The Beach and the (Prison) Bars: letting go of stress, guilt, and regrets. But not the empathy, hopefully never that.

Last week was a tough one.

Sure, turning 58 was part of it but that just means I made it another year, and I'm told that 60 is the new 40, so that's all good.

The tough part was that I spent my birthday battling it out in a felony jury trial in Travis County. I was defending a client (I'll call him John) I'd worked with since I joined the firm, someone I've known for more than three years now. And while the result was better than if he'd accepted the state's plea offer, my client is still headed to prison. To the extent it was a technical "win," it feels pretty hollow.

And the very same day that John was sentenced to prison, just a few hours later, I sat on a beachfront deck listening to the ocean and trying not to be wracked with guilt.

I wonder sometimes if the defense lawyers who find this job easy, or easier, are more on the sociopathic end of the spectrum than the empathetic. Believe me, that's no judgment, I genuinely wish I was able to detach myself more from clients' situations.

But I can't, because it's not who I am. What I can do, though, is process my thoughts, feelings, and emotions the way that works best for me: by writing. Which is why I'm sitting on that same deck penning this on a sunny Sunday afternoon, as my wife and kids are riding bikes on the beach.

Lovely sunrises here, by the way:

Anyway, let's deal with three of those post-trial demons: stress, guilt, and regret.

The stress is mostly gone, it ebbed like the tide when the case ended. But is it all gone? I feel like it sticks and lingers, like sand between your toes after a walk on the beach. Maybe it's just a matter of time then, for it to fall away. I think back to the morning of trial when I looked for our blood pressure monitor at home but couldn't find it, and told myself that the feeling in my chest was normal nerves. I guess that turned out to be right. Phew.

How about the guilt?

That's harder - the worst part of being a prosecutor for me was sending people to prison. Hated it. So imagine how it felt to watch John walk through the door from the courtroom to the jail, on his way to several years in prison and also knowing that he'd been relying on me to stop that happening. Or at least get him fewer Christmases and birthdays behind bars.

I think this is where logic saves me - I did all I could. I worked with two people smarter than me for the trial, my colleagues who gave as much as I did (see below for photographic evidence). We got the state's lone expert excluded, we shut down several injurious lines of inquiry, we highlighted discrepancies in testimony, and several very damaging exhibits never made their way to the jurors. We did that. We did everything we could.

In fact, when John heard the sentence that the jury gave him he turned to us and said, "Oh wow, that's not bad at all. I'll be out pretty soon, after just (X) years." 

Strange how we get our comfort sometimes, isn't it?

Criminal attorneys, in our firm anyway, often joke about filing a Defense Motion for New Facts, because we realize that there's just nothing we can do to change the ones we're handed when our clients come to us. We made that joke last week, for sure.

So I think knowing that we did everything we could, knowing John himself saw that, and knowing the result was much better than he'd feared, those will help assuage the guilt of a guilty verdict.

Which brings me to regret. Similar to guilt but I'm talking about the second-guessing we all do after a trial. Why didn't I say this? Why didn't I point out that? Heavens, I'm sure some appellate attorney will have a field day with what we didn't say and didn't do.

But as I come up with those thoughts, I'm able to explain every one of them. Why we didn't put on a particular witness, why we didn't ask a certain question. We had reasons for the decisions we made, whether those decisions turned out to be right or wrong. Good reasons. And without the benefit of hindsight, I think those good reasons temper any regrets. Enough for me to finish this blog post and enjoy the beach, anyway.

Finally, I wanted to share a snapshot of my trial team, two talented young lawyers who I'd go into battle with any day of the week. I'm sorry you guys didn't get to read a book on a beach right after the case, I'll try to do that for you. But thanks for your help, brilliance, support, and friendship.

Miguel and Megan, in our post-trial picture looking slightly more -sheveled than me (that same me who wishes someone had told him to button his collar and straighten his tie before the photo was taken). 

And so we move on. Dusty but not defeated, to fight another day and with empathy intact.

But no fighting until I've finished this rather splendid book by my friend Erik.

I didn't realize it would be like this! (Or, Why I stopped drinking and am learning to be kinder )

I'm still learning this criminal defense stuff.

People often ask me how I like the switch, how it's going, and what I usually tell them is that I've been surprised by the many things I didn't know, or put more positively the many things I'm learning. In the early days, I meant by that the practical and procedural aspects of the job -- how to get someone out of jail, what motions to file and when, that kind of thing.

But these days I mean more that that, I'm talking about the biggest thing that I didn't know coming into this defense role: The emotional stress that the job entails.

When I was a felony prosecutor, people said all the time, "Wow, that must be stressful!" Sometimes it was, usually when I prepared for and tried a big case, or when I was dealing with a victim or their family who were not (in my view) exhibiting reasonable expectations. But most of the time it really wasn't. Once you know how to try a case, once you learn how to navigate the system as a prosecutor, the job is fairly straight-forward. Yeah, I know, sorry to burst that mystical balloon...!

But one thing's for sure, looking back, I can safely say that being a prosecutor was way less stressful for me than being a defense lawyer. Here are the main the reasons why:

(1) The lack of control:

As a prosecutor, the degree of discretion you're able to exercise is startlingly wide. A prosecutor has latitude to choose the path a case takes, from taking it to trial and seeking prison to dismissing it entirely, and everything in between.

A defense lawyer doesn't have any power. Well, the power of persuasion but if you're talking to someone who's not listening, that's no power at all. So if I have a case where it's clear the client is innocent, I have to rely on someone else (prosecutor or jury) to do the right thing. After 15 years being the one to wield that power and discretion, it's very stressful having to rely on others to do the right thing.

(2) The responsibility:

If a prosecutor screws up a case, everyone goes home to their own bed that night. If a defense lawyer screws up, someone can go to jail, prison, or otherwise have their life ruined by a criminal conviction. Every one of my 40+ clients looks to me to restore the natural order of their lives. Almost every single one of them has never had any trouble with the law before, and is facing a life-altering outcome unless I do good work. 

And that responsibility doesn't disappear after 5pm. People call in the evenings and weekends wanting help, wanting answers, wanting reassurance. So I can't turn off the stress button come sundown, and almost every morning there's an email or voicemail from someone who needs me, stat.

(3) The things I'm not trained for:

It will be no surprise to anyone that some of our clients have mental health challenges. MH care in this country is hopeless and all too often acts born of mental illness dump a person into the criminal justice system. Some jurisdictions are getting better at recognizing that and providing a path for cases to be dismissed, which is great.

But others aren't, which means we're left dealing with individuals who have clear mental health problems and who are also facing the added albatross of a criminal conviction.

And guess who can be less than easy to deal with? Yep, someone with a mental health condition looking at a criminal conviction. Completely and utterly understandable. And very common. But I'm not trained in counseling or any facet of MH treatment so talking to, and sometimes just listening to, some folks in this situation is hard.

Recently a client sat in my office and talked for almost 90 minutes, haranguing me for not addressing their every need, some case related and some not. Raising their voice in anger at the lack of communication, when I've called and emailed and they've not checked voicemail or read their emails. I don't know how to deal with that, and so it's stressful and exhausting. I was lucky that my colleague Liz Duggan was in the room with me, her calming and kind responses to the client saved me from... I don't know what. Walking out? Melting down? Shouting back? Probably none of those because none of those are in my nature, but I suppose that's my point - I didn't know what or how to respond.

I had some wins this week, though. Some felony cases dismissed and some very happy clients as a result. I wish those moments would last a little longer, the victories, but the reality is (another stressor) that my win for one client doesn't help the next one, even a little bit. And so the battle continues.

And yes, I've stopped drinking altogether. I'm not making a big deal of it (except here!?) but the stress of the job has had a somewhat ironic result: I'm now 100 percent sober and just joined a gym. Maybe that's me reasserting power over the things I can control, proactively taking on the stress that comes with this job. 

But it's not just my liver sand my muscles I'm tuning up, it's my empathy. I'm trying to be kinder, to understand the stress that my clients are under, and relieve that the best I can. Maybe by improving my body I can improve my mind and, Jupiter willing, provide a little more comfort to the people who are even more stressed than I am: my clients.

One allegation, two prosecutors - and a startling disparity.

How much does justice, or the outcome of a case, depend on what amounts to a roll of the dice?

You see, the thing about being a prosecutor that some folks don't realize is the broad discretion assistant district and county attorneys have with their cases. Everyone's busy, everyone's overworked so generally speaking unless a line prosecutor screws up, their work doesn't get too much scrutiny.

That's especially true with the "smaller" cases - the ones that don't make the headlines, or maybe just the crimes that don't have a specific victim (I'm thinking drugs cases, possession of firearms etc).

I was always acutely aware of the power that this discretion vested in me, and lord knows I hope I used it wisely and with mercy and compassion. And I say that because I'm seeing that some prosecutors do not. 

I know, I know, a horde of defense attorneys are welcome to pile on with "we know, you idiot," or "welcome to our world," but look - I always knew there was a disparity between the way I'd look at a case and the way a prosecutor in, say, Lubbock would. But it's worse than I realized, I'm more than willing to admit that.

Recently I found myself in a situation that made me wonder what kind of system we're working under. Here's what happened (names, unimportant details, and other minor facts changed to protect the innocent/guilty).

Facts of my case: young African American man pulled over for driving in the left (passing) lane. Not speeding, but he wasn't passing anyone so the cop decided to pull him over. I didn't like that, and the phrase "'driving while black" immediately rang in my head.

Cops smells marijuana, and searches the car. Finds a bag of MJ, some THC carts, and a gun.

• MJ = Class A misdemeanor; 
• Carts = Felony 2; 
• Gun (he was allowed to have it but not if committing another offense) = Class A misdemeanor.

I ran this by one prosecutor who liked everything about the case, wanted him to plead to having the carts, and be on felony probation. Second degree felony probation, for five years. Pretty damn harsh.

I ran this by a different prosecutor hoping for a different perspective, even wondering if I was missing something. She didn't like the stop, didn't much care that a kid had THC carts, but wasn't thrilled about the gun. However, she also wasn't thrilled about tagging a young kid with a criminal record for, essentially, having weed. She proposed some classes in exchange for a dismissal.

The difference between these two prosecutors? One in Lubbock and one in Travis? Maybe one in Blanco and one in Hays?

Nope. About four feet. Both in the same jurisdiction (which will remain nameless), working in the same court, just at different tables in the same room.

Naturally, I did business with Prosecutor #2.

I couldn't, and still can't, get my head around one ADA wanting the kid to have a felony record and the other wanting to dismiss. And the scary thing is, both can be right. Both have the power to be right. If Prosecutor #1 hadn't been out that week and I'd not spoken to Prosecutor #2, my client would be at risk of losing everything.

And, of course, thank heavens for the level head, compassion, and decency of Prosecutor #2.

What's to be done about this? Nothing. At all. I share this only to let you all see the minefield that is the criminal justice system, and how the whims of just one person can destroy or salvage someone's career, even life.

Scary, huh?

Thanks for the praise - maybe leave out the advice?!

 With my thirteenth novel about to be published, and you know I'll be posting about that soon enough, I still enjoy hearing from readers of my other books. And, 95% of the time, when people email me it's either to say nice things or to ask when the next Hugo Marston book will be out. Or written. 

You'll notice that if 95% of the emails are lovely, that leaves 5% that are... less so. And I'm endlessly fascinated by the psychology of the 5 percenters.

Let me start by reassuring you - I'm no snowflake and I'm well aware that not all books are for all people. I've put down books that others rave about, and so I know not everyone will enjoy all of mine.

But the person who does like them, yet wants me to know their very specific criticisms... what's that about? Let us break down the email I got this morning:

Here it is in full:

I am an avid reader. Non-fiction, fiction and preferably mysteries. I am so pleased to have found your Hugo Marston series. All the elements I like—location specifics, “bloodless” murders, reasonably short chapters, interesting protagonists. Very enjoyable. But, here comes the but. With the thousands of names available to you, why, in The Book Artist for example, have detectives or characters named Marston and Marchand? Why two women named Camille and Claudia? Just to irritate readers who may get confused as to who is who? Please stop it. Everything else is great. Thanks

Right, now let's analyze this, shall we?

I am an avid reader. Non-fiction, fiction and preferably mysteries. I am so pleased to have found your Hugo Marston series. 

Lovely! Wonderful! I'm so pleased too!

All the elements I like—location specifics, “bloodless” murders, reasonably short chapters, interesting protagonists. Very enjoyable. 

Great - specific reasons he likes them, very rewarding!

But, here comes the but. 

😬

With the thousands of names available to you, why, in The Book Artist for example, have detectives or characters named Marston and Marchand? Why two women named Camille and Claudia? Just to irritate readers who may get confused as to who is who? 

Now, I will conceded that the names "Marston" and "Marchand" are quite similar in sound and appearance. I would, however, point out that "Marston" is the name of the protagonist, which means if you're confusing him with other characters after reading seven of the novels he stars in, well, the problem might not be the appearance of a character named "Marchand."

Similarly, if you are confusing Hugo's leading love interest (Claudia), with a black transgender detective (Camille), your bar for confusion might be unduly low.

And look at this line again: Just to irritate readers who may get confused as to who is who? 

What? Obviously, no writer would intentionally irritate their readers. Even me, and I've been known to intentionally irritate pretty much anyone and everyone. So this line is asking me... what? It's not really a serious question at all, is it? It's pure snark. Snark, I might wonder, included... just to irritate me!

So what's next? This line: 

Please stop it.

Stop what? I mean, do you want me to go back in time and change characters' names? Or just not do the subjectively annoying thing (to you, not one of my other thousands, nay trillions, of readers has complained about) in the future? Maybe I can email you and run my name choices past you...?

Look, I know I'm the one being snarky now but to presume to tell an author to stop doing something that only you in the entire world don't like is... well, presumptuous at best. One might even venture to use the word "rude."

And so we end with:

Everything else is great. Thanks

First, please know that he did not end with a "." I feel like I deserve a "." at the end of an email, just saying.

So here's what I'm wondering - how much of this would he say to my face at a book event? I would be chill if he did but I can imagine others cringing. I might politely dress him down, very politely, but I suspect he'd not say this to me directly. Maybe I'm wrong.

And here's the takeaway: this email will change nothing about my books, and it makes me want to not meet a human being who actually likes them. What did he achieve by taking the time to write to me? Irritation on my part? Indeed. A sense of disappointment that a nice start to an email was a disguise for his complaints? Definitely. It certainly won't result in a reply because I don't want to encourage this type of approach to an author. Anything else?

Well, this blog post I suppose. 💅

Thoughts?

**Edited to add: he's now sent me the exact same email three times in 24 hours.

Think you could never be arrested? Oh, so wrong.

One thing that has really surprised me as a defense lawyer is the number of "normal" people who get arrested.

Let me back up a moment - yes, there are many people in the criminal justice system who are dropped into it (often by their own actions) and never get out. Their criminal histories are pages long, and any damage to their reputations or job opportunities has long since happened.

In fact, in some ways these cases are (I imagine) easier to handle, because another misdemeanor plea doesn't change the trajectory of that person's life much. 

At Cofer & Connelly, where I work, we see very few of these folks indeed because we are lucky enough to be in a position where we don't need to take cases appointed to us by the courts (a whole other issue: how terrible the pay is for lawyers taking appointed cases).

So what does that mean? It means the vast majority of our clients have never been in trouble before.

I recently took a call from a prospective client who'd been arrested for a misdemeanor crime. He freely admitted to me that, before his arrest, he'd not cared much for the movement to improve jails and prisons. "You do bad," he said, "then you go to a bad place."

And then it happened to him. He spent two nights in the Travis County jail, where he said the guards treated the inmates like animals, where there was feces on the floor and walls, and where he saw literal rats running around. He was horrified, traumatized even, by that experience.

For his case, his main concern was that he never go back there, no matter the outcome, he could not go back. Fortunately, his alleged offense was such that I was able to give him a large degree of comfort that he would remain in the free.

The thing is, it doesn't take much to land a formerly law-abiding citizen behind bars. I had this conversation with my teenage son recently, because I wanted him to understand that actual innocence was no barrier to jail.

"But if I do nothing wrong, how can that be?" he insisted.

I sighed, because he's right. That's how it should be. And as a prosecutor the truth mattered more to me than almost anything. But as a defense lawyer, the truth doesn't enter the equation until long after you've been handcuff, stuffed into a police car, stripped naked at the jail, and sat in a cold, lonely (if you're lucky) cell in jail scrubs, fed undercooked fake chicken and baloney sandwiches.

"If someone tells a cop you hit them, or touched them without consent," I said. "You will go to jail."

"Even if I didn't?"

"Yes."

And that's the truth, as I'm seeing it. The fact is, and people will not like to hear this, but people call the police too often because they can't handle the situation they are in. They can't control it. And the way they reestablish control is to have the person they are in conflict with, they are angry with, arrested.

I realize that as a felony prosecutor I didn't get to witness this phenomenon, because it does mostly happen with allegations of assault, which is a misdemeanor. Or, in one case we got dismissed for a client, an allegation that she stole a dog. What she'd done was rescue a dog abandoned and abused by her ex, and when he saw how happy they were together he filed a theft complaint.

Yes, it's that easy.

So what's my point here? Maybe it's just to bring awareness where I can, to let people know that the criminal justice system is closer than they imagine. And, relatedly, to consider showing more empathy to those caught up in it. 

Because not all of them are guilty. 

Not by a long shot.

Jail v. Prison - writers, producers, and anyone else who uses words, please take note.

Here's a short post to address an issue (pet peeve?!) that I feel like I've discussed before. Somehow, shockingly, the entire world hasn't read and absorbed. 

I constantly see the terms "jail" and "prison" used interchangeably. In books, TV shows, and in general conversation.

But they are different.

You don't want to be in jail, but you definitely don't want to be in prison.

JAIL : this is where you go for short periods of time, either after being arrested or as punishment for a misdemeanor crime. Jails are usually run by the county, operated by the sheriff's department. 

There are exceptions, sure, some people spend years in jail waiting for trial or other case resolution, but generally speaking jail is for short-term incarceration.

PRISON : this is where you go after you've been convicted of a crime. These are state-run facilities and generally less pleasant places than your county jail.

Try to avoid prison, if you can.

Why I changed hats: prosecutor to defense lawyer

I could never remember which side supposedly had the black hat or the white hat. 

I suspect, whichever side you are on you purport to be white-hatted. I'm good with that, except it means I swapped a white hat for a... white hat?!

Enough about hats.

Just over a year ago, two mates took me out for dinner. Rick Cofer and Geoffrey Puryear, former prosecutors with me. Good people who I knew and who I liked, and who asked me to join their criminal defense firm and have a little fun trying cases and helping people.

Could I say no to all that?!

This is Rick, he puts the Cofer in Cofer & Connelly. Some have said he looks like a giant man-baby, or an inflated infant, or a super-sized toddler, or a... anyway, I'd never say those things, I just report stuff.

And this is Geoffrey - we tried a case together many years ago and stacked the jury with women, on the theory that with his looks and my accent we couldn't lose. We didn't lose.

On a hot day you could fry an egg on that chin, after he shaved it, of course. Magnificent. 

Here I am now:

Anyway, the why of it.

As you may or may not know about me, I have always been somewhat defense-oriented. In those moments when ADAs are high-fiving each other after getting a 70-year prison sentence I used to cringe. I'm sure I've written before about how I hated sending people to prison, almost regardless of what they did, because.... well, it's prison. I got satisfaction for getting a verdict yes, but not so much from a prison sentence.

Anyway, over martinis and a delicious steak these lads made me an attractive offer. At the time I was in the juvenile division at the DA's office, my second stint there and was feeling like I might be there a while. And guess what never happens in juvie? Jury trials. It felt like an endless loop of unchallenging hearings, low-level crime (mostly, although I did have five... yes FIVE murder cases on my plate). 

Bottom line: I needed a change. A challenge. And these boys were offering me one.

I started May 1, 2022, and now I handle cases in Travis County and a fair few in Williamson County, everything from low-level drugs cases to murder. We take a team approach at C&C, especially on the bigger cases, and I think we have five or six clients charged with homicide, and several more with manslaughter. 

One of those cases is quite famous, actually, but I can't talk about it here... 

I plan to write a whole post about how jurisdictions, and prosecutors, are different depending on where they are. It's kind of crazy, to be honest, what's considered an easy dismissal one place is prosecuted to the max somewhere else. Anyway, more on that later.

For now, I'll tell you that I'm working harder than ever before, getting to know some very interesting people, and loving the folks I work with.

I've even become an occasional guest legal analyst on CourtTV!

And hey, if you need a lawyer from the best criminal defense firm in Austin (facts, see below), let me know. We got you.

Making a comeback!

I've been thinking about resurrecting the blog for a while now, I used to enjoy sharing my thoughts and experiences as a prosecutor and getting feedback from folks. So I'm back.

For those who don't know me outside of the blog, well, I'm now a criminal defense attorney - a partner with the fabulous law firm of Cofer & Connelly. I'll write a post about why I made the change in a week or two, but I wanted this first one to be a brief catch-up.

So, what else is new with me? After all it's been almost seven years since I last posted here!

• Big job change, obvs.

• I'm seven years older, which means a new author photo was needed. Obvs.

• I now have 12 published novels!
• most excitingly, I have a new series and the first one is:

• The second in the series is out in August but pre-orderable now:

• I have a son who's now stronger and faster than me. We've gone from this:

• To this:

• I have a writing companion:

 

OK, those are the highlights. I don't think anything else important happened in the world between 2016 and now, or did I miss something?!

Didn't think so.

Stay tuned for upcoming posts, to include:

• Why I Made the Change
• speaks for itself
• Who My Most Famous Client Is, And Why I Can't Tell You
• Google it, maybe?
• When It's Just A Slap
• about how differing jurisdictions... differ
• When Good People Do Bad Things
• speaks for itself

... and many many more to come!

The secrets of THE PARIS LIBRARIAN

This post was first published on the fantastic Jungle Red Writers blog, yesterday August 24, 2016.

I wanted to post it here, too, since I think it's a good look behind the creation of THE PARIS LIBRARIAN, my latest novel in the Hugo Marston series.

Enjoy!

There are two stories that lie between the pages of THE PARIS LIBRARIAN. One makes me cry, the other makes me laugh.

Shall we start with the tears? Good, so let me present a nice photo of a gentleman called Michael Harmuth. He’s with his daughter Sarah, who happens to be a book seller in Wisconsin, and her daughter, Scout. 

Well, early last year Sarah wrote to me and said that her dad, Michael, was a fan of the Hugo series. But she said Michael had cancer and was unlikely to live until the next book in the series was released (THE RELUCTANT MATADOR) in June.

Was there any way I could get an advanced copy to him? she wondered.

Now, my own father was taken by the pestilence that is cancer so, obviously, my answer was heck yes. I asked my publisher to send me an ARC, and I wrote a wee note in it, signed it, and sent it to Michael.

That started a wee conversation between the two of us, and he kept me informed as to his progress with the book. He said he was reading it slowly, so as not to get to the end too fast. As you might imagine, that email had me reaching for the tissues.

Turns out Michael enjoyed the book, which I’d been hoping for desperately. And I didn’t want the last page to be the end of Michael’s association with Hugo so I wrote to him and asked, “How would you like to be a character in the next book?”

He loved the idea and, even though I’ve put the names of other people I know in books, he’s the only one I’ve let choose his role. Good guy, bad, guy, red herring, eye-witness… whatever he so desired.

And now, of course, I must remain tight-lipped for fear of giving anything away. Suffice to say, even though Michael is no longer with us, he lives on in Hugo’s world, and in Paris no less!

Now for the laugh, which comes in the form of a “truth is stranger than fiction” guffaw. As you might be able to tell from the title, Hugo’s latest adventure takes place in and around the American Library in Paris.

 Now, back in 2015, once I formulate the idea for the story, I email the good people there and ask rather boldly: “Hello, do you mind if I kill someone in your library?”

Not even hours later I receive a resounding “Yes!!” and an invitation to tour the place. Now, I’m not one to turn down a visit to Paris, so my wife and I hop on a plane to spend a week in our favorite city. And this is where the story gets somewhat amusing.

When we show up to the library, librarians Audrey and Abigail are there to show us around. They start with the front, the circulation area, then lead us through the stacks. At the back of the building, they both stop and when I look past them I see a set of stairs leading down, roped off.

“What’s down there?” I ask.

“Err, the basement. We store books down there.”

“Can I see?”

Nervous glances between them, and a hesitant response. “Well, I guess that’d be OK.”

“Oh, is there a problem?”

“Umm, no real problem. It’s just... a little creepy down there.”

Which, as you know, is precisely what a mystery author wants to hear.

So we head down and it is creepy, slightly dim and musty. I tell them about the book in progress, and explain that I’ll have a character who dies early in a locked room. Audrey says, “Oh, that’s funny, we have a small room down here. We call it the atelier, you can see it.”

Sure enough, there’s the tiny little room for my poor, unsuspecting victim to die in. 

We poke around downstairs a little more and I disappear down a short hallway near the foot of the stairs. To my right is a small boiler room, but to my left is a door. In the wall. It blends in and you could walk right by it.

“What’s this?” I ask.

“Oh.” That hesitation again. “It’s our secret door.”

Are you kidding me?? I thought that, didn’t say it. Not like that, anyway. Instead I ask mildly, “Oh, do tell.”

Turns out it’s their door into the American University, which takes up the majority of that block. A door they’re not allowed to use because, well, it’s kind of their secret.

“Do you happen to have a key?” I ask.

They side-eye each other. “We do but we’re not allowed to....”

My raised eyebrow stops them, and one of the women heads upstairs for the key.

Now, you know what I’m thinking. It’s a possible escape avenue for my killer, right? But that requires lots of people to have access to the key, and what are the odds of that given that it’s to a secret door? But I ask anyway.

“Only the library staff and volunteers can access the key,” they assure me.

“And how many...?”

“Maybe ten staff and, in the course of a year,” Abigail thinks for a second, “maybe a hundred volunteers.”

I grin like a chimpanzee. “Perfect.”

Later, as I wrapped the book up, it struck me that these coincidences might appear too good to be true, too contrived. So I actually put an author’s note in the front of the book pointing out that the library does have a secret door!

And this made me wonder if my fellow writers ever came across situations like this, when their research came up with something almost too perfect... or if readers ever stumbled over something in a novel, not believing it at first but then finding out it was true?

Oh, and you’re probably wondering if I went through the secret door that afternoon. I will tell you that had I done so and admitted it in writing, my librarian friends might have got in trouble.

So here I am, admitting nothing in writing...

Now out: THE PARIS LIBRARIAN (the book and the trailer!)

Just a short note to welcome into the my latest novel, the seventh in the Hugo Marston series: The Paris Librarian.

And also the book trailer, for more immediate gratification:

Enjoy!

DEAD WAKE - a book review

When I started this blog I tried to review a book or two a month, I called it Thriller Thursday. Remember that? Go on, click on the label, you'll see.

Well guess what? It's Thursday! Only now I'm doing something different in that I wanted to let you know about a non-fiction book I just read. In truth, it might just be the best non-fiction book I've ever read. Seriously.

It's called: DEAD WAKE, The Last Crossing Of The Lusitania, by Erik Larson. Here's a cute girl holding my copy:

The Lusitania is one of those things we learn about in history, and vaguely connect it to America's entrance into WW1. But what makes this book so incredible is that Larson tells the story from ground-level, from the perspectives of those involved. Sure, world events are wrapped around those tales but for goodness sake, we even see things from the view of the submarine that sank the ship! Not to mention the Lusitania's captain and numerous passengers and crew.

Anyway, here's the Amazon summary:

"On May 1st, 1915 the Lusitania set sail on its final voyage. That it was sunk by a German U-boat will be news to few—and Larson’s challenge is to craft a historical narrative leading up to the thrilling, if known, conclusion, building anticipation in his readers along the way. To his credit, he makes the task look easy. Focusing on the politics of WWI, on nautical craftsmanship and strategy, and on key players in the eventual attack and sinking of the “fast, comfortable, and beloved” Lusitania, Larson once again illustrates his gift for seducing us with history and giving it a human face. Dead Wake puts readers right aboard the famous Cunard liner and keeps them turning the pages until the book’s final, breathless encounter."

And look, you can go a million places to read reviews of it. I'm posting my own few words because I was so blown away by the book. Only twice in the past few years have I read an entire book in one weekend, and in fact DEAD WAKE took me slightly more than a day.

Not only is it immaculately researched but it reads like an adventure novel. Which, in fact, does it a disservice because it's also emotionally compelling. When I finished reading about the sinking itself, the lives lost and the descriptions of those in the water, the portrayal of that horrible twenty or so minutes, I had to put the book down and walk away.

Only for about ten minutes though, the story is so powerful I had to get back to it.

So if you're looking for an amazing non-fiction read, heck even if you're not, get this book. You won't regret it. Bloody marvelous.

Throwing the Book at a Cop. (Actually, About Fifty of Them.)

A month after Austin Police Officer Russell Smith was in a near-fatal car crash on his way home from patrol, I reached out to a community of people for help.

People who, on an a normal day, create the kind of mayhem and madness that Officer Smith deals with on a daily basis. People with evil in their minds, people who deal out death and destruction to the innocent and guilty, to the young and the old. Ruthless, murderous people.

People, quite frankly, who possess ginormously loving hearts and incredibly generous spirits.

Oh, let me back a moment and introduce you to Russ. My family had lunch with him and his wife today and he let me take his pic, neck brace and all.

I've had the pleasure of seeing Russ on the job and he's so professional, so respectful when he deals with members of the public, and I'm proud to call him a friend and colleague. You guys don't know him, but trust me when I tell you the world needs more police officers like Russell Smith, and whether he's back on patrol or behind a desk he'll make a difference to our community.

One other thing to know about Russ is that he's an avid reader. Fiction, non-fiction, history, crime, he loves it all. I found that out over several ride-outs in his patrol car, and over several meals we've shared. Right now he's on a Hemmingway kick, just so ya know.

Anyway, it struck me that a reader who's facing a long lay-off and a lot of rehab could almost certainly use a few more books. Just a few. So I put out one, solitary appeal on Facebook to see if a writer friend or two might be able to sign and send a book.

Yeah, well, this happened:

To save you having to count, that's fifty-three novels, from more than twenty writers, readers, reviewers, and my own wonderful publisher, Seventh Street Books. And that was in just two weeks, I know there are more on the way. As well as books, people sent get-well cards, a coffee mug, and several gift cards.

Oh, and a copy of Playboy. Seriously. My friend Steve Weddle has an article published in this issue so he kindly mailed it for the collection. Which will make Russ the first person to say, "I'm reading this for the articles," and not be a big, fat liar.

Now, I have the pleasure of interacting with my colleagues in the crime fiction community at a conference every year, and sometimes our paths cross on the book-signing trail. Every experience has been a wonder, their kindness and generosity has always blown me away but never more so than in their rush to help Russ Smith.

So, to you all, my thanks. And to anyone who reads, especially crime fiction, know that every time you buy a book your are supporting a wonderful community of kind and generous people. So thanks to you, too.

There's a lot of bad news in the world these days. And I'm sitting in my local library while a storm rages outside, which should portend evil. But not today. Today I loaded three boxes of books into the trunk of a friend's car, books written by other friends.

A good day for everyone.

The Eye-Witness Testimony of Children (aka, How To Turn Two Into Eleven)

We had an interesting experience recently that made very real the problem with eye-witness testimony, and shows why I rarely rely on it as a prosecutor unless there's some very good corroborating evidence.

One weekday evening, my son and three friends were in a nearby park (he and the two girls were eleven, and another boy was eight). They encountered two boys who identified themselves as 8th graders at a nearby middle school. Unfortunately, these boys began throwing rocks at the younger kids, and threatening to kill and rape them.

Yeah, charming.

My son is a tough lad but had no desire to stand his ground, so took off running. He fell and did this:

We reported the incident to the police, who can't do very much without an identification of those boys. So on Friday we rendezvous-ed at the elementary school to look at a yearbook from the middle school, to see if the kids could recognize the two boys. Actually, the kids and one parent, who'd gone to look for her daughter in the park and encountered them.

So, four kids and one adult.

They took turns leafing through the yearbook, so as not to influence each other. The photos weren't divided up by year, but by alphabet, so they had to look through several hundred pictures of sixth, seventh, and eighth graders to find the stone-throwers.

How hard could it be?

I'll tell you: very.

By the end of an hour, we had eleven suspects. The identifications varied from fifty percent to eighty percent certainty, but the interesting thing to me (apart from the number eleven) was that we had zero crossover. In other words, none of the five people perusing the book had chosen the same kid.

Pretty scary, eh?


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Cover Reveal... And Quiet Places With Books

I'm delighted to be able to show off the cover art for my next Hugo Marston novel, The Paris Librarian. As you can see, it's a little different from the previous Hugo books and I absolutely love it.

 And it's especially appropriate that I get to reveal it this week of all weeks, simply because it's:
 

There are many people in my life who make it possible for me to write, people who have supported me in various ways and allowed me to act and feel like a real author.

Well, thanks to them, that's what I am.

There are the usual suspects, those I thank at every opportunity, like my wife and kids, my parents, my close friends. Folks like Scott Montgomery at BookPeople here in Austin, my agent and the great people at Seventh Street Books (Jill , Dan, and Jon, I'm looking at you...!).

But what about the unusual suspects?

In 2009, I started going to my local library, the Will Hampton Branch of the Austin Public Library system. Here she is:

I went there every weekend and some afternoons, whenever I could, to write The Bookseller. Took me about eight months and all that time I'd stroll in, nod politely to whoever was at the circulation desk, find space at a table, and get on with it. When that novel was done, I started on the sequel at the library as I waited for my agent to find me a publisher.

Then, in October of 2012, the book was published and one of the first things I did was take two copies to the library manager and hand them over.

"This book was written right here," I told him. "Thank you for helping me get it done."

He was delighted, and admitted that they'd wondered a little about the guy who came so regularly and typed so intently. So I made the rounds and introduced myself to the other staff who were there. Most of them have moved on since but I get to know the new folks who come in, and they are always thrilled that a real-life author wrote (so far) seven novels in their library.

And I still do.

The current WIP is also being sweated over and thumped out amid the stacks. The staff are always happy to see me, to stop for a quick chat, but they also respect my time and are plainly hesitant to interrupt -- how perfect is that?

Sometimes I get to give back a little. For example, the Hoover Public Library in Alabama invited me (and half a dozen other authors) to their Southern Voices Festival. Talk about an impressive library and staff... But there I was able to meet with and talk to hundreds of readers, tell them in person why I love (and need) libraries. They even filmed a chat between myself and fellow author Jamie Mason (of Three Graves Full and Monday's Lie fame). Check that out here.

I'm sometimes asked why I write at a library, and there are several reasons. For one thing, I'm surrounded by books, and there's nothing more inspiring than that. I also like the ambient noise of the place, people murmuring and browsing the shelves, the occasional too-loud kid who's excited about this book or that video.

And now, of course, it's also about the people. I still have questions they can answer, usually something like: "Hey, Eric, what do you Americans call such-and-such?" But more than that, I enjoy having friendly and familiar faces around me as I work. (I know I have familiar and friendly faces at home, but they are much smaller and usually need things from me.) Here I am with some of my librarian friends:

The moment I pass through those sliding glass doors a kind of peace settles over me (unless I'm returning an overdue book, then I whistle innocently and point in the opposite direction as I drop it in the return slot).

I'll be back there this Friday, on most Fridays in fact, it's as close to an office as this writer has. But it's not your usual office - the commute is five minutes, the welcome is genuine and warm, the hours are short, and I get a ton done.

So thank you to my friends at the Hampton Library. And thank you to all the librarians out there, you probably have no idea how much we writers need and adore you.

But we surely do.

The DWI Testimony of Donald Trump

This hasn't been in the news for some reason, but now that the case is over I can publish the transcript of a trial in which presidential candidate Donald Trump played a small role, right here in Austin. This happened when he was campaigning in Texas -- as part of his pro-law enforcement platform he rode out with APD, in Nigel Sector.

About halfway through the evening the officer he was with, Officer Dover, pulled over Christopher Paul Bacon for failing to maintain a single lane (aka weaving). Mr. Bacon took the case to trial, and because Mr. Trump was present he was called as a witness. He testified right after the officer, as the State's second, and final, witness. (The prosecutor was assistant county attorney Gowan Gether, the defense attorney was Susan Yoo.)

Prosecutor:  

Let's begin with how the officer came to pull the defendant over that night. What happened?

Trump:

I'll tell you what happened. I was there and saw everything. Saw it all, and you better believe I can tell the heck out of what happened that night. The officer was terrific.

Prosecutor:

Thank you. Please go on.

Trump:

Oh, I will. See, I was in the police car. Super car, too, had great lights on the top. Best police car I've ever seen, Officer Ben can drive as fast as he wants. It's got lights. Sirens. The works. We could drive the wrong way down a street if we wanted, no one would say anything. Anyway, we see this guy, the drunk guy who's sitting by that horse-faced lawyer over there. He's driving but he's also drunk, so we arrest him.

Prosecutor:

OK, but why did you guys pull him over? What was your probable cause for the stop? 

Trump:

Probable what?

Prosecutor:

Cause. The reason for the stop.

 Trump:

What, are you kidding me? He was drunk. Look at the guy, he's probably drunk now. He looks drunk to me, sitting there like a loser.

Defense Atty:

I object, Judge, this isn't evidence, it's insults.

Trump: 

Hey, I got evidence. The best evidence. Evidence like you've never seen. Beyond all absolutely reasonable doubt, that's how good my evidence is. It's terrific.

Defense Atty:

Then let's hear it.

Trump: 

Be quiet. I bet you paid for his drinks that night, didn't you? In fact, I bet you're probably hammered right now, too, aren't you?  Who else is a drunk gonna hire for a lawyer? Like for like. You're both losers.

Judge:

Officer, stick to the facts please.

Trump:

Fine. You want the facts? You better believe I'll show you facts. Big ones. Huge facts, ones you won't even believe exist until I tell you about them. [Pointing] Drunk. This guy, while he was driving. Shocking, I don't know what this country's coming to. But here I am, testifying. My testimony, it's great.

Prosecutor:

Perhaps we could hear some of the specifics.

Trump: 

You did. I said it. And just for you, so we're clear, I'll say it again. That guy was drunk while he was driving. Drunk like a skunk, and believe you me I know my skunks. Especially the ones who are drunk. And driving.

Prosecutor:

Did the officer you were with perform any SFSTs?

Trump: 

Any what, now?

Prosecutor:

Standardized field sobriety tests.

Trump: 

That's a great question. A fine question. And yes he did. All of them. He performed all of the tests that we know about, that you're talking about. Great tests, super ones. Every single test that there is, those are the ones he did.

Prosecutor:

Were they passed or failed?

Trump:

I've never failed a test in my life. Any test. Never. You can go back and look, Donald Trump hasn't failed a single test, it's right there you just have to look. Quite clear.

Prosecutor:

What about blood or breath? Did the defendant give up any of those?

Trump: 

Are you kidding? I could smell his breath a mile away. No test needed. Clear and unequivocal. Drunk. That's the problem with policing these days, people like you expect all their fancy-shmancy scientific tests when some common sense will do. I'm a businessman, successful, millionaire businessman. Billionaire, even. I know wasted when I smell it, even if you don't. That's your problem, right there. 

Prosecutor:

What about a blood test?

Trump:

What? Of course not. No one's taking his blood. I'm not taking anyone's blood. That's disgusting. Who would do that? Where are you from that you'd do that? Disgusting. I bet you're not even from here, are you? In fact, why don't you who us your birth certificate? See, you probably don't have one. Not even born yet.

Prosecutor:

Err, thank you. I pass the witness. And abandon the case.

Trump:

Abandon? No, I'm not done, loser. You know what I'm gonna do? When I'm president I'm gonna keep arresting drunks, and make them prosecute themselves. Next one I catch, just you watch. Take him to jail and make him prosecute himself. I'm just saying. Too many of them in this town. Now, I'm sure they're not all bad, some are probably good people. But yeah. Just you watch.

Judge:

You're excused. Case dismissed.

Trump:

No it isn't. Does this case look dismissed to you? All these people, this yuge courtroom. I'll tell you this, there's no problem with this case. It's solid. The best evidence, not dismissed. No problem at all.

Hey, where's everyone going?

[End of Transcript]

I'm doing it: Me for political office (the only one worth my attention).

I'm running for President of the United States of America.

I need to begin with an admission: I had believed that you need to be born on U.S. soil to be eligible but I now know that's not true. If Ted Cruz is eligible, as a Cuban/Canadian/American, I realize that I am, too.

Also, if Ted Cruz is a viable candidate, I can be, too. I mean, seriously.

My qualifications: 

As a prosecutor I have years of public service under my belt, and have accepted and executed the demands of this office with diligence and determination. Not executed literally, you understand, that's not my job.

As a former journalist I am up-to-date on current events and will be able to step into the White House and know what I'm talking about, be it the Russian invasion of Ukraine (and I know enough not to call it "the Ukraine"), climate change (and I know enough about science to accept this as fact), or the Keystone pipeline (ok, I don't know so much about that one).

As an author I wear tweed jackets and smoke a pipe occasionally. That is the perfect visual image of a President.

As an Englishman I will be able to take tea and play cricket with the English and Indian Prime Ministers. And continue to not take Australia seriously as a nation.


My political platforms:

Healthcare -- single payer system. I say make the Australians pay.

Gay marriage -- my wife would be most upset if I was in one. Kids would be kind of shocked, too. That said, I've noticed no detriment to my own vows or the fabric of society resulting from other people gay-marrying, so I'm all for it.

Military action overseas -- not really working out too well, so I say either (a) pull back the troops and reallocate money to make our own society more equal and just, or (b) invade a sleepy unprepared, and ultimately easy-to-conquer nation. May I suggest New Zealand? I know, you thought I was going to say Australia but that place is full of snakes, spiders, crocodiles, and wombats. And Australians. New Zealand is like the Canada of Australia, but warmer. And not as combative. An easy invasion followed by gentle walks in the sheep meadows. That's some foreign policy for you.

Climate change -- as a former ski instructor I'm a little miffed about this turn of events. And I hate the way sand gets in your sandwiches and crotch at the beach, so don't try and tell me that's a benefit. Consequently, I'm opposed to climate change. Plus, I feel bad for the penguins.

Taxes -- more. Locally and nationally. Although I'm in favor of alternatives like Uber. Oh, wait, you said "taxes" not "taxis." In that case, fewer taxes. And fewer tax dodgings (I'm looking at you, rich people; caveat: if I become rich, I will revisit this policy).

That's enough to get started on.

Oh, you're wondering which party I'm running with, Democrat or Republican. Answer: neither, which tells you that I have more self-respect and dignity than the vast majority of my opponents.

Vote for me?

All books can matter. All of them.

A woman wrote to me recently, asking for a favor for her dying father. She told me that he’s a fan of my books but is unlikely to be around by the time the next one comes out, in June of this year. Her father, Michael, is dying of liver cancer, and she hoped I might be able to get him an early, pre-release copy of the book.

For those who don’t know, publishers do print advanced review copies (ARCs), which are not fully edited but look pretty much like the finished version. They are not usually handed out to readers, for obvious reasons, but as you can imagine I was deeply touched by this request, and immediately asked my publisher to send me an  ARC so I could sign it and send it to him. And a few days after mailing it off, I received messages of thanks from Michael himself, his son, and two of his daughters, just for doing this small thing. Oh and this photo.

(Michael, his daughter Sarah, and his grand-daughter Scout with an ARC of The Reluctant Matador.)

What they didn’t know, couldn’t know, is that my own father was taken by cancer not so long ago. He died just a few months before my first book was published and so he never got to see it in print, hold it in his hands. As result, I strongly disapprove of cancer, never more so than when it separates parents from children and, in our shared circumstance, readers from authors. This, then, was a small favor for me but a huge honor. And it set me thinking about the way our books impact people in ways we can’t possibly know. I write mystery novels, a series with an old-fashioned hero who operates in London, Barcelona, and Paris. I don’t pretend to tackle important issues with the books, I just try to tell a good tale and bring a few characters to life to entertain my readers. And every week I hear from a reader or two, kind people who take the time and trouble to write to me, either to say nice things or to ask questions about the books. But I’ve never had a request like the one from Michael Harmuth’s daughter.

You may know that there is forever a rumble in the world of books, as authors and readers (but usually authors) take positions on the relative merits of literary fiction versus genre fiction (which would include crime, romance, sci-fi, horror, western, erotica, etc.). I don’t plan to rehash those debates here—they aren’t hard to find elsewhere—but the basic argument is that literary fiction tackles important ideas with beautiful and moving language whereas genre fiction is more about what happens, about entertainment.

My own view is that there is no real distinction, just a large palette of a thousand colors that includes all writers, styles, and subjects. Within my own genre, crime fiction, we have Tana French, Jamie Mason, Laura Lippman, and a host of others writing novels that are literary in tone and style, and are still crime novels. They spatter blood over those literary v. genre distinctions and stuff them into body bags. I recently saw, and endorse, the opinion that Pride and Prejudice is a romance and Lonesome Dove is a western. That The Time Traveler’s Wife is science fiction and Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde is horror. And isn’t To Kill a Mockingbird a crime novel?

But here’s the thing. Even if someone more articulate is able to make a case for a line between literary and genre fiction, the truth is that I’m happy to have pitched my tent where it now sits, in the genre camp. And I know with certainty that my novels have had the kind of impact on at least one person that any artist or writer could hope for. A kind, funny, decent man wants to read just one more of them before he makes his way on to his next adventure.

And there’s one more thing I can, and will, do for my new friend and his family. He has in his hands book five in the series, The Reluctant Matador, which is set in Barcelona. Most of the novels are set in Paris, so I know Michael has enjoyed his visits there with my characters. The next in the series will again be in the City of Light—and Michael will be there, too. With his blessing, Michael Harmuth will be a character in my next book, maybe plotting mischief or perhaps providing clues to the good guys. Either way, the next novel in the series will be as important to him and his family as the others because every time they pick it up, Michael’s children will be able to read about, and picture, their father on the streets of Paris, as alive in their minds as he is today, and having a damn good time with a few of the literary characters who have meant something to him.

As a writer, I don’t set out to change the world or impart large truths. But I’m more aware now that our books, all of them, have the power to bring a little light into the lives of strangers, to give them something to look forward to, and maybe hold on to. And, in at least one instance, a chance to live on in a way that may be different, but a way that means something to him and to me.

(Michael has his own blog, where he’s talked about his “journey with cancer.” He calls it “Incurableme,” which tells you a lot about his strength and sense of humor).