Adjusted for Inflation by Gabriel Valjan

Have you had success taking an old, perhaps previously abandoned, manuscript and breathed in new life before selling it?

 

A lot has changed in writing mysteries since Poe penned the first detective story in 1841, and the ante to please and entertain readers is high. Publishers seek fresh voices, though murder is as old as Cain and Abel.

 

Murder is murder, and it’s my trade.

 

We’ve become desensitized to sex and violence, thanks to cinema and media. It’s hard for Words to compete against Images. What was once implied on the screen or between the pages because of censorship laws is now graphic, so little is left to the imagination. Hammett implied homosexuality with the fragrance, at a time when gay meant fun and frivolous. With the flood of titles in crime fiction, the crimson path from the crime scene to the jail cell has become a variation on a theme.

 

The HOW to the crime was either clever or brutal, the WHO, diabolical or sadistic, and the WHY, obvious or obscure. The shelves are stocked with clichés, from the cozy amateur with the pet sidekick to the recovering alcoholic with anger management issues. Authors resorted to novelties, such as the story told from the criminal’s point of view (James Cain); a female unreliable narrator (Agatha Christie); a female Nero Wolfe (Gardner’s Bertha Cool); or the aberration of nature, the serial killer (Dorothy B. Hughes). 

 

Justice denied, however, angers readers.

 

I’m a harsh critic of my own work, in part because I know all the stories have been told and all the musical notes have been played and rearranged. I struggle to offer something compelling in a crowded field. While I focus on my use of language, I can hear the echoes and ricochets of other authors within my own pages, and especially when I wrote HUSH HUSH, the third Shane Cleary novel.

 

Writers will say the Beginnings and Endings sing, and the Middle often sags. Critics hail the freshman book and then eviscerate the sophomore. That wasn't the case for me. The first Shane, DIRTY OLD TOWN, was setup and fun. SYMPHONY ROAD introduced a love interest and another character arc. I went into HUSH knowing that I had to develop the romance between Shane and Bonnie, but the original crime I had written was milquetoast. The third time lacked charm. When I read the manuscript, there was no bravura opening to reel in the reader and the story lacked punch. The relationships were solid, but I needed to raise stakes and crank up Conflict.

 

In the few weeks before the deadline, I scrapped the plot and rewrote the novel. I sharpened the details for setting, so readers who knew the Seventies would experience nostalgia, and those who didn’t, would have a taste of the era. For the centerpiece of a story, I drew inspiration from true crime that had altered the racial landscape of Boston and forever altered jury selection in the United States. Therein I faced an ethical dilemma, and it wasn’t the obvious ones of fidelity or liberty with historical facts. It was the landmine of language.

 

Without spoiling the story for those who have not read HUSH HUSH, I had to make a decision that risked me being canceled. My revision, while accurate to the decade, prompted visceral reactions. I was told I couldn’t write it like that, which I found ironic. I am circumspect about how I write violence. Honestly, most writers get it wrong. I’ll leave it at that. I lived the Seventies, and I toned down the cynicism and the vitriol between ethnic groups. When I write dialog, I prefer subtext because it is elegant. Sex is funny to write because it is often comical in real life, and humor is the hardest thing to pull off well.

 

Yet, the wrong word said by the wrong person will bring on the villagers, their torches ablaze; their pitchforks, sharpened.

 

I opted for restraint and a clever context, and wrote a Foreword.

 

HUSH HUSH would be nominated for the Anthony and Shamus awards.

 

One thing has improved is the private eye, though. He is paid more. Marlowe asked for twenty-five dollars a day plus expenses, and Jim Rockford’s flat fee was $200 day. Adjusted for inflation and aggravation, 

 

I’m not sure, but it’s onward and forward for Shane Cleary.