This was the year when I published my first standalone thriller, LONG GONE.

With LONG GONE, my work earned its first appearances on the Today Show (“the one book you can't put down,”) NBC (“a page turner from a major talent,” courtesy of Harlan Coben), and the NY Times Art Section (“The strands are many, the plot stays brisk”).

This was also the first year when my work appeared in trade paperback, or was read by more readers as e-books than in hardback.  It's a whole new world out there.  (And doesn't 212 look all pretty and schnazzy with this trade paperback cover?)

2011 was also the year we launched the first (and hopefully annual) Duffer Awards.  We joked that Duffer had gone full-on Hollywood as he handed out statues in his own image.

If you missed the 2011 Duffer Awards, you can view the full list here.  Trust me.  It's worth the click.  It's worth a hundred and ten times the click.

In 2011, I also got to know a whole bunch of you better, thanks to Facebook and Twitter.

I'm looking forward to 2012, when the next Ellie Hatcher novel, called NEVER TELL, will be out in June.

In short, it has been a wonderful year, and I know that spectacular readers like you make it all happen.  I never know how to thank you, but Duffer volunteered for this utterly ridiculous holiday portrait.  I hope it makes you smile.

Happy Holidays!

It's enough to make a gal say Bah Hum Bug.

But as you may know by now, I avoid the crowds and take to the internet for my holiday shopping.  I thought it would be fun this year to ponder potential purchases (alliteration!) for Ellie Hatcher, Samantha Kincaid, and their respective crews.

The Ellie Hatcher Series	The Samantha Kincaid Series
To Jess, from your sister Ellie (not that this Brooklyn Blanket Chest is a hint that you should move your butt off my sofa and into Williamburg or anything.  No, not at all):Brooklyn Blanket Chest	To Chuck, from Samantha (with a strong hope that you will cook more often, and because I went to the mall at the very last minute and wound up with a sucky present.  Sorry.):Baby Carlos Apron
To Hatcher, from Rogan (Just my luck to draw your name in the squad's Secret Santa exchange. Try not to slop that nasty stuff you call food on this fine tee shirt.):Nutella Tee Shirt	To Samantha, Love Vinnie (Because I don't really understand the point of clothing but think everything should involve me.  And because I love you, Mommy.  Now feed me.  Snort.)
To Ellie, from your loving brother Jess, because you’re a little “psycho” but a lot of fun:Ducky Shower Curtain	To Vinnie, Love Chuck (Look, little man, I told you we'd be on like Donkey Kong if you wizzed on my Van Halen shirt) :

In my wildest dreams, I'd like to buy two of these cupcake cars for Ellie and Sam, just to see who would win in a race.  Hey, an author can dream.

More realistically, you might know someone who needs "Real Men Read Women" gear (31 different tee shirt colors, yo!).  Or how about "I Like Boys Who Read Books By Girls"?  All profits from this campaign benefit First Book, a non-profit dedicated to youth literacy.

And speaking of literacy, book stores need customer support these days, and just about anyone worth knowing loves to read.  Books also have tidy little corners, so they're much easier to wrap than, say, a cat:

Should you happen to need specific title suggestions, I heard that LONG GONE and 212 (in paperback) aren't bad.

I'll check in later for a proper holiday greeting.  For now, try not to get bloodied or bruised at the mall.

When it comes to these (hopefully) hilarious stories, there is no shortage in the real world of inspiration.  My most recent favorite? This Long Island guy who plowed into a cop (on DUI duty, natch), wearing this t-shirt. (It's OK to laugh.  The officer was fine.  Phew!)

In the books, I often recount tales from my own experience at the D.A.'s Office.  The drug dealer who got shorted and went to the police to ask for help getting restitution?  Yep.  That was real.  Trying to shoot an old boyfriend with a bow and arrow?  Yep.  Real.

In 212, Ellie refuses to believe Max when he says a murder defendant wouldn't plead guilty unless the judge got him some fast food.  Totally real!  Not my case, but my friend's, and here's the news coverage to prove it:

"Durham, 33, struck a plea bargain last month in which he was guaranteed a meal of KFC chicken, Popeye's chicken, mashed potato, coleslaw, carrot cake and ice cream - in return for pleading guilty to murder.  As part of the deal, and after receiving a life sentence this week in court in Portland, Oregon, Durham will also get a second feast, this time on an Italian theme, with calzone, lasagne, pizza and ice cream."

Sure, I'll waive my constitutional rights for some of that!

Given that my work stories these days involve the Socratic method and soporific faculty meetings, I'm thankful that my cop and lawyer friends continue to keep me up to date on these unbelievable, yet completely real, shenanigans.  (Hat tip for the fast food story to my pal, Josh Lamborn, former prosecutor and now private lawyer to crime victims.  Any Oregon readers need an attorney?)

Now, how might Ellie come across that funny, drunk T-shirt in the next book?  Back to work!

The emphasis in that sentence is fully intentional, because it would mean something quite different to say, People have their days.  The latter is true, of course.  We all have good days.  Bad days.  Days when we're one tic away from the arrival of the nice men with butterfly nets.

But today, I mean we all have our days.  One of my sisters, for example, is known as the Christmas Queen.  She's the one who has a Santa sleigh on her roof, stockings for her cats, and elegantly wrapped presents spilling from beneath multiple trees, each decorated in a different style.

My literary agent's wife has claimed New Year's as their day.  Black tie required.  The best champagne.  The perfect playlist for an all-night dance party.

Hopefully we all have a friend who has claimed Super Bowl Sunday as his or her day.  You know the type.  Face paint.  Cakes shaped like footballs.  Twenty-layer dips filled with forty kinds of fat.

Well, traditionally, Halloween was my day.  Pumpkin carving.  Ghosts on the porch.  Full-size candy bars for the kiddies.  Home made costumes.  (Yep, I've got mad seamstressing skills, y'all.)

But, somehow, over time, I lost my day.  What was once a perfect marriage now resembles more a long-distance relationship.

In hindsight, the problems date all the way back to 1996, when a certain colleague at the District Attorney's Office beat me to the punch on a Halloween party.  Externally, I was a good sport with a quick RSVP in the affirmative.  I stitched up a kick-arse Snow White costume.  I brought vodka. No harm in humoring the kid, I figured.  The party would be a fail.  Halloween would soon be mine again.

But that's not what happened.  The party wasn't a fail.  Every square inch decorated.  No entry without a costume.  There was even a mad scientist in the basement with an "electric chair" and kamakaze shots in a gas can.  As far as the office was concerned, Halloween officially belonged to someone else, and I became the go-to girl for Oscar Night.

But although Halloween had adopted a mistress, I was still the wife.  Costumes.  Pumpkins.  Candy.  Ghosts on porch.  Check, times four.

Then came the move to New York City.  No more porch for ghosts and pumpkins.  No children to yell, "Trick or treat, smell my feet."  Plenty of costumes but far too many of the slutty pumpkin, skanky skeleton, and naked nurse variety.  Not to mention, the partying starts about three hours after I've gone to sleep!

But, six years ago, just when I thought October 31 had quit me, Duffer came to live with us on Halloween.  They say that kids can't save a marriage, but Duffer has kept Halloween in my life.  Halloween may no longer be my day, but it is Duffer's day.

Over the years, Duffer has been Batman:

A baby:

A ladybug:

A police officer:

This year, I put out a call to the online kitchen cabinet on Facebook and Twitter for costume suggestions.  Reader Jennifer Irvin nailed it.

You might recall this year's Duffer Awards.  We joked that Duffer had gone full-on Hollywood as he handed out statues in his own image, popping painkillers like candy for a "back problem."

It only seems fitting, then, that this year's costume reflects Duffer's newfound celebrity.

The Hef-Duff:

Happy Halloween from me and the Duffer.  Wear a costume.  Eat candy.  Be nice to the kiddies and teach them how to engage in mischief.

And, oh yeah, if you haven't already done so, read LONG GONE and 212 (out in paperback).  They just might keep you up at night.

Best,

Alafair

P.S.  If you missed the 2011 Duffer Awards, see the full list here.

These guys have excellent taste, but dogs sure do read slowly.

I've been in a position to use that glorious sentence eight times.  The first seven times, I spoke the sentence immediately after typing the final period on the final page.  I even typed THE END to mark the moment.

Did that mean I was completely done with my work on the book?  Of course not.  My agent and editor needed to read it.  I would listen to their good feedback.  I would make changes, some of them big.  The book would be better for it.  And then we'd do another pass.  And then copyediting.  But that's all editing.  The book was "finished," as I use that word.

Book eight?  I typed an ending a month ago, but, for the first time, I didn't type THE END.  I didn't say, "I just finished a book." Instead, I paused a moment to celebrate having a beginning, middle, and an end.  I may even have had a drink or two.

One of each, please!

Then I opened a new, blank document on my computer and started again from the beginning.

Yep, I rewrote my book.

Now, a month later, I'm willing to say I finished.  I even typed THE END.  The celebratory drinks made those first ones look like amateur hour.

Having to reach an ending twice before typing THE END got me to thinking about what made this time different.

1.  Why wasn't the first ending the finish line?

At a spotlight interview during last year's Bouchercon, Gregg Hurwitz asked Michael Connelly if he had any publishing regrets.  After initially saying no, Michael backed up and said he wished he had submitted his first novel earlier.  It was done, but he kept tinkering and refining on his own for nearly three years.

Little did he know as an unpublished writer that the book would get even better with an editor.  By Michael's calculation, if he'd sent the book out earlier, he would have benefitted from an editor's feedback sooner, and he could have started his second book instead of working on his own for all that time.  The world might have an additional Connelly novel or two as a result.

His observation made me think about my own process.  I don't generally tinker and refine on my own.  I type THE END and send it away.  But I've been able to do that because I force myself to get it right -- or at least my own best version of right -- the very first time.  I nitpick at myself constantly during the first (and only) draft.

For this book, I decided to let all that go.  I made myself write, even when I knew a certain scene or a certain plot twist wasn't exactly right.  It's not a process I would have been comfortable with seven books ago, but I've learned by now that that finishing sooner is better than finishing later.  I've seen for myself -- seven previous times -- how much better a book can be once you finish that first pass of editing.  Plus I heard Michael Connelly say it, so it must be true!

But changing my objective from finishing my very best draft to simply finishing a draft necessarily changed how I felt about "finishing."  All I could say was that I had a beginning, middle, and an end.  I couldn't really say I had finished the book.  I couldn't type THE END.

2.  Why I Called it a Re-Write

In my previous seven edits, I made some pretty big changes.  But I made those changes directly to the document.  I cut and pasted if I switched the order of two scenes.  I added chapters.  I deleted entire pages. Overall, however, the narrative arc of the plot and characters remained intact.

This time, I decided that an "edit" -- even a big edit -- would not suffice.  I wanted to start with a blank document.  I wanted to revisit every decision I had made the first time around.  I would reimagine the book with more information than I had all those months ago.  I'd pull over scenes, character, words, sentences, paragraphs, and entire chapters only as helpful.  I'd skip the rest.  I'd write new scenes and characters as I went.

Two characters completely left the page.  One arrived a hundred and fifty pages earlier.  An affair that happened suddenly didn't.

When I reached the ending of this new book, I knew it was better.  I knew I was proud of it.  And I knew I was actually done.

I'm not certain I'd recommend this process to anyone else.  The messiness of it has me wishing once again that I could outline a book chapter by chapter, scene for scene, prior to writing.  But at least I'm able to say that I have finished my eighth book and am very happy with it.

THE END

Now Harlan Coben has included LONG GONE in his top summer book recommendations for the show: "a page turner from a major talent!" We already loved Harlan Coben in this house, so now we may have to name July 7 after him or something.

See the full list, courtesy of Harlan and the wonderful Jennifer Weiner, here.

Order LONG GONE here.  And it's not to read my posts for the Long Gone Book Club, so be sure to fill out this thingamajig to join!

Thanks for participating in The Duffer Awards throughout June. The pooch and I have had a blast, and we couldn’t have done it without you! We've been handing out ridiculous awards to legendary characters, but I hope you've also added some new writers to your reading list.

If you like the writers and characters features in the Duffers, I think you'll also enjoy my new book, Long Gone, which hit shelves last week. 212 is also now in paperback.

Although we are done with this round of the Duffers, please stay in touch. I blog Here and at Murderati regularly. I'm also mad about Facebook and Twitter. See you on the interwebs.

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