Michael Simon's Backstory

It was August of 1988, in the full swell of a bitching-hot six-month Texas summer. I’d left my native New York for Austin to go to grad school. It was either that or get a job. But as it turns out, when you leave college, you have to get a job anyway. Why didn’t someone tell me this?

       I’d lost my gig at the video store, for reasons my lawyer won’t let me go into. I was leafing through the Travis County Employment Bulletin, looking for something rewarding in the clerical field. But the most humble of jobs required a typing speed of 50 words per minute. At the time I could do maybe 25 with the wind behind me, so I kept scanning the “requirements” column. Finally, I saw this:

      Bachelor’s degree in Psychology, Sociology, Criminology, or a related field.

      The words “Or a related field” described my education perfectly.

      My bachelor’s degree was awarded by the School of Speech at my college, and the School of Speech only awarded a B.S. in Speech. That I had a dual major in Theatre and Oral Interpretation of Literature (i.e. a degree in Reading Aloud) meant nothing.

      Next requirement:

      One year experience or one year of graduate school.

      I had two years of graduate school and no degree. It’s like they were asking for someone who showed no sign of finishing what he started.

      Last line:

      Apply Travis County Adult Probation.

      And in no time at all, I’d become a probation officer.

      The moral of the story is, if you’re from Long Island and you’re Jewish and you have a background in theatre and literature, and you find yourself in central Texas looking for work, well, Criminal Justice may be the place for you.

      Ten years later, I was living in New York and writing plays, the absolute least of which was a one-man show about my experience as a Texas probation officer, when some drunk at a party (this is where I get all my good ideas) suggested I write thrillers, that thrillers were the way to fame, fortune, and more importantly, immortality. I decided that my main character would be a New Yorker transplanted to Texas. An outsider and a crime-fighter. And that I would write my novel in six months.

      Five years later, my first novel, Dirty Sally (2004), was done. Viking bought the book, along with its then-unwritten sequel, Body Scissors (2005), followed by Little Faith (2006.)

      And a funny thing happened.

      I walked into my neighborhood bookstore one day in October, six weeks after Little Faith was released, and noticed all the copies were gone. I asked if they’d all been sold.

      The clerk hit a few keys on the computer. “No,” he said, finally. “We sent them back.”

      “But…” I fought back a tear. “They’ve only been here six weeks!” The books were supposed to have three months on the shelves, I’d been told.

      “Yeah, but we needed to clear the space for the Christmas stuff that’s coming in.”

      I lifted my lower jaw from my chest and carried it home. My course was clear.

      I had to work the word “Christmas” into the title of my next book.

      This way it would stay on the shelves through December, or until it was sold. And it would be seasonal. And provide a murderous, bloody break for those who’ve had enough Christmas cheer to last them a while.

      The book would be set in late December. Much of it would happen in my detective’s home town of Elmira, where there would be snow. There’d be plenty of blood, too, perhaps splattered over the snow. The story would feature a young woman, a Russian woman, drafted into prostitution. She would be hurt, victimized, but alive. She could be saved.

      For the blood and the elements of Russian culture, the book would be titled Red Christmas. I could hear the cash register ringing.

      The story elements began to fall into place. The villain would be Sam Zelig, a character referred to in my earlier books. Now, at 72, he would be twice as powerful and dangerous as he was in his youth, the last living mob boss of his age, a generation that included or answered to tough, murderous, and often psychotic Jews like Meyer Lansky and Dutch Schultz. Sam Zelig used violence to acquire power. And he used violence for the fun of it. Sam Zelig scared even me.

       I showed the manuscript to my agent. He liked it, but he especially liked one phrase in the book. He pointed it out.

      “This is your title,” he said, pointing to the page. “This is what you should call your book.”

      My Christmas marketing plan fell away as I looked at what I knew would be the title of my thriller, a story featuring the surviving member of a society of dangerous men.

      “The Last Jew Standing”

Visit Michael Simon's website for more about the author and his work.

Comments

[Mischa KK Bagley]

Michael:

As a Jew, I find that funny. As a writer, I'm intrigued.

Mischa.

The Confession of the Panther Woman ©

http://theconfessionofthepantherwoman.blogspot.com

Sex, drugs, and metamorphosis.

[Maureen Fisher]

I loved it. Very funny. Makes me want to read more of your writing.

[Sheila]

You have got a great writing voice. How is it you are writing scary thrillers when you are so funny?

[Dyan Garris]

Yes, I agree, you are funny! The book sounds really interesting. Love your style.