alex_sokoloff

Sometimes the goofs are the best part.

2006-08-04T14:13:05Z

More on the hidden joys of authorship: J.T. Ellison has a great post on stage fright up on Murderati today, and is asking for authors' most humiliating moments.

Well, where do you even start?

But my actual response surprised me.

The supreme embarrassing moment of my life was on stage. I was in a really spectacular and unique production of ONDINE, playing the Queen and other roles, and there was a royal court scene the whole cast could never, ever get through without collapsing into hysterical laughter. A lot of this was because of the King, Reed Martin, a brilliant comedian who every rehearsal went out of his way to find new ways to make the rest of us break.

But of course you always somehow pull it together for opening night, and we did a week of performances without a hitch. And then - one night when the King rose grandly from his throne, one of the pearls from his ermine robe caught on the mesh train of my gown. And as he started walking downstage, both our robes rose like the wings of giant swans.

Well, the courtiers almost lost it. The audience totally lost it. But hey, we were professionals, or aspiring, anyway, and the courtiers got hold of themselves and somehow Reed and I did a little shimmy and two-step to get unhooked, shooting each other marital looks of annoyance, and we resumed the scene.

And it happened again. Same pearl, same mesh, same swan wings.

It was pandemonium. We could not stop laughing. Literally. Could. Not. Stop. I know from this moment what it means to be rolling on the floor laughing, because half of the actors on stage were. I was doubled over on my throne, laughing my guts out. The King was collapsed in my lap. The audience was shrieking. We could hear the director out in the house just wailing with laughter. It went on for minutes, which on stage is eternity. I don't know how we finally pulled ourselves together, but somehow we did. And after the show I have never had so many people thank me for the best laugh of their lives.

Now, you may be thinking - "But that's not embarrassing, that's priceless." Well, yeah - it was. But for us, the actors, at the moment - it was the most humiliating thing that had ever happened to us. It's perception, right? We were so worried about doing it RIGHT that we almost missed the moment of transcendence. And it was such a huge catharsis that I've never really been embarrassed by anything since.

An audience loves to see that you're human, and that mistakes are just a part of life. Laugh about it and they'll be laughing with you.

Sometimes the flubs are the best part.

This is beginning to feel real... or a lot like acting.

2006-08-03T14:54:27Z

Some things this week that are making me feel almost like a real author, with a real book coming out in - yike! - a month:

Real Author Thing Number One:. The Harrowing got a 4-star review from Romantic Times yesterday. OH, does that feel good! Not quite real, mind you, but really, REALLY good. Like one of those dreams where... well, all right, never mind that.

Real Author Thing Number Two: I had a radio interview this morning. Not my first, but it kind of felt like my first. It occurs to me that this interview thing is hideously like pitching, which I oh-so-naively thought I was DONE with when I moved into novels from screenwriting. "Pitching" is basically what you do to get a job in film writing. You go in to the studio, and face a firing line of producers and executives, and you tell your story, acting out the story and all the characters, preferably (I've found) with pictures and props, because, you see, executives don't read. And they watch your performance, and they say yes or no, and they either give you a big check or they don't. Lather, rinse, repeat.

When I moved from acting into film writing, I thought - "Well, hey! I never have to audition for work again!" How laughably wrong. Moving from acting to film writing just meant that I had to WRITE my audition piece, and then perform it on top of that, to get work.

So, now, here I find I am as an author doomed to the same things I hated about acting... the same things I hated about pitching. The stage fright. The distraction for days before a performance. The obsessive acting prep The Day Of: vocalization, a little Shakespeare recitation to get the old vocal cords working, physical warmup... an overdose of caffeine - oh, yeah, and did I mention writing and memorizing the script? And there's the same adrenaline rush as you're doing it, and the adrenaline crash after you're done... the deep desire for alcohol or mindless sex... preferably in combination and excess.

Crazymaking.

And now I find author interviews are just the same damn rollercoaster. And, just tell me the truth, I can take it... I am looking at a whole regular line up of them, incessantly, for the rest of my life.

Right?

You know what I really want to say? All you parents who are trying to discourage your young ones from the acting thing (You know who you are...)? Cease and desist. NOW. Acting is about the most useful class (major, training, lifestyle choice...) I've ever had. I cannot imagine a professional - profession - that would not be exponentially improved by acting training. You do not have to Go Into Theater to benefit from acting training.

LIFE. IS. ACTING.

The thing actors have over the rest of us is knowing how to fake it with more finesse. No less emotional trauma, but more finesse. This is gold, in life and in any business on the planet.

The trick is to get the training that will give you the skills that will advance your professional career - without picking up the addiction and craziness.

I don't have the answer to that one, because clearly I'm addicted to the craziness.

Or I would not be on this same damn rollercoaster, yet again.

Still, it was a good day, yesterday.

Almost - real.

And if not for the acting thing? I don't know how I would have made it.

The book of my dreams...

2006-07-31T15:54:58Z

I got to the end of my writing day on Saturday and couldn't go anywhere because I've sprained my wrist and that means no dancing, no driving - and I thought, well, I'll read! Yay!! But nothing appealed. Nothing. I must have picked up 20 books in a row that I got from Thrillerfest that I've been dying to read and I couldn't get more than a few pages into any of them.

Here's the problem. I know EXACTLY what I want to read. The trouble is, it doesn't exist yet. I have to write it, first.

I swear that's the only reason I'm a writer. Oh, I suppose I like writing fine, in a masochistic kind of way. But I really only do it because no one else has written the exact story and characters I happen to be looking for, so I have to do it myself.

And, oh, help. The book that I want to read that doesn't exist yet is REALLY HARD. It's multiple points of view and stories within stories... to be perfectly honest I'm not sure I'm ready to write it. It will only be my third book and bluntly, I don't know if I have the chops, yet.

But that's the book I want - the one that I kept tossing all those other books aside for because they aren't IT.

So what am I really going to do - stall for another year and write something else instead? How much sense would that make?

I have about a month to decide, while I finish THE PRICE (which, by the way, was the book I was looking for about a year ago, that hadn't been written yet so I had to do it myself...).

But then, well, I'm afraid I know what's coming.

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Radio interview tomorrow - that's Tuesday morning, 8/1/06

If you're on the West Coast, or Australia!, I will be talking about THE HARROWING tomorrow morning at 8:45 AM, Pacific Time with Baron Ron Herron on AM radio 1290 KZSB

Thrillerfest, Day 2 (Cont.)

2006-07-19T16:10:02Z

ThrillerFest Day Two (Continued...)

I head for the Grill for lunch with Allison Brennan, Rob Gregory Browne, and Toni McGee Causey. Toni is lovely, Cajun, creamy skin and huge luminous eyes. I want to tell her about what I have seen and felt in New Orleans (was that only two days ago?) and ask her how she's handling it all but am afraid I will start to cry and not be able to stop. I haven't been able to process it myself, yet.

Toni and I commiserate about Hollywood. Rob and I commiserate about publicity. Allison and I fight over the Kalamata tapenade. All too soon I must run off again, this time to meet Heather and Harley for a Killerette rehearsal.

Heather's cottage really is in Utah, but air-conditioned to below freezing, which keeps us lively. We work on our dance moves and try on the sequined hats I scored in New Orleans. We repair to the patio to bond some more. It is so hot I can feel brain cells melting. We summon a golf cart and are driven to the next rehearsal.

I am sad to be missing all the panels and random chat and especially the trial of Jack Reacher and my chance to stalk Lee Child. Luckily so many people are blogging about it in such detail that I will have a chance to experience everything I missed -with pictures!

http://bookbitch.blogspot.com/
http://feoamante.com/Cons/Thriller_Fest_2006/index.html http://www.readersroom.com/blog.html
http://www.flickr.com/photos/jtellison/

http://tessgerritsen.com/blog/
http://killeryear.wordpress.com/2006/07/03/25-things-i-learned-at-thrillerfest/

http://terrenoire.blogspot.com/
http://jdrhoades.blogspot.com/2006/07/dry-heat-my-ass.html
http://nycphoto.interactivenyc.com

At this next (just our second!) rehearsal we meet Blake Crouch, our other extremely talented drummer, author of very dark suspense. Blake is indeed a "twisted little goober". He is also a walking archetype for me. A recurring character in my dreams is a red-haired young man who is half-angel, half-demon. Two of my best friends in life have been physical manifestations of this dream figure. His appearance in real life is always a sign of a massive creative breakthrough. It is even weirder to meet Blake's identically red-haired and angelic wife, and red-haired and mega-angelic new baby boy. If one is a creative breakthrough, what is three at once? Scary.

It is better, today. Blake looks as worried as we were yesterday, but the rest of us realize that overnight the improvement is so exponential that we might be able to pull this thing off. John Lescroart is massive fun to sing with. He doesn't hold back a thing, he's completely communicative and wickedly playful.

We are all having the best time. How to explain it? We're all writers, we love writing, we love talking about writing, we love writing about writing, we love WRITERS - but it is just so great to get with a group of people who understand all about you on that level and ALSO express all that same creativity physically - through our bodies and voices and instruments and rhythm. Music is a language, just as potent and intoxicating as words. It is so fucking great to get out of my head and just BE.

After this rehearsal there is nothing I want to do but sleep. Lee Child could be doing a striptease in the bar and still all I would want to do is -- (okay, even I'm not buying that one). But when I go by the bar, Lee Child is not doing a striptease, nor is anyone else, yet, so I'm off to bed - exhausted, but happy.

ThrillerFest, Day 2 (Morning)

2006-07-17T15:00:51Z

Michael's phone goes off at 4:45 am. His ring tones are like a samba on crack. Amusing - during the day. He locates and punches off the phone after probably 16 bars, at which point I know I will never get back to sleep.

I take a Melatonin anyway.

Mistake.

Now I am both wide awake and comatose.

I sleepwalk out to the jacuzzi, hoping it will make me feel better in some way. The desert air in the deco courtyard is peaceful and lulling. I am nodding off in the jacuzzi when suddenly 20 doors open simultaneously on three different balconies and two dozen sorority girls in full sorority dress and hair to match step out in perfect sync. A good half of them then flip open cell phones. I feel I have awakened in the Planet Camazotz scene of A WRINKLE IN TIME.

I sleepwalk, dripping, back to the room to shower. Michael is a perfect angel - vast quantities of ice and Diet Coke have materialized in the room. I stick my head in the ice bucket. It helps a bit.

Our New Authors Tell All panel is at 10 am. I have no real nervousness about it - panels I can do in my sleep (and clearly would be this morning). It's the rehearsals starting at one that have me worried - as I am useless from 3 pm to 6 even on a good day.

The panel is lively, well-attended, and I hope informative, thanks to the expert moderation of the lovely Christine Goff and the charisma of my fellow panelists, Rob Gregory Browne, Brett Battles, Phil Hawley, and Marcus Sakey (about whom I have already raved two posts below...) There's something very familial about being at the exact launching point in our careers and I feel I am around a dinner table with a set of (very attractive) brothers. I do feel a certain weird helpless uselessness, because although I'm sure we all have splendid careers ahead of is, the fact is none of us really KNOW how it's going to go for us and our books. Rob and I for sure know the vagaries of a writing career already.

Also, it's odd to be doing a panel that's all about the money when the real miracle of book authorship is just that - AUTHORSHIP. Copyright. No rewriters, no credit wars. The book is all you, and all yours. But that, as they say, is a whole nother story.

Can I just say it is totally insane to me that writing a book is so much harder than writing a screenplay and you are paid so much less? If I were not so sleepy I might have gotten really annoyingly revolutionary about it all. I don't know how anyone can make a living as a novelist, at least at first. You need a well-paid partner, a trust fund, or a miracle. Breaking into screenwriting was so much more sane. But then again when I broke in there I was insane already, so what am I really talking about? I was too young to know the odds - I simply didn't think that way, and could cheerfully live on oatmeal and Top Ramen for months at a time.

But you know what it is? If you're a writer, you're just going to do it - whether it's good for you or your loved ones or your health or your eternal soul. I am quite aware that at this point I should give up writing altogether (the epitome of desire and attachment) and start focusing on eternity, but there is not a chance in hell of that happening. I am doomed to several more turns on this Wheel of Karma because I just can't stop myself.

I see it. I know it. And I go right on. Doomed.

Sigh.

The most illuminating moment of the panel for me personally is when an audience member, savvy up-and-coming writer Boyd Morrison, asks us how it felt the moment we found out we sold (that is, LICENSED!) our books, and I realize for myself how very undramatic, or unecstatic, that moment was - although I did become weightless for several weeks, funny about that! It was more a profound and deeply quiet relief that I hadn't been WRONG about taking this huge risk in changing horses midstream.

I guess it was sort of the same for me when I sold my first screenplay - I literally cried through the entirety of a week-long bidding war and when it was done I was just quietly disbelieving - and weightless.

That's what the next step toward heaven is for me, I think. Weightlessness.

Can you write without attachment and desire and obsession? I wonder.

Contemplative moment only lasts a moment as there is attachment, desire and obsession going on all around me and I don't want to miss any of it.

Thrillerfest, cont: Ladies and Gentlemen, the Killer Thriller Band...

2006-07-15T13:38:10Z

I leave the post-Preston party, where Thrillerites are proceeding to get happily inebriated, and rush through the hotel looking for the Aztec room, weaving through Gamma Phi Betas and Fellows on my way (We're sharing the hotel with two other large conventions: The Fellowship - which sounds more ominous than the gospel-singing congregation it is - and 700 sorority girls and matrons, which is every bit as ominous as it sounds, but makes for some interesting viewing. And eavesdropping. And costuming, especially around the (eight!!!) swimming pools. I'm truly surprised any of the straight TF men can concentrate on anything else at all. If I hadn't already slept with just enough women to know I'm hopelessly heterosexual, I might be tempted myself. As it is I have some amusing and elaborate fantasies, because, you know, that's my job.).

I find the Aztec room which is, indeed, a pyramid. Or rather, it's an octagon with a pyramidal ceiling. Very odd. And hot. It calls out for, well, peyote. Instead, as a close second, we have the first rehearsal of the Killer Thriller Band.

First, the man behind it all. Bob Levinson is a showman. I am too new to the whole author thing to have seen his previous legendary productions for various Edgars and Bouchercons (or his TV specials) but his love of the old razzle-dazzle is apparent from the moment you meet him. We'd known each other online from WriterAction, the website I started for screenwriters to unite to throw off the chains of corporate Hollywood (but that's a secret, so don't tell anyone). Also we've both done time on the WGAw Board of Directors, which makes us fellow war survivors. But the day I met Bob f2f, at the LA Times Festival of the Book, we spent an hour dissecting WEST SIDE STORY. Nothing bonds you faster than an impromtu duet of "When you're a Jet, you're a Jet all the way..."

That's when he told me that he was producing the ThrillerFest Awards Show, and explained about the "Killer Thriller Band" he was putting together - a group of writers who are also real musicians, in the vein of the "Rock Bottom Remainders". He asked me if I was interested in being the third Killerette.

Well, I know that drill - short skirt, high heels, a little harmony, a lot of dancing... I've put in my time with enough girl groups called, variously, The Magnettes, deciBelles, Lip Service, the Perfect Fifth (you get the idea). I happen to love back up singing. Also back up dancing, if it can be called that. My greatest thrill in theater (besides, um, Shakespeare....) is the featured dancer role - playing one of the six or seven character dancers in the big sexy show stopper like Big Spender, Jailhouse Tango, Mein Herr, Steam Heat... usually involving a corset, fishnets and kinky boots. Pretty Shakespearean, when you think about it.

So what could I say to Bob but - Hell Yes.

If I'd known the rest of the lineup I would probably have been too intimidated to agree. Because just look at this lineup:

Heather Graham and Harley Jane Kozak on vocals; Michael Palmer on vocals, congas, and harmonica; Daniel Palmer on vocals and harmonica; John Lescroart on acoustic guitar and vocals; David Morrell on keyboards; F. Paul Wilson and Blake Crouch on drums; David Simms and Nathan Walpow on guitar, and Scott Nicholson on bass.

Some of these people I've been reading for YEARS. And now I meet them in the flesh.

Heather and Harley and Gayle and I have been exchanging a good dozen increasingly bawdy e mails a day for weeks now, about costuming, choreography and, well, obviously, sex - so this is like being reuinted with long-lost sisters. We have a group hug and gush over each other. Heather is an earthy, sexy powerhouse (150 books and five children? The woman is a FORCE), and Harley is an irresistable mix of old Hollywood glamor and author workhorse practicality. Goddesses, I tell you. We know we have extremely limited time to pull off our part of the show and are determined to make it work, but are surprised at how quickly we fall into pretty decent harmonies, with no squabbling over who has what part: Harley with a smoky alto, Heather a sweet, clear soprano and me taking the 1st alto/second soprano I grew up on.

I have instant crushes on every one of the men.

John Lescroat. If this man isn't Irish he should be. Ruddy, raucous, bawdy - and the soul of a poet. I adore him on the spot. Good thing I don't actually catch his full name until after we've added and rehearsed a new number with him - an acoustic version of "Bye Bye Love" - or I wouldn't have been able to squawk out a note. Of course I've read and loved his Dismus Hardy series. This must be a dream because it's too wild to be reality.

F. Paul Wilson glows. There's no other word for it - that combination of dreaminess and radiant intelligence. Kind, sad blue eyes. I have been a fan since I was a teenager and am shy and starstruck, even though he's already generously read and blurbed my book. At the same time I feel an odd protectiveness toward him - maybe just knowing the amazing and complicated things in this man's head.

Nathan Walpow is sweet and unflappable. He cracks me up with his wry observations.

Scott Nicholson I've e mailed and talked to through Horror Writers Association. I recognize him instantly. He's a bear - not because he's big, but that mountain, woodsman feel. Back country drawl and a journalist's savvy. Sweet, smart, SMART. Bass is the perfect instrument for him. His girlfriend Liz I also love instantly, not just because she jumps up and dances with me the second I shimmy over to her.

Dave Simms and I have already bonded at World Horror Con over our mutual experience working with disturbed teenagers (not our own). He is the man behind the curtain - all the music and arrangements and instruments that have magically appeared are thanks to him. So many horror writers in this band, come to think of it - what's that about? Dave, Scott, Paul, Blake, Heather and I all have that dark, supernatural bent.

I've already met and raved about Michael Palmer, but here's a surprise - his son, Daniel Palmer - phenomenal harp player. Killer voice and his father's profile and amazing eyes. They do things simultaneously sometimes, creating a vortex of charisma. The two of them together evoke twisted fantasies even I have never entertained before. Disturbing. It would make a good book, though... NO. Must steer away...

Gayle Lynds and David Morrell run in and out - obviously running the whole BIG show. David is cheerful and charming, just a prince - I will never fathom how Rambo came out of this man's brain. Also a hell of a keyboard player.

Gayle is so elegant and regal you'd swear she's wearing ermine. Equestrienne, powerful, lovely in every way. She is knocking herself out to make this party unforgettable, without ever showing the effort. I want to give her deep tissue massage and bring her silly trinkets that will make her smile. Both are doing an excellent job of being 72 places at once and giving every single one their undivided attention.

The professional level of musicianship among the guys is clear from the first few chords, but the enormity of pulling together anything resembling a reasonable show in under 48 hours is a little daunting. Our first attempts are rather like the disastrous rehearsal montage in THE COMMITMENTS - but everyone is so fun and good-natured it takes the edge off that "WTF have we gotten ourselves into?" panic. John wisely keeps us well-lubricated with a vast quantity of beer, which helps.

Still, there are fifteen minutes of sheer terror when the Killerettes realize the guys expect us to sing lead vocals on Bad Moon Rising. Bad Moon Rising is, I'm sorry, not a chick song. Many helpful but increasingly distressed suggestions as we stumble through it. What is missing, of course, is testosterone. I finally put on my most charming voice to suggest that Bad Moon is such a man's song that perhaps a man should be singing it. The twelve of us are I think equally and vastly relieved when Michael plays proud father and pushes Daniel forward and Daniel belts the sucker out in classic rock star style. Done and done.

Things get better from there, as we rehearse "Margaritaville" and "Twist and Shout" (some great dancing, there...) Daniel has tactful musical suggestions (this is a writer's son - he prefaces everything with "Just one man's opinion..."). Paul Wilson is the real barometer of our progress. He winces with his whole body when something goes off. Sometimes he visibly shudders. The Killerettes start watching him to gauge how we REALLY sound. Still, we have some great moments and are all already completely in love with each other, and I keep remembering that when the alarm went off before our flight this morning (at five fucking AM) the song on the clock radio was "Margaritaville". I kid you not.

If that's not a sign, I don't know what is.

We rehearse until one in the morning. I hit the bar for a moment afterward with Harley, and find JA Konrath propping up a pillar (a dirty job, but someone's gotta do it). James Born and I get a running commentary going on the parade of Gamma Phis (now, this could turn into a FANTASY...). Marcus Sakey breezes by, Mr. Suave y Rico, and takes the opportunity to steal my personal belongings.

I get a brief, shining moment with Allison Brennan as we leave the bar at the same time and navigate the long lawn back to our rooms, which are not, after all, so terribly far. At least not at night, in the moonlight, barefoot, with the mist from the fountain over the lawn. The desert air is heaven - I do love dry heat.

I stumble into our room - which I'm seeing for the first time at this moment. LUXE. I've stayed in some pretty fabulous places but this is just wonderful in every detail. Gold and brown and olive green. Marble and mirrors everywhere. Original ranch art (or at least, lithos). Deco design and sheets like whipped cream. It is a miracle for which I will be forever grateful that our intrepid ITW founders have gotten us this palace for less than $100 a night. Truly, a gift.

Michael is zonked out in bed and I am too tired to wake him up for... anything. I collapse into a coma myself, BAD MOON RISING running through my head in an endless loop. I'd forgotten how exhausting singing can be, but it's not so late that I can't get some good sleep before my ten AM panel and long day tomorrow, I think.

But oh, how laughably wrong....

ThrillerFest (1)

2006-07-13T14:08:54Z

Since people are asking, I will download about the unbelievably great time that was ThrillerFest - the first annual convention of the International Thriller Writers' Organization. I'm going to have to do this in chunks, though, since there's so much to say.

DAY ONE:

Arrive at Arizona Biltmore, a Frank Lloyd Wright palace of a hotel on a golf course in the middle of a desert. Jaw drops in awe at first sight. I've toured many a Wright building, house, church - but this one hits me like a sledgehammer. The concrete deco detailing alone - beautiful and haunting. Fevered, is what I keep thinking. It's a little terrifying to walk into a manifestation of this man's mind.

Lobby: quadruple-planed fountain. Native American mosaic in stained glass. A deco grandfather clock that is going home with me somehow. COPPER ceiling glowing two and a half stories above. Unbelievable. And very aesthetic bellhops to match. (Yes, as a matter of fact you can help me with just about anything you can dream up, thanks...)

Room is not ready (and is rumored to be in Utah) so on to MacArthur ballroom for registration. Landscaping is as staggering as the architecture - desert deco. I'm never going home.
.....................................................................................

MacArthur lobby: glacial AC, thank God - after a five-minute walk in 110 degree heat I am on the verge of passing out. There is iced tea in huge silver urns. I almost knock over Erica Spindler, whose creepy BONE COLD I just finished a week and a half ago. I start to fawn. A bear of a man comes up and gives me a big hug. Towering, sexy, vital, killer eyes. I don't know him from Adam, but who the hell cares? He starts talking about rehearsal (that would be band rehearsal, about which much more in a minute) and I realize this is Michael Palmer. MICHAEL PALMER. I have at least seven of his medical thrillers lined up on the top shelf of the right-hand bookshelf beside my desk for easy access. How in the world does he know me?

I register and drift in the lobby in a daze. Tall, lean, devastating Englishman over there MUST be Lee Child. I have not started drinking yet and resolve I WILL NOT gush like a tedious fan girl. I will play it cool - let him come to me (I can dream, can't I?).

It is beginning to dawn on me that I have crash landed in the Valley of the Giants. Must get hold of self - the party's just starting.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I find my first panel of the day - one of the few I will be able to attend because so much of the conference will be spent rehearsing (I'm getting to it, I'm getting to it...). I am really looking forward to this one: BUZZ YOUR THRILLER, with MJ Rose, David Montgomery and Sarie Morrell.

MJ is a knockout - funny, sexy, savvy, stylish - clearly has left hundreds of dazed and delighted conquests in her wake. Just for one day I would love to be inside her head (and body). David is a class act, who I understand is responsible for much of the TF programming - stupendous job, there. And even after that staggering amount of work, he stepped up and helped the band schlep equipment when we were desperate for help. I love this man. Sarie Morrell is a beauty, and everything you would want in a publicist.

I am taking notes wildly all through this one. MJ says bluntly what I'd been suspecting - that a new author should take their advance and spend it ALL on promoting that first book. Sobering. And so we make a living exactly how? Food for thought for our own panel tomorrow. She also says that you have to realize that you're not going to be able to do everything (in fact she says quite clearly that it would be impossible to do everything that JA Konrath advises. Quite a relief, there.).

After the panel I meet my fellow New Author panelists Robert Gregory Browne, Phil Hawley, Brett Battles, and Marcus Sakey. Actually we have all bonded by e mail going on months before and they simply feel like family already.

Phil Hawley radiates doctorness. Great hands. I mean, bedside manner. I mean - right. Better quit while I'm ahead. Umm - did I mention he's a snappy dresser? Brett Battles has that far-off look of international espionage - distant, brooding... and then he suddenly breaks into a smile and it's like the sun. Rob Gregory Browne is the man behind the camera for the weekend, documenting TF on film - truly a labor of love and good karma. An elegant watcher. Also could be a spy, or a martial artist, or a hired killer. Very masculine energy.

All total sweethearts. Oh, and talk about sweet - Jason Pinter, who I meet here for the first time. Huggable! I am also thrilled that Paul Guyot is here - a great writer I know from the WGA trenches, and a friend of Dr. Hawley's. Worlds are starting to collide...

Now, much has already been made in the TF post-mortems about Marcus Sakey's attractiveness. It's true. A very young Paul Michael Glaser, the same self-effacing hotness. Women will be throwing underwear and hotel keys at his readings. But I'm here to tell you that he's more than just a pretty face. The man is a dyed-in-the-wool deviant. The very first night he will buy me a drink then steal my TF badge and my mesh shawl and pretend to chivalrously return them to me the next morning and cheerfully confess to going through the pockets of the badge pouch looking for incriminating personal details about me. Also, my lipstick is still missing. I feel instantly at home in the company of such authorly amorality (it's not just me, then...)

Also at this panel I meet two women I've admired from their blogs and instantly adore in person: JT Ellison, Killer Year founder and Murderata (singular feminine of Murderati, right?) and Allison Brennan, brand new author with three thrillers out within three months of each other - could you kill her? These are goddesses for sure - earthy, funny, crackling with life. Feel like I've known them before.

I start thinking - and will continue thinking all conference long - about the difference between screenwriters and authors. Now, I love me my screenwriters. I always get the sense being in a room full of them that I'm surrounded by thoroughbred horses. They're edgy, antsy, explosive.

As a species, authors are so much more sweet, somehow. I don't know how else to describe it. Not so much to prove, because it's all there on the page. Not so much need for the edge. I'll think about it and try to be more clear.

Wish I'd had so much more time with ALL of them - but band rehearsals were about to start...

Just do it

2006-06-15T15:40:33Z

Shakespeare has the answer.

Well, sort of.

I realized what I was fretting about yesterday was the enormity of doing this story justice (this is my eternal fret, actually). And a line leapt to mind - my favorite moment from, not Shakespeare, but the riotous Complete Works of Wm. Shakespeare (Abridged), written and for quite a long time performed by my friends (since college, eek!) Adam Long, Daniel Singer and Jess Winfield (who is one of my critique partners, currently writing a brilliant novel about sex, drugs, and Shakespeare.)

My favorite moment in a show full of laugh-till-you're-sick moments comes just before the intermission, when Adam flat out refuses to go any further, because the one play left that the boys haven't yet butchered is HAMLET. And Adam just doesn't think he can do it justice.

Jess lifts a sobbing Adam from the floor, assuring him - "We don't have to do it justice. We just have to do it."

And that's the point I have to remember. Sometimes you don't have to do it justice (although you always hope justice eventually will be done). Sometimes you just have to do it.

A sudden thought...

2006-06-14T18:53:42Z

Here's a thought. What if I just don't finish?

Today I'm up to p. 349 of THE PRICE, and I don't want to write any more. I'm tired. The scene coming up is just too hard. I have one book. What do I really need another for? I could go to the beach. I could go to Peru. I could just, you know, go shopping.

What am I trying to prove, anyway?

It's a free country. What if I just stop, right now?

Remakes, remakes, as far as the eye can see....

2006-06-09T14:02:20Z

Browsing through a new open writing assignment list(the list of projects set up at film studios that are actively looking for writers) I could hardly help but notice (AGAIN) the number of remakes coming down the pipe. This is by no means a complete list of what's coming - it's just the projects currently looking for writers. Thought others might be interested - or maybe I mean to say horrified:

ANGEL HEART (from the book)
THE BAD SEED
BUNNY LAKE IS MISSING
BYE BYE BIRDIE
CANNONBALL RUN
CHILDREN OF THE CORN
CREEPSHOW
THE EQUALIZER (from TV show)
DEEP BLUE GOODBYE (Travis McGee)
DESTROY ALL MONSTERS
DON'T LOOK NOW
FRANTIC
THE GREAT GATSBY
HAWAII FIVE-0
THE HITCHER
THE HOT ROCK
HOUSE OF FLYING DAGGERS
I LOVE YOU AGAIN
KOL MA
KOPPS
LAVERNE AND SHIRLEY
ITALIAN FOR BEGINNERS
THE JEFFERSONS
THE KID (as a musical)
LOGAN'S RUN
THE LONE RANGER
MAN WITH THE X-RAY EYES
MY WIFE IS AN ACTRESS
REMINGTON STEELE
THE REVENANTS
ROBOCOP
RRRRRR
SAFETY LAST
SALEM (THE CRUCIBLE)
THE SENTINEL
SHARKY'S MACHINE
SILVER STREAK
SPEED RACER
THE TINGLER
TOMIE
THE TENANT
WAIT UNTIL DARK
WITCHES OF EASTWICK (book)

The Story Thus Far

2006-06-01T14:26:52Z

(Apologies to WriterAction members - I couldn't resist)

Yes, I finally have a website for my upcoming debut novel, THE HARROWING - and the requisite accompanying blog. Now - what exactly to do with it? Luckily, since I have not yet officially launched this website or blog, I can blather on without repercussions, and possibly find my blog voice before anyone actually reads any of this. Anyone who happens on this space by mistake, please bear with me!

I guess the point is to try to be honest and useful to people who are interested in doing this writing/publishing/producing thing themselves. And since experience has shown I can be useful in that arena (see WriterAction.com) I'll just start and hope for the best.

Having worked as a screenwriter for ten years I find it a little unnerving to be an actual author now and to have attention suddenly shift to me, instead of me having to be constantly as charming but self-effacing as possible while servicing the (endless, bottomless, insatiable....) needs of the producers, director, star, or all of the above of whatever film project I happen to be working on. I was at the fun and fabulous LA Times Festival of Books last weekend and people kept asking me to autograph the postcards of The Harrowing and even asked to take pictures with me. And the book isn't even out until September.

Amazing, really - you become an author as opposed to a writer and people suddenly care what you think.

(But as a producer told me in a meeting last week - "Hey, don't get used to that." Right. Sigh.)

Anyway, the story thus far:

As my website bio details, I started in musical theater at a very young age. In fact, I was just about seven when I did a Civic Light Opera production of Rumpelstiltskin with Billy Barty. Now I have to say that's strange, to be seven, barely aware of reality, and find yourself in a full-scale, balls-out musical with a real celebrity Little Person. Mythic, really. Jung would have been proud.

I did musicals through high school, improvisational theater through and after college; moved into script reading, then professional film writing (that is, after a brief stint in video writing and production that I left out of that website bio); and proceeded to work as a screenwriter for really, far, far, FAR too long for sanity.

The last three or four years of my screenwriting career I became so revolted by "The Process" that I started quietly but systematically getting the rights back to all my original work that was sold or optioned to various studios. More on that later, I'm sure. And, oh yes, because I'm from Berkeley and thus everything is political, I also ran for the Board of Directors of the Writers Guild of America, west, the union of professional screenwriters, and won a seat, where I am working to increase screenwriters' political power in the industry. Dorothy Parker did it - I can only hope to follow in her footsteps in some small way.

As part of this epiphany of mine that the film business as currently constituted is death to writers (Exaggeration? Perhaps...) I wrote THE HARROWING as a novel from one of my original scripts, sold the book to St. Martin's Press in fall of last year in a two-book deal (an incredibly fast and painless process, thank God, or I probably would have killed myself, seriously) and now find myself a complete naive in the wonderful world of publishing.

My book agent is Scott Miller, of Trident Media Group.
My editor is Ben Sevier, at St. Martin's Press.

(Which all makes me the evil twin of Robert Gregory Browne - or him the evil twin of me, we'll have to see which!)

THE HARROWING debuts August 22, 2006

And it will all unfold right here, for anyone who's interested.

Love, Alex

XX

http://alexandrasokoloff.com/