Recognition...and None

When my first book came out, some years ago, it was like someone dropped a pebble in Lake Michigan. My friends and acquaintances were thrilled, so locally, there were ripples. The larger world barely noticed.
My second book, the first Simon & Elizabeth mystery, got more attention: good reviews from PUBLISHERS WEEKLY, LIBRARY JOURNAL, BOOKLIST, etc.
The third book also got good reviews, and people (very few, but still) started saying, "I've heard of you" when I went to book events.
Now that the second Simon & Elizabeth mystery is set to appear, buzz is good, and reviewers write in terms of not just a good book, but a good series. And THE DEAD DETECTIVE AGENCY just made the top three finalists in EPIC's competition for best mystery of the year.
So what does that mean?
For one thing, it's scary. Other writers have told me that a successful book puts pressure on an author: the next one has to be just as good, maybe better, to satisfy fans. I feel that pressure too.
On the other hand, it's rewarding. Good writers work really hard to make their books as exciting, correct, engaging, and believable as they can, and it's great when someone recognizes that. It isn't the prizes, not really. We all know that no book is the BEST of any given year. There are a lot of good books released every year, every month. What's great is having someone acknowledge that I worked really hard and was successful in creating something readers enjoy. And it isn't really that one book; it's all the writing done up to that point. In a way, that first book is as responsible for my current success as any of those in between, because getting a publication contract was the first step, the one that let me think, "Maybe I really can do this." The next few books establish a person as more than a one-book wonder, and if that person is lucky, the day comes when someone says, "This book is pretty darned good. We might consider giving it an award."
So it's great to be recognized. But as any real writer will tell you, we'd be doing this anyway. For those who love writing, recognition is gravy on the meat of story-telling, a nice addition, but not the meal.

BoucherCon 2011

If you missed my Monday post yesterday, it's a Tuesday post today. I was in transit from BoucherCon to home, and I just couldn't fit any more in.
Today is catch-up day, but I had to say here how much fun Bcon was, even though I often feel like a small fish in a big pond at such events. Rubbing elbows with the greats of our field, meeting lots of fans, and talking, talking, talking about books is a great way to take a break from real life and at the same time learn what is real in writing and publishing.
The conference was well done. The MWA Breakfast hosted by the Midwest chapter was great, thanks in large part to our president, Tony Perona. (I know he had help, but the boss gets the biggest headaches.)
I got to spend time with friends I'd met before: Luci Zahray (the Poison Lady); P.J. Coldren, reviewer; Donna White Glaser, author. I also met some interesting new people: a judge who loves reading mysteries, a woman who's turning her love of mystery into a review blog, and a lot of librarians out combing the titles for what their readers will want.
It was great. I'm tired, but more than ever aware that this is what I love.

Why I Love Fictional Mystery

Many years ago, along with practically everyone else in the U.S., I read HELTER SKELTER. It was absolutely fascinating, and I never read another true crime book.
My friends sometimes tease me about how easily I dispatch people in my stories, but that's the point: they're book people, not real people. Despite their omnipresence these days, I avoid news stories that promise in-depth coverage of gruesome crimes and vicious criminals. That's real. Someone got hurt. Someone isn't right in the head. I don't want to know any more about it.
But in a novel, I'm fine with killing off one or two people, maybe more. It's part of a guided tour for the reader, a plan for his or her enjoyment. For a few hours we pit our minds against the detective's and see if we, too, can figure out who and why. As the writer, I have to really pay attention, because it's my responsibility to make it exciting and to make everything work out in the end.
Maybe that's the problem for me with reading true crime. I can't make it work out, can't stop the killing and the residual pain for family and friends. But in my books, justice will triumph and we will know it all. In that, fiction tops real life every time.

What in the World Are You Wearing?

The other day in Wal-Mart we saw a guy who'd decided, for no reason I can imagine, to tie a colorful bandana around his leg, just below where his shorts ended. Unless he was recreating some war-time image, maybe the spirit of MaryJane in '67, I didn't get it.
I am all in favor of accessories, but I can't get into scarves. I have tried wearing them, and I always feel like I've got this extraneous piece that needs to be removed, like I'm wearing a coat in the house. Others I see wearing billowy, nubby, silky, or even fringed scarves look classy and sophisticated. When I try it, I just look uncomfortable. (This isn't just a feeling; the few times I've tried it, people tell me I look that way.)
Pyschological? Probably. But it doesn't change the fact that when a person feels odd, she is likely to act oddly. The end does not justify the effort.
So back to the guy at Wal-Mart. Yeah, it looked weird to me, but at least he isn't hung up on some image of himself that can't move forward with the times. He's out there, experimenting.
Or maybe he's just out there.