Dot Dead Diary

Looking for an Agent? A Couple of Links to Follow

A friend sent an aspiring writer my way.  Like me, he's a high tech guy who finished his thriller by writing before breakfast and on airplanes.  He's sent out 80 query letters to agents and has gotten nowhere.  We discussed next steps and I sent him some links and thought I'd put them up here, too.  These links fall far short of a comprehensive tutorial on getting an agent, but they're definitely worth reading.

When it comes to composing the right query letter, Shamus Award-winning author Louise Ure puts it all succinctly right here.  And she discusses whom to query here.

I told him the best place to find an agent if you're writing thrillers is AgentFest where the International Thriller Writers lock 40 or so agents -- all of whom are looking for new clients -- in a single room.  Aspiring authors get two minutes each to pitch as many as they can in an afternoon.  The next AgentFest is in July 2011. 

If you can't find the right agent or the right publisher, you can try publishing online yourself as a route to a publishing contract.  It's a longshot, but it worked for Boyd Morrison who tells his story here.

Good luck!

ThrillerFest and Other Peals from the Big Apple

The last three years I stayed with friends on the Upper West Side when I went to ThrillerFest. This year they were out of town, but told me their apartment was mine for the week. So on Independence Day, #3, my 14 year-old, and I winged to NYC for a few days of pre-conference sightseeing. (Did my friends know something I didn't? They were away on an Arctic cruise. The temp in the City hit 103 degrees while we were there.)

 

#3 and I hit a museum a day. Never been to the Frick before. Fabulous. Especially like the way that Holbein portraits of mortal enemies Thomas More and Thomas Cromwell stared at each other across the fireplace. Great stuff for anyone who's read Hilary Mantel's Wolf Hall. #3 and I also were big fans of the Museum of Natural History . What's there could never be duplicated today. Can you imagine a museum sending out hunters to take trophies like grizzly bears or lions in 2010? Or picking up a statue on Easter Island and sneaking it through Customs in your suitcase?

 

Here's #3 on the Staten Island Ferry.  It's the only thing in NYC that costs less than I remember.  It used to be a quarter.  Now it's free.

The ferry we rode on was named the John F. Kennedy. I consider this a good omen since my current work-in-progress is a historical thriller where JFK plays a significant role.

Wednesday #3 came along to a couple of literary meetings including one with my (fabulous) agent. I shipped her back to California on Thursday afternoon when ThrillerFest began.  The feet above belong to pal Andy Gross who's managed to combine his previous career in sportswear with his current one penning bestsellers.  After the party, Andy led a bunch of us to a Greek seafood place where the food was almost as good as the conversation.  Sat next to Otto Penzler, who it turns out, reveres Ross Thomas's thrillers as much as I do.  Also slung words over the table with Michael Palmer, who told me how he got a blurb from Bill Clinton, aspiring novelist Dr. Julia Kinder, Haligonian Pam Callow ("Halifax's answer to both John Grisham and Tess Gerritsen"), and thriller writers Julie Compton, Carla Buckley, and Alan Orloff.

 

 

Friday night we cabbed it over to a terrific party at Otto Penzler's terrific Mysterious Bookshop where I met the latest Swedish thriller sensation, Camilla Lackberg.  Afterwards, this gang of us had a great time at dinner. (Or at least I did.)  From left: me, Dana Kaye, Robin Burcell, Craig Reid, Rick Mofina, and Julie Kramer.  Then it was to the bar and schmoozing with, among others, two of the best of Boston, Hank Phillippi Ryan, who was just down for the day , and Joe Finder, who'd just been interviewed by Russian TV about the sleeper agents that had been arrested and then exchanged.

Saturday lunchtime found time to grab a bite with old pal and International Thriller Writers co-president Joe Moore.  Steve Martini joined us mid-chew. Now it wasn't all play (just mostly). Saturday afternoon I sat on a panel led by Edgar Winner David Ellis (at far right, above) that also included (from right) Karna Small Bodman, Don Helin, Casey Moreton, me, and Rick Robinson. Considering we were up against other panels led by the fabulous ITW co-president Steve Berry and Andy Gross of distinctive footwear fame, we drew pretty well.

 

 I didn't go the awards banquet on Saturday night. For shame. But wouldn't you know it -- I showed up for the after-party anyway. Here I am with the glamorous ITW Vice President of National Events, Kath Antrim. What a fabulous job she, Shane Gericke, Liz Berry, and their army of volunteers did!

It looks like a fight is about to break between me and singing debut author Brad Parks on the far right, doesn't it? Fortunately, Julia Kinder, next to me, and Alan Orloff, next to Brad, kept us apart.

The after-party in the ballroom ended around midnight and then the after-after-party in the hotel bar ended around one-thirty. I was headed back to the Upper West Side and a few hours sleep when bro Marcus Sakey (on left, above) shanghaied me to a bar around the corner. (That's the talented LA novelist Steve Schwartz on the right, above, and Dutton publicity manager Amanda Walker squeezed in the middle. All look pretty good for three in the morning, don't they?)

Before leaving Sunday, I had to get a photo of Nellybelle, Pat Brady's jeep on The Roy Rogers Show.  I grew up watching reruns of that program.  Anyway, Nellybelle along with Roy's horse Trigger are being auctioned off by Christie's this week.  (I got a look at Trigger.  He might be stuffed, but still looks great for his age.)

 

Now reading this column over, I realize I didn't spend anytime recapping what I learned at the conference's panels and interviews.  Tough.  Read about that stuff elsewhere.

 

Till next year at ThrillerFest everyone!

"SFO-BOS-NYC-SFO" or "To ThrillerFest and Back"

Monday, July 13, 2009

My voyage to ThrillerFest and back this year took a week all told.  I left on July 5 and didn't come home till last night.

 The Kennedy Library

 

#1 is spending the summer in Boston.  So on the way to NYC for my third ThrillerFest, I stopped by to spend some quality time with my oldest and say hi to old friends.  The way I said hi was telling Larry in Manchester-by-the-Sea that #1and I wanted to stay with him for two days and then Bill and Susan in Belmont we'd by stopping for -- two days again.  All great hosts.  #1 and I did a few tourist-y things, but also stopped by the JFK Library where we spent an afternoon sifting through archives exploring an idea for a thriller.  She served as my research assistant, but also snuck a look at JFK's Harvard report cards.  I know there's been grade inflation but I don't think a D+ in European History was a sign of genius even back in the 1930s.

 

I left Boston Thursday morning on the #1-recommended the Bolt Bus which left the train station in Boston at 10.30 AM Thursday and delivered us to Penn Station in NYC four hours later. I really lucked out by sitting next to Hallie Ephron, who is as good a conversationalist as she is writer and reviewer. I also managed a few pages of the terrific Prime Time by Hank Phillippi Ryan. The time whizzed by. (Did I mention the ticket cost $10?)

 

With Sophie Littlefield, Alex Sokoloff, and Jim Rollins at ThrillerFest.

(I'm drinking regular iced tea. Honest.)

 

Thursday night the opening reception at ThrillerFest was sponsored by Writers House, my literary agency. While everyone else was imbibing, the other Writers House authors and I (I was next to fave M.J. Rose) were signing books. That night my agent Josh took me and James Phelan, who is plotting world literary domination from his base in Melbourne, Australia, out for sushi.

 

The next morning I met with Carol Fitzgerald and Erin Quinn of The Book Report to discuss revisions to http://www.keithraffel.com/. Good things are coming. From there I toddled over to see old pal Rick Wolff of Grand Central Books. Friday afternoon I managed to hit a couple panels, one with Simon Lipskar of Writers House acting as a family counselor between authors and editors and the next with Hallie, Doug Preston, and more on creating great villains. After, I bought Joe Moore, co-president designate of International Thriller Writers, a drink, but one without the umbrella that I thought he favored. Two beers with tip ran $23. That's the downside of NYC. Joe and I finished our brewskis at 5.45 at the bar in the Grand Hyatt at Grand Central. I was supposed to meet friends Ian, Lexa, and Sam, my much put-upon hosts when I visit to NYC, at Telepan at 6. God bless the subway. I was seated at 6.04, although there was the incident when the subway doors shut on my glasses along the way. Great to spend some time with them and enjoy that sublime smoked trout appetizer.

 

Saturday morning I had the best of intentions. I got to the Grand Hyatt with the panels I planned on attending all picked out. But I sat down for a minute in the lobby with homegirl Sophie Littlefield, whose Bad Day for Sorry is out next month, and with old bud Alex Sokoloff, who would win a Thriller Award later that night. Then came Sophie's Shamus-winning brother Michael Wiecek and then Maggie and Sheila.... Well, you get the idea. Never quite made it to any morning panels. I did sneak in to hear most of Doug Preston's interview of Sandra Brown, who is charming, beautiful, and articulate. She sold me. I'm going to give one of her 57 New York Times bestsellers a try.

Any hope of making it to the afternoon sessions started to evaporate when I ran into Becky Cantrell, whose A Trace of Smoke has been garnering praise everywhere. We gathered up Andy Peterson, Bobby Rotenberg, Pam Callow, C.J. Lyons, Shane Gericke, and more and found a place that would serve us sandwiches. Shane's theory about thong underwear and female police officers was pooh-poohed by the women at the table. Just as we were going to split up, Jim Rollins strolled by. Jim's The Doomsday Key is #2 this week on the NY Times bestseller list (not shabby). (#4 loved the autographed copy of Jim's Jake Ransom and the Skull King's Shadow that I brought home for him.) We retired to the hotel bar with Jim, his partner David, and Sophie. We managed to stumble across Alex again and ITW co-founder Gayle Lynds whose terrific The Last Spymaster I read just last week. Gayle and I compared notes. She's busy writing about the tunnels underneath Moscow while I'm writing about what's under the streets of Jerusalem. We got so caught up in the conversation, I almost missed my own panel.

The panel was scheduled at 4, in the last slot before the pre-awards banquet reception. Other panels we were up against boasted writers like Eric Van Lustbader, Karin Slaughter, Joe Finder, David Hewson, David Liss, Brad Meltzer, and M.J. Rose. I was amazed to find 30 people ready to listen to us prattle on about "Do We Need Another Hero?" Under Tony Tata's expert guidance, Andy Harp, Ward Larson, Paul Wilson, and I talked about what writers needed to do to make their protagonists shine with appeal and originality. My first suggestion was to make them bald. Anyway, I did voice my opinion that we don't need another protagonist who is consumed by work, is divorced but with strong feelings toward an ex, and has problems with alcohol and a precocious child.

At the banquet I was at the Writers House table with, among others, agents Simon Lipskar and Dan Conaway, James Phelan, Charlie Newton (whom I'd interviewed about his Calumet City, nominated for both an Edgar and Thriller Award, but never met face to face), Josh Gaylord whose Hummingbirds will be out this fall and whom I'd met on the phone without knowing who his wife was, and that very wife, the brilliant Megan Abbott. I was so tickled with Alex's win for best short story.

Last year, after the banquet I found myself in a midtown Irish bar with Dusty Rhoades, Tom O'Callaghan, Tasha Alexander, and Sean Chercover, among others. When I suggested to Sean we do it again, he was up for it, but I was bluffing. Home by 1.30 this year

 

Liz Berry, Kathy Antrim, Shane Gericke. Shirley Kennett, Steve Berry, and the whole ITW team did an amazing job. In the face of this economy, attendance was up.

Display at airport bookstore

 

At the airport on Sunday went to the book stall to pick up a paper and saw the display of Jim Rollins' The Doomsday Key. There it is above. Terrific. Not a nicer guy in the biz. On the flight itself, I was on American to SFO, seat 37G. Guess who were in 37 H and J? The effervescent, Bruce Alexander Award-winning Kelli Stanley and partner Tana. I read the Sunday Times, did the crossword, discussed the previous three days with my seatmates, and listened to some of the compelling things Kelli had turned up in her research. Also promised Tana that Dot Dead wasn't too dark for her tastes and that no dogs were hurt in the book.

Home now. Beat but with a pile of to-dos as high as an elephant's eye.

 

A condensed (but still too long) version of this posting can be found on InkSpot.  Lots of comments there, too.

Laura and Marcus

Listening to a good panel of writers talking about their craft.  Then heading to the bar to schmooze with your colleagues.  That's what makes writers' conferences a blast.

Last night I went to an impromptu mini-conference.  That vivacious flame-haired law professor, Laura Caldwell, was speaking at M is for Mystery in San Mateo and she hauled along fellow Chicagoan, Marcus Sakey.  Any fears that that Laura had forgotten meeting me and #1 last summer at Thrillerfest were instantly dispelled when she greeted me with a hug.  In front of a healthy crowd, she and Marcus plied each other with questions and writers in the audience like the irrepressible Michelle Gagnon and judicious Tim Maleeny joined right in.

Afterwards, we repaired to a sports bar across the street.  On every flat-screen in the house, the Warriors were playing the Chicago Bulls in honor of our midwestern guests.  The Warriors were even hospitable enough to lose.  I talked to Laura and her friend Rob for awhile and then found myself in a riotous conversation with Marcus and Michelle.  If conversation ever slows down and Michelle is around, have her recount some tales of her terpsichorean past.

Who knows where the time goes?  By the time I got home, the whole family was asleep.  Am definitely looking forward to reading Laura's newest, The Good Liar, and Marcus's The Good Blade and At The City's Edge.  Marcus is heading up to the Seattle Mystery Bookshop with little idea of what he's in for -- he'll be appearing there Saturday with the one and only Sue Ann Jaffarian.

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.)

The Thrill Is Not Gone -- Report from ThrillerFest

   Writing on Sunday morning from seat 23C on a JetBlue flight from JFK to Oakland.

   As we do when heading to the Big Apple, #1 and I took off at the crack of dawn (on Wednesday) so as to get in on time for a scrumptious dinner with Ian and Lexa, our Upper West Side hosts.  ThrillerFest didn’t kick off till Thursday at 6, so the next day I paid off on a promise and trailed after my daughter through the twisting alleys of Soho and the Village.  The various clerks at clothing boutiques kept giving me a “what are you doing here” look.  I jauntily explained that I was arm candy.  Along the way I picked up a wicked sunburn and a delicious Mexican meal at a hole-in-the-wall on Hudson Street.  We ducked in to Partners & Crime, said hi to Steve, discussed old thrillers, bought a copy of Eric Ambler's A Coffin for Demetrios, and hand-sold a copy of Dot Dead to an unsuspecting patron of the store.

   At 4 we met the mega-talented Brett Ellen Block, author of the Macavity-nominated Lightning Rule, at a midtown café that #1 had checked out on the Net. The establishment took the literal meaning of café to heart and served no tea.  It turns out that Brett and I aren't coffee drinkers at all, so we were relegated to watching #1 slurp down two of those fancy flavored concoctions.  Brett was gallant enough to say she liked the décor, and we both congratulated #1 on finding a great place to while away a couple of hours.  We escorted Brett to a signing at a nearby Borders and then headed to ThrillerFest, still burdened by shopping bags filled with #1’s booty.  At the opening reception, #1 learned that she would not be the youngest attendee – that honor was seized by Greg, the son of Carol Fitzgerald of Bookreporter.com, who was playing Jimmy Olsen with his Minolta.  Among many others, said hi to Joe Hartlaub, the ace reviewer for Bookreporter.com and to screenwriter Alex Sokoloff, whose The Harrowing is doing so well.

   Getting together with the anarchic Inkspots, those of us published by Midnight Ink, for a group dinner was not easy.  Planes were late, emails went unread, children whined.  Bill Cameron, author of Lost Dog, and Mark Combes, author of Running Wrecked (which sold out of the book room before I could buy one), #1, and I headed over to a Greek restaurant, just around the corner from the hotel.  Joe Moore of the hot-selling Cotten Moore series said he would make it eventually despite Continental’s efforts to hold him hostage, so we munched on pita and appetizers till he miraculously appeared.  And then Joe’s co-author Lynn Sholes and husband Tommy showed up.  Next time we’ll make sure we invite that Luddite Tim Maleeny via phone and not anything as new-fangled as email.  The restaurant cut us much slack and we had a ball.

   The first panel on Friday morning, moderated by Steve Berry, might have been the best of the conference even if I was sitting next to an 18-year old daughter while M.J. Rose, Barry Eisler, and John Lescroart, discussed sex in thrillers.  They chatted while standing in front of the audience, passing out mimosas to one and all (except for not-yet 21 #1).  A refreshing change from the talking heads of so many convention panels.  Interesting to note that both men on the sex panel call Northern California home.

   I’ve said before that these conventions remind me of summer camp and I spent a fair amount of time Friday saying hi to campers I’d met at previous sessions.  At the book signing I had a chance to meet a hero of mine, Vicki Hendricks.  JB Dickey of the Seattle Mystery Bookshop loaned me his personal copy of her Miami Purity last year and I’ve been afraid to visit a dry cleaner since.  Sometime during the day, #1 took a prolonged lunch while Steve Torres, author of the Concrete Maze, and I snuck over to the Grand Central Market where we lost track (!) of each other when he went off wandering in search of a glass of milk.  That evening #1 acted as cicerone and guided us through the labyrinthine  twists and turns of the subways tunnels as we headed for cocktails in.... no not Siberia, but close – Brooklyn.  Hilarity broke out amidst tutorials on taxidermy, the Ruthenian language, and the romance world taught by, inter alia, our host, Otto, and Romantic Times's Liz, Stephanie, and Elissa.  #1 and I shared a car back to civilization with MWA Exec VP Dan Hale and the gifted conversationalist Twist Phelan.

   Saturday was more panels.  At the morning’s first, under prodding from Kristee Montee, aka P.J. Parrish, private eye and novelist Carolina Garcia-Aguilera admitted that her guilty pleasure movie was Love Story.  I couldn’t stifle myself.  I blurted out to the crowd that I was an extra with Ali MacGraw in the hockey scenes of said movie.  #1 and I would certainly never miss any panel with one of the keep-'em-in-stitches author, fisherman, traveler and comet lovin' guy Brian Wiprud.  In the bookroom afterwards we saw fans scrambling for his books.  Picked up Bill Cameron’s Lost Dog for summer dog days reading.  He was signing next to Laura Caldwell and we started bantering with her, too.  Her The Rome Affair sounded great, so we picked it up (and paid for it, too). 

   Had a chance to talk with the courtly Fred Rea who lives in Vero Beach, Florida.  A critical scene in Two Graves takes place down there, and he pledged to read the chapter to ensure accuracy.  On my last visit to NYC, I stopped by Black Orchid where they had one copy of Dot Dead.  Kathy, an inveterate reader of crime fiction, bought the copy while I was there.  She stopped me in the hall Saturday afternoon.  She told me she’d only bought the copy because she didn’t want to hurt my feelings.  (I’ll take it.)  She figured it was some kind of computer thriller.  Knowing she might see me at ThrillerFest, she read it last week.  To her surprise, she told me, she loved it!  Couldn’t put it down.  She’s recommending it to friends.  So there I was in the Grand Hyatt, accosted by a crowd of fans numbering one.

   Saturday night #1 and I ensconced ourselves in the virtual nerve center of the conference – the downstairs bar.  The ThrillerFest folks had provided a hospitality room upstairs, but with a teabag and a cup of hot water running four smackers, it couldn’t compete with a place that served booze.  We relaxed with the Big D contingent, the aforementioned Dan Hale, Harry Hunsicker, whose newest, Crosshairs, is out next month, his charming wife Alison (who talked over the intricacies of NY shopping with #1), and James X(?), a Yalie working for a hedge fund who wasted no time in dissing his alma mater’s rival up in Cambridge.  Not sure of his last name but he’s got a top-notch agent who's shopping around a manuscript that uses what James has learned in his working life – sounds pretty good.  I'd left a note on Sarah Weinman's blog promising to buy her a drink; didn't see her in the bar so I guess I still owe her.

   Funnily enough, as #1 and I were walking down Broadway on a mission to load up on H&H Bagels to smuggle into California, we ran into Joel and Margot, friends from Palo Alto.  They were with Margot’s sister-in-law and brother, a Yalie working for a hedge fund who wasted no time in dissing his alma mater’s rival up in Cambridge.  Are Yale grads especially suited for the rapacity of the hedge fund world?  Do they have some kind of inferiority complex in re to that Cambridge institution?  Hmm.  Maybe I can use that in a future thriller.

Forward to the Past

Our birthday present to #2 was seeing Jersey Boys, the story of the Four Seasons, Sunday night in S.F.  She'd never heard of Frankie Valli or the 4 Seasons prior to the play becoming a hit.  Sigh.  Anyway I was never a big 4 Seasons fan when they released their hits the first time.  They didn't seem cool to this oh so uncool kid.  Still it was loads of fun watching the kitschy story of the band, together with great imitations of that endless stream of hits.  And #2 loved it.

Alas, last night my favorite television program finished its latest go-round on PBS.  I studied in England for two years and wrote my thesis on goings-on in 1939.  So I'm preconditioned to appreciate the atmosphere of Foyle's War.  Michael Kitchen's brilliant, understated performance just adds to the quality of the show.  It's video crime fiction of the highest order and I can't wait for the next installment.  Back episodes are available on DVD.

There's life in the old dog yet.  Dot Dead is ranked as the #1 bestselling paperback this week at Kepler's in Menlo Park.  Cynthia at the store and I have a bet going.  I'm signing there the afternoon of July 28.  The over/under is 50 books with a lunch at stake.

Along with #1, am catching a 6.25AM (ugh!) JetBlue to NYC tomorrow for Thrillerfest.  We'll have a great dinner with our friends Ian and Lexa on the Upper West Side tomorrow evening.  Thursday during the day, #1 wants to hit the boutiques in Soho and the Village.  As long as we include Partners & Crime that's fine with me.  We're meeting Los Angelena and Macavity Award nominee Brett Ellen Block for coffee and then fellow Midnight Ink authors Bill Cameron and Mark Combes for dinner.  Panels and schmoozing Friday and Saturday.  Back early (ugh!) on Sunday because I can't miss a launch party for the Ellen Sussman-edited Bad Girls.