Bosch Rocks and Thrift shops

I'd intended to start a new short story, not having written one since I began writing a mystery three years ago. Instead, my time has been consumed by researching agents and drafting query letters. At this rate, I don't think Turow needs to worry about stiff competition in the pipeline--not from me, anyway.

Undercutting my not-enough-time excuse is that fact that I did manage to read an early Michael Connelly, Black Echo, which reminded me of what the gold standard for a thriller/police precedural is. I'd picked the book up at a church thrift shop--and let me stop right here to plug one of the greatest pleasures of living on the Cape, exploring its pristine beaches and windswept marshes to be sure, but also its many thrift and consignment shops--and rediscovered Connelly's main character, Harry Bosch. The great thing about Connelly is that you can count on an intelligent, complex, suspenseful novel without having to wade through cliched situations and self-indulgent overwriting. His background as a police reporter allows the reader to believe that Harry Bosch, the bad boy outsider cop who adheres to his own moral code to get his man, might actually answer the phone if you dialed up the LAPD. The only minor criticism is that some of the backstory, like how Harry was able to afford his apartment on a cop's salary, appears twice in the novel, but how critical should we be of someone who publishes one, if not two gripping novels each year.

Before I allow the you'll-never-write-like-him devil to defeat me, I shall now turn my attention to drafting a synopsis of my novel, as required by a number of agents I've identified. I thought I knew what a synopsis is, but having read the agents' descriptions, I'm no longer sure as each demands a book summary of different length and emphasis.

Until next week.

Lee Doty