Sunday, June 26, 2016

The new ADR

So Mike and I have decided to resurrect this site as a place to discuss crime fiction in all its forms. We'll be posting interviews, reviews, thought pieces, and magazine-style articles on a regular basis.

Please send us stuff (check out the submissions page). We're open to anything non-fiction about the crime genre.

Here's what we'll be posting in the near future:
-- Matt Phillips talks about how The Deer Hunter is a classic example of post war American noir.

-- I just finished reading Patricia Highsmith's Tom Ripley series in completely the wrong order. Someone posted on social media a while back that it was refreshing to read about Ripley because he's a smart criminal--unlike the morons who tend to populate crime fiction today. I address this question of whether or not Ripley is smart.

-- Mike Monson interviews Stan Miller, whose debut novel Prelude to the Massacre will be released on July 15. This book is one of the craziest fucking things I've ever read.

Saturday, December 27, 2014

All Due Respect books snags two kick-ass William Wallace novellas!!!!!!!

Man, this guy can write great crime. He creates incredible, original, fascinating characters from the wrong (right) side of the tracks, always caught up in compelling stories with life or death stakes. Sounds like just the shit for us, right? 

Luckily, Bill is letting ADR Books publish two of his new novellas in one book: Legacy, and The Creep. This double-helping of trashy pulp is set for release on May 1, 2015. 

Check out this nifty excerpt from the beginning of Legacy

Frank Trask never guessed he had a drinking problem. “I drink; I get drunk; I pass out—no problem,” he’d say when people asked him about the large amount of booze he consumed.
At least that was what he said until the Monday he passed out before he’d had his first drink. He walked out of his West Oakland hotel to buy a package of razor blades, turned right and took four steps before everything went black.
He woke up in Highland, the hospital for indigents, illegals and the uninsured run by Alameda County. He could tell it was the county pill mill because the staff had stenciled its name on everything to keep patients from walking out with it.
The news crawl on the idiot box hanging from the ceiling above his bed told him it was already Thursday. Trask groaned. He was supposed to spend Tuesday at Pete’s, his local bar, celebrating his 67th birthday with the closest thing to a family he had, his three buddies from the old steel mill.

Instead he’d spent his birthday passed out in a no-hoper hospital with a bunch of losers who didn’t know where their next meal – or anything else – was coming from.
He could have worked up a pretty good case of feeling sorry for himself if he’d had half a heat on but ordering a drink in a county hospital was out of the question.
Now THAT, he thought bitterly, is a drinking problem: not being able to get hold of booze when you really need it.
A nurse who looked something like Dorothy, the big sardonic woman on “The Golden Girls,” seemed surprised to find Trask awake.
“Well, welcome back,” she said, reviewing the readings on the machine next to his bed. “You’ve been out quite a while. How do you feel?”
Trask eyed her. He’d never had much use for the medical profession. “I feel like home-made shit,” he said sourly.
“Ah!” she said, giving him a smile. “A Village Fugs fan. Tuli Kupferberg rocks!”

Her name tag said "Kennedy" in white letters on black plastic. Trask thought of asking her whether she was single and would like a husband; he hadn't met a woman who’d heard of the Village Fugs or Kupferberg since 1967.
“What’s wrong with me?” he asked. “Why am I in county?”
She gave him a long look. “I’d rather your doctor talked to you about that, Mr. Trask.”
 “So where is he, at the driving range or something?" Trask asked sarcastically. "How many times a month does he drop by?”
She glanced at her watch and smiled. “You’re in luck,” she said. “Her tee-time isn’t until 5 p.m. today, so she should be by in about ten minutes.”
He thought about that. So his doc was a woman; he wondered if she knew about the Village Fugs, too.
The nurse finished recording information from the machine and took his temperature.
“Looks like you’re semi-normal,” she said, eyeing him sternly. “That’s a little like a miracle considering when you came in here, you were at death’s door. Please listen to what the doctor tells you and follow her instructions. You may just live to see your next birthday.”
Trask laughed bitterly. “I wish I had seen the last one,” he said. “It’s a hell of a thing to spend your birthday on your back in a hospital.”
She put his chart back in the rack at the foot of the bed to leave. “I can think of worse ways to spend it,” she said mildly as she started for the door.
“Yeah?” he said. “Like what?”
She turned to give him a smile and said, “You could have spent it on your back in the morgue.”
She left, humming the Fugs' tune "Wet Dream."

William E. Wallace has been a house painter, cook, dishwasher, newspaper and magazine reporter, journalism professor, private investigator and military intelligence specialist. He took his bachelor's in political science at U.C. Berkeley and was an award-winning investigative reporter and special projects writer for the San Francisco Chronicle for 26 years.

His work has been published in All Due Respect (which has nominated it for a 2014 Pushcart Prize), Shotgun Honey, Spinetingler, Out of the Gutter Online, Crime Factory and Dark Corners Pulp.

Wallace’s longer fiction includes three self-published novels: The Jade Bone Jar, Tamer, and The Judas Hunter; and a novella, I Wait to Die. He is currently working on a new novel, Bottom Street.

Sunday, December 7, 2014

ADR Magazine Sales Numbers

I saw a blog post recently in which a short story writer guessed that about 100 people would read any short story he published. I saw another blog post a while back in which a writer guessed that a particular magazine only sold 50 copies per issue.

I used to do the same thing--guess at how many people had a read a given story I had written, usually based on the number of comments at the end of the story or, I don't know, nothing. There's not a wealth of info out there.

I've put together the following stats on sales for the first three ADR issues. I'll have numbers for issues 4 and 5 in the spring.

Issue #1: Released November 2013. Sold 608 ebooks and 36 print copies.
This is our bestselling issue. I'm not exactly sure why. We lowered the price to 99 cents back in the spring, so that may have something to do with it.

Issue #2: Released February 2014. Sold 254 ebooks and 36 print copies. Free promo 206.
This one was at $2.99 much longer than the first issue. The free promo was great for getting magazines into the hands of readers. But we saw a big drop off in sales following the five-day promo. Since then we've dropped the price to $1.99, which has boosted sales some.

Issue #3: Release June 2014. Sold 126 ebooks and 24 print copies. Free promo 151.
More or less the same as issue 2.

I can confidently say that if we publish your story, far more than 50 or 100 people will read it. In fact, the average so far is 479 total copies distributed per issue. Even issue 3, which has been out less than six months, has 300 copies out in the world.

Still, it would be nice if there were some way to crack the top hundred on Kindle. Guess I'll have to turn ADR into the leading periodical for gay, billionaire dinosaur porn

Tuesday, December 2, 2014

The Story Behind A Pack of Lies

I wrote this very short book (long short story? I don't know, I get tired of labeling fiction) about a sleazeball reporter, Lionel Kaspar. It's called A Pack of Lies and it's one half of Two Bullets Solve Everything, along with a shorty by Ryan Sayles. 

This is the most autobiographical thing I've written. I took many of my experiences as a reporter for The New Haven Register and the Iowa City Press-Citizen and shuffled them around, distorted them a bit, put them all through a noir filter. 

I often took everyday reporting situations and thought about how Kaspar might try to manipulate those situations to his advantage. He's not very good at it, but he's extremely immoral, which always helps. 

Reporting as a career always struck me as ideal for crime fiction. The obsessive gathering of information by using whatever tactics available. The way the newspaper business has decayed and how the futility of the thing covers you like a film. The smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee/booze. The ink on the flimsy pages. The pressure to lie, cheat, and steal your way to the middle. Not to mention what reporters cover--embezzlement, adultery, murder. 

I've wanted to write about all this for a long time but hadn't found a way to. My first novel was about journalism--and that manuscript will never see the light of day. I managed a few short stories. But, for whatever reason, I never hit the groove until this book. Writing in Kaspar's voice felt natural. 

That's why I'm continuing to write about him. Yep, there's more ridiculous blackmail schemes, elaborate lies, and crushing self-hatred to be published by ADR Books.

Monday, December 1, 2014

OUT NOW: Prodigal Sons by Mike Miner

Matthew Flanagan is living the American dream. A plum job at an ad agency. A hot wife. A beautiful home in Southern California. But something is eating him up inside and a nasty drinking habit is about to cost him everything.

After his life finally collapses around him, Matthew disappears to Vegas with a girl he barely knows. When word reaches the Flanagan clan back in Connecticut, Matthew's brothers Mark and Luke are sent on a mission to find their brother and bring him home. It's a longer and darker journey than either of them planned on.

At turns funny and moving, Prodigal Sons is a hard-boiled American odyssey. A family saga with the heart of a crime novel.

"The work of an extravagantly talented writer, Prodigal Sons is one of the best debut novels I have ever read.” --Sterling Watson, author of Suitcase City, Fighting in the Shade, and Sweet Dream Baby.

"Miner’s wicked electric chair humor calls to mind the best of Elmore Leonard and Charles Willeford." -- Patrick Michael Finn, author of From the Darkness Right Under Our Feet and A Martyr for Suzy Kosasovich.

Available as an ebook at Amazon US and UK, and as a mass-market paperback