On Writing — Reader’s Expectations: To Meet Them Or Not Meet Them

Authors live and die by the reviews. I have been blessed by the attention over the years.  And I thank the highly educated, overworked and often underpaid reviewers who help keep writers afloat.  In my couple of decades I have never argued with or complained about a review. I don’t intend to do that now. But a very recent book review of the second in my new novella series about a forensic accountant touches, perhaps inadvertently, on the topic of authors writing in a different style and or a different genre — meaning he or she is likely not to meet the expectations of a reader familiar with writers most popular or previously accepted work.

This happens to many writers. Some never leave the pattern of their original success. From the readers’ point of view, I understand. It is much like one of those moments when you  expected a Coke and were shocked, even disgusted at the taste of iced tea, though under normal circumstances you like iced tea as well. It was the shock of the unexpected.

 So I’d like to clarify my soon-to-be released novella, The Black Tortoise. For those who followed the more popular Shanahan series, the Peter Strand series is entirely different.  Shanahan is an older man,  former Army sergeant, who came to terms with life and with who he is a long time ago.  The stories are standard book-length and often quirky. They take the tough P.I. approach. The Shanahans are more likely to have violence and, by sheer length, accommodate a more complicated plot.  Peter Stand, introduced in The Blue Dragon, is a young Chinese American, dealing with personal identity as he attempts to solve much more conventional mysteries (almost cozies, puzzles to challenge the reader to find the murder before the book ends) in a quick-easy-to-read style. The Strand series is part of Orca Publishers “Rapid Reads” program designed for the reader who wants a quick read on the flight from Phoenix to New York. Or for a younger reader who identifies with a protagonist still coming to terms with himself and the world around him.

Now, in my world, I can enjoy American Psycho and “Midsomer Murders,” but I would hate to have to watch one when I was expecting the other.

My first real brush with this phenomenon as a writer was when Good To the Last Kiss was released by London’s Severn House.  Compared to the Shanahans, this is a dark book indeed. People I knew and loved, not to mention most critics, didn't want to talk about it.   It hasn’t sold well. Yet I consider it to be my best. I suspect it never got to the readers who might have liked it because my previous books kept me off their radar. On the other hand, this is my problem. I’m not the only one who has to deal with this kind of thing. Writers are finding ways to keep from being completely pigeon-holed. Another book, also one of my favorites, is Mascara: Death In The Tenderloin, a transgender mystery. It was also too different.  Most publishers shy away from books by authors who venture too from the expected.  As have other stubborn writers, I published it myself.  I’ve not gotten rich, but I’m so happy I wrote what my soul was telling me to write because part of being a genuine writer is taking that risk.

Please, read the Shanahans. Perhaps there is a reason why many consider these books the best of what I do (did).  But if you are adventurous, consider reading some of my non-Shanahan work as well.

The inspiration for this post was a negative review from a highly respected source.  The fact is every word in that review was correct, which is why I found it worth comment because it also pointed out the expectation game. While I am working on a new P.I. set in Palm Springs, and a little more in the Shanahan tradition, I’m also working on other mysteries that wander pretty far outside the box.

                                                                                                

On Writing — Fiction As History

The Early Shanahan novels

Occasionally I receive comments from people who have read some of the early books in my Shanahan mystery series.   These notes usually come from people who live or have lived in Indianapolis. Rarely are the comments about the plot, though critics at the time were complimentary. Some are about the main characters – Deets Shanahan and his love, Maureen.  But most of the sentiment is about bringing back memories. The 11 novels in the series set in Indianapolis cover 25 years in the life of the Circle City beginning with The Stone Veil in 1980. History is an unforeseen, but happy consequence of fiction.

I haven’t been the only one.  In fact I wasn’t the first one or necessarily the most prolific.  The acclaimed Michael Z. Lewin not only originated the first series featuring a fictional Indianapolis P.I., but is also credited with popularizing the idea of a regional P.I. series. Many others followed.  My Deets Shanahan character also came after Lewin’s Albert Samson.

Michael Z. Lewin

Lewin and I are roughly the same vintage. However he began writing younger in his life.  Counting his Leroy Powder cop series, Lewin has used Indianapolis as a setting for 11 crime novels with a history going back to 1971 with his first Samson novel, Ask The Right Question, among those being re-released as I write.

Re-released

I have inadvertently been part of recording this city’s history when, as its first editor, I helped found NUVO Newsweekly, the longest serving alternative newspaper in the city’s history. Long after I was gone it continues to chronicle my hometown and is a powerful, on-going historical reference. However, I would suggest that fiction could go beyond the news as a historical document in many ways by creating the mood, the ambiance and an in-depth characterization of its neighborhoods, restaurants, transportation and particularly its inhabitants.

There are those, of course, who dismiss genre fiction, including the P.I. novel as something less than respectable. The Shanahan mysteries are definitely genre fiction, as are the Samson novels. We gain a sense of the place in time in a way that may not be academic, but in a fluid, experiential way.

More Shanahan Shameless Self-Promotion

Often books by non-best selling mystery writers like myself slip into the marketplace and out of it without leaving a footprint (or a fingerprint, for that matter). Killing Frost, the eleventh and last book in the Deets Shanahan series was noticed. And I deeply appreciate it. Highly respected Publisher’s Weekly and venerable Kirkus Reviews gave it high marks. J. Kingston Pierce’s indispensable blog, Rap Sheet, recommended it. George Easter, editor of Deadly Pleasures, perhaps the most compre-hensive review publication specializing in crime fiction, recommended not just this last book featuring the aging P.I. from Indianapolis, but the entire series.

Current Issue

A couple of days ago, I received the latest copy of the popular Mystery Scene magazine. Kevin Burton Smith, keeper of all things private eye and founding editor of the web site Thrilling Detective, contributed a feature to the current issue of the magazine about the Shanahan series and the future of its author.

I’ve pulled a quote from the article not only because it puts the new book in a desirable, but conflicting light, but also because I hadn’t realized I could drive a reader to drink. Is this good?

“Killing Frost is a beautiful, bittersweet farewell, both depressing and uplifting.  It made me want to hug my wife, or buy a dog. Or maybe just drink a lot. You think crime novels are hard boiled? Try growing old.” — Kevin Burton Smith, Mystery Scene.

I suspect the review season is over. I feel honored and lucky.  It also means I can get back to writing. The first book in a new mystery novella series comes out in September. I’m working on a third. I’m working on a standalone mystery as well.

Summer days in San Francisco are unpredictable as tourists from the Midwest waiting for cable cars in their shorts and sleeveless t-shirts can attest. For me, on the cold and dreary days nothing is better than a cup of coffee and my keyboard. On the sunny, warm and breezy days, there is nothing better than a stroll around town thinking about plot and characters.

On Writing — With A Not So Subtle Self-Promotion

The Last Deets Shanahan

My desk is set into a bay window.  Nothing to see though. The windows stare at a three-story apartment building 20 feet away.  I keep my blinds drawn so that those who live across the way don’t see this old man seemingly to look in their direction hours on end, day and night as I sit at my computer. I suspect that to an extent writers are natural voyeurs, and the activities of strangers a seductive curiosity, but I don’t wish to make others uncomfortable.

For a view beyond the walls of my small apartment, I have a comfortable chair in my small living room, where I can look out over a big chunk of the San Francisco peninsula, greenery, houses on hills and lots of sky. Clouds shape shift all day long. I can watch the fog roll in if it chooses. Birds — parrots, crows, blue jays, hawks, and seagulls  — zip, swoop and rise by.  Occasionally a humming bird will hover near my window, peeking in. The rain used to come. On a clear, sunny day, I can see a bright silver line in the distance. It is the glint of the Bay on the horizon.

That’s my world, except for what goes on inside my head. What goes on there makes up most of my conscious life.  And it is almost all fiction.

All the composition work on my last book, Killing Frost is over now.  Frozen in print.  If I have second thoughts, it is too late. The book is out.  Especially in this case — the book being the last in a series that’s gone on for 25 years, the last sentence is the last sentence in these characters’ lives.

The First Peter Strand

This fall, the first in a new series of shorter books (novellas or novelettes) will roll out. The first is The Blue Dragon. A second in the series is under way. Though I have a little fiddling to do, it’s on the publisher’s list. I’ve just begun the third.

Inside my head, I am a voyeur without fear of discovery  — at least to the extent I understand how the world works. I am a peeping Tom, peeping only into my own open window. I am watching these new characters form, hearing them talk, learning what they think of each other. One of them will die, I suspect, but I am not quite sure of the circumstances yet. 

I am busy inside my head. There is a whole other group of people embroiled in a serious life or death drama. The folks in this unfinished novel have been in this turmoil for years now, an entire story hovering near the end, but still without resolution, much like many of our lives.

Finally, I have my own recollections to make sense of, making sense of the time I was more actively engaged, but less reflective. Perhaps such a book will be of little interest to the world outside my head. But maybe it will settle things when the book is in print and neither the words nor the scenes can no longer be altered by self-interest or failing memory.

Book Notes — Killing Frost Released Today, Reviews Coming In

Blatant Self-Promotion:  Today is Launch Day.  This is the official release date for Killing Frost, Indianapolis P.I. Deets Shanahan’s last case. I apologize in advance for posting the news everywhere I can today. Some of you may get this more than once; but I promise to contain myself once the day is over.

The goal here is to sell books.  On the other hand, hardback prices are steep. Remember, your local library is your friend.  Let them know and they will get it for their collection and you can borrow it. If you’d like to purchase a copy and want to support your local, independent bookstore and it’s not on the shelf, they can order it for you. It’s also available through regular on-line booksellers as well.

In 1990, Stone Veil, my first Deets Shanahan mystery novel was nominated for a Shamus Award. Since then, there have been ten more novels in the series with positive nods along the way from The New York Times, Publisher’s Weekly, Booklist, Kirkus Reviews, Deadly Pleasures Magazine, The Houston Post, The Indianapolis Star, Mystery News, Thrilling Detective and The Library Journal.

Killing Frost celebrates Shanahan’s 11th mystery and caps the series in its 25th year.

Killing Frost — Synopsis


At seventy-two, Deets Shanahan, still reeling from brain surgery is ready to check out.’  But fate has other plans. As he waits for the arrival of a mysterious, unwanted, yet insistent new client, he spies a car pull in his driveway.  From his window, he sees a woman head toward his front door. This is the first time he sees her and the last time he sees her alive.

Her death leaves too many questions. What did she want with Shanahan? Why was she killed? And what can he, in his condition, do about it? Shanahan’s obsessive search for answers will uncover a disturbing trail of greed, lies, ambition, sibling rivalry and police corruption.

Twenty-five years ago Shanahan embarked on his first case. Killing Frost is likely his last, a touching story of age, infirmity — and love.

Killing Frost — Early Reviews

“The real prize here is the tone, which Tierney keeps expertly hovering between compassionate valediction and civic outrage.”  — Kirkus Reviews

“This entry is a tribute to human decency and one man’s refusal to give up in the face of age and inevitable physical deterioration.”  — Publisher’s Weekly (starred review)

An Indianapolis native, I now live in San Francisco, the setting for a second P.I. series — the Paladino-Lang mysteries and for a new mystery novella, Blue Dragon, which will be released this fall. For more information visit www.ronaldtierney.com.

Two Indianapolis Traditions Turn 25, Reflect City’s History

Tackling The Tough Issues

A quarter of a century ago, 1990, my long time dream of starting an alternative news weekly for Indianapolis came true. It was also a passion of another guy, Larry Rainey. I didn’t know him. My good friend, Teri Thompson Crane, who knew of our shared interest put the two of us together.  We visited others who knew something about such an undertaking, content, production costs, marketing, format, design and distribution,  He and I worked diligently as editor and publisher, respectively, to create NUVO Newsweekly, a tabloid weekly that would interrupt the unchallenged dominance of the famously conservative and jointly owned Indianapolis Star & News.

Cutting-Edge Style

As it is with any start-from-scratch publication, the launch of NUVO was rough and wasn’t without its difficulties and soon after, its casualties. Months later, amidst considerable turmoil, Kevin McKinney, who had critical access to funding in the early stages, became publisher and eventually editor as well. He and his staff have given Indianapolis an important alternative voice for 25 years — and counting. Given the entrenched competition and rapidly changing media technology, this couldn’t have been an easy task.  

NUVO is celebrating this unquestionable success this month.  The full story of its birth is worth telling, and I expect to provide perspective on those very early days at some point. But, for now, an unqualified happy anniversary to NUVO!

The Early Shanahans

As NUVO emerged in 1990, so did the Stone Veil. I was honored to have the first in a series of my private eye mysteries set in Indianapolis published by St. Martin’s Press. The book even had the cautious blessing of The New York Times: “The pragmatic investigator makes a good first impression,” it said.  Twenty-five years and eleven Shanahan mysteries later, I can also celebrate its quarter-century anniversary with the release of the series’ last novel  — Killing Frost.

Writing the Shanahan mystery novels has strengthened the link I have with the city of my birth.  I grew up on the city’s Eastside and spent many of my adult years working downtown and living in Butler Tarkington and Broad Ripple. I also lived briefly in Fort Wayne, South Bend and Bloomington.  I worked at Merchants National Bank travelling to small town banks all over the state. I worked at Simon during the rebirth of downtown Indianapolis’ Circle Centre Mall project and later still, in state government during the Bayh-O’Bannon administration.  What I observed and experienced in my work and in my personal life became part — ‘grist for the mill” – of Shanahan’s world. The mysteries, taken retrospectively, reflect the history, or at least the feeling of both Indianapolis and Indiana over 25 years as much, I think, as the newspaper I helped bring to life.  Both chronicle the city’s history and — to a greater or lesser extent — are part of it.

I hadn’t thought of the historical aspect when I first discovered that the 25th birthdays of NUVO and the mystery series aligned, but it is clear to me that my connection to the city was at the heart of both undertakings, not to mention that for many of us the cities and towns of our youth are deeply part of who we are no matter where we are.

The Last of the Shanahans

I’ve since moved to San Francisco, writing books set here as well as in Indianapolis. But as I rummage through old photographs, the earliest issues of NUVO and in revisiting my early Shanahan books to prepare them for digitalization, I realize how tethered I am to the people and places in and around the city of my birth.

If the oldest memories die last, then most of mine will be in Indianapolis: Summers at the pool at Ellenberger Park. Cheap matinees at the Emerson Theater.  Being a soda jerk at Laughner’s Steer-In, now Harold’s Steer-In. Crab apples and switches from the tree that bore them. My grandmother’s peonies in May, and the smell of hot starch when she ironed. Riverside amusement park, where water fountains were labeled “ white” and “colored.” My grandfather’s lemonade. Winter nights on my newspaper route, delivering what would be a future rival, the Indianapolis News – Blue Streak Edition. Two little chicks my brother and I got during a supermarket Easter promotion grew up to be large, intimidating roosters that refused to let my mother into her own backyard. It was downtown on Saturday afternoons.  I remember lying about my age and sneaking into the Fox Theater to see the sad, tail end of burlesque, in this case a live show interrupted in the middle by a grainy film, Nudist Colony On The Moon. Other memories: My first visit to the Betty K Club.  My apartment at the Ambassador, where I was introduced to Purple Haze — not the Jimi Hendrix classic, but heroin laced LSD.  My little studio was behind the city’s grand, Central Library, where, in the stacks, I received my real literary education, and a place I still revere as hallowed ground.

There was much more to follow, of course – the Army for one and the whole San Francisco experience for another.  But no matter where we end up, we take with us in one form or another that which moved us  — family, friends, lovers, co-workers, experiences, what we’ve said, what we’ve done and, for better or worse, how we’ve treated others. Roads taken, and so many not taken. 

Twenty-five years ago. Good luck NUVO. Farewell Shanahan. Thank you Indy.

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 – Slipping Off The Path To Immortality, Or Slouching Toward Dusty Anonymity

There is a quote that appears near the St. Clair Street entrance to the Indianapolis Central Library.  The other day I received a note from Charles Chigna a celebrated writer of children’s and young adult literature saying “great quote.” It was with trepidation that I accepted the compliment.  I’ve seen the quote before in various places credited to me. I was puzzled, but  I wasn’t concerned. I went on about my business,figuring it was a fluke on the Internet. It was no big deal until someone, a real person, complimented me. Suddenly I wondered if I were a scoundrel and plagiarist.  Or, did I write it?  That might seem strange to you. How could I not know if I wrote it.

Periodically, I Google myself. (And the truth is, it can be painful.)  I check to see if my novels still appear and what, if anything, is being said about the sixteen or so in print. This is how I first discovered the above quote was attributed to me and why, until now, I considered it no big deal. The reason was maybe, just maybe, I wrote it. I have periodically written the lyrics of a fictional song in order to avoid going through the bureaucratic rigamarole of getting permissions to use a real one.  I have also written poetry to put in a fictional character’s diary.  I’ve written fictional news stories to be read by fictional characters over a fictional breakfast — all to establish character or move the plot along. A quote with the above sentiment is consistent with stories of my aging private eye who regularly finds the things he loves disappearing from his life. But, did I write these quotable and surprisingly popular lines?

Not likely.

Indianapolis Central Library

Mr. Ghigna sent along a photo of that quote. It was carved in stone.  I asked him where the photo was taken.  He replied that it was the Indianapolis Central Library.  Made sense in a tangential way.  The library was a hangout of mine. I lived behind the library in the Ambassador apartments for a few years. The library was my second home. In fact, I used the grand old library as a setting for scenes in various books. But a quote of mine carved in stone? Again, not likely. First, even as a Hoosier writer, I don’t come close to having the literary stature. Second, that area of the library was constructed in 1917, the year of my father’s birth. That means I couldn’t have written it.  How did I end up with the credit? The truth had to be that the verse appeared in one of my novels.  Which one? Did I take it and not give credit? I don’t have all my early books in digital format. Searching therefore was a boring, manual task. I could narrow it to one of the Shanahan private eye novels because of the Indianapolis connection. So all I had to do was sort through 600,000 words.

I thought for sure it had to be in Nickel-plated Soul.  The book is about those things that slowly, sneakily disappear before we do. Homes, family, careers, friends, loves, optimism. Little things too.  A favorite restaurant, maybe. A movie theater. A magazine, a tree, even a candy bar, not to mention memory itself. And Nickel-Plated Soul is about a man’s heroic or foolish refusal to accept a loss.

I was right that it was in a Shanahan book.  Going through them one by one, I finally found the passage in Concrete Pillow.

“…. She had to see him, but she was frightened just the same.  This meeting would be anything but casual.  She looked back to the doors she had just gone through as if to make sure they hadn’t closed behind her.  Above the entrance was a poem chiseled into the base of a huge clock:

TIME BY MINUTES SLIPS AWAY

FIRST THE HOUR THEN THE DAY

SMALL THE DAILY LOSS APPEARS

YET SOON IT AMOUNTS TO YEARS”

There was no credit line in the actual inscription. If there were I would have used it. In my novel, written 20 years ago, I merely described what was there, apparently.  And also, apparently, someone gave me the credit because I wrote the book in which the poem was printed. Repeated searches using the lines of the poem yielded nothing that would lead to the real author of it. Instead, my name kept popping up.

My guess is that those aggregating quotes for their web sites were content to copy from one another. Someone mistakenly credited the lines to me and the misappropriation was multiplied through the ubiquity of the Net. As Tolstoy said, “You can’t believe everything you read on the Internet.”

 

All this is timely: The poem comes back to haunt me now when it has deeper relevance, when so much is slipping away and as I spend endless hours sorting through old letters, photographs and other papers.

Now for the obvious — perhaps the first call a good private eye would have made given this question would have been to the library. When that finally dawned on me, I contacted the friendly librarians in Indianapolis. They didn’t know. After some scurrying, huddling and laughter, they found it.  This quote, immortalized by chisel below a large clock at the beautiful and now exquisitely expanded downtown Indianapolis library, is from a 1779 hymn by John Newton, who also wrote “Amazing Grace.”  Incidentally, John Newton’s personal story is extraordinary and alone well worth the effort I took to solve the mystery.

 I’ll do my best to contact the various quote-oriented web sites to see if I can correct the self-perpetuating error. Meanwhile, any thought that in the reference books full of eloquent quotes the name Tierney will not appear between Thoreau and Tolstoy.  Drat!