Rob Brunet's Blog, page 3

Pics from Noir@Bar Toronto

Things have been stacked pretty deep in the week and a bit since Tanis Mallow and I hosted the first Noir at the Bar in Toronto since 2009. (More on all that later.) Still, we've got a clutch of pictures from the event, and I wanted to get a few up, so here they go. (Photos by Hailey Mallow and Deb Jones.)

We were thrilled at the lineup we pulled together for our first go. From left, Owen Laukkanen, Frank De Blase, Tanis Mallow, Terrence McCauley, Hilary Davidson, me, John McFetridge, Jill Edmondson, and Howard Shrier. Missing from this group shot was Andrew Pyper (pictured reading below -- and isn't PJ O'Brien Irish Pub a gem?).

 We bookended the night with readings by N@BTO veterans McFetridge (Black Rock) and Shrier (Miss Montreal). Unpack that sentence a bit. Two ex-Montrealers reading books about Montreal in Toronto at Noir at the Bar Toronto while on the television downstairs, a room full of Leafs fans were watching the Habs go down to the Bruins in Game 5 of a series they ultimately won to face the Rangers in a conference final. Oh, and did I mention we had three New Yorkers reading as well? Like I said, things have been stacked pretty deep the last week or so. I don't write nights when the Habs are in the finals. I don't iron shirts either. Wasn't this supposed to be a post about hockey?

Clearly, I'm prone to confusion, which this next photo from our introductions demonstrates well enough. ("To my right, no my other right.")

In true Noir at the Bar fashion, the event was bolstered by out-of-towners. Our New Yorkers were McCauley, De Blase, and Davidson.  

 

Laukkanen scored extra points for distance, flying—you read that right, rail fans—all the way from Vancouver.

Mallow made sure anyone looking for true grit was not left wanting when she gave us some of her inimitable darkness.

And as if the packed bar weren't hot enough, Edmondson treated us to a #NSFW romp through the sheets, er pages, of crime fiction sleuths. (You can read that here, on Kevin Burton Smith's Thrilling Detective blog.)

On a personal note, the evening was the first time I read from Stinking Rich in public. It got a laugh or two, which kinda made my night.

Looking forward to doing this all again later this summer. I can see how easy it would be to get hooked on N@B. With all due nods to Peter Rosovsky, Todd Robinson, Eric Beetner, Jedidiah Ayres, Joe Clifford, Tom Pitts, Scott Montgomery and so many others who've got this groove going. Yeah, I'm packing my bags.

Noir at the Bar

Photo: Tanis Mallow

Counting down to next week's Noir at the Bar Toronto, and loving how it's taking shape.

After catching a glimpse at Bouchercon last September, Tanis Mallow and I were convinced Toronto needed its own N@B. Given the raft of crime fiction authors in town, we knew we'd find six gritty voices pretty easy. In no time, our endeavour became fraught with the same considerations as picking a team for a game of road hockey. Only no one drops out after the first period to let the other kids play. As the line-up took shape, out-of-town authors threw their hats in the ring. For our first shot at this, I gotta say it's looking pretty strong. Bonus: we've got a great list of authors to invite out next game.

Next, we needed a venue. Sending a couple writers on a search for the right bar is a sure way to slow things down. Eventually we found The Fireplace Lounge above PJ O'Brien Irish Pub. With plenty of booths and dark wood and...well, it's Irish. 'Nuff said.

Over the next bunch of weeks, there was a bookseller to engage, a Twitter feed to set up, the Facebook page, a poster, an evite—you get the picture (by the way, that knife up there ain't Photoshopped—kudos, Tanis). Hats off to guys like Todd Robinson and Eric Beetner who make it look like a breeze in New York and LA.

Bottom line, if we weren't in this for the long haul, it would have been nuts to take it on.

Thing is, at the end of the day, this is all about a bunch of readers and writers getting together in a bar every few months for a little gritty fiction. What could be simpler than that?

If you're curious how it turns out or maybe looking for the next one, "like" our Facebook page, and we'll keep you in the loop.

 

 

 

 

Would Mark Twain thrive today?

I could start this riff by confessing how much of Mark Twain's oeuvre I have yet to read. Given the limb I'm about to go out on, that might even be wise. But without claiming any particular expertise in his writing nor in depth knowledge of Samuel Clemens's life, I feel compelled to convey an impression I have of his character. More to the point, how that character might react were he to find himself launched into today's publishing world.

My admiration of Twain's work spurred me to write in my teens and early twenties. His short stories and essays, especially. But over the decades since, it is more the stories about the man that have struck me.

Here's a guy who worked wherever he could make a buck, on riverboats, as a miner, writing along the way, lecturing, doing stand-up comedy (before it was called that), investing in publishing, failing repeatedly, and never halting his production of this, that, and another piece of written work.

He wrote travel, tall tales, novels, novellas, poetry, autobiographical truths and untruths. He hustled himself on stage, had his work sold door-to-door like brushes. He tried anything to put himself in front of readers and earn a living. After declaring bankruptcy later in life, he toured the world as a speaker to earn enough to pay back his creditors even though he had no obligation to do so.

What I wonder is this: how would a guy like Mark Twain react to today's sea change in the world of publishing? Would he bemoan being expected to market his own work? Would he complain about paltry advances? Would he blame publishers or retailers or greedy readers for wanting his work for pennies on the dollar?

Probably.

Can you imagine Twain on Twitter?

He'd lash out with style, I imagine. He'd skewer them all. Then he'd bust his ass figuring out how to make the upheaval work in his favour. He'd be traditionally publishing, self-publishing, and have a finger in three different kickstarters at once.

A man who pens his autobiography well into his final years, but insists it not be published until after his death, isn't a man afraid of effort. Or of trying something new.

Twain spent his life crafting ways to deliver his thinking, his opinions, and his wit to an audience he clearly loved. I'm convinced he would have thrived in today's publishing environment. Not only by his words, but by his work and his entrepreneurial creativity as well.

What do you think? Would Twain be wailing at the darkness or would he light yet another candle? And what other literary greats would thrive in today's crazy strategic inflection point?

 

What would Mark Twain make of publishing today?

I could start this riff by confessing how much of Mark Twain's oeuvre I have yet to read. Given the limb I'm about to go out on, that might even be wise. But without claiming any particular expertise in his writing nor in depth knowledge of Samuel Clemens's life, I feel compelled to convey an impression I have of his character. More to the point, how that character might react were he to find himself launched into today's publishing world.

My admiration of Twain's work spurred me to write in my teens and early twenties. His short stories and essays, especially. But over the decades since, it is more the stories about the man that have struck me.

Here's a guy who worked wherever he could make a buck, on riverboats, as a miner, writing along the way, lecturing, doing stand-up comedy (before it was called that), investing in publishing, failing repeatedly, and never halting his production of this, that, and another piece of written work.

He wrote travel, tall tales, novels, novellas, poetry, autobiographical truths and untruths. He hustled himself on stage, had his work sold door-to-door like brushes. He tried anything to put himself in front of readers and earn a living. After declaring bankruptcy later in life, he toured the world as a speaker to earn enough to pay back his creditors even though he had no obligation to do so.

What I wonder is this: how would a guy like Mark Twain react to today's sea change in the world of publishing? Would he bemoan being expected to market his own work? Would he complain about paltry advances? Would he blame publishers or retailers or greedy readers for wanting his work for pennies on the dollar?

Probably.

Can you imagine Twain on Twitter?

He'd lash out with style, I imagine. He'd skewer them all. Then he'd bust his ass figuring out how to make the upheaval work in his favour. He'd be traditionally publishing, self-publishing, and have a finger in three different kickstarters at once.

A man who pens his autobiography well into his final years, but insists it not be published until after his death, isn't a man afraid of effort. Or of trying something new.

Twain spent his life crafting ways to deliver his thinking, his opinions, and his wit to an audience he clearly loved. I'm convinced he would have thrived in today's publishing environment. Not only by his words, but by his work and his entrepreneurial creativity as well.

What do you think? Would Twain be wailing at the darkness or would he light yet another candle? And what other literary greats would thrive in today's crazy strategic inflection point?

 

Writers' advice to their younger selves

Three Toronto authors tossed a few pearls at The Spoke Club last night. Bitterly cold outside, but the room was packed anyway.

Michael Winter, Stacey May Fowles, and Brian Francis were the panel for Open Book Toronto's Literary Salon. With Becky Toyne moderating, any sense of the dread panel rhythm (question-answer-counterpoint-thud) disappeared quickly. She redirected her own questions and got the authors opened up, baring bits of not-so-lonely soul to an audience of (mostly) newbie writers.

The theme was Advice for My Younger Self. Being one of the older guys in the audience, I took notes.

When to write? Winter locks himself in a cold room every morning, with the oddest companion (more on that later). For Fowles, it's a 15-hour showerless Saturday binge. Francis writes on the subway, again at lunch, wherever he can, because it's what he wants to do, who he wants to be.

A confessed curmudgeon, Winter shared his rules. Like, open your novel at the last page, not the first page, when you sit down to write. Finish the damn thing, and then go back to edit page one. Fowles takes the opposite approach, rewriting as she writes until she reaches the last line. Francis urged everyone to give ourselves permission to write absolute garbage in our first drafts.

As the panel wrapped up, Winter opened Fowles's book and read the last line. It was as if he was having a look to see whether it required more attention, given Fowles's progessive approach to her craft. She caught him doing it and he pronounced it, "a good last line."

But the best line of the night came early, when Winter explained his rational for writing from a computer hived off from the Internet. He described two rooms, one with a puppy and the other with a dog three days dead. Everyone would rather be in the room with the loving puppy. The Internet is a puppy, he said. But, the dead dog's your novel. Lock yourself in there and work on it.

Time to light another stick of incense. What with the garbage, the dead dog, and the shower I surely need, my garret's smelling foul.

If you'd like to read more of their pearls, check out Descant Magazine's post here.

"Pitch Perfect" on Out of the Gutter

Next month, Toronto Writers Co-op holds its sixth annual literary cabaret, and I needed something suitably short to read. The cabaret pairs each author with a musician. Ideally, the accompanist interacts with the story, affecting its delivery.

This year, my dear friend Mike Fitzgerald offered to join me on stage, playing a new instrument called Xth Sense which uses the performer's muscle sounds to produce music. While he soldered that into shape, I wrote a music-inspired piece called "Pitch Perfect".

I'd wanted to land something on Out of the Gutter since last year, and this piece seemed the right shade of dark. Happily, Joe Clifford and Tom Pitts agreed.

You can read it here.

When we get a video of the performance, I'll let you hear how cool Mike's work sounds on-stage.

Guest Post: Should Authors Respond to Reviews?

Last week, none other than Stephen King joined Twitter with this tweet:  "On Twitter at last, and can't think of a thing to say. Some writer I turned out to be." There's no question readers and writers alike have a lot to celebrate about increased access to each other. At the same time, navigating that new relationship in a public online sphere isn't simple.

In this guest post, Jill Edmondson opens up about a tricky question for authors in a social media-driven marketplace for fiction.

Jill Edmondson:

Once upon a time—and by that I mean pre-Internet—it was fairly uncommon for an author to respond to a reviewer.  The World Wide Web has changed the game, but it still seems that no one is sure of the rules.  Should an author respond to reviews?  Is it rude not to engage?  Do readers and reviewers want to up the ante from the one-sided communication of a stand-alone review to a spirited discussion? 

My knee-jerk reaction is to say very loudly that no, authors should not publically respond, particularly when the review is negative.  A case in point is the mud-slinging that ensued after a blogger unfavourably reviewed Pandora by Anne Rice.  Anne Rice linked the poor review to her Facebook fan page, and posted a comment inviting (inciting?) fans to respond to it. (See what happened next here.)

At last check, more than 800 people had posted replies on Ms. Rice’s Facebook wall.  It would appear that Anne Rice fans are indeed very loyal; many of them trashed the reviewer, one of whom even went so far as to say to the reviewer: “I HOPE YOU GET HERPES” (now deleted), while others merely suggested the reviewer needs to be medicated.  

Okay, so maybe that example is a bit extreme, but it’s worth keeping in mind.  Not only did Rice’s fans come out in droves, there were a great many who criticised Anne Rice for siccing her fan base on the reviewer.  Rice came off as petty and vindictive in what could only have been a losing proposition in the first place.  The drama probably didn’t earn her many new fans.

But sometimes it’s very hard not to respond.  There have been two occasions (different reviewers, different titles) where I would have welcomed an opportunity to sit down and have a beer with the reviewer.  I would have loved to know more about their thoughts on my books.  In the first case, I think the reviewer really missed the point, purpose and tone of my book.  She seemed to find something in it that wasn’t there and apparently thought it was anti-feminist.  Moi?  Anti-feminist?  I wasn’t necessarily upset by her review (3 stars), but I was a little confused, and, okay yeah, maybe a little bit verklempt. 

In the other instance, the reviewer gave the book 3 stars, and did say some positive things, but but but... He resoundingly criticised one aspect of the book, calling it a clichéd plot device.  What the reviewer didn’t know is that the very part he disliked was totally based on a real experience.  Hmph. 

Many authors say they don’t read any reviews of their works, and they often advise others not to read their own reviews either.  While a bad or even a meh review can ruin your day, I think it’s foolish to ignore reviews all together.  You can learn from them.  You’ll find out what people liked or didn’t, and can keep that in mind as you write the next book.  For example, one fucking reviewer said my first fucking book had too much fucking swearing in it.  So, I fucking toned it down for the next fucking book.  That was an easy enough thing to change, and if doing so makes others enjoy my books more, then it’s a win.

The urge to respond to favourable reviews is different, and for me it’s a bit sticky.  I’d like to be able to claim that I never respond to reviews (and then at least that way no one will ever wonder why I ignored So-and-So negative).  But when it comes to reviews in online milieu such as Amazon, Twitter or Goodreads where I can and do interact with readers, it seems rude to not publicly say “thank you,” or at least to click “like” on a review.  But then I worry about optics.  Might readers think the review was biased or influenced by me in some way? Who knows?  I guess I’m just happy that some people feel strongly enough about my books to review them in the first place, and that’s good enough for me.

BIO: 

Jill Edmondson is the author of the Sasha Jackson mystery series. There’s a thin line between Jill and her sleuth Sasha, although Jill has never worked at a phone sex hotline, and Sasha isn’t a language geek. Jill enjoys bumming around any country where they speak a Latin-based language.  She also loves head-banging rock concerts, ice cream, palm trees, and absolutely adores her two toothless Maltese dogs.  

Find Jill Edmondson here:

On Amazon

On Twitter

On Facebook

On Goodreads

Is this a Golden Era for Short Fiction?

Three recent encounters have reinforced my sense we may be entering a new golden era for short fiction. Each conversation was innocuous enough, but together they gave me pause.

Terra Hazelton Sings Noir

Earlier this year, I chanced upon Terra Hazelton's voice on the radio. I was floored.

Bouchercon Blast

Pretty sure I can't blog about Bouchercon without coming off all giddy and fan-boy, but here goes anyway.

I was a Bouchercon virgin until last week. Now, I'm hooked. Who wouldn't be? On the way to Albany, I tweeted a Robin Spano article where she advised kids to just go for it at camp. Adults could feel just as intimidated, I said, heading to a conference of their peers.

Well, that ain't gonna last when it's a crime fiction conference. Especially not if you travel with a wingman like the inimitable Tanis Mallow. (Thanks, pal. You really made it for me.)

When Steve Steinbock urged me to "consider Bouchercon" last year, I knew it came from the heart. "Just go, if you can," he said.

Now it's been three days since it ended and I'm still a-buzz. Pretty sure the bourbon's worn off and I'm well-versed in caffeine, so that's not it. It's just a bundle of memories fighting for attention as they layer into my worn-out brain. Memories like...

Hard to find these in Canada....stealing Glock bullet casings from the firing range at the State Trooper Academy during Julia Pomeroy's tour. (Then fessing up and getting permission from our armed tour guide.)

...being called on-stage by Terrence McCauley to read from Todd Robinson's legendary Thuglit with like zero minutes notice. (And loving it.)

...meeting Erica Ruth Neubauer when we crashed Eric Campbell's Down&Out dinner and knowing immediately why Ruth and Jon Jordan would have her write reviews for Crimespree. Talk about an interesting background for someone in crime fiction.

...having Les Edgerton say he caught me crying as I read "The Hunt" on video.

...learning how incredibly funny Frank de Blase really is.[image error]

...imagining what would happen if Jack Getze's fuse gets lit one day.

...hearing Ed Kurtz go on about...

Those eyes....or rather...

...when he said...

...shit, it's all XXX-rated.

...being surprised when Tanis told me Ron Earl Phillips, Chris Irvin, Jen Conley, and Erik Arneson were meeting face-to-face for the first time! (Shotgun Honey runs so smooth it didn't seem possible.)

...seeing Sean Chercover in the wee hours again and again and again...

...seeing Absolutely Kate pretty much everywhere!

...hearing Andre Frieden's first-person take on North Korea.

...being convinced by Josh Stallings I can wear a Tommy Bahama shirt on Yonge Street. In Toronto. In February.

...getting all political (or not) late at night with Anonymous-9.

...hugging Cara Brookins just 'cause her energy's great.

...catching the very end of D.J. McIntosh's 3:00 a.m. interview.

[image error]...having Owen Laukkanen mention my manuscript during his panel. Man, Owen, how big is your heart?

...holding up the bar with Johnny Shaw and Glenn Gray long past last call.

...talking ghosts with Andrew Pyper.

...missing coffee with Charles Salzberg just so I can head to NYC and buy him a drink later this year.

...being told I need sleep by C.J. Carpenter. (Yeah, we're talking dark circles here.)

...and hearing Stacia Decker share her desire for an unbroken string of Bouchercons. And already knowing what she means.

'Cause I'll be in Long Beach next November, and counting the words until then. Thanks everyone for a truly special few days and for welcoming me into the cabal.