In Memory

Friday I attended the Celebration of Life for Christine T. Jorgensen (1941-2024). I met Christine during my first Colorado Gold conference in 1994. She was incredibly gracious, poised, and welcoming to a wannabe writer like me. Christine was one of the founders of Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers and its first president. Over the course of her writing career, she published seven mystery novels.

 

I didn't know her very well and it was both enlightening and inspiring to hear anecdotes of a full life from her husband, children, and friends. An interesting writerly detail was that she had a thirst for cocktails and could hold her own when it came time to partake in the booze. Christine was born September 12, 1941, in Champagne, Illinois. With the start of WW2, her father was called up, serving later in the Philippine campaign, and the family moved to southern California to be closer to him before he shipped out. After college, Christine worked in family and child support services in Chicago and Denver. A voracious reader, she was drawn to writing, initially trying her hand with romance novels until her critique group noted that a romance story does not typically have a murder. Even if it did, seven dead bodies in one book were too many for the genre. With that advice, Christine turned her attention to murder mysteries, eventually penning five in the Stella the Stargazer series, followed by two stand-alones. Any one of us would be lucky to be so fondly remembered.

To read her obituary, click here Christine T. Jorgensen.

The Call

Twenty years ago this month, I got "The Call," meaning the phone call I received from my agent informing me that HarperCollins had offered a contract on my manuscript. For a work like mine, an urban fantasy, they wanted a series and could I write that? Even though I had no idea where to take my character from this first book, I answered, "Of course!"

I had been primed for this moment from my experience in Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers, listening to their pros share anecdotes of triumph and caution after receiving their Call. I knew this contract was but one step forward on my path as a writer, an important step but a single step nonetheless. I knew more work waited: establishing a website, making inroads on social media (MySpace back then), contacting bookstores, reaching out to cons to get on panels now that I was a published writer!

I'd heard other writers explain how "The Call" had changed their lives. However, for some, all was not good, because after receiving the call, the deal fell through, which painfully delayed and detoured their writing journey. At the time, I didn't see The Call as altering my life much since I was in a holding pattern waiting for the chance to break free. I was living in the basement of an ex-girlfriend's house, having been laid off during a reduction-in-force (the second time in my professional career, the third time if you count being mustered out of the Army), and earning my keep by hopscotching from job-to-job. Fixing forklifts, delivering lost luggage, newspapers, pizzas, working in a car dealership. The offer was a three-book contract for a "Nice Deal." It wasn't a big pile of money but enough to rent a place of my own and pay the bills for a while. My life was back on track.

Because of changes in publishing, The Call has since lost much of its significance. Self-publishing has evolved to the point that allows writers to find success without the need for a NY publisher or an agent. Even those traditionally published often opt for a hybrid model to survive.

Considering my single-minded focus on finishing that first book, I saw the forthcoming contract as inevitable, but looking back, it had definitely changed my life for the better, and I have to acknowledge that for me, the stars had aligned and it was the Universe that had given me The Call.

Remembering a Mentor

I was talking with my sons about the value of mentors in your professional development. I mentioned that it was something that I hadn't done and regretted it. Then I remembered that wasn't quite true. I did have a mentor as a writer and he had been a significant influence in giving me the skills and knowledge that helped me eventually get published.

Around 1987, I got serious about writing a novel. I quickly discovered that I didn't know what I was doing and sought to educate myself. By then I had moved to Fresno, California, and signed up for an adult education class on writing. It was taught by a woman who was a copy editor with the local newspaper. While she knew the technical ins-and-outs about writing, she established herself as a gate-keeper and claimed that if we didn't do things her way, that she'd make sure none of us would ever get published. The best thing I can say about the experience is that I now know what a terrible critique group is like. 

Then when I moved to Colorado, I joined Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers and discovered what it was like to be among for-real published authors eager to share their wisdom and help the rest of us along. My first RMFW critique group was comprised of wannabes and in spite of our enthusiasm, it was the blind leading the blind. After receiving a rejection letter in which the agent recommended that I work on my synopsis, I signed up for an RMFW workshop on writing a synopsis. During the class, this man sitting behind me asked about my work-in-progress. He then invited me to join his newly formed critique group. That man was Jameson Cole.

Turns out that he had just won the Colorado Book Award for his novel, A Killing in Quail County. The fact that he had been published by St. Martin's Press and won an award gave him serious street cred. I was one of six-to-seven writers who met in his home just outside Morrison. We soon learned that this was no coffee klatch. Jim was strict with his rules about critiquing. For homework, he assigned two books that he'd quote from like Scripture, Dwight Swain's Techniques of the Selling Writer, and Jack Bickham's Scene & Structure. The critiques were heavy on mechanics and craft for commercial fiction, and we didn't indulge in lofty literary prose. The sessions were bouts of writing boot camp, but unlike my experience in California, the critiques were educational and directive. 

However, not all was well. Convinced that he possessed the keys to the publishing world, Jim labored on a second book that went nowhere. He started on a third and those efforts sputtered. The group fell into a funk as none of us, despite our vastly improved works, seemed to be doing little more than collecting rejection letters. Jim accepted a work promotion and moved away. With that, our forlorn band of scribes scattered into the wilderness.

After a long lonely year of not writing, we renewed contact and decided to restart the critique group, minus Jim. It was odd meeting at first, and we felt his stern hand on our shoulders. Then within six months, three of us got publishing offers, which eventually became contracts with Dutton for Jeff Shelby, Ace for Jeanne Stein, and HarperCollins for me. The group has since evolved and moves about Denver like a writing phantom. Its latest incarnation is as a tiki drinking club. Those of us still in the group are first-rate writers, though getting published remains as daunting and uncertain as ever.

Which brings me back to Jim as my mentor. Soon after that conversation with my sons, I received word that Jim had passed away earlier this month. So yes indeed, I did have a mentor, and one to whom I will be forever indebted to. Thank you, Jameson Cole.

Double Binds

A couple of weeks ago my oldest daughter participated in a dressage event. She and her horse, Roslyn, are a really elegant combination. A number of family members attended, the weather was perfect. It was delightful day, and doubly enjoyable because attending this show rather than something else was an easy choice.

We have a close and supportive extended family. It's one of my biggest blessings. However, I've noticed over the years the time I spend choosing between conflicting events keeps growing. There's hardly ever just one thing going on.

On June 2, Colorado Humanities Council will announce the winners of the various categories for the categories for the Colorado Book Award. I'm a finalist (Fractured Families) and am in awe of the abilities of the other two finalists in the mystery category. I know them both--Barbara Nickless (Dead Stop) and Margaret Mizushima (Hunting Hour)--through my local Rocky Mountain Mystery Writers of America chapter.

But I have a conflict. There's a wonderful birthday party planned for one of my best friends. I can't possibly go to both. The choice is clear--I'm going to the awards ceremony--but still, I really regret not having the ability to be in two places at once.

Writing double-binds keep multiplying. All the conferences are so attractive. I want to go to Western Writers of America this summer, but my granddaughter's graduation party is on the last day. I'll leave the conference early (Billings, MT) and drive non-stop to get back to Aurora.

If I go to Western Writers can I afford to go to Colorado Gold? I hear it's a wonderful conference and it's sponsored by the Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers. It's close, too. Driving is preferable to flying because of all the stuff I end up taking. Books are the pits to manage and some events require several different kinds of clothes.

And talk about multiplication, how did I end up joining so many organizations?

Everything sounds so appealing. I want to do everything and go everywhere.

Validation

We crime writers write for many reasons but principally it's that we're storytellers, and we're compelled to spin tales involving murder and mayhem, all wrapped in twisted lies and dark motives. As writers we toil in solitary confinement (emerging occasionally like gophers to gather at the local watering hole), and we've learned to sustain ourselves with faith in our efforts and the pride of accomplishment that comes from penning our stories. But even the most jaded hermit scribe among us likes a pat on the back, an acknowledgement that others in the business appreciate our hard work and creativity

The best atta-boys are publishing contracts, sales, and awards. Of those three, I'd rather have sales. Not surprising since one of my most admired writers is Harold Robbins and his sole literary acclaim was only that he was one of the most widely sold writers of all time--over 750 million copies in print! Throw me in that briar patch.

Awards are also a welcome pubic validation, and I have to mention my good fortune in that last weekend I received a 2017 Colorado Book Award in the category of Anthology Collection. I was the editor for the 2016 anthology, Found, published by the Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers. Although my name is on the awards plaque, I have to share the accolades with the writers who submitted stories, my fine crew of reader-judges, my graphic and interior designer, and the RMFW board. Interestingly, the competition included CyberWorld, whose editor had a story in Found, while I had a story in CyberWorld.

This wasn't my first go-around with the Colorado Book Awards. Ten years ago, my debut novel, The Nymphos of Rocky Flats, was a finalist though I didn't win. So my 2017 CBA seemed especially sweet. What I did receive in 2007 was another award that I treasure as much as I do any other prize, and that is Westword's Best of Denver. While a Best of Denver didn't bring any of the vast fortunes I'm still waiting for, it did get me one free drink from the corner bar.

The other side of the desk and making enemies

As a writer, I know full well the sting of rejection. In fact, the fear of rejection is what keeps writers from putting their work out. We comfort ourselves by saying getting rejections is part of the game, that every great writer had their share of rejections, that a rejection is just one step closer to a "Yes!" and on and on. But rejections suck. Always. Even the most reassuring and empathetic rejection isn't as good as a lukewarm "You're in." Editors can be so stupid.

Recently I found myself on the other side of the submissions process and it was my job to be telling other writers, "Sorry, but no thanks." I was the co-editor for a forthcoming anthology, Blood Business, from Hex Publishers. This submissions process was straightforward as we accepted work by invitation only, mostly from established writers. As an editor this gave me the opportunity to see stories in a rawer state, and I was curious to see just how good even these good writers were before their work had been edited. What I kept in mind was to stand back, put aside my own my prejudices for technique, and try to take in what the writer intended. At the same time, I had to be cognizant of my role as an editor. If something didn't work it was my responsibility to say so. The results were all over the place, and we (the senior editor and I--the royal we) tended to draw the same conclusions on every work. One writer--a former editor, not surprisingly--submitted a story that was perfect both in terms of content and copy-editing. The others stories needed developmental work, sometimes a few tweaks and sometimes a lot of revisions. We felt that a couple of submissions missed the mark completely from the point of basic story telling, disappointing since we had solicited pieces from proven writers in the genre.

We shared our editorial comments and interestingly, we learned who the real professionals are in this writing business. One of the bigger name authors took our input without hesitation and trimmed and honed his narrative into an exceptionally sharp story. Another writer took what we thought was a loose and flabby plot and tightened it into a really trim and muscular piece of work. In fact, his reworked story really nailed his premise.

I also had my turn as The Editor, the mo-fo in charge for another anthology, Found, the fifth such collection from Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers. The theme was pretty catchy:

Found

Sometimes things are better off lost,
and sometimes they were never meant to disappear. 

Either way, when they're found, everything changes.

Since the anthology was to promote RMFW, we accepted works only from members and through an open submissions process. The first lesson I learned was that the guidelines for word count had been much too broad, with the upper limit as 15,000 words. Besides making it more of a chore to read those longer works, it also meant that from a logistical perspective, I might have to choose less stories. We received 89 submissions. The formatting rules were detailed and conformed to industry standards. Unlike the situation at Hex Publishers, where I had leeway in how to interpret the rules, I felt that I didn't have that option with Found. If a writer thought I had been arbitrary and unfair, then they could appeal to the RMFW board and I'd have that mess heaped on top of my other duties. So I stuck to the rules. Unfortunately, being so draconian forced me to reject some stories out of hand and there were several I was looking forward to reading. But rules are rules. The plus side was that this allowed me to whittle the list down to 54 stories. Luckily, I had 11 readers--all volunteers like me--who helped cull through that pile, and without them, my job as editor would've been a summer-long ordeal. Sorting through the works was a double-blind process as the readers didn't know who the author of the work I had passed along. Each story was read by two readers. The scoring was simple. Two meant Yes. One meant Maybe. Zero, the dreaded No. My big takeaway was learning how subjective the selection process is. Out of the fifteen stories that were chosen, I could have easily picked another fifteen that were just as good. Them's the breaks. Then came the time to send out the notices about who was in and who was out. I gave each rejection a reason about why the story fell short. Some writers replied back with thanks. But others didn't and that led to yet another lesson: As an editor you make enemies. At the RMFW Gold Conference, several of those writers whose work I had rejected and people who usually made time to catch up now gave me the cold shoulder. Seriously, I got freezer burn.

Besides selecting works, my other tasks were copy-editing, selecting a cover, formatting, and getting published through the various venues: CreateSpace; Ingram; Kindle; Smashwords; and Kobo. Fortunately, the editor from the previous RMFW anthology stepped up to copy edit, and a writer friend with considerable design experience handled the cover and interior layouts. Both did great jobs.

The launch signing took place during the Gold Conference. Another lesson, since this was the one location were most of the contributors would attend, Take lots of pictures! Which I spaced out. Our public reading was sponsored by the Tattered Cover bookstore at the Great Hall of Denver's Union Station, a swanky and popular after-work hang out. Not everyone there was for our reading, but I like to think that we provided a bit of literary culture to go along with their cocktails. I know I was drinking.

A Second Hat to Wear

This past year I've had the opportunity to serve as editor on two short-fiction anthologies. In Blood Business, a noir crime/paranormal anthology from Hex Publishers, I am the assistant editor alongside the editor/publisher Josh Viola. For the 2016 RMFW Anthology, Found, to be published by the Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers, I am the head cheese--the vato in charge of everything.

In both cases, serving as editor has been an instructive experience. For one, I'm on the other side of the editorial desk and it's enlightening to review manuscripts as they come to me. Hex invited writers with a track record in the genre and for the RMFW anthology, it was an open submission for members only. I got to see manuscripts arrive in various stages of preparation. Some read like first drafts and others were already quite polished, both in story-telling and craft.

Since the manuscripts that arrived for Blood Business came from established writers, I had my eyes opened a little more as to how challenging it is to write a good story. Mostly because we writers are always too close to our work. In our mind, we've tied together loose ends and the narrative flows in one logical current. Tightening the story shows the value of a good editor, and I hope I've been so. In my content editing, I had to be careful that I helped the writer hone the story and that I not rewrite it. Plus, many of the submitting writers have significant authorial credentials and now I'm in the lofty position of judging their work and suggesting changes, a humbling role. That concern is weighed against the publisher's desire to release a great book so Josh and I had to call them as we saw them.

My experience with the RMFW anthology has been more encompassing because I honcho the anthology from submissions through selection, editing, copyediting, cover and interior design, formatting for publication, publication as an ebook and a trade paperback, and marketing. Since we accepted open submissions, the editorial process heavily involved the R-word: rejection. We received 89 entries and I had to whittle that number down to fifteen. What helped--or hurt if you were on the submitting end--was that RMFW published strict formatting rules that I followed to the letter. That knocked 35 submissions out of the running, which was disappointing because that included stories from friends that I was looking forward to reading. The remaining 54 stories were doled out in a blind process to eleven volunteer readers, and we assigned a score to each: 0-pass; 1-maybe; 2-accept. Nine stories received a double 2 score. That meant we had to review the remaining to decide on enough stories to fill the anthology. Although I knew how subjective the process was going to be, I was still surprised how our opinions broke on many of the entries. In sending out the rejection notices, even then I had second doubts about which were the best and wished I could have included more, but I had to draw the line somewhere.

Found will be available this September, and Blood Business will hit the streets in 2017. Buy lots of copies of each and make this editor happy.