I’ll let you in on the sort of  deliberations authors have as books begin to take shape.

Let me begin by saying I’m not a great title guy. Title creation is like writing advertising copy and a very different skill from writing a novel. I know I’m not alone in this. I know writer friends who have been dead set on terrible titles for their books, only to have an editor or publicist save them from themselves. PORT CITY SHAKEDOWN, the first  Brandon Blake, got its moniker after a brainstorming session at Down East Books. A group effort and a fitting title, in the end as the book was about one shakedown after another. Everybody’s a crook at heart.

Generally, though, I invent a working title for a book in progress (have to name the folders something, right?) with no intention of keeping the first one. Then I keep a running list as things pop into my head. In this case, a title emerged pretty quickly. Early in the writing of Brandon Blake No. 2, due out in September 2011, I referred to the novel as PORT CITY BLACK AND WHITE. This was a reference to young Blake’s tendency to see things in those terms (good and evil, yes and no, right and wrong, bad guys and the rest of us) and his new job as a rookie patrolman with the Portland Police Department. In Brandon’s world there’s very little gray. And once he assigns someone or something to either of his two categories, that’s it.

You can trace this to his upbringing (homeschooled by his alcoholic grandmother, abandoned by his dad before birth, left behind by his wayward bartender mom) and his youth. Whatever the reason, it makes Brandon’s budding law enforcement career a little rocky. This, after all, is the era of community policing, where cops have be mental health workers, marriage counselors, and social workers. And at the same time they have a weather eye out for the serious bad guys out there. (and there are many). Talk about multi-tasking.

It’s a tough job, police work, and Brandon throws himself into it. So much so that his mentor, a sensible veteran cop named Kat, finds herself having to pull Brandon back, caution him to ease up. “Blake,” Kat says. “Chill.” For Brandon, way easier said than done.

Oh, but back to PORT CITY BLACK AND WHITE. Somewhere along the line, writing the book for the last few months, I got kind of sick of the title. You stare at anything long enough, it begins to change shape. I’m thinking, black and white, what’s so mysterious about that? Black and White. That’s kind of boring. Black and white—maybe I decided on it too early. Black and white—how ’bout ….

PORT CITY DEATHTRAP.

The plot centers on the people living in an apartment house on a run-down,drugged-out street. Stuff happens to these people and most of it isn’t good. So this house is sort of a deathtrap. Hence the new title.

So midway through the process, I start referring to this book as PORT CITY DEATHTRAP. In this blog. In conversations and notes to people who need to know. Agent, trusted readers. I even send the manuscript along to my publisher, Down East Books, with DEATHTRAP in the header. My editor, Michael Steere, is a bit surprised. He says he liked BLACK AND WHITE. He got the Blake reference. The designers were even  playing with some cover designs based on the black-and-white. DEATHTRAP, Michael says in his very diplomatic way, is dull. Uncompelling.

So I think about it. And I figure he’s right. BLACK AND WHITE is relevant to the story and the character. And with the right image, it can be ominous. So PORT CITY BLACK AND WHITE it is. I open the latest draft, do a search and replace. And DEATHTRAP is erased, sent into book-title oblivion.

And the lesson for me?

Titles can be overthought and overwrought. Most times it’s best to go with the gut. Brandon would agree with that. There are good titles and bad titles. Nothing in between.

It’s snowing like a banshee in my neck of the Maine woods. Good day to sort things out in the study, get ready for the next book. This is an odd time in the novel-writing cycle, which  goes like this:

The notes

You mull ideas, hope to settle on one. Hit the road for research. Sketch out the plot and characters. Write the book to the end, them go back and do the fixes, the changes,   stick in  the ideas that came to you along the way.

Read it through. Read it again. And then you send if off. In this case, PORT CITY DEATHTRAP went to my agent, Carol White at The Helen Brann Agency. Carol liked it, which is not a given. Soon I’ll hear from my editor, Michael Steere at Down East Books, with his notes, questions, comments. I hope I got the guns right.

But for now the book has left the building. The study is quiet. Today  went in and picked up legal pads. Rumpled Stickynotes. (There’s a desktop under there!) Bits of paper where I scrawled an idea that came in the middle of the night. Some are indecipherable. Some have names of characters who didn’t make the cut. I see reminders to self: Layer in more weather … should it be a Glock 19 or 26? … What is Nessa thinking? … Should Lil Messy die? …

I addressed most of the questions. Some I ignored. The rejected ideas went one way and the story went another. But now it’s gone.

It’s an almost-melancholy feeling, kind of like walking through your kid’s room after they go off to college. You neaten stuff up, feel nostalgic. A little hollow.

So now it’s time to kiss some of these characters goodbye. After six or more months up as my constant companions, we’ve moved on. Lily the trustfunder. Winston, the charming restaurater. Cawley the biker. Chantelle the crackhead and her baby, Lincoln. Samir and  Edgard, Sudanese-born brothers navigating America in Portland, Maine.

You get pretty used to having these people around, sitting down in the morning to see what they’re doing, having your little chats on the page. And then you say goodbye. Hand them over to agent, editor, publicist. This private thing you had going with your group of made-up friends, it comes to an end. Sure you’ll read about them—in editing, at signings— but it isn’t the same.

So on to the next book. Turn away from Brandon Blake. Check back in with Jack McMorrow. Hit the road.  Start filling notebooks. Scraps of paper. Invent another group of characters to hang with.

In the study. In the quiet. In my head.

Strange business, this writing thing, you think?