This will be a short post. Wishing you all the best in the coming year. We are in the Seattle area where we're experiencing an unusual amount of snow. Had a nice Christmas with my mom and sister. Hoping the trip home will be uneventful. This is what we woke up to the day after Christmas.
by Rick Blechta
I know I’ve missed two postings in a row and that’s never happened in over 15 years of posts here on Type M.
Two weeks ago it was because I was totally wrapped up in trying to finish a graphic design job that in retrospect I never should have agreed to do. My posting day just blew right by me before I knew it.
Last Tuesday was spent in a car driving to New York for Christmas with my wife’s 92-year-old mother as well as my brother and his family.
Unfortunately, my wife and I are now back in Toronto four days early because one of our relatives came down with Covid on Sunday. Being in another country and having Covid is not a thing I want to contemplate, so we threw everything into our car, and yesterday morning at 5 a.m. raced back to Toronto in order to get across the border before we started exhibiting any symptoms (or be contagious) since our exposure to this person was two days before. New we’re quarantining at home, waiting for the illness to show itself.
I doubt very much we’ll dodge this bullet. Everyone we were with on Christmas Eve who had been together previously before we got together with them has come down with Covid. Every. Single. One. We thought we’d be safe because we’re all so careful. It was stupidly arrogant of us.
My wife and I have both had 3 Covid vaccinations, so we’re pretty sanguine about our chances, but we are still worried. The big one is my wife’s mother, regardless of the fact she is triple-vaccinated and in reasonable health. Ninety-two and Covid don’t mix really well.
Take this new Covid strain seriously, folks. It will find you and get you if you are not hyper-vigilant. If you haven’t bothered to get vaccinated, good luck to you. You’re playing a dangerous game. If you cannot get vaccinated for medical reasons, the only safe plan is to completely cut yourself off — and believe me, I feel for you.
It was my intention to close this post, my last of 2021, with the wish that we all find peace and happiness in the coming year, that things a year hence would find us all living our normal lives.
Now I’m just hoping that the last days of 2022 will find us all still here.
When writing a thriller, I’ve been told that you need to keep ramping up the stakes, turn up the heat, and escalate the danger. But throughout your story, you need to leave some room for your reader to take a breath and rest a moment or you run the risk of exhausting him or her to the point that they have to put your book down.
We felt like we were at that resting point sometime over the summer. My wife and I had gotten our vaccinations and the world seemed to be opening up again. I was able to hold a couple of wildly successful book signings, attend some great functions, and even emcee a couple of events.
Just seeing people again was exciting. Back in April, I’d been asked to be the auctioneer at a school fundraiser at a local country club. Before my part of the evening, we ate dinner and my wife asked, “What’s wrong? Why are you so quiet?”
I glanced around the room and with a slight shrug I answered, “I’m not used to being in a room with all these people. The last time we were at any kind of event, it was over a year ago."
I managed to shake it off, ham it up, and we raised a ton of money for the school and for the kids. On the spot, they asked me to come back in 2022.
Things were looking so rosy by October that I signed up for the Suffolk Mystery Writers Festival in March, Malice Domestic in April, and Thrillerfest in June. My wife and I booked a cruise to Alaska in May.
We were vaxxed and boosted and it seemed like the pandemic crisis had abated.
Then the omicron variant showed up.
The stakes have ramped up, the heat is on, and the danger is escalating. All bets are off.
It’s like those damned apocalypse movies you see on Netflix. If everyone would just do what they need to do for self-preservation we’d all be better off. But with every story, there must be a lunatic fringe.
I have a reporter friend who had a trip booked for Europe in a few months and he bemoaned what was going on in the world now that omicron was the dominant strain.
I just said, “Plot twist.”
He asked me, “Would people believe all this if you had written it into one of your novels?”
Probably not.
This blog is blessedly brief because I’m writing in on Christmas Day and I really should be downstairs in the kitchen putting together coq au vin for dinner for tonight.
I’m wishing you a belated Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year with the hopes that our plot twists be few and trivial.
The Christmas Season is a time for celebration and recollection. I have much to be grateful for, to include the opportunity on Type M to share anecdotes and observations. This post I'll take the occasion to reflect on a debt paid to the acclaimed Denver Chicano artist, Stevon Lucero, who recently passed away from health complications (not Covid). An imaginative painter, more of a shaman who used paint as his way to share his visions, he was known for his fusion of Mexican and Indigenous folklore, the metaphysical, and American pop culture. He was also a scholarly fan of science-fiction, from the cerebral to the cheesy.
Photo: Stevon Lucero Metastudios
I'd stop by his studio at the CHAC Gallery and we'd chat about art and writing. He could make connections between 2001: A Space Odyssey and Batman and Carlos Castaneda. How this worked in my favor was that in my Felix Gomez series, I had written myself into a corner. I'd penned each book as a stand alone and never gave much thought to a series arc. Then I got stuck. What had happened was that in my third book, The Undead Kama Sutra, I decided to throw a curve ball to the readers. Carmen Arellano, vampire femme fatale extraordinaire, had been captured by alien gangsters. The reader expected Felix to rescue Carmen but he failed. At the end of the book, she was a captive of aliens in deep space and I had no idea how to rescue her. Felix's dilemma weighed on his mind and mine.
At one First Friday Art Walk, I was chatting with Stevon when he said, "Mario, that was brilliant." Though I had no idea what he was talking about, I agreed with him.
"What you did, vato. The psychic plane. In every book you build more about accessing the psychic plane. That's how you're going to rescue Carmen, using the psychic plane." He proceeded to explain about the supernatural vortexes at Chaco Canyon in New Mexico. Reflecting on what he'd said, Stevon was right. Only I as the author didn't see it but to Stevon, the path across the galaxy using paranormal portals was obvious. And so, his insights unfolded into Rescue From Planet Pleasure. After I wrote the book I sat with Stevon to share my thoughts. With his usual self-effacing manner, he told me that he'd moved on to other things. But at least I had the chance to thank him.
While Stevon's memorial service was Roman Catholic, more or less, his funeral drew upon Mayan and Aztec traditions.
A Darth Vader censer violated no rules in Stevon Lucero's universe.
Aztec dancers lead the procession back to the chapel.
Merry Christmas. Best Wishes and Happy Writing to you all.
Sorry to have been away. It was end of semester and I lost track of my day to blog while reading student papers and getting my grades in.
Douglas's Monday post caught my eye. I've thought a bit about The Sopranos and the bad guy question. As I may have mentioned here, I've been working on a book about the factual aspects of gangster films. The publisher asked me to do nine films and include The Sopranos as my tenth entry because of the TV series influence on popular culture.
I hadn't seen all of the episodes of The Sopranos because I didn't have a subscription to HBO when it was on. I only caught an occasional episode when I was staying at a hotel during a conference. Even so, the show was popular enough that I was able to watch clips and read the commentary by critics and fans. With the book in progress, I decided to watch all six seasons. A daunting undertaking (86 episodes), but fascinating.
Tony Soprano and his crew presented me with a dilemma. It was the same moral dissonance that I experienced with the protagonists in the other gangster movies that I watched or re-watched. As Douglas noted about Tony and Christopher in The Sopranos, the display of humanity by characters who do really bad things can be disorienting.
Michael Corleone in The Godfather does not intend to become a mobster. He has served in World War II and returned home planning to have a life outside the "family business". But when his father, Don Corleone, becomes the target of a rival crime family, Michael kills two men as they are dining in a restaurant. Sent off to Sicily, he marries and suffers the loss of his innocent young bride when one of his men plants a car bomb. Back home in America, his brother Sonny is ambushed and killed. Michael comes home, seeks out Kay, the woman who told he would never become a mobster, and persuades her to marry him. When Don Corleone dies of a heart attack while playing with his grandson in the garden, Michael steps into a role that his other brother is unable to assume. Michael becomes the head of his crime family.
Although many fans rate The Godfather, Part II as a even better movie than the first, I have to say that I find Michael Corleone unredeemable. He has settled too comfortably into his reign as don. He enjoys power too much. He is a dark character, ruthless, cruel. He is not a tragic hero, and I don't care about his fate. Oddly enough, Tony Soprano does worst things, literally has blood on his hands. But the life he leads give him panic attacks. He needs to see a psychiatrist to cope with his anxiety. I care about whether Tony will live or die, and still feel frustrated by the way the series ended. Was Tony dead or alive when the screen went to black?
Ray Liotta's portrayal of real-life mob soldier, Henry Hill, in Goodfellas is another riveting depiction of an incredibly violent man. But Liotta's voiceover narration is engaging. Liotta's Hill is unrepentant and jaunty. He normalizes the violence that he and the other mobsters engage in. He draws us into the subculture, makes us complicit as we root for him because he seems less vicious than other members of his crime family.
Thinking about these two gangsters and the others in the films and the television series I've watched has been useful as I plotted my 1939 historical thriller. I have a character who is a bad guy. He cheats, he lies, he kills. But the deeper I go into his motivation, the more I understand his "why." The more I try to step into his shoes, the better I am able to understand why he is who he is. This makes my feelings about him more ambivalent. I want to be on the side of my protagonist, but I find my bad guy more complex. I need to restore balance between the two.
At any rate, Douglas's post has given me more to think about as I work on my bad guy's back story. I'll ponder the matter after I've enjoyed my Christmas dinner with friends. Speaking of food, that reminds me of the Liotta's detailed description of the meal he was preparing in between the errands he had to do to prepare his female drug courier for a flight she was scheduled to make. . . .
Happy Holidays, everyone! I'll check in with you again in the new year. Wishing us all less stress and more joy.
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| LaNell's Chocolate Oatmeal Cookies |
I cannot improve on Barbara's Christmas message for this year. The best I can do to improve your holiday is treat you to my late sister-in-law LaNell’s recipe for boiled chocolate oatmeal cookies. These are oh, so delicious, and very easy. I have this recipe in LaNell’s handwriting, and have lovingly pressed it into my personal cookbook. It would be a shame not to perk up your Christmas with these cookies.
1 stick butter
1/2 cup milk
2/3 cup cocoa powder
2 cups sugar
1/2 tsp salt
1 tsp vanilla
3 cups uncooked quick oats
1 cup chopped nuts
Combine first five ingredients in a saucepan and boil two minutes. Add 1 tsp vanilla. Remove from the fire and add 3 cups of uncooked one-minute oats. Add one cup of chopped nuts. Mix in well. Drop by teaspoons-full onto wax paper and let set. Yields about 40 cookies.
Today is going to be a very short post. Possibly two or three short paragraphs. We are in tough times yet again and all over the world, we are hunkering down to try to defeat another round of this never-ending plague. I hope everyone is staying safe and sane, hanging in, and trying to connect with friends or family in some fashion over the next ten days.
As my celebration for the holiday, I just finished third rewrites of THERE BUT FOR FORTUNE, the fifth Amanda Doucette novel set in British Columbia. I have sent it off to my trusted Ladies Killing Circle and dusted my hands of the whole thing until I get feedback.
So to everyone, please take care and stay safe. Get your shots if you can, follow precautions, do the simple things that bring you joy, and have a very MERRY MERRY CHRISTMAS or WINTER SOLSTICE or whatever way you honour this time of the year. And may the NEW YEAR of 2022 be a better year, full of hope, friendship, and freedom from fear.
Do you need to like a character in order to enjoy them?
It's a question that has occurred to me many times over the years, most recently in a conversation I had this morning with bestselling author and friend Denzil Meyrick.
He's a huge fan of The Sopranos and if there's something to know about that series he doesn't know then, frankly, it's not worth knowing. I had tried to watch the show when it first aired here in the UK but didn't get into it. I can't explain why it didn't resonate with me at that time. Anyway, Denzil urged me to give it a second try so I bought the DVD box set (yes, I am very retro) and began to watch. Soon I was hooked.
He is also a big fan of 'Succession'. That's one I have tried to watch, mainly because Brian Cox is in it, but it didn't gel with me.
How can I enjoy one series about people who are not very nice, doing some not very nice things in a not very nice way but not another?
Well, I'll tell you. I don't know.
Let's make something quite clear here - just because I favour one over the other does not mean that it is better. It does not mean that any part of the production - whether writing, performance, direction, scoring, set design, catering or best boying - is superior or inferior. It just means I prefer it. Simple as.
Both deal with power and the toxic effect thereof. But one is about criminals wishing to make more money and the other is about rich people wanting to make more money and I do tend to lean towards crime fiction. (Yeah, I know - shocker).
But here's the thing. With The Sopranos, however, there is a duality that I didn't pick up from Succession (although admittedly I only saw part of the first season). It may be there, it just didn't ping on my radar (hence the reason I only saw part of the first season).
Yes, many of the characters are unlikeable but in Tony Soprano there is often a little bit of humanity, of regret. It often doesn't last long. That he does monstrous things is an inescapable fact but there is a depth of character there, whether in the writing or James Gandolfini's performance, that suggests a lot more.
I told Denzil that I felt the character wanted out of the life but he put it better - he said Tony Soprano regretted ever being in it but is realistic enough to know that the die is cast.
The other characters are equally as complex, though some are outright monsters. They all have that little spark of humanity - whether love for a child, a parent, even Tony's early affection for the ducks in his pool and Christopher's yen to break into movies - that lift them from the run-of-the-mill.
Then they do something like shooting someone in the head.
Their morality is different from yours and mine, something they share I believe with the characters in Succession.
Character, whether in long form TV, movies or books, is everything. And as the success of both series shows, no, we don't need to like a character to be interested in them.
But if I am to stay with that character then I do have to have some interest in what happens to them, whether it is their ultimate redemption or punishment.
If a character doesn't come of the page or step from the screen and take root in my head then I am not committed to the piece. They don't need to be likeable but I do have to care and I think that is why I have stuck with the boys and girls in New Jersey and not the rich kids of a media mogul.
But perhaps I should give Succession another go.
Maybe my head was in the same space as it was when I first tried to watch The Sopranos.
And, as I said, Brian Cox is in it.
It's Christmas this weekend (how did that happen?) and I'm not due back until we have stared 2022 in the face and asked it what it's intentions are even though there's no way we can prevent it from crossing the threshold. So let me take this opportunity to wish you all a merry Christmas and that the new year fulfils any promises it makes on that doorstep.
Here's a wee card for you all.
I read an article recently about famous people and how many books they have/had in their personal libraries. I learned that, of the people mentioned, Karl Lagerfeld had the most at 300,000 books and Hannah Arendt had the least at 4,000 books. Michael Jackson had 10,000+ books and Thomas Jefferson had 6,487. You can read the entire article here.
That got me thinking about how many books I have in my own house. I did a very rough count and came up with (drum roll, please) between 2,000 and 3,000 books. Most are in bookcases in one room, others are scattered around the house, including a bookcase filled with about 100 books signed by the authors.
The title of the article I read was “10 Famous Book Hoarders”. Apparently, anyone who has 1,000 books or more is considered a book hoarder. I prefer to think of myself as a book preserver. I have all sorts of books from mysteries (by far the largest percentage of my library) to books on linguistics, books on the Coptic and Egyptian languages, history books, technical books like those on the Jave programming language, books on forensics and writing... The list goes on.
Okay, okay, I haven’t read every book in my house, but I do intend to read them. Just haven’t gotten around to it yet. Apparently, there’s a word for that: the Japanese word tsundoku – acquiring reading materials and letting them pile up without reading them.
I know I’ve made this vow before, but I am going to make more of an effort in the new year to read more of these books in my library.
How about you? How large is your library? Do you consider yourself a book hoarder?
Last Friday was the third birthday of my twin grandchildren, Thomas and Caroline. Not recalling what three-year-old children enjoy getting as a present, I asked my daughter, Jessica, what she thought the kiddos would like. She told me, “They like to play dress up. They also like to play with a plain cardboard box. So…”
I decided to go with something the kids could dress up as, rather than a plain cardboard box. I’d leave that for another time. I went to the internet and found firefighter outfits, complete with hard hat, fire extinguisher, and wait for it, a real siren.
On their birthday, my daughter posted photos and video of the kiddos in their firefighter coats and hats (on backwards) with the siren wailing. At the end of the video, the twins say, “Thank you, Grandpa Tom and we love you, Grandpa Tom.”
Yeah, it melted my heart. I wished I could have been there, but we’re still being Covid cautious.
Oh, and I apologized to my daughter and son-in-law for the sirens. I'm not sure I convinced my son-in-law that I'm being genuine.
Watching the kids enjoy themselves, it made me think how much I liked playing pretend when I was a child.
Is that why we enjoy writing? Because we get to play pretend?
At my last Advanced Creative Writing class of the year, I talked a little bit about a writer’s voice. It’s about the perception, not as the writer, but as the character.
People see the same scene, event, occurrence, but we all perceive it just a little bit differently from each other. When we write, we have to get inside our characters’ heads and tell the story from their point of view.
We’re pretending to be someone else.
We’re the the bold protagonist, complete with all his or her flaws, including, sometimes their skewed perceptions. On paper, we’re pretending to be as brave and as adventurous as they are.
We’re the unscrupulous and homicidal villain, complete with their deeply flawed perceptions. As we're writing them, we're as evil and cruel and twisted as they are.
When we’re writing, it’s not only okay to pretend, it’s our job. When we’re not writing, however, we are often still pretending, depending on where we are and who we're around. Are we the same person with our spouse that we are with our boss?
Are we the same person when we’re driving, and someone cuts us off and nobody can hear us cussing out the stupid driver who had just put us in danger? I hope not.
When we’re young, we love trying out different personas and pretending we’re explorers, pirates, cops, and firefighters. As we grow up, unless we become actors and actresses, we start to lose the joy of pretending, although we never really lose the ability.
For a time, I tried my hand at marketing and sales. I wasn’t a natural at it and I was uncomfortable trying to persuade someone to buy something they might not be interested in in the first place. I also hated the idea of being rejected and told no.
Which is really weird, because starting out as a writer, you have to be able to accept rejection gracefully. Over and over again.
So, in my head, I channeled Jack Nicholson. Before walking in to see a client, I asked myself, “How would Jack Nicholson handle this. What would he say and how would he say it?"
And then it was fun. Why Jack Nicholson? Jake Gittes from the movie Chinatown didn’t give a damn about rejection.
So, for me, writing is playing pretend. I get to be all kinds of different people. Getting to be my protagonist, Geneva Chase, is the most fun of all. She gets to say all the things that I may have in my head but could never say in real life. The lady is a real snarky, smart-ass.
This is my last posting before Christmas, so I’m going be genuine for a moment and take this opportunity to say have a wonderful and safe holiday. Cheers.
I have finally joined a critique group. I have been writing for untold years and I have never been in a critique group before. The major reason for that is because, historically speaking, whenever anyone criticized my work my first thought was "You're an idiot." Then I'd reconsider and realize the suggestions were spot on and I needed to make a bunch of corrections. It's exhausting.
I think that one has to be incredibly careful to find a group of people to work with who are simpatico, and that's not easy. I function better on my own. I tend not to show my first draft to anyone. After writing thirteen published novels, I feel like I know the direction I want to go, and I don't want to be influenced by someone else's ideas.
However, since the pandemic I feel I've really lost my mojo, so I need the motivation to stay on top of things. I joined a great group, only six experienced authors, all published, all with a very good eye for plot and characterization. When others critique my work, sometimes I listen, and sometimes I don’t, but I am always shown an original way to approach the story/characters//plot.
On Sunday I had an interesting experience that led me to think about the skill of editing. Self-editing, that is. I am currently just finishing the second re-write of my fifth Amanda Doucette novel THERE BUT FOR FORTUNE, so what I discovered has special relevance. We writers often talk about having to kill our darlings, or scrub out a whole section of prose, possibly even a whole subplot, if it is irrelevant to the story or simply bogs the story down. Rewrites are often about killing our darlings, or at least asking 'Do you deserve to live?'
So far in this second rewrite, I have done very little killing. I have mostly been changing content as the story changed, massaging characters, and adding bits to fill in plot gaps or smooth over transitions. On third rewrite I will have to be more brutal.
The experience on Sunday night was a reading of my recently published THE DEVIL TO PAY at a zoom event as part of the City of Hamilton's LitLive series. There were five writers and one musician. Four of the writers were poets, all different but terrific and avant-garde, and then there was me, inserted into the middle of the evening. Each of us was given twelve minutes in which to read. I always find selecting a passage to read very challenging. I don't want to spend half the time explaining the set-up, so usually start near the beginning. But a good reading should stand alone in some way, be captivating and dramatic, and make the reader want to hear more (possibly even buy the book!). Unless the writer is a masterful storyteller and can infuse the reading with a theatrical edge, most readings longer than five minutes will put the listener to sleep. Reading for twelve minutes might put them in a coma. But no one wants to listen to seven rambling minutes of set-up - why I wrote this book, who each character is, blah, blah...
Instead, I decided on two minutes of set-up and then two shorter readings of roughly five minutes each. But a reading should also start a key point and end with a dramatic question, at least implied. What next? That's a challenge.
I found two possible scenes, both longer than five minutes, printed them out, and began to slash mercilessly to preserve the meat of the scene without any of the additional but not strictly necessary colour. Each word, phrase, and indeed paragraph was subjected to the questions 'Do I need you?' 'Will the listener understand what's going on without you?' And most importantly 'Will the dramatic impact be as powerful?'
With those questions in mind, the culling was actually easy. I knew it wasn't permanent. These words still existed in the original text and in the published book. They were just shut out for this event. But interestingly, as I read each of those edited scenes aloud at the Zoom event, I realized they sounded pretty good as they were and the audience, knowing no better, seemed caught up in the story. Somehow, listening to myself aloud, I had a better sense of what bogged the story down and what energized it.
So I realized, part of third rewrites will be to read aloud, or at least to imagine how it sounds, all 350 pages of the book and to ruthlessly cut out the superfluous. But reading aloud or listening is different than reading privately. Some readers skim effortlessly over the sentences and paragraphs that don't interest them and skip down to the next exciting bit. However, others like to read slowly, savouring the imagery and the language that helps to set the mood and enrich the backdrop. The former likes the 'lean, mean, just the facts, ma'am' style of writing, whereas the latter likes more atmosphere and complexity. They don't like 'talking heads'; they want to picture the scene, feel the mood, and know what the characters are doing and thinking as they talk.
Getting the balance right is tricky, and it's clear you can't please everybody. But asking the question 'Do I really need you?' is certainly a useful exercise.
A related part of this Sunday experience was listening to the poets. I'm a storyteller, not a poet, and although I try to be precise, concise, and vivid in the words I choose, we storytellers have a lot to learn from poets about creating word images that capture impressions, thoughts, and feelings in the most powerful way. This is not a new lesson for me, but it was worth reminding myself. I will keep it in mind as I do this culling. Not only will I ask myself 'Do I really need you?' but also "Is there a briefer and more powerful way to say the same thing?'
When I'm done all this soul-searching, let's hope I don't find myself five thousand words short on my word count!
I've been reading with interest the posts concerning focus and the need for it in our game. Or, as is often the case, the lack of it.
The reason the views of my fellow Type M authors resonated even more than usual was that I have become increasingly aware of how busy the next 18 months to two years are going to be for me and the importance of being focussed - if not Ernest - in getting through it.
At the very least, I will have to rekindle some long-dormant organisational skills.
So why am I going to be busier than that fabled one-legged man at a butt-kicking contest, I hear you ask? Well, I'll tell you.
It was recently announced that I have signed a brand new three book deal with my UK publisher, Polygon, for a further three books, which will bring my Rebecca Connolly series to a total of seven (three already out, a fourth next year and then the new deal kicks in). I am both excited and delighted that confidence has been shown in the books and I will do my very best to live up to it.
But that's not the reason for my feeling of extreme dauntedness. Is that a word? Probably not but I'll go with it anyway.
There are various pies in which I have a finger or three and all require the expenditure of time while, of course, I also have to occasionally run a vacuum over the house and wave a duster around.
And let's not forget Mickey the dog and Tom the cat who both require some attention.
But more than all this, there is another project in the offing that will vastly increase my workload. I can't tell you anything about it yet but it's happening.
Yes, I know I am being mysterious but mystery is my business. I may get that on a t-shirt.
So in order to get around all this I will have to be hyper organised - a feat I have singularly failed to achieve in the past year or so. Frankly, I have been all over the place, organisation-wise, and that has meant some things have been neglected. Mostly that vacuuming and dusting thing but also keeping up with certain friends, and if any of those I have seemed to ignore of late happen to be reading this - albeit unlikely - I heartily apologise.
The thing is, I used to be very organised, at least professionally. Personally I have always been a mess.
I was the editor of a weekly newspaper for many years. Each week began with a series of blank pages, much like writing a book, while those higher up made it their mission to complicate things by piling more work on me while also reducing staff numbers. I couldn't do that job, with all its attendant pressures, without some kind of focus.
So it looks like I will have to find that old me, wherever he is. What has become an increasingly languid approach to the job of writing will have to change and words will have to fly from keyboard to screen faster than a politician avoiding the truth.
I may...
- whisper it, for there is shame here -
... have to actually...
- gulp -
...PLAN!
Yes, some element of story boarding may be necessary.
I can hear the Scottish Association of Pantsters preparing to rescind my membership, rip off my epaulettes and drum me from the clubhouse to the beat of the Rogue's March.
The question is - can I organise myself sufficiently to not only plan the story but actually stick to it?
There, as they say, is the rub. Time will tell and I will keep you posted.
In the words of Yogi Berra, it's déjà vu all over again. So what's going on, guys? When I was thinking about blog topics, I was tempted to write about my struggles with focusing on my manuscript or what we scribblers fondly refer to as the work in progress. Or not in progress. And lo and behold, both John and Rick wrote on the very same subject.
Truth is the world conspires to keep me from writing during the holidays. Everyone doubles down on activities. I don't want to miss a thing. I had a mini-Thanksgiving at my house. It was very small as the family was split in a variety of locations. Plus, I had had my Moderna booster shot the day before and just supposed it would me sick. The kick was very mild, but my granddaughter and her partner brought the whole dinner anyway and daughter Mary Beth came with a wonderful pie. It was a delightful small gathering.
This month my church, St. Luke's Episcopal, has something for everyone--ranging from special devotional studies to carol fests and an ugly sweater contest. My HOA will have its annual meeting. My Sisters in Crime chapter has a Christmas gathering. So does the Rocky Mountain chapter of Mystery Writers of America. And that's just to name a few. There are all sorts of special musical programs, and charitable events. I also have a part time accounting job and the end of year is especially manic for businesses.
Daughter Michele had a birthday party for me Tuesday and she is giving a Thankmas event Sunday for the family that will be split Christmas and spent Thanksgiving with in-laws.
So what is poor writer to do? Frankly, I have to endorse John Corrigan's comments. I believe the best approach to set aside a block of time, but for me it simply doesn't happen. I yearn for it and plan for it, but something always intervenes. Still, something goes sour for me if I leave my manuscript and as with John, I settle for very short lengths of time on weekdays from Thanksgiving until New Year. That's easy to do when I'm on a second draft--but it's a bad idea during the first creative draft.
During the second draft, I can at least read through some pages every day and spiff things up.
I'll soon leave for North Carolina to have Christmas with my daughter and her family. I plan to take my laptop with me, of course, and plan to hack away at my book.
Care to place any bets on how that goes?
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| Cluttered Bookshelf, Cluttered Mind? |
Yesterday morning I read an article in the newspaper about Merriam-Webster selecting its Word of the Year for 2021. Not terribly surprisingly it has something to do with Covid-19, it’s “vaccine”. In 2020, their word of the year was “pandemic”. I hope the 2022 word of the year has absolutely nothing to do with the pandemic, but we’ll just have to see.
They choose their word of the year by looking at what words are looked up most on Merriam-Webster.com. The word must be a “top lookup” in the last 12 months and must show a significant increase in lookups over the previous year. According to the article below, lookups increased 601% from 2021 and 1,048% from 2019!
And, apparently, the dictionary changed its definition of the word slightly. You can read all about it here.
The OED word of the year for 2021 is “vax”. The OED defines it as a colloquialism that means either vaccinate or vaccine. Apparently, its use has been relatively uncommon until this year.
https://www.cnn.com/2021/11/01/world/word-of-the-year-2021-scli-intl-gbr/index.html
The American Dialect Society hasn’t yet chosen its word of the year. They’ll be doing that January 6-9, 2022 at their annual meeting.
The Cambridge Dictionary chose “perseverance” as their word of the year. Their word of the year for 2020 was “quarantine”. Perseverance seems to be a bit more positive, which is nice to see.
https://dictionaryblog.cambridge.org/2021/11/17/cambridge-dictionarys-word-of-the-year-2021/
The Macquarie dictionary in Australia chose “strollout” as their word of the year. Meaning: “referring to the rollout of the Covid-19 vaccination program in Australia, with reference to the perceived lack of speed”
I’m not sure what I would nominate as a word of the year for 2021, but I rather like “perseverance”. What are your suggestions for the 2021 WOTY?
One of the topics I teach in my creative writing class at the college is how to write effective plot twists. In many cases it’s a lot like a magic trick. While the audience is paying attention to what the left hand is doing, the right hand is the one making the trick happen.
Covid is like the plot twist that just keeps on giving.
My book SHADOW HILL launched last August. I’d finished writing the book in April of 2020, but the publication date was pushed back for obvious reasons. Trying to promote a book in the throes of so many people dying in a pandemic was a bad idea.
Once it had been announced that a vaccination had been developed at the beginning of 2021, it gave me hope that I could promote SHADOW HILL as it should. I hoped to be at the usual locations including the Poisoned Pen Bookstore in Scottsdale where I’ve launched every book so far in my writing career.
About the same time that vaccinations were rolling out, Barnes & Noble made a sizeable commitment to the rerelease of my first book RANDOM ROAD. It was going to be on the front table of every one of their stores. I had visions of going from one B&N to another to do book signings.
I’d signed up for Bouchercon that was going to take place in New Orleans just in time for the release of SHADOW HILL.
It was all falling into place.
Then…POW…the Delta variant stepped in. Add to that, a confusing and confounding reluctance of a sizable portion of the public to getting a vaccination that's left a high percentage of the population to being ravaged by the disease.
Just as the world was emerging back into a relative sense of normalcy, it all went wrong. A local restaurant I was due to have a book signing closed when one of their employees was diagnosed with Covid.
We did manage to have a book event at that restaurant two weeks later when everyone tested negative and then we did another book event at a local country club. We sold out of books in both events.
In the meantime, Bouchercon was cancelled because of Covid fears. Just as well since Hurricane Ida hit the same weekend the conference was supposed to take place. The old double whammy.
Ever optimistic, my fifth book, WHISPER ROOM, is due for publication in August of 2022. I’m scheduled to be at Malice Domestic in April and Thrillerfest in June. That same week, I’m hoping to do a book signing at a library in Norwalk, Connecticut. I’m looking forward to having a book signing at my favorited restaurant here on the coast in August.
The latest plot twist? Omicron, the latest variant of Covid. No telling how bad that’s going to be.
I’m not complaining. I’m really not. So many people have it so much worse.
Steven Sondheim passed away on Friday and days before he died, he reflected, “I’ve been lucky.”
So have I. My childhood dream was to be a novelist. And I am. I’ve been lucky.
Back when I was working for a newspaper in Connecticut, I had an assignment in Manhattan. A colleague of mine was with me on the Metro-North train into the city. The entire one-hour trip, she whined and complained about pretty much everything under the sun.
When we finally got to Grand Central Terminal, we went straight to the iconic clock in the Main Concourse where we were to meet our contact. We got there early and as we were chatting and people watching, a woman came up to us and asked if we would take a picture of her and her daughter. She said, “This is the first time we’ve been to New York.”
It was difficult to tell how old her daughter was because she was in a wheelchair and her poor little body seemed to be bent at strange angles. It made me want to cry.
In spite of it, they both had huge smiles on their faces.
The little girl had the biggest grin of the two of them. After we took the photo, the mother thanked us and told us how excited they were to be in the city and how much her daughter had been looking forward to it.
After they left, my colleague looked at me said, “If I ever bitch about anything again, just slap me.”
So, yes, Covid is sending us another plot twist. But like Steven Sondheim, I’ve been lucky. www.thomaskiesauthor.com
Recently, Donald Hall posted this photo on Facebook and asked about the painting's origin, sensing a story similar to what I had shared about the painting I'd gifted to the late General Colin Powell. During Desert Storm, Donald Hall and I met when we'd billeted together in King Khalid Military City, Saudi Arabia.
My painting hanging in the Pentagon. Photo by Donald Hall.
The genesis to this painting, Fuel Handler of the Air Cav, goes back to my first tour of active duty. I was an attack helicopter pilot with the 7/17 Air Cavalry and we'd been deployed for desert training in the Imperial Valley of California, somewhere between Slab City (outside the Salton Sea) and the Chocolate Mountains. Late the first night, during a briefing in the squadron's TOC (Tactical Operations Center) we heard the commotion of a parade of big trucks roaring out of the darkness. A few minutes later, a female captain of the Transportation Corps strode into the tent. She was dressed in combat garb, covered head-to-toe in dust, and goggles had left a raccoon mask on her face. She reported that our logistical support had arrived--thousands of gallons of aviation gas and diesel plus tons and tons of ammo, mostly rockets. For some reason, our S-3 (the operations officer) was very dismissive of her even though at the time, I thought she had the hardest job of any one of us there. The moment stuck with me.
Fast forward eight years and I was recalled from the Individual Ready Reserve and sent overseas as a soldier-artist for Operation Desert Storm. I wandered about the battle area, mindful of my instructions--don't get yourself injured or killed--which I followed to the letter. What impressed me about the US military was that our combat forces were like rampaging titans but even they needed sustenance. Napoleon once said that an army marches on its stomach and to that you have to add, without gas, you ain't getting anywhere. So out in this desolate wilderness I found this female Specialist, doing her job, making sure our thirsty flying beasts got plenty to drink. When I was sorting through ideas of what images to paint, I thought back to that female captain also doing her job, and so this work is an homage to both women soldiers.
