JERSEY JACK'S

Just Another NO

2009-12-30T05:50:00.000-08:00

Since I have not blogged here since August, you may correctly assume the answer to my question below was a big fat "NO." Author Jack Getze and his character Austin Carr were not whisked away to stardom by the fancy reader they had back in August. In thirty five years of writing novels, only three times have I heard a "YES," so I guess it's no big surprise. In fact, I should have known.

Each "NO" carries it's own recipe for pain, however, and I've decided to await the next "YES" in Puerto Vallarta. The sun is great down here, not to mention the tacos and tequila. I figure I might as well be persistant in a pleasant location, right? Hang in there where the hanging's good. Suck it up while I'm sucking tequila.

I mean, where would you rather wait?

Lots of Luck, Buddy

2009-08-15T12:41:00.000-07:00

It was eleven years ago. Agent Donald Maass spoke to 30 new writers in a workshop assembly. "Trying to become a successful author is like trying to become a movie star," he said. "You need loads of talent and lots of luck."

In the decade since then, I've learned Don was right. So many books. So much talent. So much competition for attention and readers. But every once in a while, you get a piece of luck and a shot. Someone who could change your life is reading your work. It's scary.

All you can do is wait.

First Draft: The Finish is Only A Start

2009-07-26T17:49:00.000-07:00

For me, first drafts are manic. One week the story feels great, the next week not so much. And when I finish that first draft, usually in a two-week flurry, the combination of emotions could get me hospitalized. It feels fantastic to finish, to complete the story. Especially if the climax works well. But hours later, reality sets in. It's only a FIRST draft. And since you didn't know the whole story until more than halfway through, there's a bunch of rewrites, set-ups, and new scenes to write for the beginning two thirds. I have a ton of work left.

Oh, the load is heavy.

Ever Wonder What Your Agent's Doing?

2009-07-08T21:37:00.001-07:00

Right now, of course, I hope my literary agent is sleeping, getting her rest. Maybe tomorrow will be a big day in the marketing of my latest novel, although if Thursday's anything like Wednesday, or the weeks and months before that, probably not.

I just hope she's thinking about me, at least once or twice during the day.

I bet she spends more time thinking about chocolate.

Or cocktails. My agent loves a good Cosmo.

Where I Work

2009-05-03T05:07:00.000-07:00

They say writing is a lonely life, but sometimes it's not lonely enough. Know what I mean? We need peace and quiet, a room (better yet, a cave) where every Tom, Dick, and Harriet can't pop in whenever they want and ask questions, like:

"So what do you think of the stock market? Is it time to get in?"

How the hell would I know? If Warren Buffet lost 50% of his net worth last year, what do you expect ME to do?

"Do you want to eat at Rooney's tonight, or Mr. Cs?"

I don't really care. Both joints are on the beach, both serve cold Bombay martinis with equal flourish.

"Have you seen Jonesy?

He's probably under that rubble in what you call our reception area. No one's seen the carpet in two years.

People! Leave me alone!

Good Luck Mojo Here!

2009-04-15T16:52:00.000-07:00

No, this is not a cheap trick to attract hits to my website. I'm not selling anything. I'm just one of a million lonely writers waiting for that acceptance, needing a little luck in this economy, and I thought I'd share these lucky charms. Maybe if we all wish together...

Happy Easter!

2009-04-12T05:32:00.001-07:00

Love Blooms, Dies in a Day

2009-03-27T14:39:00.000-07:00

They're just little greenies right now, but soon my hemerocallis will be swelling and blooming.

I'm talking about daylilies. What did you think?

Spring arrived in Central New Jersey today, about a week behind schedule. Warm sunshine drew me into the backyard, but aside from daffodils, major patches of green showed only at my various daylily patches. I have about a dozen or more in our perennial beds, and if it were up to me, I'd keep splitting and expanding my daylilies until they took over the property. I love daylilies. They just hurl color at you when they bloom, so bright and varied. Easy to transplant, too.

Lots of people love daylilies.

Daylilies like morning sun and mid-day shade, and are used all over this part of the world to cover tough, sloping property. I mix mine up with large, painted hostas.

Cheap Fun in a Bad Economy

2009-03-11T13:50:00.000-07:00

Instead of blowing money in a restaurant last Saturday, The Whip and I invited another couple over to share the cooking and play cards. A two-pound roast, two bottles of wine, a fresh salad, and a pot of coffee while we cleaned off the table and got ready for the card game.

We settled on gin rummy, an easy but competitive game, but hearts would have been better. My parents and their friends used to play bridge, but I don't suppose many play that one anymore.

There's always Texas Hold'em poker. Be cool and current.

Truth is, we had a lot of fun. The time passed quickly. Many laughs -- and something to talk about (the game) besides the state of the economy and the stock market.

Interviewing An Idol

2009-03-04T22:25:00.000-08:00

In keeping with my rule here of No Business Allowed, I will not mention where or when the interview will run. Who cares anyway? The Big News is, I got to ask Robert Crais 18 of the best questions I could think of.

I think RC had fun answering at least some of them, too. Here's a taste:

Q -- Who are your writing heroes?

A -- Hemingway and Chandler. Hammett and Salinger. Ross Macdonald, Robert Heinlein. I have diverse literary interests. Stan Lee and Elmore Leonard. I could go on.

Q -- What's one question you would like to ask a dead one?

A -- For real? If Hemingway was alive, I’d love to find out he’s read my books. Then, knowing he’s read them, I’d hook up with him in a bar down in Key West or up in Idaho, or maybe we’d be out fishing on his boat, the Pilar, just the two of us, and I’d ask this: I’d say, “Papa, what am I doing wrong? How can I make my work better?”
Imagine that. Imagine getting that kind of insight from Ernest Hemingway. Wow.

But the truth is, we don't really care what RC thought. Or what the magazine thinks when they get a look at some of my questions. I've been a fan of Robert Crais's work since my first Elvis Cole/Joe Pike adventure. His stand alone novel, Hostage, which later made it to the silver screen starring Bruce Willis, is a classic in the writers craft of tension building. At writers schools all over America, the teachers tell their students, "Make it worse, make it worse!" Hostage keeps making it worse for the protagonist almost with every page.

If you like good clean writing, an example of the craft's mandate to put conflcit and tension on every page, try a Robert Crais novel. You'll find his work in the mystery section, but he's as fine a writer as there is. At least I think so, and it was a major piece of fun to ask RC some questions.

Miami Beach: Hijinks or Hookers?

2009-02-22T10:22:00.000-08:00

The Wife outbid everybody at one of her own charity events, and upon her invitation, I packed my bags for Miami Beach a week ago Thursday. We were joined by our son, The Packman and his friend Jones. Twenty-somethings always add a little life to our trips, and this week on the sand was no exception.

Five o'clock in the morning Sunday, I hear The Packman roll in after a night on the town. Twenty minutes later, it's Jones with two young women of questionable taste, banging on the door for Packman to let him in. I surprised our guest by opening the door myself, quickly covering my laughter with a frown, and then reminding him what time it was. Shortly thereafter, it was suggested he escort the young ladies back down into the lobby.

In the cold light of morning, The Wife and I explained the long list of no-no. Packman denied all responsibilty, claiming he had forbidden Jones to bring the ladies back to Mom and Dad's rented, high-security condo. Jones blamed it on a new phenomenon, DAS BOOT -- giant, Tony Lama-size servings of tap beer.

Two wonderful dinners. The Pelican in South Beach, right on the sidewalk looking at the sand; and Yucca, on Lincoln Road. Check the schedule at Yucca for upstairs salsa dancing.

The Perfect Margarita

2009-01-29T21:26:00.000-08:00

I had one once, the perfect margarita. It was my honeymoon, and the wife and I were in Acapulco, Mexico. New Year's Eve and we had no reservations. Everything was sold out. Or everywhere they spoke English -- Carlos & Charlies. Senior Frog's. I got lucky with my pocito Spanish and acquired the last dinner tickets to a locals-only nightclub.

Our table wasn't ready when we arrived, so we sat a a tiny bar and asked for margaritas. I wished I'd watched him closer, but I did notice a few things. The tequila was Cuervo Hornitos. In those days it came with a green label, and everyplace in town poured it as the bar brand. The bartender, a short, stocky guy with a crew cut, also crushed a couple of limes.

The perfect margarita came in a short whiskey glass, salted around the rim, and chilled by three or four big ice cubes. It went down smoothly, tasted like lime-flavored honey, and cleaned my breath like mouthwash. I finished two of them in the five minutes, and when our table was ready, I wobbled.

My "uno mas, por favor" to the bartender has been unnecessary.

I'm not sure where I'm going with this Jersey Jack's blog. But as an author, I was surfing the vast crime fiction/writers internet world the other day, reading all the marketing, promotion, planning, and agonizing over the publishing business, and I just wished there was a place a writer could go where No Business was Allowed.