Gonna Be a Hard Choice

I have a slate of books to be read now that I've finished Flashman and the Mountain of Light (see here).

First there is a book recommended by Kristi Jones (see here). A horror to be sure, so outside my norm, but I'm a horror fan historically, and I know Kristi has an excellent sense of taste and writing talent (see thinks I'm a good writer, need I say more), so there's a lot going for The Troop.

Some thrillers produce shivers, others trigger goose bumps; Cutter's graphic offering will have readers jumping out of their skins. Scoutmaster Dr. Tim Riggs takes his troop for their annual camping trip to Falstaff Island, an uninhabited area not far from their home on Prince Edward Island.

Then there is Mila 18, a "deep dish" or "commitment" novel from Leon Uris. I loved Armageddon (see here) and based on what Amazon says about Mila 18, I'm betting I'll love this one just as much. The question is am I ready for a commitment book.

Italian-American journalist Christopher de Monti finds himself in Nazi-controlled Warsaw before the outbreak of World War II. Though wined and dined by German officers eager for sympathetic coverage, de Monti’s nose for the real story soon leads him to discover the terrifying conditions of the Warsaw ghettos and the Nazis’ chilling plans for the ghettos’ inhabitants. He soon comes to know the Jewish resistance movement and joins their courageous—if doomed—last stand.

Next is a horror that I read about last week on a blog. Never heard of this, but the writer stated it was among his top ten more horrifyingly creepy, psyco-murder novels. How can you say no to that?

Lou Ford is the deputy sheriff of a small town in Texas.  The worst thing most people can say against him is that he's a little slow and a little boring.  But, then, most people don't know about the sickness--the sickness that almost got Lou put away when he was younger.  The sickness that is about to surface again.

Then there is the old standby, Frederick Forsyth. I've loved all of the Forsyth books I've read (see here), and I can't imagine The Veteran would be a disappointment.

On a grimy sidewalk in a defeated neighborhood, an old man is beaten to death. When a cop investigates, he finds two killers and a startling legacy of honor ... In a prestigious London art gallery an impoverished actor is swindled out of a fortune-until an eccentric appraiser hatches a delicious scheme for revenge... On an airplane high over war-torn Afghanistan, a passenger sends a note to the plane's captain, warning of suspicious behavior. But no one can guess who is really conspiring aboard the 747, or why... From the war-torn Italy to the Little Big Horn, from soldiers of fortune to victims of fate,The Veteran is a riveting experience in crime, heroism, and the kind of mano-a-mano duels-and surprising twists of fate-that are the hallmark of Frederick Forsyth at his very best.

Finally there is The Forever War. This was one I picked after following my way through this flowchart I found online through NPR (see here). Granted, the last Sci-Fi, by my favorite author no less, was a miserable failure since I gave up on Vernor Vinge's newest novel, but I'd be willing to try again.

The Earth's leaders have drawn a line in the interstellar sand--despite the fact that the fierce alien enemy they would oppose is inscrutable, unconquerable, and very far away. A reluctant conscript drafted into an elite Military unit, Private William Mandella has been propelled through space and time to fight in the distant thousand-year conflict; to perform his duties and do whatever it takes to survive the ordeal and return home. But "home" may be even more terrifying than battle, because, thanks to the time dilation caused by space travel, Mandella is aging months while the Earth he left behind is aging centuries...

Latest Last Line

Despite the fact that as I wrote earlier (here) that the first line was no great shakes, and despite these last lines that didn't leave me feeling too fulfilled, and despite the fact that I couldn't find a decent "morning quote" in the whole book (and believe me I looked), this might be my favorite Flashman adventure yet.

Don't go out looking to buy it just yet, however. I feel that I say that about every Flashman book. Even Flashman and the Great Game which I don't remember liking, was probably my favorite at the time. 

He shot me a look, his brow darkening, suspecting insolence but not sure. “Thank you,” snaps he, and showed me his shoulder. 

“Treaty all settled, too, I believe,” says I genially, but loud enough to cause heads to turn. Paddy had stopped talking to Gilbert and Mackeson, Havelock was frowning under his beetle-brows, and Nicholson and Hope Grant and a dozen others were watching me curiously. Hardinge himself came round impatiently, affronted at my familiarity, and Lawrence was at my elbow, twitching my sleeve to come away. 

“Good bandobast all round,” says I, “but one of the clauses will need a little arrangement, I fancy. Well, ’tain’t a clause, exactly… more of an understanding, don’t you know –” 

“Are you intoxicated, sir? I advise you to go to your quarters directly!”

“Stone cold sober, excellency, I assure you. The Leith police dismisseth us. British constitution. No, you see, one of the treaty clauses – or rather the understanding I mentioned – can’t take effect without my assistance. So before I take my leave –” 

“Major Lawrence, be good enough to conduct this officer –” 

“No, sir, hear me out, do! It’s the great diamond, you see – the Koh-i-Noor, which the Sikhs are to hand over. Well, they can’t do that if they haven’t got it, can they? So perhaps you’d best give it ’em back first – then they can present it to you all official-like, with proper ceremony… Here, catch!”

Fraser, George MacDonald - Flashman and the Mountain of Light (p. 337)

Again, not the best last lines. One must kind of have read the entirity to understand it all. I did catch this and think it was worthwhile to say the least.

Time for a brisk stroll in the cold night air, I decided. We were stopping in Gough’s camp by Sobraon, so that he and Hardinge could bicker over the next move, and I sauntered along the lines in the frosty dark, listening to our artillery firing a royal salute in celebration of Smith’s victory at Aliwal; barely a mile away I could see the watch-fires of the Khalsa entrenchments in the Sutlej bend, and as the crash of our guns died away, hanged if the enemy didn’t reply with a royal salute of their own, and their bands playing… you’ll never guess what. In some ways it was the eeriest thing in that queer campaign – the silence in our own lines as the gunsmoke drifted overhead, the golden moon low in the purple sky, shining on the rows of tents and the distant twinkling fires, and over the dark ground between, the solemn strains of “God Save the Queen"! I never heard it played so well as by the Khalsa, and for the life of me I don’t know to this day whether it was in derision or salute; with Sikhs, you can never tell.

If you don't like "the golden moon in the purple sky, shining on the rows of tents and the distant twinkling fires" then I just don't know if I can help you much.

Still and all this book did make me want to go back and read the original Flashman and relive his experiences in Afghanistan.

Adding Intrigue in Card Hands

As a part of my "Meat on the Bone" series that is supposed to provide a bit more information, thoughts, inspiration than the normal blog post you might find round here, I'm going to discuss my Friday night. I had the opportunity to play poker with about twelve other guys. These guys are very good. They go to tournaments in Vegas or Louisiana casinos at least once a month. They know the percentages, count chips with a daunting speed and usually know the strength of my hand before I do.

Whenever I play I find that without even trying I am the most remarkably predictable player in the hand. My rule of thumb . . . don't laugh . . .  is I only play if I would be comfortable going "all in" with the hand. "Oh look! I have a King and a four. Uh oh, they aren't suited so the chance of a flush is out. No chance to make a straight. Full house, sure, but with a four? Someone else may have a low card better than a four then were will I be? Nope, wouldn't go all in with a King, four, so I best fold."

That's the way most my hands go. Betcha you already realize I never ever win. I console myself with the thought that I only really go to see my friends and hang out away from the fam.

Still, there was one night when on the first hand I got bullets,  . . . two aces. So I calmed my palpitating heart and threw on a mein that said, "Huh, this isn't a great hand, but I'll play it" as I threw in the minimum bet to stay in. Apparently I should have tried to scare away the rest of the table from the get go cause the guy with the two's . . . he stayed in for the flop, got a third two on the river and beat my Aces that go no help from the table. It was the first hand and I was out on hundred bucks having gone all in. I was gun shy the rest of the night throwing away hands that even a three year old could have one. I remember I folded three hands that turned out to be full house hands had I played them right.

So, . . . what's the point of this post? It's that I love the underlying, understated conflict that comes from descriptions of card games and hands. That little snippet above about my two aces, I love the patois and the lingo that comes with card games. Bullets, big stack, broadway, limp in, fourth street, . . . even if the reader doesn't know the game the terms used are intriguing and fun.

In Casino Royale, Fleming writes about baccarat. I've never played baccarat. I've never even seen it played. The game has nothing to do with the plot and provides very little to the characterization. But when I read about the hands being played I was rapt. In Moonraker there is one of the most amazing card game descriptions I've ever read. In this case bridge. Ever played bridge? I have. It's not THAT exciting. Go read the chapter in Moonraker where Bond traps Drax. It's amazing. I particularly love when Basildon calls the hand "sheer murder" (see here or below).

And suddenly Basildon understood. It was a laydown Grand Slam for Bond against any defense. Whatever Meyer led, Bond must get in with a trump in his own hand or on the table. Then, in between clearing trumps, finessing of course against Drax, he would play two rounds of diamonds, trumping them in dummy and catching Drax's ace and king in the process. After five plays he would be left with the remaining trumps and six winning diamonds. Drax's aces and kings would be totally valueless. It was sheer murder.

Last night I came in fourth. I was short stack at a table of four having whittled down the two tables of ten. I had enough chips for maybe three more hands. We were playing for a couple hundred dollars. In fourth place I made two fifty. If I had won and hung onto third I would have made five hundred. I didn't think I would get a better hand in the next three than a King ten off-suit. So I went all in before the flop. Not a great hand but before seeing the flop, it was probably better than anyone else. The guy next to me followed me all in and when we both showed our hands, he had a nine and a four, off suit. Mine was a clearly superior hand. He beat me with a two, three, five, Ace, Jack on the table. Heart breaker. He followed me in with a horrible hand and got lucky. I was out.

It's these little subplot and side stories in Moonraker and Casino Royale that make the book more exciting. It's hard to believe that a description of a card game can be exciting, but it is. I doubt I'm good enough to do it, but it certainly increases the stakes in the story to throw in something similar in the story. Sure throw challenges at the main character, put in a ticking time bomb or dead line for them to solve the mystery, but throwing in some high stakes element, maybe with some jargon that brings the reader in, and writers can add a new dimension to their writing and suck the reader in even more.

A Desk, A Cigarette, and Big Bay Window? The Myth of the Writer

Today's Guest Post is by my oldest writing friend (and one of my newest best friends) Kristi Macho Jones. She is the author of two published novels, both of which I have read and reviewed in this space, The Corpse Goddess (see here) and Valkyries Kiss (see here). This is (I hope) the first of many guest posts by Kristi in the coming weeks, months and years.

A Desk, A Cigarette, and Big Bay Window? The Myth of the Writer

Dick’s written some great posts this past week about what it’s really like to be a novelist. (I love his post about the guy who completely missed the point)

He’s got me thinking about the myth of the perfect writer and what we, as writers, can do to resist falling into the trap of the myth.

I myself have fallen into the trap several times and in several embarrassing ways!

Years and years ago I read Virginia Woolf’s A Room of One’s Own. Woolf was talking to a different generation of women, but her insistence that a wannabe writer needed a room with a door and a hefty lock mesmerized me. I pined for that room. I tried to turn a closet into that room. I firmly believed that if only I had a room of my own, I would spend hours and hours weaving storylines and publishing one novel after another.

Looking at iconic pictures of writers, from Hemingway to Stephen King, they all sit in front of a tank of a typewriter, cigarettes dangling out of their mouths. I fell for this myth so hard, that I actually bought a pack of Marlboro Lights and sat in front of my computer, the unlit cigarette dangling from my mouth. Did it help? Hell no.

Nora Roberts smokes and drinks gallons of diet Pepsi. I can’t stand smoking and I don’t like diet anything, so I’m pretty much screwed on that front.

When my kids were little, I just knew that the day they were in school, my writing career would take off. Then it was middle school. Surely when they were in middle school, I’d be released from school plays and parties, and my writing would take center stage. I now have two high schoolers – I still struggle to find the time to write.

A writer friend of mine lives in France and she recently posted pictures of her new country house on Facebook. She outlined what I used to think was the perfect writing scenario. Her kids were going to stay with their Dad during the week, in their apartment in Lyon, (I know, who wouldn’t kill for this kind of life?) while she stayed at the country house to write. This French country house is idyllic, of course, with wide windows to stare out of and a large mezzanine to plant a giant mahogany desk. I clicked through the pictures, green with envy – for about ten seconds anyway. Then reality reared its ugly and ever practical head.

It wouldn’t matter if I had that house in the French countryside. It wouldn’t matter if I had my own room, my own office, my own planet. As I sit here in Starbucks, writing this blog post, I realize how much time I’ve wasted pining for the perfect set of conditions to make writing easier. The fact is, it’s damn hard. There is no magic desk, magic room, magic French country house. There is only your story.

 I’ve gone through it all. The perfect pen, the perfect laptop, the perfect writing program (Scrivener, hands down), the perfect weekend away from it all.

The truth?

There is always resistance. There is always something a lot more fun to do. Going to the movies, going out to dinner, surfing the Net. Don’t get me wrong. There is nothing more rewarding to me than writing. But fun? Sometimes. Most days it’s just damn hard.

What’s wrong with believing and trying to emulate the myth?

The myth can stop you from writing. If you don’t have a room of your own, if you don’t have limitless time to yourself, if you don’t have a penchant for cigarette smoke and a super cool typewriter/pen/computer, etc, you can convince yourself that you just can’t write today. And that is the kiss of death.

All you really need is the story and somewhere to put it.

So go to Starbucks, lock yourself in a closet, go for a long walk with a voice recorder, or work in the wee hours when all other responsibilities are put away – but write.  Just write. That’s all you really need to be the perfect, iconic writer.

Kristi Jones was born in Texas. She spent her childhood years travelling the world, living in England, Germany, and Turkey. She is married to an architect, has two wonderful children and a long-haired dachshund named Twinkie. Books have always been her constant friends. She also has a passion for history and loves to travel.

You can find Kristi at kristimjones.com
@authorkristi on Twitter
and
on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/authorkristijones

Consider Me Intrigued . . . On Two Counts

I ran into this (see here) promotion for a class for book marketing by Karen Tyrrell and am intrigued . . . actually doubly intrigued.

First, I want to know more about marketing my novels. I have two novels out there (see here and here) and I've just updated their covers (see here) and I have some actually not bad reviews for them. In fact the artist who designed my new covers even said I should consider a "re-launch" as my reviews seemed so good. So, I'm always for learning more about marketing my novels.

I haven't done much marketing. Count me in the crowd that believes that the writing has to be good for people to buy it. I love what Hugh Howey did with Wool (see here). He produced a good work and let the writing speak for itself. People came, people recommended it, people discussed and reviewed it cause the writing and the idea was so good. That's the dream.

But I get it that's not the normal way of the world. Also, I'm guessing that that was how it was done. How do I know that Hugh Howey wasn't out there peddling his work to every Tom, Dick and Harry he walked by.

Secondly, I'm the Director of Training here for my company. We have over 50 offices across the United States. I've had a project in the past few months to outfit all of those locations with large format 52" video displays, PC's and speakers with microphones and other equipment to support online interactive streaming. My trainers can now train anyone in any of our U.S. locations from any of our other U.S. locations. The trainers can see and interact with the students and vice versa, real time.

Miss Tyrrell is considering providing her workshop via webinar (which is the only way I would be able to take part actually) and I'm incredibly curious about how she will do it. I know how I've done it when training people to work in refineries, but how will Miss Tyrrell pull it off.

We made the calculation to have two streams at once. One that shows the trainer in front of the class. The other that shows the power point. Audio and video stability is paramount which is tough to ensure in every case. And with all that bandwidth being chewed up it can get spotty at times, but we wanted both the power point and the trainer in front of the class to make it worthwhile.

Sarah Hill (see here), who is a part of my circles on Google Plus and describes herself with: "12 time Emmy award winning storyteller for the broadcast channel for Veterans United Foundation" and "the first journalist to use a Google+ Hangout on TV" also chews on these technological nuts. She has started to integrate Google Glass into her work which is something I'm thinking about trying as well.

Regardless, I hope Miss Tyrrell is able to get something together. I need the help in one arena and need to compare webinars for my job.

It Didn't Help Me Wade Into the Book

In terms of first lines I like what Kathryn Guare wrote in her piece on Writing Craft: The Challenge of Writing An Opening Line of Staggering Genius on the Alliance of Independent Authors Blog (see here) back in 2013.

Concluding pep talk to myself: the first sentence of a novel is exactly that—nothing more, and nothing less. It is the building block and the foundation from which to build everything else. It needs to work, but it does not need to be a work of art onto itself. If you like it yourself, then stop obsessing over it.

I like what she says. This is exactly the sentiment that I try to imbue to my series on first lines (see here). It's not the end all beat all of the novel, it's merely the first line the reader happens to run into. If anything I think the last line should be more important for that's the image you will be leaving the reader with (see here).

All that being said, the last line I read in Flashman and the Mountain of Light, the book I'm currently reading, it barely had enough oomph to make me want to read the second line, and Oh Brother! that second through tenth line almost had me closing the book. If anything this sample emphasizes how important a really intriguing first line is. If not for the history I have with Flashman (see here), this one would have gone back on the shelf.

“Now, my dear Sir Harry, I must tell you,” says her majesty, with that stubborn little duck of her head that always made Palmerston think she was going to butt him in the guts, “I am quite determined to learn Hindoostanee.” 

This at the age of sixty-seven, mark you. I almost asked her what the devil for, at her time of life, but fortunately my idiot wife got in first, clapping her hands and exclaiming that it was a most splendid idea, since nothing so Improved the Mind and Broadened the Outlook as acquaintance with a Foreign Tongue, is that not so, my love? (Elspeth, I may tell you, speaks only English – well, Scotch, if you like – and enough nursery French to get her through Customs and bullyrag waiters, but anything the Queen said, however wild, always sent her into transports of approval.) 

Fraser, George MacDonald - Flashman and the Mountain of Light

What does the learning of a foreign language by the Queen of England have to do with the novel? Very little actually. It's a stepping stone to the real mystery, but phew, like I said, made we want to give up quick.

I'm the Maggot in the Metaphor

Last week, for the first in this series, I wrote about how writing a novel is alot like a long hard road march (see here). Then I followed that up by discussing how it's not glamorous or fun (see here). And although both of these things are true, today I'm going to write about how all of that leads to the finished product.

I bought a composter a year or so ago to replace my homemade composter that I built years ago. The model shown in the pciture above is the very type that I have. I bought it (and borrowed the above picture) from The Gardener's Supply Company. (Best place on the web to go get gardening gear). Nevertheless, although I use the hell outta that sucker I never use a shiny new pail, nor wear my gardening clogs, nor smile quite so heartily as the fellow in the image above.

Instead, I fill that sucker up regularly. Banana peels galore, coffee grounds almost everyday, used G&T lemon wedges, cilantro stems from the night before's dinner, pumpkins that turned into jack-o-lantern's then turned into moldy, stumpy, rotted messes that sit on the porch too long after Halloween (these are actually the coolest things to throw into that sucker).

Over and over, for weeks and weeks, months and months I keep cramming stuff into that left side of the composter and I tumble it around. Then after about six months I switch to the right side and leave the left alone except for the occasional tumble. All the while the bugs are inside and making babies and turning that kitchen waste into fertile soil. After 6 months or more of sitting alone and steaming, that compost is ready to be put into my garden, now rich and ready to grow things.

Here's the simile so pay attention.

First, writing is a lot like using that composter. I write a ton of stuff and most of it is trash. It's not till I've tumbled it around in my brain and written a bit more and revised and edited and rewritten that it becomes at all worthwhile. When I'm putting it in it's like that rotting pumpkin. Usually, hopefully, when I put it into book form it comes out as something worthwhile.

Simile number two . . . I leave lots of my stuff on the shelve to age. Just like my composter allows me to leave my garbage alone just to tumble and age, I leave my writing to the same. I leave it alone and write on something else then I come back to it and fine tune it.

I'm working on my third novel now. Tentatively titled Vapor Trail, it is a follow up to On the Edge (see here and below cover image) and I'm hoping to release it this fall. I'm rewriting it for the final time right now and I'm stunned by how different it is from that first trash I put in. Characters names and types are changes. The plot is different. The setting has changed twice. It's a completely different story than the one I started. This is what got me thinking about that composter. I used that composted soil in my herb garden the other day and it was completely broken down. That's the way this story is now that I've tumbled it around and lead it age.

It used to bother me how much writing and rewriting was necessary to produce a finished work, but now I see that it's just a necessary part of the process. If I just threw the trash I wrote out on the web it would be exactly that (and truthfully, there's already a bit too much trash out on the Internets right now). It takes time to get it just right. Vapor Trail is in the tumble phase and the maggots are squirming around in it now turning it into something epic. The only problem as I see it is that I'm the maggot in that metaphor.

Book Review: The Fourth Deadly Sin or Makes Me Wish I Was Older in '86

I just finished Lawrence Sanders' The Fourth Deadly Sin, and basically I loved it as much or more than his other works. I enjoy talking and writing about the books I've read and have a whole series of em on this site (see here), but this one takes a bit of a different turn in that the cover design plays a significant part.

 I've never hidden my love for Sanders' writing (see here). I'm a McNally fanatic (though I don't do Lardo), and I'm really enjoying going back and reading Sanders' older stuff (see here and here). The Fourth Deadly Sin was published in 1986 which makes me with I'd been a better reader when he was producing these things.

The first I heard about Sanders was back in the early 2000's when my Uncle told me about him. I started reading the McNally series, if only because it was the easiest to find at the half price book place. I still remember that first McNally book I read and how I thought Archie was such a fun character. Sure, I've since found out he's a bit of a rip off from Rex Stout's Archie Goodwin from the Nero Wolf books, but Sanders brings his own flair to Archy McNally. Who can't love a fellow who wears a puce beret to go investigate.

Still, as much as I liked the McNally books, I think I like this earlier stuff first. After my first, and so far only trip to New York City this past fall, reading bout 1970's and early 80's New York is fun. Secondly I enjoy the fact that each book has a new character and a new angle. Recently so many authors and series are only considered if there's a viable character for multiple books. I enjoy the fact that Dick Francis and Sanders didn't conform in that way. Naturally I'm trying to emulate them with my books (see here and here).

The Fourth Deadly Sin was just as good as Sanders' other earlier works and makes me want to read more. That being said I did have one difficulty. Why is this cover decorated with a claw hammer? The murder takes place, Sanders makes a big point of this, with a ball-peen hammer, not a claw hammer. Having just finished a foray into cover design, successfully I believe (see here and above), didn't the cover designer care about accuracy? Or is a claw hammer just a bit more murderous looking than a ball-peen? Then again are covers that feature a couple of people running particularly murderous looking?

Regardless, if that's my primary complaints, Sanders should be quite happy.

Ran Across this Blog Called "The Self-Made Writer"

I found this blog through Google Plus and a couple of writer's links that I'm a part of. This one come via Deb Vanasse and her blog The Self-Made Writer. This is Ten Truths You Need to Know about Publishing, No Matter How You Do It (see here).

It's a good looking blog and I look forward to tooling around and finding out more about it, but this post intrigued me and I read it through. Some of the stats were a tad tough to hear, but based on her accompanying image that says "Better to be slapped with the truth than kissed with a lie" I'm thinking she knew some of the numbers would be startling to most writers. Still, some great nuggets of information for the aspiring author. My favorites?

There’s a content flood, and it’s not going to recede anytime soon. As reported by author William Dietrich in a piece published by the Huffington Post, an estimated 130 million books have been published throughout human history. That number is growing by the minute—and with e-books, titles stay in print forever. Bottom line: the supply of books far exceeds the demand.

This bullet goes hand-in-hand with some of the stats she comments on in other bullets. I'm stunned when I go online to find a book to read every now and then. The number of books out there is staggering. If you don't know what you're looking for you're going to get lost. I love the line; "The supply of books far exceeds the demands."

Wonderful books are overlooked, and some that aren’t so wonderful sell more than anyone could have predicted. As they say, there’s no accounting for taste. But if sales are steady, and if a title stays in print long enough and is popular within a niche market, it may in the end outsell certain flash-and-burn bestsellers.

This bullet made me think of a conversation I had with my neighbors on our back patio after a dinner party. It was about the time that 50 Shades of Grey the movie had just come out. Turns out several of us tried to read the book and among the four that tried, not any of us got through the first few pages and wanted to read on. Yet, that was a very successful book. Key words "popular within a niche market." It's finding that niche then development the foot hold into something more that's the goal.

Write what you love and make each book the best it can be. That’s the one aspect of publishing over which you have complete control.

Finally, and this goes directly against what I wrote a few years ago about why I writer (see here). Just write what you want and do it as well as you can. Be proud of what you wrote and hope that others enjoy it as much as you do.

Deb has some good points and despite being slapped with the truth, it's good stuff to know and helps to accentuate the positives. I look forward to more posts from her.

A Bit of Humor at the End

I got to the end of The Fourth Deadly Sin and actually finished a chapter too early. When I read the below line I thought sure that was the end. It goes so perfectly in my series for "last lines."

He looked up suddenly, and beyond the city’s glow saw the stars whirling their ascending courses . So small, he thought. All the poor, scrabbling people on earth caught up in a life we never made, breaking ourselves trying to manage. 

Philosophers said you could laugh or you could weep. Delaney preferred to think there was a middle ground, an amused struggle in which you recognized the odds and knew you’d never beat them. Which was no reason to stop trying. Las Vegas did all right. 

When he came to his brownstone, the lights were on, the Christmas wreath still on the door. And inside was the companionship of a loving woman, a tot of brandy, a good cigar. And later, a warm bed and blessed sleep. 

“Thank you, God,” he said aloud, and started up the steps.

But no, that's not it. There's a whole chapter more. And instead of ending with Delaney looking up at the stars, contemplating God and his life, he leaves the reader with a note of humor.

“Well, right now I’m in Sylvia Otherton’s apartment and we’ve been working on the Ouija board. You read about that in my previous reports, didn’t you, sir?” 

“Oh, yes,” Delaney said, rolling his eyes upward. “I read about the Ouija board.” 

“Well, the first question we asked, weeks ago, was who killed him. And the board spelled out ‘Blind .’ B-L -I-N-D. Then, the second time, we asked if it was a stranger who killed him, and the board spelled out ‘Ni.’ N-I.” 

“Yes, I recall,” Delaney said patiently. “Very interesting. But what does it mean?” 

“Well, get this, sir …” Estrella said. “Tonight we asked the spirit of Simon Ellerbee whether it was a man or a woman who killed him, and the Ouija board spelled out ‘Wiman.’ W-I-M-A-N. Now that didn’t make much sense at first. But then I realized this board has a slight glitch and is pointing to ‘I’ when it means ‘O.’ If you follow that, you’ll see that the killer was blond, not blind. And the board meant to say ‘No’ instead of ‘Ni’ when we asked if the murderer was a stranger. And the final answer should have been ‘Woman’ instead of ‘Wiman.’ So as I see it, sir, the person we’re looking for is a blond woman who was not a stranger to the victim.”

“Thank you very much,” Delaney said gravely.

Sanders, Lawrence - The Fourth Deadly Sin

Although I liked the ending about the stars much more, I think it's clever that Sanders finds for his readers a Ouija Board that has a problem with O's and I's. Who would have thought of that?