Festival Finance by Poppy Gee

What do your writing expenses look like for a conference? Airfare, hotel, meals, books, booze? What about ROI (return on investment)? Are conferences worth the expense?

Poppy and New Zealand author Vanda Symon became good mates at a festival in the Huon Valley!

For rest and relaxation, my husband likes loading up his motorbike trailer, packing his swag and an esky full of food, and driving five hours west to camp by a river, beneath gum trees and the stars, usually with our boys and a bunch of friends. I like everything about that plan except the sound of the motorbikes and the dust.

For me, a fun holiday is to attend a writer’s festival (or conference, if you're in the USA). I love them. I love the panels, the people, the readers, the feeling of being away from home on a writerly trip. I don’t hope to get anything out of being there except the joy of hearing other writers talk about their work, of being around like-minded people, and the pleasure of meeting new friends.

I haven't travelled to many - maybe four interstate trips. I’m fortunate that where I live the excellent Brisbane Writers Festival is held every year. It goes for five days and hundreds of local and international authors congregate in a pretty area on the bank of the river next to the library. It costs me $17 to park, I usually spend $200-$300 on event tickets, and I buy books – that’s the most unpredictable cost. Last year I had a beautiful lunch with my writer friend Steve MinOn at a fancy restaurant nearby – that cost $40. I’ve bought a ticket to next year’s GenreCon, also located in Brisbane. It was $350 for a three-day conference. I think that’s expensive, but every year when I don’t go, I see everyone posting about it in their socials and I get FOMO.

The interstate trips I've taken are to Tasmania writers’ festivals - Terror Australis and Tamar Valley. The four times I went, I was there as a panellist, so my airfare and accommodation were paid for. I was paid about $300 to be on each panel. I paid for my own hire car, as I like to have my independence. The cost isn't that that bad. I don't make money, but I don't lose that much either. 

I haven’t managed to get to any other festivals in recent years because of family commitments. It’s hard to get away when you’re a mum. But those commitments are lessening, and I have some plans but nothing I can reveal yet – watch this space!

I think it’s worth paying for workshops and events when you admire, or are interested in, a particular author. This doesn’t always happen. And I feel bad as I proofread this piece, because I fear I'm becoming the curmudgeon-writer of the Criminal Minds gang. But I have a good cautionary tale... 

My cautionary tale occurred twenty years ago. I was a student. An opportunity came up to attend a three-hour workshop that was pitched along the lines of: meet this fantastic thriller writer and his Stanford educated, book-marketing guru wife, hone your author branding and leave with a sharply tuned marketing plan for your work-in-progress. Submit fifty pages and these two experts will start preparing your amazing marketing plan.

Twenty aspiring authors, including me, gathered in a room. The fantastic thriller writer was a debut author whose book hadn’t been released yet. The dynamic duo hadn’t read anyone’s pages; they seemed a bit confused about that aspect of it. The wife, a self-described marketing whiz, told us her marketing plans for her husband’s soon-to-be launched book. The advice was fairly basic, like – always thank your publisher at any public occasion and hand out business cards or book marks to anyone you meet. I laugh now but at the time I left feeling annoyed that it cost $100 to watch a weird husband/wife presentation. Needless to say, we left with no marketing plan or any helpful advice. They over-sold, and under-delivered and it was a big let down at the time. 

Most people in the industry can write, which means alluring descriptions of workshops can sound more wonderful than the reality of the outcomes. Therefore, writers need to do their research before paying for workshop spots or conference tickets. Do you like an author’s book? Is the line-up at a festival interesting? Or, is the event held in a place you’d like to visit? If so, it will be worth it. Writers generally don’t have vast disposable incomes, but I think it’s worth spending what money we can afford to be with other writers and book lovers. I’ve met beautiful friends through writers’ festivals - writers and readers - and I hope to make more at the next one I attend.

To illustrate my point ... by Catriona

What do your writing expenses look like for a conference? (Percentages are fine.) Airfare, hotel, meals, books, booze? What about ROI (return on investment)? Are conferences worth the expense? 

With the divine Mr M, Bouchercon, Raleigh, 2015

Did everyone read Eric yesterday? About how ungrateful it looks when you're nominated for an award and you don't even bother to show up? Well, I'm nominated for two Anthony awards at this year's Bouchercon and I won't be anywhere near it.

Michael Mueller, Kristopher Zgorski and me
 gussied up for the Malice banquet, 2018

Before you judge me, though - I had already committed to appear (and moderate a panel) at Bloody Scotland. Imagine emailing Big Bob McDevitt and saying "Yeah, find someone else, B-Boy, I got a better offer". 

Wee Blaize frae Skye 
at Bloody Scotland 2019

Speaking of Bloody Scotland, though, here's a snippet of info that might make some blood boil. At UK writing festivals . . . they pay the authors' hotel bills and give them a stipend. Doesn't help with the bar bills but it doesn't hurt. Also Britain is a titchy wee country and no one's travel costs very much, unless you decide to go by sedan chair, I suppose.

Banquet table, Left Coast Crime, 2019
when I made nine Americans wear Jimmy wigs

But back to the rough and tumble and six-hour flights on this side of the pond. I don't live anywhere near any of the cons that don't move - Malice Domestic in Bethesda, CrimeBake in New England somehere and Thrillerfest in NYC. So my year always includes that schlepp from Sacramento to Dulles to celebrate traditional mysteries, and a shorter hop to Left Coast Crime - Denver this year, mind you, so not that short - and usually another jaunt to wherever Bouchercon is. I'm going to Calgary next year and DC the year after.

Just about to relinquish the official seal of the office of 
the President of Sisters in Crime, Bouchercon, Long Beach, 2014 

Even with taking the window seat in an exit row on United (where you might have to hold the door closed) this isn't cheap.

When I land, I tell myself I'm using public transport to get to the hotel. I promise myself. I look up how easy and cheap the trains are . . . and book a Lyft. Every time.

Parnell Hall of blessed memory
on his way to his panel at LCC, Hawaii 2014

Then I get to the hotel and start charging eye-wateringly pricy food to my room for three days.

Next, I visit the book room and make it look like an episode of Supermarket Sweep (and that's before attending new authors' breakfasts and thinking they all sound great too). 

Book haul from Malice, 2022

There are two financially repsonsible things I do in the midst of all that. But not for reasons of prudence or frugality. I only ever drink club soda because every other soft drink is too sweet and I don't drink actual drink. And I never ship books home, because I'd rather pack my case with new books and ship dirty clothes. 

I reckon Left Coast Crime in Denver cost $1500 and Malice closer to $2000. 

Did I make that back in sales?

Diana Chambers and I repsonding to that
idea, at Left Coast Crime, Vancouver, 2019 

But, as Gabriel said on Tuesday, that's not in the same hemisphere as the point. Going to cons is about hugging people who're tiny little profile pics for the other fifty-one weeks of the year, hearing those new authors and hoping they don't notice you vampirically feeding off their shiny enthusiasm, hearing from readers of your books who know more stuff than you do, fangirling your favourite authors, getting into a lift with someone holding a book and knowing they want to talk about it and won't get off at the next floor to escape you, sharing imposter syndrome panics, moaning about bits of the industry that seem designed to quash all creativity, and making the memories that will get you through the fifty-one weeks to come.

My mum meeting MC Beaton
at Bloody Scotland 2014

How lucky are we that all of that is tax-deductible?

Cx

 

To go or not to go? by Eric Beetner

 What do your writing expenses look like for a conference? (Percentages are fine.) Airfare, hotel, meals, books, booze? What about ROI (return on investment)? Are conferences worth the expense?

This question comes at a timely moment for me. I had planned not to attend any conferences this year. My finances have been depleted as my day job industry (TV/Film) goes through a major readjustment if not a downright upheaval. So things have been tight around here.

I've had years where I can justify going to a Bouchercon or Left Coast Crime by showing my wife I am paying for the conference entirely from book royalties. Not so this year, or the last couple to be honest. And yet I find myself now in possession of plane tickets to New York in June and New Orleans in September. How, and why?

Well, I got nominated for awards. I hate to write that with a disparaging tone, but mixed with the elation of the nominations, came the crushing fact that I had to now decide whether to attend Thrillerfest in NYC and Bouchercon in New Orleans. 

I feel like it's the least I can do to show up if I get nominated for an award. Plus, there's a darn good chance it may never happen again, so I don't want to miss out on the experience. Not to be overly self-deprecating, but I don't hold out much hope of winning. The nomination is the win in both cases. But on the off-chance my name is called, I'd feel ungrateful if I were not there to accept and to break out the dusty acceptance speech I've had in my pocket for years as nominations come and go with zero wins under my belt.

I attended Thrillerfest only once before when I was nominated in the Short Story category (this time it's for Best Series Novel). Thrillerfest was a grand time, but it's no secret that it is the most expensive conference out there. ITW does a great job of putting on a show, but just being in NYC makes it more than most cons. So that one wasn't on my radar at all.

I've been to ten Bouchercons at this point and I love seeing old friends and making new ones. I've met future agents at Bouchercon, met writers I admire. All the non-monetary reasons to attend. 

If you think going to a conference and appearing on a panel is your ticket to soaring sales numbers, I have bad news for you.

If you're contemplating going, think of it as any other trip. You're not going to recoup your investment in dollars, but in experience. 

For Bcon this year, it falls a day after my 25th anniversary and my wife has never been to New Orleans, so we're going to make a weekend of it. I honestly won't be around the conference halls much as I'll be out seeing the city with my wife as much as I'll be doing book related things. Perhaps she'll be my good luck charm for the Anthony Award where my novel The Last Few Miles Of Road is nominated in the Best Paperback original category. 

But boy they do add up. Even with discounted room rates, there are still fights, meals, books to buy. I don't drink so I save on the booze, so that's something. But figure at least $1200 for a weekend away. 

As others have said, the "worth it" factor is all in the experience. I was fine skipping out on the experience this year, but now with award nominations, the experience changed for me and justified the cost. So that tells me what the experience is worth.

Now, will it be more "worth it" if I come home with awards in hand? Absolutely. I don't mind saying so. Maybe I can get rid of this old speech in my pocket too. But whatever happens, I'll go in trying to make the most of what I've spent and come away with memories, hopefully some new contacts and new friends, and this time I promise to take pictures. (I'm sure I'll forget. Again)

Next year, though...pending any nominations, I plan to lay low.

The LOL of ROI, by Gabriel Valjan

 

What do your writing expenses look like for a conference? (Percentages are fine.) Airfare, hotel, meals, books, booze? What about ROI (return on investment)? Are conferences worth the expense?

Let’s just say I could fly to Europe, or I could go to Bouchercon. 

 

Same price point, wildly different emotional outcomes.

 

Rough breakdown:

X% hotel (writers need sleep, allegedly)
X% travel (planes, trains, Uber, and the privilege of TSA judging your bookmarks)
X% meals (half of which are Hit-or-Miss)
X% books (some are signed, some to support friends, some I swear are ‘research’)
X% Registration fee (for the right to speak on a panel called Murder Is Success)
X% bar tab (which somehow buys more responses than your query letter ever did)

 

X varies with the venue. Both Malice Domestic and New England Crimebake are fixed on the map, whereas Bouchercon is a mobile beast.

 

ROI? [Return on Investment, if you didn’t know the acronym]
If you mean “Do I make back the money in book sales?” Excuse me while I laugh through the ambiguity of tears. If you’re looking for a clean return, go invest in crypto. The answer is NO. Definitely not.

 

Conferences aren’t stocks. But if you’re talking about the kind of ROI that builds careers—maybe. Cons are where relationships start, where a face replaces a social media handle, and where people remember your name two years later when a panel needs a chair filled, or an editor needs to fill a vacancy in an anthology.

 

Malice Domestic is where the bodies are politely arranged in Bethesda. Heavy on traditional mysteries, light on blood spatter, but don’t mistake cozy for soft. The fans are loyal. If you show up with respect for the genre, even if you write darker—they notice.

 

Bouchercon is Disneyland with corpses. Bright lights, big names, packed panels, and sensory overload for the introverted soul. It’s loud, fast, chaotic—and it’s where you swim in international waters. Things happen there. You just have to stay afloat long enough to catch the wave.

 

Crimebake is smaller, local, and fun, though the location and food leave much to be desired. You come to work. To connect. To pitch. To learn. It’s the least expensive, but not lightweight. The lobster mascot Lola might be cute, but the writers are sharp and smart. And if you’re one of them, they take you in because Crimebake is like attending a family reunion.

 

So yes—conferences cost money. But they also build trust, visibility, and community, which are the currency of this business. You don’t “buy access.” You show up. You listen. You contribute. That’s the investment. If you’re lucky, you land an agent, walk away with an Agatha teapot, or an Anthony award, and friends for a lifetime, especially when writing and the rejections diminish you. We write outlines of bodies in fiction, other times we feel like real ones.

 

The returns don’t show up on a receipt, even if all you do is come home with a stack of new books, a fresh burst of inspiration, and a slight hangover.

 

That’s still a win until I open the door and I have to make amends with my cat Munchkin.

 

Money Money Money...

 

What do your writing expenses look like for a conference? Airfare, hotel, meals, books, booze. What about ROI (return on investment)? Are conferences worth the expense?

 

What a question! And a question that every writer probably has asked themselves at one point or another during their journey. I saw a post from a fairly well-established writer a while ago struggling with a decision on whether to attend a major upcoming conference. They ultimately decided against because the royalties they earned this year would not cover the cost of the conference. Something I had never thought of before. To be fair, if I used my royalties as a deciding factor on whether to attend a conference it might be a while before I saw any of my wonderful writing friends again.

The last conference I attended was Bouchercon 2024. In between flight, hotel at a massive, expensive resort where nothing cost less than $20, food, books, and of course wine, that conference cost me a few thousand dollars, easy. For that price I got the pleasure of seeing old friends, meeting a few new ones, and hopefully finding a few new readers. Was it worth it?

I think how you answer that question depends on where you are in your writing journey. If you are a new writer, I think a good writer’s conference is invaluable. Writers need other writers, to encourage, support, and tell us we’re not absolutely crazy for fighting so hard to be a part of this world. And when you’re used to writing alone there is no better place to find other writing friends than a writing conference. If you’re lucky those friends will stay with you throughout your writing career. I honestly believe I would not have a writing career had I never went to a writer’s conference. We live in a world where sometimes it’s not what you know, it’s who you know, and the writing world is no different.

There is another benefit of attending a writer’s conference that cannot be measured in dollars and cents. Inspiration. I never feel more inspired than after returning home from a few days of being surrounded by all things writing. The nights at the bar talking writing. Listening to a writer you long admired talk about their process. Meeting your writing hero or heroine. And, of course, feeling like a writer. That’s a big one. Most of us, especially those of us who still work a 9 to 5 never really get to feel like a writer in our everyday lives, so it’s cool to feel like a writer only, even if it's just for a few days. That feeling is priceless.

I have three conferences that I love. I try to go to at least one of them every year when my coins allow. I come home feeling refreshed, accomplished, and loaded down with more books than I'll ever be able to read. It's the best feeling in the world.

 So, are writing conferences, worth it? Maybe not on paper, if you look at it from a strictly dollars and cents standpoint. But for me the FOMO is far greater than my struggling bank account. So, I’ll see you there.

 

Deleting the 'is' and 'was' - possible or impossible? by Harini Nagendra

Look at your last book and count the number of times you used is, are, was, and were. Thoughts? Lessons learned? 

I must confess, the first time I saw today's question, I was very confused - what was wrong with using 'is, are, was and were'? Then I read some more. Many contemporary writing coaches and editors suggest that this entire set of words - all variants of the verb 'to be' - should be, if not deleted from one's writing vocabulary (which is clearly an impossible task), at least minimized. 

But why? Experts argue that these words are 'passive' (some even insist that these words belong to constructions written in the passive voice - which is not always true). Many argue for the use of stronger word choices, which could vastly improve the construction of their sentences, making their writing more powerful.

I did what several of my fellow Minds did this week, like James Ziskin - who found thirteen uses of 'was' and 'were' in the opening paragraph of A Tale of Two Cities. I love the book too, it's one of my all time favorites. 

I looked at another of the writers I love best - albeit one who writes in a very different style from Dickens - A.A. Milne. 

“Well," said Pooh, "what I like best," and then he had to stop and think. Because although Eating Honey was a very good thing to do, there was a moment just before you began to eat it which was better than when you were, but he didn't know what it was called.

How could you rewrite this beauty of a paragraph without the 'was' and 'were' and improve on it? I defy you to. It would remove the very Pooh-ness of Winnie The's character if you edited his speech.

Ah, but that's dialogue, you might argue. What about narrative?

Here's another of my favorite writers - Lewis Carroll, writing Alice in Wonderland, in a descriptive paragraph without any dialogue.

Either the well was very deep, or she fell very slowly, for she had plenty of time as she went down to look about her, and to wonder what was going to happen next. First, she tried to look down and make out what she was coming to, but it was too dark to see anything: then she looked at the sides of the well, and noticed that they were filled with cupboards and book-shelves: here and there she saw maps and pictures hung upon pegs. She took down a jar from one of the shelves as she passed: it was labeled "ORANGE MARMALADE," but to her great disappointment it was empty: she did not like to drop the jar, for fear of killing somebody underneath, so managed to put it into one of the cupboards as she fell past it.

This is writing packed with action - a descriptive paragraph that no one (in their right mind) would term passive.

Phew. Such a relief to see this. Despite my explorations, it was with some trepidation that I decided to follow the rules of the assignment, which was to look at my own writing and see how much I used the various variations of to-be.

In my non-fiction? 2-3%. Sample size - 4 books. 

In my fiction? 2-2.4%. Sample size - 4 books.

That seems about right. Non-fiction, especially about ecology, is descriptive and I tend to use more of the 'to-be' words - but looking back at my fiction books, there are certainly sentences which I feel I could rewrite, replacing these verbs to create alternate versions that would make them punchier. And of course, equally, there are sections where I've used these words, but wouldn't want to edit to delete them.

It's been a fun exercise responding to this question, and a very educative experience too. If you'd like to read an interesting exchange of views on Reddit on this theme (with some hilarious comments) - here's this one

What is your opinion about "was" : r/writing  

 Until next fortnight!

-Harini 

   

  

To Be Is the Strongest Verb from James W. Ziskin

Look at your last book and count the number of times you used is, are, was, and were. Thoughts? Lessons learned? 

This week’s question deals with the verb “to be.” Since we mostly write in the past tense, I’ve decided to concentrate on “was” and “were,” instead of the present “am,” “is,” and “are.”

Dickens opens A TALE OF TWO CITIES with this famous passage: 

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way – in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.

That’s thirteen instances of “was/were” in the first paragraph. (And “being,” too.) Technically, in the first sentence…

We writers are taught to embrace so-called strong verbs (except when attributing dialogue. I’ve written about that random contradiction several times in this space, most recently on January 9, 2025.) The implication of this week’s question—posed by me, true enough—is that the verb “to be” is weak. If that’s so, how should we feel about Dickens’s colossal run-on sentence above? Not only does he repeat a form of “to be” thirteen times, he blatantly flouts the rule of three in the process! They say he wasn’t actually paid by the word, but that opening passage begs to differ.

Regardless of the word count, A TALE OF TWO CITIES makes me feel a little better about sharing how many “was-es” I use in my work. In my latest book, THE PRANK (July 2026), “was” accounts for 2.45% of all the words I wrote. I choked on that number. That seemed like a lot to me. So I counted “was” in a different book I’d written, TURN TO STONE. Whew! Much better: 1.69%. In A STONE’S THROW, the total was 1.65% and STONE COLD DEAD clocked in at 1.54%.

Why the discrepancy? Without proof, I can only hypothesize that the narrator in THE PRANK is to blame. He is a thirteen-year-old boy, after all. Perhaps his age explains why. His language is simpler than that of my trusty heroine, Ellie Stone, in TURN TO STONE, A STONE’S THROW, and STONE COLD DEAD.

But is this a problem at all? Is the overuse of “to be” wrong? Is it a weak verb?

I’ll be contrarian here and say that, despite popular opinion, “to be” is perhaps the strongest verb there is. (Notice how I used it in one form or another four times in that sentence?) 

We’re taught in school that verbs describe action, and “to be” certainly doesn't do that. But it is a verb. It describes essence (a word that comes to us from Latin, from the present participle of esse—to be). “To be” is actually a tremendously versatile word, which is why we use it so much. It can act as an intransitive verb with many shades of meaning, from existence, to belonging, identity, coming and going, and more. 

It’s also an essential (another word related to “to be”) auxiliary verb, used in many tenses: 

present continuous—I am going

present perfect continuous—I have been going

past continuous—I was going

past perfect continuous—I had been going

As well as the conditional and future continuous tenses:

I would be going

I would have been going

I will be going

I will have been going

And, of course—my favorite—“to be” used to be used as the auxiliary verb for several intransitive verbs in the present perfect:

He is come

He is risen

How the mighty are fallen

As a French and (former) Italian teacher, I am happy to point this out to my students who struggle to understand why the auxiliary verb for some verbs is être in French and essere in Italian. (Hint, these are intransitive verbs—they can’t take a direct object.)

Je suis allé au marché.

Sono andato al mercato.

It’s fascinating to me that, despite English and Romance languages coming from different language families, the word “to be” fills (or used to fill, in the case of English) this function as auxiliary verb for intransitive verb constructions. And guess what. In German it’s the same. “Sein” (to be) is the auxiliary for the present perfect of intransitive verbs, e.g. “Er ist wahrhaftig auferstanden!” 

Damn! “To be” is one bad m&%^fing verb!

“To be” is also our most irregular verb. I am, you are, he/she is, etc. And it’s our most common verb. If it weren’t so common, of course, its “irregularity” would never survive. It would “regularize” because no one would remember its forms. “To be” is also the most irregular verb in German, French, Italian, Spanish, Portuguese, etc.

Okay, but I’ve strayed from the subject at hand, which is do we overuse the verb “to be” in our work and what do we think about that? As a reality check, I counted the word “was” in Raymond Chandler’s THE BIG SLEEP. 1.45% of the words. That’s a lower percentage than I use. Hmm. I should definitely pay attention to this. Not necessarily change anything, but definitely be aware of it going forward. 

Then, when I was feeling down about my overuse of “was,” I had the idea to check a book written with a young narrator, THE CATCHER IN THE RYE. And what did I find? Approximately 2.5% of the words in that book is “was.”

VINDICATION!🎈🎉

Finally, just to cover all (some of) the bases, I thought I’d check a book written in the present tense and chose our own Terry Shames’s MURDER AT THE JUBILEE RALLY. As I suspected, “was” accounted for a far lower percentage of the words used, a paltry 0.925%. (Great book, by the way. Love me some Samuel Craddock!) Bravo, Terry!

CONCLUSIONS

I’d like to think that a book can have anywhere from 0.8% to, say, 3.0% usage of “was” and still be okay. It all depends on the narrator, the point of view, and the individual style. Still, as for any other word we choose to include in our writing, we should always remain vigilant and challenge it at every turn. “Was” must be the right word or we must strike it out.

Let the arguing begin in the comments!

Slvjkn

Lurking in the prose

Look at your last book and count the number of times you used is, are, was, and were. Thoughts? Lessons learned?

by Dietrich

Overusing auxiliary verbs weakens the prose, waters the action and makes the story less engaging. The question got me thinking about whether I was guilty of this, so I took a look at the opening for Dirty Little War. It’s a small part of the first chapter (just 564 words), but let’s check it for culprits.

Huck was getting a sinking feeling about the whole set-up, no place for the Marquis of Queensbury rules here, that’s for sure. No fancy dancing around a roped ring, just a good punch-up, two men going toe to toe till one went down. Taped hands and thirty seconds between rounds, the fight over when one fighter went down and stayed down past an eight count.

This city where pro fights had been banned along with the booze, where every man loved his sport as “much as his drink. The sport living on in secret alleys and out behind boxcars like this, waiting for its comeback on this one-time swampland connecting to the city’s rail lines, out of sight of the Exchange. The foul stench coming from the stockyards, stinging the eyes, the livestock pens holding hundreds of hogs.

Not a corner man or ring doctor — no corner and no ring, not even a spit bucket — and not a man in this crowd caring about the size or reach of either opponent, just a crowd fueled by booze, come to bet on the bare-knuckling. One or two of them giving the occasional look over at the man holding the bet money. The man with a smile on his face, and the bulge of a pistol under the coat.

Huck stepped to the line and showed his hands, Nails Morton pitting him against a rawboned Neanderthal now stepping to the line, giving Huck a hard look, a front tooth missing.

“I seen a hundred of you, and . . .” Grinding his hands together and growling.

Nails clapped Huck on the back like they were pals, saying, “You want some good advice, take the fall.” Smiling over at his gangster pals, two of them working the crowd, taking the bets, both with satchels holding the wagers slung over their shoulders, both with pistols shoved in their belts. Both scratching on notepads, taking bets on the rounds, giving odds on the prediction.

“Thanks just the same,” Huck said, smelling booze on the guy facing him.

“Maybe I ain’t being plain enough.” Nails smiled, leaning in again, his jacket falling open enough for Huck to see the butt of the pistol.

“I get you fine,” Huck said. “You say it nice and promise me more than the five, undo your coat and show me you ain’t asking.”

“You do catch on.” Nails kept the smile.

Huck looked at the circle of men on the tear, some still placing bets, and this two-bit crook acting like that Rothstein, the gangster who put in the fix and got the Sox to throw the World Series a year back, eight players in on it, all taking payoffs, losing to the Reds and causing a scandal that got them banned for life for their troubles.

“It’s more than advice,” Nails said. “A show of friendship if you will.”

“We friends now?”

“Could be.”

“Well, friend, like I told you, I don’t dive.”

“Then here’s my final number. Around here we call it a cut . . .” Looking eye to eye, Nails said, “A good show and it’s ten points of what we pull in. This crowd, I’m guessing you make ten easy, could be more. How’s that sound?”

“Sounds like you’re not hearing the no part.”

“Then, you could be looking at a different kind of cut.” The smile was gone now.

I used “was” twice and “were” only once. So, no overuse there. But, there are a couple of instances where “ain’t” was used, although I can get away with the improper contraction in dialog, pointing to the speaker’s low socio status.

 

In the back of my mind, I’m generally aware of grammar slip-ups like subject-verb agreement, overuse of passive construction, dangling modifiers and so on, but, I tend to toss the rule book out the window, especially when I’m writing dialog. That’s when I dip into the modal verbs and idiomatic phrases like “Going toe to toe” and adverbial phrases like “looking eye to eye.” And I often use fragments to give my writing that clipped tone, although at times I go the other way and use run-on sentences and comma splits if it suits the flow. I must drive my poor copy editor bonkers.

In the end, I believe creative writing stems from a deeper place than where the knowledge of grammar rules lies. And I look up to the greats like Cormac McCarthy, Elmore Leonard, Jack Kerouac and Toni Morrison, who all broke the rules and pushed the boundaries of language.

Not "To be"

 

Terry here, with our question of the week: Look at your last book and count the number of times you used is, are, was, and were. Thoughts? Lessons learned? 

 I have belonged to a particular writer’s group for thirty years. Many years ago one of the members brought the use of the word “to be” to our attention. She cautioned that those words—is, are, and were--could be stand-ins for stronger verbs: Instead of “Jim Ziskin IS coming for dinner. Mary IS going to serve soup,” say, “Jim Ziskin promised to come for dinner. Mary plans to serve soup.” The second is livelier, with verbs that have more action than the simple “is.” 

 Oh those pesky “favorite words.” I hardly see them when I’m writing. It’s not just the verbs stemming from “to be,” but also words like “just” or its twin “just about,” or “thing,” as in “something, anything, nothing.” The problem IS that replacing them might lead to stilted usages. But often their use IS lazy, and that’s (IS) what editing hopes to ferret out. As writers we can try to replace them with stronger words, words that actually have more meaning. 

Once, in a critique I told an author that he used the word “thing” to hide what he really meant. As in, one character asking the other, “What is this thing we’ve got between us?” “Thing” could mean, well, ANYthing. I wanted to know what the real question was: “What is this emotional pull we’ve got between us?” “What is this animosity that comes between us?” “What is this…” And by the way, “got” is another one of those lazy words. How much stronger this would be: “What feelings are we fighting?” Oops, “are” shows up in the sentence. So another stab at rewriting, “What feelings between us do we constantly struggle with?” (using “do instead of are feels like a cheat). Oddly, it feels stilted. Would one person actually say that to another? And that’s the bottom line: IS it authentic? 

 “To be” is powerful. As humans “being” is everything. By using the conjugations of “to be” we are always announcing ourselves. “I AM here!”

And we acknowledge others, “He IS here.” 

 In order to fulfill this week’s question, I reread the first couple of pages of the latest Samuel Craddock that will come out in December: The first page: 

“It’s (IS) just me.” 

 It’s (IS) Loretta…She’s (IS) here with another bagful of… 

 It’s (IS) only seven in the morning…” 

 Later in the page, “He (Dusty) IS sniffing the air…” 

 I thought about how I could I make those sentences stronger, how I could avoid the use of the dreaded “Is.” In the first sentence, nothing came to mine. This is the way people talk. “Hi, it’s me.” A human announcing herself: I am! 

 But in the second instance I could amend it to, “Loretta has arrived with another bag of…” 

 And then, “It’s only seven.” Can’t think of another way to say it. That’s the way we use time: IT IS. 

 As for Dusty, I could say, “Dusty sniffs the air….” But is it really worth combing through acres of prose to find those little nits to pick?

 I try in my writing to use lively language, verbs that convey more than “It is.” But in dialogue, to be authentic, it’s sometimes impossible to avoid "it is" without having a character sound awkward. Still, I write with an eye to punching up the language, making it livelier and more engaging. That IS all we can ask.

By the way, the title of the new Craddock is (note is) The Curious Poisoning of Jewel Barnes. No cover yet, but stay tuned...

The Was Word

Look at your last book and count the number of times you used is, are, was, and were. Thoughts? Lessons learned?

Brenda

This question looks innocuous on the surface, but it brings up a writing no-no. Overuse of the little 'is' verb in all its tenses. It's a non-action, boring word and often overused. A writing pit we often fall into.

I'm always aware when writing not to overuse the passive voice (which uses the was word). For example: "The pie was eaten by us," is passive while, "We ate the pie" is active. In other words, the subject is doing the action not having the action done to it.

The conundrum for me is that when writing in the past tense, there will always be a lot of was and were required. "She was dressed in a sheepskin coat and knee-high boots." The 'was' is needed to put the active verb into the past tense.

And then, sometimes, it's more fitting to say, "She was a nurse at the Ottawa Hospital," instead of "She graduated with a nursing degree and held down a full-time position at the Ottawa Hospital". Sometimes concise works better, but this depends on the context, the importance placed on the information, and the surrounding text.

On another note, I've noted in my writing of late is the repetition of action verbs. After rereading an entire manuscript, I noticed that I'd used the verb 'strode' several times. Strode (stride, striding) does provide an image of someone walking briskly or with purpose, but it's difficult to find another one-word verb synonym. Still, it's easy to overuse a verb or any word for that matter. Sometimes, 'was' or 'were' is all that's required so as not to become too over the top. But I digress.

This week's question asks what I've learned about the use of was. I would say that writing requires all word usage in balance. It's not always wrong to write something in the passive voice, but you should be aware of when and why you're choosing to use it. I also believe that too many action verbs can detract from a story and 'was' or 'were' can be a welcome break.

As an aside, I also recall some advice about selecting a more obscure word that will stand out in a reader's mind and only using said word once in a story. The same would go with an image or phrase. For example if I wrote, "He bolted down his meal," I would not use the verb 'bolted again and definitely wouldn't have him or another character bolt down another meal.

The book should work as a whole and not have any words to jar the reader out of the story. Writing a novel or any piece of text is a balancing act with a final product that should appear to flow effortlessly without showing all the work that goes on behind the scenes.

Website: www.brendachapman.ca

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The Artist's Choice by Poppy Gee

CW: reference to a paedophile

A writer whose work you admire A LOT turns out to be a disgusting pervert. Do you stop reading their work? Do you hold your nose with one hand as you turn the pages with the other? Do you refuse to be on a panel with them?

Personally, I think it’s important for writers to stand for something. You should have something to say, otherwise your work risks being boring or pointless. Every creative project needs to have a purpose – even if it’s as simple as making people laugh or seeing beauty in the ordinary. Writers block, in my opinion, happens because you don’t have anything urgent to say. And I think that if you stand for something in your writing, then you should stand for something in your life, too.

If asked to sit on a literary panel beside a pervert, I would decline the invitation. This is not a situation where you disagree with someone over politics or ideas. If a person has been found to be, or has admitted to being, a disgusting pervert, they’ve hurt someone. That’s a clear-cut case - they don’t deserve my time or attention.

However, if I knew a book was written by a disgusting pervert, I might be curious to read it. I wouldn’t necessarily recommend it to others. If I was compelled to talk about it with someone, I’d also share the pervert’s background information. Readers, and consumers of art, should be given this information as they consider the merits of the artistic endeavour.

This is where some institutions have got it wrong in the past. A decade ago, in the Tweed River’s undulating hills of orchards and rainforest a few hours’ drive south of here, an art gallery featured a photographic portrait of the self-confessed paedophilic painter Donald Friend. The now deceased Friend lived in Bali for more than twenty years where he employed houseboys and gardeners and spent his days entertaining famous guests with orchestras of local musicians, eating and drinking decadently, and collecting art and antiques. Many of the paintings the famous painter produced in his lifetime – he died in 1989, aged 74 – are sexually suggestive images of local boys.

In 2016, the Tweed Regional Gallery displayed a portrait of Friend and was selling copies of a biography about him in their gift shop. The biography was compiled from Donald Friend’s own extensive diaries, in which he wrote candidly about ‘sexual experiences’ he’d had with boys in Indonesia and other island nations throughout his life. For the casual visitor, strolling through that gallery, there was no context in the exhibition revealing that this man was a self-confessed serial paedophile. After six months of public pressure, the gallery removed Donald Friend’s portrait.

At the time, this gallery was not alone in this moral dilemma, as major art galleries across Australia had displayed Friend’s work. Even when it is not on display, you can view his art on their websites. To date, most organisations have added contextual statements regarding Friend’s paedophilic proclivities.

As a society, we don’t quite know what to do when sex offenders create art that we like. The list stretches from Paul Gauguin to Rolf Harris, and Roman Polanski to Bill Cosby. There is a writer I could name but I think his case is still grinding slowly through the judicial system – although I note he was mentioned in the comments of Catriona’s piece! Do we burn their work? Do we put it on display with contextual explainers? Do we hide it away in storage? Even storing it, though, seems to suggest that there is public interest in allowing it to survive for future perusal.

In my opinion – the art/film/book should be available with context. People should be able to see it and decide for themselves. Have a note on Netflix – this actor or director is convicted of (insert crime here). Have a sticker on the book – Convicted of (whatever it was). It might sound silly but there is a bit of sense in it.

My ideology on the ethics of consuming art produced by questionable people can be applied to other issues. When it comes to Palestine, the layers of Australia’s so-called civilised literary scene have been peeled back. There is a woman writer who went out of her way to have (mainly Arab) writers fired from their day jobs, to get their publishers to cancel contracts, to get their workshops etc cancelled. Recently, I almost signed up to a writing workshop that interested me. When I saw this woman was involved in it, I decided not to do it. I don’t want to support someone who tried to destroy the careers of other (in some cases, very financially vulnerable) writers.

Thinking about the art you consume is as important as thinking about the art you create.

Oh HAIL no, by Catriona

A writer whose work you admire A LOT turns out to be a disgusting pervert. Do you stop reading their work? Do you hold your nose with one hand as you turn the pages with the other? Do you refuse to be on a panel with them?

"Perversion" is an odd word, isn't it? I mean, there are loads of areas in life where I do think there's "one true path" to lose sight of and end up perverted. Children should be safe and warm and fed. That's an easy one. All people are created equal. Thanks, America - you nailed it there. 

But we're rarely thinking of sociopaths and supremacists when the word "pervert" comes up.

In the usual meaning of the word - hissed through pursed lips while pearls grind from all the clutching, I don't really care if someone else's enthusiasms disgust me as long as I'm not expected to take part in them and they're the freely-made choice of everyone who does take part in them.

There's the rub. If "pervert" is taken to mean "predator" then, as Eric said, I'm happy for the freed-up shelf space. Roman "but it was years ago" Polanski - no thanks. Woody "she's not my *biological* daughter" Allan - nope. Alice "I'm just the enabler" Munro - still no. Brendan Dubois - I didn't own anything to throw out but take a guess. 

Same goes for bullies and "bully" includes, for me, all racists, sexists, homophobes, transphobes, Islamophobes, Antisemites, ableists and eugenicists. It doesn't matter if they're bullying me. In fact, I tend to be fiercer when it's someone else getting it. And I get really angry whenever some fellow straight white assumes they can relax and put down the burden of pretending to care about others because it's just us and I'm one of them. Surprise!

Then, OMG the whining. No one whines like a straight white who thought they could take a rest from the endless weight of having to be . . . a halfway decent human being. Waaah. And bringing it up is so divisive! Sob.

I'm a huge fan of divisiveness. Some people are Nazis. If we weren't divided, it'd be Nazis all the way down.

Cx

p.s. You'd think I'd be in a better mood today what with the Anthony nominations coming out and we at Criminal Minds racking up five between us. Two for Gabriel, two for me and one for Eric!