leaving on a seven-week cross-country trip, I knew I wouldn't get to harvest these berries, so I alerted the neighbors. I told them they were welcome to pick the berries and gave them a heads-up to be quick, if they wanted to beat the birds to the punch.

Fast forward seven weeks. The neighbors didn't get any blackberries. Somehow, the birds got them before the berries had ripened. Oh well.

The following year, even more canes grew. I now had two huge patches of blackberries, one in the front and one in the back. I watched over them like a mother hen, determined to outsmart the birds and harvest some berries before they got them all. I even put netting over some of the plants. Take that, birdies!

Lots of little red berries appeared, and my mouth watered daily.

I waited and waited for those berries to ripen. And waited.

One day, the father of my son's friend came over. As he picked up his son, he commented, "That's a very impressive patch of wild raspberries."

I smiled and corrected him. "Thanks, but they're blackberries."

"No, I'm pretty sure they are raspberries."

I chuckled. "Well, I go running near here, and I pass a ton of blackberry plants. And I'm pretty sure mine are blackberries. They're just not ripe yet."

The other guy smiled. "Well, I taught plant identification in college, and I'm positive those are raspberries. And, by the way, they're ripe."**

Sometimes my wife calls me "idiot" too.

I don't argue.

 

Footnotes
*The one hour I spent doing yard work in the past year didn't go too well. See My Last Superpower. That'll teach me to fool with Mother Nature.

**No wonder my "blackberries" never got ripe and turned purple! Good news: it's looking like another bumper crop this year.