BOOK & BLOG

August 1, 2005

Book of the Week: Barry Eisler's Killing Rain (2005)

I've liked all Barry Eisler's books about John Rain, killer for hire, and I'm enjoying this one, too. John Rain, who's always had a strain of vulnerability, seems to have an even wider crack in his professional shell in Eisler's latest. I enjoy the settings, which are far-flung and exotic to my untravelled self, and I am always impressed by how much skill Eisler can bring to bear when he writes the very quick action scenes. In some ways, Barry Eisler seems to be the heir of my very favorite action writer, Adam Hall, whom I was fortunate enough to meet at a conference in Seattle several years ago.

Entry of the Week

If I should have to pick one item that's changed my life as a writer, that would have to be the computer. It seems to me that's true of any occupation; computers have changed the way we work and think and relate to other people. I wrote my first books on an electric typewriter, and I well remember the pain of producing a clean copy to send to my publisher. Now, it's relatively simple, and I appreciate that; but I think email has had even more affect. From being an isolated writer, I became connected to all the other writers I know, and quite a few I don't. It's a fact that writers just have to write, and if they don't want to hunker down and actually work, they'll write emails to each other. This can be very educational, and it's sure a lot of fun. I've become much closer to writers I rarely see face-to-face. I keep track of news in the writing community, both professional (who just cut a deal with what publisher) and personal (who's ill, who's divorcing a spouse). This is gratifying for someone who doesn't live in a community rich in writers, as I do, but of course, the opportunities for time-wasting are tremendous. And I take advantage for every single one. Why do I postpone doing something I love so much? I guess because I call it "work" now, instead of "fun." I love what I do. Why do I put it off? Nothing makes me happier than a day when everything clicks, when the sentences roll off the tips of my fingers and the ideas just keep coming.

Maybe it's because writing is a solitary occupation. There's a reason I don't work in an office any more. I don't cooperate well with others in a work setting. I can't imagine five writers trying to work in one room. Even with writers I consider friends, say Susan McBride, Toni Kelner, Elaine Viets, or Dean James . . . there's no way we could write together.

When your email icon is blinking at you seductively, and you think you should just take a second to tell your friend that you might submit a short story to that anthology, or you really ought to let your aunt know what your summer plans are, the true writer needs to pull up short, take a deep breath, and click on Word instead.