Ink-On-Paper…It Just So Retro.

Woman reading paper

So who reads newspapers anymore? Well, I did, for one. Still do, on Sundays at least. During the week I head to the day job early. My preferred coffee stop en route had a rack right inside the door with a bin each of Tribunes and Sun-Times. Back in the car, armed with a large-with-cream, I treated myself to fifteen minutes of skimming the Trib before plunging into whatever hell the workday might hold. Then distributors changed or they weren’t getting a sufficient cut of each sale or who knows what, but the rack recently disappeared, so my quick weekday AM newspaper skim migrated to my laptop once in the office.

But Sunday mornings are reserved for the New York Times – print edition, not online – and any disruption to that routine throws off my entire day. No big surprise, but I start with the New York Times Book Review. Since I can’t possibly read every book I’d like to (much less afford them all), I enjoy the biography, memoir, current event and history book reviews as a substitute for actually reading them all.

City of Girls

Last week’s edition included a review of This Storm and an interview with its author, James Ellroy. The cover story was a review of Elizabeth Gilbert’s new City Of Girls, a book I might have overlooked if not for the review, and have already reserved at my local bookstore.

The previous week’s edition was a jumbo 68 page Summer Reading special, covering darn near very category you can think of from sports to cooking and even a two-page spread dedicated to horror. Diverse topics? How about a George Will interview to go along with the release of his The Conservative Sensibility back to back with John Waters’ The Tarnished Wisdom Of A Filth Elder, and a couple pages later, a full page review of Mallory O’Meara’s The Lady From The Black Lagoon – Hollywood Monsters And The Lost Legacy Of Milicent Patrick (the designer of the Universal’s iconic monster, the Creature From The Black Lagoon).

Millicent Patrick

That 6.2.19 edition of the NYT Book Review was brimming with titles I already ordered, had to run out and get or soon will. W. M. Akers’ hard-boiled historical fantasy/mystery Westside was well reviewed (my copy arrived last week). I rarely read true crime but M. William Phelps’ Where Monsters Hide: Sex, Murder And Madness In The Midwest is set in a small town right near a Memorial Day getaway I’d just returned from, so I picked that up this week, along with Casey Rae’s William S. Burroughs And The Cult Of Rock & Roll, a birthday gift for a dedicated Boho Millennial who’d give anything to be teleported to 1970’s Manhattan to trade barbs over coffee with Patti Smith. Layne Fargo’s well-reviewed Temper, a crime/mystery novel set in the Chicago theater scene, should arrive soon.


Sure, I could get it all on my laptop, desktop or my phone. And during the week, I make do with precisely that for basic morning newsgathering. Sundays? No way. That’s ink-on-paper time, eating up the better part of the morning, and time well spent. I’m writing this during the week, but it’ll post on Sunday. Possibly right when I’m buried in my NYT, who knows?


Tiptoeing ‘Round The Templates

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Whether as a reader or even as a writer, there’s much to be said for a ‘comfort zone’, that familiar territory of a particular genre’s or category’s reliable template. Familiarity doesn’t have to mean boring or redundant. Each book will have an author’s individual spin. It’s like a really good breakfast from a neighborhood diner where the short order cook (likely visible and hunched over the grill behind the counter) feels no compunction to stir in fancy imported cheeses, the toast won’t come from a vegan bakery, the heap of hash browns are grilled, greasy and just right and the coffee’s served sans-cinnamon or caramel but refilled frequently. Nothing nouvelle, no surprises, but still something to be savored.

When you crack open a traditional ‘whodunit’ mystery novel, it’s safe to expect that a body will be discovered by the end of chapter one and the rest of the book will be spent working through a list of suspects and red herrings to uncover just who committed the crime. Though every writer will put their own individual spin on the template, that reliable formula is almost as comfy as your apres-workday sweater or your reading chair. Naturally, reading nothing but books that rigidly adhere to some pre-ordained genre format would eventually become dreary. It’s fun to be surprised or even challenged, yet we’ll still return to the comfort zone again and again.

Part of what separates the writing pro’s from mere wannabe’s may be an ability to anticipate reader’s expectations. In traditional ‘whodunits’, that business about ‘discovering the body by the end of chapter one’ ( a gross over-simplification, obviously) may be a reader’s reasonable expectation, and therefore, the writer’s implicit obligation, or so some agents and editors are likely to point out.

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But the mystery genre – at least as a retail bookstore merchandising label – covers more than only traditional whodunits and includes all sorts of thrillers, crime fiction, noirs and much, much more, where the rules often are bent, twisted or turned completely upside-down. Clearly some writers aren’t merely tiptoeing around the category’s templates, but merrily stomping over them. That said, I’m not sure I’ve earned the cred to do any foot stomping on genre conventions just yet.

Charles Finch’s front piece on “Winter Thrillers” in this past Sunday’s New York Times opened with: ”Who knew a thriller could be this boring! Felonies, hush money, Russian agents, dogged journalists – in real time, it turns out, all that stuff moves like molasses, with none of the subtle internal coherence you find in a good novel of suspense. We may have to concede that while truth is indeed stranger than fiction, fiction is substantially better arranged. On the other hand, we don’t know the ending yet. There are great books that begin slowly, the authors talking themselves uncertainly toward their material before suddenly they find it and the intensity increases, the options narrow, the risk heightens: The final report comes in.” Finch then goes on to review an Australian author’s new thriller which apparently takes its sweet time to get moving, but ultimately turns out to be, as he notes, “all at once enthralling”.

(Of course we know perfectly well what thriller Finch was really talking about in his introduction, since most of us watch in disbelief as it plays out on our TV and phone screens newsfeeds every night.)

At the moment, I’m tiptoeing ‘round the templates myself, reluctantly conceding that attempts to ignore sensible genre conventions traded well-intentioned creativity for dreadful pacing.

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With the completed manuscript for my noir-ish period crime novel The Stiletto Gumshoe deep in the un-fun querying process, I’d been hard at work and roughly halfway through the first draft of its follow-up. But I recently halted work on the in-progress sequel in order to revisit the first novel, which is now midway through a fairly substantial rework that’ll slice an entire hunk off the front and redistribute essential info throughout the manuscript. I was reluctant to do so at first. (Horrified is more like it.) But with a couple nearly identical ‘thanks-but-no-thanks’ query replies in hand – quite complimentary but sternly reminding me that not all genre conventions are bad just because they’re familiar – I sucked it up and got to work killing all those ‘precious darlings’ writers are warned to watch for. Once the first novel’s updates are done, I can restart the querying process while I concurrently start over at the very beginning of the follow-up book to slice, dice and purge the same sort of artsy-smartsy opening portions that cluttered up the first. Un-planned, time-consumptive and frustrating? You betcha. But the first book is already better for it, and the follow-up will be too once updated and back underway. Like Charles Finch said in his NYT Book Review piece, it ought to ‘increase the intensity, narrow the options and heighten the risks’ and do so all that much quicker for the reader.

Sure, some will say I’m a weenie for kowtowing to some agents’ comments (agents who may have relayed nice remarks, but no offers of representation, mind you). Well, then a weenie I am. Consider: If a painter proudly unveiled a portrait in progress only to be told “Nice, but the nose is crooked”, then that painter should grab a brush and fix the bent schnoz.

Tiptoeing-Templates 3Even though I happily embrace novels that defy genre conventions and turn category formats upside-down while I work through stacks of comfortably familiar books, I don’t expect I’ll be on the vanguard of redefining literature. I’ll be content with telling a good story that I really want to share, hopefully doing so with the pacing and narrative flow publishing professionals approve of (as opposed to beta readers who are all too often neighbors, coworkers and drinking buddies). So for now I’m just fine with adopting a wobbly and precarious pose between writer’s how-to books’ rigid guidelines and the natural storytelling creativity struggling to cut loose, and just tiptoe ‘round the templates.

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