Last weekend I had the pleasure to participate in a mystery
authors panel with Joe Heywood, Bryan Gruley and Vern Smith, who all have ties
to western Michigan. After we introduced ourselves to the audience, with a back
cover-type blurb about our latest efforts, we started fielding questions.
One that stuck with me had to do with creating a series.
Joe, Bryan and I each have written at least one series. I think it was Joe who commented that three
books in a series is about all an audience will follow. That made me wonder.
And to paraphrase Shakespeare, “to be or
not to be a series: that is the question.”
As a young reader, I was captivated by the adventures of
Travis McGee. John D. MacDonald penned over twenty tales with McGee, in
addition to numerous stand-alone books. John Sandford has 29 Lucas Davenport novels, along with a dozen Virgil
Flowers tales to date. Michael Connelly
has 21 Harry Bosch novels and shows no sign of slowing down. The works of Greg Iles, Robert Crais and C.J. Box jump to mind as well. There are countless others out there.
So, what’s the magic number? Is it three?
Unfortunately, the discussion with the panel moved on to
other topics before we ran out of time. But the idea of limiting a series makes
me curious. I don’t have a set number in mind. I’ve written three Jamie
Richmond novels and one lengthy short story so far. With two Jefferson Chene books completed, I’m
currently working on number three. As
long as ideas keep coming, I think these characters will be around for a while.
Here's a shot of the panel. That's Joe on the left, with Vern next to me and Bryan on the right.
One of the many appealing things to me about a series is the
chance to create some memorable characters. And when everything is all said and
done, they’re often too good to leave sitting on the desk after one
adventure. A case in point is Pappy
Cantrell, the police captain who oversees Chene and the major case squad of
detectives. Here’s a scene from “Why
319?” where Cantrell surprises Chene
with his plans on how to conduct the three concurrent homicide investigations.
I waited until everyone else filed
out of the room. Cantrell let his eyes close as if he were meditating. With the
smoke curling up around his head, he looked like something out of a Tennessee
monastery. The Art of Zen, courtesy of Jack Daniels.
“Well?” he muttered without opening
his eyes.
“When were you going to clue me in
on this plan, Pappy?”
“Y’all weren’t ready.”
I didn’t try to keep the anger from
my voice. “Bullshit. I’ve been the lead on ninety percent of the investigations
we’ve handled for the last three years. You know it. I know it. The whole
freaking squad knows it.”
He took a long drag and pulled the
cigarette from his lips. “But not everybody likes it.”
I didn’t even have to think about
it. “You mean Barksdale. The guy’s a dinosaur.”
“Would that be a triceratops?”
I was surprised he was able to name
one, but then, Cantrell could be full of surprises. Like this new plan. “So how
do you see this?”
“We split into three teams, just
like Ah said. We put Koz with the new girl, Laura. Give them the oldest case,
the Wayne County. You and Megan take the Macomb one. Bloomfield will want their
girlie working their crime. We stick her with Barksdale.”
“So why didn’t you tell me before?”
“You all right, Chene, but you ain’t
no actor. Ah wanted everyone to know this was a surprise, even you. It made
your reaction real. You gettin’ pissy ’cause Ah didn’t tell you about it first.”
I considered it for a moment. The
old bastard had it down cold. Barksdale would have pitched a holy fit if I’d
made the decision to split the team by case and assign him the outsider. He and
Megan could barely stand each other. Laura was too new to stick with him. That
left the Bloomfield detective. Since the orders were coming down from Cantrell,
there was no way he’d argue it. Especially when it appeared that Cantrell did
not trust me to make the call. It was a stroke of genius, pure logistical
genius. I told him as much.
“’Tweren’t nothin. You might have
figured it out in a couple of days.”
“Don’t be so modest, Pappy. You
know how to manipulate him.”
“Uh huh.”
It took me a moment to admit the
rest. “And me too.”
He nodded slowly. “Hell, Chene, if
Ah can’t ever manipulate ya, y’all ain’t no good to me.”
Music this week was a jumble of genres, with a lot of Motown and blues. Then I heard this morning that the US Postal Service has come out with a new stamp, honoring the great Marvin Gaye. So here's one of my favorites.
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