The Bedrock of the Publishing Industry

When it comes to books, we writers like to interview other writers, editors, literary agents, publicists, but how often do we pick the brains of those representing the bedrock of the publishing industry? Without whom, the entire enterprise would collapse? Who am I talking about? Readers! Or rather in this case, one particular reader, my neighbor Eric Knoll.

He and his wife Kathy (and their two sons) are front porch people, so we see each other quite a bit. Since Eric is usually huddled with a book, I got into the habit of asking him what’s he reading. From that, we’ve had many discussions about books and authors. Turns out, not only is he very knowledgeable about a wide range of books, he and I have similar interests, mostly crime novels and edgy nonfiction, and we’ve shared recommendations. So I used this opportunity for him to share his thoughts.

Eric, give us a bit of your background.

I’m 49 and was raised in Rockford, Illinois. It’s where the Sock Monkey and the band, Cheap Trick, came from. Aside from that, it’s a typical Midwestern town. Once it was a thriving manufacturing center but automation and NAFTA have gutted it. Sadly, because of high unemployment and crime, Rockford keeps popping up on those lists of worst American cities. I majored in English and for the next few years worked as a copywriter, substitute teacher, an associate at Whole Foods, barista and assistant manager at Starbucks. Kathy is a nurse and a career opportunity for her brought us to Denver. After more hopping from job to job, a friend suggested that I become a public school teacher, which intrigued me because then I could reconnect with my English degree. Interestingly, my father was a school teacher and though my mother had a BA in Education, she was a stay-at-home mom. After getting my teacher’s license, I roved about the metro area in various schools before settling in where I am now. I teach English to 8th graders in a pathway school, attended by students who haven’t had success in a traditional setting for a variety of reasons. This summer I’m completing my Master’s in Special Education. 

When did you start reading? What did you like to read then? How did those books and what else you liked to read influenced you and your outlook on life?

As a kid, I loved reading those Garfield books, comics, and the newspaper sports column. I suppose the book that really opened my eyes to the world was Jack Kerouac’s On The Road. His adventures seemed romantic and daring, especially considering my Catholic upbringing. From there, my interests kept growing. I’d keep my ears open for new titles or read author interviews to see what they had on their nightstands. I’m an avid follower of Goodreads and love to talk about books and music.

What are your favorite genres? 

 About 80 percent of what I read are novels, the other 20 percent are nonfiction. Of fiction, it’s mystery, thriller, and occasionally sci-fi or fantasy. Of nonfiction, it’s mostly historical. However, currently, I burned out on books about World War Two, there’s been so many.  

What makes you stop reading a book?

I read for escapism. I generally jump right in and go with the flow. I give a book about a hundred pages to reel me in but if I haven’t connected by then with either the characters or the plot, and no matter how sparkly the prose, I just stop reading.

What have been your all-time favorite books?

There have been many and I’ll start with the novel that hooked me because it’s so weird and well-written: Geek Love by Katherine Dunn. Other books include The Dharma Bums, also by Kerouac, The Name of the Wind and The Wise Man’s Fear by Patrick Rothfuss, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man by James Joyce, The Autobiography of Malcolm X by Malcolm X and Alex Haley, and Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee by Dee Brown.

I enjoy southern Gothic mysteries for their gritty, swampy atmosphere. Some of my favorite mysteries are from Joe Lansdale, Michael Farris Smith, SA Cosby, James Lee Burke, and the Australian writer, Michael Robotham.

For nonfiction, my go-to author is Erik Larsen. However, I can’t offer enough praise to The Johnstown Flood by David McCullough or Dino: Living High in the Dirty Business of Dreams a biography of Dean Martin by Nick Tosches (combining my love of music and books).

What’s on your nightstand?

I just finished The Big Empty and thanks to Mario for introducing me to Robert Crais. Right now, I’m about halfway through Tell Me What You Did by Carter Wilson. Next up is Dead In The Water: A True Story of Hijacking, Murder, and a Global Maritime Conspiracy by Matthew Campbell and Kit Chellel.

Thank you, Eric, for your insights and adding to my TBR pile. Happy reading.

Travel and writing, not travel writing

I have the good fortune this week to be writing this post from Morgan Hill, California. I arrived Saturday afternoon, got my rental car at the San Francisco International Airport, and drove an hour south to Morgan Hill, taking in the scenery (and the traffic) all the way.

One of the interesting things about stepping into a new location is that your perception of your surroundings becomes heightened.

I called my wife from the car, passing San Jose, and said the area felt a little like El Paso, Texas, where we lived for three years. When I arrived in Morgan Hill and spent time driving around the town, I told her it felt like a combination of Bend, Oregon (big-money, outdoorsy), and El Paso (mountain ranges, farm land). Being in a new place forces me to observe, and being forced to do that makes me think about how and where I incorporate setting details into my writing.

I love atmospheric books. James Lee Burke’s rich portrayal of New Orleans. Robert B. Parker’s depiction of Boston. Alexander McCall Smith’s use of Mma Precious Ramotswe to offer insights into Botswana. Even settings that can’t be described but are present, like Virginia Woolf’s To the Lighthouse, the physical structure of which I can’t explicitly describe but I feel the weight of the lighthouse on the characters on every page of the novel, nonetheless. (I’m still not sure how she does that.)

The settings in these books offer a layer of richness and nuance that readers might not even notice as they follow the plot and grow attached to the characters. And writing setting details is never easy. Hemingway said, Writing is always architecture, never interior design.

Likewise, the “clever” metaphor is only clever if it helps the reader by saving her time. Symbol, unless you are Steinbeck, is a critic’s word, not a writer’s.

So the use of setting to enhance a work can be a tightrope walk. I find myself often adding and just as often cutting in the same scene. A brushstroke here. A cover-up there. How much is too much? Am I writing that because I like it or because it will add something to the scene? (Be honest, John!) All are questions I struggle with as I go.

I’d love to hear what others think about setting and the place those details play in one’s work.

In Medias Res

Some recent excellent posts, including “Plotting, Plotting,” by Vicki, have me thinking about that timeless phrase in medias res.

I’ve been considering launch points –– of scenes, of novels –– simply where to begin. I like dialogue –– like to read it, love to write it. In many ways, I think we often know people best by what they say. In terms of plotting and moving a narrative forward, I buy into Elmore Leonard’s great line, Skip the stuff no one reads, entirely, and so dialogue is my bread and butter.

I’ve been reading TV scripts of late and have been observing where the scenes begin, the launch points. The audience enters most scenes mid-stride, mid-conversation, which, for me, is both fun and useful because I’m consistently launching in the middle, starting a scene with someone speaking. No preamble necessary. The stage (setting) has literally been set visually.

How does this translate to fiction? And therein lies the rub. After all, how much in media res is too much in medias res? Tom Wolff begins The Bonfire of the Vanities with straight dialogue. We have no idea where the scene is set until half a page into the scene, but the tension is captivating and Wolff, like Ed McBain, accomplishes so much with how people speak that we almost know the setting by the way people talk. But consider this opening by James Lee Burke of Last Car to Elysian Fields:

The first week after Labor Day, after a summer of hot winds and drought that left the cane fields dust blown and spiderwebbed with cracks, rain showers once again danced across the wetlands, the temperature dropped twenty degrees, and the sky turned a hard flawless blue of an inverted ceramic bowl. In the evenings I sat on the back steps of a rented shotgun house on Bayou Teche and watched boats passing in the twilight and listened to the Sunset Limited blowing down the line. Just as the light went out of the sky, the moon would rise like an orange planet above the oaks that covered my rented backyard, then I would go inside and fix supper for myself and eat alone at the kitchen table.

Stunning imagery. Burke’s lyrical voice shines through. And more importantly, Robicheaux’s latest internal crisis is hinted at. He is, after all, eating alone. The tone is ominous. We sense that we are starting after the fact. I want to keep reading to see what I’ve missed.

Where and how to begin? In medias res can have many different looks and take many different forms. And the beginning of a story is different than the beginning of a scene. Billy Collins says stepping from a poem’s title to the first line is like stepping from the dock into the canoe, which lets us know how tenuous launch points can be.

In Medias Res. So many choices.

Christmas Lights and Second Drafts

Christmas is upon us –– the season of good cheer, good food and drink, and time spent with close friends and family. For me, it’s also a time to regroup: I’m between semesters and chipping away on the second draft of a novel.

No two writers work the same way, and finding one’s process is like discovering how to tie a tie: You can hear about how to do it, even see it done, but until you actually finish a novel, you might as well stand before the mirror and try to do it backwards. Some writers outline. (Jeffery Deaver gave a keynote address I heard saying he spends eight months writing the outline, three writing the book.) Others say writing is like driving at night –– you can see only as far as your headlights, writing and plotting as you go. Other writers fall somewhere in between.

Part of developing a writing process is knowing your strengths and weaknesses. I do well to focus on character and dialogue, aspects that have always come easily. I’m never going to plot like Dan Brown. It’s simply not in my DNA. Moreover, I believe all writers, to some degree, write what we read. I grew up on series novels –– Parker, MacDonald, Chandler, Grafton, Paretsky, Burke (both Jan and James Lee) –– and I have no real interest in writing one-and-dones, stand-alones. Character interests me. I want to learn more about their lives in the vein Michael Connelly describes in his essay “The Mystery of Mystery Writing”: “The mystery has evolved in recent decades to be as much an investigation of the investigator as an inquiry of the crime at hand. Investigators now look inward for the solutions and means of restoring order. In the content of their own character, they find the clues” (Walden Book Report, September, 1998). I like to have a large canvas when I’m creating the arc of a character, a canvas that might span several books. I enjoy following a character, see her grow and develop and take on new challenges, and I enjoy books whose ill deeds expose moral ambiguity. All of this means the human condition is front and center in my plots: people do things, then, for relatively simple reasons.

So as I near the halfway point in draft No. 2, I’m taking inventory. The characters have come to life and are, fingers crossed, consistent and believable. Ditto the setting. The plot, though, has to be reeled in, simplified. I’m always looking for a way to find a twist at the end while honoring Poe’s and Chandler’s mandates that a mystery not only play fair with readers but also conclude with all necessary clues being front and center, unlike real-world crimes where aspects of the case always go unexplained. But much like the box marked “Christmas Lights” in my garage, this storyline needs someone to untangle it, and like that box in the garage, no amount of money will get my kids to do it for me. That means cutting and adding –– eliminating some red herrings, punching up other characters’ roles.

In the end, all I really want for Christmas is to not face draft No. 3.

Happy holidays!