 |
I know you all are dying to hear how it went. 
As some of you know, this whole trip was meant to be a surprise for Sailor Boy, and encompass a bit of birthday present with a bit of anniversary present. Because he’s got a lot of work (what with that whole law school thingy he’s been doing) I broke down and told him last Sunday night. Understandably, he was very excited.
So, Saturday morning, we got up, packed, and drove to New York. Until we hit the Lincoln tunnel, we didn’t even see much traffic. Once we arrived on the island of Manhattan, however, it took an hour to get the ten or so blocks to our hotel. We checked in, dressed for our evening out, and headed out on our whirlwind New York City adventure.
Note to readers: I, um, forgot a camera, so all these pictures are generics cribbed from the internet. Deal with it.
Our first stop was the Museum of Modern Art and utilized the VIP passes I got from Random House. Sailor Boy is an AbEx freak, so we spent a good amount of time staring at Pollock and Rothko and Kandinsky and trying to make something of it all. (He’s much better at that than I am, though I kind of like how pretty Kandinsky is. Also, Jasper John’s “Green Target” is cool). I got to see Picasso’s “Girl Before a Mirror,” which I’ve always loved on prints. We both enjoyed an audio installation piece featuring about forty speakers arranged in a circle in an empty room. If you sat in the middle, you heard a chorus, but each speaker emitted a single voice. Very cool.
Afterwards, we dropped by the uber-chic bar in the museum restaurant, The Modern, and had a pre-dinner drink. Sailor Boy had an excellent beer called “Sugar Hill” and I ordered a cactus pear margarita with spiced salt rim. But when we got to the restaurant for the evening, we wished we’d held off on our liquor choices a little longer.
My editor at Bantam Dell, Kerri Buckley, recommended this wonderful, cozy restaurant right around the corner from MOMA called Beacon. (Seriously, this book had better sell well, or I don’t know where I’ll be getting my New Yorker insider info and other perks.) Beacon’s schtick is that they’ve got this wood grill that they like to cook everything in. And I mean everything. We started out the evening with sangria made with wood-roasted fruits. The roasting imparted a delicious charcoal/caramel hint to the drink. (See what I mean about wishing we’d held off on the drinks? I could have had more of that!) Because we had a show to catch, we ordered the pre-theatre prix fixe, which was three courses and still left us stuffed. Sailor Boy began with a plate of roasted oysters in a creamy garlic and tarragon sauce, which were yummy, but a bit outclased by my appetizer, the roasted (natch) pumpkin and apple soup. Best presentation ever! The soup was served with a side of spiced spun sugar on a stick — basically a giant white ball of cotton candy flecked with red peppers, which my server upended in my bowl, where it dissolved instantly. The soup itself was outstanding, but that presentation catapulted it over the top. For entrees, we had a lovely, rich rabbit and roasted parsnip risotto with carrots and olives and a heavily seared (i.e., crusty black on the outside) filet that I liked more than Sailor Boy did. It is ever thus with us — we order entrees, then end up switching plates once they arrive. Dessert was chocolate cheescake (yawn) and a yummy lemon custard tart. The service on the parts of both our waitress and the sommelier was uniformly fabulous, and the atmosphere couldn’t be beat. This picture, above, doesn’t do the restaurant justice. At night, the lighting is subtle and golden, and the restaurant was seasonally decorated with a harvest motif. Portis head was on the stereo and we were seated at arguably one of the best tables in the house, the corner booth visible upstage center, right below where the chandelier hangs in the picture. It was an amazing meal, and I am so grateful to Kerri for pointing out such a perfect place and making me reservations!
Speaking of over-the-top, onto Spamalot! It was a fun show. It’s not a “big” show, mind you, with enormous sets and gigantic casts and epic storylines that will tear your heart out and leave it bleeding in your chair through intermission. It’s Monty Python. You laugh, you enjoy the spectacle, and then you go home. I laughed the whole time, but I wouldn’t say it blew my mind. Tim Curry (who has the most divine voice) hammed it up, as he is wont to do (I have a theory that he was playing Arthur less as “clueless” and more as “senile”), David Hyde Pierce utilized some that Yale training of his and his performance was the greatest departure from the MP style — a fact that I appreciated and Sailor Boy did not. I think SB is a bigger fan of MP than I’d thought. He was mouthing the words to the movie along with the actors. Alan Tudyk was divine, and ripped, which I don’t think Joss Whedon ever took advantage of. It was like how we only ever saw Simon with his shirt off at the very end of the movie (and the series!). Alan Tudyk, hottie. Tudyk also has the role that required him to do the most with the classic Monty Python characters (French guard, Knights who say Nyii!, etc.). The final lead was a new character, the Lady of the Lake, played by Tony award-winner Sarah Ramirez. She held her own next to these boys but her role, as well as her performance, was much more classically “Broadway” — probably because it had been written for this show rather than cribbed from Monty Python. There were a bunch of new musical numbers and, true to form, they *never* missed an opportunity to make a joke. Ever.
After the show, we went home to our hotel, the darling Amsterdam Court, which is a moderately priced little boutique in the theatre district. Man, I’d stay there again in an instant. The rooms are miniscule, but really, who needs space — you want space? Don’t go to Manhattan! Comfy, clean, with a fabulous staff and an art-deco-meets-the-seventies style all its own. I really enjoyed myself and think it’s my new favorite hotel in the city. Sailor BOy and I cracked open a bottle of ‘96 Veuve Cliquot Chateau La Grande Dame we’ve been saving since our sale and savored it. It’s a phenomenal wine, and I’m glad we finally had an occasion to enjoy it.
Zee next morning… we woke up, packed, checked out, then hurried down the street (one note about the Amsterdam — do not trust whoever sets their clocks) to meet Kerri and her boyfriend at Eatery for brunch. (No, this is not a picture of brunch. This is a picture of when we first met in June.) I love how no one in New York looks at you funny if you order alcohol for breakfast. What a town! Anyhoo, it was lovely to finally meet Kerri’s boyfriend, who actually helped out with a line in my book, and to introduce Kerri to Sailor Boy, because if there is anyone I talk about more than Deidre to SB, it’s gotta be Kerri. And, natch, everyone got on like a house on fire. Dan and Kerri played “the name game,” Kerri’s boyfriend told us all about cool computer animation schtuff, and Kerri gave me my ::gasp:: second-round revisions on SSG. Towards (oops, I mean toward as all the editorial notes on my manuscript point out) the end of the meal, I realized that I was no longer wearing my Maggie award (modeled above). I freaked the fuck out and SB and I dash back to the hotel to see if anyone found it. Cue exhaustive search on the part of the Amsterdam Court staff. Have I mentioned lately how much I love these people? Seriously: stay there! Well, I got it back, and I fixed the clasp, and I think I might actually wear it a little less often lest I lose it on the streets of Manhattan again.
You know, I visit New York every few months now and I always have the grandest old time, but that old truism is so correct. I know if I were back there (cf. residence circa Sept. 2001 – May 2002), I wouldn’t like it, but still, it’s fun to visit. Next time I must seek out the mythical Shoegasm Deidre keeps telling me about. Find Your Grail indeed.
As some of you know. I’m going AWL (notice the lack of “out”) this weekend to The City That Never Sleeps. Year Five with Sailor Boy is drawing to a close and we are celebrating with a weekend in Manhattan, featuring museums, restaurants, Alan Tudyk, David Hyde Pierce, and Tim Curry.
That’s right folks, we’re off to see SPAMALOT. Somehow we will resist holding up a sign that says, “WE LOVE YOU, ALAN! BRING BACK WASH!” (Sorry, Serenity not-so-much-joke.) We’re also going to hook up with my exquisite and insightful editor, Kerri Buckley, who has, she informs me, got round two of revisions. Eep.
Anyway, I won’t be around. Don’t get in trouble in my absence.
Dude, SPAMALOT. *So* excited.
So I’m reading this book right now. Love the book, love the author, all things are shiny… EXCEPT
The font of the text is miniscule. A friend measured it: 4 point font.
The publisher should give out a free magnifying glass with every purchase. I know saving paper is a blessing and whatnot, but come on, this is ridiculous! I’m young, I still have 20/20, my eyes are doing just fine, and I can hardly read the freaking thing. I have to put it down more often than I’d like because my peepers start to ache. I worry that my bedside lamp isn’t bright enough. I fear that this relatively innocent chick lit is making me go blind!
The last time this happened was with a gigantically thick mass market paperback romantic thriller, whose publisher managed to fit what I’m sure was a 130k length (at least) into the standard 400 pages by shrinking the font and printing text in the gutter. I found that one difficult to read because if I held it as delicately as required in order to keep my fingers from blocking the words, the book would slip out of my hands and close. This was not a book I could read on the train — too much jostling for my precarious fingerholds. The current skinny title, however, could have easily added a few more pages. Heck, let’s go really wild and throw in an extra signature. When I first bought it, I thought the thin volume looked downright skimpy, but it turns out that the story is meaty enough, they just squish the words. My chick lits shouldn’t be hard to read. Isn’t that the whole point of chick lit? It’s entertaining? Relaxing? Fun? This book is fun, but do you know what would make it even more so?
8 point font.
Off to find some cucumber slices. My eyes hurt.
Record number of posts today. Ahem.
Anyway, remember earlier this week when I was talking about how a bunch of my friends have sold recently?
Check out what Jana wrote on her blog about it.
Totally made me cry.
Please note: this is a rant. You’ve been warned.
I promise I will be getting back to my particular WGAGB topics shortly. However, today I wanted to talk about a general trend that drives me completely batshit crazy:
WHEN GOOD ADVICE GOES BAD
UNIVERSALIZING ADVICE
At the risk of pissing off a whole lot of acolytes that call themselves after a particular fruit, I’m going to come out as a fan of prologues. And epilogues. And heck, flashbacks. They work for me. I’ve got two out of three of them in my book. Fortunately, the queen of this fruit (which is often used to flavor pies and chapstick) is totally cool with me not agreeing with her and selling books anyway. You take what you need and toss the rest out. Maybe someone else wants that stuff.
Unfortunately one of the fruitlings told me that I shouldn’t disagree with the advice, and that’s why the Queen Fruit was a NYT bestselling author and I was unpublished. Talk about taking good advice down a bad path! Saying that I don’t think I’m going to do things like another person but heck it works for her and God bless is not saying “Your advice sucks, bitch, now curl up and die.” It’s saying, “I don’t think I’m going to do things like that, but it works for you and God bless.”
And I can still like her books and the books of the people that follow her way of doing things, and I can still take other bits of her advice and say it’s brilliant, brilliant, and isn’t she wonderful and supportive and a bang-up conference speaker? Sure I can. I think a particular science fiction writer, for instance, has amazing stuff to say about characterization and voice. Religious perspective, not so much. But ah, the glory of having one’s own opinions about things. I think that a particular editor who regularly posts on her publishing house’s message boards has vital information to share about what she wants in her submissions, and if you want to write for her, then you’d be a fool not to read it. But if you don’t want to write for her, party on. Take some of it with a grain of salt. Believe that rock star heroes rock.
You see a lot of this crap in this industry, especially on internet boards, blog posts and email loops. People give out advice, and other people slavishly follow it, or universalize it, or seek to have it utterly stamped out if it doesn’t conform to their worldview. Wiser minds than mine have sought to excavate the root of this problem and drawn blanks. Me, I say it has to do with writerly insecurity. The thing I find most aggravating about this industry is that people insist that there is a magic code. Type it in, cross every T, dot every i, make sure you use the right buttons and press “execute” and you’re golden. If not, the island explodes and everyone dies.
(Ahem. Sorry. But I know I’m not the only one who wants to type in different numbers in to that ancient Apple). But this is crap. There’s no magic code. What works for one writer may not work for you. What works for one ediotr or agent or publishing house may not work for you. So for God’s sake, stop acting like there is ONE WAY. NOBODY IS RIGHT ABOUT THIS. NOBODY HAS THE RIGHT ANSWERS. NOBODY.
In the past few weeks, I’ve seen all these conversations about what you need to do based on a comment that one anonymous agent or other has made on their anonymous agent blogs. Miss Snark doesn’t like first person present. Agent 007 thinks cover photos shouldn’t make authors look like trolls. Posters go back and forth between these two blogs (and my own agent’s non-anonymous blog), desperately looking for validation or refutation: “Is it true? This other agent says this and this and this. Oh God, is it truuuuuuue?” The conversations have spilled over to my various email loops: I read this, I heard that, some editor at some conference said this and this and this, and all of a sudden any professional who dares show her face is bombarded with: accept or reject! Confirm or deny! This is what XYZ said, do you agree?
This is the answer. NO. YES.
Some agents agree. Some agents don’t. Some agents haven’t the first flippin’ clue what you are talking about.
Q: “I heard a writer say that you should just send in your proposal, even if the instructions say query only. Is this okay?”
A1: “No, you twit. I say query because that’s what I want!”
A2: “Whatever. I might read it if I have spare time.”
A3: “Yeah, I’d read it.”
Q: “Do you care what the author looks like?”
A1: “Huh?”
A2: “It doesn’t hurt if they aren’t trolls.”
A3: “Mmmm, hot authors. Helps if they’re single, too.”
Three answers. Three agents. Different industry people have different submissions requirements because, guess what? They are different! Some businesses are cash only. Some take don’t take American Express. Some have minimums for check orders. Do you go into your local hardware store and insist that they take your Discover Card just because another store will? I bet you don’t. You either suck it up and pay cash, or you go to another store that will accept the way you want to do business. Do you go back to the Discover-friendly store and ask them to validate your belief that the other store is a horrible horrible place because they won’t take your card and that they are doomed to perish and raise their children on the streets because they won’t? Bet you don’t do that, either. At most, you go to the Discover-friendly store and say, “I love that you take my credit card.”
But these people are not in for it. They want validation, dammit! They want to be told that the first agent was wrong, wrong, wrong. They want PROOF that the editor who told them that there wasn’t a market for that kind of material is shown up in the most humiliating way possible. They act as if it’s a personal affront when an industry professional — one out of a thousand — professes a view that they don’t agree with. They are PITTING these industry blogs against each other in a desperate bid to find the one and only Truth of the matter, the magic code, the Way, the whatever it takes to publish.
I believe this grows out of the long-held assumption on the part of many in the writing community that any advice passed down by an editor or agent is a holy edict to be held in awe and reverence at all cost and in any circumstance. It follows then, that if everything said by one of these folks is Right and True, then it’s IMPOSSIBLE for them to contradict one another, right?
It’s Publishing Fundamentalism. It sucks.
And it should be stopped.
Writers and agents and editors and others should not have to preface every opinion piece with “feel free to disagree with me” or “you may not agree with everything I say and that’s okay” or “that other agent blog is a nice chick even though I don’t agree with everything she says” or whatever other disclaimer the nice advice-givers feel obligated to provide to stem this tide of panic-driven malice. It’s understood that you don’t have to agree with someone else’s way of doing things. You 1) work out a compromise, or 2) find someone who agrees with you and you work with them.
Accept that not everyone is going to see things the same way you do, and that’s okay. Accept that there are no absolutes, there is no secret code, and that no one has all the answers. If they did, there’d be no point.
_________________________
Rant’s not over yet, we’re just switching tracks.
It has come to my attention that some people have taken issue with an opinion I expressed recently that it is wrong to represent yourself as a bestselling or award winning author if you are not. That I think it’s wrong is an opinion. That a person is or is not an award winning author or a bestseller is not an opinion; it’s a fact. A person who has won an award can point to the trophy or certificate or list of winners or whatever; a person who is on a bestseller list can name the list and the period on which their work occupied a place on said list. A person who is not an award winner or bestseller can do neither of these things.
Now, whether or not the viewer chooses to recognize that award or list? That’s more in the realm of opinion. There are a million awards and lists out there, and some of them are more valid than others. And the people who say that they are award winning writers when their awards have been won for something other than their writing? I think it’s the equivalent of having a PhD in English Literature and telling everyone you’re a doctor. Woo hoo for your awesome accomplishments, but they have nothing to do with what you’re touting.
You’re a hardworking individual enshrouded by an overwhelming sense of mystery, beauty, and intrigue. Though always on the go, you keep focused, helping — often rapturing — those you meet.
Take the What Pulp Fiction Character Are You? quiz.
|
The other night I had a visit from a college friend with whom I share an unbreakable bond: we worked together at a positively horrific job the year we graduated from college. It’s like having an old army buddy — our relationship is forged in blood and tears.
My friend — let’s call her Magenta, because she’d get a kick out of that — is now a hot snazzy lawyer in Manhattan. She’s also my number one fan, in the sense that she is the first person who ever styled herself as a fan of my novels. She was the first person to read my initial, stumbling attempt at novel-writing (this was before I’d joined RWA or realized how hard this whole thing really was), and she actually started up an email loop back in 2002 to distribute my hot-off-the-keyboard snippets of my work in progress, which would eventually be called MELTDOWN and would also eventually win a Maggie Award (and no, I’m never getting over that, so stop asking. I wuv my Maggie). Because Meltdown is about a pastry chef and has a very hot scene involving chocolate, and because Magenta is a fan of the Daily Candy website, we called the snippet emails DAILY CHOCOLATE. In its heyday, DC was forwarded to six people. I had six people rooting for me to sell that book. That was a lot, for that stage of my career.
Well, I finished that book, and I finished two others, and through it all, Magenta cheered me on. She went to dinner with me and helped me hammer out the original plot of LOST GIRLS, and even told me that she thought the title sucked and I should call it “Across the Line”. (I won that argument.) She read LOST GIRLS and she read NIGHT VISIONS, and she read the proposal for SECRET SOCIETY GIRL and was really excited that my protagonist Amy lived in her college. (Sailor Boy has one up on her, though, since Amy lives in his old dorm room.) Like me, like my editor, and hopefully like all the other young women who will read my book, Magenta sees a lot of herself in Amy. And considering that every character in my book is by necessity based on the people I went to college with, she’s not wrong.
When I went to NYC in June to meet with my editor and her boss, I went out with Magenta afterwards to spill. Outside of my writing friends and Sailor Boy, she is the friend that understands the most about what is going on with my career. Before the whole lawyering thing, Magenta worked for film companies
A few weeks ago, I finally sent her the complete, and last night was the first opportunity we had to talk about it. After everything I’ve just said, I doubt you’ll be surprised that the things she wanted me to tweak were the exact same things that my editor brought up in her eleven page revision letter. I felt as if she and Kerri were doing some sort of bizarre mind meld thing. Like they gotten together up in that mythical Manhattan place to gang up on me.
Sorry, don’t mind me. It’s a job hazard. I write about conspiracy theories for a living.
So I fed Magenta half a bottle of wine, and discussed my book, and discussed the website I’m prelimming (verbing weirds language, but I love it), and some of my thoughts about the sequel. Magenta is an excellent brainstormer. She gave me a lot to chew on and some really rocking ideas for the sequel. I’m getting pretty excited about starting it.
Thanks, hon, for everything, and especially for Daily Chocolate.
(Oh, and she brought me chocolate last night. How apt.)
PS: The Knight Agency blog has reprinted my post about high concept.
The previous post about when it’s okay to give up on a book inspired a discussion amongst the readers at work.
From a coworker whose sister is a librarian:
“If you are under 50, you read 50 pages and if you are over 50, you subtract how many years over from the total of 50. A 55-year old would only have to suffer through 45 pages before getting to quit.”
Can we add a caveat of “barring any egregious errors”? For instance, I have been known to ditch books for forgetting basic geographical laws of physics (i.e., one does not fly from Denver to New Zealand through Europe, and upon arriving there in July, does not go hiking in the South Island in a tank top and shorts. It’s the dead of winter, and the country ain’t too far from Antarctica), and I’ve tossed them when otherwise contemporary stylish characters don togs that haven’t been in style since Reagan left office.
As inspired by Trish Millburn’s recent post,
, I’d like to urge all writers to think not only about what age their characters are, but when they were born. When did they go to high school? What informed their views of society and politics and sex? The Berlin Wall fell when they were in elementary school. They never lived in the Cold War. (in fact, their image of war looks like the desert). If they are in their late twenties, they listened to grunge in high school. If they are younger, they listened to boy bands, or hip hop. They never wore shoulder pads. They haven’t worn leggings since elementary school (unless you count to yoga class). They’ve always known about safe sex. The younger ones don’t remember when MTV just played music. The older ones watched Beverly Hills 90210, and the younger ones watched Dawson’s Creek. They all watched Friends. They all watched the Simpsons (the younger ones don’t remember a time when The Simpsons weren’t on TV). The younger ones had cell phones in college, maybe even in high school.
As I was writing, I had to think about these things a lot. I wanted to think that Amy was just like me, but she’s actually 6 years younger than me. She was born in 1985. And in those 6 years, a lot has happened, even to change the campus landscape where I attended school. The cell phone thing was definitely one of them. Having cell phones changes the way you tell a story, just as it changes the way you make plans to meet with people. It changes everything. I think it was Jo Leigh (sorry, Jo, about breaking your blog!) who recently said that The X Files couldn’t have been made now that there are camera cell phones (unless the FBI forbids them!). A friend recently told me that she threw out a book by a well-known chick lit writer who included a major plot point that revolved around a savvy Manhattanite finding a pay phone. How easily could that have been fixed if she’d included a mention of how the character’s cell was broken, or wasn’t getting reception, or the battery was dead? Scott Westerfeld’s novel SO YESTERDAY has a major plot point that revolves around the use of a cell phone.
One piece of technology — a whole new world. So, think about that — thinks baout where your characters come from, what is a part of their worldview, what technology would inform their lives. And keep it contemporary. This isn’t 1995, it’s 2005.
A writer friend of mine was recently discussing pulling one of her old manuscripts out of retirement, but I think any rom suspense manuscript that was written more than five years ago would have to be massively reworked. Google is everyday now. Cell phones are ubiquitous. How would that change how the story works?
Here’s my author photo. I’m hoping I won’t embarrass myself, should, say, Agent 007 pick up a copy of my book.
Last night, I attended the Fictionista Chicklit Book Tour at the Washington Hard Rock Cafe (quoth Diana: We have a Hard Rock Cafe?) with Jennifer O’Connell, Kayla Perrin, Stephanie Lessing, and Josie Brown. These are four fabulous women, and I bought all of their books (except for Stephanie’s, which I’ve already read. SHE’S GOT ISSUES has now been optioned for television show production. How exciting is THAT?). Each woman spoke about what had inspired her to write a book, as well as what had inspired them to write their current releases. I think most of the people at the signing were aspiring writers themselves. I got to do a lot of thinking about how I’m going to answer the “Where do you get your ideas?” question I’m sure to start getting next summer!
And I’m not the only one who should be brushing up on her booksigning presentations. Two years ago, four other writers and myself started a private email group. Originally, we were all targetting a specific category line at Harlequin, but we soon diverted from that purpose and widened our net. Since the summer of 2003, every one of us who have actually finished a book (hint hint, nudge nudge, person-who-hasn’t!) has sold, with two of the sales happening in the past month! These are the ladies who gave me the gorgeous, carved wooden pen with which to sign my contract. We also have a running agreement that whoever sells their book has to buy the others lunch at RWA Nationals the following year. Well, in ATL, we’re getting two lunches!
I’d like to take this opportunity to congratulate Jana DeLeon, whose wacky southern mystery, Rumble on the Bayou will be released by Dorchester Publishing in 2006. I am so excited about this book! It’s a laugh riot — the opening scene stars a gator hopped up on heroin.
And a super big wahoo to Colleen Gleason, Golden Heart Class of 2003 (this chick has been teetering on the edge for a while now) whose Regency vampire slayer series just sold as part of a fabulous two-book deal to Claire Zion at NAL!
Oh, I’m happy.
How many chances do you give a book that is disappointing you? At what point do you give up completely and toss the sucker? Do you finish every book you start? How long do you give it?
Does it change if the author is one of your favorites vs. an author who is new to you? Do you give a book more chances if it’s getting a lot of buzz, or is by an established author than you do if it’s a debut by an unknown?
I’m currently struggling through a book by a rising midlist author. I’m on page 125, and my throwing arm has been twitching for the last few chapters. The writing has some rough spots, the dialogue seems forced in places, the plot needs a jump start, and the coincidences are almost more than a girl can take. The characterizations of the secondary character “friends” change from page to page depending on how they should reflect upon the protags (i.e., in one scene, the best friend is this ditzy wild child with a ne’er do well husband and wearing worn, holey clothing who doesn’t seem to care for appearances, and two chapters down the road the friend is a fun-loving, stylish fashionista that “turns heads” in a fashionable bistro and has a successful home and love life). In the last scene I read, one of the characters is breaking into the villain’s office in search of secret files. She knows the villain is a total neat freak who would notice if “even one sheet of paper was shifted” and so is extra careful in her snooping. Even when she hears his car pull up, she spends a good half a page making sure everything is in place and just the way she left it. However, in the midst of all this careful, fear-driven straightening up, we are told that “without thinking, she tossed her tissue in the empty wastebasket” and then she goes back to making sure nothing else has been touched!
Okay, leaving aside the character’s blatant TSTL tendencies, that was a damn clumsy way for the author to point out that the villain is most definiltey going to discover the snooping. I’m not a mystery reader, and I don’t pick up on “clues” when reading books (you’re talking to the girl who was surprised when Mr. Darcy proposed, m’kay?), but this clue wasn’t the slightest bit subtle, and it stuck out like a whitehead on a teen’s forehead. Have her forget to clean up something, have her not remember whether the chair was pushed in or pulled out, have her accidentally leave footprints on the floor — but in the midst making sure that everything is where it’s supposed to be, she “doesn’t think”?
Sorry. Not buying it. This might be the dealbreaker for me. How long do you give a book? How many chances does it get?
|
|
|
|
 |
