DARK VOYAGE

On the weekend, I read Dennis Tafoya‘s incredible debut novel, DOPE THIEF. (I had no choice — THE WOLVES OF FAIRMOUNT PARK, his second novel, comes out on June 22nd and I wanted to check out his debut first.) It’s a stunning book that managed to mix adrenalin-pumping action with a meditative, poignant heart. Quite a rare feat. Afterwards, I looked at the book’s Amazon listing, to see what other people said. The reviews were universally outstanding, but what got me was that there were only 12 of them.

We all know that authors obsess about their Amazon listings. I’m already doing this, and THE DAMAGE DONE doesn’t come out until September 28th. (Also, it’s currently #4,718,129 in Books. Woot?) Getting lots of terrific reviews won’t guarantee that a book will sell well, but it’s certainly not going to hurt. When I see that a novel is getting raves, it makes me want to read it, too, to see what the fuss is about.

There are several books that I’ve read in the past year and loved. Yet I’ve never gotten around to reviewing them on Amazon. Including the review I just wrote for DOPE THIEF, I’ve only done eight. Until yesterday, the last one was on September 22, 2009, and it was for A BAD DAY FOR SORRY by Sophie Littlefield (which everyone has to read if they haven’t already. The sequel, A BAD DAY FOR PRETTY, just came out!). Somehow, even though I absolutely loved Megan Abbott‘s BURY ME DEEP and Ken Bruen’s LONDON BOULEVARD and Dave Zeltserman‘s PARIAH, I didn’t review them, and I regret that.

So, I’ve got an idea. I’m dubbing July my own personal Amazon Review Month. Each day, I will write one review of a book I truly enjoyed. My only criteria is this: would I recommend the book to a friend? If so, it’s worthy of a review on Amazon. I’m not planning to write epic reviews detailing the book’s content, just three or four lines about what I found so engaging about it.

What I’d like to suggest is that you make July your own personal Amazon Review Month, too. Most of the people I hang out with on Twitter and Facebook are incredibly well-read, and I suspect that if enough of us review books we loved, we can entice others to read them, too. Who’s in?

Last Wednesday night was the launch party for the new Thuglit anthology, BLOOD, GUTS, & WHISKEY. I wasn’t sure what to expect from the Thuglit crowd gathered at the Village Lantern. Brass knuckles and shivs? Vodka shots and moonshine? Hair-trigger tempers and fights in the alley? Nope. Instead, I got to meet Todd and Allison Robinson, Thuglit’s creators, and their son (who goes by his street handle Baby Thug; he may already have a tattoo) and a bunch of writers who are just as excited to be in the anthology as I am.

Todd kicked the evening off by reading from “A Message From Big Daddy Thug,” his introduction to the collection:

“To those of you wondering what the hell a ‘Thuglit’ is, we’re all about rainbows, puppy dogs, and whatever Celine Dion is up to. Would I lie? ‘Blood, Guts, and Whiskey’ is the title of a Celine Dion song. Look it up.”

I was the first author to read. I didn’t realize it until Craig McDonald pointed it out on his blog, but I’m the only female writer in the collection (Craig also called me a “noir rose in a thicket of thorns,” which is a title I’m going to be using for the foreseeable future). My contribution to BLOOD, GUTS, & WHISKEY, “Son of So Many Tears,” was the second short story I published, and — just like my first — only the Thugs deemed it worthy to be seen by the reading public. (Thanks again, Big Daddy Thug and Lady Detroit.)

Also reading at the launch: Justin Porter (“Black Hair and Red Leather”), Kieran Shea (“Faith-Based Initiative”) and Glenn Gray (“Mr. Universe”). Todd read from “Death of a Rat” by the late Edward Bunker (also known as Mr. Blue in Reservoir Dogs).

Then, Todd sang.

Yes, you read that right. A musician had been playing guitar and harmonica and singing between authors’ sets all night, and he and Todd rocked the house with “Tupelo Honey.” The sweetest moment of the night for me was when I noticed that Baby Thug was completely riveted by his dad’s performance.

What are you doing on Wednesday, June 9th? If you’re in New York City, I hope you’re planning to come to the launch party for the new Thuglit anthology, BLOOD, GUTS, & WHISKEY. It’s set for the Village Lantern — 167 Bleecker Street near Sullivan — starting at 6pm and running until the bar kicks us out or the police show up, whichever comes first.

“Launch party” might be too tame a term to describe the festivities. More apt: “Booze-Up Bonanza,” as Todd Robinson, AKA Big Daddy Thug, put it in the e-mail invitation. I’ll be reading from my short story “Son of So Many Tears,” which is in the anthology, and several other shady characters — I mean, writers — have been corralled into taking part. Bring brass knuckles and prepare for a great night.

If you’re reading this blog, you already know that I have a soft spot for cemeteries. I take the Victorian view of them, meaning that I find them as serenely bucolic as public parks (though usually far less noisy, and with much better art). So it will come as no surprise that, when it came time to get my author photo taken, I returned to one of my old favorites.

The St. James Cemetery is Toronto’s oldest, and arguably its grandest, burial ground. It doesn’t boast the wide-ranging expanse of Mount Pleasant or the elaborate entryway of the Necropolis, but it’s filled with statues and mausoleums dedicated to some of the 18th- and 19th-century’s famous families: Jarvis, Austin, Gooderham, Brock, Cowan. It’s also in use by the St. George’s Society of Toronto, a volunteer organization that  has assisted poor families with burials since 1859, making the cemetery’s permanent residents an intriguing mix of social strata.

My friend Trish Snyder volunteered to take my photo, and fortunately for me she’s a very good sport. When I suggested the cemetery as a location for the shoot, she wrote back, “Strangest — and most fun — date location ever!” It was. If you’re in Toronto, give yourself at least an hour there for a quick tour. And be sure to take pictures.

I have two blogs: that gluten-free one, which has been around for more than two years, and this shiny new one. My aim is to keep their subjects separate, which shouldn’t be hard, since one is about gluten-free food and the other is about crime. How much could they possibly have in common?

More than you’d think, it turns out. Crime writer BV Lawson is also on a gluten-free diet, and she gave me a great interview that went up on the Gluten-Free Guidebook yesterday. That got me thinking about how much crossover there is between the two worlds. Several crime writers — Laura K. Curtis, Kathy Ryan and Chris La Tray immediately come to mind — have sent me information about gluten-free restaurants, recipes, and health news. Janet Rudolph, who runs a criminal enterprise that includes Mystery Readers Journal and the Dying for Chocolate blog, frequently publishes great gluten-free recipes. On the other side of the equation, it turns out that some of my gluten-free friends are crime-fiction fiends. Who knew?

A year ago, when I started using Twitter, a friend in media advised me to set up two or even three accounts. Her reasoning was that since I write about such a variety of topics, each would get a very different audience. I considered her suggestion but doubted my ability to keep up more than one account. Now I’m glad I didn’t. I love that disparate crowds are mingling. If I could invite them all to a cocktail party, I would. Not that any of them would show up… you know why.

Yesterday, I found out that “Insatiable“ won the 2010 Spinetingler Award for Best Short Story. While I’m still more than a little shocked, I am incredibly grateful for all of the support my story has received. The Spinetingler Awards are voted on by the public via electronic ballot, and it’s an honor to have so many mystery, crime, and noir fans pick “Insatiable” as their favorite… especially given the incredible list of other writers nominated in that category. Thank you!

I also want to say a special thanks to David Cranmer and Elaine Ash. They’re the editors of Beat to a Pulp, which published “Insatiable” in September 2009. Less than 24 hours after I submitted the story for their consideration, David shot back an emphatic Yes. Not only did they publish the story, but David interviewed me for his blog as well. David and Elaine have been wonderful supporters of my work — as they’ve been for many other writers — and I’m grateful that they gave “Insatiable” such a good home. David’s incredibly kind post about the Spinetingler Award was a sweet reminder of how lovely they are to work with.

There are a few other people who need to be mentioned, too. One is Keith Rawson, who reviewed my story for his “Short Thoughts on Short Fiction” column in the BSC Review. Keith’s enthusiastic comments brought “Insatiable” a great deal of notice, and made a wider audience take note of the story. Another is Sandra Seamans, who named “Insatiable” one of the Top 10 stories she’d read in 2009. (Sandra’s own wonderful “Survival Instincts” was nominated for a Spinetingler Award, too.) Also, a special shout-out to my friend Kathy Ryan, who strong-armed countless people into reading “Insatiable” (she’s an ex-cop and she’s fierce!). A huge, heartfelt thanks to all of you.

For the past five years, I’ve taken part in the Mystery Writers of America‘s Edgar Week, which makes the mystery community flock to New York every April. The first year I went, I only attended the Symposium, which features panels with top-notch writers. Since then, I’ve been to other events and book parties, but last night marked my first Edgar Awards Banquet.

Part of the reason I decided to go this year was that I wanted to cheer on writer friends I love and admire, such as Sophie Littlefield (photo above) and Megan Abbott, both of whom were up for awards: Sophie for her debut A BAD DAY FOR SORRY and Megan for her paperback original BURY ME DEEP. (If you haven’t read these books yet, please do yourself a favor and pick them up. You will thank me later.) But I was also curious: having heard so much about the Edgars, I wanted to see them up close.

The official program for the evening: cocktails at 6:30, then dinner — immediately followed by the awards ceremony — at 7:30. The unofficial program also involved drinks at the Grand Hyatt’s bar after the awards. That last part was my favorite of the night: I’d had brief conversations with writers, editors, and agents at the cocktail party (we were packed in like sardines, so it was easy to make new friends), and I’d sat with terrific people at dinner (including Anthony Rainone, whose short stories are terrific), but the bar was hopping. I met one writer I’ve long admired, and discovered we share a history of dubious work experiences with the Martha Stewart magazine empire. I finally got to meet several of my Twitter friends in person (hello, Kelli Stanley and Dave White), and spent time with writers, booksellers, and mystery fans. It all went by too quickly. Now I’m counting the days and weeks till Thrillerfest (July), Bouchercon (October), and NoirCon (November). You’ll see me at the bar.

“Anyone who ever gave you confidence, you owe them a lot.”

There are lines from certain books tattooed on my brain. The quote above is from BREAKFAST AT TIFFANY’S — not the frothy Audrey Hepburn film, but the book by Truman Capote, a beautiful novella with a dark heart. It’s what comes to mind when I think of Todd Robinson and Allison Glasgow Robinson of Thuglit.

If you’re reading this site, Thuglit has likely already sucker-punched you with its addictive reading. (But if Google pointed you my way by accident, Thuglit is an online journal filled with phenomenal crime fiction; “Writing About Wrongs,” as they put it). It was the first place to say yes to my fiction. Before that, I’d been racking up the rejections. Some of them were form rejections, easy to shrug off. Others were tough, like the close-but-no-cigar e-mail that came from an editorial assistant at a journal that had held onto a story of mine for six months: “Everyone loves your story, but no one knows who you are.”

The thing about Todd and Allison (AKA Big Daddy Thug and Lady Detroit) is that they couldn’t care less about who you are. They love pulpy noir fiction, and if they take a shine to your story, they’ll publish it. They don’t ask about your qualifications or pedigree. Hell, next week they might stomp on you in a dark alley with hobnailed boots. Doesn’t matter. They gave me confidence about writing fiction, and for that I will forever be in their debt. They keep it simple: You write what they like, you will end up in Thuglit.

You may, in fact, end up in one of their print anthologies, too. BLOOD, GUTS, & WHISKEY, the third Thuglit collection, just showed up on my doorstep. Filled with fiction by Tom Piccirilli, Dave Zeltserman, Stuart Neville, Scott Wolven, Jordan Harper, Jedidiah Ayres, Kieran Shea… well, you get the idea. I have a story, “Son of So Many Tears,” in there, too. Here’s how it starts:

“Go in the peace of Christ,” intoned the elderly priest as Maire Kennelly made her escape. Her heels clattered on the stone steps as she distanced herself from the few penitents whose addiction to early morning mass was as keen as her own. She was glad to be out of the church, a fact that surely meant another dark mark on her soul. It had been seven years since Maire’s last confession, and when she thought of her soul now she pictured a Victorian silhouette with edges sharp and refined but coal-black to the core. As she turned onto the sidewalk, she wondered what effect words of absolution could have on it now. Saint Rita, hear my prayer, she began to recite silently, when a flame-haired woman in a black trenchcoat stepped in front of her.

A few weeks ago, I had a skin-cancer scare. I’ve already written about it (over on that other blog), but the rough outline is that I had a mole removed from my left upper arm, and that mole was filled with mutant cells deemed aggressive by a lab. The result was that I had to have some minor surgery to remove the tissue around the mole. Ten stitches and five days later, I got an all-clear on the biopsy.

This episode ended up inspiring fiercely creative short stories from some of my crime-writing friends. It was Dan O’Shea who suggested a flash fiction challenge on the subject of “Hilary’s scar.” Writers were free to make what they would of the topic and the results are simply incredible. Some stories made use of real details (my love of travel, graveyards and gluten-free food all came up), while others were complete inventions (or were they…?).

For your reading pleasure, in alphabetical order:

• Eric Beetner: “Hilary’s Scar”
• A.J. Hayes: “The Gift”
• Chris F. Holm: “Good Prose Don’t Come Cheap”
• Naomi Johnson: “Scars”
• Chris La Tray: “It Should Have Been Easy”
• Ellen Neuborne: “Hilary’s Scar”
• Dan O’Shea: “Hilary’s Scars”
• Doug Telling: “Blade.com”
• Steve Weddle: “The Scar”
• There’s also an anonymous entry: “Hilary’s Scars”

All of them were wonderful reading, and truly appreciated. Seriously, this was the best get-well wish I could have asked for. Thank you all.

A few weeks ago, a crime-writing friend named Steve Weddle told me he was starting a new publication. Not a Web zine, mind you, but a print magazine. As he described it in an e-mail, “I want ink on paper. I want to turn pages. I want to loan the mag to a friend and have him read some awesome story I just fell in love with.” I was intrigued by the idea, but assumed that it would take months to pull a first issue together. My background is in print media, and I know how slowly the wheels there turn (thanks to years of magazine work, I’m ready for Christmas when July rolls around — that’s normally when all those stories about decking the halls are written).

Instead, Needle: A Magazine of Noir was created in a few short weeks. Steve and his co-conspirators — John Hornor Jacobs, who provided the design genius, and Naomi Johnson, Daniel O’Shea, and Scott D. Parker, who worked the words over — may have sacrificed sleep, or their souls, or both, because the magazine is stunning. Packed with fiction from Dave Zeltserman, Patti Abbott, Jedidiah Ayres, Keith Rawson, Sandra Seamans, and other terrific writers, it’s a must-read. Work has already started on the second issue, and there are submission guidelines on Needle‘s site.

I have a story, “The Black Widow Club,” in the first issue. Here’s how it opens:

Oscar looked exactly as he had the last time I’d seen him, except for the chunk missing from the back of his skull. His body was slumped facedown on his desk, right hand resting on the computer’s mouse, the monogrammed gold cufflinks his company had presented him upon his retirement gleaming in the fluorescent light of the basement. His shirt and chinos were neatly pressed, and his feet were tucked into black suede loafers. What was new was the computer screen splattered with blood and splotches of grey matter that I didn’t want to get close enough to analyze.

I forced my eyes away from the corpse. “Mom, when you told me on the phone that something had happened to Oscar, was this what you meant?”

The complete story is in Needle.