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Writing Tips from Author Spencer Quinn

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opens in a new windowTender Is the Bite is the 11th book in Spencer Quinn’s beloved Chet & Bernie Mystery series. After writing a series with that many books, he knows a thing or two about writing! Read on to hear Spencer’s writing tips for aspiring authors.


My mother, also a writer, taught me most of what I know about writing by the time I was eleven or so. Unlike kids out drilling on the tennis court or golf course – which, like writing, are also skills best learned young – I didn’t know it was happening at the time. The lessons were taught obliquely. And speaking of angles, that was one of the things she taught me: the power of the oblique. The power of the oblique angle comes from its subtlety – not just subtlety in the writing, but subtlety in the writer’s perceptions. Here’s an example from Tender Is The Bite, where Weatherly, a possible new love interest of Bernie’s (the detective in the A Chet and Bernie Mystery series), is talking to him, all described by Chet (a narrating dog but not a talking one!):

“Grammie says the two of them walked together, your great grandfather and my great grandmother.”

“Hiking?” said Bernie.

“Possibly that, too,” said Weatherly. “But Grammie’s an old-fashioned woman, very straitlaced and genteel.”

There was a long silence. A road runner popped up beside a bush and then popped back down.

“Oh,” Bernie said.

Oblique means not spelling things out, being almost anywhere except on the nose. There are only 53 words in the little passage above, but the reader – I hope to god! – gets a feel for all the characters, living and dead, human and not. Nobody spells anything out – well, except for the road runner, popping “up beside a bush.” Read into that what you will! And it’s in the very next line that Bernie gets what must have happened long ago – with the hint of what might happen now, several generations along.

It probably won’t surprise you that the core of my advice is to be as original as you can. Each one of us, in my belief, possesses some rare quality of mind or character. Use it! Get that on the page. That’s the road to some sort of artistic satisfaction. But it’s only fair to point out that it might be more practical – in a getting published sense – to ignore what I’m saying completely and simply try to imitate some bestselling writer, perhaps with a change or two, like setting the stories in Bolivia instead of Hollywood. You may end up with a comfortable career. Or you may end up as the writing equivalent of a cover band, playing jaded Stones hits in some dive.

My mother was a big believer in the power of dialogue. Have you ever noticed that there’s something unique in everyone’s speech? You can tell so much about a person by what they say, how they say it, the volume, rhythm, dynamics of their speech – so much like music, in a way. One thing to avoid in dialogue – although you see it all the time – is overt exposition that never happens in real life. “Well, hi Bob, haven’t seen you in ages, not since our divorce, as I recall. Remember how I had that affair with your cousin Marky, and how upset you got? Jeez! Did you know I actually didn’t end up with him? I’m marrying Maxie instead! Yes, your dad! So how’s things with you?”

Avoid the above! (Although it turned into a rather amusing example of dramatic irony, a la Browning’s My Last Duchess. But forget that part.) Here’s what I’m talking about, again from Tender Is The Bite. Olek, a mysterious Ukrainian operative of some sort, drops in for a visit, bringing vodka.:

“So then we have something in common, you and I,” Olek said. “And not only boxing. I, too, am former military man.”

“You’ve done research on me,” Bernie said.

“Homework and more homework,” said Olek. “’Train hard, fight easy’ – General Suvorov. I was army, like you. Saw fighting, like you – but maybe not so organized.”

“Oh?”

“We sleep next to a five-hundred kilo gorilla.”

“The Russians?”

Olek nodded and took another drink, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “Yes, always the Russians. Sometimes we kill them, sometimes we kill with them.”

A dark look passed over Bernie’s face. “We did some of that, too,” he said.

“But not with the Russians,” said Olek. “And you yourselves are also a gorilla, maybe one thousand kilos. A nicer gorilla, sure thing, even friendly.” He refilled his glass, topped up Bernie’s. “To the friendly gorilla.”

Doesn’t Olek come into focus, just from how he talks? He even makes Bernie see things in a new light. Also the story is advanced, something you as the writer should be thinking of constantly.

And now for my last piece of advice. Find a strict taskmaster who’s interested in your career – if necessary, a taskmaster in your own head. My strict taskmaster is Pearl (pictured here on one of her many beach outings). She lounges on the couch behind me in the office while I write. I can feel her thinking, “Come on, Pete! Concentrate! One more paragraph! Make it sharp! You can do it!”

Order Tender Is the Bite—available on July 6, 2021!

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Excerpt: Tender Is the Bite by Spencer Quinn

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Spencer Quinn’s Tender Is the Bite is a brand new adventure in the New York Times and USA Today bestselling series that Stephen King calls “without a doubt the most original mystery series currently available.”

Chet and Bernie are contacted by a terribly scared young woman who seems to want their help. Before she can even tell them her name, she flees in panic. But in that brief meeting Chet sniffs out an important secret about her, a secret at the heart of the mystery he and Bernie set out to solve.

It’s a case with no client and no crime and yet great danger, with the duo facing a powerful politician who has a lot to lose. Their only hope lies with a ferret named Griffie who adores Bernie. Is there room for a ferret in the Chet and Bernie relationship? That’s the challenge Chet faces, the biggest of his career. Hanging in the balance are the lives of two mistreated young women and the future of the whole state.

opens in a new windowTender Is the Bite will be available on July 6, 2021. Please enjoy the following excerpt!


One

“I think we’re being followed,” Bernie said.

That had to be one of Bernie’s jokes. Have I mentioned that he can be quite the jokester? Probably not, since we’re just getting started, but who else except Bernie would even think of saying that? We were creeping along at walking speed on the East Canyon Freeway at rush hour, stuck in an endless river of  traffic.  Of course we were being followed, followed by too many cars to count! Not only too many for me to count—I don’t go past two—but also for Bernie. And Bernie’s always the smartest human in the room, one of the reasons the Little Detective Agency is so successful, leaving out the finances part. It’s called that on account of Bernie’s last name being Little. I’m Chet, pure and simple, not the smartest human in the room, in fact, not human.  I bring other things to the table.

Bernie glanced at the rearview mirror. Our ride’s a Porsche, not the old one that went off a cliff, or the older one that got blown up, but the new one—which happens to be the very oldest—with the martini glasses paint job on the fenders. We used to have a top and also a very cool chain hanging from the rearview mirror, a chain we’d taken off a biker after . . . what would you call it? A dispute? Good enough. But recently, we’d had to use it to temporarily cuff—wow! Another biker! How amazing was that? I came close to finding some sort of deep meaning, but before I could get there, Bernie said, “Three lanes over, six cars back, in front of the Amazon truck—see the maroon Kia?”

I checked the rearview mirror myself. Three? Six? Amazon? Maroon? Kia? Every single one of them not easy for me. But I’ve always been lucky in life, so all I saw in the rearview mirror was Bernie. My Bernie. He has the best face in the world, especially if you like strong noses and eyebrows with a language all their own, and I do. He has plans to get that slightly crooked angle in his nose straightened out after he’s sure it won’t be broken again. But that would mean game over for his uppercut, that sweet, sweet uppercut guaranteed to put perps to sleep, so I hope his nose stays just how it is forever.

“Can’t make out the driver,”  he said, “but that Kia was in  the back corner of the Donut Heaven lot, meaning whoever it is has been with us for ten miles on a real complicated route.” He turned to me and smiled. “Dollars to doughnuts, Chet.”

That was a puzzler. Bernie’d had a cruller, and I’d gone with the sausage croissant, doughnuts not even mentioned. Just to make sure, I licked my muzzle, picking up the unmistakable— and wonderful—taste of sausage. But in our business, you have to be sure, so I did it again and again and again and—

“Something the matter, big guy?”

Nothing. We were good. I stopped whatever I’d been doing, sat up straight in the shotgun seat, alert and ready for action, a total pro.

“Let’s run a little test,” Bernie said, suddenly crossing several lanes and taking an exit. There was some honking, but I’d heard worse. The point was we were taking charge and naming names! Chet! Bernie! Those are all the names you need to know for now. We’ve been followed by bad guys more than once, the last time down in a little village south of the border, an incident involving an army-type tank packed with unfriendly cartel dudes and a dead-end alley. That had turned into an exciting adventure, full of all sorts of fancy driving on Bernie’s part—and even for a fun moment or two on mine!—but nothing like that was happening now. Instead, we rolled along nice and easy, turning onto one street, then another, and a bunch more, and finally ending up in a shady part of Old Town, with small wooden houses on one side and a park on the other, not one of those green, grassy parks that Bernie hates but the rocky, cactusy kind he likes. He didn’t check the rearview, not even once. We pulled over and stopped on the park side and just sat there. A car went slowly by. Was that what maroon looked like? So nice to be learning new things! Meanwhile, I caught a glimpse of the driver: a young woman, eyes on the road, baseball cap on her head, ponytail sticking out the back. Ponies are horses, and I’ve had lots of experience with horses, none good. They’re prima donnas, each and every one. So how come some humans want to look like them? A complete mystery. But solving mysteries is what we do, me and Bernie. Life was good. I felt tip-top.

Meanwhile, the maroon car kept going, made a turn at the next block, and vanished from sight. Right away, I got the picture. She’d been following us. Now we were going to follow her! That’s called turning the tables in our business. Here’s a secret: you don’t always need a table to do it, although once we did use an actual table, turning it upside down on the Boccerino brothers and perhaps also on some unlucky folks sitting nearby. That was at the Ritz, where we haven’t been back.

But forget all that, because Bernie wasn’t turning the key, jamming the car into gear, stomping on the gas, burning rubber. He was just sitting there, gazing peacefully ahead, possibly even falling asleep. Bernie? I laid a paw on his shoulder in the friendliest way.

“Ooof!” said Bernie, possibly crashing into—well, not crashing into, more like leaning against his door, most likely what he wanted to do anyway. He gave me a look that could have meant anything. I gave him the same look back. Bernie laughed. Laughter’s the best human sound, and Bernie’s is the best of the best, even when it’s a quiet laugh like this one.

“No worries,” he said. “We’re not dealing with a pro.”

Good to know. Were we dealing with anything? Anybody? When was the last time we got paid? I was wondering about all that when the maroon car came by again, this time slowing down, pulling over, and parking in front of us.

“The most amateur kind of amateur,” Bernie said.

We sat. The ponytail woman sat, not once checking her mirror or glancing back at us.

“An amateur and scared,” Bernie said. He made a little click click noise, meaning, Let’s roll, big guy. We hopped out, me actually hopping right over my closed door and Bernie just getting out in the normal human way, which was our usual MO. But I’d seen him hop out—for example, the time with that whole cluster of sidewinders under the driver’s seat—so he had it in him.

We walked up to the maroon car. The way we do this, amateur—whatever that happens to be—or not, is Bernie on the driver’s side and me on the other. How many perps have taken one look at Bernie and then dived out the passenger-side door, only to get a real big surprise—namely, me? But that didn’t happen with the ponytail woman. Instead, she went on sitting there, hands holding the wheel tight.

Bernie leaned down and spoke through her open window. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” he said.

Whoa. We’d met this woman before? One thing about my nose: it remembers the smell of everyone I’ve ever  met, and it did not remember this woman. She had an interesting smell, a bit piney, that made me think of New Mexico, which we’d visited on several cases, picking up a speeding ticket every time. Through the open passenger-side window, I was getting my first clear look at her face. A young face, but  not quite as young as the face of  a college kid. In the faces of college kids, you can still see a bit of the little kid face that was. There was no little kid left in the ponytail woman’s face, which was turning pink. Her eyes were big and the brightest blue I’d ever seen, actually the color of this morning’s sky, like the sky was shining inside her.

“Sorry,” Bernie said. “Bad joke.”

I’m sure it was a very good joke, although it’s true the woman hadn’t laughed. But I was glad to hear it was a joke and we hadn’t met before, because now I didn’t need to choose between my nose and Bernie’s word, which would have been the hardest choice of my life. Stay away from hard choices if you want to be happy.

Copyright © 2021 by Spencer Quinn

Pre-order Tender Is the Bite—available on July 6, 2021!

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