Dot Dead Diary

Two Interviews That Get You Thinking

I read two articles this week that made me think some about this writing biz.

Lee Child is interviewed in The (London) Times.  Unlike most author interviews, this one seems to focus on material matters, and I am happy to report that Lee, whom I met at Bouchercon in 2006, seems to be doing okay with his Jack Reacher series.  Well, "okay," if two apartments on Manhattan and two near St. Tropez along with such trinkets as a Faberge watch and a Jag allow one to reach the okay benchmark.  So success and wealth have prompted to Lee to turn philosophical.  He says:

"When you have plenty it is really liberating but you reach a point where you realise, 'Wow. I can have anything I want.' This just prompts the question, 'Well, what is it that you want?' and I have found that actually I don’t want very much."

Easy for him to say. 

In an interview in our Times (the New York one, I mean) this week, Harvard psychologist Daniel Gilbert, known as Professor Happiness, says:

"We know that the best predictor of human happiness is human relationships and the amount of time that people spend with family and friends.

"We know that it’s significantly more important than money and somewhat more important than health. That’s what the data shows. The interesting thing is that people will sacrifice social relationships to get other things that won’t make them as happy — money."

Writing is, of course, a solitary pursuit.  Does that mean that we writers all have a tendency for melancholia?  We all know how important friends and family are.  But maybe the social relationships with fellow scriveners we foster at conferences, writing groups, in drinking establishments, and on Facebook help keep us sane and make us a little happier, too.

Lush Life, Literary vs. Genre Fiction, and State of Play

Overwhelmed by the reviews of his Lush Life, I headed over to M is for Mystery yesterday afternoon to hear what Richard Price had to say.  As happens so often, Mr. Price spent too much time of his allotted sixty minutes reading from the book.  If I'm going to buy the book, I want to read it myself and not have someone else steal the juicy parts.  During the Q&A, I asked why reviews seemed to treat Lush Life as "literary" fiction rather than crime fiction.  A little explication here.  I expected him to rant about artificial lines between genres.  In fact, I wanted him to, since such words would be a balm to me who recently received a rejection from a major publisher that said my opus "is a gripping book that kept me turning pages from the very start."  Then came more compliments, before the conclusion:  "However, at the end of the day... the subject matter is just still too firmly in the genre world" for us.  All right, all right.  Enough whining.  Anyway, Price said he was treated as a literary writer because that's the way he wants to be treated.  He said that he himself doesn't read "detective stories" since you forget what they were about minutes after finishing them.  In his mind literary fiction deals with big themes and describes an important slice of the world in a way "detective" fiction does not.  (Remember I did ask about crime fiction.)  He did say he was an admirer of George Pelecanos, Dennis Lehane, and Elmore Leonard as well as the old-timers like Hammett and Chandler.

In response to another question, Price said what he originally turned into his editor was twice as long as the final manuscript.  He said he and the editor worked together to find the story hidden in that first draft.  How many editors do that kind of thing nowadays?

I had hauled #4 along with me -- he's nine -- since we were due at our synagogue right after the signing.  He sat in the front of the store during the reading and Q&A where he was supposed to be keeping his nose in a Tom Swift: Young Inventor book, but he confessed to listening to Price talk.  I hope the words he heard were new to him, but with three older siblings I fear they were not.

One other piece of advice that I keep forgetting to pass along.  Recently, I watched State of Play, a BBC miniseries about a murder wrapped in a political scandal.  It's available on DVD from Netflix.  Get it.  Watch it.  It's being turned into a big deal movie in 2009 with Ben Affleck, Helen Mirren, Robert Wright Penn and Russell Crowe, but don't wait for that.  It can't be as good (especially since they are moving it, of course, from London to D.C.) 

Time Wrinkles and Passes, Too

I remember reading an autographed copy of Madeleine L'Engle's A Wrinkle in Time to #1 oh so many years ago.  That book, a Newbery winner in 1963 and today a classic, was rejected 26 times before publication.  Thursday Ms. Engle died at age 88. 

In her obituary in today's Times, there's a quote that perhaps should have been taken into account in my last posting, "For Love or Money?".  She answered the question of why people write this way:  "It does indeed have something to do with faith -- faith that the universe has meaning, that our little human lives are not irrelevant, that what we choose or say or do matters, matters cosmically."

Here Yesterday, Gone Today

Last night we took #1 to SFO where she hopped on a red eye heading to the East Coast and college.  She's arriving early to be on a dorm-cleaning crew.  Friday, following the custom of the day, my wife will go back for a couple of days to help with moving in. 

Decades ago, when I got on the plane to go back East to school, I lived eight houses away from where we do now .  #1 graduated from the same high school as I did.  Needless to say, I will miss #1. (Who will go to the old movies with me?  Who will swap noirish mysteries with me?).  OTOH, I remember so well the feeling of claustrophobia all those decades ago and how excited I was to escape to college and a whole new world.  I remember my little sister crying when I left and so did #1's.  Sad I am, but much more than that, I am excited for #1.

#1 (with the backpack) enters the security line at SFO as she heads off to the adventures of adulthood.

Syzygy

A syzygy occurs when three or more celestial bodies form a straight line.  At 3 AM this morning, #1 and two equally eccentric soon-to-be college freshmen were lying in our frontyard staring up at a lunar eclipse where the Earth, sun, and moon are aligned.  By 8:30 AM, my wife and I had delivered our #2, #3, and #4 to three different schools for the first day of their tenth, sixth, and third grades respectively.

Last night at 7 PM, I sent off the latest (and final?) draft of Two Graves to my agent.  Maybe my subconscious was at work figuring that the confluence of the eclipse and first day would augur well for its reception.  All would be aligned.  The protagonist of Two Graves is a Stanford history professor who is recruited to work on anti-terrorism by the Senate Intelligence Committee.  In the writing, I drew on memories of my stint as a counsel to that committee way back when.  On the very day when I sent off the manuscript, the front page of the country's paper of record featured a story about the committee during my time there.  The Times article recalled the controversy that had erupted over the mumble-mouthed Director of Central Intelligence, William Casey.  Fred Thompson, the former Watergate minority counsel and the future presidential candidate, was called in to help by the new Republican Senate majority.  It was Fred's unstated mission to clear away Casey's problems if possible, which he did.  An old colleague from those days once told me she had a picture of Thompson at an after-work party in my townhouse near Dupont Circle in the District. 

Two Graves, my memories, and the appearance of the Times article. Another alignment, another syzygy.

Reading - From Generation to Generation

When kids started popping up around the Raffel household, I resolved to do my best to pass along a love of books to them. I started reading to #1 before her first birthday. What a time we had with Anne of Green Gables, The Black Stallion, and so many more! But like a car that’s been push-started, she rolled away with me just watching by the time she was five. #2 lasted a little longer. When she was six, I read her the first chapter of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone before bedtime. By the time I got home from the office the next day, she’d finished it. That was the end of bedtime stories for her. #3 was reading solo by seven. I think she endured that long because she was feeling a little sorry for me. #4 is a son and I long dreamt of reading him some of my own childhood favorites, you know, the “boy” books. He loved Tarzan of the Apes and Howard Pyle’s King Arthur and His Knights. He tolerated Tom Swift and the Hardy Boys. He rejected Chip Hilton, Howard Pease’s Tod Moran series, and more. Together we discovered a new favorite series which I call “Ingrid” -- Peter Abrahams’ Echo Falls books.

Now #4’s done, too. He'd rather read on his own. In the last couple of weeks, he’s read Rick Riordan’s Lightning Thief and its two sequels on his own. The latest Harry Potter, too.

After seventeen years of reading to my children at night, I’m done. A superannuated bedtime reader, that’s me. It’s a long wait till grandkids. Sigh.

OTOH, I can take comfort in this – my mission was accomplished. All four kids are readers. #1 and I even share books. Heck, she came with me to Left Coast Crime and Thrillerfest this year and had a great time at the panels and meeting writers.

All’s not lost. We can have shared experiences with stories so long as we watch them and not read them. This week #3, #4, and I have been checking out old episodes of The Adventures of Ozzie and Harriet. They love them, just as I did. Last night I went to the Stanford Theatre with #4 to see Creature from the Black Lagoon. And this weekend #1 and I are going back to the Stanford to see my all-time favorite, The Maltese Falcon.

(A version of this posting also showed up on the Inkspot blog.)

Juan Sebastian Gomez and The Golden Door

Here are the facts.  Juan Sebastian Gomez, born in Colombia, is brought into the U.S. at age two by his parents.  Sixteen years later, he graduates from Killian High in Miami with a 3.96 GPA and top scores on 11 AP exams.  He does his homework on borrowed computers and in his spare time volunteers at a homeless shelter.  It's the American story!  Right?  It's what this country stands for.  You know, just as is written on the Statue of Liberty -- "Send these, the homeless tempest-tossed to me:  I'll lift my lamp beside the golden door."

Wrong.  On July 25 immigration agents in Florida detained young Mr. Gomez and prepared to deport him.  He remembers nothing of Colombia and does not speak fluent Spanish.  America is his home.  Only because his plucky high school classmates who do still believe in the American Dream started protesting in South Florida and then went to Capitol Hill to make a case for him is Mr. Gomez still in this country. One of those who went to the Hill was Andy Dubbin, son of dear friends.  Here's what Andy says in this morning's N.Y. Times:  “I truly see Juan pursuing a career that does America good.  He could do anything. He’s just genuinely smart and sociable.”

A bill sponsored by Illinois Senator Richard Durbin lays out a path to citizenship to high school grads once they do military service or two years of high school.  Representative Lincoln Diaz-Balart of Florida has introduced a much narrower bill that would grant legal immigrant status to Mr. Gomez and his brother.  I don't want to get into a discussion of secure borders and immigration policy, but it is clear that Mr. Gomez, who did not enter the U.S. voluntarily -- he was brought as a baby by his parents, is about to suffer an injustice.  I'm going to let my repesentatives in Washington know that I stand with Andy Dubbin -- Mr. Garcia would be an asset to our country and we'd be lucky to have him.  Our government, you know the people who work for us, should not exile him from his homeland and send him to a country that he does not know.

Laughing and Weeping

As the Byrds reminded us,

To everything (turn, turn, turn)
There is a season (turn, turn, turn)
And a time for every purpose, under heaven...
A time to laugh, a time to weep

All four of my children, ages eight to eighteen, are beside themselves with anticipation.  In only thirteen hours the final Harry Potter is out.  #1 had a dinner party for a dozen or so friends last night and when I went to bed, they were discussing -- what else? -- The Deathly Hallows.  #1 and #2 along with my nephew, a junior in college who is visiting, will be at Kepler's tonight to party till midnight and then get their copy.  #2 has four girlfriends who will be spending the night (not sleeping over since I imagine they'll be reading and not snoozing).  My nephew plans to read the seventh tome as he Amtraks to L.A. tomorrow.  I love seeing the kids so excited about a book.  What fun!  It must have been like this in the middle of the 19th century when the crowds waited by the New York docks for the packet ship from England carrying the latest installment of a Charles Dickens novel.

In a splash of cold water to the face, I just read this morning of the demise of Black Orchid, the Upper East Side mystery bookstore.  I gave the store a call last October a few weeks before visiting.  Proprietors Bonnie and Joe had laid in a stock of Dot Deads which I signed and they sold out of.  I had a great time visiting with Bonnie.  Just two months ago, I stopped by to say hi and convinced a patron to give Dot Dead a try.  Mystery bookstores in New York seem to be following the plotline of an Agatha Christie story.  Just a year ago there were four.  And then there were three after the demise of the country's first mystery bookstore, Murder Ink, last winter.  And soon two after this latest lamentable news.  Partners & Crime, you're not going anywhere, are you?

Bathed in Sweat and Nostalgia

Last night I saw #1 graduate from high school.  The cooling fogs have disappeared and the sun beat down on us as though we were lost travelers on a caravan bound for Timbuktu.  Along with us, my brother Wes and his family watched the proceedings.  My mind wandered back to my own graduation from Palo Alto High a few decades ago.  I remember best holding up the girl in front of me who had tippled a little too much to handle this task on her own.  Strict steps are taken nowadays to make sure that alcohol doesn't impinge upon the festivities.  Immediately following the ceremony, the grads were whisked away by bus to a secret location which turned out to be an auditorium in San Francisco.  The school gym had been good enough for us.  We celebrated #1 in absentia with pizza and soft drinks and a Fat Tire for me and Liz, my sister-in-law.

Even more nostalgia-ridden was my trip last week to my alma mater for a reunion.  I brought #4 with me and we stayed in an undergraduate dorm.  He went to camp each day; they must have been doing some early recruiting since he came back determined to return in a decade as a freshman. 

As college grads, my classmates and I were sassy, disrespectful, and smart-alecky.  This new generation seems to have their heads screwed on a little better.  As my reunion class wended our way through them, they seemed   with their achievement and each side congratulated the other for making it to this milestone.  The ceremony itself was stately and well-organized.  My only objection -- and it's not a small one -- is that the attendees gave a standing ovation to the world's richest man and not to others including Jocelyn Bell Burnell, who discovered pulsars, one of the greatest scientific discoveries of the last century.  We were at a graduation at a center of academic learning, not at a People's Magazine award dinner, for goodness sake! 

I had two dinners with long-time buddies who had children graduating -- amazing.  We had panel discussions where we reviewed clips from seminal movies.  An old friend, now a prof at Wellesley, was astute, cogent, and funny in discussing the original MASH, which upon re-viewing is misogynistic at best. 

When I saw one woman, an ex of a good friend, I gave her a hug before it became clear she didn't remember me.  When I told her what I recalled, she looked at me like I was a stalker -- how could a stranger know these long hidden facts about me?  Thankfully for my ego, there was only that one misplaced hug.

We went to a memorial service for those classmates who'd died -- very moving.  I only found out about the death of one classmate whom I'd also gone to grad school with a couple of months ago. 

It was disconcerting to discover among my classmates a law professor who lives two blocks from here, a physicist whose kids go to the school where my wife works, the head of the English Department at that very school.  They're good company, too.  Do you remember that old Liza Minelli song about having to go to Dubrovnik to meet the guy in the apartment next door?

One classmate had read Dot Dead and called it an inspiration.  She's going to try to write her own mystery in the next twelve months.  I chatted with classmate William Martin whose first novel Back Bay spent 14 weeks on the NY Times bestseller list and whose newest is The Lost Constitution. 

A couple of months ago I'd asked my old buddy Dave if he was coming.  When he balked, I told him I would stop in DC and pick him up.  That didn't prove necessary and he thanked me for my bullying.  Just chatting with my classmates was the highlight of the four days.  The reunion reminded me of wrtiers' conferences.  There's a summer camp aspect to the whole thing.  All these people with something in common get together and talk and drink.  Then, poof, it's over and back to everyday life.

After the reunion, #4 and I walked Boston's Freedom Trail.  He was on a quest for the site of the Boston Massacre and obtained great satisfaction in finding it.  Then we traveled up to Manchester-by-the-Sea to stay with physician, polymath, and mystery author L.M. ("Larry") Vincent and family.  (Larry has written two mysteries, Final Dictation and Pas de Death, the only two ever written with a radiologist as the amateur detective. He's also the author of the seminal Competing with the Sylph: The Quest for the Perfect Dance Body.)  #4 frolicked in the ocean, we celebrated the birthday of Sharon, Larry's wife, checked out Motif #1 in Rockport, ducked into bookstores, and enjoyed seaside living.

The kids will be done with school tomorrow and after more than a week off, I'd better turn back to draft #3 of Two Graves.  A highlight this weekend will be the new Nancy Drew movie -- #3 and I are chomping at the bit.

Looking Backward -- and Forward

A long time ago I was counsel to the Senate Intelligence Committee.  (I'm drawing on that experience to spice up my second book, Two Graves.)  I was reflecting on my days back in D.C. with a current member of the Senate the other night at dinner.  (See photo.)  He asked me what I was up to now and I told him I was writing mysteries and thrillers.  The upshot?  Despite my no freebie vow, I mailed him a copy of Dot Dead.

Tomorrow at the crack of dawn I'm off with #4.  The two of us are flying back to my college reunion.  I'll be awash with nostalgia for the rest of the week .

Finally, today is #1's 18th birthday.  I can recall the day she was born so vividly.  At the same time, how can a father look at his 18-year old and not be excited by what lies ahead for her?  The adventure of life.