Authors Electric

  That good advice sounds simpler than it often is. Let's call the inner voice IV. Anyone who's quit smoking or drinking will tell you that the road to hell is paved with the devil's whispers: Go on, one more smoke or drink won't kill you...This isn't the right  time to quit...With all the stress you're under, you'll die from a heart attack or stroke instead of cancer or cirrhosis... Etc. That IV is every bit as seductive and compelling as the one that says it's time to move to a new city or write a book unlike any other book you've done. You'd be just as foolish to turn a deaf ear as you would to act without thinking. In the past twelve months I've made decisions based on two IV Siren calls. For brevity's sake, I'll deal here with the second. Besides, the first seemed to be a no brainer: moving from Seattle after eight years to Tucson, AZ. Cost of living and rent are far cheaper...the hot, dry weather will be kinder to my new knee an...

Some time last week I made an alarming discovery at my day job. Back in the mists of time, I vaguely remember taking part in a re-branding workshop. This was a morning of activities which ranged from the pointless to the excruciatingly boring, aimed at crowd-sourcing an updated brand for the organisation. I don't recall any definite conclusions emerging from this particular workshop, but there was some cutting out and sticking involved, which most colleagues seemed to enjoy. It made a change from sitting at a computer, I suppose. I remember as well being very impressed by the venue, which was one of these hot-desking places where people who don't have their own office can come in and use a desk space. Personally I hate hot-desking at work, because I never have all the software I need on a different machine, or the stock of paper-clips, treasury tags and emergency snacks in the top drawer of a different desk. But as a writer I am quite happy with the idea and have hot-desked ...

                                     Imagine this: you've spent years developing your particular brand as a writer, from a series of books...to their singular hook (e.g. Southern Scotch)...to the template for your covers. Now, just as you're gaining some traction, the devil whispers in your ear. And you want to try something different. You see a spin-off series. In fact, you've started writing it and it's coming along wonderfully. Still, each day you feel a pressing need to get down and dirty, grappling with marketing hurdles. It's time now for the dirty word. You know the one:                                    Strategy Now, I have no trouble imagining this. I'd written four Boss MacTavin mysteries--all starring that Southern Scot and sporting cool Tartan covers--when I chose to try someth...

You know the pickle I was in if you've written a mystery series or thought of writing one. How the devil do you keep it fresh in book after book after book? Are there ways to pick up speed if your novels typically take you a couple of years to write? And can you accomplish this without loss of quality? You fear that the genie Slyboots may prove to be a false friend: Fear not. The late great Lawrence Sanders proved that Slyboots can be a best friend. His star-making Deadly Sins were long, intricate, densely plotted and gorgeously written mysteries that must have come damn close to breaking his back. Four years passed between each of the four series entries. Sanders's solution: a lighter and breezier series of Commandment novels, each with a different cast, in between. And, churned out in his twilight years, the fluffy Archy McNally mysteries read as if dictated while sipping bubbly. Thinking of Sanders, I wondered if I might start a spin-off of my Boss MacTa...

At six-foot, I needed to become five-foot-five in a hurry. I had my work cut out for me, as you can probably guess, since I wouldn't hear of a chainsaw. Would I stop there, though? No, not on your life! My new WIP is a spinoff from the Boss MacTavin series.                                                                  The Pitch DB, Boss's partner, is sent to Seattle to helm a new Boss franchise: an adjunct of Gestalt Insurance. Overnight, our short tough-guy hero is neck deep in the corporate world, where his martial skills mean nothing. On three months' probation, forbidden to fight or even raise his voice, he feels smaller than everyone else. For his first case he picks one so easy it can't possibly get him in trouble. But soon enough he has reason to fear not a pink slip...but cement shoes.   ...