Upmarket?

So now all (or some) of the literary agents are looking for "Upmarket" mysteries. Hard to know what this is. I think these are novels that used to be called "mainstream" mysteries. My take was that these books were a little longer, with a little more emphasis on character, and maybe even taught the reader something or took her to a place she had never been. Not exactly literary mysteries, but books with good writing that would interest someone who did not read the more "traditional" strictly who-done-it mysteries of 75,000 words.

One has to be careful because it is easy to step on toes and feelings in this business. God knows, I should understand that. And I think I have been writing upmarket books for years, but maybe I didn't know how to market them. The thing is, can the author call her own novel "upmarket?" I mean, what does that say? A whiff of snobbery? Some would say yes.

Oh yes, and these hoity-toity upmarket books may cross "genres," a no-no for the people the publisher hires to explain the book to the bookstore employees. You see, they have to know where to shelve it. But then why are agents looking for books that are hard to shelve? Hmmm. Inquiring minds want to know. Maybe they sell, even if the would-be reader has to look around the store. Word of mouth? Word of mouse?

Another weird thing is that the thrillers and suspense books are usually stuck with the "mainstream" books, and the mysteries get their own section. Why is that?

My current book is suspense. It's hard to keep the suspense going all the time, so I've resorted to cheap techniques like putting a kid and a cat in danger. Plotting is damn hard work, I say.

So far, my novel has grown to 55,000 words. If I were writing a "traditional" mystery, I could stop there. I personally think of these lite-on-words books as little chickenshit mysteries, but that's just my take, a book you can take up at 9:00 and put down at 11:00 and know who dunnit and it sure as hell wasn't the butler. Take Agatha Christie. But she understood how to tell the same story over and over and make it sound different. Well, lots of series authors do that. There is nothing the matter with chicken shit. As an adjective it means small or unimportant. The kind of thing Otto Penzler is always complaining about women writing, the cozies if you will, or traditional mysteries as the purists call them. Of course Penzler doesn't call them chicken shit. He's implied worse.

My take. One is always walking on bloody eggs. Ewww! Exactly. Or Eggsactly.

I think a lot about what I am writing because I suck as describing my own work. Bill Gates meets Moll Flanders. O.K. I hate these stupid-assed comparisons like that. They tell you nothing. All right, the co-mingling of such an incompatible-sounding duo tells you that there's loose morals and technology afoot. But I could just say that. Loose morals and technology. Maybe "Bill Gates meets Moll Flanders" just has that certain je-ne-sais-quoi. Actually, I've never had the nerve to say Bill Gates meets Moll Flanders in a query letter. Too stupid.

Next week we're off to Montreal, the Paris of Canada, and a week later I'm flying down to South Florida to finish the research on this book, In Flight, my suspense novel. Is this also upmarket? Don't think so. I do like my Colombian Drug Lord. It took forever to get into his head. Think I need another chapter from his POV. That's Point of View if you're not into literary acronyms. Fem jep is Woman in Jeopardy, which is what I'm writing now. Fem Jep, two POVs and I'm hoping it will come in around 90,000 + words, but let's keep this sucker under 100,000. Upmarket or not. Probably not. Who the hell knows?

What is upmarket, anyhow? If you know, please post a comment.

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Mystery, Science Fiction and Fantasy

I got out my robot fish story this week and spent some time on it. There were some bad sentences and also some boring sentences, and I trust those have been put to bed. This wasn't really a crime story, although drug running and spying played a major part in it. It is certainly not a mystery. The fish was mostly science fiction and part fantasy, but most of all it was a character study. Odd how these stories take shape.

My other short story, now submitted, was also a character study. Nothing much happens, but it's what doesn't happen that's important. Maybe I am a literary writer. Fortunately, the story is still a "story" with a beginning, middle and an end.

I have a cat story, told, of course, from the cat's point of view that I need to get down on paper. For me, short stories take forever to write and re-write. Almost as bad as a novel.

Then there's my long short story about an accident that also needs to be told. Most of the research is done, the plot is in place. So write it, girl.

And Maxine is waiting, with a kid running around in an electrical storm trying to find a lost cat.

Where do you send science fiction? I found three magazines. I'm sure there are more. You can google them if you want to submit. They also pay pretty well, a fact that gladdens the heart.

Fantasy & Science Fiction, Analog Science Fiction and Fact, and Asimov's Science Fiction. I'm so glad I found them. The fish, Francis, is glad, too. Francis is amazed that he can experience "glad." Now I'm wondering about my cats.

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In a Key West Hot Tub

Literary characters are a breed all their own. First of all, Maxine, who insisted on being called that name, appeared just as I had completed the first chapter of my 1928 California book. She talked to me and began telling me her story. Naturally I began writing it down, and Maxine and I are off on a little adventure, maybe even a big adventure involving drug lords, lost sisters, murder and mayhem and even a little romance.

Maxine is in Key West now, in June of 2008 and she's come to see a woman who can tell her about . . . well, never mind. Suffice it to say that these two need to have a little heart-to-heart. I could have done that scene with everything hunky dory, just sitting on the patio having this nice friendly chat, but that's not what writing is about. The chat is not friendly and there's a bottle of champagne and a hot tub and a lot of angst and unexpected happenings that move the plot forward.

Everything is subservient to the forward motion of the story. There are surprises and many aren't very pleasant. Maxine, and now Nicole, are both surprising me, and all I do is tell their stories.

God, it's weird.

And in the meantime, poor Carla Curby sits on that Santa Fe train heading to California and I sure hope that when Maxine and I are finished, Carla will be as eager to tell her story.

I'm making pumpkin tarts tomorrow and a very fancy iceberg lettuce salad, and our guest is bring not the bacon but the fish, a whole red snapper that will be baked with garlic and thyme and lemon.

The rain has been general over the South Shore and environs, and we are just glad it's not the white stuff, except for the kids, who crave the white stuff.

Iris is bereft and bawls all the time because her baby is gone. The herd of eleven has been culled to seven. Some old cows, some new. Mary Ann's baby is undoubtedly sad, too, as her playmate is gone. All summer and fall they were calves together and hung out and did calf stuff. So sad.

The party's over now . . . .

I'm tired but still exhilarated. After ten months of effort, the Crime Bake weekend is almost a blur, and the credits are rolling and you want to say, “Wait! Stop! I want to see that scene again.”

These events come together with a huge effort and much attention to details, and we all know that's where the devil is. If you want to live the Crimebake vicariously, try the web site http://www.crimebake.org/ in a few days because Mo Walsh, roving photographer, snapped pictures everyplace except the restrooms and I’m not too sure about them.

Between the bar and the banquet I spent a lot of time visiting what we call “the dark side,” in other words, noirish writing, which is what I seem to have plunged into, in this new book “In Flight.”

What is noir? According to a panel I heard years ago, in a noir film or novel, the world is corrupt. All the characters are already in purgatory. Trying not to slide into hell. Knowing the truth doesn’t change anything. It just makes life worse.

Cozies need not apply.

With moderator Hallie Ephron, the Playing After Dark panel discussed their noir genre, and whether there is any redemption for the characters and the answer is yes and no. Compelling authors Alex Carr, Amy McKinnon and Richard Marinick told how and why they write on the dark side. For non-readers who watch movies or television, the Wire, Chinatown, The Sopranos and even Mad Men are all dark to greater or lesser degrees.

One can O.D. on all this writing stuff. Come Saturday evening you just want to go home and write, but by Sunday, on overload, I am more inclined to watch, say, Sex And The City and chill, preferably with chocolate.

Of course I want to read all the new authors I discovered. The house looks like a book drop, with stacks all over and no end in sight. This week we hauled off a huge collection to the jail, a book exchange and the Viet Nam Vets and nothing seems to make a dent because I come home with more including Hallie’s book about 1001 more books to read. Sheeesh! Just what we need. 1001 more books.

Two days of newspapers, await, including the Sunday papers. I recycle the newspapers once a week ere they take over the house like the books have. Of course I’ll read the New York Times book review this evening and want even more books.

Something triggered an old memory this week, and I recalled discovering my parents Frank Yerby novels when I was perhaps in fourth grade and reading them and lots of other stuff that was unsuitable. Elinor Glyn in high school, Guadalcanal Diary, Forever Amber, which fell open at the “good parts.” I think I read most of the fiction in our little town's Carnegie Library, so thank you Andrew Carnegie. Let’s hear it for a robber baron who gave much, much back to the little towns of this country. Fortunately, my parents took no interest in what I read, assuming perhaps that it was Nancy Drew and something suitable for young ladies. Ha!

Back to the Crimebake. The attendees also sat rapt through riveting forensics discussions which we crime writers like. Your assignment is to hie thee to the web site and surf around, especially once the photos are up.

In the meantime, all those Sunday papers are calling my name.

Cheers!
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