On Publishing — Book Covers And A Sly Self Promotion

Much like parents and their children, writers aren’t supposed to have favorites among the books they’ve written.  I do have favorites, but I will, keep those to myself for the time being.  Instead I will focus on the cover design of my books.

For the most part, mid-list mystery writers (and I flatter myself) have very little choice in the covers  I’ve always found that frustrating.  I’ve spent most of my life as an editor of publications where I had much more control over the visuals that accompanied the words.

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The world of book publishing is different.  Of the eleven Shanahan novels, the mystery series for which I am best known, I hadn’t even a warning of what the covers would look like before they were selected. The manuscript went into the system and eventually out popped a book with my name on it.  However, the legendary editor Ruth Cavin at St. Martin’s accepted my request to look at artist Janet Woolley for my out-of series book, Eclipse of the Heart.  Woolley and jacket designer Michael Accordino created my favorite cover of any of my books. It’s quite clear that Woolley read the manuscript before doing the illustration.  The whole book is in the illustration, enhanced by the elegant typeface chosen by Accordino. I regret only that I had not contacted her to tell her how much I appreciated her work. I was pretty new to the process. Unfortunately, the book is out of print.

German Cover Got It Wrong

From a marketing perspective I suspect all book covers should entice the potential reader to pick it up and look at it, or click the icon, the first steps in the purchasing process.  However, as all fervent readers have discovered on their own, the cover can be grossly misleading.  As an author I want the cover to honestly reflect what’s inside — all of it, including the tone and the quality of the story and the prose that tells the story. It’s a kind of “truth in labeling proposition. Eclipse of the Heart did it for me. It was perfection. If you don’t like the cover, you probably won’t like the novel.

Bless The Italians

Looking at the cover that way, the book didn't fare so well in the German translation, at least as it applies to cover art.  Die Tequila-Falle, (the Tequila Case) as the title was translated, was interpreted by the publisher as a sexy gay romp. I’d call that somewhat dishonest.  Readers wanting a sexy gay romp won’t find the romp.  And readers wanting a more significant story are likely to skip it altogether. By changing the title and more importantly, the cover art, the German publishers also trivialized Mexico, a rich setting integral to the story. Tequila, I might add, had nothing to do with anything except perhaps the publisher’s thirst.  Fortunately the Italians redeemed my appreciation of translations with this totally appropriate cover of the Shanahan mystery, The Concrete Pillow.  It also brought me my first million (lire, that is — about $600 at the time). Bless them for not calling the book The Spaghetti Caper.

When Severn House, publisher of the last seven Shanahan books, picked up my new series featuring unlikely P.I. partners Noah Lang and Carly Paladino, they allowed me to suggest a cover photograph that inspired the first book, Death In Pacific Heights. They worked it out with photographer, Adam Moore.  With the second series book, Death In North Beach, I submitted a night photograph I had taken that illustrated that historic neighborhood . Both covers met the criteria of matching the stories told between the covers. Now, whether it met the marketing criteria is something else.  Neither zoomed to the top of The New York Times Bestseller list.  Even so, the author is happy.

I was also involved in the reissue of the first four Shanahan novels in e-book and paperback formats, working directly with San Francisco-based as well as talented and experienced Visual Strategies. For me, participating in the bookmaking process adds considerably to the joy of writing. The result, in this case, was a strong and clearly inter-related series of books.

I have a new book, a novella, coming out in March. I look forward to The Black Tortoise, the cover of which will mirror its predecessor, The Blue Dragon. I’m hoping for a third. Even in this late date in my career, there is a temptation to take a new book from manuscript to published novel, with a near complete hands-on approach. I say “near” because only a fool would proceed without some sort of skilled copyediting and design help.  

On Writing — Anatomy Of A Murder Mystery

We go back to our favorite mystery writers because they are predictable in the same way we go to good friends.  We know what to expect from each.  They are reliable. We know what to expect from Miss Marple and from Bosch, Spenser, and Robicheaux.  We settle in and quickly call up how we see them and the regulars who appear with them. It’s comfortable.  But it’s not only the main characters who provide reliability.  It’s the mood the writer creates, and it is, and perhaps we readers are less likely to see it, how the story is constructed – its architecture. If I were crass, I’d call it formula. That may be harsh. Maybe it’s a mood surrounding the meat of the story.

In some cases, the bloodletting takes place off stage and in some series, it’s in your face.  In some cases the main character’s backstory is essential (the number of divorced ex-alcoholic protagonists is remarkable).  And the reader not only follows the crime solving, but also the battle the protagonist has with his or her past. Still, some of our favorites have very thin backstories. “Bond, James Bond.”

I’d add, in terms of architecture, not all mysteries are mysteries.  The stories of Colombo aren’t mysteries in the purest sense (my sense, anyway). We follow the dowdy detective as he goes up against a brilliant antagonist. We are happy to watch him solve the case, wiping the smirk off the perpetrator’s face, but we know from the first who did it.  Jack Reacher’s crime solving isn’t his dominant feature. More likely we observe and endorse as he gives villains their violent due.  It’s a high-five kind of moment. Miss Marple, on the other hand, is a character in genuine, perhaps I should say “traditional” mysteries. She solves crimes and as the story unfolds, the reader is allowed to match wits, follow the clues and attempt to beat the legendary snoop to the endgame.

Whatever our favorite writers give us, we want more. Though it does happen (Marple and Poirot) it’s not that often a popular series writer will have two equally popular series, or for that matter be extremely successful with standalone crime fiction. To me, that’s not a measure of talent, but a statement of the needs of the reading audience.  It’s a marketing issue.  But it is real.

A personal note: I used to have a particular fan who would email me after completing a book of mine to give me her thoughts about it. I enjoyed her comments.  At the end of the email, she would name the book that was next on her list. She had gone through a number of, though not all, the Shanahan books when she said that Eclipse of the Heart was next. Eclipse was a standalone mystery book of mine that was quite a bit different from the Shanahans. I never heard from her again.  

I rededicated myself to the Shanahan series.  The character was far from a household word, but he and Maureen had a decent following. I look at it as a kind of blue-collar Nick and Nora Charles. Some humor, some strange characters set against an Indianapolis backdrop. Not hardboiled and maybe a bit less fluffy than Hammett’s fun crime couple, my stories could get dark, but never ended by destroying all hope.  The sun would likely come up the next day.  And readers liked Maureen as much or more than Shanahan. I’ve always enjoyed those books

Standalone novel (out of print)

I can’t speak for all writers or any other writer for that matter, but there is something especially exciting about starting a story with a clean slate.  New characters, new setting, new architecture. Even though Eclipse didn’t leap to The New York Times Best sellers list, I thoroughly enjoyed writing it. It was a working vacation. I don’t believe St. Martin’s Press made a bundle on this series departure. I don’t think they took a bath either.

A few years back, I decided to take another break from the Shanahans. I wrote two books, both very different. I was unable to place the one I thought was the most accessible and was, I was sure, the “big” book, my agent at the time begged for. The second departure was very different.  Very dark.

Instead of a private eye as a central figure, it is a police procedural about a serial killer. We meet the serial killer early on. We witness the pursuit.  But just when we think it isn’t a traditional mystery because we’ve met the serial killer, we discover something is amiss.  It is a mystery after all.  And, unlike my other novels the end is not a full reprieve for anyone. We wonder, perhaps, if justice can ever be done.  This is a  “no, no” for some crime fiction readers. Psychologically, the sun might not come up tomorrow.

Standalone (The quiet outlier)

Of the 11 Shanahans and six other mysteries published so far, Good To The Last Kiss is an outlier. I spent months researching serial killers. I read books about the psychology of those who commit those kind of crimes and I listened to confession tapes made by those who did the crimes.  I also interviewed San Francisco homicide inspectors.  I worked on it with a passion. The truth is I became obsessed and depressed. When the first draft was completed, people who act as my early sounding boards were uncharacteristically silent about how they felt about it. They seemed shocked.

My first submission of Kiss met with a long, angry rejection from an editor I had successfully worked with in the past. The objections (San Francisco was an “overused setting” and “serial killers were passé”) didn’t hold water. If those were the real reasons, there wouldn’t have been such anger. There would have been that familiar phrase that many of us have heard too often: “I’m sorry, your manuscript, though well-written, is not right for us at this time.”  When the book was finally published, it was as if it fell into a hole.  There were no reviews. No mentions anywhere.  As they say, “no buzz.”  No sound. A stone in a pond would have at least a ripple or two.  In this case, there wasn’t even a plop.

Perhaps, referring to the notion that a series book is like visiting an old friend, and that readers who expected a familiar Shanahan in this case, climbed in bed and snuggled up to a stranger, perhaps a scary stranger.

There was a small but meaningful relief from the silence surrounding the book I worked the hardest to write and felt the most passionate about.   Someone felt it was worthwhile.

Review: Good To The Last Kiss

Tierney serves up a dark, twisty little gem in which a pair of embittered detectives and a not-quite-dead victim combine irresistibly…. Every year the genre has its Goliaths, bigger and better ballyhooed than this modest entry. Come Edgar time, however, Tierney's well-written, tidily plotted, character-driven David of a book deserves to be remembered. — Kirkus Reviews, August 1, 2011 

Remembered?  Probably not. The end did not promise the next day’s sunrise.  The bow was left untied. From a marketing point of view I understand that I failed to live up to expectations, not necessarily of crime fiction in general, but for those expecting the dogged, curmudgeonly detective, Deets Shanahan. However I do not regret writing it. I wanted to write a book from a different point of view. Sometimes you write the book that you need to write. But if you do, be prepared to accept the consequences.

This year is bittersweet.  The last Shanahan novel will be released on May 1. Renewed passion went into Killing Frost as well, perhaps because it is the last of a 25-year run.  In the fall, my version of a cozy (in novella form) will be released. Another outlier.   

Confession — What The Reader Wants, The Reader Gets. Maybe. Maybe Not.

Occasionally people who read my books email me. And I welcome them. I encourage them. I once received a note from a resident of Louisiana who said he knew I had at least spent some time in New Orleans to research my book Glass Chameleon because I didn’t once use the phrase “Sacre Bleu.”  Another said that his mother had finished all of the Shanahans and if I didn’t write another one soon, he’d have to enroll her in a 12-step program. Many of the Shanahan readers write to me about the places in Indianapolis I’ve mentioned, sometimes correcting something I got wrong and occasionally telling me they know the exact house on Pennsylvania Avenue where the murder occurred.

Those who have read the San Francisco mysteries enjoy the local references as well — especially those who have visited the city often or who lived here and moved away. The places are real.  Last week’s post about oldest five San Francisco restaurants was inspired by a reader, a San Francisco native now living in Vancouver, who told me how much she missed the city. She reminded me of the Black Cat I had mentioned in one of my books. She also talked about restaurants she remembered from the 1950s. She mentioned two German restaurants Shadows, on Telegraph Hill, no longer there and Shroeder’s,* which still exists. She recommended I find a copy of a book published in the 1940s — Where to Sin in San Francisco. I’ll start looking.  I could have used it as a reference for Death in North Beach, which is a little more nostalgic than most of my mysteries set in San Francisco.  The city has always had a wonderfully bad reputation.

Another reader started sending me emails as she started the Shanahan series, telling me what she thought of the last one she read and which book was next on her list.  I always replied. This continued through the early Shanahans. Her last email said she was about to read an out-of-series book (and out of print) of mine called Eclipse of the Heart.  I never heard from her again.

Eclipse of the Heart is mystery about a closeted gay male, a celebrated San Francisco chef, who preferred to live life at a comfortable distance from it. During a trip to Mexico, he was forced to engage in real life by a series of unavoidable events and the unexpected friendship of a young, street-wise hustler.  Gay characters have appeared in many of the Shanahans, including The Stone Veil, the first one. But in Eclipse, the gay character was the central figure, the protagonist.  The book was the best-reviewed book I’ve ever written, but clearly very different from the Deets Shanahan series.

I wondered about the abrupt end of emails from my loyal reader. Perhaps she simply didn’t enjoy the story and thought quietly moving on was the kind thing to do. I suppose I could have emailed her, asked her why? Did the story offend her?  Bore her? If she simply couldn’t relate to Eclipse, she could have returned to the Shanahan series. Nickel-Plated Soul was certainly written in the spirit of the early books, the ones she liked.  But asking her what happened seemed intrusive. I’ve heard of readers stalking authors, but authors stalking readers? Unseemly. It’s entirely possible she left me for someone else a little more exciting. Maybe she found Robert Parker and it is taking her a considerable amount of time to read her way through his 70 or so Spenser novels before she returns to my measly ten.

In the end though, this relatively small event in my life caused an inordinate amount of speculation. And, as one thing leads to another, I wondered if this out-of-series, and quite different book affected overall sales of future Shanahan series in general. Being slightly paranoid is probably a positive characteristic for crime writers. Did I betray my readers’ trust or, at minimum, his or her expectations?

I sensed something similar happening after Good to the Last Kiss was published, this after a particularly long run and seemingly revived interest in new Shanahans.  Kiss was met with near dead silence, or so it seemed to me. It too was different, especially in tone.  A tougher book with an ending that didn’t tie everything up in a neat bow.

The reason I bring this up is that the rights to Eclipse of the Heart reverted to me several years ago and the novel was originally published in the pre-ebook era.  I am thinking about putting it out there again, perhaps as an e-book.  Of course, I ask myself, “Will I ever learn?”  Will I spoil any momentum that might develop with the reissues of the early Shanahans? Will this simply further confuse the marketplace about what to expect from this writer?  Should I write more Shanahans or more books similar to the Shanahans? Or should I simply write what I want to write and let nature take its course? This has to be a question many series writers face from time to time, especially those whose series books are better known than mine in the first place.

Recently, my brother proposed a plot for a future mystery during our usual Sunday morning conversation. I told him that it wasn’t a subject that I would take on. Why not, he asked. It didn’t interest me, I said insensitively.  You don’t think it’s an important subject? He wanted to know.  It’s a very important subject, I told him.  But I already know how I feel about it.

I’d never thought about why I write except in the very general sense that I enjoy writing. It’s what I’ve done all my life in one capacity or another. In the last few years, I have been fortunate enough to be able to scrape by doing fiction. But why do I enjoy writing mysteries?  I enjoy it because writing allows me to explore questions that I am curious about or that are unsettled in my mind. It is a form of discovery.  For example, the book I’m engaged in now is, on the surface, about solving murders in a nursing home. Who did it and why, of course.  But it is also about the question: Can someone live too long? I didn’t have an answer when I began the story. I really hadn’t framed the question.  But it was buzzing about in what’s left of my brain.

In the end, I’m not sure that this is a subject the masses would find interesting. It’s not good-looking young vampires or erotically adventurous housewives.  There’s no gimmick.  The protagonist isn’t endowed with special powers or burdened with anything, except advancing age. I didn’t discuss the idea with a focus group.  I’m not examining trends in mysteries and thrillers. The first draft is done and it falls short of the standard length publishers want, yet far too long to be a short story.  But that’s how it turned out. The mental exercise prompted by my brother’s proposal and my flippant answer, allowed me to answer the question about whether I write for money or to satisfy my curiosity.

I discovered that my primary goal isn’t to earn a lot of money,** a goal I continue to not only meet with nearly unprecedented success, but also engage in without an ounce of noble purpose.  Other than my proclivity to put ordinary folks in circumstances that forces them (and me) to come to terms with ethical issues, I’m not trying to change any minds.  Not really.  Just think.  Many of us — and I’m slightly too old to be an official “boomer” — have faced or will face the dilemma of aging parents or others important to us who no longer recognize us or know how to exist in the world.  Two final “ors.”  Some of those we love, as they age, seem to be entirely absent or actually suffering mentally as well as physically.  Is that a subject worth exploring?  It is for me.  And I suspect it is for quite a few of us.

*Shroeder’s was established in 1893, making it one of the city’s oldest surviving restaurants, certainly the oldest German restaurant in the city. **As a matter of principle, I’m not against earning a lot of money.