The Bakersfield Sound

By Pat Browning


“THEY SAY YOU CAN'T RUN FROM YOUR TROUBLES. But the "they" who say it--they ain't American. The whole history of the country is about packing up the buckboards and getting out of Dodge before the gunfights start up again. Indians, yellow fever, gangsters, sheepherders, locusts, Baptist crusaders, the buffalo herds ... there's always some kind of spur to light out and see the new territory.
…
“All music is a mnemonic device. All I have to hear is the dull thunk of Cash's guitar, and the bass quaver of his voice, to remember the sharp smell of crude oil from the rig in the front pasture, the bottomlessly mellow taste of my grandfather's Falstaff when I'd sneak a sip of it or the jungly, humid smell of Oklahoma in July.”
--- From California Country by Richard Von Busack, www.metroactive.com, a Silicon Valley newspaper


Ben Small’s post about empty stores and streets in Palm Springs and Bakersfield was a jolt. I suppose Palm Springs’ celebrities and high rollers have died. Today’s movie stars are more likely to be found in the Hamptons or Europe. As for Bakersfield, apparently it went that-a-way with The Bakersfield Sound.


Bakersfield was honky-tonk heaven in the 1950s and ‘60s. Times have changed, but even then not everyone liked what a friend of mine (native Californian) called “cry baby Okie music.” Never mind. The migrants who crowded in during the Depression and World War II and stayed, loved it.


It was Nashville country music with a rougher edge and a midwestern twang. Buck Owens and Merle Haggard were the twin pillars of the Crystal Palace, home of The Bakersfield Sound.

At Owens’ side was Don Rich, an equally talented performer who was killed in a motorcycle accident in 1974. By all accounts it took the wind out of Owens’ sails but he kept on performing almost until his death in 2006. Owens and Rich were a good team. One of their best live performances is on You Tube.


"Foolin’ Around," Buck Owens and Don Rich with The Buckaroos at the Crystal Palace, Bakersfield, 1961. It’s at http://tinyurl.com/br48n3

Merle Haggard is still singing, but time and hard living have taken a dreadful toll on his body. His voice is still the best. Diehard fans (like me) can listen to old records or go to You Tube.


Haggard’s life would make a good book. A born musician and a true living legend, he came from a dirt poor family, was a wild kid and even wilder as he grew up, doing time, escaping from various jails, finally ending up in San Quentin. Apparently Johnny Cash’s famous prison concert turned Haggard around and gave him the music bug. Paroled, he married and settled down with his bride in an old railroad boxcar. President Ronald Reagan later granted him a full pardon.


One of my favorite You Tube videos is a live performance of “Workin’ Man Blues” in the early ‘70s when Haggard was still young and drop-dead gorgeous. A band that really kicks it on down the road backs him. The piano player is smokin’ hot. http://tinyurl.com/md4q3r

One note: I always read the Comments on You Tube. Haggard’s lyrics about working really touched a nerve. Comments on this video are about unemployment and politics. They’re so ugly I don’t know why You Tube doesn’t take them down. Ignore them. I know – that’s like telling a jury to ignore testimony they just heard – but I thought a warning might be in order.


Two of my favorite crime fiction novels are set in Bakersfield and incorporate country music.

In BLACKHEART HIGHWAY by Richard Barre, country musician Doc Whitney is paroled after a 20-year prison stretch for the brutal murders of his wife and children. Private investigator Wil Hardesty learns that Whitney may have been framed for the murders, and the local cops may have been part of the conspiracy. When Whitney is reported killed, Hardesty sets out to clear Whitney's name.


At the time Barre wrote this novel I pronounced it the best San Joaquin Valley novel since Steinbeck’s GRAPES OF WRATH. That may have been a bit of gush, but BLACKHEART HIGHWAY is one of my all-time favorite books. I guard my inscribed copy with my life, more or less.


I love the Doc Whitney character and always hoped Barre would feature him in a sequel. In the real world, a famous Bakersfield musician named Spade Cooley went to prison for murdering his wife. I wonder now if that’s where Barre got the inspiration for Doc Whitney. Back in the day, when I met Barre at a conference in Fresno, it never occurred to me to ask.


My other favorite is THE TUMBLEWEED MURDERS, begun by the late Rebecca Rothenberg and finished to perfection by Taffy Cannon. Here’s an excerpt from my review way back in 2002:

 

“THE TUMBLEWEED MURDERS is set in the ugliest part of the San Joaquin Valley, and one of the best characters talks like Granny in "The Beverly Hillbillies," but I kept going back to it anyway. Something about it just wouldn't let go. Maybe it's the music. … Rothenberg's protagonist, Claire Sharples, is a transplanted Easterner who feels the pull of that music.


“Claire is a plant pathologist working in the field for the University of California. On her way to a peach orchard where the fruit is afflicted with brown rot, she meets Jewell, a reclusive, long-retired country singer once known as The Cherokee Rose. The chance meeting with Jewell is followed by discovery of a skull near the peach orchard. …


“Curiosity leads Claire into a labyrinth of lies and corruption, as an old murder brought to light leads to new murders. She narrowly escapes drowning, and almost meets her Waterloo at the hands of a runty tycoon named Tidwell, who disposes of enemies by tossing them into a hay baler. ...


“I hate to see Claire Sharples go. She was good company. Still, as one of Rothenberg's own songs says: "Now my life has led me on/ And left so many roads behind/ But I can still recall them all/ So clearly in my mind."


Good listening. Good reading.

Wii Wii Wii All the Way Home

By Beth Terrell

On Thanksgiving day, my husband, Mike, and I had dinner with Susan, the niece of my mother's boyfriend. The meal was delicious, and the conversation warm. My brother played pool with our hostess's father, Roy and brother, Pat (a police officer whose brain I love to pick). Then they turned on the Wii.

I'd heard of the Wii before, the high-tech video game that uses your own movements to conduct virtual games. Mike, Susan, Pat, and Pat's mother, Robbie decided to play the bowling game. It was remarkable. Mike's throws had a noticeable left hook--just like his real-life bowling style. A good time was had by all. As a self-acknowledged klutz, I enjoyed watching from the sidelines.

Of course a few days later, Mike brought home a Wii of our own. One cool thing about it is that you can personalize your little virtual self (called a Mii), so Mike and I have each made facsimiles of ourselves. These guys are seriously cute. Since then, I've learned that my bowling skills leave a little to be desired, that I'm a terrible golfer but not too bad at table tennis, and quite possibly the worst pilot on the planet. My hat's off to Mark for being able to fly a real plane. I can't tell whether I'm above or even with a church steeple until I crash right into it. I'm terrible with a frisbee, but pretty darn good with a sword. I'm not sure what that says about me, but if the zombie apocalypse comes, I'll be a pro at decapitation--a valuable skill when dealing with the undead.

A few days ago, I made an interesting discovery. I'd been working on my NaNo novel and hit a snag. No matter what I did, I couldn't get past it. So I took a break, and Mike and I played with the Wii for awhile. He crushed me in bowling, I beat him at table tennis, and we took turns knocking each other off a cliff and into the water with our swords. When I sat back down at my computer, the words and ideas suddenly started to flow again. I don't know if it was the break, the physical activity (yes, you can work up a sweat with the Wii), or some magical quality of the little Miis (mini Miis?), but tonight, it happened again.

I'm wondering if maybe I should tell the Wii people. They could market their product as a cure for Writer's Block.

Does this mean we can write it off on our income taxes?

Mine's the Black One

By Mark W. Danielson

It had been a superb trip to Sacramento. The weather was perfect for my flights out and back. By airline standards, my twenty-four hour layover there was quite long. My first officer was excellent, and we even arrived back in Memphis a little early – one AM on Thanksgiving morning. The only down side was I was stuck there until my next trip started 35 hours later. Actually, things soon got worse.

When I got on the crew bus that takes us to the parking lot, I ran into an old friend who had been one of my back seaters in the F-4 Phantom. He later became a pilot and has been with FedEx a few years less than I. My suitcase was in the repair shop so I took the one my step son had last used. Since the ride to the parking lot takes a few minutes, my buddy and I used the time to catch up on things.

I hadn’t driven my truck in a couple of months, so I wasn’t exactly sure where it was among the hundreds of vehicles, but knowing that I parked in the first two rows narrowed it down. My plan was to get off at the second bus stop and start walking, but apparently the bus driver had other plans. In spite of my repeated requests to stop, he kept going, and when he finally did stop, I grabbed what looked like my borrowed bag and started searching for my truck. Thankfully it was fairly close, so I tossed the bag in and took off.





My crash pad is thirty minutes away, and when I arrived, I immediately discovered I had grabbed the wrong bag. To make matters worse, my cell phone was dead and my charger was in my bag. To top that, there was no name on the bag I had, and my step son’s name was on mine. Clearly, it was going to be a long night.

Thankfully, I found a rental car receipt in the bag I had with a name that matched one of our crewmembers. Using the company’s web site, I found his e-mail address and phone number, but since my landlady doesn’t have a house phone, I sent him an e-mail explaining the situation, and planned to find a pay phone soon after. To my amazement, I received a prompt e-mail response saying his keys were in his bag so he was stuck in the flight operations building, and “if I was so inclined,” would I mind brining it there. I felt horrible about my stupidity, but at least we had found a way to swap bags. I sent another message saying I was on my way. Two minutes later, my wheels were spinning.

The gods were watching over me, giving me green lights most of the way. I immediately went to the desk and had his name paged, but no one showed up. After searching for him, I borrowed a cell phone and we finally linked up. He was a true gentleman, and I owe him a dinner. He got home a little later than planned, but at least he was there for the holiday. For me, time was irrelevant and I got to bed about 4:30 AM, which is actually pretty good in this job.

In all my years of traveling, I’ve never before made this mistake. The odds of my phone dying and his being stranded because his keys were in his bag made this event rather extraordinary, and the fact that we were even able to communicate made it that much more amazing. But all’s well that ends well, right? And now that my real bag has been repaired, I shouldn’t make this mistake again because after all, mine’s the black one.

Reflecting on a Milestone

By Chester Campbell

Yesterday was my birthday, and I was overwhelmed by all the good wishes I received on Facebook. I'm not a prolific Facebooker, maybe once a day, sometimes not at all. But it's heartening to bask in my moment of glory at the passing of another milestone. Actually, the dictionary defines milestone as an important event, a turning point. When you're in your thirties or forties, another birthday coming along may seem a bit bothersome, but at my age you wear 'em with pride.

Hey, I'm still here.

Coming so close to Thanksgiving, my birthday was a time to look back and be thankful for all the friends I've known, the people I've met, the places I've seen, the things I've accomplished and, most of all, the family whose love I have experienced.

I thought about Johnny Green, my early boyhood best friend, who didn't make it past his forties. We did a lot of wild things together, like riding our bicycles to the Nashville airport (without our mothers knowing, of course) and paying five bucks apiece to fly in an open-cockpit airplane. This was back in the thirties. I reminisced about my high school and college buddy, Dan Leech, with whom I did equally outrageous things. Dan had a Model A Ford he'd gotten from his grandfather. When we were at the University of Tennessee in Knoxville, we'd drive it home and back. Traveling U.S. 70 late at night, we'd turn off the headlights and navigate the winding road by moonlight.

As a newspaper reporter and later a local magazine editor, I met countless people both important (at least in their estimation) and ordinary. While working for a PR agency, I wrote a campaign brochure for Dr. Winfield Dunn, who went on to become governor of Tennessee. I worked on it with his campaign manager, a young lawyer named Lamar Alexander. Lamar went on to become governor, and I was impressed that whenever I saw him, he always called me by my first name. I haven't seen him in years, but he's now one of the most influential Republican senators.

I did numerous interviews as a reporter. One I remember distinctly was with the violinist David Rubinoff, better known as Rubinoff and his Violin. He had come to Knoxville to play with the symphony. I walked into his hotel room, introduced myself and he started talking. I don't remember if I said anything else but "thanks" before leaving, but he was a tour de force. He insisted on giving me a little violin-shaped card with his autograph. I probably still have it somewhere.

Among the not-so-eminent, by normal standards, people I've encountered was a man whose name I can't recall. He wandered into my Sunday School class one morning looking for a cup of coffee. He was dressed in jeans and a clean but well-worn shirt. This was several years ago before such attire was common in church. He told us he was homeless. He was fairly new to Nashville and had lived with another guy but moved out. He joined us for several Sundays. We kept him in coffee and donuts, when we had 'em. Eventually he moved on and we never heard from him again.

I've had lots of friends who enjoyed life as they found it, never making it big, but never having the desire to. A lot of them are no longer around, which happens when you keep on having birthdays. We joined another Sunday School classes when the old one dwindled to nearly nothing.

I saved the family for the last, though it really comes first. After the mother of my children died, I remarried. Sarah brought along two children, three grandchildren, and now three great-grandchildren, to add to my four kids, eight grandchildren, and one great-grandchild. When holidays like Thanksgiving come along, it's pandemonium at our house. Fortunately, lots of people bring food, so Sarah doesn't do a lot of cooking. We had 26 people last Thursday, and it's a good thing nobody called the fire marshal. All of my crowd wasn't there, with a son and his family in Pennsylvania and a daughter around Atlanta. We'd've had to move into the garage if they had been.

The youngest member of the family is Link (don't know why they spell it that way, his name is Lincoln). He turned two yesterday, on my birthday. His mother and dad threw a party for him on Sunday. So I wouldn't be left out, they had a small cake with "Chester" on it and one candle. I extinguished it with one puff. Forgot to make a wish, but what the heck.

For all those well-wishers, I had a great day, and I'm looking forward to number 85. I'll have another book out before then, if I stay off Facebook and get the writing done. So pardon me if I'm a little scarce on the Internet for a while.

The Little Press That Could

By Pat Browning


It’s been almost a year since a brand new small press got off the block running with a reissue of my mystery. Now the Krill Press catalog lists four mysteries, with a fifth due in December. Not bad for a press that started out as a bright idea.


Looking back on a whirlwind year, I came across my January guest post on Helen Ginger’s blog: http://straightfromhel.blogspot.com/.

I’m reprinting it here as an example of how easy it can be to deal with a start-up press. But first, here’s the current Krill Press catalog:

 ABSINTHE OF MALICE by Pat Browning.
Old crimes come back to haunt a small California town. Penny Mackenzie, Lifestyle reporter for The Pearl Outrider and a cast of unforgettable characters find their lives turned upside down after chance discovery of a skeleton in a cotton field leads to murder...and romance

THE WELL MEANING KILLER by Miranda Phillips Walker.
A maniac is terrorizing Baltimore. "The Wishing Well Killer" is discarding his victims like they were the kitchen trash...stuffing their bodies in plastic garbage bags and throwing them down abandoned wells in the Maryland countryside.

 LITTLE BLUE WHALES by Kenneth R. Lewis.
A sadistic killer stalks the summer beaches of Oregon and the only cop who can stop him is about to let him get away with murder, in this adrenaline rush thriller where the most dangerous secrets to keep...are the ones you don't know you have.

 THE BIG GRABOWSKI by Carolyn J. Rose and Mike Nettleton.
When the body of an unscrupulous land developer washes in with the tide, there are more suspects than mourners in the quirky town of Devil's Harbor, Oregon. For Molly Donovan, the murder creates an opportunity to use her crime reporting skills.

Coming in December: COUNSEL OF THE WICKED by Roberto Kusminsky.
Prominent surgeon and ex-Navy Seal Gerson Asher embarks on a harrowing journey from the broad avenues of New York to the back alleys of Buenos Aires in search of stolen WW2 art treasures, Nazi war criminals, and the killers of his grandfather.
***
Here's my nod to other reissued mysteries, and a blow-by-blow account of getting my “new” book out into the world, and the revisions I made during the process. From "Straight From Hel" January 2009:


ITEM: Dec. 5, 2008
From the New York Times top 20 sellers in Paperback Mass-Market Fiction. Of the 20 top titles, three are reissues:


THE MANNING GROOMS, by Debbie Macomber. (Mira, $7.99.) A reissue of two novels: “Bride on the Loose” and “Same Time, Next Year.”
FOUL PLAY, by Janet Evanovich. (Harper, $7.99.) A veterinarian hires a woman who has lost her TV job to a dancing chicken, then helps her prove her innocence when the chicken disappears; a reissue of a 1989 book.
LOVE BY DESIGN, by Nora Roberts. (Silhouette, $7.99.) A reissue of two novels from 1989: “Loving Jack” and “Best Laid Plans.”


ITEM: December 2008
FULL CIRCLE by Pat Browning, revised and reissued by Krill Press as ABSINTHE OF MALICE.


That came out of the blue. It was a three-month ride on a Tilt-A-Whirl, and I’m still dizzy. Krill Press is a micro press in Oregon, with a multi-tasking publisher who puts the pedal to the metal. As in:


SEPT. 1 -- Krill Press was formed, more or less in the mind of said publisher, after the idea was kicked around in an Internet group we both belong to.


First bump in the road: He asked for a Synopsis of FULL CIRCLE, which I self-published in 2001, and also one for my half-finished second book, working title SOLSTICE. I started to sweat out that horror of horrors, the synopsis, for not one but two books.


SEPT. 6 -- Publisher said forget the synopses. He was reading FULL CIRCLE and liked it. He had already read the first three chapters of SOLSTICE on my web site.


SEPT. 14 -- Publisher loved FULL CIRCLE, suggested bringing out an “updated, refreshed 2nd edition” with a new title and new cover. Offered me an advance. I fell over laughing when I read the proposed new title, ABSINTHE OF MALICE, and saw the jazzy, sexy new cover proposed. But the more I thought about it, the better I liked it. We jumped right into proposed changes and details of a business relationship.


SEPT. 17 – We signed a two-year contract for publication in trade paperback, E-book and other electronic download formats, and Amazon’s Kindle.


SEPT. 24 – Advance check. I printed out a copy suitable for framing.


Second bump in the road: Publisher wanted manuscript by E-mail, in Word. I couldn’t find my computer file anywhere. I did have a printout of my iUniverse proof sheet from 2001. Nothing to do but make a new Word file by scanning in that proof sheet, one page at a time. More than 200 pages, one – page – at – a – time.


OCT. 26 – Publisher finished book block and e-mailed it to me for proofing. Last minute updating of cover blurbs and reviews for Krill Press web site, which was still under construction.


NOV. 3 – Book uploaded to printer (Lightning Source). Publisher signed contracts with Lightning Source and Ingram Book Group to have book distributed in Canada, the UK and Europe.


NOV. 6 – Lightning Source sent proof copy to publisher via UPS 2nd Day Air. Publisher made plans for virtual launch party on NETDRAG podcast.


NOV. 7 – Pursuant to my notice of cancellation of contract, iUniverse gave me written acknowledgment and washed their hands of it. It’s no longer listed on their web site.


Ongoing blip: FULL CIRCLE is still listed for sale by online booksellers and will be until they get rid of their last copy. If I could afford it, I would buy them all up.


DEC. 4 – I had copies of my brand new book on hand for a book signing at the local library.


Krill Press is promoting ABSINTHE OF MALICE in every known market. It’s displayed on Google Books, as far afield as an Italian library. Amazon.com has it displayed for sale in the UK, Germany, France, China, Japan … It’s print-on-demand but the publisher, bowing to marketplace realities, offers a heavy discount to bookstores and makes it returnable. He’s sending sell sheets and queries to Internet book review sites.


The publisher is doing his share and then some. I’m more of a hand-seller: “Pssst! Wanna buy a good book?”


It’s an ill wind, as the saying goes. Having to scan the book a page at a time gave me a chance to polish it up, tighten it up, and generally shape it up. It also gave me a chance to rewrite a couple of key scenes.


One has to do with my protagonist, Penny Mackenzie, a baby boomer whose first love shows up after a long absence. I had written her as a bit of a schlump, in a rut. The publisher picked up on a short scene where she whacks off her hair and throws her dowdy duds into a wastebasket. He took it a step further, seeing her as a woman whose long-suppressed vanity reappears when her old flame shows up. I rewrote the scene to fit the sassy, sexy new book cover.


The other has to do with DNA testing of an old bone. When I wrote the book in 1999-2001, DNA testing was fairly new. I misinterpreted a news article I read about a portable DNA machine developed by the military for battlefield use. Since then, of course, I’ve learned that DNA from old bones is mitochondrial DNA, passed down only through female ancestors. The test destroys the bone, making it impossible for a character to run it through a portable machine and then replace it in the police department’s evidence room. I feel a lot better for having rewritten the scene to reflect the differences in DNA, keeping a character from subjecting an old bone to the wrong kind of testing.

While all this was going on, my work-in-progress was shoved to one side. Now I’m picking up where I left off four months ago. Touching base this week with a friend, I mentioned that finishing the second book is essential to the success of the first one. His e-mail reply is taped to my computer monitor.

He wrote: “And if I were you I'd finish that second book. There's only so much promotion you can do without turning into a used-car salesman, and there's hardly anything worse than a used-car salesman who only has one car to sell.”

***

Words to live by!

Rick Mofina

by Jean Henry Mead

International bestselling Canadian novelist Rick Mofina says that writing has been a lifelong affliction. One of the world's leading crime/thriller writers, Rick's work is what James Patterson termed "tense, realistic and scary in all the right places."

Rick, your extensive journalism experience in Toronto and California must have prepared you to write crime novels. How much of your fictional crime is autobiographical?

A larger part of my news reporting experience involved working the police beat. It put me face-to-face with the best and worst of the human condition. I was expected to write about it. I was expected to derive some sense out of horrible incidents that made no sense at all then present it to readers on deadline. Sadly, the true horrors that happen everywhere everyday seldom end well. If they end at all. This is something I bear in mind in writing crime fiction. I try to apply the fundamental code of most crime fiction, which is the restoration of order to chaos. And I try to start with a ‘grain of truth’, to build on a solid foundation for a compelling story.

Novels allow you to drill deeper. To probe a person’s thoughts. Journalistic objectivity, in that sense, goes out the window. Journalism still allows you to convey many things against impossible deadlines. Still, some of the best writers, and copy editors who help them, are found in newspapers. But crime fiction allows you to go deeper into characters, themes, and the actual soul of a story. And maybe on that level you do get closer to some universal truths.

For example, a news story in good hands can convey quite powerfully how sickened a homicide detective is, say, over a child murder. But the novelist can take you further. The novelist can take you into the detective’s heart, make you feel what he or she feels witnessing an autopsy, or informing an inconsolable parent, or questioning a lying suspect, or grappling with their own anguish at night when their head touches the pillow and sleep is a fugitive.The opening of my first published crime novel, If Angels Fall, begins with a toddler being abducted from his inattentive father while they are riding San Francisco’s Bay Area Rapid Transit System, known as BART.

Readers have told me that it reads as if I’d drawn it from a real case. I didn’t. The scene is entirely fiction. However, the seed for that moment of terror arose from a real moment of truth I experienced years ago while I was working at The Toronto Star, the paper that Ernest Hemingway reported for early in his career. The summer I was a Star cub reporter, a tragedy hit the city. A child who vanished under chilling circumstances was later found murdered.

Fear gripped the metropolitan area and the story screamed from page one headlines of Toronto’s major papers. In that climate, I was riding Toronto’s subway when I saw a father and his toddler. Dad was hidden behind the newspaper he was reading, one that happened to be blaring the latest on the tragedy. His little boy was toddling up and down the full length of the subway car aisle. The father was oblivious. The train would stop. Doors would open. Waves of commuters would rush in and out, even bumping the toddler. Doors would close. The train rumbled to the next station.The father was had no idea what was happening as the scene was repeated at the next station. Then the next. Then the next.

As I witnessed this, I became a little angry at the father for not watching his kid. Then I grew a little fearful as my imagination went into overdrive. If I were a crazy person, I could easily abduct that boy without his father noticing until it was too late.That moment haunted me until years later, when I fashioned it into the opening of, If Angels Fall, the book which introduces my ongoing series characters, San Francisco reporter Tom Reed and SFPD Homicide Inspector, Walt Sydowski.

I drew a lesson from that subway ride. By beginning with a seed of ‘reality’ I was able to shape a stronger story. It was in keeping with the universally accepted notion that writers should write what they know.

Was the novel you wrote about hitchhiking from Canada to California as a teen ever published?

I was 18 when I wrote it and it was largely drawn from the journal I kept while hitchhiking from my home east of Toronto to San Francisco, a kind of On the Road, thing. It was never published and never will be.

You’ve interviewed murderers on death row, covered serial killings and armored car heists as well as other horrific crimes. Did the real life violence and gore finally get to be too much? And is that why you turned to fiction?

No, not really. For me, writing has been a lifelong affliction. My urge to write reaches back to my earliest years when my mother read bedtime stories to me. She drew me into worlds that were sketched by the writer's words and brought to life in my imagination. This was wild magic.It had captivated me with such intensity that I was compelled to craft my own fiction based on the real things I'd observed. Like how my mother smiled when my father came home and handed me his big lunch bucket, with one cookie left in it for me. Or the way his hands were creased with fine threads of dried concrete as he unlaced his heavy work boots.

I observed the world I was in, and then created fictional worlds based on what I saw. Eventually my parents bought me a typewriter and one thing led to another which led to the sale of my first short story for $60.00 to a magazine in New Jersey. My father stared at that check for a long time, trying to make sense of what had transpired. At age 15, I was a professional writer. Or so it seemed. There was a lot to come; high school, university, marriage, a family and a career as a news reporter, which laid the foundation for me to become the author of several thrillers.

You’ve had some great reviews. Penthouse Magazine called you one of the leading thriller writers of the day. Do glowing reviews actually translate into book sales or do they simply pump up a writer’s ego and keep him writing?

I’ve been very lucky, honored in fact, with endorsements and publishers take notice, as do readers. Most readers, anyway. I think the jury’s still out on whether they translate into sales but they sure don’t hurt the look of a cover one bit!

Your first novel, If Angels Fall, introduced San Francisco reporter Tom Reed and homicide inspector Walt Sydowski, and was optioned for filming along with a following book, Cold Fear. Did you ever quit your day job to write full-time?

Options are not the same as the sale of full film rights. Options are merely a small payment to lock up rights to a book for a short time, so that the interested party can try gather more financial support to advance production. In my case, even though a script was written, the options expired. So no, writing is an uncertain way to earn your living and I am pretty conservative about things. I don’t think I’ll quit my day job. That’s what lottery wins are for.

What does your communications advisory job entail? And when do you find time to write fiction?

My day job entails providing advice on communications. As for finding time to write, well I rise about 4:00 am and review my previous day's writing for 30-45 minutes. Then during my 30-40 minute commute by bus to my full time day job. I make notes in long hand in the journal I create for the work in progress. I let those notes gestate in my subconscious during the day. On the return commute, I revisit the journal and update my notes. If I have enough energy in the evening, I will try to draft a few new sentences, or go for an evening walk with my notebook before knocking for the evening to watch TV and relax a bit. At bed time, I will review my journal notes and make new ones. On the weekends, I sleep in until about 6:00 a.m. I'll work in my home office turning my notes into sentences and paragraphs that grow into chapters. If I am travelling, I'll take my laptop and attempt to work while waiting for flights, aboard jets, in hotels during down time. I adhere to this routine, but it is only possibly because my family accommodates it. I am very blessed that way.

Tell us about your new series?

Early in September, 2009, my publisher MIRA released Vengeance Road, the first novel of my new series featuring crime reporter Jack Gannon. Gannon pursues the case of a murdered nursing student, the disappearance of a single mother, and their connection to a hero detective with a dark past. It will be followed in the summer of 2010 with The Panic Zone, book two in the Jack Gannon series. My previous series, another crime reporter series, is a trilogy published by Pinnacle. It begins with The Dying Hour. It was selected as a Finalist, Best Paperback Original, for a Thriller Award, International Thriller Writers (ITW).

The Dying Hour introduces Jason Wade, a rookie crime reporter with The Seattle Mirror, a loner who grew up in the shadow of a brewery in one of the city's blue-collar neighborhoods. At The Seattle Mirror, he is competing for the single fulltime job being offered through the paper's intense intern program. But unlike the program's other young reporters, who attended big name schools and worked at other big metro dailies, Wade put himself through community college, and lacked the same experience. Wade struggles with his haunting past as he pursues the story of Karen Harding, a college student whose car was found abandoned on a lonely stretch of highway in the Pacific Northwest. How could this beloved young woman with the altruistic nature simply vanish? Wade battles mounting odds and cut-throat competition to unearth the truth behind Karen Harding's disturbing case. Her disappearance is a story he cannot give up, never realizing the toll it could exact from him. The Dying Hour is followed by two other Jason Wade books, Every Fear and A Perfect Grave.

What’s the best part of writing and the worst?

The worst part is the loneliness of the craft. It is a solitary exercise. As for the best part, well, it’s not just one thing. It’s a number of things. Like writing the words “the end”, or hearing from readers, especially those who’ve enjoyed the story and have bought all your books, and have told others to buy your books. And I get a lot of nice comments, like ‘you kept me up all night,’ and ‘you need to write more books faster’. But one that stands out came from a lovely handwritten letter from a woman in Indiana. Seems she was on vacation in the west and bought my first book, If Angels Fall, in a used book bin for 25 cents. After reading it, she liked it so much; she cut me a personal check for the full cover price, $7.00, which she’d attached to her letter. She told me I’d earned it. I was blown away. I thanked her. And yes, I cashed the check, but I’ve kept a photocopy that I intend to frame some day.

Next to hearing from readers who enjoy your work and encourage you do produce more, for a writer there is nothing like the day when you learn your manuscript is going to be published. You’re walking on air for a while after that.What changes do you foresee in the publishing business? With respect to fiction, I don’t think reader demand for good stories will wane. I think the technical vehicle by which those stories are delivered will continue to evolve with portable digital devices becoming more common. I see them popping up more on buses in airports. I don’t think the traditional book format will disappear, much like with the hardcover and paperback formats we’ve seen the emergence of trade paperback. I think digital technology will emerge as another option, another choice and one that will become more popular with digital generations of readers.

Advice to fledgling crime/thriller writers?

It’s a tough business but above all it is a business whereby you aim to sell your product, your talent to craft a story. There are no magic beans, no secrets. You first of all must be honest with yourself and know whether you possess the intelligence, confidence, discipline and the talent to craft a story worthy of investment; investment of a publisher and readers in terms of their money and time.When it comes to writing a book, the product, the only person standing in your way to reaching your goal is you. Be disciplined and write every day. Don't talk about doing it, do it. If the next word you think after reading this is "but" as in, "but I don't have the time, or I have this or that going on" fine. Guess you don't have what it takes. There is never “a good time” to sit down and write that book. That is an excuse, a rationale for failure. Don't make excuses. Create sentences. Read who you like and study them. All the while ask yourself if you know the difference between "being" a writer and "wanting to be" a writer? It's the difference between dreaming and doing.

Rick's web site: http://www.rickmofina.com/

Thankful for Readers

By Beth Terrell

In one of this weeks' blog posts, Nathan Bransford asked his readers (I started to say followers, but that sounded just a little too messianic) what they were grateful for as writers. As you can imagine, the responses ran the gamut, from the ability to write to supportive spouses to paper clips. My list of things to be thankful for hasn't changed much since last year. I'm still grateful for my loving husband; the support of my mom, my brother, in-laws, and countless friends; our dogs (two papillons and a Tibetan Spaniel); my laptop; my terrific critique group; Night Shadows Press, the small press that believed in me enough to reissue my iuniverse mystery; and readers--everyone who has read my book and liked it, and everyone who hasn't read my book, but reads the books of my friends and my favorite authors, thereby enabling the publishing industry to keep on rolling, warts and all.

There is nothing like hearing from a person who says, "I read your book and loved it." One of my favorites came from a woman who said she was so anxious to see what happened that she was sneaking in paragraphs at stop lights. Another said, "When I'm not reading this book, I'm thinking about the people in it and wondering what they're doing." It just doesn't get any better than that.

We need the encouragement, because, as most of us know, few writers can make a living with their writing. I read somewhere that the average income of writers falls just above that of migrant workers. Thank goodness for the likes of Stephen King, Dan Brown, and John Grisham, who pulled the average up! Otherwise, we'd be at the bottom of the heap. One writer, responding to Nathan's blog, said she'd calculated her hourly wages and come up with a figure of approximately seven cents. It's hard to retire to Maui on that.

Then one day you're working out at Curves, and the chatter among the exercisers turns to books. The woman at the next machine, a woman you've never met and who has no idea you're a writer, says, "You know what book I love? I just read it, and it's terrific." And she names your book. You carry that glow home with you. Years later, you can still pull it out of your pocket and bask in it.

So on this beautiful (albeit chilly) Thanksgiving Day, I'd like to take a moment to thank you, the readers. You're the ones who make this crazy business work.

Happy Thanksgiving!