A Double-Edged Sword

As you know (or maybe you don’t), my third novel—I Do Solemnly Swear—is completed and scheduled to be released on October 16. Now that I’ve had some time to rest my brain and recharge my battery, it’s time for me to roll up my sleeves, put on my thinking cap, and get down to the business of writing Novel #4. I’ve already loosely outlined the plot, and the basic sequence of events is pretty much laid out. In fact, although I haven’t yet fully developed the characters, most of them are in place. As in the past, the moment I start writing, new ideas foster more new ideas, characters quietly go away, others come to life, and the book moves in a completely different direction.

I don’t know about other authors, but when I start writing a book, it’s as if I’m possessed. I vanish from the face of the Earth and travel to another dimension.  I literally live in the book with the make believe characters. They come to life and as the book progresses, I feel a close relationship with all of my characters. Now you might think that this phenomenon is somewhat intriguing, but it’s actually not such a good thing. Sure, living in the book makes me a better writer, and helps me develop a better story and more believable characters, but for five or six months (that’s generally how long it takes me to complete the first draft), I’m almost completely disconnected from the world.

Maybe this is why I haven’t begun to pen book #4. I really should have started it about a month ago. The story is bouncing around in my head like a ping pong ball, yet I haven’t written a word. I wonder if all writers suffer from this affliction.

This disconnection takes its toll on all of my relationships—but nobody suffers more than my wife, Jennifer. It’s almost as if she were a widow during the period of time I’m writing. I’ve tried to overcome this departure from reality, but when I’m finished writing at the end of the day, I’m unable to return to the real world. Consequently, when my wife and I sit down in the evening and she tells me about the events of her day, instead of listening attentively and giving her my undivided attention, she talks and my mind races with new plot ideas.

Frankly, I don’t know why my wife doesn’t gather my clothes and throw them on the front lawn. Maybe it’s because I promised to someday buy her a new Lotus. Or maybe it’s just because she’s a saint. Either way, I’m a lucky guy.

Finished Book #3

I just completed the final copy edit of my third novel. I Do Solemnly Swear, a political thriller, is scheduled for release on October 16, 2012. As I’ve mentioned in prior posts, unless you’ve published a book and have gone through the editorial process, it’s unlikely that you have any idea just how painstaking the process is.

First, you have the author edits, where the writer takes the first draft and polishes it to the best of his or her ability. For me, before I submit a manuscript to my editor at Amazon Publishing, I generally edit it 5 or 6 times—each time focusing on a different aspect of the book. I look at the narrative, dialogue, the pace, the plausibility of the plot, character development, language, punctuation, sentence structure—I think you get the picture.

What I find amazing is the fact that after I go through what I believe is a comprehensive editorial process, feeling that the manuscript is near perfect, my publisher puts it through an even more grueling course of action and literally tears it apart. It all begins with what publishers call a content or developmental edit. Basically, a professional editor goes through the entire manuscript and scrutinizes everything. And I mean everything! The editor makes notations on nearly every page—some are minor, quick fixes, others require that I completely change a plot twist or the personality of a character.

Once I complete this comprehensive edit, guess what happens next. The editor goes through the manuscript a second time, and then a third time, dissecting every word, sentence, and paragraph, carefully examining every facet of the story. You would think that once this process is completed that my work is finished, right? Well, think again.

Now the manuscript goes to a copy editor who focuses his or her attention on grammar, punctuation, capitalization, and language rules based on the Chicago Manual of Style, the standard used by most editors. When this is completed, I finally get the pleasure of writing two of my favorite words: “The End”.

During this whole process, I often wonder if all books are so meticulously edited. I mean seriously, do you think that Stephen King, or John Grisham, or James Patterson are put through such a rigorous procedure? Of course, if indeed they are, I’m sure that they have a qualified staff to do the grunt work. Maybe someday, I’ll earn that right myself. But I’m not holding my breath.

 

Losing a Friend

I received a dreadful telephone call on March 30, one of those calls that set you back on your heels even though you know it’s coming. John Plakus, a longtime friend of mine, a guy I met 35 years ago when we both worked in the car business, died after a two-month struggle in the hospital. The call came from his wife, MaryLou. Quite to my surprise, she wasn’t crying on the telephone, nor was she noticeably emotional; her composure seemed calm and subdued. I guessed that she was still in shock and the wave of emotions hadn’t hit her yet.

John did not die unexpectedly. A few weeks after entering the hospital at the end of January, the prognosis was grim. John must have been blindsided by the severity of his illness because in a telephone conversation we had shortly after he entered the hospital, he said that he felt pretty good up until the day he ended up in emergency. I’ll never forget his lighthearted words, “I’ve got cancer, but they haven’t figured out which flavor yet.” That was the John I remember, a guy who could find humor in circumstances that begged for solemnity.

John, a real car enthusiast, was one of those Jacks-of-all-Trades I envied. He could do just about anything from changing a transmission to remodeling a kitchen to planting a bountiful garden. And when we were in the car business together, he was one hell of a good salesman and his ethics were above reproach. He always dealt from the top of the deck.

During my twice-a-year trips to New York, I always got together with John and MaryLou for dinner and drinks, and we would catch up on the latest drama in our lives. I’m going back home to visit family in May of this year, but I must admit that as much as I love spending time with my family, it’s just not going to be the same without seeing John.

Over the years, John and I enjoyed many spirited discussions about everything from politics to sports. But rarely did John discuss religion or his feelings on God and eternity. I never pushed it, and he never volunteered his thoughts. I do know that MaryLou told me two weeks before John died, that he said, “It’s all in God’s hands now.” Yes, John, it was and is in His hands.

Right now, as I write this post, John’s ashes are sitting comfortably in a special urn that looks like a racecar. How utterly appropriate. In my heart, I’m sure that John is in a better place, that Saint Peter met him at the gates of heaven and invited him in. Heaven is a better place with John there making his mark, but this world lost a great one.

Amazon publishing will release, I Do Solemnly Swear, my third novel, in October of 2012. I’ve decided to dedicate this book to John.

Here’s a Wild Idea

Just think, it’s only March and already I’m sick and tired of the presidential campaign. With the election a little over 7 months away, I just can’t wait until the candidates kick their campaigns into high gear, and every other commercial on network TV will be related to the election. I’ve watched a few of the GOP debates—too many, in fact—I check in with MSNBC and CNN regularly, and when I can stomach it, I even peek at FOX, although I must admit that it’s pretty painful.

This is not my first ride on the turnip truck; I’ve been around for a while and have voted in every presidential election since . . . well, let’s just say it’s been a long, long time. Although the year changes and the candidates come and go, one thing never changes: Nearly all the candidates run cliché-riddled, negative campaigns. They love to tell us everything that’s wrong with the other guy, but can’t really tell us why they would be our best choice for president, Senator, etc. Sure, they talk in general terms, and waltz around the issues like Fred Astaire and Ginger Rodgers. But few, if any, offer a detailed, comprehensive plan to move our country forward and resolve the issues that concern voters most.

What I’d like to hear—and I believe the rest of the country does as well—is a specific plan. Don’t say that we need to overhaul Medicare, Social Security, the tax code, and our health care system. We all know that. Tell us HOW you’re going to make it happen. Outline a step-by-step strategy that makes sense and isn’t some pie-in-the-sky pipedream.

How are you going to reduce the deficit? How are we going to compete with China? How are you going to continue with much needed social programs without bankrupting the country? When are you going to get us out of Afghanistan? How are you going to create jobs? These are the questions we want answered. Take off your dancing shoes, roll up your sleeves, step into the spotlight, and answer direct questions with direct answers. Then, and only then, will you earn our respect and our vote.

 

 

 

Hummingbirds and God

Hummingbirds are extraordinary creatures. I never paid much attention to them—except that I thought it was cool they could hover like a helicopter—but when I relocated to San Diego, a city abundant with these adorable little birds, they captured my attention.

One of my neighbors—a real nature guy—has two hummingbird feeders just outside his apartment. On any given day, I happen upon a number of birds stopping by for a snack. Their favorite fare is nectar, but they have no complaints drinking sugar water provided by a bird lover.

The courtyard just outside my apartment is lush with Southern California greenery. There is everything from jade plants to wildflowers to six-foot-tall palm trees. About a week ago, my wife discovered a hummingbird nest, sitting on the upper branch of a five-foot palm tree just outside our back door. The diameter is no more than two inches. At first, she wasn’t sure what it was, but when she took a closer look, she noticed two recently-hatched hummingbirds lying side by side in the nest. Their tiny bodies—about a third the size of my pinky—were pulsating so she knew they were alive.

Over the next few days, my wife and I watched in awe as the tiny birds’ mother would come and go, feeding her kids and tending to their needs. But as soon as the sun set and the San Diego temperature fell to a chilly level, the mother bird would plant herself on top of the nest to keep her babies warm during the chilly evening hours and throughout the night. This got me to thinking.

I’m a Christian, and my faith is based on a number of things. Although much of scripture makes me scratch the back of my head, I accept the fact that the Bible is the word of God. Now I’m not writing this post to Bible-thump or convert anyone to Christianity. However, I would like to make a point.

As I study the behaviors and instincts of the baby hummingbirds’ mother—her protectiveness, the wisdom to provide periodic feeding, the comfort she selflessly offers her babies during the cold evening hours, the architectural genius of that well designed nest—I can’t help but wonder how anyone could possibly be an atheist. I’m not writing this post to debate theology, although I truly enjoy sparring with a non-believer. What I cannot understand is how anyone can observe the brilliant design and instincts of these tiny birds and conclude that they are merely a result of random creation, that their desire to thrive and survive is merely an accident, that they were not “designed” by a being far more intelligent than humans. These little hummingbirds are merely the tip of the iceberg. Look at other wonders of nature and atheism is even more mindboggling.

Again, I’m not preaching or trying to convert anyone to Christianity. My only point is to question how an intelligent person can rationally dismiss the premise (which is scientific by the way), that intelligent design suggests an intelligent designer. Can it be that all the wonders of nature, the phenomenal design of the human body, reproduction, and the vastness of a universe populated by billions and billions of galaxies is merely coincidental? I don’t care what you call this being—God, Supreme Being, Creator, or Uncle Harry. Our existence simply cannot be the result of a Big Bang that came from nothingness.

Time for me to check my new feathery friends.

 

 

Life is Good

As I stated in my last post, I submitted a copy of I Do Solemnly Swear, my latest novel, to my editor at Amazon. Not to sound cocky or over confident, based on the success of my prior two novels, I expected a warm reception and a publishing contract. Well, I got neither—which knocked me for a loop.

My editor liked the book and thought it was a good solid story, but he expressed concern that I had “made a left-hand turn” from serial killer novels to a political thriller and was worried I might lose my audience. This was a valid observation. But I pleaded my case.

I pointed out that many successful thriller authors change from one sub-genre to another. This is common practice. Now there are hardcore readers who won’t read anything but serial killer books. But most thriller readers don’t care whether the book is a murder mystery, police procedural, espionage, political, or psychological thriller. As long as the book has a smart cop, a believable villain, plenty of suspense and drama, and a game of cat and mouse, most readers are okay with any sub-genre.

Shortly after my appeal, my editor sent me an e-mail and agreed that my points were valid. He still expressed some concern, but felt if we marketed the book properly it would do well. He went on to say, as long as he, my agent, and I could come to terms, Amazon would agree to publish my novel. Music to my ears!

It took several days of back and forth “horse trading”, but we finally made a deal. I haven’t yet officially signed a contract, but we’ve agreed in principle and that’s the most important thing. We’re shooting for October publication. Considering that this is a presidential election year, and many people are intrigued with the antics of Washington, I think the timing is perfect for a political thriller.

So, now it’s time to think about book #4. The last thing a writer wants to do is lose his or her momentum. Novelists need to keep the flow of books moving, lest their readers might forget who they are. I’m meeting my agent for coffee tomorrow morning to discuss several ideas floating around in my head. Will the next book be a return to serial killers? Will Detective Sami Rizzo come back to catch the bad guy? Or will I jump ship to a different genre. Stay tuned for updates.

 

 

 

 

Hurry Up and Wait

A little over a week ago I sent my agent Novel #3, written, edited, and ready for the critical eye of a publisher. Amazon—the publisher of my first two novels—gets the first look. I feel relatively confident that they will like this book and agree to publish it (assuming of course that the terms of the contract are acceptable to my agent and me). But, you never know. Now I wait and bite my fingernails, and think about Novel #4.

A week ago, I had no idea where I was going with my next book—didn’t even have the slightest clue regarding plot or character. You can’t imagine how desperate an author feels when he or she finishes a book and doesn’t know what’s next. One of the most important factors that promotes an author’s success is consistency. Unless you’re a big-name author whose loyal readers will wait 10 years for your next book, up and coming novelists need to produce a book a year if they ever hope to make it as a writer. An author needs to hook his or her audience and keep them hooked.

Frustrated that my creative mind didn’t have the slightest clue where Book #4 would go, I started going through my file drawer and pawed through every folder that had anything at all to do with writing. Among the ruins, I found an outline I’d written years ago. I read it and reread it. Nothing struck me. After the third read, it hit me. Like a 500 hundred piece puzzle taking shape in my mind, it all started coming together. The concept is a bit over the top, but so were my first three novels. So why tread lightly?

My mind exploded with ideas about plot, subplots, characters, relationships, twists and turns. I started making notes like a mad man, terrified that a brilliant idea would escape my memory. I don’t know about other authors, but when an idea unfolds in my mind, it’s like a runaway train without brakes! One idea fosters another that fosters two more. At any moment during the day or night, an idea could flash through my mind and I immediately have to make a note before it vanishes.

So, for the last week, my brain has been racing at warp speed. I’ve got the entire story loosely outlined and I know the sequence of scenes in the beginning and the end. But the middle is still foggy. I know it’ll come to me, yet I feel a pang of fear in the back of my head that maybe, just maybe, the middle of the story will never play out in my brain. Then what? I hear that the local 7-Eleven is hiring for their graveyard shift. How hard can it be to make Slurpees for a living? Hey, wait a minute. Suppose the clerk at 7-Eleven spiked the Slurpees, cleaned out the cash register, beat up his colleague, stole his truck . . .