Criminally Thrilling Writing

Crime and Thriller Writing is my how-to book—or, about half mine. Crime-and-Thriller-WritingCrime-and-Thriller-Writing9781472523938_p0_v1_s300x

I wrote this how-to book of crime writing with Michelle Spring, but it’s not just us: we asked twenty-six other bestselling crime writers to write an essay on…anything.  That’s right, we just asked them to write us a few pages on whatever was on their mind, or they wished someone had told them when they were getting started: some element of their work distilled into a few pages. Last week I posted a snippet of Lee Child’s blast of the trumpet.  But I’d also like you to see what my friend Meg Gardiner has to say:

People ask me why I write thrillers. What, they wonder, provokes me to tell stories of crime and suspense and deadly adventure?

Sometimes, the question they really want to ask is left unsaid: ‘How can you write that stuff? You don’t seem overtly bloodthirsty,’ or ‘You were such an innocuous child – what happened to you?’

The implication is that I must love violence, or want to see people suffer. Hardly.

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Meg’s new thriller!

I write thrillers because they get to the heart of the human condition. Thrillers, like all crime fiction, are about people facing severe danger, or confronting an evil that has invaded their world. A thriller tells the story of characters who must tackle the most critical problem of their lives. They must do it under huge pressure, often with their survival and the survival of their families, friends or community at stake. The heroes must find the resources to fight back – now. They must muster the courage to act against seemingly overwhelming opposition – now. They must rise to the challenge. Or not. Or die trying.

Crime and Thriller Writing, by Michelle Spring, Laurie R. King,and 26 others.  Available in paperback (which I’ll sign, if you like, at Bookshop Santa Cruz) or from Barnes & Noble/Nook, or from Amazon/Kindle.

 

Throwback Thursday: hippies rule!

It may be entirely redundant, considering I live in Santa Cruz, to point out that I used to be a hippie.  However, I thought you might like to see how very long that has been the case.  This taken in 1971, when I was taking my first classes in religious studies at West Valley College in Campbell, California. (What looks like licorice or a bruised face is, I fear, merely a smudge on the print.)Laurie 1970

 

Throwback Thursday: what were you doing in 1971?

Mary Russell’s War, part four

On the centenary of the Great War, a journal has come to light with weekly entries from a very young Mary Russell. It begins, appropriately enough, on August 4, 1914, when Russell is living with her parents and brother in San Francisco. This is week four. (The journal illuminates that portion of Miss Russell’s memoirs called Locked Rooms. To read “Mary Russell’s War” from the beginning, click here.)

A Maxwell

A Maxwell

25 August 1914

Reading the headlines, a rational person must wonder precisely what it means to be a “neutral” country. We in California are not at war, but at the same time, even a casual observer (Is there such a thing, in this age?) can see that the United States are merely undeclared allies of England. It is the unspoken truth behind the wording of such newspaper articles as this:

CRUISER LEIPZIG STANDS OFF SHORE

Fear of Seizure by the German May Halt Departure of the Royal Mail Liner Moana.

The German cruiser Leipzig, which left port early yesterday morning after taking on coal and stores, ostensibly bound for the German port of Apia, via Honolulu, was still off port at 9 o’clock when spoken by the incoming liner Wilhemina.…

Laden with a million-dollar cargo, the Moana would make a rich prize for the German and, it is said in shipping circles, would be just the seizure that would aid the Leipzig, both as a shield and a coal supply ship if the foreigner intends to proceed to Apia. The Leipzig has only coal enough to steam 3500 miles, and it is more than 4000 miles to the German port.

In the event that it is the intention of the Leipzig to continue her cruise on the Pacific coast she would need plenty of fuel, and to this end might lie in wait for coal-laden windjammers and steamers which at frequent intervals come here from Australia.

That was Wednesday. Thursday’s paper all but accused the German-registered steamer Mazatlan of plotting to transfer much of the coal and provisions it had taken on board into the Nurnberg. Now, I am no friend of the Kaiser, but regarding America’s so-called neutrality: were the country of registry to be Great Britain, would this question even arise?

Levi and I asked Papa to take us down to Pier 17 so we could look at the Mazatlan, but Papa refused. Had he suggested a jolly ride in Papa’s new Maxwell, it would have been an easy matter to steer the outing towards the waterfront, but overt reconnaissance of a possible War Ship was unacceptable. Levi will never learn, that with Mama it is possible to be direct, but when it comes to Papa, particularly when he is in a temper as he has been this week, the oblique approach is better.

Matters appeared to have reached a head on Saturday, all of which Papa spent behind the closed door of his library, typing furiously without so much as a break for luncheon. When he came out, late in the afternoon, I contrived to glance within, but saw no sign of his long labours. This can only mean that he had locked his manuscript away in the safe.

Note: locate a safe-cracker willing to teach the trade to a young girl.

When he came out, he went upstairs for a bath and to shave his beard (both of which he normally does in the morning). When he came down, he poured himself a drink half again as generous as his usual serving, and he gave Mama a kiss on the back of her neck. I note this, because the past two weeks have seen the two of them decidedly cool, and although I have no wish to encounter the sloppy emotions parents occasionally reveal, I admit that it is more desirable to have parents in accord than parents at odds. My own are, in general, of an amiable and co-operative disposition, although there have been times, particularly before we moved back here from England in 1912, when walking around them was like sailing into port through a field of mines.

Sunday Levi and I took breakfast on our own, with Mah (our cook) in the kitchen. Sunday afternoon, Papa took us down to Golden Gate Park, where he produced a quite marvellous Chinese kite, which rode the stiff breeze like some magical creature.

Monday seemed almost ordinary, by comparison with the last two weeks.

The war news seems to be either triumphant or disastrous, depending on which headline one reads. Last night, I made the mistake of asking Papa how long it might be before we had a chance to travel through the new canal in Panama, since the Germans seemed to be determined to lock us behind a fence of warships. My innocent question led to an hour spent with the new War Map (19¢ from the San Francisco Chronicle: is this not war profiteering?) spread out over the table in his library. This question, it seems, is why Japan’s entry into the War yesterday was such a blessing, particularly for those of us on the Pacific Coast. The Japanese navy is keeping the German Pacific fleet bottled up in their port on the southern peninsula of China, leaving only two ships—the Nurnberg and the Leipzig—to threaten coastal cities and make raids on Allied shipping.

That is something of a relief, although even the presence of two ships will prevent the Russell family from sailing for the Panama Canal any time soon.

However, the week’s news has also provided me with a weapon against the parents. The next time a lecture looms on the horizon, I shall be ready with a very different article with which to distract an uncomfortable parent:

YOUNG LOCHINVAR KIDNAPS GIRL IN AUTOMOBILE

Youth Steals the Object of His Affections, but Is Captured in San Jose.

There follows the tale of a 17 year old nurse-girl kidnapped at point of revolver (from Baker Street, not all that far from here) and driven to San Jose, where the man planned to force a county clerk to issue a marriage license, and a minister to perform a marriage. “Throughout the seizure of Miss Broadhurst was of the most exciting nature. Screams and shots aroused the entire neighborhood…”

This young man does not sound like a Walter Scott hero to me—“Faithful in love and dauntless in war.” However, he does seem potentially useful, as a means of loosing me rapidly from the parental presence—certainly when it comes to Papa, who turns quite endearingly pink when certain topics come before us.

Crime & Thriller stars

Crime and Thriller Writing is my how-to book—or, about half mine. Crime-and-Thriller-WritingCrime-and-Thriller-Writing9781472523938_p0_v1_s300x

(And it’s now available as an ebook.) I co-wrote this exploration of the mysteries of crime writing with Michelle Spring, who unlike me (an Organic Writer) is an Organized Writer down to her bones. But one of the best parts of the book is the series of essays from twenty-six other fabulous, bestselling crime & thriller writers. Such as the inimitable Lee Child, whose essay on Thrillers as the original form of storytelling I adored so much, I want to see the phrase “the boat on which other genres ride” emblazoned on a banner to fly proudly over BoucherCon and the ITW conference.

… as a thriller writer, I smile to myself when critics imply that popular fiction is a recent and trashy invention. No, I think, so-called literature is the recent invention. And it was invented only because my story-telling ancestors helped the species stick around long enough to invent it. Thriller fiction is the genre. The original form, the essential form, the vital form, the boat on which other genres ride like barnacles. That’s why readers enjoy it so much.

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Lee Child. I mean honestly, would you argue with this man?

Crime and Thriller Writing, by Michelle Spring and Laurie R. King, in paperback (which I’ll sign, if you like, at Bookshop Santa Cruz) or from Barnes & Noble/Nook, or from Amazon/Kindle.

Twenty-eight experts for the price of one.

Los Gatos Lit Fair

There’s a Literary Fair tomorrow in Los Gatos, on the Civic Center lawn from noon to three: it’s fair, it’s literary, it’s waiting for you to join in.Document

Go Libraries!  Go, Indie bookstores!