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TGR, Gutenberg, Rubric

March 2015



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TGR, Gutenberg, Rubric

Stocks & Blondes

How's that grab you for a tongue-in-cheek detective mystery title? Well, it's one of a series that I've compiled and posted on my Noveling Notes site. I'm trying out a name for my MC as well: Daggett "Dag" Hamilton. It's still early in the game, though, so there are likely to be a lot of other names and titles before November.


Stocks and Blondes sounds like the Wall Street analog of Legally Blonde. I want Reese Witherspoon in a brilliantly tailored pink suit, taking over the NYSE.
Hmmm. Interesting concept. Of course, if I could spend a while working with Reese Witherspoon, that would make it worth while to write the story in and of itself. Funny thing, though: In ancient history, Stocks and Blondes was the name of a strip club in San Francisco. I haven't walked down that part of Market St. in a number of years, but I think it's been gone for over a decade now. All told, the Reese Witherspoon scenario is more up my alley!
Well, it's got "hard boiled" written all over it, and implies that I'd better get lots of Guy Noir style dialogue, or else I'll be pretty disappointed.

When Greyhound 527 pulled into the windy city, it was raining. I stepped off the silver coach, onto the wet concrete of the station's loading dock, and waited for the porter to retrieve my valaise from the bus's storage compartment. The grey city's namesake drove the rain in icy diagonal slashes. Icy water snuck into the gap around my collar, dripping down my back, making me regret having packed my folding umbrella.

I turned my back to the wind. "This job had better pay well," I muttered.

The title also suggests that the novel might be a humorous piece, along the lines of Janet Evanovitch's Stephanie Plum novels.

"Daggett" is good, too, as it has a reasonable resonance with what one tends to think of as a detective name. If you can fulfill the promises made by the title, you'll have a very entertaining book on your hands...
I was thinking of something along the lines of:

I was fifty-five when I decided I wanted to be an acrobat.

There's nothing like sitting through a nude circus shows in Vegas at a $100 a ticket to make you think there might be something to the job. Such flexibility. Such grace. Such potential.

Unfortunately my decision came while hanging from a window ledge six floors above the Seattle waterfront with one foot on a telephone wire. Why do these revelations always come so late in life?
Or perhaps:

...Of course, hanging from a window ledge with one foot on a phone wire six floors above the Seattle waterfront is not the best time to have such a revelation. Why do our best ideas always come so late in life? Thirty years ago--hell, even twenty--I could have done something about it. At least then, if I fell off the wire, I'd have a net to land in.
Sometime we should try joint authoring of a story. We'd be sure to have a winner!
Not a bad idea!

I tell you what. Next year, let's come up with a story concept and plot it out together, then we can write it in parallel during november '07. Jointly, we ought to be able to tackle something much grander in scope. Betwixt the two of us, I imagine we could manage 250-300k words.

You know what could be really interesting: a story where the characters were divvied up among the two of us, where I wasn't allowed to write dialogue or specify actions for your characters, and vice versa.