"Exposure" is something you die of when you can't pay the rent

I saw an interesting article in the NYT today, called "Slaves of the Internet, Unite."  A quick double-take, because I read the last word as "Untie," which actually makes sense in context.

But anyway. This is something that I've seen in my legal career, and as a writer: people expecting stuff for free. I first wrote about it back in November of 2011, in the context of people seeking pro bono legal help.

In today's NYT article, the writer begins: "I received, in a single week, three (3) invitations to write an original piece for publication or give a prepared speech in exchange for no ($0.00) money." He goes on to say:

"People who would consider it a bizarre breach of conduct to expect anyone to give them a haircut or a can of soda at no cost will ask you, with a straight face and a clear conscience, whether you wouldn’t be willing to write an essay or draw an illustration for them for nothing. They often start by telling you how much they admire your work, although not enough, evidently, to pay one cent for it."

Which is sort of the point I made two years ago, right about the time I got my first publishing deal. Who knew I was taking on two careers where I'd be expected to give it away for free?!

I myself have been invited to submit articles/short fiction to organs that don't pay. The response, to me and others, when we decline is uniform:

"But you'll get exposure!"

Which is a good thing, of course. Except, my view is that if people value what I do then they should value it enough to pay the market value (which ain't $0). For another, wonderfully foul-mouthed, opinion on this subject, read this by John Scalzi.

Going back to the exposure point. Imagine this to be the conversation:

"Hey Mark, would you write a short piece for us, for free, please?"
"For free?"
"Yeah, you'll get good exposure, we have like two hundred people who read our blog/magazine/whatever."
"Well, okay then."

Two weeks later.

"Hey, Mark, thanks for writing that piece, it was awesome."
"Oh, you're welcome."
"And you got some exposure, eh?"
"I did, yes."
"Great!"
"Not really. Fifteen people asked me to write stuff for them. For free."
"Wow, awesome, think of all that exposure!"

Hey, I wonder if the Statesman will publish this blog entry - a couple of years ago I agreed to let them do it, for free, and I never withdrew that permission. Think they will?

Nah, me neither.

My problem with writing reviews. Except this one.

I have a problem: I don't like writing book reviews.

It's not a huge problem, I agree, as far as problems go. But as a writer, and as someone who maintains a blog, it's there nonetheless.

First, I have a hard time imagining anyone cares whether I like a book or not. If I'm right about that, then I'm wasting my time writing a review. I don't like wasting my own time. I do hope my opinion counts just a little, to a few people, and if nothing else my posting a book's cover and synopsis might allow people to check the book out for themselves.

Second, I don't like trying to find nice things to say about a book if I didn't really like it. I can do so if necessary, but I don't want to because it's misleading (assuming point one, above, doesn't apply and someone's paying attention). Now, this is a problem only when I feel obliged to write a book review (say if the President or the Dalai Lama asked me to) so I've pretty much eliminated it by writing only reviews when I want, and about books I like. Put another way, if I read a book and don't like it, you won't see it here.

And a book review is why we're all here today. This one's a little funny because under normal circumstances I might not actually have read this book, let alone liked it. It's set in Texas (get plenty of that already) and is sort of a "cozy" mystery (traditional definition would be something along the liens of  "‘gentle’ books… no graphic violence, no profanity, and no explicit sex"), although somehow it doesn't fit entirely into that slot. Nothing wrong with those things, I've just been leaning towards international spy stories lately.

[Quick disclaimed: the author, Terry Shames, has become a friend because her book is published by Seventh Street Press, my own publisher. But see aforementioned discussion about my policy of simply not reviewing a book if I don't like it. Additionally, Terry didn't ask for this review, I'm posting it because I loved her book. So there.]
 

So, here's the book cover, which I think is very cool:

Synopsis of the book (taken from Amazon):

The chief of police of Jarrett Creek, Texas, doubles as the town drunk. So when Dora Lee Parjeter is murdered, her old friend and former police chief Samuel Craddock steps in.

He discovers that a lot of people had it in for Dora Lee. The conniving rascals on the farm next door want her land for nefarious purposes; her estranged daughter could be seeking vengeance; her grandson wants money for art school; and then there's that stranger Dora Lee claimed was spying on her.

Does Craddock still have what it takes to find the killer?

In this debut novel, the strong, compelling voice of Samuel Craddock illuminates the grandeur and loneliness of the central Texas landscape and reveals the human foibles of the residents in a small Texas town-their pettiness and generosity, their secret vices and true virtues.

My opinion:

I read this book in three days, over a very busy weekend. I chose to read it rather than watch sports yesterday, just so I could finish it and find out whodunnit.

So, yes, it's a good mystery, the kind that even half-way through you're thinking, "I have no clue who the killer is." Additionally, all suspects seem equally plausible, I didn't feel like any were thrown in just to confuse the reader and that takes some pretty nifty writing. And you read on, because you really do want to know what happened and why.

Which brings me to the writing style: it's so easy, so flowing, that you will hit that half-way point before you know it. The plot is easy to follow, she doesn't get bogged down with narrative description, and the dialogue is spot on.

Best of all, for me, was the cast of characters. The central figure, Samuel Craddock, is utterly original and immensely likeable, which is key for a mystery. And Terry has done a great job with all her characters, who are real, interesting, original, and layered. It's absolutely, the kind of book that cries out to be a series, which it will be (this was the first). A really, really, good book and I highly recommend it.

Kind words

I try not to post too much about my writing life because I assume most people who come here are interested in things criminal.  But, as I often say, it's my blog so I can post what I like and every now and again something pops up that I want to share.

I received this message at my Facebook Author Page:

I'm 74 and never wrote an author before.. just finished The Bookseller. Loved it! My favorite kind of novel, one that drags me into 2am to finish it because it's too hard to put down. First thought was this would make a great series, then I looked at the cover again - sub title "The first...." duh. I think Hugo will rank up there with Alan Gregory, Harry Bosch, "Oliver Stone" and Jack Reacher! Looking forward to reading The Crypt Thief and many more Parisian, or other European cities, adventures. 

Now, I get messages there, and emails via my website, pretty much every week. But this one really made me smile and, as I'm sure you can guess, it was because this gentleman is 74 years old, and contacted an author for the first time.  That tells me he can really relate to Hugo Marston, my main character, and it tells me I succeeded in my quest to create a central, identifiable hero that readers will want to get to know, to hear more from. One reader, anyway.

That's just, plain fantastic. And let's hope he's right about Hugo's longevity and popularity!

Taking a wider view, it did remind me how important kind words are. This chap had no idea whether I would be giddy with pleasure or shrug at another reader email, but he took the time to say a few nice things to a stranger.  I try to live my life that way, though it's more likely to be a joke than anything, but still.

So there's your reminder on a Friday, and you have all weekend to go out and make a complete stranger a little bit happier.

Human Trafficking in Austin and Amsterdam

I've made some good friends in the Austin Police Department, thanks to my ride-alongs. Because they are patrol officers, they're usually at or near the lower rungs of their career ladder, which means that sooner or later they move up and on. Which is great for them, but sucks for me because I don't see them any more!

One of those friends is a sergeant, somewhat further along in his career, and he's one of the nicest human beings I know, and a fantastic cop. One of the best things about him is his intelligence and the way he works with his officers. He loves training them, getting them to think about why they do what they do. He and I talk about the law, about the best ways to apply it in the field, and one of his greatest achievements (from my perspective) has been to show his guys how to write a clear, concise offense report. Bless you for that.

Anyway, he's moving on to head a human trafficking group within APD. I've seen myself, even working in our juvenile division, that there are victims of human trafficking right here in Austin. This is noble work for a noble cop, and I know he'll do a great job there.

It's fitting that I post this video. It's less than 2 minutes long, and is fairly safe for work (no nudity, but there is scantily clad dancing).

It's shot in Amsterdam's Red Light District. A crowd gathers to watch what appears to be a planned dance routine by the ladies working in an establishment. There are hoots and hollers, and everyone's having fun until the end, when the real message is made clear.





Good luck in your new job, Sarge, you're saving lives.

The Zimmerman Case - an opinion

I've been asked countless times in recent days to give my opinion about the George Zimmerman case. That can mean a couple of things, of course: my opinion on the incident, or on the trial. I have no desire to second-guess someone else's trial work, and don't plan to.  And I hadn't really planned on saying anything about the incident, either, until I read the words of a friend, fellow author, and former cop.

His name is John Levitt and I asked (and received!) his permission to post here, in its entirety, his view of what happened and why. I thought it one of the most insightful things that I've read on the matter, and hope you find it interesting.

And for context, he was responding to this opinion:

These stand your ground and concealed carry laws seem to me like something that can give guys with chips on their shoulders a perceived opportunity to do what they've always fantasized about--getting away with killing someone they don't like.

John said:

I really don't think that's what Zimmerman was about. He was a wannabee cop, imo, and I've run into plenty of them in my time.

A police job can seem incredibly tempting for a certain type of person. It's not, like you might assume, about having the power to push people around. It's about being part of a special group, living a life most people don't get, doing a job most people can't. Like being an Army ranger. Or part of an elite sports team. It feels special

You cruise around in your patrol car on a late graveyard shift, watching out for your city, listening to radio chatter from people you know well, people you've worked with for years, people who have possibly saved your skin more than once and perhaps you've saved theirs as well. You belong.

It's an attractive prospect -- esp for someone who has been a "loser," an outsider for much of their lives. Never one of the cool kids.

So you try to join up -- but more often than not, you don't make the grade. Wannabees exude a certain desperation that makes departments shy away from them.

So you take criminal justice courses. You go to self defense classes. You get a job as security guard, or become a neighborhood watch person.

But just doing the job of neighborhood watch is not enough. You want to play cop. So you call in everything you can -- not just because you're being suspicious, but because that way you get to talk to dispatch, maybe even talk to the cops when they show up -- hey, guys, I'm one of you. You're part of the fraternity -- or so you imagine.

So when you see a "suspicious character" namely a young black male, you call the cops. But then you decide to go a little further, to play cop yourself. I mean, you're almost a cop yourself, anyway, right?

'These punks always get away.'

But not this time, not when George Zimmerman is on the job. So you follow him. You're not particularly worried -- the cops (your backup) are on their way, and besides that, you're packing. That criminal better not give you any trouble if he knows what's good for him. George Zimmerman is nobody to mess with.

I don't think he thought it through. I don't think he thought at all. He just thought he was going to catch a burglar and be a hero.

Then, when he comes out of the darkness to confront Martin, things don't go according to his fantasy. The black "criminal" (Martin) doesn't meekly surrender, or try to run away. He sees Zimmerman as a threat and defends himself.

Suddenly Zimmerman is in a fight. A real fight, not like sparring in the dojo. He gets hit, and it hurts. He gets knocked to the ground. And at this point, he stops thinking at all, if ever he had been.

A dangerous black criminal that he confronted is kicking his ass. His life is in danger. Why does he think that? Because black criminals are violent and dangerous. It's him or them. So he pulls out his gun and shoots him.

What's more, he feels totally justified. In his little cop fantasy world, he simply did what he had to do.

And guess what? The cops buy it. Dangerous black kid, up to no good. That's a part of this story that gets overlooked, but that mindset is telling.

The whole thing is more sad, pitiful, and disgusting than evil.

Excuse of the day

In juvenile court, we get some wonderful excuses from kids as to why they missed court or didn't meet with their probation officer.  One of my recent favorites.:

"Well, see, it was raining, and I didn't have no umbrella or nothing."

And yes, I berated his probation officer for setting up drug counseling, psych counseling, and job training but forgetting the brolly.

A dearth of death - that's good right?

Please excuse my long absence, it's been due a combination of busy-ness, laziness, and lack of worthwhile stuff to write about. I'm still busy and lazy, but I realized that a lack of worthwhile stuff to write about has never stopped me in the past.

Now, where was I?  Ah yes, a dearth of death... especially over the 4th of July, well, you'd think that's good every which way. Right?

Not so.

Picture a group of young people interested in law enforcement, wanting to be DAs and cops, or at least know what DAs and cops go through.  It's a summer morning, the Friday after July 4, and a field trip awaits. They've been looking forward to it all week, in a trepidatious kind of way. Most people are taking the day off, of course, but this group heads into work early, making a detour for the Travis County building that contains, among other things, the Medical Examiner's office.

Yes, they signed up to watch an autopsy.

Now, I was invited. My thoughtful and kind office-mate asked me to come along. But a few things you need to know about me: I'm not good with copious amounts of real-time gore. Death makes me sad. I don't ever plan to cut up a body, so I don't need to learn how. I've seen plenty of dead bodies (read about this one? I was riding out with APD and stood feet from her as EMS workers tried to save her, then covered her with a sheet).  So I declined.

A couple of juvie prosecutors went, though, three I think, as well as a handful of interns.

But there was no body.

It's a rare occurrence, apparently, but there were simply no customers for the ME's table that Friday. After all that screwing of their courage to the sticking-place, I gather there was some disappointed. Which was immediately tempered by (a) relief and (b) a twinge of guilt at feeling disappointed that no-one had just died.

The group, I am told, promised the ME they'd return for a future demonstration, and promptly went out to breakfast.