How Do I Write Effective Dialogue?

I got this question at my most recent reading and my short answer was that I'm not sure I do, at least in terms of writing that is ever going to be commercially viable. And that's because my dialogue apparently doesn't follow the rules. I tried following the rules for exactly one book. I didn't like it and it's strongly my sense that the people who read the book didn't like it. I got that sense when they said, "I didn't like it."

Let me back up a little. As you may or may not know, before I went independent I had dreams of going old school, legit, agented publishing with a publishing company. When I finished what I thought was the final draft of Harsh Prey, I started querying agents. I did that for two years, sending out multiple queries every month. Not a sniff. In fact, I literally got one actual human response. Every single other one was the dreaded auto reject that any aspiring author can practically recite from memory: "Thank you for your excellent submission. Unfortunately, it does not meet our needs at this time, but please don't give up. It may be just the vehicle someone else is looking for."

But like I said, I did get one human response and it was a highly encouraging one. It was actual
extemporaneously composed words from a human being who clearly had read the excerpt that I had sent. She spoke specifically of characters and scenes. A New York literary agent actually read something I wrote. She said she liked Harry and his voice but I needed to work on pacing and dialogue issues. That was great! I mean, it was terrible because I had no idea what she meant by that, but it was great because it was actual direction from someone who worked in the business. By the way, she also said I should feel free to re-query when I fixed the problems. I did. No reply at all. Not even an auto-reject.

So I found someone who knew what the agent meant: an editor. She explained that I was using too much detail in my descriptions, that people didn't want to know every single object in a room. And she said that my dialogue was too long too. She said that in commercial fiction, dialogue is chopped down and doesn't sound like people really talk at all. She said the idea isn't to re-create the way people actually speak, but instead is just to convey information and allow the narration do the heavy lifting. For instance, in some scene, I may have two people eating dinner and my version may look like this:

"Could you please pass the salt?"
"Here you go. You want the pepper too?"
"Sure, thanks. So, did you have a nice day?"
"Well, it started out rough, but yeah, it ended up great. That client I've been working with finally green lighted my proposal."
"Wow, that's fantastic! I'm excited for you."
"Thanks. I'm excited too."

The more commercially viable version makes the characters sound like Tonto to me:

"Pass the salt?"
"Pepper too?"
"Sure. Nice day?"
"Started rough. Got better. Won an account."
"Fantastic!"
"Thanks."

That is what a lot of commercial fiction dialogue actually sounds like, but I wasn't comfortable with it. I wanted to be commercially viable, though, so I gave in to the man, so to speak. Lots of short, terse, clipped dialogue that made the characters sound like they were only budgeted so many words a day and they didn't want to pay for overages. I chopped a full 12,000 words from my original manuscript. I had to admit that the pacing was a lot better. The story clipped along now, whereas it kind of sauntered before. But I still didn't like the dialogue. It just didn't fit my style. I'm a dialogue guy. I will often take a scene that was mostly narrative and convert it to almost all dialogue. But that's how it finally went out when I finally decided that two years of querying was enough and went independent.


People seemed to like it okay. In fact, some people really loved it. But the main negative comment (other than embarrassing proofreading errors that they pointed out and have since been fixed) was that the dialogue just didn't ring real. It was too short and clipped and terse. It didn't sound how people talk. So I went back and re-wrote all the dialogue in Kisses and Lies that I'd already written and made it the way I was comfortable with. I used full sentences and, in many cases, let the dialogue tell the story, while giving the reader a real sense of who the characters are by the way they talk. And the dialogue, especially between Harry and Dee, is my favorite part of all of the books. I hear the conversations in my head and record them verbatim.

Does that mean I'll never be commercially viable? Maybe. Maybe even probably. Will I change it? Probably not. If I got an offer from a publishing house that said they will definitely publish me if I alter it, I guess I would have to consider it. But I wouldn't definitely say yes unless their offer had a lot of zeroes attached to it. Like I said, Harry and Dee are two of my favorite people, real or fictional. And one of the things I love about them is how they speak with each other. It would be awfully hard to give that up.

So what do you think. If you've read my books, which version do you like best? I'd love to hear from you.

Do Authors Have To Have Had a Miserable Life?

I've heard a lot of people say that in order for someone to be a good writer, he or she must have led a dark life full of sad experiences and alcoholism and just misery in general. When I first heard that, I thought I was doomed to failure because, as I only half-jokingly say, I grew up in a combination of a Norman Rockwell painting and a situation comedy. Sure, there were tough times, but life in general was happy. Or at least that's how I remember it--I've found over the years that there are less than positive events, like family fights, that, when I've been reminded of them, I realize I have absolutely no recollection of them. You may think that means I'm blocking out bad memories, and maybe I am, but I would argue it's more about having a terrible memory in general. I am occasionally reminded of happy events that I don't recall at all either. 

But I digress. Let's get back to the question of whether an author's life must be one of abject wretchedness in order to be successful. I should probably say that, depending on your definition of success, I may have no right to answer the question. I've made no best-seller lists, won no contests, or even succeeded in obtaining an agent or publisher. So if your definition is a traditional one, I've been an utter failure. And maybe that's made me a better writer. But that's not how I measure success. The fact that I've written four novels and a novella that people have enjoyed makes me successful. I have people who like my characters and my voice as a writer. I have a tribe. It's a small one, but it's real nonetheless. So I feel successful. And like I said, I haven't been abused and filled with mental anguish all my life. 

So why do people think that authors need to have lived like that? I guess probably a lot of it has to do with the fact that so many authors, like creative people in practically every field, have suffered from hard lives, substance abuse, and/or mental illness. But I think we only notice those folks for the same reason we notice the bad news on TV and the Internet before the good. We're drawn to the negative, the lurid, the spectacular, not really paying attention to the fact that for every wacked, out pill-popping, drunk author/actor/singer/artist, there are many quite successful ones that lead lives of quiet normality. 

But what of the argument that in order to write about sad things, one must have experienced those things? Well, the short answer is that that's just silly. Based on that thinking, no man could ever write in the voice of a woman, no white person could ever write in the voice of someone of any other race, and no one who has never been to another country could ever write about that place. And yet people successfully do this every day. How? Paying attention and being sensitive. 

Harry and Dee, the protagonists of my Shalan Adventures series, lost a baby. I've never experienced that, and yet people who have read my books say that I handled the emotional responses to that event accurately and with sensitivity. I've also never been sexually molested, physically or psychologically abused, been shot, or shot anyone. And yet my readers tell me that I've told stories about these events with believability. How? I know people who've gone through many of those things. I've listened to them talk of their experiences. I've hugged and cried with them as they've struggled with them. And their experiences have informed my writing. 

What of the things I've not experienced directly? As I've said before (like last week), good writers are first voracious readers. For every word I've written about the ins and outs of the life of a detective, I've read thousands. I've read books, articles, pamphlets, interviews, medical reports--you name it, I've read it for the sake of being able to write about it in a way that rings true. 

So successful writers don't have to write or drink themselves blind in order to get the voices in their heads to shut up for a while. They don't have to have been beaten or neglected or abandoned as children. They don't have to have been or done anything. But they do need to be aware and sensitive enough to internalize those experiences when they happen to the people around them and/or the characters they read about. So I guess the key to being a successful writer is compassion. Well, that and the ability to, you know, actually write. All the sensitivity in the world won't help if you just don't have a way with words. But the reverse is true too. Great wordsmiths who can't feel others' pain will write beautifully crafted, eloquent words that ring hollow to the reader. 

So maybe being good at writing is less about any one thing and more about lots of things coming together. Which makes writing a lot like life in general. The happiest, most fulfilled people are the ones who have the ability to enter into and come alongside the lives of the people around them and also have found a career that combines their passion and best abilities. 

You notice I didn't mention money in there. In my opinion, anyone who measures success based on their bank account is going to end up miserable. There's nothing wrong with making millions of dollars, but it should be a by-product of success, not the end product. 

Christmas With The Shalans, Week 4

Merry Christmas Eve! It's been a very interesting week, to say the least. So interesting that I forgot that today was Saturday and almost neglected to post my final Shalan holiday excerpt. Before I do so, though, I ask that you keep my family in your prayers. We're going through a tough time right now, but we do have much for which to be thankful.

So without further ado, here's the final excerpt, which doesn't technically take place at Christmas. It's Thanksgiving dinner, but Dee gives Harry one of the greatest gifts he's ever received. This is from Dawn of Grace.

I took my brother Will’s spot on the couch as he was called to the kitchen for carving duty. A half hour later, my sister and brother-in-law back from a successful mission to locate whipped topping and the turkey carved and on the table, Mom called everyone around. Dad turned off the TV and my oldest brother and my two sisters-in-law came down the stairs, preceded by four rambunctious children, ranging in age from three to nine. “I forgot something,” Dee whispered in my ear. “Be right back.” I looked after her, concerned that she had gotten ill. But by the time everyone was gathered around the table, she was back with what looked like a Christmas gift bag in her hand. She waved it at Jenn, who smiled. She moved to my side and took my hand. Jenn wrapped her arms around Dee’s other arm and put her head on her shoulder. 

Mom moved to my other side, putting her arm around my waist. I put my arm over her shoulder. “Harry, you want to say the prayer?”

“Sure. But first, I’d like to say thanks to everyone for working so hard to arrange your schedules so we could all be here together for Thanksgiving. Especially Otis and Anita. I want to say one more time, congratulations on your engagement. We’re all so happy for you two. Although, Anita, you might want to be careful. How your future husband could afford such a rock on a cop’s salary is beyond me.”

Otis laughed. “It’s amazing what good prices you can get at the evidence lockup.”

“Let’s see the ring one more time!” Jenn shouted. Anita shyly held out her hand.

Dee reached toward Anita. “It really is beautiful, Anita.”

I squeezed Dee’s hand. “Not as beautiful as its owner, though.”

“Watch it bud.”

“Otis, you’ve been flirting with my wife since high school. This is payback.”

“Okay, then.”

 Okay, let’s pray.”

Dee raised her hand. “Umm, I’m sorry to interrupt, but before we pray, I have a little something to say.” She let go of my hand and Jenn disengaged from her other arm. “Harry, I’m sorry to tell you this, but I’ve been keeping something from you and I just can’t keep up this charade anymore. You’ve known for a while probably that something is different.” She lifted up the bag. “I was hoping to tell you this at Christmas time, but Miss Punkin here figured out my secret, so I feared you would soon, too.” She held up the package. “So, now that I have you all completely perplexed, here, Harry. Hopefully this will explain what I’m talking about. Before you open it, I want you to know I love you very much.”

She handed me the bag. I smiled at her and pulled the tissue paper out revealing something small in the bottom. As soon as my fingers touched it, I knew what it was—a Christmas ornament shaped like a baby rattle. It was inscribed with “Baby’s First Christmas.”

Mom leaned in. “Is that…?”

I smiled through tears. “Yes. I got this for you last Christmas. And I forgot.”

“And I opened it. On Christmas morning.”

“After we lost Emma Grace.”

“And I was so horrible, I drove you away and almost lost you. I’m so sorry.”

“Does it mean what I hope it means?”

“Yes. Everyone, we’re going to have a baby. I’m pregnant.”

I engulfed her in my arms, kissing her forehead. “I love you so much, Babydoll.”

“I love you too, Mister Man.”

Literally every other person in the house hugged her before Mom reminded us that Thanksgiving dinner was getting cold, so I said the prayer and we all sat down to the feast. We laughed and ate and had a perfect meal. Eddie spent the whole time circling the table, receiving enough bites that I was afraid he was going to get sick. But he never stopped.

After dinner was eaten and all the cleanup complete, Dee came and sat on my lap as I watched football with the menfolk. I was uncomfortably full, but it was worth it. I nestled my head in her bosom, put my hand on her belly, and sighed, eyes closed. It was obviously rounded, now that I was paying attention. Some detective I am. She lifted my chin, kissed me lightly, and then whispered to me. “Oh, and Harry, Dr. Mathur and I did the math. Based on how far along I am, guess when Emma Grace was conceived.”

“It’s Emma Grace?”

“You had the dream too, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“That’s the night. Our special night. That’s when she came back to us.”

So there you go. I hope you have a blessed Christmas and an amazing 2017. God bless us, everyone!

Christmas With The Shalans, Week 3

Here's week 3 of my series of holiday moments with the Shalans. In it we meet Harry's mentor in the gumshoe business, who gives them an extremely surprising gift. This is from "Harry and the Redheaded Angel", my Shalan prequel novella. 

The promised snow had indeed come, snarling traffic for two days, but life was back to normal just in time for the last few days of Christmas shopping. I was relieved because I hadn’t had a chance to shop for Lucas or my family at all yet. It was decided that I’d spent enough money without going to Six-Ten Magnolia, so I was to take the money I had earmarked to spend there and spend it on the last presents I needed to get. And by it was decided, I mean Dee decided. I was not happy about it, but finally gave in. We had just finished our shopping and were on our way to Lucas’ house for Christmas with him before we both left for our respective family Christmases. We’d talked about it and decided that, since we were going to have to alternate between Parkersburg and Nashville in future years that we’d spend this last holiday as pseudo-single people with our own families. Another choice about which I wasn’t wild, but the alternative was to spend Christmas with her family since we’d spent Thanksgiving with mine.

“To be fair, your family was in the middle of the Caribbean over Thanksgiving,” I said, pulling up to Lucas’ house.

“This is family, honey bunch. Fair has nothing to do with it.” She got out and pulled her hat down over her ears against the cutting wind.

“Can’t you come to my folks’ for a couple days and then fly to your parents? I’ll come down and spend New Year’s in Nashville with you.” I was out and gathering presents for Lucas as well as Loretta, who had started spending a good bit of time with Lucas in the last month or so.

“I don’t have money for the ticket.”

“Ask your folks?”

“Ask them to pay for a plane ticket so I can miss Christmas with them?”

“Well, when you put it that way, it sounds unreasonable.”

“It sounds unreasonable any way you put it.”

“You win.” I rang the bell.

“Lucas’ decorations are beautiful.”

“You mean Loretta’s. Lucas’ idea of decorating for Christmas is to wear a red tie to church.”

“They really like each other, don’t they?”

I didn’t get a chance to respond because Lucas opened the door, inundating us with the lovely warmth of a fire in the fireplace, the ravishing aroma of turkey, and joyful noise of Nat King Cole wishing us a merry little Christmas now.

“Come in, you two,” said Lucas. “Merry Christmas!” He shook my hand, hugged Dee, took our gifts from us, and placed them under the tree while we took off our coats.

“Merry Christmas, Mr. and Mrs. Sugar,” said Loretta, coming from the kitchen. She was wearing a lovely red sweater over a wool skirt and tall brown boots. The ensemble was completed with a festive apron decorated with Santa and Mrs. Claus kissing under the mistletoe. She hugged us both and took our coats. Lucas offered us drinks.

“Egg nog for me, please,” said Dee.

“Decaf for me,” I said, sitting beside Dee on the couch in the living room. Lucas’ house was older, and had never been renovated to have the great room feel. It had a living room, a dining room, and a kitchen, all in a row from front to back.

“Your tree is gorgeous!” shouted Dee. “It’s so big!”

“First time I’ve had a tree in I don’t know how long,” said Lucas, coming in from the kitchen with our drinks. He sat down in the loveseat across from us. “I guess since Claire died, so what, twenty years?”

“You’ve been widowed for twenty years?” I asked. “Why so long?”

“Never found anybody to come up to her standard. Until now.”

“What are you all talking about so quietly in here?” asked Loretta. She sat next to Lucas.

“You, if you must know.”

“Mrs. Sugar, let me see that rock on your finger.”

Dee jumped up and held out her hand to let Lucas and Loretta admire the ring. “Wait a second, Loretta, what’s that you’re wearing?”

Loretta’s skin was too dark to tell, but I think she may have blushed as she held out her left hand for Dee to inspect her ring finger.”

“Lucas, is this your doing?” I asked.

“Asked her the same night you proposed to your lovely here,” he said, taking Dee’s hand in his.

“Well, congratulations!” I said, rising to shake his hand again. “I’m so happy for you both. You guys both deserve some happiness.”

“We found it,” said Loretta, kissing Lucas on the cheek. He smiled contentedly.

The timer went off signaling that dinner was ready, so we went to the kitchen to help bring everything in to the dining room. The dinner in place, we sat down and Lucas led us in prayer. After grace, I opened my eyes to find an envelope on my plate.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“Your Christmas present,” said Lucas. “And your wedding present. Dee, sorry, but this is for both of you.”

“It’s not their wedding present, you old skinflint!” said Loretta. “Well, Sugar, open it before this food gets cold.”

I looked at Lucas, puzzled, and handed the envelope to Dee. She tried to protest, but I held my ground. She slid her slender finger under the flap of the red envelope and pulled out a Christmas card with a manger scene on the front. She was to my right, so when she opened the card, I couldn’t see what was inside. I assumed it was a gift certificate of some kind, but Dee’s eyes grew wide when she pulled the small slip of paper out and studied it.

“Is this—what is this?” She asked. Her voice was trembling. “I don’t understand.”

“What is it, honey?” I asked, holding out my hand. She stared at me a second, her face a mask of shock. She finally handed me the paper. It was a check.

“Pay to the order of Harry Shalan, One-Hundred-Thousand and 00/100 Dollars.” I read it over and over but couldn’t make sense of it. Why would they play such a joke and call it a present? But the more I read it, the more I realized it was real. This was an actual check for an actual hundred grand. I looked at Lucas and Loretta and then at Dee, my mouth moving, but no sounds coming out.

“I told you we shoulda waited until after dinner,” said Loretta. “He’s not gonna have an appetite now.”

I looked at Dee again. She just shook her head, bewildered. “What is this?” I finally asked.

“Loretta’s late husband left her rather well off,” said Lucas.

“Well off my foot,” said Loretta. “I’m stinkin’ rich.”

“Okay, but what’s that got to do with this?”

“Like I told you that day, when, well, you know.” He instinctively touched the scar on his head. “You remember what I said?”

“You said you’re getting too old for this stuff.”

“And I am, so I’m closing up shop. Loretta and I are going to see the world after we get married.”

“Good for you,” said Dee, her voice shaken by emotion. “But this is a hundred thousand dollars.”

“And it’s yours,” said Lucas. “And we won’t take no for an answer. No strings attached, but, if I might suggest, I’d seriously consider a new car as your first purchase.”

“This—this is too much,” I said.

“Like I said, Sugar, we’re rich. Hundred thousand dollars is pocket money for us now.”

“I figure the rest you could use to move home,” said Lucas, “and for seed money to start your own agency. I know how homesick you are.”

I looked at Dee, the question in my eyes. She sniffed and nodded as she wiped a tear from her face with a napkin.

“I don’t know what to say,” I said. “Thank you seems so inadequate. But thank you.”

“No need for thanks,” said Lucas, taking Loretta’s hand in his kissing it. “You two mean the world to the two of us. Harry, you came along at just the right time and brought youth and excitement to my life. And who knows if I would’ve lived if you hadn’t been there when I tangled with Yamamoto. And Dee, you might just be the angel that Harry says you are, because you have made him and us so happy since you came into our lives. So it’s we who want to thank you. Merry Christmas to you both.”

“There’s a problem, though, Lucas,” I said.

“What’s that?”

“All we got you was a membership in the cheese of the month club.”

Lucas and Loretta looked at each other and burst into raucous laughter. I was starting to feel kind of defensive when they finally calmed down to speak.

“Oh honey,” said Loretta between gasps of laughter. “I’m lactose intolerant.”

Next week, Dee re-gifts something, but Harry doesn't mind at all. 

Christmas With The Shalans, Week 2

It's week 2 in my retrospective of holidays with the Shalans. This week's entry goes all the way back to before Harry and Dee are married. In fact, it's Harry's infamous White Castle proposal. Enjoy!

 “So where do we eat? I can’t afford another nice meal tonight and then to come back here again next week.”

“You can’t afford it? You have thousands in savings. You scrape and scrimp for every penny.”

“I, uh, I just mean it’s more money than I should spend. I still haven’t gotten all my  Christmas shopping done.”

“Well, I don’t mind buying dinner.”

“No! Not tonight!”

“But our real Christmas date can be next week.”

“I don’t think I can wait until next week.”

“We have no choice. We don’t have a table.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“What do you mean, then?”

“Nothing. It’s okay.”

She squinted at me, obviously confused. Even that was adorable. “Okay, let’s go to our place.”

“Really? Tonight? Dressed like this?”

“You think we’re not dressed well enough for White Castle?”

“Hey,” said the young cashier who’d waited on us countless time. “They change the dress code and not tell me?”

“Hi Pedro,” said Dee. “We missed our reservations at Six-Ten Magnolia and this was the next best thing.”

“This place ain’t the next best by like a million. I saw a rat in the back eat a burger somebody dropped. He was dead inside of five minutes.”

“Oh, Pedro, stop it.”

“Okay, your funeral.”

“Pedro!” shouted a voice from inside the kitchen. “Shut up!”

Pedro grimaced satirically and mouthed, “Uh oh,” to us while rolling his eyes. Dee’s eyes sparkled and she laughed quietly. “Yes boss! What can I get you lovely folks tonight? The usual?”

 Our order filled, we went to our table in the back left corner. As we sat eating our sliders, she could tell something was up. I’m invariably a clown, especially at the Castle, where we both knew everyone who worked and ate there. But this night, I ate quietly as I stared into her chocolate eyes, which shone with concern that something was wrong as she watched me fidget through my meal. Pedro even stopped by to banter with us as he swept and wiped tables, but I just couldn’t bring myself to join him. All I could think about was how was I going to wait another whole week with this ring burning a hole in my pocket? But how could I propose here? In a greasy spoon like this. She deserved a perfect location. But a whole week? I’d end up in a padded room. I just needed to ask her. But here?

“Are you okay, honey? Please don’t worry about dinner. You know I don’t care about that. I’m happy anywhere as long as I’m with you.”

I smiled at her and knew I couldn’t wait. I decided to plow on, the somewhat-less-than-romantic location be damned. And besides, this place was more ours than any fancy downtown restaurant. We’d been here two or three times a week for two-and-a-half months and the closest we’d come to going to Six-Ten Magnolia was standing at the front desk being told someone else was eating at our table. So, in a way, I hoped I could eventually convince myself, this was even more romantic. The only question was how she would react. Would this place be just too seedy? Does an angel deserve to be proposed to in a slider joint? But these were all my issues. She had told me repeatedly that she didn’t see herself as an angel and was puzzled by the fact that I did. She was just a woman in love with a guy who was kind of crazy in an amusing way. So I hoped she would see this as just another instance of me being a fun wacko. I took a sip of my water and decided to just go for it.    

“Dee, I know we haven’t been together for that long, but I pretty much knew the minute I heard your angelic voice that I wanted to be with you for the rest of my life. I always told people that I hoped you were beautiful when I heard you singing, because I knew I was going to marry you someday.”

I don’t know if it actually did or it was only in my head, but the whole restaurant seemed to go silent. Even the passing traffic noises faded. As realization dawned, she put her dainty right hand, tipped with perfectly manicured fingernails that were painted soft pink, over her mouth. Her eyes started to glisten with tears as I slid out of my seat and onto one knee on the floor beside her, reaching into my pocket for the box.

“Babydoll,” I said, opening the box to reveal the ring. It sparkled in the bright light of the restaurant. Her hands dropped to the table, revealing her tiny bow of a mouth, which was now a perfect circle. Her eyes grew wide and a tear spilled out of each, running down her soft, white cheeks. “I’m sorry about doing this here, but I just can’t wait. Is this okay?”

She tried to speak but words wouldn’t come, so she nodded silently. I took her right hand in my left. “I’ve never known or been known by anyone like you before, and I know that will never change. The air has more oxygen when I’m with you and the sun shines more brilliantly. I want never to stop feeling that. I love you more than I ever would have guessed I was capable of loving anyone. You make me want to be the hero you think I am. Will you please marry me?”

She was shaken with sobs, so she just kept nodding as she held out her left hand for me to put the ring on. I struggled, not because the ring didn’t fit, but because I’d started bawling too and could barely see to do it. The ring finally in its place of honor, I started to rise, but before I could, she dropped to her knees in front of me and crushed me with a hug. I honestly couldn’t say how long we stayed there, but I held her, whispering I-love-yous in her ear until our crying subsided, and when we finally came to our senses and started to rise, it was to the enthusiastic cheers of all the employees and patrons of the restaurant. She laughed and covered her face for a moment, but then had to pull her hand away to look adoringly at the diamond on her ring finger as Pedro came from the back to shake my hand. She kissed me tenderly as we walked out the door and to the car.

Next week: Harry and Dee receive a special gift from Harry's mentor.  

RRBC Back-To-School Book and Blog Party!

Welcome to my stop on the RRBC Back-to-School Book and Blog Party on My Train of Thought in Parkersburg, West Virginia!

Here's what I'm giving away today to one person who leaves me a comment:

• A complete signed set of my four Shalan Adventures, including Harsh Prey, Kisses and Lies, In the Shadow, and Dawn of Grace!

Hi! My name is Joe Stephens, and I'm the author of the Shalan Adventures, starring the dynamic pair of detectives, Harry and Dee Shalan, who are not only an amazing  couple of detectives but also an amazing couple. They are crazy about each other, even when life just doesn't seem to want them to be happy. So if you enjoy your detective thrillers with a solid dose of romance, then the Shalan Adventures are for you! Here's a little more about each book: 

Harsh Prey

​

Harry Shalan, a quick-witted if somewhat distractible private eye, makes the wrong mobster mad, putting his wife Deanna in the hands of kidnappers. Harry strikes a bargain and secures her release; however when she is finally back in Harry’s arms, Dee insists that she will no longer play the doting wife cheering him on the sidelines—he now has a partner.

HARSH PREY is a detective novel, but one that brings a different sensibility to the genre. Inspired by such great characters as Philip Marlowe, Spenser, and Sam Spade, Harry and Dee Shalan are, for lack of an existing term, soft-boiled detectives. Filled with humorous dialogue, unusual characters, and Harry’s deep, sometimes comically twisted observations, it explores the saving nature of love and the darkness that can come about when that love turns into obsession.

Kisses and Lies

​

In the second Shalan adventure, Harry and Dee are trying to come to the aid of a young woman named ALYSSA HILLMAN, who may or may not have just killed her abusive husband in self-defense. The problem is that no one can find the body. 

It quickly becomes apparent that Alyssa's husband, WILLY HILLMAN, is alive and leaving a trail of death and destruction in his wake as he spirals out of control. 

Will Dee and Harry catch up to the psychopathic murderer before he kills again?

IN THE SHADOW

Local high school student Jenn Bezaleel is missing and the police are at a loss. It’s like she vanished without a trace and no one knows anything. So they call in Harry Shalan, who, at the urging of his extremely pregnant wife, Dee, takes the case.
 
But when Harry starts looking into Jenn’s disappearance, he uncovers some dark family secrets, leading him to conclude that, assuming he can find her, the last place this girl needs to be is back with her mother and stepfather. 

Just as Harry begins to make progress on the case, however, tragedy strikes that threatens to tear Harry and Dee apart forever. Will they find Jenn Bezaleel? If so, where will she go? Can Harry and Dee survive their heartbreaking loss? The answers are…In The Shadow.

DAWN OF GRACE

Why is private eye Harry Shalan standing on the Fifth Street Bridge contemplating how much he would mind if he fell in the river and didn't come back up? You see, Harry lives by a strict code of honor and is struggling not to hate himself because he broke his code--badly. He lost control and brutally attacked his foster daughter Jenn's biological father, Antonio Bezaleel. Bezaleel is more monster than human and everyone agrees that he deserves a punishment much worse than the one Harry dealt out to him. Nonetheless, Harry's act has sent him into a spiral of despair that has cut him off from the very people he needs the most. His wife and detective partner Dee, his foster daughter Jenn, and his best friend Otis are fighting to bring their hero back from the brink.

In the midst of this dark episode, Harry and Dee answer a cry for help from an old friend who is accused of savagely murdering and mutilating her ex-husband. She swears that she didn't kill him, but things don't look good. She was, after all, found by the police kneeling over the man covered in his blood and gripping the knife that had been used to kill and dismember him. 

Their investigation brings them in contact with a precocious six-year-old who swears the murder was committed by a ninja, and he just may be the key to the case. They also encounter an old classmate of Harry's who is a little more appreciative of Dee's anatomy than anyone's comfortable with, a guy who likes to snort coke and cut women's hair, and even a hooker with a heart of gold. They also meet a quiet young woman named Anita Rathbone who seems quite sweet on Otis, a man married to his job since the only woman he's ever wanted is married to his best friend. Does Otis finally find a woman to love? Does Harry learn to forgive himself and accept the forgiveness of those who care for him? Do the Shalans solve the crime and save their friend from a life behind bars? The answers are revealed in
DAWN OF GRACE: A SHALAN ADVENTURE

Sound interesting? Just go here to find out how to read previews of each and to buy them in paperback or for Kindle! Or you can also visit my website!

Finding a New Narrative Voice

As you may know if you follow my writing career, other than a few short stories, I've always written with one voice: Harry Shalan's. And people who know me well and read my books say that they hear me when they read Harry, so it's not much of a stretch to write him. Yes, hes' fictional and yes, he's married and yes he's good at a lot of things that I'm not and yes he's considerably younger than I, so he and I aren't the same person. But our sensibilities and attitudes toward the world are identical. We have the same moral compass and the same sense of humor and the same tastes in everything to women to food.

Which is why my new writing project is an exciting challenge for me. I'm writing with a third person narrator who is limited to knowledge of the thoughts of the main character. Part of what makes it tricky is maintaining the balance between allowing the narrator as a character to have a voice of its own and allowing the thoughts and level of development of the main character, who is currently an extremely gifted five-year-old right now, to bleed in. As she ages, so will her language and understanding of the world. But the narrator will remain static.

Another big change for me is the overall tone of the piece. It's not that it's humorless, but it's generally a much more serious take on the world than Harry's. Because I tend to be a sarcastic and humorous person, writing in a voice that isn't like that is tough sometimes. As I said, there are occasional humorous elements, but they are much more gentle and event-driven than in my Shalan books, in which the humor comes from the main characters' responses to situations.

This is what Eddie looks like in my
head. He's modeled after my late
dog Ginger visually and in
temperament. 

I'm enjoying this change of pace, but if you're a fan of Harry, Dee, Jenn, Otis, and Eddie, have no fear. I've no intention of retiring them any time soon. I enjoy taking on the persona of Harry Shalan, Private Eye, the slightly bent but gallant modern knight, as he travels around town in his noble steed Ellie saving the day. So please be patient as I stretch my literary legs a little and see if I can find a different voice that's just as satisfying.

30 Day Blog Challenge Day 15: My Dream Job

It's day 15! It's all downhill from here. Today's assignment is to talk about my dream job. Let me see--what would my dream job be?

I know! My dream job would be being a writer! I love my kids, but I really do want to be a full-time author. I don't care if I make a million dollars. I just would love to support myself with my books. So my job would involve getting up and writing every single day. I'd write every morning until lunch time and then do writing-related work in the afternoons and weekends, like signings and readings and talking with bookstore owners and book clubs and organizations. When that wasn't going on,  I'd be working on my online presence.

I would love to branch out and try another genre, like straight literary fiction, but between school and my other writing job, I just don't feel like I have the mental energy or time to try anything too new. The Shalan books are fun, but they don't take great mental gymnastics. At least I don't feel like they do. I mean, I know the characters so well. Harry and Dee are real people to me. And not just real people. Real people that I know better than any actually real people. So when I put them in a situation, it's not that hard to figure out how they'll deal with it. Creating a whole new world of characters is something that sounds attractive but time- and brain-consuming. And I have such a limited supply of both.

In the meantime, I already have a pretty darn dreamy job. I get to fall in love with a new crop of kids every year and then send them off to college, for which I haven't had to pay a penny. And I do enjoy teaching. It's the outside-of-the-classroom parts that aren't as fun. That and the having to show up for work every day, even when I want to sit at my computer and pound out another chapter. But I am sure that when I leave the classroom for good, I'll miss loving on those kids every year.