A Good Detective Can Be A Dead Detective

Since publishing my first paranormal mystery, Dying to Know, I’ve published three more. Two in the Oliver Tucker Gumshoe Ghost series (I loathe that moniker), and recently with New Sins for Old Scores. Both these series include a lead character that has some unusual flaws. In my travels and even on some blog responses and reviews, I occasionally get a few eye-rolls or snickers when I talk about my lead characters and how one of them is always living-challenged. Dead. I mean dead. One of my lead characters is always dead.
So where is it written that characters in novels—the epitome of make believe and “not real”—have to be alive and breathing? No one giggles at science fiction or werewolf stories, right? So why are there some that think my having a dead detective is somehow a breach of some unwritten, secret handshake protocol?

 

A couple years ago, I had a reviewer say that he felt some of the things that Oliver Tucker did asked the reader to stray way too far from believability. He felt it detracted from my story and was to unrealistic. Really? Yet, Tuck being a dead detective didn’t bother him at all? Come on, have some imagination! Didn’t you ever see Ghost Hunters or Paranormal Lockdown? Ghost? Topper? Please, it’s a novel and it’s meant to be fun and mysterious and allow the reader to escape a little. Unless, of course, werewolves and vampires and invading behemoth amazon women is everyday life. If you start making rules like that, then most novels won’t qualify by someone’s definition of “reality.” I dare say that unless I’ve missed the news, old Agatha killed off more people in England than might have ever lived there. And whoa, now, Jessica Fletcher wiped out most of Main, Vermont, and New Hampshire three times over. Let’s just remember, characters are there to guide us, to tell their story, to entertain and thrill and perhaps even scare us. If they were always absolutely real to life and perfect, then crimes committed would be solved immediately—or never able to be committed in the first place. Our plots just wouldn’t work and stories would be dull.

No! I say dead characters are people too!

 

Let me explain my living-challenged characters in my two series—Oliver Tucker’s Gumshoe Ghost Mysteries from Midnight Ink, and my current series, New Sins for Old Scores (series not yet named, but let’s call it the Trick McCall Mysteries.

Oliver Tucker’s Gumshoe Ghost Mysteries—Dying to Know, Dying for the Past, Dying to Tell:

 

In the opening book in the series, Dying to Know, Oliver “Tuck” Tucker is killed and returns to hunt his own murderer. In each of the novels, there is a combination of a traditional murder mystery, a historical subplot, and a conclusion that culminates with a grander plot that revolves around Tuck’s long-dead family members who have all played significant roles in true historical events—serial killers, 1940’s mobsters, World War II OSS operations, etc. Throughout the stories, Tuck is a sarcastic, savvy detective who works with his widow, history professor Angel Tucker. Her contributions are only possible because of Tuck’s unusual “dead skills.” These skills are not what you see in the movies. They are a bit more unusual. Some of these skills allow him to relive past events of another story character, but only when he touches something personal or an object integral to the crime. For instance, in Dying to Know, Tuck touches a lost bracelet and it brings him to the murder scene where he watches a murder unfold that directly links, decades later, to his own demise. While Tuck is not clairvoyant and cannot instantly solve the murders through spook-visions, his dead-skills do enable him to bring historical clues and evidence into the light and see the crimes from other’s eyes. Along the way in the book, Tuck learns the ropes of being back among the living but not truly one of them. He narratives the stories and after just a few chapters, you’ll forget he’s a dead detective. He’s an integral character who brings a new twist to the traditional murder mystery. So his being a spirit contributes to the uniqueness of the story, but not as a “ghost story.” It’s simply a murder mystery with a paranormal twist.

The Trick McCall Mysteries—New Sins for Old Scores: In my latest paranormal mystery, Detective Richard Jax is ambushed at an old inn on a stakeout, he's saved by Captain Patrick "Trick" McCall—the ghost of a World War II OSS agent. Trick has been waiting since 1944 for a chance to solve his own murder and prove he wasn’t a traitor. Soon, Jax is a suspect in a string of murders. The murders are linked to smuggling refugees out of the Middle East—a plot similar to the World War II “Operation Paperclip,” an OSS operation that brought scientists out of war-torn Europe to work for the US. Together, they hunt for the link between their pasts—aided by the beautiful and brilliant historian, Dr. Alex Vouros—and are on the trail of a killer. Along the way, they are confronted by some of Washington's elite and one provocative, alluring French Underground agent, Abrielle Chanoux. Somewhere in Trick's memories is a traitor. That traitor killed him. That traitor is killing again. In this story, Trick McCall is Jax’s spirited sidekick. His dead-skills are similar to Oliver Tucker, but not entirely. Again, Trick is not able to swiftly unmask any killers or have clairvoyance in the cases, but he is able to add new dimension to the mysteries. For instance, he likes to “share” people—possess them and allow relive events they’ve or perhaps he’s seen. While coming to terms with being a 1940’s man thrust in 2011, Trick’s indifference to computers and cell phones forces Jax to do things the old fashioned way—footwork and chasing clues. Trick is a sarcastic adventurer who still has a love of life—despite his present dead condition. His abilities to travel to other times and places and see events through other’s eyes gives Jax a view of crimes and events that help solve their cases—a paranormal twist that adds a different aspect to the traditional mystery.

So, as you can see, my living-challenged characters add a new twist to the traditional murder mystery. They allow me to connect my historic subplots to the modern-day murders and give the characters a view of those historic events to help solve the crimes. With a few exceptions, the characters do not act like the stereotypical ghost. They are active, engaged characters who mostly just talk and act like live, breathing characters. They don’t swish around and boo here and there. You’ll easily forget they are spirits—until they traverse the story’s timeline or “share” a character and bring the reader back 75 years to another time and another murder. Then, you’ll begin to understand the importance of my paranormal twists!

 

Remember, a good detective can be a dead detective.

 

We'll talk again next time!

 

Note: My following blog post was written first for Laura's Interests, a stop on my Great Escapes Virtual Book Tour. It was posted July 19. I'm reposting and providing a link to this great sight so you can check out the other stories and posts there ... http://dogsmomvisits.blogspot.com/

Dying For The Malice In All Of Us

by Tj O'Connor Author of Dying to Know and Dying for the Past

Third time’s a charm …

Three years ago, I attended my first writer’s conference—Malice Domestic—and spent the entire three days scratching my head and trying to figure out where I belonged in this new world of cozy-mystery authors. When I came home, I said, “Nowhere.”

Of course I felt out of place. My debut novel, Dying to Know, was not yet out. I knew no one, and while I’ve never been one to stay shyly secluded somewhere, I still felt the odd-man-out. Perhaps it was that I didn’t consider myself a cozy writer. Perhaps it was that I was one of very few guys who had written a cozy (I did by accident), or perhaps it was simply that being surrounded by so many talented authors—most of which were ladies—was intimidating. I hadn’t been a rookie at anything for a couple decades and being one then scared the holy crap out of me. I’d say holy shit, but as a cozy writer, you sort of keep the colorful language to yourself … oops.

What a silly man I am.

This year, I was no longer a complete rookie. Book II, Dying for the Past, was out and I’d spent a good many weekends touring around talking about my book, signing, and begging for as many listeners as I could get. Malice this year wasn’t any different in that regard—I’m still begging for fans—but I began to feel a little at home with this crowd of amazing authors and fans. 

And damn, a few fans actually came up to me and asked, “Are you Tj O’Connor? I loved your book … would you sign …” Holy crap on a peanut butter sandwich. They loved Dying to Know and Dying for the Past. And, yes, you heard it right. I actually have a few fans! And, no, they’re not family, I didn’t pay them, and no one put them up to a joke. Fans. Real, breathing, reading fans. Who would think?

Malice was a terrific three days on the heels of an extraordinary guest speaking gig in Upstate New Jersey at the Children’s Special Hospital Charity, where I had the extraordinary pleasure of dining with my dear friends, Tom and Gale Sloan, and American Hero—Jerry Parr—the man who saved Ronald Reagan’s life—and his hugely successful and graceful wife, Carolyn, who is a retired Federal Judge (more on this one in another blog later). I sold a bunch of books, met some great people, and helped a little with the coffers of a great charity.

How on earth do you follow that one up?

Good books. Good friends. Good times.

During the weekend at Malice Domestic, I spent most of my time meeting new friends and fans (lord that sounds funny to say out loud … fans…) and swapping stories with fellow authors about how we’re muddling through this wacky business. I had the greatest time chatting and having a few drinks with my editor—the grande dame of Midnight Ink (my publisher)—Terri Bischoff, whom has single-handedly made life as a new-guy so much more bearable this past year that I don’t think she knows it.

But there were other highlights, too, that have pulled me into this family of cozy-writers.

First, there was the Midnight Ink dessert bash Friday night to celebrate 10 Years in the biz. We had amazing sweets, met some fantastic fans (there it is again … fans…), and had fun giving away a stack of books and signing for those lucky enough to get to the table first. But, being the loyal mystery readers they are, after I ran out of free books to sign, several bought them and had me sign on Saturday and Sunday. Thank you to all of you who made my day!

 

Second, there was the awards banquet for some good pals who were up for prestigious awards. It was bittersweet on a couple where friend vs. friend meant one would win and one would lose. Dinner was ehhh, but dessert —oh, la, la—(and I rarely indulge, although you wouldn’t believe that to look at me these days!) Speeches are speeches, but the event was grand. I had the distinct pleasure of sitting with my good friends—old and new—at Tracy Weber’s table. We were all rooting for her to win best first novel for Murder Strikes a Pose. Alas, it was not to be, but it’s pretty clear she’ll be heading to the podium soon.

Perhaps the best event at Malice for me was the honor of being on a panel with three brilliant and charming authors during the Sunday morning Malice schedule. Our panel was Magical Mystery Tour—Paranormal Mysteries. As Tonya Kappes—a bestselling author—said, “it was a hoot!” I was thrilled to be there among fellow authors Leigh Kelner/Perry, Tonya, and the extraordinary Charlaine Harris of True Blood fame. Our moderator was Judy Hogan, a delightful author who kept the whip cracking and the questions flying for us. While I was the low guy on the totem pole with so little experience and no notable success yet, these lovely ladies treated me like I was one of them—err, a good author, not a lady. That would have been weird, right? But, yes, what a hoot.

I was exhausted by the end of my book signing Sunday and ready to call it a weekend. How to end three days on an even higher note? Not possible. Not possible at all … but wait … maybe …

An email awaited me during the event that was the cherry on top of my third Malice. My incomparable publicist, Maryglenn McCombs, sent me this notice:

Independent Publisher Book Awards (Ippy) – Mystery/Cozy/Noir—Gold Medal—Dying to Know by Tj O’Connor.

No, you didn’t misread this. Yep, it’s real. Who would have thunk it? Not me. But Maryglenn did!

Wow. Holy crap. What a week—dinner with an American hero; meeting real fans; time with my pals and colleagues; on a panel with Tonya, Leigh, and Charlaine; and now an Ippy. What next, the Nobel? Ah, no. Just kidding.

So, book fans and wannabe authors, here’s the message. Don’t quit. Write. Write some more. Keep writing. If you have the dream, you’ll never wake up if you keep writing. I’ve been so privileged these past two years to have met some of my heroes, heard from others who shouldn’t even know my name (yes, Mr. James Grady, I’m referring to you again), and had the honor of being among some great authors and some talented, aspiring ones. You can too. Just don’t stop.

All things are possible and while I’ve had a few pretty tough weeks of late, this past one wasn’t among them. I may never become famous. I may never make the bestseller list or be able to quit my real job and write for a living (not unless my wife will agree to live in someone’s basement). And I may never make it to the level of James Grady or Stephen Frey. But I do get to hang with some of the best and most gracious people I’ve ever met.

For now, that’s pretty damn good.

Tj O’CONNOR IS THE GOLD MEDAL WINNER OF THE 2015 INDEPENDENT PUBLISHERS BOOK AWARDS FOR MYSTERIES. He is the author of Dying to Know and Dying for the Past, available in bookstores and e-books from Midnight Ink. His third paranormal mystery, DYING TO TELL, will be released January 2016. He is currently working on a traditional mystery and a new thriller. Tj is an international security consultant specializing in anti-terrorism, investigations, and threat analysis—life experiences that drive his novels. With his former life as a government agent and years as a consultant, he has lived and worked around the world in places like Greece, Turkey, Italy, Germany, the United Kingdom, and throughout the Americas—among others. He was raised in New York's Hudson Valley and lives with his wife and Lab companions in Virginia where they raised five children. Dying to Know is also a Foreword Review’s 2014 INDIEFAB Book of the Year Award finalist.

Learn about Tj’s world at:

Web Site:  www.tjoconnor.com

Facebook: www.facebook.com/tjoconnor.author
Blog: http://tjoconnorbooks.blogspot.com/
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7148441.T_J_O_Connor

 

Dying is Toughest When It's Your Best Friend

By Tj O’Connor, author of Dying to Know, Dying for the Past, and Dying to Tell

 

As a mystery writer, death becomes almost cliché—at least, fictional death. It’s the heart of a story and everything surrounds it. We treat death as no more than a plot and the make-believe root of our writing lives. It’s easy to forget what death really is.

In real life, it’s truly a killer.

Saying good-bye is one of the hardest thing I’ve done in my life. It was no matter that it came at the end of a long, wonderful, and full life, either. It was still hard. Gut-wrenching. Sad.

I am generally a tough guy—not a muscled bouncer or martial arts Ninja—although in my past years I could be pretty tough, too. No, I control my emotions from others’ perception and choose to most often. Friends and family have thought me removed, even unfeeling at times. That’s not from a lack of emotion—no, not all—but from an ability to take those feelings and lock them up when it’s needed. Maybe it’s from years under an abusive father. Maybe it’s from my often tumultuous past life. Or, perhaps, it’s just my way of protecting myself.

But not with Mosby. Not when it was his time. I lost my way to the emotion-lockbox. My stone exterior crumbled to tears and pain—a weeping, trembling wreck. My boy—best friend and companion—was done. Mos, my 90 pound yellow Lab had reached the end of his 14-plus years and couldn’t go on. He had tumors, cancer, arthritis, and lord only knows what else—although you’d never know it. We cared well for him and up until the last week of his life, there had been little pain but for the arthritis in his knees. A few good meds and my carrying him up and down stairs whenever he wished took care of that. He repaid me with devotion. When not stalking me for a treat or meal, he was sleeping close to my desk or at my feet watching a movie. Never complaining. Never grumbly or irritable. Never far away. 

At the end, he was just done—his life was yesterday and there was no more to have. His body was failing and his dignity was nearly spent. His pure bred Lab companions—Maggie, the Chocolate, and Toby, the Black—were constant attendants. Toby walked at his side up and down the stairs whenever I was not near—gently pushing him against the wall to keep him from stumbling. Mags found me whenever the old boy needed something and I failed to noticed. He had raised them from pups and they were shouldering him in his last days.

People should have such compassion and loyalty. People should try to understand the love and devotion that Mos gave to everyone. I challenge you.

 

As a young dog, Mos grew up with five teenagers my wife and I raised in North Western Virginia. His favorite things were food, toys, family, food … and rules. If there was a rule in the house—for dog of child—he enforced it. If the boys were getting too rough around the basement pool table, Mos summoned me. If my cooking threatened to alert the smoke alarm, he barked a warning. If one of the other dogs were out of line, he sought their correction.

Except at Christmas time. Rules be damned.

 

Christmas with five teenagers was a free-for-all. And our kids always made sure they had a wrapped present for Mos and the others. And up until Christmas morning, they hid presents in their rooms out of sight and mind. Did you ever try to hide a dog toy from a Lab? Before Christmas Eve, Mos would have found each and every one of his presents and deftly opened them—so much for rules! One year, he opened my daughters closet door to dig beneath the family presents and retrieve his own. How? Because at an early age he learned to roll his nose between doorknobs and doorframe and open a door. How did he know which were his gifts and which were not? Practice.

His favorite game—other than eating—was hide and seek. One of my daughters, and later one of my grandchildren, often played with him often. She’d sneak away and hide, and within minutes, Mos had patrolled the house and sniffed her out. A bark, a pat, a treat, and he was on the chase again.  

Mos was the center of the family and for good reason. He played Frisbee with everyone. Stayed close for the beer pong and pool games. Was within arm’s reach of the grandchildren as they learned to walk and play. He even sat at the dinner table—yes, in a chair—to listen to evening banter and share in the laughs. But no responsibility was as important to him as being my co-author, office mate, late-night movie partner, and constant foot-warmer. Well, perhaps dinner-time taste-tester! Even at the end in my home office, Mos barked for me to help him move from wherever he was to wherever I was—that distance could be no more than feet. If that was in the basement gym, than damn the stairs and carry him down.

Mosby died Veteran’s Day—three months ago. It’s only been a short time and I still get up in the morning and step careful beside the bed for fear I might step on him. As I work in my den, his ashes are nearby beside a ceramic likeness and a photograph. It’s taken me these three months to have the clearness of vision to write these words. Yet, I cannot say good-bye. The starch of my emotions fail me with his memory so much that I cannot bury him—should we ever leave this home, I could never leave him behind.

What a sap. What a woosie boy. What a cry-baby! No—he earned every tear I’ve shed.

My only solace is that at 14 +, he did not go because of his ailments over the years that I lined up doctors to cure. He loved life and family and dinner and toys. He reveled in the love he received from all of us. His life had been so full, it could simply take no more. There was nothing more for him and he made room for another to find this home. In time—not soon—we’ll do that.

Life is like that. It gives and takes. I think you have to give first because when it takes, it’s too late to make up for the loss. You have to pay in advance. With Mos, we paid plus interest. I know he knew that. At the end, he found the strength to climb onto my bed—something he hadn’t done in over two years—and lay his head on my lap. He wanted me to know it was time ... and that it was okay.

Mosby’s his first love, Belle, passed this last week, too. Belle was Mos’ age and was my daughter’s dog. We got her thirteen years ago to be his companion while the family was at work. They grew up together and when my daughter married and moved across the county, Belle went with her. We, of course, had brought Maggie into the family by then. Like Mos, Belle succumbed to life. She was14 plus years, too, and had a full life. Losing those two so close together was devastating to us all. Strangely, one has to wonder if they were not supposed to be together. Dogs need companionship—perhaps here and there, too.

One can hope.

My current mystery series, The Gumshoe Ghost, has Hercule, a black Lab as a key character. Not because I wanted to fit into the cozy community or knew in advance having an animal was chic. I included Hercule because Labs are so much a part of my life that I couldn’t see my character not having one. In the future, the importance of a dog will have a new meaning.

I’m still surrounded by sweet, loving Labs (and another daughter’s Mastiff, too). They keep me company as I toil over my keyboard. They are a great comfort and as close to me as Mos ever was. Yet, no matter how close they are, there is still that void.

I hope it doesn’t leave too soon. Pain is a reminder of loss. I don’t mind keeping him around a little while longer—even if it’s painful. Nothing so important should be easily lost.

A lot of you will understand me having to commit this to words. For those of you who can’t—or who call me a silly man—you have no idea what you’re missing. Deep down, loss reveals something so amazing.


 Tj O’CONNOR IS THE AUTHOR OF DYING FOR THE PAST and DYING TO KNOW, available in books stores and e-books from Midnight Ink. His third paranormal mystery, DYING TO TELL, will be released January 2016. Tj is an international security consultant specializing in anti-terrorism, investigations, and threat analysis—life experiences that drive his novels. With his former life as a government agent and years as a consultant, he has lived and worked around the world in places like Greece, Turkey, Italy, Germany, the United Kingdom, and throughout the Americas—among others. He was raised in New York's Hudson Valley and lives with his wife and Lab companions in Virginia where they raised five children. Dying for the Past and Dying To Know are the first of eight novels to be published.  Learn more about Tj’s world at www.tjoconnor.com and on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/TjOConnor.Author