Moments In Crime

PROFANITY ... TAKE THREE

So, I'm minding my own business, calm and collected, content in the warm embrace of compromise ...  I knocked back two beers in the hotel bar, then went for Star Trek, too. I have the cell on vibrate in my shirt pocket so I'll know if my editor calls with any news. My watch reads four, so I have an hour, or so I think. At five after four it occurs to me that I'm on Nashville time, which makes it five after five in New York. Bam. The phone goes off in my pocket, a hard buzz against my chest. I'm out of my seat so fast that it scares the people around me. I couldn't care less. I have five rings to find a place to talk.

My editor can be a pain. Did I mention that? I get out of the theater, answer the phone and the guy's monologuing. Chatting about the best way to break whatever news he has. Says something about numbers - nothing specific. Then he catalogues the people in his office (a gentle reminder that I'm on speaker phone ... doesn't want any ugly repeats of what happened the first time) Now, after three years, I think I've got the guy figured out: the longer he stalls, the better the news. But you never know. He's big city and I'm small town southern - apple trying to understand the orange - and that can lead to massive failures of logic ....

Then he drops the bomb.

"Number ten," he says.

Pretty sure I misheard that one. "What?"

"You cracked the top ten."

"New York Times..."

"Uh...yeah."

Voices erupt on the line. Lots of peeps in his office so I get to thank many of those that made it possible. Not all, but many. And the truth of what I'd learned just keeps banging around in my head ... THE LAST CHILD will be number ten on the list as of May 31st.

Jeez.

He repeats it again, and so do I: Number Ten.

Good will ensues. Verbal back slapping. Merriment. Some damn good stuff, no kidding. And in a lull, on speaker, I tell everybody listening ... "You know I've got to say it." They know what I mean. The same thing I said the first time I made the list, the same elegant turn of phrase that I had never said before and not repeated since; seven words that were perfect and raw, the phrase that almost made it onto T-shirts at the Flatiron.

Silence on the line. Tradition, you know...

Cue profanity.

WAITING FOR THE LIST

There were so many things to learn when I first made it into the world of publishing: that my editor, as crusty and opinionated as he is, was a friend and ally; how a trade house works; the best bars near the Flatiron building. One of the most startling lessons came in an unexpected, unguarded moment, and here is what I learned: the New York Times releases its pending bestseller list to the trade at five or so on a Wednesday. This leads to certain rituals in the industry, often involving bars like the ones mentioned above, where publishing types tend to gather at five on a Wednesday, there to discuss who did - and did not - make it onto the list. Now the list, mind you, is not truly a public document at this time, and as a new guy, a few years ago, first book fresh in the market, I knew nothing about it. In fact, the one thing I'd tried hardest to not think about, was whether or not that book would find a home on the list. Bad karma, I thought. Evil juju. So there I was at five-ten on a Wednesdy, minding my own business, about to do an event, when my cell rang. It was my editor (and various other luminaries at my house) calling to share the news that I had landed at number 23.

 

Cue the profanity.

 

The good kind.

 

Flash forward to my second novel. Another Wednesday. Another call. That book landed at number 18. Less profanity, just as much excitement. All was good, mind you - more than good - but knowledge can lead to all kinds of evil, and there is brutal kind now associated with the second Wednesday after the book's release. It's the wait. The uncertainty. After the sales of the first five days are tallied, I cannot avoid the rather large question. Is my career moving up, down or sideways? And because I've abandoned two other careers in pursuit of this one, I must as the bigger question. Can I start drinking at three even though I have an event at six?

 

So here I am at three o'clock on the second Wednesday. It's a good place to be, and I'm hopeful. The house has been working for months to set this book up. Out of the box thinking. Smart people busting hump. Early numbers look good.

 

But who the blankety-blank knows?

 

I rarely drink before events, but I have two hours to kill and a mind on overdrive. I'm at a hotel in Nashville and there's a theater next door. A bar, too. Hmmm... Beers or Star Trek? Beers ... Star Trek ...

 

I know what my editor would do.

WHAT'S A BLOG?

I don't Facebook. I don't Twitter and I don't blog. It's hard enough to get the darn books written without all of these other things to worry about. But, when the publisher's marketing team presents an author with an opportunity to reach readers and talk about this crazy, insane, wonderful business, it would be a pretty stupid author to not do it. So, here I am, dragged into the fray. Not kicking and screaming, but ready to get up and clean the garage. Ready for a drink. Something. Anything. Because blogging ain't like writing a book. Books are glimpses into the soul, dressed as stories; but blogging makes no bones about it. "Here," the blog says. "This is what I think. This is who I am."

 

I'm not sure I like that - not at all - and when I mentioned this to my editor, he said I should write about my dog, Tom. Tom is a yellow lab and the finest creature that ever lived. He has the heart of a lion and the soul of a saint. I know everybody must feel that way about their dogs (it's like with kids) but this dog is special. From the first month, he was more human than not. House-broken in a day, he has an implicit understanding of his role in the family. Kids want to play rough, he's game; and if I need a break, he's ready to play or listen or lie at my feet. You'd think he was the most gentle thing -a pacifist - but if a stranger shows up in the yard, Tom turns into the scariest damn animal you'd ever pray to avoid. He looks after my kids like they're his own. Guards them. Sleeps outside their doors at night. My editor once offered me eleven thousand dollars to let him take the dog home. That was more than my first advance, but I had to say no. (Editors being editors, it would not be fair to the dog.) We did decide to put Tom on the book jacket, though. He's in the author photo, and you can tell, just from looking, that he's trying to talk to me.

 

In my next entry, I'll probably talk about writing and publishing and praying for miracles, but right now I have to do an interview with Voice of America and Sirius Satellite radio. So, in two seconds I'm gone. But right now Tom is looking at me, then at the computer, then at me. He's looking at me like I'm a hypocrite, and I know what he's thinking behind those happy brown eyes: "Jeez, man ... Since when do you Blog?"

BLOGGING THIS WEEK: JOHN HART!

JOHN HART is the author of the New York Times bestseller The King of Lies and his second book, Down River, won the Edgar Award for Best Novel. He continues to make his home in North Carolina with his family.

Fresh off his success with the Edgar Award-winner and New York Times bestseller Down River, John Hart returns with a moving literary thriller that illustrates his masterful understanding of human nature and proves to be his most poignant and intricately-plotted novel yet.

Thirteen year-old Johnny Merrimon has a plan. He has a map and his bike. Exactly one year ago his twin sister, Alyssa, went missing and is now presumed dead, but Johnny refuses to believe it.

Detective Clyde Hunt has spent the last year devoted entirely to Alyssa’s case—he’s lost weight, lost his wife, and will soon lose his job if he can’t put the case behind him. But when another girl goes missing, the memories of the past year come back into sharp focus, and Hunt refuses to lose another child. And maybe, just maybe the missing girl will lead him to Alyssa…

Determined to find his sister even if the authorities cannot, Johnny goes looking for the dark side of his hometown. What he finds is a legacy of darkness—a town with an underbelly far blacker than anyone could’ve imagined—and somewhere at the bottom of it all, with the help of his best friend, and a giant of a man with his own bleak past, Johnny finds the truth.

The Last Child is a story that explores boundaries: county lines; red circles around properties on a tax map; what happens when you cross the line between vice and evil; and the delicate line that separates hope in the face of darkness, and unwavering faith. Once again, John Hart transcends the barrier between thrillers and literature in crafting a story as heartrending as it is redemptive.

Advance Praise for The Last Child:

“With his best novel yet, the Edgar Award-winning Hart (Down River) firmly cements his place alongside the greats of the genre.” –Library Journal (starred review)

“John Hart's The Last Child is a rare accomplishment—a compelling, fast-paced thriller written with a masterful, literary touch. You'll feel this story as much in your heart as in your gut.”  --Jeffery Deaver, author of The Bodies Left Behind

Praise for Down River:

“This book should settle once and for all the question of whether thrillers and mysteries can also be literature.” --Publishers Weekly (starred review)

“Evocative storytelling and lush prose.” --Boston Globe

“Down River falls squarely in the league of the best of Southern novels.” --South Florida Sun-Sentinel

“A sensitive rumination on the emotional force of family dynamics.” --Washington Post

“There are few books published that can legitimately be called a ‘must-read,’ but this is one of them.” --Chicago Sun-Times

“If you value Harper Lee, James Lee Burke, Truman Capote, and Michael Malone… it’s time to add John Hart to your bookshelves.” --Otto Penzler, New York Sun

“A truly splendid novel with a deep emotional core.”  --Booklist (starred review)

“Hart’s sophomore effort surpasses his debut….The writing is simply superb.” --Library Journal (starred review)

"Sometimes, early success can be a curse for a writer....That's definitely not the case with North Carolina's John Hart...With Down River…he's only gotten better." --Winston-Salem Journal

Praise for John Hart and The King of Lies:

“A striking new talent.” --Entertainment Weekly (Grade A)

“A gripping performance.” --People Magazine

“A masterful piece of writing.” --The News & Observer (Raleigh, NC)

“The King of Lies moves and reads like a book on fire.” --Pat Conroy