What We're Writing--Debs and the Tortoise

DEBORAH CROMBIE: The REDs are such a busy, productive bunch--some of us are turning out two, three, or FOUR books a year! Honestly, this just boggles my mind, and I suffer from a constant case of underachiever syndrome. 

I wrote my first four books in a year each, but then as the books got longer and more complicated, I got...slower. Enter the latest, Kincaid/James #19, and with the lack of research trips combined with all the general pandemic worry and muddle, my progress has been GLACIAL. 

HOWEVER, the end is now in sight!!!!!!!!!!! Like the tortoise, I will get there, and in just a few more weeks. Excuse my messy desk, but that pile of pages is starting to look like a book! 

I have a COVER, too! And as the book is up for pre-order here and here, I'm going to share it with you!

I think it's fabulous. It's exactly what I imagined for this book, and I especially love that the image is the Bloomsbury Tavern, one of the oldest pubs in London. The Bloomsbury was once the ominous final watering hole en route to the hangman's noose at Marble Arch. Isn't that perfect for a crime novel?  

And of course it is in Bloomsbury where much of A KILLING OF INNOCENTS  is set.

But this was not arrived at instantly, I can tell you. Covers are very much a collaborative effort. I wanted a book that said Bloomsbury. My photographer friend in London even spent an afternoon shooting locations in the area for me, but nothing quite worked. I especially liked the idea of using a pub, but every place he checked had big Covid-restriction signs in the windows, and all the passersby were masked. Not photogenic at all!

But eventually, between my agent, my editor, the publisher's art department, and me (spending many hours on Google Images,) we came up with the image above. 

I want to walk right in that open door.

So of course I had to set a scene in the Bloomsbury, but I'm only going to share a couple of sentences, because otherwise it is a SPOILER. Even in this little snippet, I've substituted pronouns for the proper names. This far along in a story, anything can be a spoiler!

He set a quick pace down New Oxford Street, and when she spotted the triangular, ornately embellished red brick building with its green spire, she guessed where they were going. “The Bloomsbury Tavern.”

“Can’t get much more un-trendy than this,” he said as they reached it. “And the beer is better.” 

Welcoming light spilled from the pub’s distinctive leaded windows, and when he opened the door they were met with a wave of warmth and the comforting smell of chips frying.

Readers, do you like authors to have a "brand" with their cover designs? My first five books were with the same publisher, but the cover design and concept of each one were completely different. The next three books, different publisher, same problem--and one of the covers looks like an historical novel. Such a shame as it's one of my favorite books in the series, AND JUSTICE THERE IS NONE. (The same art work did show up a year or so later on another author's Victorian-set novel!)

After that, my first few covers with William Morrow were fun because we used my photos. But, then, with NO MARK UPON HER, we moved to a "bigger book" (as they say in the publishing business) design. 

I think it's great that the covers have remained consistent since then, and hopefully when you see a new Crombie book it shouts KINCAID/JAMES!

What do you think, REDs and readers? Does it look like a Gemma and Duncan novel? And do you notice if an author's covers have a certain style?

What We're Writing--Debs Does the Little Details

DEBORAH CROMBIE: Yep, I am still plodding along on A KILLING OF INNOCENTS, Duncan and Gemma #19, but I am getting there! I have a cover, too, which is now approved by the sales and marketing crew (the really important people!) at my publisher's, but I can't share it quite yet. I'm so excited about it, however, that I have to give you a little teaser.

The background photo is a pub, so perfect for this book. And not just any pub, but this iconic pub!!

It's the Bloomsbury Tavern, one of London's most historic pubs, reputed to have been the last watering hole for the condemned en route to the hangman's noose a few miles to the west at Marble Arch. Tucked away where Shaftsbury Avenue meets Oxford Street, you could say it sits between Bloomsbury and Soho, the two London areas where most of this book is set. And look at those windows! Are they not gorgeous?

I think this cover is perfect!! Fingers crossed that by the next time WHAT WE'RE WRITING rolls around, I can show it to you. (And that I will have actually typed THE END.) 

In the meantime, as I get further into the book it becomes more and more challenging to find little excerpts that don't contain plot spoilers. But here's a snippet I especially like because it's such fun to write Duncan and Gemma "off camera", so to speak. And it's not that this happens to be a bedroom scene, but rather that one of the things I love most about reading and writing is seeing the little details of people's lives, whether it's how they dunk their teabags or what time their central heating comes on.

A faint rattling sound gradually penetrated Kincaid’s consciousness. Blearily, he forced open one eye. The room was dark except for the faint glow of the night light in the bathroom. Gemma lay with her bare back pressed against his side like a human furnace, her shoulder bare where the duvet had fallen away.

He lay, listening to her breathing, which was deep and regular but a bit more wheezy than usual. It came back to him then in little fragments, her outing with Sidana, and the aftermath. Gemma had been tipsy—well, maybe more than tipsy—and he hadn’t objected to her lowered inhibitions. At all.

Smiling at the memory, he rested one hand on the curve of her hip and with the other adjusted the duvet so that it covered her again. With a sigh, he sank back towards contented sleep.

Then the rattling began again. No, not rattling, buzzing, like an angry insect. This time he came fully awake, eyes wide. His mobile, left face down on the bedside table in his haste to get undressed, was vibrating against the hard surface.

Swearing under his breath, he grabbed the offending phone and eased out of the bed, trying not to wake Gemma. He swore again as the cold air in the bedroom hit his nakedness, puckering his skin in a wave of gooseflesh. Reaching the bathroom in two strides, he pulled the door closed and slipped, shivering, into his dressing gown.

Only then did Kincaid peer at the phone screen, checking the time and the missed call log. Half past six. And every call said Simon Gikas, Simon Gikas, Simon Gikas. His heart sank. An early morning call from his case manager was never a good thing.

The radiator clanked as the central heating switched on. Sitting on the edge of tub, he rang Simon back.

Simon picked up on the first ring. “Boss. Sorry to wake you at such an ungodly hour on a Sunday morning.”

“What’s happened?” Kincaid asked.

Well, dear readers, you will have to wait and see!