Lets Talk Titles

 

Let’s Talk Titles

Do you start with one, or does it emerge organically from your writing process? How important is a title in shaping your project—or even selling it?

I’ve had titles arrive fully formed, like a gift from the muse, and others fight me all the way to final edits. And even then, I’m still second-guessing.

But let’s back up.

Take my story “Satan’s Spit,” nominated this year for an Agatha, Anthony, and Macavity. Sounds dramatic, maybe even dangerous, right?

The inspiration?

A meme about a bottle of Mercurochrome — that flaming red antiseptic from hell that haunted medicine cabinets in the ’70s, was repurposed as Satan’s Spit in a graphic online. I laughed. Then cringed. I can still feel the demonic sting. I remembered my grandmother asking, “Do you know how to dance?” before she dabbed it on my raw elbow.

Her question, that bottle, that pain? That’s how I ended up writing a Depression-era crime story involving blues music, a young girl passing as a boy to survive — and a murder. The title had to be Satan’s Spit. Nothing else burned quite right.

Sometimes a title comes first, and the story spins around it. Other times, it creeps in later.

Let me show you what I mean.

 

SHANE CLEARY MYSTERIES

1. Dirty Old Town is the first Shane Cleary mystery, set in 1970s Boston, when the city was gritty, polluted, and violent. I thought of the busing crisis, the Pogues, the Dropkick Murphys. The music gave me the mood — and the mood gave me the title.

2. Symphony Road

Named after the actual Boston street where a string of suspicious fires broke out. The novel’s about arson-for-profit. Sometimes the setting is the title.

3. Hush Hush

A mix of fact and fiction: I borrowed from Hush-Hush, the scandal rag in L.A. Confidential, and wove in the real-life murder of Andrew Puopolo and the legal fallout. Gossip, power, and justice — all in a whisper.

4. Liar’s Dice

Yes, it’s a dice game where deception is strategy, but it’s also a metaphor for every bad decision in the book.

5. The Big Lie

A tip of the fedora to Chandler’s The Big Sleep, but also a meditation on lies.

Got a ballot? This one’s been nominated for both an Anthony and a Shamus this year.

 

THE COMPANY FILES

1. The Good Man

Set in post-WWII Vienna. The title asks a question: Can you be a good man and still work for the Company, especially when your job is recruiting ex-Nazis to beat the Soviets? The Third Man and Vienna cast a long shadow here, but I wanted to show how moral ambiguity wasn’t just noir—it was U.S. policy.

2. The Naming Game

It’s McCarthy, the Red Scare, and writing for a movie studio. Who’s loyal? Who’s naming names? And who’s playing along to survive?

3. Devil’s Music

This one tormented me. I started with Diminished Fifth — a nod to both classical music theory and Lillian Hellman clever use of the Fifth Amendment. But it was too obscure, so I went full metal: think Black Sabbath’s “Black Sabbath,” inspired by Holst’s “Mars, the Bringer of War.” The two pieces of music are built around a tritone, aka diabolus in musica.

4. Eyes to Deceit (Coming November, fingers crossed)

This one fought me hard. It’s about the joint CIA/MI6 coup in Iran, 1953 — a geopolitical web of intrigue around oil, lies, and betrayal. With a subplot set in the Borscht Belt, no less. I had a dozen working titles. Some too dry, some too dramatic. I finally landed here. And it stuck.

So… How Important Is a Title?

It’s not everything. But it sure helps.

A good title sets the tone, signals the genre, and sometimes it’s lure a reader. Sometimes, it’s the one thing a reader remembers months later.

Just make sure it doesn’t sound like a lost IKEA product. (Diminished Fifth, I’m looking at you.)

So yes, titles matter. But if all else fails?

Find a weird childhood memory, or a grandmother with a sense of humor.

The story — and the title — will find you.

A Rose by Any Other Name, By Angela Crook

 

Title: A Rose by Any Other Name…

 By Angela Crook

Do you start with one, or does it emerge organically from your writing process? How important is a title in shaping your project—or even selling it?

 

The title is the second most important thing in my writing process. The first us the the emergence of the main character—protagonist or antagonist, doesn’t matter. I find that I can’t write a word until that main character walks onto the stage that is my brain and introduces themselves and tells me their story.

 

Even as the story is forming so too is the title. Kinda like giving birth, out comes the baby and very soon after we label it. Occasionally the label/title may come first, but never before the conception of the story. That’s my process. Is it weird? I don’t know, but I know the one time I’ve tried to write a story without a definite title has been hell and I’ll never do it again.

 

Why is that, you may wonder. I’ve had plenty of time to think about it over the past year and I think that for me a title means the idea or story is fully baked and ready to go. It’s like my writing brain has done all the pre-work and delivered this thing to me with clear instructions on where to go leaving me with the beautiful job of filling in the blanks that will maneuver me through all the twist and turns that will pop up. Yep, just like parenthood.

 

Writing without a title feels like I skipped a crucial step. The story doesn’t feel quite right or ready. Ever bit into a piece of chicken after taking it from the grill and seeing the telltale pink that says, not quite ready yet. Or pulled cake from the oven just a bit too early, if meat isn’t your thing. That’s me when trying to write without a title firmly in place.

 

This isn’t to say that it can’t be done. Sure, it can. But the road ahead feels a lot rockier, at least for this writer. Now, I’m sure there are plenty of writers who would read this and scratch their heads having no idea what I’m blathering on about. And maybe they’re right. Especially since we all know that it is foolhardy to become attached to a title when your publisher could be waiting to get their hands on it and change it without any regard for the work that went into naming your book baby.

 

Let’s be honest though. No method is 100%. The first book I published started out being called Fat Girl, slowly over time it evolved into Fat Chance, a decision I made on my own without any poking, prodding, or threats from any other party. As the story evolved, naturally the title did too. I’m guessing I’m not the only writer who has had this experience. It happened again with my first traditionally published novel, which started as Hurt Farm, but became Hurt Mountain in the end. A change that caused me some anxiety in the beginning. Until I heard that whisper from my characters that said, yes, this is alright.

 

To start with a title or not, that is the question. I think we all know where I stand. What about you?

Learning to self-edit - by Harini Nagendra

Choose a block of your writing—past or present—and walk us through its revision journey. What worked? What didn’t? What did you learn in the process? 

Perhaps the most important thing I've learnt over the 4 books that constitute my fiction-writing journey, is how to self-edit out my tendency to insert large infodumps of history, culture and setting into my books. Instead, I now slice the historical and setting details into chunks, and try to find places where I can insert them into different parts of the story in a way that seems natural, and helps to advance the plot, or illustrate something about my main characters - so that my readers imbibe information without feeling bored, or like they're in a classroom listening to a lecture. 

The best illustration I can think of is this passage below, from the original draft of The Bangalore Detectives Club. Here's a paragraph from the original version I sold, which my editors then took up 

Uma aunty’s home reminded Kaveri of her maternal home in Mysore. Much smaller than Ramu’s, it was set in a smaller plot, fifty feet by ninety feet. In contrast, Ramu’s home – her home now, as Kaveri reminded herself – was set in a one acre plot. A cream and white masonry building with red accents around the windows and at the border of the doors, the home was framed by an elegant bungalow, with bay windows framed with monkey tops that enabled a view of the garden. The short curved driveway ended in a portico, bordering a lush garden, where Bhargavi assiduously nurtured roses, lilies and orchids. At the back, a large kitchen garden with curry leaves, tomato, green chillies and turmeric was surrounded by fruit trees of over twenty varieties, including jackfruit, mango, jamun, tamarind, figs, guava, custard apple, coconut and banana, as well as some “English” fruit trees like avocado and breadfruit that Ramu’s father had convinced his mother to plant. A gardener came in every day for a couple of hours, chivvied around by her mother-in-law, for whom the garden was a prized possession, as dear as another child of her own. Kaveri did not know much about gardening – her home, like Uma aunty’s, was small and had space for only a tiny kitchen garden, with the obligatory tulasi, jasmine, Nandi battalu and karubevu plants that most Hindu homes contained. She liked the sprawling garden, despite the monkeys it attracted, and was slowly getting to learn the intricacies of the care each of the various varieties of trees and plants required. 

As you can see, this is an - ahem - overly ecological paragraph, inserted right in the middle of a mystery. My editor very rightly pointed this out to me, saying

Wow – this is a stunning description of the local wildlife, but sadly I do think this is one of those overly long descriptive sections that could do with being cut down slightly.

She was absolutely correct. I wanted to weave in the descriptions of garden plants into the story, but needed to find another way to do this - rather than a massive ecological infodump. 

I reworked the entire book rather extensively, changing the plot and the murderer - and ended up deleting the paragraph entirely. But I found other scenes where I could weave in descriptions of greenery, such as the one below. In this, I situate an interaction between my main protagonists in the garden to illustrate the growing closeness between Kaveri, and her husband from an arranged marriage, Ramu.

Kaveri was resting her sore feet in a bucket of hot water, when she heard the gate open. Ramu had come home early. She tried to jump out, but her sari got caught in the bucket. By the time she disentangled herself from the bucket, and stepped out, Ramu was in the compound, alighting from the car. He turned to her, impassive as ever, though she saw the sides of his mouth twitching. Kaveri murmured a hasty apology as she fled to the garden, with the bucket in tow. Just as she reached the papaya plant, Ramu called “Careful, Kaveri. Don’t cook the papaya plant. The water must be hot.”

She could definitely see his face twitching. Kaveri gave up, and began to laugh, wringing the moisture from the folds of her sari at her feet. Ramu smiled back, asking her “Did you sprain your leg?”

“It’s a long story” replied Kaveri. “Let me get you your coffee and then I can tell you the details.”

Ramu sniffed as he entered the house. The drawing room was filled with the aroma of rich, roasted curry leaves. “Have you been cooking?” he asked. “Yes. Rajamma told me how to make a different kind of rice pudi. The powder that your mother made, for us to eat with ghee and rice, is almost over and I wanted to try something different. We picked curry leaves and leaves of the lemon plant from our garden, and made a pudi with roasted togaribele.” 

I also inserted this section later in the book, to describe Narsamma and Mala's garden - using it to illustrate the caste divides that were a sadly common feature of society.

Narsamma got up and gestured to them. They followed her to the back of the house, past a dark corridor, and entered the back garden. The kitchen garden at the back was very different from the sumptuous, lush bower in the front. Here, the layout was prosaic, as befitting a frugal housewife. Banana and papaya plants, weighed down with fruit, neatly lined the compound wall. In the corner, a drumstick tree stood tall, pods hanging from it. A vegetable patch was in a corner, next to a karabevu tree.

Mala hailed them as they left. She passed over a bundle of drumstick pods, neatly tied with twine, to each woman.

“From my garden”, she said shyly. And hesitated.

“Plants have no caste or community. I hope you can accept this.”

By the time I got to writing book 4 in the series, Into the Leopard's Den, I had become more comfortable with using this approach. This book is the most ecological of my mysteries, and the history of forests, coffee and wildlife in Coorg is too fascinating for me to leave out - but I've learnt how to do this without brandishing a textbook in my readers' faces!

  

Before and After—Revising Your Manuscript from James W. Ziskin

Choose a block of your writing—past or present—and walk us through its revision journey. What worked? What didn’t? What did you learn in the process?

I believe that good writing is the result of careful revision. Sure, there may be a couple of writers out there who spit out perfect first drafts, but I’ve yet to meet one. And I’m certainly not that guy. In fact, I probably revise more than most writers. Typically, I go through three drafts of my books before I even let anyone look at them. Then I continue to edit while my beta readers do their stuff. In the end, I usually perform eight to ten heavy revisions before submitting to my agent or a publisher.

My latest book, The Prank (July 2026), is an exception in an interesting way. Since I completed the book long before I found a publisher and, since the publisher’s lead time was longer than usual for me, I found myself with many extra months to polish my manuscript. I recently finished the seventeenth complete revision of the book, which means it might be worn to the bone, more so than any of my other eight published books. But I also know it’s in better shape at this point than those other books.

Here’s the thing with revision: if you do it diligently, it’s both a line edit and a developmental edit at the same time. That’s a bargain—two for one. Over the course of nine books and several short stories, I’ve collected many examples of what you might look for/find/fix/improve during the revision stage. These may and should sound familiar to writers because I didn’t invent them.

1. Flesh out characters’ backstories. That adds depth, realism, complexity, and unquantifiable worth to your story. Readers may not even know they appreciate those elements in your work, but they do. The best stories are the ones that seduce you before you realize you’ve been seduced.

2. Root out repeated words and phrases. These pesky repetitions are like holes in the dike. As soon as we find one and plug it, Yikes! there’s another one!

3. Discover missing words. The ones your eyes skipped over while you were writing your magnum opus. Or editing it for the fifth time. I recommend using a text-to-speech app to catch these omissions. I catch about thirty missing words in a book manuscript using this technique. If you don’t do this step, phantom words will remain in your manuscript. Guaranteed.

4. Rhythm of your narration. Text-to-speech programs—Word has an excellent one built in—will also help you improve the flow of your storytelling, sentences, and paragraphs. With these apps, you can adjust reading speeds for a more natural pace, or select different voices to read back to you. The quality is not as good as a trained actor can do, but you can’t afford to pay one to read your edits anyway. Use this tool!

5. Timeline. During my latest pass on The Prank, I discovered continuity errors resulting from my not having paid close enough attention to the dates in my plot. I had written some newspaper stories into the book to dole out information to the reader. Problem was I had some of my characters reacting to those news stories in the morning or early afternoon. But the newspaper was an evening daily. 

The fix was easy enough, right? Just move some action to the next day. Problem solved. Except it wasn’t. It was the butterfly effect wreaking havoc on my novel. When I moved my characters’ actions forward one day, I inadvertently tore the fabric of the universe—the real one, not my fictional one—and nearly caused Armageddon. Okay, maybe it wasn’t quite that bad, but I found myself juggling dates in the calendar to wrestle my story’s timeline back into submission. And, since The Prank takes place in 1968, moving the action forward one day meant my characters were no longer watching Daktari on TV. They were watching That Girl.

6. Writing multiple narrators can also mess with the timeline, especially if you alternate them in each chapter. You can easily lose track of an hour or two—or five—when you switch from Narrator A to Narrator B. Then, when it’s Narrator A’s turn again, you may find it’s 2:00 a.m. instead of 9:00 p.m. in your story. And Little Johnny should be fast asleep by then. Or the ship has sailed without your heroine aboard.

7. Other issues you might find and fix during careful revision include incorrect word choice, plot holes, logic problems, and cringe-worthy turns of phrase. Or clichés. You should avoid those like the plague. (And, yes, I’m aware that using that cliché as a joke is a cliché itself.)

8. Better ideas. You might just find that you’ve come up with new twists or choices over time. Revision affords you the chance to include those ideas in your story.

9. Names. You should also check to be sure your characters haven’t snuck off and changed their names without your approval. From my first draft of The Prank to the fifth, I changed nearly every character’s name. In one case I decided to switch one character’s name for another’s. Fabric of the universe… again. Apologies if the loud boom it created startled you.

10. Miscellany. There are so many other benefits to revising your manuscript. The more times the better. Your attention might be more focused one day compared to another. Maybe you got smarter. Cleared your head. Got into the zone. Whatever the reason—and there are too many to count—revising your work is just good practice. Take musicians. Or actors. Do they rehearse? Of course they do. Think of revision as preparation, not unlike rehearsals.

11. Concrete example. But for this week’s question—no, I haven’t forgotten—we were asked to provide an example from our work. To that end, I offer one more area for improvement during the revision of your story: cutting the fat.

Below is a flabby passage from The Prank. The protagonist, a troubled thirteen-year-old boy, must sneak into his late teacher’s garage and retrieve a friend’s bike before it’s discovered there. (To find out how the teacher died, you’ll have to read the book.) He gets distracted from his mission by the teacher’s hot red Mustang. He climbs into the driver’s seat and wishes he could take a photo of himself. The text highlighted in yellow was garbage that I cut, with no damage to the story or to the fabric of the universe. That’s how you know it’s fat.

You can gasp in horror at the before, then coo with admiration at the after.

Before (Click on image for a clearer view.)

After  (Click on image for a clearer view.)

As you can see, the description of the car’s interior stinks of research and is unnecessary. It breaks the rhythm of the prose, slows the pace of the story, and bores the pants off the reader, who really should try to maintain decorum and keep it zipped. This isn’t a Roman orgy after all.

I’d love to see your snarky comments below, but I reserve the right to edit them out during revision.

514

Asfjah

Taming the Wild Draft

Cue the spaghetti western music: The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly. Choose a block of your writing—past or present—and walk us through its revision journey. What worked? What didn't? What did you learn in the process?

By Dietrich

A lone writer squints into the horizon, ready to duel with his own words. The tumbleweeds of doubt roll by, and so, the revision process begins …

I looked at an early chapter from Nobody from Somewhere and walked myself back through its conception. The story started from a single scene and grew from there, and by the time I had the first draft I was happy with the core conflict and main character dynamics. I had a good foundation to build on, even if the execution needed work. The overall story lacked some structure, sensory details were missing, and the subplots hadn’t all arrived yet. Also, some secondary characters felt sketchy, and the tone was somewhat inconsistent in a couple of parts. Nothing unusual at this stage.

By the time I finished the second draft, I’d fixed a plot hole, cut some cliché, along with a tangent that didn’t tie back to the main story, and I evened out some clunky prose. I liked the way all the characters sounded when they spoke. Their dialogue felt on-point, added some depth and had a snappy rhythm, which is critical for keeping the pace tight in a genre where tension drives the narrative. The depth and the overall pacing also felt even. Tension built gradually through subtext and stakes, and sensory details helped ground the scenes.

The third pass was for checking, sharpening and polishing. I reviewed it all to be sure I’d covered all the bases: character dynamics, themes and aesthetics. I asked myself if I dove enough into each character. Was there the right amount of insight? Was any of the prose repetitive?

By the end of it, I felt confident that the manuscript was ready to send out. Here’s a short chapter from the final draft. It’s the second chapter and the intro to Wren, one of the main characters:

The Snows set Wren up on the Murphy bed in the main-floor den. Donna Snow wanted her feeling less like a foster kid, more like a family member. Kevin Snow making it plain he just wanted to feel her. 

Pulled down, the Murphy bed left a foot and a half between the desk and a shelf of books, mostly self-help books: the power of this, the art of that. Growing rich and awakening giants. Titles like Unfu*k Yourself, and The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck, with lots of asterisks. A grocery-store print above the pull-out, a still life with fruit and purplish shadows.

Next to the kitchen, Wren could hear the hum and rattle of the old Frigidaire, keeping her company those first nights when sleep dodged her. Propped against the pillow in the dark, she was thinking about her mom, praying for her. Wary of Kevin Snow from the start, something not right in the way he looked at her.

The third night, she opened her door, listened for sounds from the upstairs bedrooms, decided everyone was asleep and tiptoed in the dark past the noisy fridge, crossing the cold tiles, heading to the powder room in her undies, needing to pee. Kevin was sitting in the dark at the kitchen nook, a short drink in front of him. She froze.

Clicking on the light, he smiled, eyes sweeping up her bare legs. Wren covering up and hurrying to the bathroom, saying, “Sorry.”

“You got nothing to be sorry about, shortcake.” Kevin leaving the light on, waiting until she hurried back to her room, the hand towel held in front. Wren shutting the door hard enough, hoping to get Donna’s attention. Could hear Kevin chuckling in the kitchen.

Pulling the chair from the desk, trying to prop it under the doorknob, the way it was done in some movie she’d seen with her mother. The chair-back too short to reach the knob. Glancing around the dark room for something like a weapon, she grabbed one of the self-help books.

Finishing his drink, Kevin came to her door and tapped his knuckles, whispering from the other side, “Nighty night, now.”

Sitting on the bed, thinking if he came through that door, she’d hit him, hard as she could, with the corner of Unfu*k Yourself.

Hearing the stairs creaking as he went back to his room. Wren seeing under the door, waiting until he switched off the hall light. Knowing he’d be back.

Evolution of an Opening - by Matthew Greene

Choose a block of your writing—past or present—and walk us through its revision journey. What worked? What didn’t? What did you learn in the process?

Well, my worst nightmare has come true—I’m sharing early drafts on the internet. But I think this is a really interesting prompt, so I’ll force myself to be vulnerable and share the goods. (Or…the bads, as it were.)

Not only is this a passage from a first draft, it’s the first draft of my first novel. So, please be kind as I share the evolution of the opening paragraphs of Chapter One from There’s No Murder Like Show Murder.

“It’s just too tight,” the man was saying. “I can barely move.”

Far be it for me to second-guess a Broadway darling like Burton Stephens, but it’s hard to hear a man complain about restrictive clothing. Especially when I knew his costar would be singing right beside him wearing a tight-laced evening gown and heels. 

“I don’t know if I can go on like this,” he continued. “It just feels wrong in ways I can’t describe.”

The costume shop was crowded as members of the creative team, circled around Burton and his offending tailcoat. He frowned into the mirror, pulling at the lapels as reassuring voices came at him from every side.

“It looks fantastic,” the choreographer was saying.

“Perfect silhouette,” the costume designer chimed in.

“Burton,” came the languid voice of Arthur Winston, who hovered in the doorway of the shop, “you look fantastic. Like I promised you would.” As the Artistic Director of the Eastbridge Playhouse, part of Arthur’s job was massaging the egos of leading men and ladies, especially Broadway B-listers like Burton.

Not terribly compelling, is it? I’ll fight the urge to shit on my early work too much, since that’s what writers’ groups and therapists are for. Besides, the really vulnerable move at this point would be to identify a few things that are working.

First off, the bones of the conflict are present. Without spoiling anything, the insufferable leading man at the center of this scene will be dead by the end of Chapter Two. My instinct was always to open with his diva behavior and establish Tasha (the first-person POV character narrating) as an emotionally intelligent, canny observer of the colorful characters that surround her. The better to solve a mystery, my dear. I also always liked the quip about men complaining about tight clothes, although it’s a little buried in the above. And finally, the broader cast is coming into focus, but there’s still a long way to go to round out the zany, theatrical world of the Eastbrook Playhouse.

And now for the bad. Well, not the bad, but the needs improvement. I want to point out three big issues that I went on to address in later drafts: voice, event, and energy.

VOICE: I knew I wanted to write the story in first-person from Tasha’s POV, but you really don’t learn much about her from this passage. I mean, it reads more like a college essay than a piece of cozy crime fiction. The other characters show a bit more personality through their dialogue, but there’s something incredibly dry about my first pass. 

EVENT: If you can’t tell, this section takes place during a fitting in the cramped costume shop of the Eastbrook Playhouse. This is an inherently low-stakes environment, a setting that does nothing to establish the urgency of technical rehearsals. I only have one chance to grab the reader with a high stakes setup, and the image of a Broadway blowhard complaining in front of a full-length mirror is not going to capture anyone’s attention. (Also, did you notice I described him as a “Broadway darling” and a “b-lister” on the same page? Rookie mistake.)

ENERGY: There’s nothing here that makes the reader want to keep going. There’s no suspense, no mystery. Maybe some of my readers would be gripped by the drama of a man in an ill-fitting coat, but that’s the extent of the intrigue. I’ll spare you the rest of the chapter, but this problem persists. The entire draft is heavy on cold detail and light on drama. Big problem.

So, three drafts later, I had arrived at this:

“I can barely move!” the man called out. “It’s just too tight!”

Music stopped. Movement all around him came to a standstill as he strained against his tailcoat. A voice from the darkness cried, “Hold!”

It was the second day of cue-to-cue rehearsals for Annie Get Your Gun at the Eastbrook Playhouse and nerves were fraying all around. Our leading man stood center stage, shading his eyes to peer at the work tables that had been mounted across Rows F through H. The creative team and crew had been there for what felt like a lifetime and the rest of the cast struggled to hide their irritation. I’m no mind reader, but I was pretty sure we all shared a single thought…

What’s the problem now, Kurt?

A few improvements, I have to admit. We’re in the theater now, in the middle of a cue-to-cue rehearsal, which imbues the scene with an energy it desperately needed. The first line establishes some suspense—plants some questions, at least—and I do a bit of a better job withholding information to keep the reader hooked. And we’re getting a little more of Tasha’s voice, though there’s still a long way to go where clarity, context, andcharacter are concerned.

CLARITY: Now that we’re out of the costume shop, it’s not immediately clear what is too tight and why the narrator is moved to action by this complaint. As someone well-versed in the process of putting on a show, I don’t do a great job painting a picture for readers who don’t come from theatre. There’s music playing, movement all around, and a man making trouble, but we don’t understand well enough to care. 

CONTEXT: A related issue, and one that plagued this opening section through multiple drafts, was my tendency to pause the action to provide exposition. Sure, it’s important to ground the reader right away in a sense of place, but I wanted to find a way of doing so that felt more active and less explanatory.

CHARACTER: As I mentioned, we get a little more of Tasha’s voice, but this passage doesn’t really reveal anything about her. Sure, she’s irritated with Kurt (renamed from the original Burton), but so is everyone else. If I really want to make the most of my Page One real estate, I need to let Tasha shine and establish her as a protagonist to root for and follow.

So, a half dozen revisions later, I landed on this version right before we went to print:

“Stop! Please! I can barely breathe!”

Someone else might have ignored the voice. In fact, plenty of “someone elses” sitting near me did exactly that. But I was already on my feet, moving through the darkness to save the day. 

“Will somebody help me?” the deep baritone roared over the orchestra. The music director’s head bobbed as he urged the musicians on, like the band on deck of the Titanic. Not that we were on a sinking ship. At least not yet…

“I’m dying up here!” The words were unmistakable now. “Either this tailcoat goes or I do.”

Heads were turning, eyes were rolling, and a voice from the darkened auditorium called: “Hold!”

It’s never cute to hear a man complain about tight clothes.

We were in the second day of cue-to-cue rehearsals for Annie Get Your Gun at the Eastbrook Playhouse and nerves were fraying all around. Our leading man stood center stage, blocking the spotlight from his eyes to peer at the worktables mounted across Rows F through H. The creative team and production crew, myself included, had been huddled there for what felt like forever. Tired cast members stepped out of character, and the run crew backstage gazed out from the shadowy wings. It was like we all shared a single thought….

What’s his problem this time?

Let’s start with that first line. It’s a bit of a fake-out, and it went through several iterations before I was satisfied, but it captures the dramatic attitude of our antagonist-turned-victim and sets up Tasha’s response.

Tasha’s reaction to this line tells us a lot about her character: she’s quick to act, she takes her work seriously, and she has a bit of a savior complex. Already, within the first few sentences, we know what kind of narrator we’re dealing with and can predict how she’ll react to an impending murder.

I also worked hard to pepper the essential expository details throughout the faux emergency that gives this opening section its momentum. Placing Tasha in the house and Kurt onstage provides the perfect opportunity to set the scene without making the reader feel like I’m overloading them with information. By creating a bit of a mystery at the outset—why can’t this man breathe? what is wrong? why is no one else helping?—I give myself room to establish setting while the reader is (hopefully) leaning in for further details.

And the line about men in tight clothes, which readers and editors all seemed to enjoy, is given the space and the highlight it deserves.

Even now, I look at the published version of this opening and wish I could make more tweaks. But I firmly believe that our writing is never done; it’s simply due. The process of writing There’s No Murder Like Show Murder was more than a typical revision cycle—it was the way I learned how to write a novel. In my case, that meant multiple drafts (I counted at least ten while I prepared this post) and a constant curiosity and desire to do the best work I could.

And that requires some serious vulnerability.

The Lion and the Mouse by Poppy Gee

Who are the authors who have inspired you in how you conduct yourself as a professional writer? This is not so much the creative/writerly side of them (but could be) but how they navigate their career, and the publishing industry in general. What do they do that you find inspiring or interesting?

Many writers have helped me in different ways, big and small, over the years. 

March 2014: As a newly published debut author, I was having a rough night at the welcome drinks for the Beaconsfield Festival of Golden Words. It was in the Beaconsfield Mine Museum, which was also an art gallery, and I wandered around the artwork and mining exhibits, trying to find someone standing alone who I could talk to. For the life of me, I could not find a way to squeeze my way into a conversation. Eventually, I gave in to the social anxiety and scurried out to the carpark.

I waited in the dark for the bus which would take all the writers back to our accommodation at Grindelwald Resort. A man approached me. He was older than me, polite, gentlemanly and reserved. He said he was getting some air as he found it too intense inside. I joked and said, did you also not get the instructions on how to schmooze at an author event? We talked for a while, and when the bus came, we sat together. His name was Alex Miller, one of Australia’s most respected and successful writers. The next day, he attended my panel (he was coming anyway to hear Rohan Wilson speak about his debut The Roving Party). Afterward, Alex bought my book and asked me to sign it. The next day, he made the effort to find me to say that he had enjoyed the first few chapters. He described what he liked about (he’d definitely read it!) I’ve never forgotten his kindness. It’s something I always try to pay forward.

There are many other authors who have gone out of their way for me, reading my work, including me in their events, helping me with industry advice.

In 2020 I attended Back Room Authors online event as a reader. Hank Phillippi Ryan’s curiosity about everyone who attends led to me being invited back to be a featured author. Being on that panel alongside Stephen Mack-Jones, May Cobb and Jacquelyn Mitchard was a career highlight. Hank is a class act, she’s inclusive and genuinely excited for other authors. I also admire Karen Dionne. I like how she insists that we should write for the joy of it. When someone who has achieved as much as she has, says that, it’s validating. I especially liked meeting Stephen Mack Jones – as a professional author he conducts himself with humour, sincerity and elegance.

Eric Beetner is a person whose generous approach I admire. He invited me on his Writer Types podcast. This was really fun and another career highlight for me. Through social media, I observed Eric organising Noir and the Bar and it inspired me to do something similar here in Brisbane. Consequently, we held our sixth Crime Fiction Literary Dinner on Wednesday night. I copied Eric’s sentiment, which is to support crime fiction writers and provide a fun way for writers to catch up with each other. And that fact I writing this blog, is a testament to Eric's kindness - he invited me to join the all-star team!

 

Closer to home, I have the best group of writerly friends. Crime fiction writers who have gone out of their way to help me include Allie Reynolds, Joanna Jenkins, Dinuka McKenzie, Ben Hobson, Kylie Kaden, Michael Burge and more. From the elusive world of literary fiction my most helpful friends include Steve MinOn, Jo Skinner, Rohan Wilson, Nicole Melanson and Eleanor Limprecht.

I’ll always be grateful to the incredible writers who blurbed me – Lisa Unger, David Joy, Kali White, Jenny Milchman, Amanda Eyre Ward, and Meg Cabot. One day, maybe like how the mouse helps the lion escape the trap in the famous fable, I hope to pay them all back! If not, I'll pay it forward.

Lately, I am finding myself blurbing writers’ books, it’s an honour I never dreamed of!

Yes, we know who you are! by Catriona

Who are the authors who have inspired you in how you conduct yourself as a professional writer? This is not so much the creative/writerly side of them (but could be) but how they navigate their career, and the publishing industry in general. What do they do that you find inspiring or interesting?

This is out now in the US - buy links

Right, well I'm going to start by recounting an experience that taught me how *not* to be as a professional writer out in public.

I got introduced to this guy - let's call him Firstname Surname - at a publisher's party. I asked - re. Surname - "Is that an U or and I"?

He gave me an extremely waspish look and said, "Don't they have Jews where you come from?"

I blinked a couple of times and said, "They don't have schwa where I come from." Schwa is the name of that very beige little central vowel that pops up in a lot of varieties of English, but not in Scottish, at least not in stressed syllables. It's why no Scottish kid will ever be named "Fleur". Because she'd get called either Flurr or Flooo-ur. Poor wee sausage. Anyway, back to Captain Schwa at that party.  I was trying to work out how to pronounce his name properly in my accent! How was that rude? How the frilly hat was it antisemitic?

Of course, it wasn't. I worked out later - well, my editor told me with a lot of eye-rolling and extra anecdotes from other events - that my transgression had been not already knowing who he was. Not fainting with the honour of finally meeting him in the flesh at last, not coming back to consciousness weeping that I didn't happen to have my enitre well-thumbed collection of his works to be signed if only he was gracious enough to grant such a favour.

I'm not naming him. But, trust me, if I did, some of you would go, "Who?"

(Reminds me of my good friend Alex, who used to be a trolley dolly (his term) for an airline. Whenever he was asked "Don't you know who I am?" - and he was; people are weird - he'd raise his voice and say to the entire cabin, "Need some help here, everyone, please. Gentleman's forgotten who he is.")

Alex- king of sarcasm

Compare this with a similarly small but equally huge incident concerning Charlaine Harris at the Harrogate Crime Festival. Okay so one of the ways a UK literary festival differs from a US convention is that the panels and interviews are individually ticketed. At Harrogte, the deal is that authors can attend them for free but, if an event is sold out, we wait till all the paying customers are seated and then tuck in where there's space, or stand.

I don't remember what the sold-out session was the year that Charlaine Harris was Guest of Honour and I was there too, but we were waiting in the corridor at the door to the ballroom to see if we'd be able to squeeze in, when a member of the publicity team shot across the other end of the passageway and then did a perfect, ambulatory double-take - re-appearing moving backwards, I mean - then changed course like a wee car on a scalextric track and came thundering towards us. Well, towards Charlaine. Well, actually, towards the student volunteer, checking tickets at the door.

That's not me and Charlaine Harris,
but it is Harrogate.

She had just fired up the blowtorch to blast the ticket-taker to a heap of charred regretfulness for the sin of letting Bloody Charlaine HARRIS for God's sake stand in a corridor, when Charlaine put a hand on the publicist's arm and murmured, "Hon? Don't do that."

So. I decided a long time ago that no matter how succesful I might be lucky enough to get, I'd be Charlaine Harris and not Sir Dontyou of Knowwhoiam.

Which is why the story Angela told on Monday of cringing because she asked me, when we first met: "Where are you on your writing journey" is not a story I've even remembered. That and the fact that the answer is same for all of us. "I'm one bad book or a change in tastes away from not getting to do this any more."

Cx

Inspired by Eric Beetner

 Who are the authors who have inspired you in how you conduct yourself as a professional writer? This is not so much the creative/writerly side of them (but could be) but how they navigate their career, and the publishing industry in general. What do they do that you find inspiring or interesting?

I find modeling my career after anyone terribly difficult because so much of being a successful writer happens behind the scenes.

I wish I could follow the path of many writers in finding the perfect agent, getting an early book submitted to the right editor, hitting at the right cultural moment for the subjects I want to write about, but all that is a lot of luck and often out of our control.

There are writers who I’ve seen speak on panels and I’ve been impressed with their sincerity and the shared attitude that writing should be fun and not a torturous slog up the mountain the way some writers would have you believe. Early in my career going to see readings by people like Megan Abbott, John Rector, Christa Faust were all educational in that they didn’t hesitate to engage with a newbie writer with a lot of questions.

I’ve likened the writing world to the music world often. Coming up as a punk rock kid where it was all about “the scene” and building a community, I wanted that same clubhouse feeling with other authors. When I found writers who opened the door to the clubhouse for me, I knew I wanted to model that behavior. 

I’m fairly prolific and I admire someone like Joe R Lansdale who finds a way to get a lot of work out there across multiple genres. Some more mainstream, like his Hap & Leonard novels, and some of it very odd indeed. But he puts it all out there to serve those different audiences. 

I never had a mentor or an ideal career I wanted to emulate, perhaps to my detriment. Mostly in my years writing I’ve wanted to surround myself with writers who are inclusive, helpful, funny, and a good hang. I’ve even learned a lot from writers who have stepped away. Allan Guthrie, the Scottish writer who I adore, hasn’t written a book in many years. He knew when the joy was gone from writing for him. More and more I look to those examples and wonder if my time is up. (It’s been a week of bad news on the writing front so forgive me a little wallowing) 

Seeing the example of when to hang it up has been on my radar more and more. I think I’ll model my exit, if and when it does come, on the good ol’ slow fade away. I wouldn’t want to write a scathing Op-Ed about how the business has forsaken me. I’ll just know when its my time and vanish into the ether. 

Perhaps my trouble has been that the writers I most want to emulate are pulp writers from the 40s and 50s like Gil Brewer, Lionel White, Charles Williams, Cornell Woolrich. Guys who banged out short novels fast and didn’t look back. Prolific writers who worked to a deadline and weren’t going for a Pulitzer.

It might have served me better to note how many of these writers ended up broke, bitter, and virtually unknown by the end of their careers. 

There are dozens of writers who I admire for their friendship, their conduct and their writing style. Rachel Howzell Hall, Lou Berney, Duane Swierczynski, Laura McHugh, Stephen Mack Jones, Brett Battles, SA Cosby, Steve Hockensmith. I wouldn’t say I model myself after them, but I’m inspired by them for sure. 

I also try hard to be someone that other writers would look to as a good example. I try to be kind to people, to help other writers when I can. It’s a very small thing, but I like to dress and present myself professionally when I attend conferences and appear at book events. I treat the job with respect. I’ve gotten a hand up from so many writers that I feel I owe it the community to offer my hand to anyone else who needs it.

There’s no template or blueprint for a successful writing career, but we can all take inspiration from those we admire. 

Authors Behaving Beautifully

 

Who are the authors who have inspired you in how you conduct yourself as a professional writer? This is not so much the creative/writerly side of them (but could be) but how they navigate their career, and the publishing industry in general. What do they do that you find inspiring or interesting?

 

Maya Angelou said, “People will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”

A lovely sentiment. And one that presumes a real interaction.

In theory, behavior betrays character. What people say is one thing; what they do is another.

I’m not convinced.

We all wear masks to survive—one for work, one for family, another for fans. These aren’t about hiding who we are; they’re about preserving what’s left. Because people, even well-meaning ones, take and take and take. We’ve all seen what happens to those who give until there’s nothing left. Think of actors who implode under pressure. Think of your Uncle Al, quietly laid off after 30 years. Another casualty in the Ledger of Life.

Writers, by nature, are observers. We live slightly outside the crowd. And even when we read someone’s work, we don’t really know them—not through interviews, not through their Twitter feeds, not through a dazzling debut or a beloved series.

So who inspires me—as a professional in this strange and exhausting business?

It’s not always the prose. It’s how they show up. How they move through the literary world.

Here are a few.

 

Writers Who Lead by Example:

 

Ursula K. Le Guin stood for writers’ rights. She fought for literary integrity over commercial convenience. She reminded us that the soul of the work matters—and that writers are not commodities.

Roxane Gay isn’t just a sharp essayist and cultural critic; she’s generous. She amplifies new voices, offers blunt, real advice, and practices what others only tweet about.

Alexander Chee is open about the machinery of publishing. He demystifies it without discouraging you. That honesty is rare. And it’s a gift.

Carmen Maria Machado doesn’t just write brilliantly—she uses her platform to celebrate queer and BIPOC writers. She pays forward her success with grace and enthusiasm.

Colson Whitehead balances sharpness with sincerity. He doesn’t sugarcoat anything, but he never forgets the people coming up behind him. His generosity is as deliberate as his sentences.

Brandon Sanderson has built an entire ecosystem for aspiring writers. His BYU lectures are freely available. He talks openly about money. He invests in other writers’ futures—without making it about himself.

 

Kindness Is Contagious (and Career-Saving):

 

Looking back, my own career has been shaped by that same generosity.

I was invited to The Back Room author series by Karen Dionne and Hank Phillippi Ryan, thanks to Cheryl Head and Stephen Mack Jones—two incredible writers—who championed my novel HUSH HUSH. Hank, by the way, is a legend in crime fiction and a tireless supporter of other authors. Whether it’s through Jungle Reds, Career Authors, or First Chapter Fun, or a quiet word of encouragement at conferences—she shows up.

Speaking of which… let’s talk blurbs.

 

Blurbs: The Most Awkward Currency in Publishing:

 

For readers, blurbs might seem like breadcrumbs. A teaser. A sprinkle of praise.

But getting one? That’s another story.

Writing a book is hard enough. But after you’ve poured your soul into it, you’re expected to approach someone—often a stranger—and say, “Would you mind telling the world my book is pretty?”

Not ordinary. Not ‘It’ll do.’

You want Magnificent. Unforgettable—if they’re feeling generous.

But really, you’re Oliver Twist, sending an email into the Void, asking someone to hold your book-baby and say it’s worthy of love. It feels creepy. It feels desperate. And when someone actually does blurb you? You remember it forever.

The late M.J. Rose gave me my very first blurb. I’m convinced it’s because I knew the name of her dog, Winka. (You never know what makes the connection.)

 

Meet Your Heroes—At Least Once:

 

They say don’t meet your heroes. But I did.

Years ago, I met Walter Mosley at Crimebake. I doubt he remembers me, but I started writing crime fiction because of Easy Rawlins and Mouse. He was candid—painfully so, and funny—about hustling to get his non-Easy Rawlins work published. Nobody paid attention to him, he said, until President Clinton name-dropped Devil in a Blue Dress.

The truth of publishing is often quieter than the myth.

 

FINAL WORD:

 

There are no guarantees. You can behave beautifully and still be forgotten.

Or judged unfairly. Or ignored entirely.

But kindness matters.

The writers who’ve impressed me did more than write great books. They behaved well, they showed up, and they gave back.

The world—and the industry—needs more of that.