MAKE MINE MYSTERY - http://makeminemystery.blogspot.com
Since this is mystery excerpt week, I'll share a snippet of my latest book, The Surest Poison, first in my new Sid Chance series from Night Shadows Press. The following excerpt introduces the two main characters.
It was still dark when Sid Chance pulled off I-40 at the Old Hickory Boulevard exit. He turned his vintage brown pickup toward Madison, a rambling middle-class suburb on the northeast side of Nashville. A big man, every bit of six-six, he had a headful of black hair and a short beard to match, both laced with threads of silver. The last time he had glanced in a mirror, the glower he saw made him think of a troll. He recalled an old admirer saying he looked like a Hollywood hero when he smiled. He wasn’t so sure. He hadn’t done all that much smiling in recent times.
Though most of the area’s workers remained asleep or just getting started on breakfast, traffic moved at a moderate pace on the circumferential highway. After crossing the Cumberland River, Sid took the cutoff north to Gallatin Pike, Madison’s Main Street. His office, a grudging requirement of his new life, occupied a corner in a glass and stone building near RiverGate Mall, anchor for the community’s primary shopping area. One strip center after another lined both sides of the street, deserted mini-cities at this time of day.
He glanced at his muddy boots and smudged jeans as he ambled toward the front of the building. He needed a shower and clean clothes, but that could wait. He figured his chances of encountering someone now little better than those of holding a winning lottery ticket. Nobody was fool enough to come in at this time of day except a habitual early riser, something he’d been since service with Army Special Forces in Vietnam. That’s where he learned to exist on a minimal amount of sleep. Inside, he turned toward his office and glanced at the “Sidney Chance Investigations” sign on the door. It brought one of his infrequent grins. How cool would it have been if they had named him Random instead of Sidney.
The answering machine chirped its practiced greeting as he walked in. Welcome back to what most people would call the real world, he thought. Maybe a few more months of civilization would rekindle his appreciation for the marvels of modern technology. Right now they seemed more an annoyance. A computer glitch that had gobbled up three days of painstaking work was the kicker that sent him back to the cabin for a cooling off period.
He found six messages on the machine. Two from Jaz LeMieux wanting him to return her calls, two from guys he didn’t know and doubted he wanted to, one from a process server, and one from a lawyer seeking his help. He played that one again.
“This is Arnie Bailey, with the law firm of Bailey, Riddle and Smith. Jasmine LeMieux highly recommended you for a job I need done. She said you were good at finding missing persons. This is a little different, however. It’s a missing company. My client faces a major financial disaster if we can’t find the organization involved. It’s a chemical pollution case around Ashland City. I’d appreciate your calling me as soon as you can.”
He glanced at his watch. It was way too early to call a lawyer, even somebody who sounded as anxious as this one. He decided to go home and shower, eat breakfast, then come back and have another go at it. No doubt the calls from Jaz related to Bailey’s problem.
Sid lived in the ranch-style brick house his mother had called home for twenty-five years. She died around the time his career as a small town police chief crashed and burned. The house stood near the river at the end of a quiet street in a neighborhood of mostly young couples and a few retirees. The sky had begun to brighten by the time he pulled into his driveway, though dirty gray clouds seemed to hang within arm’s reach.
He reveled in the soothing spray of the shower. It drummed against his back like a masseur’s fingers, easing some of the troubled thoughts that had knotted up his mind on the drive back from his hillside retreat. Despite a lot of jury-rigging, he had never come up with a reliable way to get a hot shower in the backwoods. He dressed and settled into the compact kitchen for breakfast. As he poured milk onto his cereal, the phone rang.
“Glad you finally decided to answer.” Jaz LeMieux’s voice had an edge.
“I just got home a little while ago.”
“From where?”
“The cabin.”
“Don’t you answer your cell phone?”
“When it’s turned on.”
There was a pause. “I think you’re reverting to your mountain man persona, Sid.”
He said nothing.
“Have all my efforts been wasted?”
“I did a lot of pondering last night,” he said. “But I came back.”
At first he had credited his financial mentor, Mike Rich, with the responsibility for luring him out of self-imposed exile. Lately he had begun to lean toward Jaz.
“Have you talked to Arnie Bailey?” she asked.
“I went by the office around 5:30 and got his message off the answering machine. What’s the story?”
“You’ll have to get the details from Arnie.”
“He a friend?”
“He’s a good guy. He’s done legal work for us.”
At forty-five, she served as chairman of the board of Welcome Traveler Stores, a lucrative chain of truck stops her father had founded. She was also a sharp, attractive, persuasive woman who knew how to get what she wanted. Sid wondered how much pressure she had put on the lawyer.
He settled back in his chair. “Bailey says you told him I was good at finding people.”
“You are. You’ve navigated those databases like an old pro.”
“Fine, if the computer would quit eating the results.”
“I told you I could fix that.” Jaz held a computer science degree as well as an MBA. She knew the inner workings of the machines as well as arcane methods of mining the Internet’s secrets. “Is that why you went traipsing back up the mountainside?”
“Partly. There were other issues.” Sid rumpled his brow. “Bailey mentioned a pollution case.”
“There was a story in the paper, but I didn’t get a chance to read it. Do you plan to call him?”
“Yes. But I doubt he’d be around this time of day.”
“I know he gets to his office early. Maybe not this early, but he likes to be well prepared before court opens.”
“Okay, Jaz, I’ll talk to him. That’s a promise.”
“Good. Let me know what he says.”
The pollution case led to the book's title,
The Surest Poison. It's available from any bookstore, all the online sites, including for the Kindle, and at my website,
ChesterDCammpbell.com. Crimespree Magazine called it "a top rate mystery by a gem of a writer."

The excerpt I've included is a dream that Native American Deputy Tempe Crabtree has which is a warning about what is to come in
Dispel the Mist.
* * *
Her first dream was about her grandmother. Once again, Tempe was a child, cuddling against the soft warm body. Grandma’s nut brown wrinkled face, always expressive when she told Tempe the Indian stories. Love for her granddaughter apparent in her dark eyes. Tempe smelled the lavender that grandma always sprinkled into her dresser drawers. In the dream, she told a story Tempe had never heard before.
In the old days, women learned never to leave their acorn meal unattended. All day long they made ground acorns on the big rocks near the river. Then they took the meal down to the water to wash out the poison. They left it in the sun to dry, but when they came back it was gone.
Grandma paused dramatically and Tempe gasped. Who could have taken the acorn meal?
None of the women took it. None of the children took it. When they looked around they found big footprints in the sand where they left the meal, so they knew the Hairy Man had eaten it. He liked Indian food too and was smart enough to know he needed to wait until the acorn meal was leached of its bitterness before he took it. After that, they always set aside a portion of the leached meal for the Hairy Man. The women always wondered if the sound of them pounding the acorns let him know when it was time to come for his share of the food.
Tempe wanted to ask her grandmother questions about the Hairy Man, like did he still come for the acorn meal, but she faded away.
The only reason Tempe remembered this dream was because she had an urgent need to go to the bathroom. On her way back to bed, she noticed Hutch hadn’t joined her, so it must still be evening. Still sleepy, she thought briefly about the dream deciding it had absolutely no relationship to Supervisor Quintera’s death and promptly returned to her slumber.
Her next dream was a nightmare. Tempe knew she was on the reservation, but it was different looking as familiar places often are in dreams. The buildings all seemed dilapidated and badly in need of repair though she couldn’t see them clearly because of a grayish-yellow swirling mist surrounding everything. Jagged black mountain peaks poked through the clouds. Though she was alone, a feeling of menace was so prevalent, she could almost smell it.
In fact, she did smell a sour aroma mixed with smoke, like someone was burning trash with something toxic in it. Not knowing exactly what to do or where to go, she walked down the road which instead of being paved was dirt, and filled with rocks. No vehicles were around, either moving or parked.
Without warning, a large man who resembled Cruz Murphy stepped out of the fog. He held up a hand, palm out. “Stop. Danger ahead.”
“Maybe I can help,” Tempe said, moving closer to him, but as she did, he faded into the mist.
“Chief Murphy. Cruz, wait. Tell me what’s going on. I need to know.”
He didn’t answer, but another figure appeared from the gloom, Daniel Burcena dressed all in black. His features sharp and menacing. “You should heed warnings that are given to you. You may have native blood flowing through your veins, but your heart isn’t on the reservation. Everyone who lives here can see that. Go back where you came from.”
“I loved my grandmother,” Tempe said. “I’m sorry I wasn’t proud of my Indian heritage. Let me make it up to her.”
“It’s too late. Way too late.”
A warning siren blew. People ran from the buildings, spilling out onto the road and crowding around Tempe. What was going on? The siren stopped for a moment. It sounded again. More shrill this time. It stopped and then shrieked again.
It was the phone. Tempe shook the nightmare from her mind and picked up the receiver. “Deputy Crabtree.”
A strange voice, one that sounded like it was electronically altered growled, “Stay away from Painted Rock.”
“Who is this?”
No answer.
“Hello?”
Again no answer, though she could hear breathing.
“This isn’t funny. If you want to tell me something, speak up.”
The connection broke. Tempe stared at the receiver before she replaced it.
Hutch raised up on an elbow. “What was that all about?”
“I haven’t a clue. Someone warned me to stay away from painted rock. Do you know what that is or where it is?”
He shook his head. “Nope, never heard of it, but sounds like something that might be on the reservation.”
“Maybe.” Tempe looked at the time on her digital clock. Four a.m. What fool would call a deputy at four in the morning with such a cryptic message? She never heard of a place called painted rock, so why would she go there? Maybe that was the idea, to entice her to go. She’d certainly had some interesting dreams but had no idea what they meant. Hopefully when she slept again, no more dreams would interrupt her rest.
* * *
Dispel the Mist is available at all the usual bookstores, but until December 31 it's 20% off at the publishers website, Mundania Press,
if you use the code SANTA.
Marilyn
This week, I'm doing an excerpt from my romantic suspense, Killer Career, here at Make Mine Mystery, and another on Wednesday at Acme Authors Link. Hope you like them. Here's the first -
Six blocks later, on the twelfth floor of her white stone office building, Julie unlocked the darkened door and smiled. She’d beaten Dade in. Not easy considering his Lake Shore Drive condo sat only a few miles away.
She flipped the overhead switch in the reception area to reveal the four butter-colored leather chairs, love seat, and round table with popular magazines, all waiting for the day’s clients.
Her catalog case squeaked as she rolled it along the variegated design of the short carpet leading to her side of the suite. Once rid of the case and her purse, she darted into Dade’s office, where she hung the decorations and hastily retreated down the hall to her own file-filled office. She had to do something about all this work. Only a few inches of her walnut colored desk were visible. Blocking that thought from her mind, she awaited Dade’s arrival.
Five minutes later, she heard the unmistakable sound of his quick stride. Her heart sped. Any minute now he’d discover her handiwork.
Then came the expected, “Julie McGuire, I’m going to get you.”
She smiled at the success of her efforts then counted one, two and three.
There he was, filling her doorway, charging the room with his energy.
Glancing up from her work, she wagged a finger at him. “You didn’t think I’d forget, did you?”
“I hate this kind of stuff, and you know it.”
“And I know you’re a fake. Come over here. I’ve got something you’ll like.”
He raised his eyebrows. “An interesting variation, but I’m game.”
A typical Dade remark. Julie snorted.
“I’ll let that pass. Happy Birthday, Dade.” She handed him the wrapped gift. Her heart raced with anticipation. Dade was bound to be floored. Though he was usually a “doer” and not a reader, he did have a weakness for Jensen’s books. Wait until he saw this one, which hadn’t even hit the shelves.
Still standing, Dade ripped open the wrapping. His whistle hurt Julie’s ears.
“How did you pull this off?” He switched the book back and forth in his hands.
“Oh, let’s just say I’ve got connections.”
“We’re in trouble now. This baby will seriously jeopardize client time for at least two hours.”
Julie felt the warmth spread throughout her, as she gazed at her law partner, taking in his azure eyes, the corners etched with thin wrinkles, and his untamed dark hair which stuck out in all directions as if he’d run a finger through it instead of a comb. That was Dade for you. He never concerned himself with trivialities. Then again, he didn’t need to, not with his God-given looks and his outgoing personality.
Dade had been a member of her honorary family for ages, even before her parents had passed away. He was a vital part of her past and present. Thanks to their law practice, she saw more of him than of his sister, Avery, whom she counted as her dearest friend.
“Sit down and read me the autograph,” she said. “I’m dying to hear what he wrote. I forgot to look.”
Dade flipped open the book atop Julie’s desk, then raised his eyebrows. “You know Jensen?”
“I just met him at the conference yesterday.”
“So you don’t know him that well?”
“Not really.”
“This autograph says different.”
“Let me see that,” Julie said, spinning the book around.
She stared at the tight script, her face growing warmer by the second. It read, “Dade, your partner is worth stealing. Watch your step.”
“That’s strange. Well, he is a mystery writer. He’s probably staying in character.”
Dade snorted. “No, it’s more than that. He wants you, Julie.”
“I told you, we just met at a conference. He couldn’t be after me. I doubt if I’ll ever see him again anyway.”
Dade stared at her with knowing eyes.
He had to be kidding.
“Don’t give me that look.” Reaching around the desk, she poked him in the arm.
“I want you to stick around here, that’s all.”
“Well I’m not around for everything. Remember the agreement.”
“Oh, that,” he said, making it sound of little consequence. “You wouldn’t break it for once, would you?”
“And ruin a good thing?” Although outwardly laughing, inside she was serious.
She had something better than marriage. She could do whatever she wanted and still see Dade more often than most wives saw their husbands. They’d faced a lot together, business and personal-wise. He was there for her and she for him. They were partners. She didn’t need anything more.
She had all that, yet she was thinking of deserting him. Could she do it?
Dade stood up to leave. “As usual, partner, you’re right. I wouldn’t think of reneging on our agreement. On that note, I’ll scram. I do have cases up.”
“And I’ve got Miller on trial,”Julie said. “Hey, don’t forget your present. It should be a good read. Oh, and again, happy birthday.”
Dade’s face looked grim as he swiped the book from her hands. “Thanks,” he said curtly.
Julie stared at Dade’s stiff back as he lumbered off. Disappointment washed over her. She’d just given Dade a terrific birthday present. He should be happy. Was he upset about getting older or was it something silly like Jensen’s innocent autograph?
* * *
“That son of a bitch.” Dade heaved Jensen’s book onto the chair in his office. It bounced off the black leather edge and landed open on the floor.
If you like this excerpt, come on over on Wednesday to another of my group blogs at http://acmeauthorslink.blogspot.com/ for another excerpt.
Thanks for letting me share.Morgan Mandel
http://www.morganmandel.com/http://morganmandel.blogspot.com/Signed copies for Killer Career are available for EZ Order at
The Digital-Bookshop , in print & ebook, also in print at Amazon (unsigned) and on kindle.
by Ben Small
As some of you know, I just returned from touring Croatia and a bike tour of parts of Slovenia, Italy and Austria. And of course, my mind turned to murder. I don't recall anybody writing a murder mystery involving a bicycle tour, but why not? Seems to me one could develop a story very Agatha Christie-like on a bike tour.
So many methods for the killer to use. He could oil a sharp turn on a downhill switch-back. Or she could reach down and thrust a stick or rod between someone's spokes. Or he/she could bat someone across the bean while passing.
Great. Now I'll be thinking about bike-murder all day...
Consider this: We had eleven people in our twenty person bike tour (not including two guides) who were part of one group from Ormond Beach, FL. Who knows the relationship these folks had before the trip? Maybe one has been cheating with another one's wife or husband. Maybe two of them are related and there's a will contest going on. Maybe one is the parent of a child arrested because of drugs supplied by another tour member. Whatever. These folks knew each other before the bike tour, and they'd had interactive lives.
What a chance for murder.
Just try to account for twenty people on a bike tour. Who's where at any time? Folks ride in different groups, and mix it up after rest stops or meals. Trying later to reconstruct who was with whom and when would be difficult -- again, just like an Agatha Christie murder.
Riding on paved or hard-pack gravel trails in beautiful valleys underneath the Julian Alps is a dreamlike journey. The air is crisp and cool, fresh, and spirits are high. The heart is pounding and the muscles are burning. Who's paying attention to details? Oops, somebody missed a turn. Okay. We'll catch them later. Or will we? What if they don't come back? What if somebody bumped 'em off at the last turn?
Okay, I'm sick. But so are you. C'mon, admit it. You go places and think about murder too, don't you?
Don't be surprised if there's a bike in my next book...
I was going to do a post on Christmas mysteries to continue my posts on holidays reads that help get me in the mood. Maybe I'll do that for my next post here on MakeMineMystery. But you know what, gang? It's Thanksgiving and although the year has been difficult and the economy has hit all of us hard, I've got a lot to be thankful for.
@Jan VerHoeff tweeted a few weeks back about finding one thing a day to be thankful for in the days leading up to Thanksgiving. She suggested using it as a status update. Although I have not always been faithful with posting it as my status, I have been finding that I have a great deal to be grateful for.
I've got what most of us have and take for granted: A great marriage to a wonderful man, healthy, intelligent (grown) children whom I am proud of, a home, a wonderful extended family which includes a couple of sisters who let me call and whine and then help me pick myself up again. I've got work and enough money to pay the bills this month. I've got a good church home, good friends and I've got a new book out.
Just for a minute today, go over your own list. Then rest and be thankful.
Christine Duncan is the author of the Kaye Berreano mystery series. Safe House, the second book in the series was released in September.
In these days of ever increasing demands on our time as the holidays arrive, where do we find time to write? By the time I check email, answer the ones that need answering and check the day’s headlines, follow my favorite blogs and get some calls returned….it’s time to do some promo. Need to post on Twitter and Facebook, GoodReads and Linked In, and don’t go looking at other’s pages, if I can resist.
In between are household responsibilities and friends, volunteer work and bill-paying. And don’t forget the day job – in my case, editing. You may have a longer commute than I do – from kitchen to office – but I often work outside of “regular” 9 to 5 hours, finding myself at the computer late at night.
Right now, we must include seasonal get togethers, shopping and travel and build them into our schedules. Don’t even think about the down time of getting a cold!!
So, when does your writing Muse strike in the midst of the hectic life? Mine has been prodding at me a lot lately…and at times I can’t always indulge the urge. For me, the best time to write is at night. Everyone else is settled down and it’s “my” time. Add to the fact I’m a night owl and it makes sense. How about you – when do you write?
Libby
Libby McKinmer
Romance with an
edgewww.libbymckinmer.com
libby@libbymckinmer.com
Also on Twitter, Facebook & GoodReads
Recently I've had a couple of new writers - who were asking my advice - debate with me about the use of point of view in fiction. They didn't change my mind but they did make me realize that I have to be able to defend MY point of view about my CHARACTERS' point of view.
Well, I’m pretty sure that most editors and agents still consider POV hopping a pet peeve and a sign that they’re dealing with an untrained newbie. They would say, and I agree, that it's best to pick a POV and stick to it. But I can’t deny that many bestselling authors ignore this rule on a regular basis and still sell lots of books. Should we learn from this and follow their lead into a new set of fiction-writing rules?
I say no. First, pick any big name who changes POV and check out his earlier works. I think you’ll find that at the beginning of their writing careers, people don't violate POV rules. I think you have to obey the rules to GET published. But once you’ve got a couple best-sellers under your belt, the universe grants you a bit more latitude. For example, James Patterson seems to give almost every character in a novel some POV time, and worse, they’re all in third person except his protagonist who gets to be in first person! I can’t explain how he gets away with it, I just know he does.
On the other hand, Michael Connelly’s just that good. After several Harry Bosch books he began switching to the criminal’s POV, maybe just to keep things interesting. He’s just so good at what he does that he can make it work. Another writer might look like he was just making it up as he went along. But when Connelly does it, we trust that he knows what he's doing and we’re willing to go along for the ride. I know I’m revealing my blatant hero worship here, but I’d say if you think you’re as good as Connelly, go for it. Me, I’ll stick to one POV… most of the time.There are times that even we mere mortals can get away with going from first person to third person POV or having multiple POVs. For instance, what someone is telling a long story to your protagonist? That’s a reasonable time to switch POV to that of the storyteller.
Or, what if your detective is reading someone else’s letters? You could write a chapter that was the content of the letters, and put that chapter in the voice of the letter writer.
I’m sure there are other possibilities I can’t think of right now. The important thing is that it must be very clear to a reader (an agent or an editor) that you did it on purpose with a clear plan, not just because you didn’t know any better. I think it’s always safer to play by the accepted rules – at least until you’re as big as James Patterson.
By Chester Campbell
Earl Staggs wrote recently about the often maligned flashback and his reason for using them. I thought I'd take a whack at another of those literary forms that drives some readers, and editors, to distraction: the Prologue. I like them. When, as they say, properly used.
I wrote Prologues in my first two Greg McKenzie mysteries. The fact that I haven't used one since shouldn't be taken as a slight. They just didn't fit or weren't needed in subsequent books. But in those first two, I thought they improved the story.
I write the McKenzie books in first person, from the protangonist's point of view. In the first book of the series, I used a third person Prologue to introduce elements that would improve the reader's understanding of things that would take place during the rest of the story. I wrote it in a dramatic style aimed at grabbing the reader's attention and holding it into the main plot.
In the second book, I used a third person Prologue to introduce the main plot point, which led to the murder. It also served to introduce all of the principal characters and suspects except for my two protagonists. They appeared in Chapter 1.
For my money, the kind of Prologues that gave the introductory chapter a bad name are those that launch the book with a scene from the end of the story and then build toward it. Or those that start from the unidentified murderer's POV. There are some others that have created justifiable ire, but in general I don't understand all the condemnation of Prologues. For some haters, it would apparently be okay if you just named it Chapter 1 instead of Prologue.
I've read comments from people who say they skip over Prologues. Pardon me, but if you're going to read a book, read everything the author put in it. That's like skipping over the dialogue.
I don't imagine my little diatribe has changed the mind of any Prologue dissenters, but them's my sentiments. What do you think?
Including two with Prologues, Chester Campbell has written four Greg McKenzie mysteries featuring a retired Air Force OSI agent and his wife. His newest book introduces PI Sid Chance in The Surest Poison.
I took part in the
Muse Online Writers Conference in October, and
D.S. Kane had a workshop on how to write about espionage realistically. The information I gained from that workshop will be helpful in some of the upcoming work, and I hope you'll find some of what I share will aid you, too.
Kane listed ten intelligence agencies in the United States: CIA, NSA,FBI, DIA, NCIS, ATF, DEA, NRO, ONI, U.S. Marshals. He said he knows of sixteen, even though he didn't list that many. One that he didn't know about, and that I do because of my research for my WIP, is the Air Force Office of Special Investigations (AFOSI), the Air Force equivalent to NCIS.
Of course other nations have their intelligence agencies, too, such as AFI (intelligence branch of the Israeli Air Force), The Mossad (Israel's "secret" service), and MI-6 (Great Britain).
The more one knows about the intelligence agencies used in writing fiction, the more believable the writing is. Research is vital. I would suggest to begin with D.S. Kane before going to some of the following works:
John Perkins,
Confessions of an Economic Hit ManJohn LeCarre,
Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, SpyThomas Gordon, Gideon's Spies:
The Secret History of the MossadPeter Wright, Spy Catcher: The Candid Autobiography of a Senior Intelligence Officer
Thank you, D.S. Kane, not only for an interesting workshop, but also for information to help writers be better writers.
Oh, yes, to register for the
2010 Muse Online Writers Conference, click on the title. Registering now means you'll receive all the notices and won't forget until after the deadline.
Vivian Zabel

In his varied career,
Lono Waiwaiole has been an editor, sports information director and professional poker player. He currently teaches english and social studies in Gaston Oregon and writes hard-boiled, noir mysteries.
Lono's debut novel,
Wiley's Lament, was named a finalist for the 2003 Oregon Book Awards for fiction and an Anthony award for best first novel of 2003. It was followed by
Wiley's Shuffle (2004) and
Wiley's Refrain (2005). The three books feature a tough, cynical poker player named Wiley. The first two books are set in Portland, Oregon and the third is set part in Portland and part on the Big Island of Hawai'i. The Wiley books are known for being as noir as they come. The body counts are high.
In 2009 Lono stepped away from the Wiley series with
Dark Paradise (Dennis McMillan Publications.)
Dark Paradise is set on the Big Island. It is a modern day crime story whose roots lie deep in the imperialism and "internal colonialism" practiced by the United States on this island culture. The body counts are just as high.

This is the first of a two-part interview with Lono. You can read the second part of the interview tomorrow on
The Hawaiian Eye.Tell us about yourself. Everybody in Hawai'i is part something. What are your parts?I'm half Hawaiian, a quarter Italian and a quarter Pennsylvania Dutch.
You've probably got the perfect Hawaiian name. Lono is the god associated with clouds, storms and earthquakes. Is that your muse?I think Lono is also associated with fertility. I suspect my "muse" comes more from that angle, if any.
Your Wiley books are set in Portland, how did you come to set Dark Paradise in Hawai'i?I moved from Portland to the Big Island as I was wrapping up the second Wiley book, so the third in that series is actually set in both places. Dark Paradise was written almost entirely while I lived over there, and my goal was to transfer some of what I was absorbing from that environment to my fiction.
Dark Paradise is a complicated novel with 10 point of view characters--Geronimo, Nalani, Dominic, Sonny, Buddy, Jesus, Kitano, Jay-jay, Kapua, Robbie. How were you able to get inside the heads of all those different characters?Assuming that I actually succeeded in doing that (readers will render the ultimate verdict), I don't recall it being particularly difficult. You have to keep in mind that I was on a first-name basis with each of them. It might have been more difficult if they weren't all my children in the first place. As it happened, I knew everything they had ever thought, were thinking and would ever think.
Dark Paradise is set against the backdrop of the NBA Championship series between the Lakers and Pistons. Does that have significance in the story?One of the things that struck me immediately about Hawai`i is the popularity of basketball. Since I am an addict myself, I always have an eye out for my next connection. The Detroit-Los Angeles series was happening when the actual event which triggered my fictional story occurred, and you couldn't go anywhere on the Big Island at the time without seeing it on a television screen or hearing people argue about it. Originally, the presence of the series was mostly atmospheric, but by the time I was done it had become the organizational structure of the story and somewhat metaphoric as well. The difference between those two teams and the way they were popularly perceived was similar to the way the less-informed view the islands.
That actual event, by the way, was "the biggest drug bust in the history of the Big Island." That actually happened, including the attempt to follow the drugs that ended up in the car being abandoned at the mall drugs intact. As usual, truth is stranger than fiction.
The reader won't find the usual chapters here. Instead, the story is divided up by the different parts of a basketball game. What's the significance in that?See the previous question for the beginning of this answer. By the time I was revising the manuscript, my appreciation of the NBA playoffs at the time had deepened significantly as far as its application to the story is concerned. I think the characters are constrained by some arbitrary conditions they do not control, and the game parameters seemed like a way to symbolize those constraints.
Speaking of constraints, this novel is definitely noir in that everybody is trapped. Is that a good characterization of the locals in Hawai'i?I just read a headline which stated that Hawai`i is the second-happiest state in the country. That may be true, but only because joy seems to be implanted in the Hawaiian DNA. I think this happiness is overlaid on a very distressed core which has easily discerned symptoms--exceptionally high levels of substance abuse (including food, I believe), domestic violence, child abuse, etcetera. Locals are unlike their tourist visitors--they know both sides of this picture. Within that understanding, I think they do feel trapped to some extent. It is not a world of their own making, but leaving it means leaving family and cultural ties as well.
Instead of the popular view of Hawai'i, you give us ice and gambling. Which one is closer to the truth?That's the beauty of the situation over there as far as writing fiction is concerned--both are true (and both are exaggerated to some extent for effect). I think they are two sides of the same coin.
The most compelling characters in the book are Geronimo, an adulterous cop with a gambling problem (he's the good guy) and a teenager named Nalani who becomes an effective player because of the abuse she's suffered from her father. The big question in this reader's mind is, "Will Nalani be all right?" Even at the end, we're not sure. What do you think? Can you say without giving the ending away?The answer to that question is the same as the answer to this one: Will the Hawaiian Islands be all right? I hope so in both cases. Certainly both have the potential to go either way.
Would you have your students read this book? Is there a lesson for them in it?There is a lesson for my students in this book, both in its content and in the writing, but I do not encourage them to partake of it. In my school, I have to say Dark Paradise is not school appropriate. Fortunately for me, the superintendent of my school district is a fan of my books and hasn't run me out of town yet.
Was Dennis Mcmillan on board this project from the start? What kind of support did he give you?He (Dennis) sent several of his shirts (they are collectible Aloha shirts) to the graphic designer, who came up with the cover. Oddly enough, Dennis lived on the Big Island longer than I did and knows it very well.
Dennis wanted this book from the beginning, but it started out as a project with my editor at St. Martin's. That editor moved on right after I delivered it, and St. Martin's decided to pass on it. The book was an orphan for more than a year after that while my agent tried to find somebody other than Dennis to publish it (someone more mainstream, let's say), but after I couldn't stand it any more I said send it to Dennis. To be honest, he was my first choice all along--not because of the potential money he represented, but because of the passion and the reputation for excellence.
As it turned out, he gave me the most important kind of support--he published the book, and he did so beautifully. The rest is pretty much up to me, but I'm okay with that. It was all up to me in the first place, right?
What's next? Will there be more Wileys? Any Hawaiian books? Will we see any of these characters again?I am embroiled in a screen adaptation of Dark Paradise now. Someone in Hollywood thinks there might be a great film in the book somewhere, and my daughter and I are about to start on our third draft of a screenplay for that producer. We think it's great that they haven't already moved in another direction for screenwriters, but we are still several light years away from a movie actually getting made.
Consequently, I don't have a clear idea of what my next book will be. I have been so immersed in the characters from Dark Paradise that it seems natural to work with them again. On the other hand, Wiley is on the Big Island now, too, and it seems likely that his paths would cross with theirs in the near future. Oh, well, I don't have to sort that out until we finish messing with this screenplay--if we ever do.
Mahalo, Lono, for agreeing to the interview. I, for one, would jump at the chance to meet some of these characters again. These characters on the big screen with the Big Island scenery can't miss.
For more about Lono and Dark Paradise, hop on over to my Hawaiian Eye blog tomorrow. Mark Troy
http://www.marktroy.nethttp://hawaiian-eye.blogspot.com