Mike Resnick New Books: Cat On A Cold Tin Roof

Ed here: I wish I'd known, back when Marty Greenberg and I were editing a series of shirt story collections called Cat Crimes, just how good a) a mystery writer Mike Resnick was and b) the brilliance he could bring to cat mysteries.

First of all Cat On A Cold Tin Roof is a fine formal whodunit.  It is also smile-bringing throughout. One of my favorite albeit a short scenes is when our detective dreams he's a young photographer who just happens to be spending the day on an isolated stretch of beach with famous model and lust-babe Betty Paige. Betty Paige! Short but sweet with Eli Paxton telling her how much he loves her. I also love the set-up--Fluffy leading various chases while wearing a few mil in diamonds around her neck. If you like flat out fun reads this is for youse.


Publisher's Weekly:

With no email, GPS, or cell phone, Eli Paxton is, as they say, doin’ it old school in Resnick’s entertaining third mystery featuring the tenacious Cincinnati, Ohio, PI and ex-cop (after 2013’s The Trojan Colt). Jim Simmons, a cop buddy of Eli’s, figures the police can handle the murder of wealthy Malcolm Pepperidge (formerly Big Jim Palanto), “the financial adviser to Chicago’s biggest Mafia family.” But Pepperidge’s widow, according to Jim, wants a private detective to track the victim’s cat, Fluffy, who fled the crime scene wearing a collar studded with diamonds worth millions. When Eli finds Fluffy—sans collar—the grieving widow all but tosses the feline to the hounds. That’s when a little game of cat-and, er, louse gets serious, with the involvement of Bolivian drug lords. Good times ensue for fans of Cincinnati or old-school PI yarns or both. Agent: Eleanor Wood, Spectrum Literary Agency. (Aug.)

Mike Resnick:

I’m known as a science fiction writer, which makes sense. Of my 74 novels, 71 are science fiction, and according to Locus I am the all-time leading award winner, living or dead, for short science fiction.

         But I also don’t have tunnel vision, as a reader or a writer. I grew up loving not just Bradbury, Asimov, and that whole crowd, but also Raymond Chandler, Dashiell Hammett, Fredric Brown’s mysteries as well as his science fiction, even the Milo March mysteries of “M. E. Chaber” (Kendell Foster Crossen). When Lawrence Block and Ed Gorman hit the scene, I became a fan of theirs as well. Ditto, a few years later, James Elroy.

         I suppose it was only a matter of time before I tried my hand at a mystery novel. I wrote titled Dog in the Manger back in 1991 and offered it to Ace, which was one of my science fiction publishers back then. They wanted it, but would only agree to buy it if I signed a contract to write two sequels. (Why didn’t I? Because they were paying me literally five times as much for my science fiction. Would you have taken an 80% pay cut?) I thanked them, pulled it back, and sold it as a stand-alone a few years later – and promptly got so busy I didn’t even consider writing another mystery.

         Until 2012.

         At that point my science fiction editor at Pyr, Lou Anders, told me that Prometheus, the parent company, had started a mystery line called Seventh Street. I didn’t really have any more time on my hands, but I had just turned 70, and I realized that it was now or never, so I sold them reprint rights to Dog in the Manger plus a new novel with the same detective, The Trojan Colt. Then, a year later, I sat down and wrote a third one, Cat on a Cold Tin Roof.

         By the time I wrote my mysteries, I had very strong ideas about detective stories, circa the present era. My detective wouldn’t consider the police his rivals or his enemies. A former cop, he’d let them know where he was and what he was doing, if for no other reason than to save his ass if it became necessary. He would never be hired to solve a murder. No way a lone detective can compete with a massive police force equipped with the latest forensic technology. There were always murders, of course – I had a readership to consider – but they were unearthed only in the process of solving the seemingly easier and less dangerous jobs he accepts.

         I gave my detective some personal quirks – he doesn’t own a cell phone, can’t use a computer, doesn’t like his dog (which of course is named Marlowe), and cetera – and so far the critics seem to enjoy that, though they keep pointing out that he’s living in the 19^th Century. (Note: so is the author, who also refuses to own a cell phone, and has never played a computer game in his life.)

         I currently owe 4 science fiction books, so there almost certainly won’t be a mystery novel out next year, but I enjoy writing them, and I’ll put another one on the schedule as soon as it’s economically possible.

-      Mike Resnick      

Len Levinson Part Two

Available on e books

The survivors in writing are often more interesting to me than the stars who flame out and disappear.

William R. Cox the pulp writer died at ninety two at his typewriter. He'd never been a big star but he'd written pulps and paperback novels for sixty-some years. Ryerson Johnson graduated from the pulps into paperback originals and worked for almost fifty years. Margret Millar had never been a big seller but she finished two novels in the last four years of her life after beating lung cancer and being declared legally blind. Survivors.

Last year or so I became aware of a writer named Len Levinson. I'd seen his name on various blogs but not until I discovered Joe Kenny's truly unique and amazing blog Glorious Trash did I begin to learn about Len. Talk about a survivor. He's been working steadily since 1971 without getting either the promotion or recognition he deserves. Joe convinced Len to write about some of his books and in so doing Len has given us a finest record of the free lance fiction writer I've ever read. And not just because of the ups and downs of his writing career but also the ups and downs of his personal life. 

Len Levinson:

I worked in advertising and PR for ten years after I graduated from college, Michigan State University, class of 1961.  First I wrote direct mail letters and brochures for Prentice-Hall, a publishing company in Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey.  Then I was pressbook editor for Paramount Pictures, which involved writing articles and feature stories based on information supplied by publicists assigned to movies being filmed.  Next I was pressbook editor for 20th Century-Fox, but soon was promoted to trade press contact, which involved writing daily press releases and dealing with reporters and editors who worked for publications like VARIETY, BOXOFFICE, MOTION PICTURE DAILY, FILM DAILY, and others that I don’t remember.  Finally I was a press agent with Solters and Sabinson, an agency that had many clients in the entertainment industry such as the Beatles, Rolling Stones, Frank Sinatra, Barbra Streisand, Flip Wilson, Bob Hope, Benny Goodman, the Playboy Organization, all the David Merrick Shows, numerous movie clients, Ringling Brothers and Barnum and Bailey Circus, Holiday on Ice, Caesar’s Palace in Las Vegas, and others that I don’t remember.  I resigned my position at Solters and Sabinson to become a novelist.

About The Bar Studs

Headlines that shouldn't be true but are

Black teen in white foster home pepper-sprayed by police who mistook
him for burglar
(nothing racist about cops)

Duck Dynasty clan candidate claims ‘YOLO’ motto is an atheist
conspiracy ‘brainwashing a generation’
(a collective iq off 42)

NC pastors on Jimmy Carter’s 90th birthday: He could ‘go to hell’ for
making Jesus a gay-loving ‘hippy’

St. Louis Cardinals fans clash with Ferguson protesters: ‘Let’s go
Darren!’

Tea Party gadfly can’t back up his Obama conspiracies, even on a
conservative network

CNN legal analyst explodes over ‘inherent’ police racism: ‘This is what
it’s like to be a black person’

Bernie Sanders: Forbes 400 shows ‘incredible and obscene’ wealth gap in
‘Walmart economy’

NYPD cops pistol-whip cowering teenage pot suspect after foot chase

During Clay Aiken debate, GOP rep. claims US was ‘founded on’ man-woman
marriage

Catholic League chief Bill Donahue: Liberals defend Islam because they
don't like Jews
(four or five years in Arkham Asylum this sweaty old bastard'll be fine)

Ebola case in Spain fuels fear of European outbreak: 'People are
freaked out'

Colorado Supreme Court clears way for same-sex marriage in the state

Open carry enthusiast robbed at gunpoint: ‘I like your gun. Give it to
me.’
(member that nra line--the only thing you need to stop a bad guy with a
gun is a good guy with a gun?)

Florida stripper attacks boyfriend with an ax: 'She drinks and drinks
at work'

Florida man sets terminally ill dad on fire: ‘The whole bed was burning’

Florida inmate found beaten to death one day after her aunt reported
guard’s threats

Another Comcast horror story: Accountant says cable company cost him
his job

Noam Chomsky: Rise of Islamic State stems from U.S. ‘sledgehammer’
against Iraq

Mayor calls off California City Council meeting over CopWatch
activist’s ‘F*ck the Police’ hat

Rep. Tom Cotton Says ISIS And Mexican Cartels Collaborating To Invade
Arkansas
(this guy was obviously alien abducted and anal probed at some point)

Watch How Racist St. Louis Cardinals Fans Treat Michael Brown Protesters

'Get Real!': CNN's Sonny Hostin Explodes At White Analyst Who Denies
'Inherent Racism' By Police

George Will Gets Cancelled From College For Offensive 'Rape' Op-Ed

Wingnut Lt. Col. Tells Cavuto Syrians Are Saying 'Please Bomb Us, We'd
Rather Be Bombed Than Dead'
(how about you parachuting in holding a bomb)

Homeland Discussion: Drone Queen “..Find Me A Way To Spin This!”

Colbert Frets That Media's Fearmongering Over Ebola Isn't Working
(he wants MORE fear mongering)

Mike Huckabee Threatens To Leave The GOP Over Gay Marriage
(how about leaving the planet you cynical creep?)

Conservatives outraged after college rescinds invitation to George Will
over offensive rape column

‘Republican’ punk rockers troll conservatives with ironic ‘Obama’ video

GOP backer attacks Florida Dem’s ‘work ethic’ for ‘having babies’ while
she’s in office

Road-raging off-duty Detroit cop arrested for brandishing Glock at
family in minivan

Fighting the wage gap: Sarah Silverman gets a penis to avoid $500,000
vagina tax

Scientists sound alarm over ocean acidification

Teenage foster son arrested after veteran Alaska public radio host shot
dead

Oklahoma Republican: Muslims can’t be trusted if they practice Islam

Anti-Muslim Florida pastor wears ‘Nuke ISIS’ shirt to court for ‘Koran
burning’ case

Minn. rep. confronts GOP opponent: ‘I don’t need an assault rifle to
shoot a duck. Maybe you do.’

Justice Anthony Kennedy blocks same-sex marriages from beginning in
Idaho

Alabama grandparents arrested after department store brawl with mall cop

NYPD cop takes $1,300 from man, pepper-sprays him in the face when he complains

‘Get it on film’: NYC cop under investigation for punching teen out over a cigarette

Attorney shuts down police stop of black handyman: ‘Now please leave our neighborhood’

Kentucky warns Noah’s Ark-based amusement park over hiring practices

Sports talk host mocks Mitch McConnell after ‘needlessly angry’ interview

Satanic Temple fires early shots in ‘war on Christmas’ to ensure time for legal challenges

White off-duty policeman kills black teen in St Louis, triggering fresh protests

Indiana man shoots and kills wife, himself on their wedding night

Georgia ‘sovereign citizen’ gets 4 life terms for raping 9-year-old girl

Australian woman survives for 17 days lost in rainforest

Gravetapping's Ben Boulden: The Way You Die Tonight by Robert J. Randisiy yo

byBen Boulden

---

THE WAY YOU DIE TONIGHT by Robert J. Randisi Posted: 07 Oct 2014 12:32 PM PDT The Way You Die Tonight is the ninth Rat Pack mystery featuring smooth operator and Sands’ pit boss Eddie Gianelli. This time Eddie G. has more action than he can track. Edward G. Robinson (the other Eddie G.) is in town, preparing for his Lancey Howard role in The Cincinnati Kid. Howard Hughes is on his case for dope on the Vegas scene, and Jack Entratter’s—manager of the Sands Casino—girl (read secretary) is found hanging from a pipe in a casino restroom. The cops—lead by the incompetent and highly frustrated Detective Hargrove—are calling it suicide, but Eddie G. sees only murder. It seems everybody wants something from Eddie G.— “‘You’re the man everyone comes to when they need something in Vegas.’” —and fortunately there is enough to go around. Eddie enlists the help of Danny Bardini, a childhood friend turned private eye, and Jerry Epstein, formerly known as the torpedo and current mob enforcer from Brooklyn, to help solve the murder. Eddie G. (really Mr Randisi’s execution) expertly shuffles between the murder and the “other Eddie G.” and Howard Hughes subplots—subplots that provide gentle nostalgia and smile inducing humor. The Way You Die Tonight is as smooth as anything in print. It is heavy on dialogue, larger than life, and fun as hell. The Vegas that was is vividly described. The casinos: The Sands, The Desert Inn, Binion’s Horseshoe. The atmosphere: jittery, exciting, exotic. I was reminded of an especially good episode of the old Robert Urich television series Vega$. The open skies, faded mountains, wide streets, and hip celebrity sinsters. In a word: Fantastic!

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Breaking News Len Levinson in his black leather jacket

CRAZY OLD DUDE MODELS BLACK FAUX LEATHER JACKET
From:	LEN LEVINSON
To:	LEN LEVINSON
Date:	Wed, Oct 8, 2014 7:20 am

P1010810

 

Len Levinson and his history with Black Leather jackets.

Len Levinson:

I worked in advertising and PR for ten years after I graduated from college, Michigan State University, class of 1961.  First I wrote direct mail letters and brochures for Prentice-Hall, a publishing company in Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey.  Then I was pressbook editor for Paramount Pictures, which involved writing articles and feature stories based on information supplied by publicists assigned to movies being filmed.  Next I was pressbook editor for 20th Century-Fox, but soon was promoted to trade press contact, which involved writing daily press releases and dealing with reporters and editors who worked for publications like VARIETY, BOXOFFICE, MOTION PICTURE DAILY, FILM DAILY, and others that I don’t remember.  Finally I was a press agent with Solters and Sabinson, an agency that had many clients in the entertainment industry such as the Beatles, Rolling Stones, Frank Sinatra, Barbra Streisand, Flip Wilson, Bob Hope, Benny Goodman, the Playboy Organization, all the David Merrick Shows, numerous movie clients, Ringling Brothers and Barnum and Bailey Circus, Holiday on Ice, Caesar’s Palace in Las Vegas, and others that I don’t remember.  I resigned my position at Solters and Sabinson to become a novelist.

Throughout most of my life, I’ve always believed that if I wore a black leather jacket, I’d be irresistible to woman.  Perhaps the seed of this idea was planted when I first watched Marlon Brando in THE WILD ONES.

But I never bought a black leather jacket for three reasons:  (1)  The good ones seemed extremely expensive compared to other jackets, and I never could justify spending that much money on a mere jacket.  (2)  I thought they were too ostentatious, too flashy, like wearing a sign that said LOOK HOW SEXY I AM!  (3)  I felt like I’d be an accomplice to the murder of an animal and theft of his coat.

I’m aware this latter excuse is irrational, because I wear leather belts and shoes, and occasionally eat meat.  But you can’t expect consistency from a crazy old dude.

In recent years, relatively inexpensive faux leather jackets that look just like real leather have come onto the market.  The temptation to buy one became too great to overcome, because I still want to be irresistible to women at my advanced old age of 79.

Finally I bought a black faux leather jacket by Guess from the Macy’s website.  The price was only $119.00.  My heart  filled with trepidation while waiting for it to arrive.  Would it fit?  Would it look cheesy?  Would I need to go through the bother of returning it?

It arrived around six days later, fit perfectly and looked great, without all the extraneous bells and whistles that black leather jackets often have.  I was amazed at how well it was designed and constructed, featuring subtle epaulettes not visible in the ad.

The time had come to test my theory.  Would I be irresistible to women?

If I still lived in Manhattan, I’d simply go outside and walk the streets, observing with amusement as women fell at my feet.  But now I live in a small farm town on the Great American Prairie, population 3100, and one seldom sees people on the streets.

So I drove 35 miles to Rockford, 3rd largest city in Illinois, and parked in a lot adjacent to its one and only mall, the Cherryvale Mall.  Because malls are the modern downtowns of cities, with people strolling past store windows, dining in restaurants, and checking out each other.  I was about to put my lifelong theory to the test.  Would I be irresistible to women?

I straightened my backbone, squared my shoulders, tucked in my chin, and marched into the Cherryvale Mall.  To cut to the chase, no women fell at my feet.  No women even looked at me and my black (fake) leather jacket.

No college cheerleader in civilian clothes smiled invitingly.  No unhappily married woman slipped me her phone number.  No athletic chick in yoga pants fainted dead away.  No elderly lady in a wheelchair winked.

Then I spotted a twenty-something woman in black leather jacket, and thought for sure she’d recognize me as a kindred spirit, whereupon she’d flirt outrageously.  Well, she didn’t even glance in my direction.

Out of desperation, I walked into the Barnes and Noble.  Surely a lonely poetess might view me as the answer to her Jack Kerouac fantasy.  Not one soul was in the poetry section.  No other women looked at me with the least bit of interest.

I was crushed.  My black leather jacket theory, which I’d believed all my life, proved erroneous.  It was almost like losing faith in God.  I couldn’t help wondering what other beliefs I hold dearly that are similarly false.

But my black (fake) leather jacket isn’t a total loss, I don’t think.  Because for some strange reason, I feel great when I wear it.  I feel like a heavy hitter, although I never was very good at sports.  I feel like a top gun, although I hate to fly.  I feel like a hit man, although I never could shoot anybody for money, I don’t think.  I feel like a movie star, although I can’t portray any character except the crazy old dude that I evidently am.

Now I need to find someone to photograph me in my black fake leather jacket, so you can see what I’m talking about.  Stay tuned.