I met Eric Beetner at the Sunset Blvd cyber bar—a close quarters, noirish dive that was
appropriately sparse for 4:00 in the afternoon. Just us and the Linda
Fiorentino brunette who was glued to a TV talk show in between serving our
drinks. I ordered a Sam Adams and Eric had a water. I raised an eyebrow and he
smiled, saying, “I know. A disgrace to crime novelists
everywhere.”
I laughed and said, “Hey, sorry I didn’t make it to Bouchercon, man. It sounds
like I missed all the fun. What was the highlight?” I slugged back half of my
beer.
"Bcon was fun. About as much fun as you can have in Albany. I really enjoyed the two panels I
was on, the one I moderated about Film Noir was great and the one I spoke on
about hardboiled writing was fun too. I'd say the highlight though was the mini
Noir at the Bar-esque reading I held in the Authors Choice room. I had no idea
if anyone would show up and once I started asking writers to come read I
was overwhelmed by the response. I ended up having 25 readers, I think. It
meant we did it speed dating style and everyone had about 60 seconds to read a
snippet from a book and then everyone generously donated a book for a giveaway.
"The best moment was when it came time to head
to the room and see if anyone would show up. I rounded the corner and the
hallway was jammed with people like The Rolling Stones were performing inside.
It was standing room only! Of course, the flyers I made that offered FREE BOOKS
probably made all the difference, but I hope people found a few new writers to
add to their list."
I shook my head with a smile. "How do you do it! Does
it come naturally to get out there publically and read and sell books?"
"I really
don't mind public speaking and interacting with people. I'm fairly antisocial
in the larger scale - I don't care for parties and stuff like that - but
with the right crowd of like-minded people I don't get shy or lack for things
to say. I will say I have a hard time selling myself. I'm sure I've sold way
more of other peoples books in talking to readers because I'm so much more
likely to go on a rant about how great Jake Hinkson is or how much I loved
Angel Baby by Richard Lange or Owen Laukkanen's books. I don't like to suggest
my own books to anyone, but that could be my deeply ingrained Iowan humility.
"I co-host the L.A. chapter of Noir at the Bar
(with brilliant writer Stephen Blackmoore) so I've seen a lot of readers
come through and some really struggle with reading in public, let alone
speaking extemporaneously, but I rather enjoy it. People have said I'm good at
moderating panels and such."
I raised my beer and nodded my head. "That Blackmoore can spin a yarn. I’m still
reeling from
City of the Lost. Speaking of sharp plots, where did you come
up with the idea for
'The Year I Died Seven Times'?"
"It's not my
normal way of working, but as I recall that one started with the title. I
keep a lot of ideas and random thoughts around and that one stuck. I just
had to write a book around it. I ended up on the story of this guy, Ridley, who
goes off on a search for his missing girlfriend who he realizes he knows very
little about, and ends up getting into mess after mess that literally kills him
at every turn.
"The hardest
part was finding different ways of killing him off that he could come back
from. It's not a zombie novel. He just ends up legally dead for a few moments
each time. But those options are limited, which is why it's not the year I died
twenty times.
"It was a challenge trying to keep up the
tension while the reader knows he is going to die at the end of each adventure,
or in this case the end of each installment of the book. Hopefully the trouble
he gets up to in between is fun and suspenseful enough to bring the readers
along. And I'd bet there are a few deaths that would surprise people. In a way,
there's a fun little bit of reader participation that works in the same way as
a traditional mystery where a reader enjoys guessing the who in a who-done-it,
only this way you have to guess how Ridley is going to die each time. Readers
should absolutely feel free to play along at home, maybe make some bets with
loved ones."
My phone beeped and buzzed. I picked it up without looking at it, saying, "It’s a great idea … it’s like an interactive
story in a pocket size book! Well, thanks for dropping
the book at BEAT to a
PULP’s door, amigo. It zips right along and offers us a chance to do something
different with seven installments released over the next year." I checked my cell. A text from my Charmer came in asking me to stop for milk on the way home. Made me think. "I gotta ask, how do you find the time to
write with two kids and a full-time job?"
"The short answer
is I don't sleep enough. Really I think it's that old adage, 'A writer
writes.' It's just something I do because I like doing it. I feel like I'm
too slow. When I get on a run and get focused on a book I do a good job of
writing almost every night. When I'm not working on something I have no problem
with taking time off. I don't think you need to write every night all the time.
It leads to burnout.
"Last year I
felt like I was moving slow all year but when I looked back I wrote (and
published) two novellas, a complete novel (now under submission) wrote half a
novel and then scrapped it, wrote about half of another novel with my
co-author (we're almost done!) half a dozen short stories for anthologies and I
think there was a novel I finished in January that I'd started late 2012. For
me, that's slacking. Man, I have issues. No matter what we will all be lapped
by Stephen Graham Jones.
"But I will
give credit to my wife and my kids for giving me the time to write. They all go
to bed by 9:00 or 9:30 every night so I'm free to both watch what I want on TV
and then go write until about 1 or 2 am. And they let me sleep in until about
8. So, yeah, I'm gonna die young. But y'know, I'll have all those books as
my legacy.
".... Oh dear, I've made a huge mistake ...."
We finished our drinks, tipped handsomely—our hostess still lost
in a custody battle show—and headed for the exit when a barfly waddled in. I stepped
back as Eric held the door. On the street waiting for our respective taxis, my
mind wandered to one last thought, "Would you still write if you could look into a crystal ball
and see that you weren’t going be that big-time author, you know, like on the
NY Times Best Seller list?"
"What the hell
else am I doing now if not that? I know for sure I'll never be that guy. I'm
fine with it. I'm lucky enough that I don't rely on writing to support my
family and I like my day job. I have already had more success than I expected
in fiction writing. I already spent a decade grinding it out writing
screenplays, taking meetings, making deals, getting paid now and then and I
came away having nothing to show for it on screen, but 17 feature length
screenplays and a few TV scripts finished. I don't consider it wasted time. I
was writing and finishing stories. I got better (I hope) and I learned from my
mistakes. If novel writing never gets me to a higher level than where I am now
I'll be okay. Obviously we all have aspirations, and I'm no different, but it
isn't about money, though that would be nice. To be included in the
conversation among writers I admire and can consider peers has always been my
goal.
"I write mostly for me. I have an idea
and I want to read that book so I write it. Does that make it much more
than a hobby? Maybe not. But reaching an audience has been a privilege and
something I can build on. We all write to be read. I want readers and
I want to entertain. But would I still write? Almost certainly. I'm
also not one to sit on the sidelines. I want to make things happen and get
work out there. I may end up someone who writes and no one reads, but I'll
still be writing and finding suckers to put it out. Um, not that you're a
sucker, of course...."
We eyed each other thoughtfully for a split second and then both had a good laugh.
“Pleasure to publish your work, Eric," I said, shaking his hand as we said our goodbyes. I caught the red eye back to
New York, reminding myself to get milk.
And that, as they say, is that.
The Year I Died Seven Times tells the
story of poor, unfortunate Ridley as he, well, it's pretty much in the title.
What isn't in the title is all of the times that Beetner will make you cringe,
laugh, cry, and all the sleep that you will lose staying up to read this one to
its thrilling conclusion.
