Shooter

I don’t go to see many films these days. I get bored so easily that I’d rather watch them at home on DVD so that I can read a book when they start to drag. But my agent recommended SHOOTER, so we all went to see it this weekend.

A political-action flick, it’s the story of an ex-Marine sniper who is tricked into playing the role of the fall guy in an assassination. In a set up that echoes the Kennedy assassination, our hero is supposed to die. When he manages to get away, the race is on as he first tries to escape, then turn the tables on the people who set him up.

Yes, it’s bloody and violent and at times a bit improbable, but it never goes over the top. The action and suspense are nonstop, the dialogue has some great moment, and a powerful ending. I don't much care for the Rambo/Die Hard type movies, but this one delivered the action and suspense while also satisfying my need for a story with depth.

I can’t wait for it to come out on DVD so I can see it again, it was that good.

Revision Letters

Finally, two months after finishing THE ARCHANGEL PROJECT, I have received the edited manuscript and revision letter (that’s what I get for turning it in a month early). The first thing I always do when receiving a revision letter is look at its length. This one was seven pages. Ouch.

A closer inspection showed that the first page was all praise (editors can be so diplomatic) while the last page was final manuscript delivery instructions. So really five pages. I sucked in a deep breath and started reading.

This is the first time I’ve worked with this particular editor, so it was all unknown territory. I like her style. Her comments are insightful and well explained, hence the five pages. All were suggestions rather than dictates, and I only found one I disagreed with. Interestingly, several of her points had already been made by a reader at one of the production houses considering the project (a reader who had liked the book enough to send it up to her producer—we’re still waiting), so I know the comments are spot on. I’m not saying the revisions are going to be easy, but it will be a matter of adding stuff rather than reworking or reorganizing or—most painful of all—cutting. Even when I agree with an editor’s suggestions (which I usually do), my first reaction is always, Oh my god. How can I do THIS? But the solution has always come to me in the past, so I’ve learned to try to be calm and let my subconscious work on it. Although there’s always that niggling little fear that maybe this time I won’t be able to find a way to make the changes, that the mojo is broken and I’m doomed…

The Cleaning of the Ponds

After Katrina, people who had swimming pools and fishponds in their yards often came home to some nasty surprises. One acquaintance found a dead man floating in her swimming pool. Others found cats and dogs. Another friend found a large, live reptile with lots of sharp teeth in his bathtub. He knew the teeth were sharp because it bit him.

We have two fishponds. Our first pond, located in the side courtyard, is a small square sunk in the ground and rimmed with bricks. The other, in the backyard, is a big old 19thc copper bathtub (that’s another story…). Normally the Cleaning of the Ponds is an annual event. But our fishponds were last cleaned in the spring of 2005. That’s right: they haven’t been cleaned out since Katrina. Eeewe.

Whenever one of my chicks leaves my nest, I go outside and work in my garden. Yesterday after Sam left, I suggested Steve and Danielle join me and clean out the fishponds. The pond along the courtyard went under the floodwaters, with the result that the goldfish that once lived there all swam away. (I like to think they somehow drained back out into the lake, but I know the truth is they probably ended up fertilizing someone’s garden.) There were a few nasties floating in that pond when we got home, but nothing bigger than a dead rat. We raked out the dead rats and assorted other debris, plugged in the fountain to keep away the mosquitoes, and put a more extensive cleanout on the list of “things to do later.” The copper tub in the backyard sits above ground and therefore made it through the storm in pretty good shape. Again, it got a quick cleanup, but apart from occasionally throwing some food to the surviving fish, it has also been patiently awaiting its turn.

I must confess, Steve and Danielle did most of the actual work in cleaning the ponds. I spent the day deadheading roses, repotting some plants that have somehow survived in broken pots since Katrina, and directing where in my garden all that nice, nutrient-rich water goes. My poor garden still hasn’t recovered from the storm. I lost a lot of plants and I simply haven’t had the time or energy to replace them yet. But it still amazes me how many plants actually made it through the deluge. In fact, those that survived their dousing with lake water have flourished. So I’m hoping they’ll like revisiting that experience with a little dose of pond water.

We all ended the day exhausted but very pleased with our work. The backyard goldfish are happy, since they can now see where they’re going, and the courtyard pond has been restocked with a new supply of fish happy not to be bought by someone intending to feed them to a larger creature. And our worst fears were not realized; all we found at the bottom of the ponds were a few stray shingles, a piece of wood, and lots and lots of muck.

The Ties That Bind

Saying goodbye can be so hard. Sam left for New Haven again this morning, after a week’s Spring Break. She could have spent the week partying with friends who have houses everywhere from Majorca to Paris, but decided to come home and rest instead. We didn’t do much—the time always seems to just slide past and then it’s time for her to leave again. And every time she goes, it hurts. I expected it to get easier as the years passed. If anything, it seems to be getting harder.

Every time she leaves, I find myself thinking of the mothers of all the hundreds of thousands who immigrated to America or Australia from Ireland and Britain, and then from Germany, Poland and Italy. What an unimaginable agony, to say goodbye to a child you know you’ll never see again—a child venturing off to a strange, violent land, risking shipwreck and disease and death. How could a parent ever recover from that?

And then I find myself thinking of my own parents and what they must of gone through every time they saw me off to France or Greece, or Jordan or Australia. I remember missing them. Funny, I don’t remember giving much thought to the fact that they were missing me.

I suppose that’s nature’s way. It’s the way it must be.

The Dreaded Synopsis

I’m in the process of finalizing the proposal for Steven Graham’s second thriller, currently entitled THE BERMUDA EFFECT. A proposal usually consists of the first 35-50 pages of a book and a synopsis. Most writers start hyperventilating at the suggestion they reduce their 400-page book to a titillating 5 or 10 or 20 page summary that will both excite an editor and accurately convey the contents of the manuscript. Hence, the Dreaded Synopsis.

At least I know I have an editor who likes my books and is eagerly awaiting this proposal. Even more nerve-wracking is the process of writing a synopsis for a book that is already written—or half written—but still in search of an editor. When I sent out my first historical mystery, WHAT ANGELS FEAR, I really sweated the synopsis. I was trying to sell on a “partial”—200 pages plus a synopsis. And while I had an established track record as a novelist, ANGELS was my first straight mystery and I wanted the synopsis to reassure the editors that I had the twists and turns and denouement of the mystery all figured out.

I wrote a twenty page, detailed synopsis for ANGELS, and as a result almost killed the book. Editors said it sounded confusing. Of course it did—twists and turns that make sense when revealed and explained over the course of 400 pages can make your head spin when reduced to just 20 pages. They said the book sounded long. Of course it did: the synopsis was long. I learned a valuable lesson about synopses: Keep them short, and don’t go into too much detail because too much detail only confuses editors.

I have a friend who’s on her thirteenth historical mystery and still turns in twenty page synopses. Not me. I now write four or five pages. The first paragraph is intended to be a grabber—like the blurb at the back of the book. I sketch in my characters with a few quick sentences, then tell the story in broad strokes, with the emphasis on emotion, motivation, and action. I wrote the synopsis for my second mystery, WHEN GODS DIE, while I was at a state swimming championship, the air around me heavy with the smell of chlorine and the echoes of cheering kids bouncing off the tiled walls around me. Needless to say, I didn’t have the manuscript outline with me and so was composing from memory. It worked so well that I now take the same approach to all my synopses. It keeps those strokes broad and forces me to focus on exciting my editor rather than accurately conveying the details of the story. And that is important, because a synopsis is not an outline of a book; it’s a selling tool.

I still sweat when I sit down to write a synopsis. So much rests on getting it right. After all, I’ve spent the last six weeks outlining THE BERMUDA EFFECT, doing the research, writing those first chapters. I will be terribly disappointed if my editor comes back and says she doesn’t like the idea. (I’ll also be screwed—I need to get back to work on my fourth Regency mystery!) There’s a reason we dread the synopses. So much rides on them, and they’re so easy to get wrong. Oh, for the power to simply say, “I want to write a book about this plane that was reported lost in the Bermuda Triangle…” and have my editor go, “Yes, yes; whatever you want.”