“What are you playing at here?” said the interviewer in a friendly yet pedantic tone.         “Just when you’ve settled in, the view point changes. How in the world will this ever come together? As an avid reader this new kind of thing always tends to throw me off. But I am curious to hear how you justified and managed it.”  

We’re in a library in a rather posh section of Connecticut. The occasion is part of an  ongoing series called “Meet the Writer” underwritten by a local bank. The interviewer, who hosts his own radio show, is quizzing a young woman whose latest novel has been released by a major house. She’s affable about it all and answers that this time she found  herself more and more interested in other characters (many based on real people back in the day). Before long she wanted to trace their journeys and see what impact they might have had on each other. How hailing from a small town near Atlanta and exploring an offbeat lifestyle in New York at more or less the same time might coalesce and/or conflict.    

Later on, during the discussion period, I wanted to say that alternating scenes is nothing new. It goes back over a century ago thanks to D.W. Griffith. That’s where the old saw “Meanwhile back at the ranch” was born. That’s what kept rapt moviegoers in their seats, knowing what our hero didn’t know (or the villain for that matter), wondering what was going to happen next. The technique has long been adapted by novelists.

I also wanted to say that as a crime writer, I know full well that the other characters aren’t just sitting still. Once things are set in motion, every action is going to cause repercussions. It seems, every attempt to close the gap causes greater complications. As if everyone is on some collision course and it’s no longer she did this; and then she did this; and then she did that. All by itself, everyone is coming at this with a different, heightened  agenda.

And even if I’m reading a novel with a limited view, I begin to wonder what’s happening out there. What’s going on; what are the others up to; what’s their next move?  

But I didn’t say anything, even though hardly anyone had something to offer. If I had spoken up, it might have led to something iffy, perhaps even unpleasant. It could have affected the wine and cheese gathering. The host might’ve gotten miffed, there would be tension in the air and who knows what would’ve happened next?   

   

If you ever want a capsule version of what you're up against as a writer, there's the annual Book Expo in New York City.

Just navigating through the crowds on West 35th Street, wending your way to 11th Avenue as each block feels much more like five blocks gives you a feeling of what it takes just to reach the Javits Center--a gigantic structure that looks like something an erector set enthusiast gave up on half way through.

But that's only the beginning. Even if your publisher has a designated booth, you still have to fight through the throngs carrying shopping bags, anxious to spot Steven King and other favorites, and looking forward to all the giveaways. Then, if you ever manage to get some official to sign you in and give you access to the second floor exhibitors area, you're still way behind.

Perhaps you've imagined how many publishers are out there vying for some slice of the readership market. However, taking in the rows upon rows of booths, each row stretching far to the left and right, each aisle made up of sellers and writers directly opposite  as onlookers drift between, gives you a true inkling of what's in store.

To top it all off, after you've walked quite a distance and finally reached your independent publisher's designated spot, you may realize the experience isn't at all what you thought it would be.

In my case, I actually had to compete with a colleague by my side for the attention of passersby. I assumed she'd help. I assumed the fancy book markers she'd sent would do the trick. But oh no. Oh-oh-oh no. And the fact that my Hollywood caper was just released wasn't nearly good enough. She had buttons and all kinds of paraphernalia to catch people's eye, an also just-released novel but one that was being made into a movie, plus a can't-miss tale of a female anti-Christ she was especially fond of. 

And so, lousy salesman that I am, I found myself standing up and intercepting folks who looked kindly and receptive. Admittedly, the young lady in the adjacent booth, the one fronting for an e-publisher from North Carolina and her down-home partner turned out to be friendly and promised to read the Kindle version of my novel. So those kind of things helped ease the constant pressure.  

Needless to say, it's a given "you're not in Kansas anymore." And once you've been through it, you'll probably never be quite the same.