THE KID OF KINDLE

by James Lincoln Warren

At Bouchercon this year, one of the comments I made concerning the future of short stories was that I thought that the growing phenomenon of downloadable e-publications might represent a windfall for short story authors. Kindles and their cousins are becoming ubiquitous, and the fact that they are used as entertainment devices to fill in small gaps of time makes them a natural outlet for the short story market. Just the ticket for when you’re riding the bus to work, or standing in a long line—there’s no way you’re going to complete a novel in the 20 minutes you may decide to fill with your Kindle, but a short story is perfect.

So I decided maybe it was time to experiment, and put one my stories in Kindle format.

The story I chose was 2005’s “The Apollo Progression”, the last Treviscoe story but one. (The latest, “The Satan League”, will come out sometime next year in Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine.) I chose it because it begins with a handbill, i.e., an advertisement on a single sheet of paper, printed in the 18th century style. Because I used a variety of fonts for it, in the November 2005 copy of AHMM where it first appeared it was reproduced as an illustration. I wanted to try the same tactic for the Kindle version. Here’s the handbill I originally typed as converted to JPEG:

The whole process was really quite simple. After reviewing and agreeing to all of the conditions for using the Kindle Digital Text Platform, I opened a new Word file, plopped the story and the illustration into it (including the cover page at top), converted it to a stripped HTML file, and then converted the stripped HTML file to a print (PRC) file using Mobipocket Creator, a free application specifically designed to convert various text files to e-book format.

Then I uploaded it to Amazon. Easy-peasy. The whole process was remarkably painless. The “e-book” (“e-short story”?) is currently under review and should be available on the market late Monday night. I will advise on this page in the Comments section when it’s up and available.

Now, I can’t say that I’m expecting that there will be a mad rush to download a story that appeared five years ago by as minor an author as I am, and I’m a little concerned that the lowest price point I could choose was $2.99, which seems a little rich to me for an electronic version of a short story. It may well be that there are no takers at all. But on the other hand, the only thing I will have lost is the time it took me to learn how to do it, and learning is never a waste of time. Even if there is a mad rush, it’s not going to lift me out of the middle class, but at least I can steer people to where they can read my work without having to trace down back issues of magazines.

The Gentle Reader may recall that I am not a big fan of self-publishing, the reasons for which I have described at length at other times, but since the story I have made available was sold to a print market before I decided to make it available through Amazon, I think that this is a legitimate use of the new technology. We’ll see.

So let me know what you think.

DAHL 1 for a STORY…

by Leigh Lundin

I have a rotten cold today. I detest colds and don’t want you to catch one too, so step back from the screen and enjoy Alfred Hitchcock Presents a classic based upon a Roald Dahl story, Lamb to the Slaughter.

BACK TO (AND FROM) THE FUTURE

by John M. Floyd

I’ve always enjoyed reading traditional fiction. To me, “traditional” means that an interesting character leaves his routine world to face a problem that becomes steadily more complicated until he finds a way to solve it. A simple structure, start to finish: beginning, middle, end. And since those are usually the kinds of stories I like to read, they’re usually the kind I like to write.

Some fiction doesn’t follow that path—at least not chronologically. While the typical writer tells a story in the order that the events occur, the more daring writer mixes things up a bit. The result can be a novel like It, Catch-22, South of Broad, Ulysses, or Slaughterhouse-Five, or a movie like Vantage Point, Forrest Gump, Memento, Before the Devil Knows You’re Dead, Mulholland Drive, Once Upon a Time in America, Bandits, or Pulp Fiction. (Although I’ve not yet seen it, I’ve heard that Inception is another good example.)

There Was a Crooked Plan

This isn’t just a quirky method by adventurous writers and directors like Vonnegut or Lynch or Tarantino. It’s a system that, when done well, works well.

The advantage of non-linear storylines is obvious: the reader/viewer gets an early glimpse of future events before they happen, or maybe a peek into the past. This can be a good way to build tension and suspense—suddenly we know things the main character doesn’t—or to explain the reasons certain things happen as they do. (Consider the many flashback and flash-forward episodes in the TV series Lost.) And in the case of Pulp Fiction, the non-linear structure also adds a delicious shock value, since you often don’t even know until later that what you’re seeing is happening in the future or the past.

The disadvantage of this kind of story is also obvious: unless the writer knows his craft, the reader can get lost. And a lost reader/viewer isn’t usually happy. (Even if he’s watching Lost.)

Directions and Misdirections

Be aware that I’m not talking here about stories that include an occasional flashback or a prologue or a piece of backstory. Those are generally so brief that the main storyline stays intact.

I’m also not talking about “framed” stories like The Green Mile or Vanishing Point (not to be confused with Vantage Point) or The Princess Bride. Technically these are also non-linear since they start off with a present-day setting and a character (or narrator) telling another character (or the audience) about a story that happened entirely in the past, and then ends up in the present again, at or after the point of highest tension; but such “bookended” stories are still more traditional than experimental. The non-linear stories I’m referring to are the ones that bounce around throughout, or—like Memento—actually travel in reverse.

Risky Business

Which approach is better—linear or non? Like so many other literary questions, the answer depends on the story itself. Some are more suited than others to a straight-from-here-to-there timeline. My opinion? Even though I’ve published a few short stories that slingshot the characters back and forth in time, I honestly think most stories should be told chronologically unless there’s a sound reason not to. And yes, I realize that can be like always playing in the shallow end of the pool—but it also reduces the chances of drowning. When it comes to pleasing or confusing the reader, color me cautious.

What are your thoughts on non-linear stories, novels, and films? Do you like them? If so, which ones? If you’re a writer, have you tried this approach in your own work?

And if you don’t like non-linear stories at all, I have only one word for you:

Rosebud.

ROLLING “R”s

by Steven Steinbock

Your Jabberwalking journalist and his beamish boy (Nate, the 17 year-old, not Sam the 13 year-old Travis McGee fan) are on the road visiting colleges. In that academic spirit I’m going to wax linguistical. There are funny things going on with that eighteenth letter of ours.

I was cooking the other day, and I finished the last of our turmeric. An interesting spice, that turmeric. It turns out that turmeric is a cousin to ginger, and like ginger, it is the root that is used as a spice. Once harvested, the rhizomes (roots) of the curcuma longa are boiled, then baked dry and ground into a deep orange colored powder. In the Middle Ages this powder was known as “Indian Saffron.” It gets its name from the Medieval Latin terra merita (meritorious earth). Go figure.

Anything you cook with turmeric takes on that rich color. In fact, I got some on my fingers, and they kept that rusty look for a whole day. (And yes, I washed my hands numerous times). Imagine what it does to the tongue.

Which brings up the topic at hand: why is it so often pronounced without the initial “R”? I’m not sure I’ve ever heard it pronounced TUR-meric, but instead it’s usually said TOO-meric. Some dictionaries (Merriam Webster Medical Dictionary, for one) even include turmeric as an alternate spelling. What happened to the “R”?

(Granted, I live in New England. Talk about a strange dialect! The natives here have a habit of dropping the Rs off of the end of words, and then adding an “er” to any word ending in an “a” sound. I’m not making this up. Out here a Jewish boy is likely to get a ski parker for his Bah Mitzver.)

When I opened the freezer, I saw the solution to the missing letter mystery. The “R” deserted the spice rack and ran off with the dessert where it resides with another orange-colored food: sherbet.

You ever notice how many people pronounce “sherbet” so that it rhymes with “Herbert”? Maybe it’s just another Americanism. Or maybe it’s just the people I eat dessert with. How do you say it? When someone in my family asks for “sherbert” I tell them “There’s only one ‘R’ in the stuff.” But nobody listens to me.

Speaking of sherbet, I wonder how they make it in Johannesburg. Whenever I’m in the company of a South African who is too polite to say “shit” – even when the situation calls for it – they use the word “sherbet” as a euphemism. It took me by surprise the first time I heard it. I had a secretary once who, every time she mistyped something, said “Oh, Sherbet.” Then again, I used to hear Americans use the word “Fudge” in the same way. Is it an attempt to sweeten our profanity?

I could go on about the letter “R” and perhaps in the future I will. But, oh fudge, I’m out of time.

READING TO WRITE

by Deborah Elliott-Upton

Writers face consistent pressure to produce a certain amount of pages per day. Talk about performance anxiety! Sure, we force this stress on ourselves as often as we accept deadlines, but that doesn’t make it any less traumatic. For those of us who write every day, you’d think the apprehension would ease when a story is finished, but that isn’t always true—another storyline always tugs the line to be explored. Sometimes the writing is good. Sometimes it needs something to revive it from a comatose state where the words lay on the page as flat and lifeless as a fish too-long out of the water. Sometimes, we need to take a break and get inspiration from words written by someone else.

Recently, in The Criminal Element, a newsletter from MacMillan Publishers, Bill Pronzini was asked since he’d edited a lot of anthologies if reading other writers has helped with his own writing. Pronzini answered, “I did a lot of anthologies early on, for a couple of reasons. One was the money—you need to get as much income as you can as a writer—but also it was a pleasure to get some obscure stories back into print. I was influenced by a lot of writers early on. For instance, I learned how to write dialogue from reading Evan Hunter [who also wrote as Ed McBain], who had a marvelous ear. He could get so much character in short lines of dialogue, exchanges between people. I get ideas by reading other people’s work; it triggers things in my imagination and I’m able to develop stories I write a lot of short stories.”

For me, writing short stories has been the answer when my novel is being blocked one way or another. Perhaps my plot is lagging or the characters seem less interesting or I don’t know where the mystery is going next.

My Muse occasionally takes an unannounced holiday and without leaving a forwarding address. She is as lost to me as if she were underwater—her voice muffled by the current.

Without her, I trudge through the river of words without finding that certain something evading me. Struggling with the premise or an unruly character is like casting a fishing line while blindfolded. It can be done and some might even be able to catch a fish by this method. For me, I’d need to use other senses than sight and try my best to remove the covering blocking my vision.

Every season seems to bring its own circumstances to keep me from writing. There’s always a birthday, an anniversary or get-together seducing me from sitting behind a keyboard. (If it sounds like I live at Party Central, that may be because I welcome balloons, confetti and laughing a lot. Oh, and cake is always welcome.)

So why am I still writing? The same reason you find time for us at Criminal Brief. We’re addicted. In this instance, I think addiction is quite lovely.

I am taking a tip from Bill Pronzini and reading Evan Hunter this December—and some Pronzini, too. Since we’re all trying to be extra good this time of year, perhaps there will something a little extra for us from a jolly old fat guy this year. You never know. He supposedly sees us all the time. He may be listening just about now. He may even be good friends with someone at Criminal Brief. I don’t know about you, but I’m putting up my stocking just in case.

TANGLED IN YOUR OWN BOOTSTRAPS

by Rob Lopresti

I was recently at an independent bookstore, The Shredded Page, doing a reading for my new book, The Knitting for Zombies Diet. (Available now! The perfect stocking stuffer for Chanukah!) We had a good crowd, and I can say in all modesty that my audience appeared to be having one of the key experiences of their lives.

When I finished, I paused dramatically and gazed out at the breathless crowd. Then I asked if there were any questions.

I was pleased that almost every hand was raised. Well, almost half the hands. One per customer, generally.

I selected a shrewd-eyed older gentleman who had snagged a front row seat. “Who is your publisher?” he asked.

“Good question,” I assured him. “Overrun Press is a new imprint, a small but feisty independent company of whom great things are expected. My editor—”

“Sounds like a fake name to me,” said a large woman in a small red blouse. She was chewing the top of her pen. “Are you sure you didn’t just self-publish?”

“Overrun is real,” I said, a little vexed. “I do not believe in vanity publishing. In fact, if I—”

“The term vanity publishing is an insult,” said a young man leaning against the wall. He was a dead-ringer for Trotsky. “And wildly out of date. The bosses no longer control the means of production. Any author can and should take responsibility for creating their own work and sharing it with the world.”

“Self-publishing is the wave of the future,” agreed a nervous-looking teenager. “All the best zines and graphic novels—”

“Comic books,” snarled a fat man with a white beard who managed to look nothing whatsoever like Santa Claus. “Let’s talk about literature, for pete’s sake. How do you get your books reviewed in literary magazines?”

“Listen,” I said. “I’m actually here to talk about my book, not about the publishing industry. Doesn’t anyone have any questions about Knitting for Zombies?”

A shy-looking woman near the back tentatively raised her hand. “What font is your book in? I don’t recognize it.”

I was getting cranky. “I don’t mean questions about the font, or the paper quality, or the size of the freaking margins. What about the contents? Doesn’t anyone have a thought about my controversial suggestion that high cholesterol caused by an all-brain diet can be controlled through the American Moss stitch—”

“I don’t have time to read that kind of stuff,” said the only man in the room with a suit. “I’m busy writing.”

I saw nods around the room. “How many of you have written a book?”

Almost every hand went up. Well, one per customer. See above.

The timid woman was a stickler for accuracy. “I’m not finished yet. So I haven’t written a book . . . ”

“Never mind. So all of you are here to find out how to get your book published?” More nods. “Do any of you still read?”

More looks of bafflement. One man with Coke-bottle lenses stood up, looking as irritated as I felt. “You people should be ashamed of yourselves! How can you write if you don’t know what’s being published now? And how can you call yourself literate if you don’t read the classics?”

“Quite right,” I said. “I guess this bookstore is lucky to have you for a customer, sir.”

“Uh.” He sat down. “I, um, mostly buy books on Kindle from Amazon.”

“I see. And do you go to the author readings Amazon arranges in your city?”

He frowned. “Do they do that?”

Before I could respond to the sarcasm-challenged man, the non-Santa Claus attacked him. “Don’t tell us to be ashamed, pal You shouldn’t be buying books on Kindle. Why give all your money to Amazon? Use iPad or Nook.”

That got a quarrel going. It seemed almost everyone had a favorite e-format for books, which seemed to be based on the format they thought their future masterpiece would look best in, rather than what they would want to read.

“Pretty pathetic,” said a slim man with a smile. He had sidled up from the side of the room.

“So, what’s your book about?” I asked him.

He held it out for my inspection. Marketing Your Book to the Post-Literate Mob.

“That sounds useful,” I admitted.

“Yours too,” he said. “My aunt is a zombie.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“She’s getting treatment. The doctors can do wonders these days. Hey, you wanna trade books?”

So the evening wasn’t a total loss, although the bookstore might disagree.

MAD WOMAN WORKING

by Melodie Johnson Howe

I have decided to follow in the footsteps of Steve, Rob, and John, and show my office. Unlike their very neat offices, I thought I would let you see the real me at work. Messy desk, messy hair, no makeup.

Over the years I have had many in-home offices from using the maid’s rooms, to squeezing myself into a tiny guest room, to using my sitting/dressing room. But this is my first true office. It is still a work in progress and not quite finished, but it is my favorite room.

Usually l prefer to face a blank wall when I write. But for this office I decided to plop myself down in the middle of the room where I have a view of most everything. Much to my surprise this did not play havoc with my concentration. I have disciplined myself to focus, so it didn’t matter what I’m looking at because when I’m writing I’m only seeing what’s inside my head. Welcome to my world.

This is the entrance to my office. Dr. Watson is waiting on his downy couch for me to sit down and begin working.

My desk from Dr. Watson’s perspective.

Writer at work.

Behind me is my corkboard. I have my list of characters from the novel I’m working on pinned to it along with my Edgar nomination certificate. (I must get that framed one of these days.) There are also pictures of writers I admire such as Colette, Flannery O’Connor, Agatha Christie, Noel Coward and the poet Edna St Vincent Millay. I also have a picture of Gertrude Stein, whom I admire more as a catalyst than a writer. But she’s mainly up there because she has a white standard poodle in her lap named Basket. At the bottom nearest the phone are two very important business cards: my hairdresser, and my Mac man who makes house calls.

And here is my Basket, Zelda F., chewing on Dr. Watson’s puppy. I don’t think I could write without my dogs around me.

Books, books, books.

Some books I like turn face out so can I see the covers. Here is Collette young and old. I recommend her short story, The Hand. A woman lies in bed at night staring at her sleeping husband’s hand. At first she sees it as beautiful, then it slowly becomes ugly and threatening. It is an exercise in suspense and terror where nothing happens.

When The Mother Shadow was published, Bones found a piece of paper from the Swartz Glass Co. I had scribbled various names down on it trying to come up with the perfect ones for my characters Clare Conrad and Maggie Hill. He had it framed and I treasure it.

The writing day is over. Don’t trip on the on the stuffed chipmunk on your way out.