by David Ellis
I figured if I ever wrote a blog, I would sometimes just go off on various topics. Since I joined up with the talented bunch of writers here, I have limited my comments to a single subject on writing. Not today. We’ll see if people are okay with this. A few rants, raves, and observations.
1. Don’t you hate it when you’ve thoroughly researched a subject and you proudly vomit all the information onto the pages of your novel—only to discover, either on your own or through your agent or editor, that you went on way too long and you have to cut it down? That has happened to me a lot. Whenever I get outside my comfort zones of law and politics, I seek outside assistance, compile a bunch of information, and then end up over-detailing the subject. For those of you aspiring novelists out there, I think the lesson is this: The novel is not about you. You learned a whole lot about an obscure subject? Congratulations. Use it at cocktail parties. But the people buying your novels don’t give a shit. Just tell them what is necessary to make the book interesting.
2. Speaking of the cutting-room floor, some of my favorite passages from my novels are the ones that didn’t make it. Usually I am the one removing it, and the typical reason is that the passage no longer fits. The plot, or the character, has changed. And then I do what, I suspect, all of us writers do—I store that nugget away for another time. And you know what? I have never once taken one of those nuggets and inserted it into another novel. The lesson here is—actually, I don’t know what the lesson is.
3. I think I’ve said this before but it bears repeating: If you are bored with a particular passage in your novel, count on this universal truth—the reader will be, too.
4. Is there a “far left” political movement in this country? I hear, in major newspapers and TV news channels, about the “far right” all the time. I hear them called “extreme,” too. Ever heard of the “extreme” left? The “far” left? Just asking. Hey, I’m no Rush Limbaugh, but I’m a fan of evenhandedness.
5. My take on writing about sex: Leave it to the imagination. A novelist I respect who shall remain nameless (she writes on this blog) once told me (she has red hair) that she (her initials are LC) thought the sexiest scene I ever wrote was in my first novel. But that scene didn’t have a single graphic image. It was all about the lead-up, the flirtation. I have never—and I mean never—read a sex scene in a novel that I found captivating.
6. A really cool thing happened to me the other day that illustrates the organic nature of a novel. I was writing a scene between my protagonist and a woman who, so my plan went, was only serving a minor role. I was rolling along through a brief encounter between the two when suddenly, the thing turned a little sexy on me, and the next thing I knew, something was developing between the two of them. It wasn’t what I had planned. It doesn’t really fit in my novel. But hey, romance often doesn’t fit with your life. Damned if I’m not going to keep it in the book. That’s what I love about writing.
7. When someone says your new book is the best novel you’ve ever written, does that make you momentarily feel insecure about the ones that came before? My favorite fan is the one who says that all of my books are equally compelling. I hope to have one of those fans someday.
8. I absolutely, positively, cannot fathom how anyone could have written a novel on those old typewriters, or long-hand. I jump around my novel like a frog on speed. (Mental note: cool simile, store it away and use it in next book!)
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Monday, July 13, 2009
Plan to not fail
By David Heinzmann
Every once in a while I think of a tidbit about David Mamet I once read. On the wall next to his writing desk he had tacked a card that read something like: To fail to plan is to plan to fail.
Some writers need to plan more than others, perhaps, but everybody needs a layer or two of discipline. Often when we talk about this we mean either carving out the same writing time and a word count every day, or addressing the question of outlining or not.
For a handful of reasons (but mostly because of two shorties under the age of 5) I struggle with carving out the regular writing time. And I can’t say that the outlines I’ve made have been worth all the time I put into them, though I’d surely have been worse off without them.
Lately, when I've thought of the Mamet maxim, I’ve also been thinking about the first kind of planning I learned as a writer. When I was in college I had a wonderful creative writing teacher named A.E. Claeyssens who taught a novel writing class. We all had a novel we were planning to write, but first Claey had us spend most of the semester writing what he called preliminaries, volumes of character profiles, pages and pages of their external and internal lives, biographical details we’d never put on the page in the novel, but the stuff that makes you understand who they are so that the actions and thoughts that do make it onto the page ring true. Exploring characters before you write is one way to tell as story, but some writers feel they need to discover their characters as they go. When they’re in the zone and become lost in the story, the characters reveal themselves, etc.
I got a lot of out preliminaries, but somewhere along the way I stopped doing them, partly because in the years since college I’ve learned to write with a gun to my head—on deadline, nearly every day.
By necessity, I do a good bit of my fiction writing on the L-train ride to and from work. It’s not the best method, mainly because it comes in half-hour chunks. But I take my time alone where I can get it.
I write in a notebook atop a leather brief case sitting on my lap. The eventual typing up of my chicken scratch becomes an act of revision, with most of those revelatory writing moments coming in the late-night transcription sessions at the keyboard. I actually find the process to be fairly productive, if not ideal.
Lately, as I’ve been rewriting the ending for the novel I’m trying to finish, I’ve felt particularly unplanned and at least frustrated, if not failing. When my agent read the manuscript a few months ago, he said the ending felt a little easy. So I pulled back from the big moment of revelation in the book, and started going sideways a bit. I wrote several new scenes with my man Flood continuing to stumble in the dark.
But I was having trouble finding the final confrontation that will get me back to the end. Trying to major surgery on the plot, I suddenly had no real plan.
This is what brings me to the lessons of Mamet and Claeyssens. Without thinking about it the other day, I started retroactively writing out preliminaries on the train. I’m once again finding my way through with the preliminaries.
Looking forward, I’m pretty sure I’m going to need preliminaries for the next book, too. I have a premise and protagonist, a couple of scenes, but the big picture remains a fog. I’m going to need serious plan.
Every once in a while I think of a tidbit about David Mamet I once read. On the wall next to his writing desk he had tacked a card that read something like: To fail to plan is to plan to fail.
Some writers need to plan more than others, perhaps, but everybody needs a layer or two of discipline. Often when we talk about this we mean either carving out the same writing time and a word count every day, or addressing the question of outlining or not.
For a handful of reasons (but mostly because of two shorties under the age of 5) I struggle with carving out the regular writing time. And I can’t say that the outlines I’ve made have been worth all the time I put into them, though I’d surely have been worse off without them.
Lately, when I've thought of the Mamet maxim, I’ve also been thinking about the first kind of planning I learned as a writer. When I was in college I had a wonderful creative writing teacher named A.E. Claeyssens who taught a novel writing class. We all had a novel we were planning to write, but first Claey had us spend most of the semester writing what he called preliminaries, volumes of character profiles, pages and pages of their external and internal lives, biographical details we’d never put on the page in the novel, but the stuff that makes you understand who they are so that the actions and thoughts that do make it onto the page ring true. Exploring characters before you write is one way to tell as story, but some writers feel they need to discover their characters as they go. When they’re in the zone and become lost in the story, the characters reveal themselves, etc.
I got a lot of out preliminaries, but somewhere along the way I stopped doing them, partly because in the years since college I’ve learned to write with a gun to my head—on deadline, nearly every day.
By necessity, I do a good bit of my fiction writing on the L-train ride to and from work. It’s not the best method, mainly because it comes in half-hour chunks. But I take my time alone where I can get it.
I write in a notebook atop a leather brief case sitting on my lap. The eventual typing up of my chicken scratch becomes an act of revision, with most of those revelatory writing moments coming in the late-night transcription sessions at the keyboard. I actually find the process to be fairly productive, if not ideal.
Lately, as I’ve been rewriting the ending for the novel I’m trying to finish, I’ve felt particularly unplanned and at least frustrated, if not failing. When my agent read the manuscript a few months ago, he said the ending felt a little easy. So I pulled back from the big moment of revelation in the book, and started going sideways a bit. I wrote several new scenes with my man Flood continuing to stumble in the dark.
But I was having trouble finding the final confrontation that will get me back to the end. Trying to major surgery on the plot, I suddenly had no real plan.
This is what brings me to the lessons of Mamet and Claeyssens. Without thinking about it the other day, I started retroactively writing out preliminaries on the train. I’m once again finding my way through with the preliminaries.
Looking forward, I’m pretty sure I’m going to need preliminaries for the next book, too. I have a premise and protagonist, a couple of scenes, but the big picture remains a fog. I’m going to need serious plan.
Friday, July 10, 2009
Agent Secrets, Man
By Kevin Guilfoile
A friend of mine called recently. He had just met with an agent about representing his first novel. That's the stage when an aspiring writer probably feels most excited and most vulnerable. The hope that one of your dreams might come true is accompanied by the realization that the mechanisms of publishing are a complicated mystery and you need a Virgil to guide you through its circles. You seek a lot of advice during this period, and you get a lot of it too. Some of it good, some of it irrelevant.
I told him that the agent-writer relationship is basically about trust more than anything, and so asking another person whether this agent would be a good fit is sort of like asking a friend if you should get married to a person that friend doesn't know. Sometimes you just know when it's right. Other times there's only one person who wants to marry you.
On request I once shared my getting-an-agent story (including query letter), but I suspect other writer's stories are more informative or interesting or funny. Surely there are some things you should look for in a good agent, and some warning signs of a bad one. We've touched a bit on this before at The Outfit, but what are some of your agent tales, good and bad? And what are some of your getting-an-agent questions?
Unrelated except in a lazy, kitchen-sink Friday way: Over at the Infinite Summer blog I go deep into the history of an urban legend that gets recycled in the book Infinite Jest (be sure to follow the endnotes for some entertaining links). It might be of interest even to those who haven't read the novel. More significantly, the excellent discussion that follows in the comments about the appropriateness of such appropriation is relevant to anyone who writes fiction for a living I think.
A friend of mine called recently. He had just met with an agent about representing his first novel. That's the stage when an aspiring writer probably feels most excited and most vulnerable. The hope that one of your dreams might come true is accompanied by the realization that the mechanisms of publishing are a complicated mystery and you need a Virgil to guide you through its circles. You seek a lot of advice during this period, and you get a lot of it too. Some of it good, some of it irrelevant.
I told him that the agent-writer relationship is basically about trust more than anything, and so asking another person whether this agent would be a good fit is sort of like asking a friend if you should get married to a person that friend doesn't know. Sometimes you just know when it's right. Other times there's only one person who wants to marry you.
On request I once shared my getting-an-agent story (including query letter), but I suspect other writer's stories are more informative or interesting or funny. Surely there are some things you should look for in a good agent, and some warning signs of a bad one. We've touched a bit on this before at The Outfit, but what are some of your agent tales, good and bad? And what are some of your getting-an-agent questions?
Unrelated except in a lazy, kitchen-sink Friday way: Over at the Infinite Summer blog I go deep into the history of an urban legend that gets recycled in the book Infinite Jest (be sure to follow the endnotes for some entertaining links). It might be of interest even to those who haven't read the novel. More significantly, the excellent discussion that follows in the comments about the appropriateness of such appropriation is relevant to anyone who writes fiction for a living I think.
Thursday, July 09, 2009
Not Up to One's Former Standard
by Barbara D'Amato
My husband, Tony D’Amato, read my post [June 25] about critics, fair and unfair, but thought I’d left something out, something critics sometimes do.
Tony says:
I always read The Outfit to find out what my wife Barbara D’Amato is thinking about. Her most recent blog was about critics. What she didn’t mention was her own dispatch of a pompous reviewer in her short story “Of Course You Know that Chocolate is a Vegetable.”
The critic takes asthma medicine, theophylline, that is chemically very similar to the caffeine and theobromine in coffee and chocolate—dangerous in large quantities. At this point, at the urging of the victim of his critiques, he has eaten several chocolate desserts and drunk several espressos.
An excerpt:
We were seated at a round table covered with a crisp white cloth at Just Desserts, a scrumptious eatery in central Manhattan that specializes in chocolate desserts.
“I must say, Ms. Grenfield, it’s very handsome of you to invite me after my review of your last book, “ Ivor Sutcliffe said.
Ivor’s review had begun:
In Snuffed, the victim, Rufus Crown, is dispatched with a gaseous fire extinguisher designed for use on fires in rooms with computer equipment and other such unpleasant hardware, though neither the reader nor the fictional detective knows this at the start when his dead but mysteriously unblemished body is found. The reader is treated to long efforts—quite incompatible with character development—on the part of the lab and medical examiner to establish what killed him.
Sutcliffe’s review had gone on:
I deplore the substitution of technical detail for real plotting. One could amplify the question “Who Cares Who Killed Roger Ackroyd?” by asking “Who cares how Roger Ackroyd was killed?” No one cares what crime labs and pathologists really do.
Since he was eating at my expense, he found the need to be borderline pleasant. “You know, I did say in the review that I liked much of your past work.”
Actually no, you clot. His review of my first book, graven on my heart, said, “This novel is obviously the work of a beginner.” And his review of my second book, also etched somewhere in my guts, said “Ms. Grenfield has not yet got her sea legs for the mystery genre.” The third and most recent review had, in fact, damned with faint praise: This effort, Snuffed, is not up to her former standard.”
As he finished off the tray of chocolate candies, he said “These are good. I’m rather surprised.”
“Why?”
He said, “I’d always thought of you as lacking in appreciation of the finer things.”
“Oh, surely not.”
“All those bloody and explicit murders, or poisons with their effects lovingly detailed. Hardly the work of a subtle mind.”
“Au contraire, Ivor, I am very subtle.”
“Well, I suppose it does require a certain amount of delicacy to keep the knowledge of whodunit from a reader until the end.” He fidgeted as if nervous. He started to sweat.
“Yes. Until the end.”
My husband, Tony D’Amato, read my post [June 25] about critics, fair and unfair, but thought I’d left something out, something critics sometimes do.
Tony says:
I always read The Outfit to find out what my wife Barbara D’Amato is thinking about. Her most recent blog was about critics. What she didn’t mention was her own dispatch of a pompous reviewer in her short story “Of Course You Know that Chocolate is a Vegetable.”
The critic takes asthma medicine, theophylline, that is chemically very similar to the caffeine and theobromine in coffee and chocolate—dangerous in large quantities. At this point, at the urging of the victim of his critiques, he has eaten several chocolate desserts and drunk several espressos.
An excerpt:
We were seated at a round table covered with a crisp white cloth at Just Desserts, a scrumptious eatery in central Manhattan that specializes in chocolate desserts.
“I must say, Ms. Grenfield, it’s very handsome of you to invite me after my review of your last book, “ Ivor Sutcliffe said.
Ivor’s review had begun:
In Snuffed, the victim, Rufus Crown, is dispatched with a gaseous fire extinguisher designed for use on fires in rooms with computer equipment and other such unpleasant hardware, though neither the reader nor the fictional detective knows this at the start when his dead but mysteriously unblemished body is found. The reader is treated to long efforts—quite incompatible with character development—on the part of the lab and medical examiner to establish what killed him.
Sutcliffe’s review had gone on:
I deplore the substitution of technical detail for real plotting. One could amplify the question “Who Cares Who Killed Roger Ackroyd?” by asking “Who cares how Roger Ackroyd was killed?” No one cares what crime labs and pathologists really do.
Since he was eating at my expense, he found the need to be borderline pleasant. “You know, I did say in the review that I liked much of your past work.”
Actually no, you clot. His review of my first book, graven on my heart, said, “This novel is obviously the work of a beginner.” And his review of my second book, also etched somewhere in my guts, said “Ms. Grenfield has not yet got her sea legs for the mystery genre.” The third and most recent review had, in fact, damned with faint praise: This effort, Snuffed, is not up to her former standard.”
As he finished off the tray of chocolate candies, he said “These are good. I’m rather surprised.”
“Why?”
He said, “I’d always thought of you as lacking in appreciation of the finer things.”
“Oh, surely not.”
“All those bloody and explicit murders, or poisons with their effects lovingly detailed. Hardly the work of a subtle mind.”
“Au contraire, Ivor, I am very subtle.”
“Well, I suppose it does require a certain amount of delicacy to keep the knowledge of whodunit from a reader until the end.” He fidgeted as if nervous. He started to sweat.
“Yes. Until the end.”
Wednesday, July 08, 2009
Kudos for the Pros
by Michael Dymmoch
I grew up reading the Chicago Daily News because my parents subscribed. Sidney J Harris taught me philosophy—before I knew what the word meant—and that the purpose of a liberal education is to make one’s head a decent place in which to spend one’s leisure. The Daily News also introduced me to Erma Bombeck and Mike Royko
Years later, I followed Royko to The Chicago Sun-Times, then to the Trib. After he died, I drifted back to the Sun-Times because an acquaintance started giving me her copy when she’d finished with it. I still mostly read the Sun-Times because I’m currently addicted to Mark Brown and Richard Roeper, Roger Ebert, Cathleen Falsani, Neil Steinberg and Carol Marin (and because the Trib jettisoned its book section and moved the TV guide to Saturday).
What impresses me almost as much about the pros as their talents is the fact that they wrote/write so much—some of them four or five columns a week, forty-five or fifty weeks a year, many of them for decades. To anyone who’s ever tried to blog regularly (even just once every two weeks) that’s amazing! And most of their stuff is really good, though that may not be obvious because they make it look easy .
Blogging seems to have taken over as the medium for getting ideas across, and those of us with a life or occupation now have too many talented writers to keep up with. But all of them, wherever their work appears, continue to remind us that we belong to a community of people who value ideas and appreciate those ideas skillfully presented.
With so many terrific writers to choose from, how do you decide with whom to spend your time?
I grew up reading the Chicago Daily News because my parents subscribed. Sidney J Harris taught me philosophy—before I knew what the word meant—and that the purpose of a liberal education is to make one’s head a decent place in which to spend one’s leisure. The Daily News also introduced me to Erma Bombeck and Mike Royko
Years later, I followed Royko to The Chicago Sun-Times, then to the Trib. After he died, I drifted back to the Sun-Times because an acquaintance started giving me her copy when she’d finished with it. I still mostly read the Sun-Times because I’m currently addicted to Mark Brown and Richard Roeper, Roger Ebert, Cathleen Falsani, Neil Steinberg and Carol Marin (and because the Trib jettisoned its book section and moved the TV guide to Saturday).
What impresses me almost as much about the pros as their talents is the fact that they wrote/write so much—some of them four or five columns a week, forty-five or fifty weeks a year, many of them for decades. To anyone who’s ever tried to blog regularly (even just once every two weeks) that’s amazing! And most of their stuff is really good, though that may not be obvious because they make it look easy .
Blogging seems to have taken over as the medium for getting ideas across, and those of us with a life or occupation now have too many talented writers to keep up with. But all of them, wherever their work appears, continue to remind us that we belong to a community of people who value ideas and appreciate those ideas skillfully presented.
With so many terrific writers to choose from, how do you decide with whom to spend your time?
Tuesday, July 07, 2009
Here Comes TYRUS BOOKS!
by Sean Chercover
If you haven't heard the publishing news that broke last weekend...
To read the news release and learn more, visit: Tyrus Books.
For those who don't know, Ben LeRoy and Alison Janssen are the brains and talent (they are both, both) behind the success of Bleak House Books. Ben started the company in 2001, and Alison came on in 2003. Together, they have published some of the best crime fiction in recent years (in 2008 three of their titles were Edgar Award-nominated - an unprecedented achievement by a small, independent publishing house).
So you'd be right in thinking that Ben and Alison are two of the smartest folks in publishing, and that they are possessed of great taste.
One of the Edgar-nominated titles was the Chicago Blues anthology, edited by our own Libby Hellmann, and containing stories by most "Outfitters". I spoke with Ben last night, and he had this message:
If this post reads like an unbridled love letter to Ben and Alison ... well, it is. In addition to being two of the smartest people I've met in publishing, they are also two of the finest human beings I've had the pleasure of knowing.
I am very happy for them, and excited to see what they will do at Tyrus Books.
Congratulations, Ben and Alison!
Let's all Dance Like A Monkey to their continued success:
If you haven't heard the publishing news that broke last weekend...
Ben LeRoy and Alison Janssen announced today that they will leave their positions at Bleak House Books (a division of Big Earth Publishing) and begin a new venture, Tyrus Books.
To read the news release and learn more, visit: Tyrus Books.
For those who don't know, Ben LeRoy and Alison Janssen are the brains and talent (they are both, both) behind the success of Bleak House Books. Ben started the company in 2001, and Alison came on in 2003. Together, they have published some of the best crime fiction in recent years (in 2008 three of their titles were Edgar Award-nominated - an unprecedented achievement by a small, independent publishing house).
So you'd be right in thinking that Ben and Alison are two of the smartest folks in publishing, and that they are possessed of great taste.
One of the Edgar-nominated titles was the Chicago Blues anthology, edited by our own Libby Hellmann, and containing stories by most "Outfitters". I spoke with Ben last night, and he had this message:
Building Bleak House Books was a years long process and one of the projects we are most proud of is Chicago Blues. A special thank you is due to most of the members of the Outfit. And Laura Caldwell has become a great friend of the company. I appreciate all of you so much and look forward to working with you all in some capacity moving forward.As Ben and Alison start their new adventure, they also leave Bleak House stocked with some excellent titles, including Libby's upcoming novel DOUBLEBACK, and Jen Jordan's short story anthology, UNCAGE ME.
I'd also like to thank all of the support that readers, reviewers,and retailers have provided us. As we move forward on this exciting new venture, we want to assure everybody that we will continue to deliver the best books we know how. Love to everybody.
If this post reads like an unbridled love letter to Ben and Alison ... well, it is. In addition to being two of the smartest people I've met in publishing, they are also two of the finest human beings I've had the pleasure of knowing.
I am very happy for them, and excited to see what they will do at Tyrus Books.
Congratulations, Ben and Alison!
Let's all Dance Like A Monkey to their continued success:
Sunday, July 05, 2009
Ready to Commit Murder
by Libby Hellmann
Ah, the joys of summer: bright sunshine, soft breezes, flowers, steaks on the grill...
And skunks.
Some of you already know about my ongoing trials with these creatures. Well, at this point, they’re winning. And I’ve had it. It’s war.
I live on the North Shore of Chicago not far from the forest preserve. I’ve gotten used to the deer eating my day lilies (and pooping on the lawn), the raccoons tipping over the garbage cans, even the occasional fox strolling across the yard. Live and let live, right?
No more.
It started about three years ago when our wonderful Beagle, Shiloh, was still with us. Unfortunately, Shiloh thought everyone was his friend, and that included rodents and varmints. The upshot was that he got skunked in our back yard, not once but three times. The first time I rushed him to the vet, but they wouldn’t take him. Instead, they told me about the peroxide-baking soda-dishwashing liquid mix (tomato juice definitely does NOT work), and I raced to the drug store to take care of the poor guy. Shiloh hates baths, but he had a good one that night. Of course, the stench stayed in my car for days – even a once-over with the mixture and at least two bottles of Febreze didn’t do much.About a month later, it happened again. This time I was ready. I locked Shiloh in the garage, had the solution ready in a jiffy, and we went through the process again. It happened a third time before the end of that summer (I never said Beagles were smart). I remember being thankful when cold weather came.
Fast forward to the following spring. It’s about five in the morning, and I’m having a nightmare about a disgusting odor that just won’t go away. I wake up to discover it’s no dream. The odor is in my house, and it’s skunk spray. I jump out of bed, tear through the house, and find out that skunks are mating under my deck, and one of them just had to spray into the window-well where the stink penetrated into the basement.
This time it took two weeks and several trips to the store get a special enzyme-y thing that was supposed to break up the skunk-spray molecules but didn’t really work. Not to mention the traps that Animal Control set. Naturally, they didn’t catch the skunk -- Turns out they’re pretty smart, at least smart enough not to crawl into a cage for bait. But I did catch two lovely raccoons.
The last straw came a couple of nights ago. A skunk came to my front door, sprayed, and then pranced off into the night. The stench penetrated inside in a minute. I swear it was a deliberate provocation. That skunk was singling me out. I know it.
I’m convinced that there’s a skunk population explosion on the North Shore and the authorities are covering it up, because they know the citizenry would rise up in arms if they knew how many of these creatures are actually roaming around. It’s clearly a conspiracy. And what the authorities aren’t covering up, the skunks themselves are perpetrating. Because they can. They’re trying to take over the world, one forest preserve at a time.
But I won’t let them. I’m done playing defense. It’s war. I have my Illinois FOID card and I’m going to the gun range for target practice. Before I do, though, I’ll open it up for one last round of suggestions.
How do you stop a skunk dead in its tracks?
Friday, July 03, 2009
July 4
When I was growing up, July 4 was our best family holiday. The others tended to get bogged down in my parents culture wars (think George and Martha in the Albee play.) My mother came partly from WASPy stock, family who came here in the 1730's; my father's parents had fled pogroms. Both parents felt a fierce connection to the promise of freedom implicit in our history and every year, until their culture wars made life together impossible, they'd recount the history of the country.
My father would recount the history of the revolutionary war up through the Stamp Act. My mother could recite most of the Declaration of Independence from memory, and then we would suffer through the harsh winter of 1777-78, the doubts, the triumphs, the faltering of the new country, and end with the Constitutional Convention. The Constitution somehow always coincided with the triumphant production of chocolate ice cream, hand-cranked in the old churn my mother had brought from her small-town home--perhaps there's an association of chocolate with freedom.
We would set off fire crackers, and then my parents would play their old 78's of Paul Robeson singing Ballad for Americans. These were issued by Victor Records in 1940 and my parents had bought them when they first started dating, right before Pearl Harbor and my father's disappearance into the Pacific Theater for almost four years.
We're living in one of America's most challenging times right now, with strong echoes going back to the 1930's. Remembering how my parents celebrated the 4th with us helps remind me that for all our problems as a society, for all the times we fall short of our heroic ideals, we still manage to come together as a nation to solve our most pernicious problems.
What are your own favorite memories of Independence Day?
Sara Paretsky
Wednesday, July 01, 2009
Digital Distractions
by Marcus Sakey
Morning folks!
So in preparation for the release of THE AMATEURS, I’m doing the stuff we do: planning my tour schedule, doing interviews, thinking about contests, and, the topic of the day, revamping my web site.
I’ve had a site to promote my books for about four years now, and it has changed significantly as time has passed. Initially it was really a sales piece aimed at the industry, a reference point I built for agents and publishers. Once I was signed, I started to change the focus, hopefully making it more useful and interesting to readers.
Which brings me to the topic at hand. What does interest you about an author’s website?
Certain things are obvious. My tour schedule is up there, as are excerpts of all my books, and review copy, that sort of thing. And I suspect that those elements form the core value for most people.
But over the years I’ve been trying to expand beyond that. I built and maintain my site myself—in a past life, I ran a web design shop—so I have a lot of flexibility. Everything is in my voice because, well, I’m typing it, and I hope that helps.
I also have sections where I write about good books I’ve read recently, give hands-dirty advice for aspiring writers, answer common questions, and share interviews and photographs. And of course I’m promoting my mailing list, and the fact that I’m on Facebook and Twitter. (I’ll post more on that another time, but I have to say, thus far I’ve been impressed by Twitter, and used judiciously I do see the value in it.)
Anyway, the revamped version of the site is live now, at MarcusSakey.com.
My feeling is that if you take the time to visit, I’d like to make sure that time is rewarding for you. Seems the least I can do. And so I’m wondering, am I missing anything?
What else would you like to see on an author’s website, mine or anyone else’s?
Morning folks!
So in preparation for the release of THE AMATEURS, I’m doing the stuff we do: planning my tour schedule, doing interviews, thinking about contests, and, the topic of the day, revamping my web site.
I’ve had a site to promote my books for about four years now, and it has changed significantly as time has passed. Initially it was really a sales piece aimed at the industry, a reference point I built for agents and publishers. Once I was signed, I started to change the focus, hopefully making it more useful and interesting to readers.
Which brings me to the topic at hand. What does interest you about an author’s website?
Certain things are obvious. My tour schedule is up there, as are excerpts of all my books, and review copy, that sort of thing. And I suspect that those elements form the core value for most people.
But over the years I’ve been trying to expand beyond that. I built and maintain my site myself—in a past life, I ran a web design shop—so I have a lot of flexibility. Everything is in my voice because, well, I’m typing it, and I hope that helps.
I also have sections where I write about good books I’ve read recently, give hands-dirty advice for aspiring writers, answer common questions, and share interviews and photographs. And of course I’m promoting my mailing list, and the fact that I’m on Facebook and Twitter. (I’ll post more on that another time, but I have to say, thus far I’ve been impressed by Twitter, and used judiciously I do see the value in it.)
Anyway, the revamped version of the site is live now, at MarcusSakey.com.
My feeling is that if you take the time to visit, I’d like to make sure that time is rewarding for you. Seems the least I can do. And so I’m wondering, am I missing anything?
What else would you like to see on an author’s website, mine or anyone else’s?
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Opening Statement
by David Ellis
Sorry in advance if this blog entry is a little short. I was just in Paris, and I planned to write today’s entry there, but then there was an incident, and I had to leave in a hurry before the authorities could question me.
I read in Sean’s entry a few days ago about how hard it is to get a book started. A lot of what he said rang true to me, but slightly altered. My problem isn’t the beginning, and it’s never the end—I always know how a book is going to end when I start it. (Probably the trial lawyer in me, start preparing your case by planning your closing argument.) No, for me, it’s those pesky 350 pages in between that are the problem.
I love openings. They are easily my favorite part of the book. You introduce yourself to the reader. You set the tone. You grab hold of them. You tell them, this is how I write, these are my characters, get in and buckle up.
I especially love opening sentences, a micro-version of what I just described. You can outline the hook. You can set a dramatic first scene. You can reveal your protagonist’s personality. On a good day, you can do all three. So many possibilities, because you haven’t yet backed yourself into a corner, something I’ve done in every book.
“Allow me to be frank at the commencement. You will not like me.”
That might be my favorite opening, from The Libertine at the Steppenwolf, John Malkovich in the lead. Such a self-indulgent, ominous and challenging warning to the viewer.
I remember Victor Gischler’s opening in Gun Monkeys, where Charlie is driving down a highway, bemoaning the fact that he forgot to put plastic down in the trunk of his car, which he now regretted in light of the fact that a decapitated corpse resided back there. I pretty much understood what Charlie did, who he was, and how he felt about it in that opening sentence.
I also have to say that Lee Child’s new one, Gone Tomorrow, which I haven’t finished, has a terrific grabber. Lee’s usually good for that, but this one is the best he’s done, in my opinion.
Maybe it’s all in how you approach writing. I know what Sean means, and what Joyce Carol Oates meant, as well, but unless I have a firm idea of where the book is going, I usually begin writing my novel by searching for the most compelling opening I can write and then trying to keep up, so to speak, with the car rolling down the hill. I let the tail wag the dog. (No other clichés spring to mind, sorry.) And yes, sometimes my directionless opening will reach a dead end, and I will go back and change the opening to match what I have ultimately written. But starting that way is usually the best way for me to get the blood flowing, and it’s the most fun. Hey, I still have the next 350 pages to be miserable, before I get to the finale. The end is my second-favorite part of the story.
By the way, it looks like that incident in Paris is going to work out okay for me. They couldn’t find the weapon. And they never will.
Sorry in advance if this blog entry is a little short. I was just in Paris, and I planned to write today’s entry there, but then there was an incident, and I had to leave in a hurry before the authorities could question me.
I read in Sean’s entry a few days ago about how hard it is to get a book started. A lot of what he said rang true to me, but slightly altered. My problem isn’t the beginning, and it’s never the end—I always know how a book is going to end when I start it. (Probably the trial lawyer in me, start preparing your case by planning your closing argument.) No, for me, it’s those pesky 350 pages in between that are the problem.
I love openings. They are easily my favorite part of the book. You introduce yourself to the reader. You set the tone. You grab hold of them. You tell them, this is how I write, these are my characters, get in and buckle up.
I especially love opening sentences, a micro-version of what I just described. You can outline the hook. You can set a dramatic first scene. You can reveal your protagonist’s personality. On a good day, you can do all three. So many possibilities, because you haven’t yet backed yourself into a corner, something I’ve done in every book.
“Allow me to be frank at the commencement. You will not like me.”
That might be my favorite opening, from The Libertine at the Steppenwolf, John Malkovich in the lead. Such a self-indulgent, ominous and challenging warning to the viewer.
I remember Victor Gischler’s opening in Gun Monkeys, where Charlie is driving down a highway, bemoaning the fact that he forgot to put plastic down in the trunk of his car, which he now regretted in light of the fact that a decapitated corpse resided back there. I pretty much understood what Charlie did, who he was, and how he felt about it in that opening sentence.
I also have to say that Lee Child’s new one, Gone Tomorrow, which I haven’t finished, has a terrific grabber. Lee’s usually good for that, but this one is the best he’s done, in my opinion.
Maybe it’s all in how you approach writing. I know what Sean means, and what Joyce Carol Oates meant, as well, but unless I have a firm idea of where the book is going, I usually begin writing my novel by searching for the most compelling opening I can write and then trying to keep up, so to speak, with the car rolling down the hill. I let the tail wag the dog. (No other clichés spring to mind, sorry.) And yes, sometimes my directionless opening will reach a dead end, and I will go back and change the opening to match what I have ultimately written. But starting that way is usually the best way for me to get the blood flowing, and it’s the most fun. Hey, I still have the next 350 pages to be miserable, before I get to the finale. The end is my second-favorite part of the story.
By the way, it looks like that incident in Paris is going to work out okay for me. They couldn’t find the weapon. And they never will.
Is it Alzheimers or just CRS?
by Michael Dymmoch
I forgot I was supposed to blog yesterday.
Sorry about that.
I've been forgetting a number of things lately. Yesterday, I forgot to look at my calendar.
My sister claims my memory is perfectly normal, that I just need to slow down and pay attention to what I'm doing. Maybe she's right. Paying attention is what makes most writers different from non-writers. Writers notice things.
Come to think of it, I haven't been writing much either.
I forgot I was supposed to blog yesterday.
Sorry about that.
I've been forgetting a number of things lately. Yesterday, I forgot to look at my calendar.
My sister claims my memory is perfectly normal, that I just need to slow down and pay attention to what I'm doing. Maybe she's right. Paying attention is what makes most writers different from non-writers. Writers notice things.
Come to think of it, I haven't been writing much either.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Where a Man Can Lose His Mind
By Kevin Guilfoile
On an August afternoon in 2007, John Mullarkey sent a text message (by some accounts to his mother) with his blood-splattered cell phone: I stabbed my self at demi.s i love you.
That same instant, Gayle Slomer of suburban Pittsburgh heard a desperate, frantic shriek outside her daughter's window. She ran out the door to find her daughter's 16-year-old neighbor Demi Cuccia bleeding in the front yard from more than a dozen stab wounds. Moments later Mullarkey, Cuccia's on-again-off-again boyfriend, emerged from Cuccia's house, a 10-inch, self-inflicted gash across his own neck. "Get away from me! I hate you!" Demi screamed at Mullarkey.
It was one of the last things she ever said.
Mullarkey confessed to the brutal murder at the scene. Later in the hospital, still unable to speak, Mullarkey wrote on an eraser board and handed it to an Allegheny County homicide detective: If somebody did something bad and they were taking medication, Mullarkey wrote, would that be a defense?
Approximately four months before the murders, Mullarkey began taking the powerful prescription acne medicine Accutane. According to the defense, Mullarkey stopped taking the meds just days before the murder because he was concerned about side effects, which included radical mood swings. Friends of Cuccia's however, paint a picture of Mullarkey as always having been controlling and jealous, and in the days before the murder, Mullarkey sent Cuccia a series of increasingly desperate emails and texts concerning the state of their relationship.
It's a shocking story, but many of the details will sound horrifyingly familiar to Chicagoans, as well as to readers of this site.
On October 24, 2006, respected dermatologist Dr. David Cornbleet, was viciously stabbed to death by Hans Peterson, a former patient for whom Cornbleet had allegedly prescribed Accutane several years earlier. Like Mullarkey, Peterson claimed to have stopped taking the drug after he became concerned about side effects. In fact, Peterson claimed to have taken only a couple of doses. Nevertheless for more than four years afterward Peterson would describe a series of persistent and unbearable side effects that he blamed on the small amount of Accutane he had taken in 2002.
Accutane has had a long history of both success and controversy. Many, including Michigan Congressman Bart Stupak, whose son committed suicide while on the drug, have tried to link it with depression. Roche, the pharmaceutical company that distributes Accutane includes a hefty warning label as required by law, but claims no causal link to depression, suicide or violence has been found.
The Mullarkey case, which has gone to trial this week, appears to be the first time a defendant has claimed his judgment had been impaired by Accutane. The results will be watched very carefully in Chicago, and in Peterson's native Eugene, Oregon, and also in Basel, Switzerland where Roche is headquartered.
If the Accutane defense succeeds, we will no doubt see it again.
Even if it doesn't succeed, I suspect we will see it again.
The story of Dr. Cornbleet and Hans Peterson is just as tragic but far more bizarre than the Mullarkey case. The tale includes a lengthy manhunt across several states, the nuances of international law and extradition, the television show Dexter, online poker, Barack Obama, a strange claim about Asperger's syndrome, and the heroic intervention of an Iraq war veteran. More than anything, though, it's about fathers and sons. I won't repeat all the details here, but if you follow this link and start at the bottom you can get, if not the whole story, a good sense of it.
As John Mullarkey sits before a jury, Hans Peterson sits in a jail cell on the island of Guadaloupe. He has been there for almost two years. The French government refuses to send him back to the US to face judgment, but they also seem reluctant to deal with his crime themselves. No charges have been filed and none seem to be coming in the immediate future. Under French law, Peterson can be held for another two years without trial. Although they serve a different system in a different jurisdiction, Peterson's court-appointed lawyers no doubt will also be watching the outcome of the Mullarkey case with keen interest.
Finally, a meaningless but eerie coincidence: I first wrote about the murder of Dr. Cornbleet 11 months after the crime, on August 15, 2007. The post went up around 9:30 Central Time.
John Mullarkey murdered Dana Cuccia just seven hours later.
UPDATE: A pharmacist testified in the trial yesterday that Accutane likely caused Mullarkey's depression and a mental disorder. On cross examination the pharmacist admitted that his experience with the drug was limited to what he'd read. "I don't think the FDA would (require those warnings) unless there was a problem with the drug," he said.
TOTALLY UNEXPECTED UPDATE: Roche pulls Accutane out of the US Market after an unrelated jury verdict in a class action lawsuit awarding more than $30 million dollars to users who experienced inflammatory bowel disease. More later.
UPDATE: A jury in Pittsburgh took just two hours to convict Mullarkey of first-degree murder.
On an August afternoon in 2007, John Mullarkey sent a text message (by some accounts to his mother) with his blood-splattered cell phone: I stabbed my self at demi.s i love you.
That same instant, Gayle Slomer of suburban Pittsburgh heard a desperate, frantic shriek outside her daughter's window. She ran out the door to find her daughter's 16-year-old neighbor Demi Cuccia bleeding in the front yard from more than a dozen stab wounds. Moments later Mullarkey, Cuccia's on-again-off-again boyfriend, emerged from Cuccia's house, a 10-inch, self-inflicted gash across his own neck. "Get away from me! I hate you!" Demi screamed at Mullarkey. 
It was one of the last things she ever said.Mullarkey confessed to the brutal murder at the scene. Later in the hospital, still unable to speak, Mullarkey wrote on an eraser board and handed it to an Allegheny County homicide detective: If somebody did something bad and they were taking medication, Mullarkey wrote, would that be a defense?
Approximately four months before the murders, Mullarkey began taking the powerful prescription acne medicine Accutane. According to the defense, Mullarkey stopped taking the meds just days before the murder because he was concerned about side effects, which included radical mood swings. Friends of Cuccia's however, paint a picture of Mullarkey as always having been controlling and jealous, and in the days before the murder, Mullarkey sent Cuccia a series of increasingly desperate emails and texts concerning the state of their relationship.It's a shocking story, but many of the details will sound horrifyingly familiar to Chicagoans, as well as to readers of this site.
On October 24, 2006, respected dermatologist Dr. David Cornbleet, was viciously stabbed to death by Hans Peterson, a former patient for whom Cornbleet had allegedly prescribed Accutane several years earlier. Like Mullarkey, Peterson claimed to have stopped taking the drug after he became concerned about side effects. In fact, Peterson claimed to have taken only a couple of doses. Nevertheless for more than four years afterward Peterson would describe a series of persistent and unbearable side effects that he blamed on the small amount of Accutane he had taken in 2002.Accutane has had a long history of both success and controversy. Many, including Michigan Congressman Bart Stupak, whose son committed suicide while on the drug, have tried to link it with depression. Roche, the pharmaceutical company that distributes Accutane includes a hefty warning label as required by law, but claims no causal link to depression, suicide or violence has been found.
The Mullarkey case, which has gone to trial this week, appears to be the first time a defendant has claimed his judgment had been impaired by Accutane. The results will be watched very carefully in Chicago, and in Peterson's native Eugene, Oregon, and also in Basel, Switzerland where Roche is headquartered.
If the Accutane defense succeeds, we will no doubt see it again.
Even if it doesn't succeed, I suspect we will see it again.
The story of Dr. Cornbleet and Hans Peterson is just as tragic but far more bizarre than the Mullarkey case. The tale includes a lengthy manhunt across several states, the nuances of international law and extradition, the television show Dexter, online poker, Barack Obama, a strange claim about Asperger's syndrome, and the heroic intervention of an Iraq war veteran. More than anything, though, it's about fathers and sons. I won't repeat all the details here, but if you follow this link and start at the bottom you can get, if not the whole story, a good sense of it.
As John Mullarkey sits before a jury, Hans Peterson sits in a jail cell on the island of Guadaloupe. He has been there for almost two years. The French government refuses to send him back to the US to face judgment, but they also seem reluctant to deal with his crime themselves. No charges have been filed and none seem to be coming in the immediate future. Under French law, Peterson can be held for another two years without trial. Although they serve a different system in a different jurisdiction, Peterson's court-appointed lawyers no doubt will also be watching the outcome of the Mullarkey case with keen interest.Finally, a meaningless but eerie coincidence: I first wrote about the murder of Dr. Cornbleet 11 months after the crime, on August 15, 2007. The post went up around 9:30 Central Time.
John Mullarkey murdered Dana Cuccia just seven hours later.
UPDATE: A pharmacist testified in the trial yesterday that Accutane likely caused Mullarkey's depression and a mental disorder. On cross examination the pharmacist admitted that his experience with the drug was limited to what he'd read. "I don't think the FDA would (require those warnings) unless there was a problem with the drug," he said.
TOTALLY UNEXPECTED UPDATE: Roche pulls Accutane out of the US Market after an unrelated jury verdict in a class action lawsuit awarding more than $30 million dollars to users who experienced inflammatory bowel disease. More later.
UPDATE: A jury in Pittsburgh took just two hours to convict Mullarkey of first-degree murder.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Criticising Critics
by Barbara D'Amato
The passing of Ed Gilbreth last week got me to thinking about critics and what makes a good one. He and Anthony Boucher, who reviewed for the New York Times for many years and for whom the Bouchercon is named, were what fine critics should be—well informed, open-minded, and fair.
Some people use the terms reviewer and critic differently, claiming that a reviewer simply describes the book and gives the publisher, price and such info. Critics, they say, go on and give criticism. I’ll use both terms here, since I think the distinction is unnecessary.
What makes a good critic?
It’s okay to include negative criticisms. Often they help the writer. Even if I disagree with a negative remark, it tells me something I need to know.
It’s not okay to have a hidden agenda. Of course a reviewer has his or her own tastes. It’s not okay to keep them hidden and sabotage books. I never object when a reviewer says something like “I usually don’t enjoy large amounts of gore and violence, but SPLATTERFIEND is fast-paced, well-written, and has believable characters.”
It’s not okay to make fun of the book or the author. A friend of mine who had reviewed for years and then had several novels published told me he winced thinking of the nasty/funny remarks he made about books just because he thought the phrasing was amusing. Writers know this can happen. Mark Zubro wrote a book about the murder of a Chicago alderman, which he wanted to title WHO CARES? Amusing, yes, but he knew it would tempt reviewers to say, “I didn’t.”
It’s not okay to review a book without reading it. This occurs more than anyone would wish. I have a friend whose flap copy contained an error. One reviewer repeated elements of it over and over in his review, making it pitifully clear he hadn’t ready the book.
And there was the famous case of the reviewer who accused an author of bigotry because the reviewer had not read far enough into the book to realize the nasty stuff was the viewpoint of a character the author was presenting as a bad guy. Unlikely, you say? The review wrote for a major publication and the whole thing caused a major stink. As it should have.
It’s okay not to have the depth of knowledge that Gilbreth and Boucher had. Few people have read that many books or have that wonderful, detailed recall. But I get the feeling that some critics read only the books they are forced to and jump to the handiest reference. For instance, if a book has a native American character, for a real reader, there may be a comparison more apt that Tony Hillerman.
It’s not okay to hold the flap copy, the cover art, or other publisher’s decisions about which the author has no control against the author. I read a review recently that took an author to task for the quality of the PAPER the book was printed on. Really.
It’s not okay to give away the ending.
The passing of Ed Gilbreth last week got me to thinking about critics and what makes a good one. He and Anthony Boucher, who reviewed for the New York Times for many years and for whom the Bouchercon is named, were what fine critics should be—well informed, open-minded, and fair.
Some people use the terms reviewer and critic differently, claiming that a reviewer simply describes the book and gives the publisher, price and such info. Critics, they say, go on and give criticism. I’ll use both terms here, since I think the distinction is unnecessary.
What makes a good critic?
It’s okay to include negative criticisms. Often they help the writer. Even if I disagree with a negative remark, it tells me something I need to know.
It’s not okay to have a hidden agenda. Of course a reviewer has his or her own tastes. It’s not okay to keep them hidden and sabotage books. I never object when a reviewer says something like “I usually don’t enjoy large amounts of gore and violence, but SPLATTERFIEND is fast-paced, well-written, and has believable characters.”
It’s not okay to make fun of the book or the author. A friend of mine who had reviewed for years and then had several novels published told me he winced thinking of the nasty/funny remarks he made about books just because he thought the phrasing was amusing. Writers know this can happen. Mark Zubro wrote a book about the murder of a Chicago alderman, which he wanted to title WHO CARES? Amusing, yes, but he knew it would tempt reviewers to say, “I didn’t.”
It’s not okay to review a book without reading it. This occurs more than anyone would wish. I have a friend whose flap copy contained an error. One reviewer repeated elements of it over and over in his review, making it pitifully clear he hadn’t ready the book.
And there was the famous case of the reviewer who accused an author of bigotry because the reviewer had not read far enough into the book to realize the nasty stuff was the viewpoint of a character the author was presenting as a bad guy. Unlikely, you say? The review wrote for a major publication and the whole thing caused a major stink. As it should have.
It’s okay not to have the depth of knowledge that Gilbreth and Boucher had. Few people have read that many books or have that wonderful, detailed recall. But I get the feeling that some critics read only the books they are forced to and jump to the handiest reference. For instance, if a book has a native American character, for a real reader, there may be a comparison more apt that Tony Hillerman.
It’s not okay to hold the flap copy, the cover art, or other publisher’s decisions about which the author has no control against the author. I read a review recently that took an author to task for the quality of the PAPER the book was printed on. Really.
It’s not okay to give away the ending.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
"Great Bodily Harm"
Remember that video of the big, fat drunk cop pummeling the cute little blond bartender because she wouldn’t serve him another drink?
It was hard to miss back in the spring of 2007 when it was played over and over and over again on cable and Internet news sites. The grainy image from a neighborhood bar security camera of the huge man in the flannel shirt, his long hair spilling out under a ball cap, tossing the woman to the floor like child hurling a toy in a tantrum, and then swinging and kicking at her curled body while the jukebox blared Johnny Cash’s "Sunday Morning Coming Down," and none of the drunks sitting at the bar lifting a finger to stop him.
If you’re in Chicago you may have heard yesterday that the cop, Tony Abbate, won’t be serving any time behind bars in the case even though he was convicted of felony aggravated battery. The judge, John Fleming, gave him probation, causing an uproar from the public about how the fix was in, and cops get away with anything in this town. http://www.chicagotribune.com/news/local/chi-abbate-24-jun24,0,5965992.story
Well, actually, this case might not be a great measure of those claims. While I was reporting and writing the Tribune’s story on the Abbate verdict, most of the lawyers I talked to said they thought it was a mistake that the judge didn’t give Abbate at least a little time behind bars—say 30 days in Cook County Jail—just to make a point. But the fact was that Abbate was never going to get serious penitentiary time for this crime.
Anytime probation is an option for the judge, and the convict doesn’t have any criminal background, it’s likely he won’t be shipped off to the joint. Some made the argument yesterday that because Abbate was a cop he should be held to a higher standard, and the judge should have sent that message in a harsh sentence. The judge chose not to do that.
One of the reasons Fleming gave was that the bartender, Karolina Obrycka, did not suffer serious physical injuries despite the savagery apparent in the video. (The argument has been made that Abbate was so drunk he failed to squarely land a punch or kick.)
I thought about that reasoning as I was typing up my phone interview with Obrycka. She described the nightmares, anxiety attacks and general feelings of paranoia she’s suffered since the beating. Every time she goes out she worries she’ll be pulled over for something and the cops will recognize her, and they’ll be friends of Abbate’s, etc.
She also said she can’t fathom the idea of working anywhere alone, as she was that night in the bar, having nobody there to back her up and protect her.
She was describing psychological injuries that can be as debilitating as physical injuries. But psychological injuries aren’t covered by the aggravated battery statute used to convict Abbate. The crime describes only “great bodily harm.” Even though she didn't sustain serious physical injuries, there’s a quirk in the law that allows the felony aggravated battery charge to be used for lesser injuries if the crime takes place in a public place, like a bar. If the beating had happened at a backyard barbecue, Abbate probably would have been charged with a lesser crime.
As it is, Abbate is an unemployed cop with an infamous name and serious drinking and anger-management issues. He’s been suspended without pay for two years, and the department is going through the process of firing him. His lawyer says that’s punishment aplenty. What do you think?
Switching gears, I wrote a few weeks ago about my anticipation and anxiety over the cover for my book, A WORD TO THE WISE. Not long after that post, I got an early version from my publisher’s designers. I had some ideas, and ran them past a graphic designer friend at the Tribune, who came up with some tweaks. Five Star’s designers were wonderful to work with and in the end, I was pretty happy with the result. Many thanks to Deirdre and Chris Wait, and my colleague Shanna Novak. Here's the cover:
It was hard to miss back in the spring of 2007 when it was played over and over and over again on cable and Internet news sites. The grainy image from a neighborhood bar security camera of the huge man in the flannel shirt, his long hair spilling out under a ball cap, tossing the woman to the floor like child hurling a toy in a tantrum, and then swinging and kicking at her curled body while the jukebox blared Johnny Cash’s "Sunday Morning Coming Down," and none of the drunks sitting at the bar lifting a finger to stop him.
If you’re in Chicago you may have heard yesterday that the cop, Tony Abbate, won’t be serving any time behind bars in the case even though he was convicted of felony aggravated battery. The judge, John Fleming, gave him probation, causing an uproar from the public about how the fix was in, and cops get away with anything in this town. http://www.chicagotribune.com/news/local/chi-abbate-24-jun24,0,5965992.story
Well, actually, this case might not be a great measure of those claims. While I was reporting and writing the Tribune’s story on the Abbate verdict, most of the lawyers I talked to said they thought it was a mistake that the judge didn’t give Abbate at least a little time behind bars—say 30 days in Cook County Jail—just to make a point. But the fact was that Abbate was never going to get serious penitentiary time for this crime.
Anytime probation is an option for the judge, and the convict doesn’t have any criminal background, it’s likely he won’t be shipped off to the joint. Some made the argument yesterday that because Abbate was a cop he should be held to a higher standard, and the judge should have sent that message in a harsh sentence. The judge chose not to do that.
One of the reasons Fleming gave was that the bartender, Karolina Obrycka, did not suffer serious physical injuries despite the savagery apparent in the video. (The argument has been made that Abbate was so drunk he failed to squarely land a punch or kick.)
I thought about that reasoning as I was typing up my phone interview with Obrycka. She described the nightmares, anxiety attacks and general feelings of paranoia she’s suffered since the beating. Every time she goes out she worries she’ll be pulled over for something and the cops will recognize her, and they’ll be friends of Abbate’s, etc.
She also said she can’t fathom the idea of working anywhere alone, as she was that night in the bar, having nobody there to back her up and protect her.
She was describing psychological injuries that can be as debilitating as physical injuries. But psychological injuries aren’t covered by the aggravated battery statute used to convict Abbate. The crime describes only “great bodily harm.” Even though she didn't sustain serious physical injuries, there’s a quirk in the law that allows the felony aggravated battery charge to be used for lesser injuries if the crime takes place in a public place, like a bar. If the beating had happened at a backyard barbecue, Abbate probably would have been charged with a lesser crime.
As it is, Abbate is an unemployed cop with an infamous name and serious drinking and anger-management issues. He’s been suspended without pay for two years, and the department is going through the process of firing him. His lawyer says that’s punishment aplenty. What do you think?
Switching gears, I wrote a few weeks ago about my anticipation and anxiety over the cover for my book, A WORD TO THE WISE. Not long after that post, I got an early version from my publisher’s designers. I had some ideas, and ran them past a graphic designer friend at the Tribune, who came up with some tweaks. Five Star’s designers were wonderful to work with and in the end, I was pretty happy with the result. Many thanks to Deirdre and Chris Wait, and my colleague Shanna Novak. Here's the cover:
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