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Silent Hearts makes 15 top summer reads list – in Lithuania

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It was a thrill to see a Lithuanian version of Silent Hearts (Tylios Sirdys, published by Leidykla Sofoklis), which also has been published in Italian (La Moglie dello Straniero; Casa Editrice Nord) – and even more of one to see it included on a list of recommended summer reads.

Given Lithuania’s location on the Baltic Sea, I suppose this officially makes it a beach read, something I’ve always wanted for one of my books.

Better yet, it’s in some pretty amazing company – Barack Obama and Stephen King, just to name-drop, because when is this ever going to happen again?

“A nuanced and heartwarming story,” says the description, at least according to Google translate. I’ll take it.

A couple of busy weeks in book world

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Between the day job and book work lately, I haven’t been getting much sleep – for the best of reasons on both fronts.

In the day job, we’re in the final week before municipal elections in Missoula, and starting the final year before the state- and nationwide 2020 elections, which basically means we’ll be in full-sprint mode the whole time. Color me the sort of weirdo who loves this stuff.

There are some fun developments on the book front as well. My second novel, Dakota, was released in Italian by Marsilio on Oct. 10 as Le Ragazze del Dakota (The Girls of Dakota, according to Google Translate). Here’s a nice review in Italian, that says something to the effect of “Gwen Florio tells a dark story, very sad, using the tools of the authentic novelist rather than the journalist.”

 

Then, on Oct. 15, A Million Acres: Montana Writers Reflect on Land and Open Space (Riverbend), edited by Keir Graff, was released. It’s a stunningly beautiful book, thanks to Alexis Bonogofsky’s photographs, and benefits the Montana Land Reliance. I’ve got an essay in it that sits abashed beside pieces from writers whose work I’ve admired for decades. The best thing (for me)? That I’m included under the label of Montana writer. There may have been a bit of boo-hooing on my part when I realized that.

A week later, the softcover version of Silent Hearts (Atria) was released, just in time for the holidays, hint, hint. In Missoula, it sits among some pretty great company at Fact & Fiction.

 

 

 

 

 

 

And finally, perhaps best of all, I sent the manuscript for Best Laid Plans, the first book in the new Nora Best series (Severn House), off to my agent. Why is that best of all? Because it means I can head off to Bouchercon this coming weekend without it hanging over my head. If you’re in Dallas, hit me up for a drink in the bar.

 

 

 

Introducing Nora Best

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Psyched to announce some good news – that I’ve signed a contract with British publisher Severn House for two crime novels featuring a protagonist named Nora Best.

I’m doubly psyched because my previous series featuring reporter Lola Wicks effectively ended when my publisher, Midnight Ink, shut down. It’s fun to be starting something with a new protagonist and a whole new set of circumstances.

All I’ll say about Nora is that she’s not a journalist, and at the beginning of the first book, tentatively titled Best Laid Plans, finds herself newly single. Oh, and an Airstream trailer is integral to the plot. Why an Airstream? Because I want one, and writing about one is probably as close as I’ll get to ever having one.

But because writing the novel involves endless—very necessary!—time on Airstream sites and blogs, whenever I log on I’m now beset by ads for trailers I’ll never be able to afford. Clearly the Airstream people know nothing about writer/journalists’ incomes.

The first book is tentatively set to come out in the UK in May, and then in the United States three months later.

Watch this spot for updates on Nora’s travels.

If at first you don’t succeed, revise, revise again

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I had so much fun last month, hiding away in Undisclosed Location to revise and polish a manuscript to send to my agent.

Who sent it right back with some cogent remarks as to why it wasn’t ready.

“Are you OK?” people ask when I tell them this. Sometimes followed by what a tongue-tangled friend used to call “asparagus remarks” about my agent.

They seem skeptical when I respond that not only am I all right, I feel lucky to have an agent who helps save me from myself. (If you already have, or manage to find, an agent like this, I hope you’ve placed him or her on the world’s tallest pedestal.)

The book was probably OK, too. But just OK. And remainder tables (not to mention rejection piles) are full of just-OK books. My mantra has always been “each book better than the one before,” and if this one wasn’t doing the job, then I’m happy to take another whack or two or three at it to get it right.

University of Georgia Carnegie Library

Without going into detail, his suggestions meant ditching about half the book. Admittedly, that part did sting. But only for about a minute. Now, a couple of weeks later, I’m back in the rhythm of trying to write 500 words on weekdays and please God at least double that on weekends, rediscovering the pleasure of writing new scenes that take unexpected turns. Today I was kind to my protagonist, sending her to a Carnegie library for her research—a nice break before I resume throwing spike strips across her path.

Also today, the reconstituted manuscript hit 50,000 words, a good halfway point where sheer momentum tends to take over. Far in the distance, but beginning to emerge, the ending awaits. For now, though, I’m going to focus on enjoying the journey.

Me, the WIP, and an Undisclosed Location

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Awhile back, Belfast-born author Adrian McKinty wrote a funny piece for the Guardian about retreating to a cabin in Australia with his work-in-progress, sure that the time away from family and other obligations would help him crush a deadline.

“The perils of writing in solitude,” he called it, and it was indeed perilous. The downpour began the first night. It turned cold. The cabin had no heat. The pub in town had closed and the only store sold baked beans and beer and nothing more in the way of food. The rain turned to snow. He lasted three nights, concluding:

“Solitude may be the school of genius but if you’re looking to cure writer’s block or meet a deadline, it isn’t everyone’s cup of tea.”

I don’t know about that genius bit (unless you’re McKinty, and if you haven’t read his novels, you should), but solitude is seriously my cup of tea. In search of it, I applied for three separate artists’ residencies this year and got turned down by all three.

Upon hearing that, a family friend offered a cabin—one light years removed, thank God, from McKinty’s drafty, miserable retreat. (Note: Friends like this deserve pedestals, haloes, undying gratitude and a dandy bottle of whiskey.)

I signed up for whatever remained of my vacation time, left home on a below-zero day, and arrived at a warm and toasty hideaway. I’m all for writing before work (and after) and on weekends, but my WIP was in crisis stage, a fairly decent beginning and end, but the middle, oh, the dreaded middle. It was a wasteland.

For me, at least, that sort of thing takes concerted concentration, and it took several days to find my way out of the morass. Now, powered by the patented index-card method (outline each chapter on a card, then add, subtract and shuffle until the damn things are in the right order) and big pots of my grandmother’s pasta e fagioli recipe, there’s hope. All thanks to solitude.

Happy New Year, with resolutions

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As I slog back through the first draft of Book Seven, cutting, cutting (where the hell did all those useless paragraphs come from?), and wondering how I’m going to fill the giant gaping holes in the plot, I come across little notes to myself in the ms.

Some are pretty obvious: Check on a name. (Did I really give two different characters the same name? Yah, you betcha.) Fix the timeline. (Oh, wait. I never made a timeline. Which is probably why—once I count the days—I’ve ended up with a courtroom scene on a Saturday. Sorry about that, Judge. You don’t have to work on your day off after all.)

But then I found one on a particularly uninspired piece of writing. I’m talking limp as overcooked pasta, and just about as unappetizing. It said simply: “Do this better.”

I fired off a quick tweet & FB post about it, something to the effect that it could apply to the whole book. And it could.

This being New Year’s Day, “do better” works as a great resolution. The novelist Laura Lippman has a terrific tradition of posting a one-word resolution each year and asking people to do the same. It’s inspiring to read through people’s posts, and their reasons for the word they’ve chosen.

Mine? Achieve.

With two books published within four months of each other, 2018 was a great year in many ways. But you know what didn’t happen while I was promoting those books, and working on three other writing-related projects? Work on a new novel.

Book Seven got to first draft phase right about the time Silent Hearts came out, and then languished. So here’s my resolution that 2019 will see it get the attention it deserves, with darlings jettisoned, holes filled, names and timelines straightened out, and the writing done better.

Onward.

And, Happy New Year!

Thanks to all who support authors

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So many things to be thankful for this time of year (did someone say pie?). But the weekend before Thanksgiving underscored something for which I’m particularly grateful.

I went to Seeley Lake, about an hour northeast of Missoula, for a reading sponsored by the Alpine Artisans group, my second time there. Now, Seeley is a town of only about 1,600 people, and yet Alpine Artisans routinely turns out a wonderfully large, sharp and appreciative crowd for readings and other events.

Readings are held at Grizzly Claw Trading Co., run by Dee and Susan Baker, a store filled with work by local artists and craftspeople, and books by regional authors—and a great coffee shop, too.

The town is sandwiched between its eponymous lake and the Mission Mountains, claiming one of Montana’s most jaw-dropping settings, in a state that shrugs at the merely spectacular.

The event capped a string of readings and book signings for Silent Hearts, occasions that underscore yet again how fortunate I am to live in a place whose people, even in the smallest communities, are so supportive of writers and artists.

I hope all of those people had a wonderful Thanksgiving, filled with art and books (and pie!) and the kind of fellowship that warms the heart in this cold time of year.

First international reading

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A month ago – it’s a cliche, but it truly seems like yesterday – I found myself reading from one of my novels by the light of candles and a fragrant peat fire in the village of Cloghane (population, about three-hundred) on Ireland’s Dingle Peninsula.

 

Hayes-McCoy

Also reading that night was Felicity Hayes-McCoy, who was celebrating the September release in the U.S. and Canada of her Summer in the Garden Cafe (Harper Perennial).  It’s the second in her “Finfarren” series featuring a librarian, and set on a fictional peninsula on Ireland’s West Coast. Her books quickly went into the TBR pile; I especially liked what she had to say about focusing on the too-often unsung role of women in Ireland (OK, in every country, but that night we were focusing on Ireland), which she addresses in her memoir, A Woven Silence.

 

Hayes-McCoy and I were at a ceilidh, an evening of song and storytelling and reading and even a couple of bawdy jokes from family friend Mary O’Morain. Maybe someday the magic of those memories will wear off, but I doubt it.

Na zdravi, Silent Hearts! Gān bēi! Şerefe! Cent’ anni!

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I came home late to an email from my editor informing me that Silent Hearts is going to be translated into Czech, for publication in September 2019.

That makes four languages now for my book. A Chinese publisher acquired the rights recently, and before that, Turkish and Italian publishers also weighed in.

In Gwen’s Rich Fantasy life, I’d travel to all those places in a few years to see if I could find my book on store or library shelves, which would be a challenge, admittedly, in China. But it would be great fun.

In the interest of avoiding bankruptcy, I think I’ll just lift a glass of a country-appropriate adult beverage instead:

Pilsner Urquell for the Czech Republic

 

 

 

 

 

Tsingtao for China

 

 

 

 

 

A brave gulp of raki for Turkey

 

 

 

 

 

And – it goes without saying – an elegant thimble-full of Florio marsala for Italy. Cent’ anni, indeed, Silent Hearts. Hope you’re still gracing shelves in a hundred years.

Writing across cultures

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It’s always a bit of a risk writing about race, ethnicity, creed and culture different than one’s own.

I tell myself that my decades as a journalist, when more often than not I was reporting in such situations, honed my sensitivity – but there’s always that fear that you’ll slip from the high wire that divides patronizing from romanticizing.

So it was especially gratifying last night when Mariam and her daughter Noor showed up at my reading and book signing at the Boulder Book Store in Colorado and assured me that Silent Hearts got it right.

The fact that one of the characters in the book is named Mariam made it even better!

And I’ve already marked as “must attend” a panel at this weekend’s Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers Colorado Gold conference called “Writing characters from cultures not your own.” Because you can never pay too much attention to those details.

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