Write a book at middle age: for men over 40

Anatomy of a Novel in Progress,
Or,
How to write a book at middle age

By Ron Kop
Copyright 2011

This must be your lucky day. By purchasing this book, you’ve acquired two for the price of one. As the title suggests, one is a book on writing, and the other might be called a companion project – or the anatomy of a novel in progress. As you’ll discover, this is an unfinished work, a pile of dusty old papers that once showed some promise, and now, dusted off, included here for purposes of our critical analysis, discussion and complete dissection. By presenting it as an example, my aim is to give you an idea of how your writing efforts might move forward to a finished manuscript. The plan is to examine an unfinished novel paralleling our study on how to improve your writing and to ultimately getting something of your own published. As we progress, we’ll discuss the specific elements of writing with the goal of actually finishing a complete book of some kind.

Now that I’ve gotten that out of the way, the stimulus of this book was to offer something unique for men – particularly those over the age of 40 who, for whatever reason, dreamed of adding the title of author to their name. You may believe it’s impossible and have given up the idea, but by purchasing this book, you’ve taken a first step to achieving your goal. In fact, this little treatment is probably the most laid-back approach offered on the subject. This is not a joke, and I’m quite serious. Have a look at what I have to offer and you’ll discover a few things you didn’t know before, and a lot of things you didn’t know about yourself. If you can stick with it, I’ll even show you how to get your book printed and bound for a few hundred bucks, or you can publish it yourself for free on the Internet.

So why target this middle-aged segment of the population? Why pick on these poor slobs who probably have better things to do – like reading the sports pages, sipping brew on their days off and farting the afternoon away? Because I’m just like you, that’s why, and we get no respect. You know who you are, and how we struggle in unremarkable, boring lives. I’m talking about guys who bring home the bacon, the breadwinners, the risk takers and the hunter-gatherers – those invisible lumps sitting in the corner in their Lazyboy recliners whiling their free time away in complete obscurity.

I know you haven’t given up completely, otherwise you wouldn’t be reading this very line of text, but as you’ve probably noticed, when you reached the Big Four-O the significance of your life diminished considerably. For whatever reason, you conformed to the local norms, and you’ve been compartmentalized and pigeon-holed by everyone within your sphere of existence. You’ve been wrapped, tagged and bagged in a neat little package and dropped off in the nearest dust bin of life. The worst of it is is that you’ve allowed it to happen. Yes, I understand completely; it snuck up on you. But you looked the other way while it was happening. Why, because you probably didn’t give a damn. Fair enough. But do you want to stay in a dark corner for the remainder of your days, or would you rather go out with a bang? If you want to go out with a loud noise – like gonzo-journalist Hunter Thompson style – then you’ve come to the right place.

I’m convinced anyone can write a book. It just takes a little determination and, surprisingly, a lot less skill and effort than we’ve been led to believe. (Okay, take note: it does require some effort, but it can be accomplished with minimal effort when produced in small increments.) If you’ve ever kept a diary or journal, or taken notes for whatever reason, then you’re definitely a writer. Not only that, I’ve discovered that most guys like us have some strong opinions on just about every subject, including, but not limited to, politics, religion, sports, marriage, in-laws, the weather, and the troubling state of our culture, economy and government. We won’t be going into any of the particulars about these subjects, but we are going to explore how to put your thoughts down on paper – ideas and opinions for which you clearly have a passion for and a desire to share with others. You can write about any subject these days, but we should be advised not to harangue about our mother-in-laws too much, unless it’s something particularly funny and not too insulting or libelous.

They call us grumpy old men, but we like to identify ourselves as aging warriors. In truth, however, we’ve been led to believe we’re only good for two things: doing all the driving, and paying for everything at the end of the ride. Peculiarly, we do this all these things without complaint. Am I right, or what? So why are we still being held in contempt by our ungrateful neighborhood clan?

How about it, do you want to try your hand as a scribe? Why don’t we get started right now? You need three or four ordinary notebooks: keep one next to your night stand by the bed, another by your easy chair in front of the TV, and maybe another one under the seat in your pickup truck. You can also purchase a pocket notebook or two and carry one either in your hip or shirt pocket. In case you’ve forgotten, notebooks are for keeping notes, so use them often. Write down your thoughts and opinions, your dreams and hopes, and anything else that crosses your fancy, including a list of subjects you’d like to write about. From this point I’ll guide you along to help you get your manuscript wrapped and bound so you can finally achieve the respect you rightly deserve, and you can finally take up your position on the bookshelf of life along with the likes of Hemingway, Steinbeck and Faulkner.

If you’re wondering – why would anyone want to read another book on writing since there are shelves full of them at the local library, while most, in fact, are quite adequate? That’s a fair question, but I believe we need a different approach, one that’s not so boringly complicated, intimidating, and ultimately destined as unread.

My goal is to get you there from start to finish without my book getting dropped off in the nearest dumpster. That means I have to keep you interested, focused, and determined. It’s a tall order, indeed, and I even thought about telling you some jokes from time to time just to keep your thumbs and forefingers pinched between the pages. We all know your attention span won’t hold up unless you’re getting a reward of some kind, but I can’t conscientiously feed you a bunch of horse manure without teaching you something first. I’ll tell you what, read a chapter, and when you’re finished you have my permission to hit the links for a round of eighteen or to park your ass at the corner brew pub for some quality elbow bending. But think about it, really, you have to keep that promise to yourself most of all, because for one, you’ve forked over some cash for this book, and you’ve clearly decided to invest some time towards a chosen goal based on this subject. Generally, the only way to get your money’s worth out of it is to read the darn thing. That’s good advice under any circumstances, and that’s my advice as well.

A little background about me: I’ve edited a couple of published books, and I have over thirty years of experience as a writer. In those thirty years I’ve studied extensively the craft and art of writing from the standpoint of a student and as a professional journalist, not only practicing the fundamentals first hand, but acquiring over time the best tricks and latest tips on how to improve my skills. Today I’m taking up the position of instructor with the hope of helping others become better writers. This is a new role for me, and strangely, I feel more like a handyman lugging around a box full of well-oiled tools that I’ve acquired over those thirty-plus years. As we go along, however, I’ll bring out some of those tools from time to time and show you how to use them more effectively. Of course I’ll never stop learning, but the time has come to share some of what I know with others.

But what do I write about?

A lot of beginning writers want to know what they should write about. Everybody frets about this including the old hacks, and I’m betting you do too. We’ve been taught to write about what we know, right? This means that if we don’t know anything about our subject, than how in the Sam Hill can we write about it with authority? It sounds like the best advice. But it’s not – not even close. Steven Crane, at the age of 24, wrote the now-classic war novel “The Red Badge of Courage” about the American Civil War. The book was published in 1895. So you do the math. Speaking of the Civil War, let’s not forget the other great classic “Gone with the Wind” by Margaret Mitchell, written in the 1930s.

Okay, so what do we write about? Let met ask you this first: What do you like to read? That’s right; you write about the things you enjoy reading. Simple isn’t it? Do you like westerns, mysteries, adventure, or drama? Or perhaps non-fiction subjects prick your curiosity like history, biographies, or something more specific such as one of the social sciences, for example. Pick any one of those, by that I mean the ones you’re most interested in, and you’ll realize that no other subject can compare in keeping your interests focused. At this point I know what you’re thinking: what about me, right? So maybe you want to write your memoirs or autobiography. But we’ll discuss this more in detail later on.

How do we begin? First, you need find out as much as you can about your audience, their education levels, background, occupations, age, and their reading preferences. Now take a good look at yourself, and you’ve just answered most of those questions with a fair degree of accuracy. But best of all, you’ve discovered a huge area of subject matter now worthy of your writing time, and you can plan your writing project from that starting point.

Doesn’t that sound like a winner? And it’s not that hard! But if you think I’m leading you astray, then take the other path: just do the exact opposite of what I’ve been teaching you and simple logic will tell you you’ll still have a descent how-to-book on how to write better even if you don’t publish anything. If you don’t like my advice up to this point then you’ll obviously stop before you even get to this point. But let’s summarize what I’ve just told you: Write about the subjects you like to read about. That’s all I’m saying. That said, you should also consider what kind of background knowledge you have initially about your subject, and how well you understand the basics. What I’m saying is this: unless you’re an expert in a particular field, it’s probably better to stay within the limits of your own knowledge base where you know your way around. Sure, that can be a hobby, or an occupation, a profession or some other expertise you have that no one else has. But more importantly, it has to be a subject that is of great interest to you. Believe me, your knowledge, and particularly your enthusiasm, will show through in your writing. Fail that, and your readers will peg you right away that you’re not being true to yourself.

Hey, I’m an author!

Since we’re still early into this chapter, I’ll suggest one more piece of advice: it’s not always a good idea to tell everyone on the block you’re writing a book. Why? Isn’t that part of the fun? No, not always. Just ask yourself how many times you’ve heard coworkers or friends utter that bullshit. Did you really believe them? No you didn’t. So why join the chorus? It’s better to hand those jerks a genuine copy of your book; that’s where the real satisfaction lies, just like the exhilaration of triumph. Truth be known, announcing you’re writing a book was probably intended to impress some hot babe you were trying to pick up. But all you’ve done is create a picture of yourself as just another buffoon with a hard on. It’s not only a big letdown, but it will knock the wind out of your sails faster than you can say procrastination. Unless you produce a book pretty darn quick, you’ll be forever known as someone who’s as phony as a rubber chicken. On the other hand, thump your naysayer on the forehead with a book written by yours truly, and you’ll gain a bucket-full of respect, while allowing you the opportunity to kick some serious ass. As much as you want to tell the whole world you’re writing a book, don’t do it. Keep it to yourself.

But if you don’t tell anyone then how do you get any feedback or advice to help you move forward productively? Yeah, that’s a fair argument. I suggest you hang out with friends and acquaintances that not only know you pretty well, but will offer encouragement, support and even some ideas. These are the people who pat you on the back and stroke your ego for no other reason than the fact they care about you and want to humor you. The horrible truth is that losers, wimps, failed jocks, the middle-aged, and about 98 percent of the male population need a lot of self-confidence boosters to give them the energy to continue on. Writing a book of any kind takes a certain amount of dedication just to get a few worthwhile words on paper, and despite what I said earlier, it will require some effort or your part. No one can write it for you, unless you can afford to pay a ghost writer. I also recommend you join a local writers group where you can get some objective feedback on your material. If you show your work to your mother or best friend, the only thing you’ll hear is how brilliant you are. This won’t help you get any better at writing, but it will definitely encourage you like no one else can. But you need something more, and that something more is the truth. And you can get this for free, by the way, at a writers group and from people who know a little something about the writing game.

A novel in progress

As the title of the book suggests, my instructional outline also deals with a novel in progress, something I’ve worked on from time to time, and it is my hope that it will offer the reader an inside view on how a writer thinks and how he or she progresses from step A to step B, and so on. Humility tells me I'm just an ordinary hack with little ambition and a smidgen of talent. But I’m also one who believes it's possible to leave behind a record of some kind of my existence on this planet. So even if you’re not a best seller and even if you're not published, the words you leave behind will remain a testimony to your life’s journey, and a permanent reminder to others you actually lived, loved and thrived in the third dimension.

An old sage once remarked that we live our lives in quiet desperation. That was written by Henry David Thoreau, and the man was right on! We are the unloved, the misunderstood, the under-appreciated, and the pathetic souls who never get a word in edge wise. We’re talking about real angst here, about strong, stable men who – truth be known – sometimes cry ourselves to sleep at night. We’re commonly referred to as inexpressive and insensitive; though it’s an unfortunate misconception, it’s nothing more than outright bull poop. So however you look at it, we’re still relevant and important to our culture, to our families, to society as a whole, and we aim to prove it. Like Rodney Dangerfield's lament, all we want is little respect.

So let's get started. As I recommended earlier, you should get a notebook or two (or three) and start journaling about your lives just like the old scribes of yore.

Did you ever wonder what opportunities are left to us before we pass off our lot to our offspring? Who will remember us, or care that we were even here? What a way to check out! Take a good look backwards and forwards and our options appear quite limited indeed. There are no silver platters, no rich uncles, no winning lotteries, and no Academy Awards in our future. But writing a novel or our memoirs might put us on the map – though probably a small one. Those few of us who possess a little more talent and potential will have a head start. The rest of us, unfortunately, are quickly becoming lost in a cloud of dust and destined never be heard from again. That said, I believe most men still need a creative outlet or they’ll go completely bonkers. You can only feel sorry for yourself for so long until it becomes boring – so wipe off your hands and let’s see what we can create when we hit the keyboards.

I've had a lot of years to think about the subjects I want to write about, and how I want to say it; and I’ll bet like you, never got a word of it on paper. I must admit, too, that I was unsure of myself and lacked confidence. But think about this if you will: unless you write something down, you’ll never know if someone – anyone – would be interested in what you have to say. All of us – and I’m speaking for us old gimps and limp dicks as well – have had fairly rich lives in terms of experiences, both good and bad – and certainly enough to fill a book or two. So if you think you’re too old to give it a try, remember that it’s the compilation of those life experiences that ultimately makes it more interesting and worthwhile.

To tell the truth, I've torn up a lot more copy than I have ever saved, never giving it any thought that it’s probably better to let someone else decide if it’s worth reading. The thought of writing a memoir or autobiography seems too revealing for me: it’s like showing off your privates, where you have to drop your pants and let a bunch of strangers ogle your fat behind. It's a lot different than writing for newspapers or magazines, which I’ve done in the past. But trying to write something personal is much more intimate; it's like exposing a crack in your armor, so to speak. If we want to get started on the right foot, though, we need to jump in the proverbial punch bowl with both feet and guzzle our way to the top. That means writing, writing, and more writing. Just do it, and spill out your guts; you’d be surprised how much you can get done, and how much it sounds just like you talking. Did you get that? Make a note of it: it sounds just like you talking. And that’s exactly what we’re striving for. Why, because that’s where your personality rises to the surface. It’s called “style” in literary parlance. But what we want to do is capture the essence of who you really are.

How hard is it, really?

You might argue with me, but writing isn't that difficult anymore -- especially since today's computers and word processing programs are much more advanced with all those extra options such as grammar and spell checkers. They can tell us where we’ve gone wrong, where to make changes, corrections and insertions, and so on. It's like having a pretty English teacher sitting in your lap nibbling on your ear. So, can anyone write a book if he wants? Absolutely! You just got to have something to say, that’s all. And I’ll bet you’ve got plenty you want to get off your chest. But I’ll tell you a secret, and this is something you won’t hear from any editor: your writing doesn’t have to be so damn pretty and polished anymore. Why, because those same wonderful computerized spell checkers I mentioned makes it a breeze. Another reason is because it gives the editors something to do – that’s why they’re called editors. They hang on to their jobs by editing, and they’ll work their butts off just cleaning up your copy even if your story has only a little spark to it. I know that for a fact, because I've been there and done that.

Little gems

Over the years I've saved up these little instructional clips on writing. Maybe you've done the same on other subjects of interest. Every time I read one of those little gems on better writing I copied it or clipped it out and put it away. Some – most – are very good and useful. Yeah, I know, you can't teach talent. But you know the saying, "... a trained mind has the edge.”

Here's one of my favorites: Chekhov said it was for the artist to pose the great questions, not to decide on them. Also, that “the completely satisfying novel is one that sets all the problems correctly.” And then D.H. Lawrence put in his two-cents worth: “True morality in the novel is a balancing of things in the scales. When the novelist exerts his own ideological prejudice, it is like putting his thumb on the scales to give a false weight to one side."

Both Chekhov and Lawrence essentially draw the same conclusion. I’m not saying I agree with them one hundred percent either, but it seemed like a good subject to discuss. Here’s one side of the argument: If we want to hear a preacher burning the pews then we should go to his church. Some of us, however, don't want to read or hear any of that didactic crap in our art, literature or music. Harsh maybe, but it’s always best for the individual to make up his or her own mind, thank you, and not be told what to think. There are exceptions, of course, such as social commentary, and even in paintings such as Picasso’s Guernica that make a political and moral statement about the evils of war. And there's certainly a place for that as well, and if you are so inclined, there are ways to do it without sounding like a lout, bigot, or sandlot bully.

(At this point discuss the opposing opinions of Nelson Algren on the current subject.)

So what do we write about? Just exactly what subjects should we pursue that the consuming public will demand more of? One of the first rules about writing is to "write about something you know." So it goes without saying – the story about your own life is definitely a subject you know well. Maybe an autobiography or memoir could be of interest, or your work or career for example. If you’ve done any traveling, or exploring caves, or any adventuresome thrills such as skydiving or deep sea fishing (diving) – you know – manly stuff, well, hey, that's what's most interesting to other guys, right? That’s the whole point; tell us something that others would like reading about. The real life stories of people struggling with the natural elements are always interesting.

On the other hand, if you’re more of the creative type and want to try your hand at fiction, then you’ll want to examine some of the great themes of literature. In a friend’s writing project, he mentioned an ongoing subject about the impossibility of finding the love of his life. Love as the subject is a great theme – a theme of the ages. Most of our lives are filled with the pursuit of love in one form or another. And here’s a minor but attendant question to ponder: is the hunt for love itself an even greater objective than finding the object of our desires to begin with? I think those who have found "a love of a lifetime" are very few, but then I may be wrong. As subject, however, it’s quite common, and this theme is one of which most of our fictional stories are based. Homer’s Odyssey comes to mind; it’s the first novel ever written about a warrior named Odysseus and his arduous journey across the seas towards home and to the love of his life, Penelope, after twenty years absence.

I read a piece written some time ago by the great French short story writer Guy de Maupassant, who discusses how truly alone we are from the time of our birth to our death. Man's loneliness and the pursuit of love to dull that aloneness are the subjects of his story, and this is what he says: I paraphrase: A child is born into this world alone and with a terrible angst imbedded into his (or her) psyche. It manifests itself, rising to the center of his focus at the age of adolescence, and then it never abates its haunting presence. Maupassant continues that some are convinced this void – this emptiness – can be filled through "love" simply by giving it and being loved in return. But can it? That is the predominate question whose answer lies only in its unflagging pursuit. Think about that for a moment. If we believed it could only be found in physical love, for example, then I think we'd all be in trouble.

So how is love to be interpreted? How would I approach the subject, for example, since it’s pretty hard to avoid in just about any story of interest. Is it a great ruse, contrived and foisted on us long ago by gray-bearded sages, poets and philosophers? Should we force love on the object of our affection in hopes he or she will return it in equal portions? Is it a true altruistic endeavor experienced by those lucky enough to have discovered it? Phrased another way: is love a co-dependent malady suffered by overly lonely people? When we approach death, does the experience of love make the knowledge of our impending death somewhat less painful? All of these questions are perhaps overly simplistic, but the search for love and home are classic themes worth exploring.

These, and few others like it, are the questions we all have. Our music and literature are filled with this theme, the pursuit of love, or lost love, or newly found love, and so on ad infinitum. The quest for a home, like the one quested by Odysseus, is perhaps more of a sub-genre of the search for love. So, for the writer today, it’s become an overblown theme that’s lost its power, a story so common, in fact, it is told over and over again, albeit in different forms, to the chagrin of our middle-aged male readers. The fiction writer of today certainly has a daunting task ahead of them if he or she is to make it as unique and interesting for the reader as possible.

So, it’s hardly glaring news that as writers we’ve got our work cut out for us when tackling the major themes about life. Those are stories, I believe, still worth telling. Like Homer’s Odysseus, we are all lost souls trying to find our way home through the perils of darkness and the hazards of the sea. If your stories can provide us with some unique and creative clues – how to get home and how to avoid the pitfalls and traps that lead us in the wrong direction – those are the subjects, I think, we still want to read about.

Vengeance as theme

Perhaps most of what I've said is stuff the reader already knows. But then again if you see a different angle, you might be able to mold it into a newer, or fancier, looking package.

Revenge or vengeance is another popular theme, one particularly well suited for action-adventure type stories. The struggle of man versus nature or other outside forces is always an interesting subject as well; the life-and-death survival battles fought in exotic environments can keep us on edge for hours. That said, there are many other genres in fiction as well, such as science fiction, mystery, and suspense thrillers, just to name a few. As you can see, there’s just too much ground to cover here. My suggestion is to find your niche based on the subjects you like to read about and proceed from there.

But there’s a simple formula that always seems to hold our interest. As I may have mentioned earlier, sex and guns sells – what more can I say? The great moral questions about the existence of man – or the why and the where – may be questions better left to scholars, although, I must confess, it’s certainly worth exploring if you’re so inclined, as I am. But as for fiction, and mostly for the younger crowd, it's the smell of gunpowder and perspiration, the throbbing hearts, the breathless anticipation, and the tinge of fear, that are the elements that keeps those eager readers from putting your book down.

Voice and Point of View:

Two of the first things we must consider as writers deals with finding a voice and a point of view. Your language, personality, and the way in which you tell your story, and how you sound to your reader, determine your voice, and, as I briefly mentioned earlier, it ultimately becomes your style. How you use your style in telling a story will frequently depend on your chosen subject matter. While reading a novel, I will purposely try to identify how successfully the writer has pushed the story onward through his or her style alone. Ernest Hemingway wrote about his time, his generation, about their angst, as well as their hopes and dreams. Although he was speaking to his own generation, he spoke to them in a voice they recognized and understood. A painter paints what he sees around him to reflect his culture and his personal reality, as well as mirroring his imagination as well. We don’t have to create a new genre, but today’s writers, like Hemingway and the painters, must write about our own reality, from our own imaginations, and about our own cultures.

Here’s another way to look at it: your foremost audience is you, yourself and I, and those ever-present ghosts floating around inside your skin. To be affective you must be brutally honest, just as if you’re conversing with your dying father. This is not the time for bullshit, now is the time for truth and revelation. Speak that way to your readers and you’ll not only hold their attention, but also their sympathies.

Sex and violence are common themes today. It seems that every red-blooded American male is more interested in those subjects. What can you tell us? Can you give us conquest, and fulfill our hopes and expectations? Make it worthwhile, like the best sex you've ever had. It doesn't need to be pornographic. The true artist can paint us a delicate picture without mentioning the throbbing and thrashing torsos, and without the nipple in the eye. Perhaps the first time is more like the gentle rolling of a boat or the fluttering of hanging sheets in a summer breeze. As the passion heightens, so does the pounding surf, the sound of water beating against the rocks; maybe there's a symphony playing in the background, and the tympanis start to get louder, tapping rhythmically to a final crescendo. You tell it in your own words how you experienced it, but give us something different and unique.

It can take awhile to develop the plot, etc., to get it into shape so it makes a complete whole. At some of the newspapers I worked for we seldom received positive feedback from our employers. The few times we tried to be creative while writing a feature article, more often than hot, few noticed or said anything complimentary. It taught us that you couldn’t work in a vacuum and expect to grow. You have to have feedback of some kind. I had lousy editors who didn't know what the hell they were doing. It's like shouting into an empty hole in the ground. Even a songbird will stop singing if it never again hears the chirp of another.

About dialogue: What I discovered is that you become a much stronger writer by carrying the story along with the use of dialogue. What I mean is this: the reader wants to hear it from your character’s lips; we want her to tell it, not the narrator.

If the dialogue sounds real and authentic, the characters are more believable. It would only take a little editing to make it a finished and complete chapter. This type of art – the art of writing fiction – is a lot of hard work. Whenever we've got it right, then the hard work pays off and shows itself. Others can see it as well. Perhaps that's the way it should be, otherwise everybody and his brother would be writing novels and peddling it to the public as great literature. I know what makes great literature. I’ve read it. For sure, though, I’ve never written it.

The use of metaphor

In my friend’s writing, I particularly liked his use of metaphor in regards to his description of a hawk and mouse in the field. The writer doesn’t need to tell us, however, that he’s using it in comparison to the real life struggles of human beings. To some of us it's fairly obvious – so let us discover it for ourselves. Afterwards we can congratulate ourselves for being so damned clever at having figured it out. You can use the same device throughout the entire story again and again in regards to the different habits of birds (or whatever animal or other form it might take) in relationships to people.

In chapter one of the book I'm writing called "Jodie," I use a similar metaphorical trick, and it may or may not work. Here’s what I wrote: First, there's twelve inches of heavy, fresh snow on top of my main character’s vehicle, which is also loaded down with too much of his belongings. Hence, he experiences a blowout on one of his tires from all the weight. "Harry," my main character, is also carrying a heavy burden inside himself, a burden that only he can release gradually to eventually become a whole person again.

But back to my friend’s story: The reader soon realizes that his protagonist is very knowledgeable about North American birds and that he also has a genuine concern for the environment. This raises some questions that need answers fairly early on in the story. For example, how did he acquire this knowledge? Is it a hobby, or does he also teach biology along with his coaching duties? If you use this approach, then please let us know early on in the chapter, or at least give us a clue.

Conflict, setting and tension

Remember, the reader needs tension, as much as the writer can deliver. Don't be shy, drive it home, and continue to give us more turmoil in your main character’s life.

I'm realistic enough to know that I can never write a book as grand as "War and Peace." But I might be able to provide a small chunk of life where my characters are caught in the throes of political unrest over a little war that makes a big impact on the lives of our heroes and heroines. The settings I’m thinking of are certainly historical and created life-changing events. Not so sweeping as War and Peace, perhaps, but the Vietnam conflict makes for an interesting background nonetheless. And conflict is inherently built-in the subject of war. The story, though, must be about people and the individual and what happens to them.

You may not have gotten there yet! But there are still great opportunities of locating subject material by mining your own past or the turbulent events of recent history. You’ll want to examine more closely and in depth those times when conflict created a hardship in your life or in the lives of others. Do you remember where it happened? Slip back in time, hardly more than two decades ago, and you will have a perfect setting: the coming down of the Berlin Wall, the breakup of the Soviet Union, the unsettling events in Moscow and the fall of Communism. Mix in the Russian mob, a desperate young mother looking to escape, a young professor/scholar/jock type American, and you've got yourself one hell of a story filled with turmoil.

Remember, too, things have to get worse for our main characters before they get any better. So put them "through hell," make them bleed and cry in pain. Now bring them back from the brink of death, into the light, and bursting with hope. Our knowledge of their experiences is something that will reward us. The story of a young mother and the man who rescues her will bring us to tears – tears of despair – and tears of joy. It’s the stuff of great drama and literature. Get with it, man, I want to read more of that story.

I think the theme in my book boils down to a struggle of man against man – but ultimately the final struggle of man against himself. Like Hemingway's "Old Man and the Sea," which very much appears to be about man's struggle against nature, the ocean, and the big fish he catches, the relentless attack of the sharks, even his own aging body. But I also see the poignant struggle that lies deep inside his heart. For example, the younger and more robust fishermen of his village no longer find him relevant, and see him only in a humorous way – a joke – and a failure at catching fish. He's been a fisherman his whole life, so his pride is wounded to the core.

Here we have man against man (the younger men of the village); but it's ultimately about man against himself. It is the struggle to prove himself worthy of his own self-respect. Remember, his fish is nearly gobbled up by the sharks before he returns to the village, and so he has nothing to show anyone what a great fish he caught. That would have been a waste on Hemingway's part to end it that way. But we know the man regained his self-respect while out on the sea. He has great respect for the fish he's struggling with, but he knows the fish must ultimately be defeated in order for him to regain his dignity. But it was the battle he waged against the sharks (in order to protect his catch) that he proved himself worthy, and the great fisherman he still is. But then I could be wrong and that I misread the whole damn thing.

So how do I see the struggle in “Jodie?” Just like Hemingway's fisherman, my character has to be tested, held against the fire, and ultimately forced to make a choice. He finds himself in a predicament that seems to have no way out. He must either continue to perform his duties as a soldier, or suffer the consequences for his refusal to participate through insubordination or other means of resistance. He finally discovers a way out, but it has a price. He goes AWOL.

But he soon realizes this is not a legitimate or practical solution. His only other choice is to make a trade. Even though he detests the idea of playing the roll of martyr, he knows he must trade his freedom for his moral well-being. This also has its pitfalls. He's willing to go to jail -- in fact turns himself in. He will eventually get discharged under other than honorable conditions, which in a way appears to be satisfactory. But in his heart he knows that society will have it in for him. His discharge papers expressly states: "Expect to be treated with extreme prejudice . . .." What he discovers is that he traded away his most valuable possession of all: hope.

How to regain hope? That’s one of the impossible struggles he faces. What he doesn't realize -- yet -- is that he's fighting the wrong demons. The forces of evil are not something outside himself, but lie somewhere inside his own heart. He must come to terms with his own ghosts and bury them for good. He lives an unfulfilled life of self-punishment and doubt

That's it in a nutshell: Tension and turmoil all the way through. It's the wringer for my character Harry! But there could be a reward in the end. If Harry survives the catharsis he'll find a rainbow waiting for him on the other side. Let's all hope he makes it! That's the way I see it anyway. It's possible that I've missed something important, but I might discover that later.

I apologize, however, for not being clear on my chosen theme a little better since it's a much more developed approach than what I once had in mind – and one I've labored over at great length. Some things are fairly obvious in the minds of today's reader – one being that the war in Vietnam was a huge mistake on the part of U.S. foreign policy. But that, however, it is only a single detail of the plot in "Jodie"; much like a setting, something that shapes the "current" political environment if you will. At the time it was a great event, but it’s also old news today. Foreign policy generally comes and goes with a change in the White House. Along with that, social change comes as well – wars come to an end, others may erupt, but time marches on nonetheless.

I really don't want to get into writing a history of the war, per se, particularly one slanted to one political viewpoint or the other. Leave it to the historians and to those more qualified to give an opinion as to what it was all about. Yes, Harry detests the war, but I want the events to speak for themselves, and leave the reader to draw his or her own conclusions. I'm not a novelist yet, but if I were, I don't think art (in the novel form) should be used as a vehicle to vent my political viewpoints.

Free Will as a major theme

For our main character, Harry, the war in Vietnam is very important in his life, as it is in the lives of those around him. Not only are we losing lives on the battlefield, but the streets of America have become the scene of violent protests. He sees the war for what it is: a botched foreign policy decision made or supported by crooked politicians, military industrialists, paper-pushing Pentagon idiots, and a slew of other hawks and frightened wimps too scared to speak up. He sees the people of Vietnam as proud but helpless victims, slaughtered by the thousands for rising up against this huge military machine. He gradually sees himself as nothing more than a "Nazi" carrying out the wishes of a few, against the many, with hell to pay as a result. It’s the ultimate turmoil played out inside the recesses of Harry’s conscience.

These events are important for a while – but only as they're happening. People get on with their lives after the events of the day have passed into the history books. One of the main questions, of course, deals with the aftereffects, particularly in the lives of our main character(s). What we have at first is just a simple cause-and-affect plot twist, the result of how those events unfolded. For our purposes, it wraps the story in turmoil and pushes it onward years after the war has ended. But it’s the internal conflicts that frame the theme of the novel, particularly that of free will.

There are, of course, external forces for which our characters have no control, and it’s these forces that have shaped the lives of countless people. Hundreds of thousands of young men were drafted (conscripted) to take up their positions on the front lines so to speak, even though Vietnam really had no “front” like they had during the last two world wars. Others avoided the draft for a number of reasons, or simply found successful deferments. A percentage of those who couldn't avoid the draft decided to go to Canada or Sweden. And some, like our character, Harry, went AWOL after they went into the service. And let's not forget the thousands who went to war and were killed or seriously wounded. Did those young men die in vein? The thought presents a much-too-complex comment for our character to make, perhaps, but in truth, I think, it’s not really necessary anyway.

But I can say this much: every one of these young men was faced with a tough decision as to what to do? And that's one of the points I want to make. Even though there's nothing we can do to stop war, we ultimately have a choice as individuals as to whether we want to participate. Remember, our main character’s options were limited: either be drafted, or join up. It was the law of the land, period. Opting out was more difficult, but could be done through a variety of actions: some legal, and some not.

The war changed Harry, but I don't see him as a victim of the war. This is why: A mother who loses her son on the battlefield is a victim; a mother who loses her son because he hides out in Canada is also a victim. But the soldier cannot be a victim, and neither can the young man who left for Canada. They had a choice, but their mothers did not.

Those villagers in Vietnam, who got bombed, killed or wounded, are obviously victims. But to me the soldier who bombed them is not. Even if the soldier is shot down and is killed or wounded, he is still not a victim, at least not by the definition I'm trying to construct here.

Do you remember the story of Maximillion? He was the son of a farmer who lived on land within the Roman Empire. An officer and his men approached the father and son in the field one day from Caesar's army. They attempted to conscript young Maximillion into service, but he refused. He was given a choice: either join Caesar's forces against the enemies of Rome, or face the penalty of an immediate execution. "We must render unto Caesar which is Caesar's," said the Captain. "The lad is a Roman subject, and he therefore belongs to Rome. It is the will of Caesar that all legal subjects serve the throne, and to take up arms against its enemies." Maximillion's father, an old and wise man, told his son it was his decision to make, and that he would support his son on either choice. Maximillion chose death. The execution was carried out swiftly and on the spot.

If the decision had been left to the father, he would have chosen that his son take up arms and join the battle. Any father would have done the same since the chances of his son's survival in war are much better than an instant death for a violation of local law. On the other hand, Maximillion would have obeyed his father and done as he wished. His father was aware of that fact as well. So he left the decision up to his son to make alone. Maximillion made the right choice, but for himself only. Obviously it’s not what his father wanted. Surely the father is a victim here since he relegated the complete outcome to his son’s decision. But Maximillion is not a victim -- a lovable martyr perhaps -- but not a victim by my definition.

The same can be said for other so-called martyrs of the past. For example, is Christ a victim – or is he a heroic martyr as well? Can he be both at once? Can a man wield the power of "free will" like a sword in the face of the enemy, against those who wish to take his freedom – or life – and then commence a successful battle in his own defense? Does the individual ever win? If victory for the individual is death or a prison sentence, then how can that be viewed as a victory? A man who makes a decision that violates the official laws of the land must always pay the consequences of his "individual" choice. There's no way around it. It's been that way since the invention of "state." Granted, we may not agree with those laws, but "civil disobedience" demands a price. Please note the word "disobedience," which connotes a choice made by the individual. Free will promotes the individual, but it can never assist the state if it violates its written laws.

Free will begins at the end of our noses. Unfortunately, however, that's where it also ends. So I find it difficult to have Harry carrying around a "victim's complex," which I think is somewhat pathetic. Whatever’s happened to him he's done to himself. To me this makes him more honorable in a way, and he' not going around blaming everyone for his misfortunes. He's not pointing fingers, and I think the reader will respect him for that. It was a choice he made -- he exercised his free will, and probably lost in the end.

I can tell you personally, though, from having lived through those times, that it's an honest and genuine conclusion. The subject sometimes came up in discussions I had with my dad, for example. And I would ask this hypothetical question: Had I been killed in Vietnam, would my father and mother – who immigrated to this country from the Netherlands – have excepted blame for bringing me here? Sometimes I think they would have. I only feel that way because my mom and dad were leaving behind the ravages of war themselves, only to discover they would soon be in another. In time, however, I believe they would have realized the events were so much larger than the lives they lived on either side of the ocean; and that it was beyond their control -- just like WWII, which they both experienced and fortunately survived. They would eventually have come to understand, I think, they were not to blame -- hypothetically speaking, of course.

I, too, have had to come to terms with my own regrets. But the Vietnam War is not at fault for my shortcomings. And that is what "Harry" has to discover as well. For some reason the quote kept running through my head that "Might equals Right." Maybe it boils down to this: "The Power of the State vs. Free Will." Although what I had in mind is about what happens afterwards (the cause and affect) when man exercises his right of free will.

As a general rule I wouldn’t bring up the subject of religion or the Bible, but ironically, the story of Adam and Eve comes to mind since they also practiced a form of civil disobedience. They paid the consequences of eating the forbidden fruit by being banished from the Garden, along with some other punishments. From then on it was like a primal warning to all mankind: "Always obey a higher authority," or face some very severe punishment if you don’t.

That's one of the problems I had with the movie "Coming Home," about the gimp and his struggles to live a normal life. He had the choice to stay home and face the consequences if he refused to go to war. He chose war instead. So why should we take pity on this man? How many people had he himself killed prior to getting wounded and crippled for life? He wasn't the only one wounded; there were thousands. Who will tell their story? And I'll bet none of them got to suckle Jane Fonda's breasts.

We must remember that a soldier is a willing participant in war – if he chooses. He may change his mind later on, and decide it's all a big mistake. But if he decides to leave his post, to go AWOL, that's still his choice to make. But he's still not a victim of the war -- at least not yet. How can we take pity on a man who attempts to determine his own fate?

The individual is ultimately the victim of his own design – just like Harry. That's because Harry – like others before him – has "free will." He's completely aware of this, and doesn't see himself as a victim – at least not a victim as a result of those "outside" forces that were once beyond his control. He doesn't feel sorry for himself in any sense that he's aware of; he's not seeking pity from others.

Those great events -- the ones we have no control over -- are indeed much bigger than we are. But all anyone can do is shrug their shoulders and go along with the flow. We can protest, or make a decision not to participate in the war. But protest as we may, the event will continue to play itself out on the world stage. One ordinary man, like Harry, cannot change it in how it affects the world or even a small number of people. He can only make the change for himself; the outcome of which will also affect him only.

Yes, he's a pitiful character, but it was neither society's nor the government's fault that he ended up that way. It was the situation, the circumstances of the war that forced his hand. He made a choice, good or bad, but it was his choice and no one else’s. He blames himself – not necessarily for making a "bad" choice, but because the outcome of his choice (the cause and affect) was one he failed to completely understand at the time. It's not really that complicated. He becomes aware, suddenly, that his future -- his hopes and dreams – are now in jeopardy. He made the right choice, but it has some dire consequences he didn't bargain for.

Some tips on point of view

About the use of third person in telling a tale: first, you must keep in mind that you have separate and distinct voices which you are presenting to the reader: To start with, our hero is one, and the narrator of the story is another. These are two different people, or voices. The narrator in a third person story is the omnipresence character, the fly on the wall if you will, who must remain silent and outside the story. He (this person is really gender neutral) must keep all opinions to himself and let the characters express whatever biases they have a bent on expressing. The narrator must be nearly invisible, and carry the story forward from scene to scene in a seamless flow of word-tricks and maneuvers.

Depending on who's talking at the time, you must leave in the local "vernacular" or flavor of your hero’s voice as well as that of the other characters. On the other hand, you must keep the vernacular “out” of the voice of the narrator. In my book "Jodie" the telling of the story is done in "first person singular," which gives the writer, or narrator, a totally different position – or point of view – because he or she is part of the story. I don't know, but my character probably sounds like someone from Colorado. The vernacular in the narrator's voice in "Jodie" is one and the same with the main character, and it's therefore an integral part of the story.

If it looks and sounds normal to you and I, we definitely have a problem because we have an accent specifically oriented to our region of the country. I never would have believed it. I traveled to New York in 1972-73: the people there said I sounded like a hick from out-west somewhere. Several were able to guess the exact state I was from.

Another time: I had this girlfriend from Chicago. We were talking one day and I casually mentioned that people from Colorado speak perfect English without any accents at all. She howled: "Are you kidding, that's the stupidest thing you've ever said. It's the people from Chicago who have perfect diction, it's been proven in scientific studies," she argued. "They speak the cleanest English, without any telltale signs whatsoever. No one can tell we're from Chicago, we have no local slang, and we pronounce all our words correctly."

Well, I later wondered how a person can make such a comparison anyway: do you compare them to someone from England, like Liverpool? How about New York or Atlanta? Just where does a real authentic American live these days? Hawaii? I don't know. So how do we speak or sound more homogenous to others? Our editors can be a big help. Here’s a tip that might help a little: while in the narrative, try to leave out the contractions you're fond of using. Again, while in the narrative, if you use a "slang" expression or word, you should remove it if possible. Also, begin your sentences as if you are writing in a more formal style, like the MLA standard you were taught to use in English comp class (but leave out the footnotes, please).

In the case of "Jodie," however, I've got a different kind of problem with the narration. My main character, Harry, is also the narrator of the story since I've chosen the first-person point of view. The vernacular I use is just so much veneer that get's layered into the plot. My problem, however, is that I'm traveling down the road in the "present tense." This gets me in trouble because the flow of the narration is always in the "past tense." I have to be careful of the shift back and forth and my usage of verbs, whether past, present, or future. Look at my story again and you'll see the difficulty I'm having -- my verbs don't match very well when I come back to the present. I've cleaned it up for now, but I keep finding myself doing it out of force of habit. I hope from now on you'll keep reminding me to be more careful.

Let the characters speak through their own native voice, and it will come out perfectly natural as well. It's when we try to create a voice from another part of the U.S of A. that we get into trouble. If the other characters are also from Colorado, then they definitely speak the vernacular. And it sounds quite normal "to me" too, but who knows. Maybe there's no way around it, but it should be working OK up to a certain point. Unless one of your characters is a genuine transplant, from Georgia, let's say, then you'll have to demonstrate that to the reader whenever this person speaks.


What happened to the children in literature?

One thing we often have trouble with is children. Kids are tough to work with. It’s odd, but in the art world, most painters have tried to stay away from either using or including children in their paintings. That’s because it's so darn difficult to make them look like real children instead of miniature adults. In a lot of cases the children look more like midgets, which probably wasn’t the intent of the artist. As a result, the painting is flawed. The same can be said for British television. Hardly any kids in the movies they make or even their television shows. Television screenwriters for American soap operas have the same problem: the kids never "sound" like real kids that age. It's a tough area to cover.

The problems associated with children are much different. People "know" children in how they act and speak, and how they construct sentences for just about any specific age group. Some parents can tell with uncanny skill just how old a child is by hearing them speak. In general terms, children’s brains develop at known stages of growth and allow them to use certain "sentence constructions" at a particular age, which is measured by the number of words used and the placement of subject and verb, for example. This presents a problem for most writers, so most of them leave the children out of their stories. It can also be said for the voice of the opposite sex of the writer. What I mean is this: given the surroundings and circumstances he creates for this female voice, can a male writer make his character sound like a woman should sound, and vice versa? This is obviously difficult to pull off, and it would be a real blessing to have that skill.

Stay out of the flower bed

In my writing I'm finding more and more of that rosy crap, which, when viewed later, sounds like a lot of hogwash. I don't know where it comes from; it just hops up there on the computer screen from out of the blue. The truth is, we have a tendency to wax poetic, but we end up sounding like fools.

The problem I had with my chapter one, for example, is an obvious one that dealt with editing changes I made with the beginning and the ending. The story starts on a highway in Kansas, but ends up back in Colorado outside Pueblo. Anyway, I've rectified the discrepancy by simply reworking the lead. I've also made a few other minor changes throughout the story to match the changes at the beginning, as well as removing a paragraph here and there, and touching up a few others. I catch myself once in a while trying too damn hard, and I end up with this "flowery" verbiage, which at the time I thought was quite clever. So it's this awful sounding phony stuff that can really stink up the place, so it has to be removed without another thought. If I keep looking, I may take out even more, who knows. But it's something I'll try to avoid in the future.

Now that I’ve brought it up, I’m going to add a little more commentary, and then we’ll leave it there. Trying to sound too clever can be disastrous and you end up ruining the story. The reader will see right through you and you’ll soon lose them pronto. I found this little tid-bit on the subject, and it hits the points better than I can.

“The Elegant Variation is "Fowler’s (1926, 1965) term for the inept writer’s overstrained efforts at freshness or vividness of expression. Prose guilty of elegant variation calls attention to itself and doesn’t permit its ideas to seem naturally clear. It typically seeks fancy new words for familiar things, and it scrambles for synonyms in order to avoid at all costs repeating a word, even though repetition might be the natural, normal thing to do: The audience had a certain bovine placidity, instead of The audience was as placid as cows. Elegant variation is often the rock, and a stereotype, a cliché, or a tired metaphor the hard place between which inexperienced or foolish writers come to grief. The familiar middle ground in treating these homely topics is almost always the safest. In untrained or unrestrained hands, a thesaurus can be dangerous."

Death in literature

If children don't understand the concept of death, why is it that some governments make 18 the age of consent? At one time 18 was the age when you were required by law to register for the draft, and, in fact, many were actually conscripted to go off to war?

(It was a major event in American history that 18-year-olds were finally given the right to vote -- at a time when it was the very age young men were being drafted and sent overseas to participate in a politically controversial war. Thus, by giving them the vote, they might somehow, by their shear numbers, change the course of history by electing politicians who were opposed to our military involvement in Southeast Asia. It's an interesting aside that I've often contemplated. What's tragic, however, is that the right to vote at age 18 came at precisely the same time the war was coming to a close.)

My guess is that most 18-year-olds are probably mature enough to understand the concept of death. If the government is aware of this fact it’s certainly a big unknown, and probably not understood very well by the general public or by the boys they induct. I don’t think it’s a subject often discussed by either the public or our politicians or war makers, and it would appear that most don’t even care. And yet it's a dichotomy. Drafting an obviously immature young man into the service and then sending him off to war leaves him few options -- to say the least. That's because he's suddenly put under the threat of violence if he refuses to obey the orders of his local draft board. The threat of violence in this case is the loss of freedom he’ll suffer by being forcibly placed in a jail cell for a certain length of time. In some countries he would probably be put to death for refusing his draft orders. The number of options is quite limited -- and boils down to only two, really, and neither is pleasant.

But I also wonder how many 18-year-old males would be mature enough to understand the consequences of either choice? Going off to war is often portrayed as a romantic and patriotic notion promoted by the government, and by our society as a whole in fact, despite knowing full well that our young troops may be killed or maimed. Refusal, however, to go to war through other than legal deferments makes the young man a pariah in his own culture for the rest of his life. So if he's not ready to make those decisions at 18 because he lacks the maturity to understand the complexities and repercussions of either choice, than how come the draft age is still set at 18. He's still a child, really, and yet we draft him and send the child off to war. I'm still scratching my head!

Waiting another three years -- until age 21-- would perhaps be better. Yet the government knows quite well the risks involved in doing so. Far more would refuse to go. Many would already have married and had small children of their own; several would already have entered college, finishing their final year before graduation. At age 21 the young man would have gathered sufficient resources of his own -- either through a job, education, maturity, other obligations as great as or greater than patriotism such as family. All these elements have been analyzed and weighed by the government. Their conclusion is that 18-year-olds present the perfect age group from which to draw canon fodder. Most obey obliquely, like sheep marching off a cliff.

Would this be a form of age discrimination? Yes, of course it is. But the ultimate priorities of the state are much more important than individual rights. It is common law that we must sacrifice the few to save the many. This gives the state power to conscript male members (sex discrimination this time) in times of crisis. These are generally some of the first laws established when new governments are formed. As a member of society, as a legal subject of the state, we must abide by those rules in time of war or other catastrophic perils facing the state. If one man refuses to be drafted, than another young man must take his place, and so on. This makes it even harder to refuse military service once a young man has been conscripted. The protection of individual rights must therefore take a back seat, even in great democracies such as that found in the U.S. (The option of gaining conscientious objector status is a consideration, but it was very difficult to acquire, and was limited to a small few. Most served in other capacities, such as medics, but this also ultimately served the war effort.)

The period of Vietnam was consequently a very "unfair" environment that allowed far too many deferments, and also allowed ways for the wealthy and well-connected to pull their sons from hazardous duty. But I won't get into that discussion at this time, and besides, the reader knows the histories of the 1960s and 1970s as well as I do.

Over the years I've given this some thought and know my way around a little. I’m hardly an expert on the war’s history, however, and I also know little about the political events that surrounded the protest movements stateside. So I can only speak from an individual point of view, as I experienced it personally (albeit from different perspectives than most) in hopes that it may help define a broader stroke when looked at from a distance -- a distance of time, and a change in the political climate.

I doubt that "Jodie" would even make an exclamation point after so many years have passed, but it does provide some insight into the lives of the individual, and into the lives of common folk. These are the same people who became the grist for the mill, swayed to-and-fro by great events and political movements, like so much seaweed on the ocean floor. "Jodie" -- if it's ever published -- will ultimately become a statement from one of those common folk, not a loud voice perhaps, but one that is finally heard and speaks to the "individual" in all of us: "I was there, damn it. Yes, I was there!"

Just some rambling thoughts: I wouldn't worry too much about the main character being too "lovable" early on in your novel. The protagonist, or hero, is the main character the reader needs to follow, so everything he or she does and says will help to build main character’s personality over the course of several chapters.

You can paint the main character’s picture however you want, of course, but the reader must ultimately believe in this man -- in what he is capable of doing, and what he is not. Is he a goofball, a dufus, a thick-skulled former jock without a brain in his head? Is he one of the "good ol' boys" or prejudiced against minorities? Or does he have a soft spot in his heart for the underprivileged. All of this may or may not make him lovable to the reader.

We must also respect our protagonist completely – no argument there. But when will we be able to take him seriously? For example, is he capable – considering his willingness to surrender so easily to the system without much barking back in return – to take himself and the reader on to greater and more heroic pursuits? It doesn't appear he has much room to move except to squirm, and he has no position of strength from which to either defend himself, or from which to launch an offensive of any kind. Your character doesn't need to be "superhuman," but what are his real strengths, ones that make him standout from the crowd?

When, and what, will we find out about our hero? Does he have a brilliant mind, is he a closet genius; does he have wads of money stashed away in a secret bank account; does he have powerful friends in high places; is he clever and a great strategist; does he have some hidden talent that we don't know about yet (will he suddenly become famous as a new recording artist from songs he's written); will he become an accidental lightening rod in society because he's been asked to testify before a Congressional Committee on Education, making such a splash before Congress and the press, that the entire country picks up his cry for reform; will he have a great vision causing a complete turnaround in his personality, thus becoming more serious and environmentally responsible -- the one who leads the fight against an environmentally unsound project that he once supported; will he be struck by a vision of some sort, giving him strength to pursue whatever goal it is that he desperately needs to accomplish; can this man save the world from the forces of evil, can he even save himself? And from whence does the inner strength erupt, what makes him tick?

Try to strangle a man and he’ll fight back as fiercely as any animal in order to survive. But choke him slowly and even a child may succeed.

You've heard actors complain frequently that sometimes a lesser supporting actor gets in the way. Not that a supporting cast isn't necessary to the story; it's just that their presence during any particularly moment could take the thunder out of the main character's strength of presence. The main character gets trumped, if you will, or upstaged is perhaps a better word, and this less important player steals the scene. What if the reader finds this character more appealing early in our story? Perhaps they would rather follow him or her around for a while. Surely, that's not the direction you intended to go.

Our culture is so wrapped up in hero-worship – particularly when our hero is also an incredible underdog, one who may be despised or picked on by a particular person or group. If we identify with this person it’s because we also recognize some similar event in our own past. It ultimately comes down to a boiling point or climax, and then BOOM. Our hero explodes and he’s ready to kick ass: his vengeful wrath is soon spread out and he’s pleasantly vanquishing his tormentors with equally painful blows.

"Revenge" as theme is one of the most common story lines we see in movies today. It's usually a very powerful and uplifting legend from the past, with a lot of singing and dancing in the streets afterwards: "We're free at last,” or our hero is rewarded by finally winning the heart of his illusive love interest. It's a message that says society bestows its highest honors on its heroes. But because of his bravery, however, he’s killed in the end (Mel Gibson's Scottish warrior in "Brave Heart" comes to mind). What rewards are there left to parcel out? And who gets them, or deserves them? Martyrdom will get our great man a high place in history, but it’s just about all anyone can expect – they're "dead" after all. I wonder sometimes if that’s enough reward for the sacrifice of giving up one’s life.

The hero’s quest is often about the "individual" poised against a more powerful and well-organized force. Freedom (or free will) pitted against the unbending authority such as the State -- or government -- is an ancient story. Similarly today we often hear "You can't fight city hall." It’s a common refrain most of us grew up with. And, obviously, it's not always a battle of "good versus evil."

Today it's seldom about defending individual rights -- with the exception of the civil rights movement perhaps, which is still being played out today, unfortunately. Political battles are generally split between two sides as to who is "right." So whoever takes up the high ground -- and takes up the sword – becomes the hero of the moment.

What kinds of struggles do we have today? Are there any that can match those of "Biblical" proportions? What forces of evil are lurking in your story? Do humans bent on destroying the individual or overpowering his “free will” represents them? Or is it perhaps something else, like the ongoing battles of social injustice where the weak, the poor, and the minorities of our culture are continually exploited, and which could affect the lives of many, many of people. Is that where we need to go to find a great story, or is there something else we can mine for interesting – and arresting – material?

My advice is to keep doing whatever it is you've been doing. Maybe you’re writing some damn good dialogue. Are you able to pull the conversation right out of your head and put it down on paper word for word? That takes a very imaginative mind to accomplish! Publishers are looking for writers who a capable of creating and writing realistic dialogue. The most common of all rules is to "show don't tell." Most of us are familiar with that old refrain, but it still applies today. The way to accomplish that feat is by having your characters conducting a one-on-one conversation. Most writers would gladly give up one of their testicles to be able to do that and sound authentic. If you have such a talent, as far as I'm concerned, you can start harvesting bags of nuts whenever you want – they're yours for the taking.

As a reporter, I often had to write what is commonly referred to as cut-lines for photographs, those little snippets of description found underneath a picture. Since we didn't take them, most of the photos we used we knew nothing about. So we had to come up with something, anything, like a short paragraph of “puff” pulled from out of the blue. This proved to be a fun and creative exercise. We had to use our imaginations to set the scene and to explain the elements and how they were related to each other, etc.

I might suggest, based on whatever story line you come up with, that you create a scene or setting in your imagination – just like a photograph -- and then freeze that thought. Now write a cut-line for that frozen image. Sometimes I would take a walk and try to create the exact scene that would fit perfectly for what I wanted to convey. But the scene has to be located at the pinnacle (or climax) of that specific setting. Now freeze it in place! If you're able to do that, it should generate reams of copy. Once you have the scene written -- and this scene only -- then you'll be able to knit a transitional paragraph or two on either end to keep the flow going.

"Know your audience, and you will find your voice!" I don't know where that quote comes from, but it makes a lot of sense. To me, I find that if my listeners are a bunch of church ladies, I write in one kind of style, as though my mother were reading it. But then when my audience is a bunch of hairy legs, I write in a completely different style altogether.

But writing for church ladies is not my idea of fun. It wouldn't be me, really, and I'd have to fake it, to pretend, and I'd be a phony. The real me is sitting along side those hairy legs, where I feel more comfortable, more relaxed, more natural – and ultimately more creative. What works best for me is to imagine my best friend as my audience, and that I’m writing for his eyes-only. This seems to work because this person is my intellectual equal – so I don’t sound as if I’m talking down to someone with lesser skills, or conversely trying to impress my English teacher with bloated swill.

We have to push away our fears; to quiet our internal censors, to throw off the heavy chains, the choking of a lifetime of Victorian constriction and upbringing. If we want to fly, to soar along side the great bards of our own time, we must cut loose those binding ropes, which hold us back. (Pretty hackneyed, huh? I fear banality most as a writer, and perhaps contrivance comes in second. I also need to watch out for the clichés, which is right up there at the top of my many other weaknesses.)

"Self expression is the essence of my soul." I love that line. It’s taken from the book titled “The Lives and Times of Archy and Mahitbull,” by Don Marquez (1916). Those are the first words spoken by our main character in chapter one by a former writer and poet: former because he’s now deceased and transmigressed into the body of a cockroach. The cockroach, Archy, lives in a newspaper office, and when the editors retire for the day, he literally bangs out a news column by jumping up and down on an old manual typewriter. The “Self Expression” line suggests angst, and a desire to escape the trap society places on the artist’s creativity. Some writers are able to wriggle loose, while others like you and I perhaps, may take longer to finally break away. We understand, however, that we must make that break alone – there's no one there to help. So let’s keep on wriggling, man, we’re almost loose.

Remember that Mark Twain never really participated in the great historical events of his own time. Yes, he served briefly in the Civil War in a reserve unit in Missouri, but he never fired his weapon once, except at a possum. He became a great American writer because of his early training as a journalist (he started at age 15), and because he was probably the most traveled man of his day. Before the age of thirty, he had been to the great American cities of St. Louis, New York, Philadelphia and Boston. During that time he also traveled abroad to London and Paris, and also to Egypt and the Mediterranean area. Let's not forget his travels by stage to Wild West Nevada territory with his older brother. From there he went on to San Francisco. In his late thirties he took a boat to Hawaii for six months to see the natives and what affects the white man had on their unique culture. When he finally arrived back in the California he was penniless and without a job.

His friends and associates knew he was gifted and told him how funny he was. They particularly paid attention whenever he told a clever story, of which he had hundreds stored in his head. Twain was a trained observer, which he learned and honed early on; but he especially had a fondness for the humorous side of humanity. He was told he might have a career as a public speaker, and was encouraged to go on the lecture circuit, to tell his funny stories and his humorous take on society. In essence, he became the first stand-up comic.

Twain was also a "first" in another very important area -- as a writer of a uniquely "American" style of literature. Twain was a pioneer in the style of writing that put most of the emphasis in "how" the story is told. The importance wasn't in the ending; it wasn't in the theme, or even in the characters themselves.

No, Twain believed that the best way to tell a story was to keep the listener/reader either on the edge of their seats with each line or to have them laughing their guts out nonstop from paragraph to paragraph, and page to page. His descriptive style was developed by listening to the way people actually spoke in different parts of the world; he keenly observed all those different cultures as well, learning the details and particulars. A new breed of literature was born with Twain, and we have him to thank for it today. When you read Twain he puts a smile on your face the whole way through, sometimes because his characters are doing or saying something stupid or silly, or you suddenly realize he's pulling the wool over your eyes. And it was all done in good clean fun.

Hemingway expanded on the idea by being more contrite, and economical. His writing was lean, down to the bare bones, yet more serious. But it was still the same writing style where each sentence, each paragraph mattered. Hemingway had to be sparse since as a foreign journalist he had to wire his copy back to the states. Therefore his employer had to pay by the word as it traveled by wire across the ocean. I had forgotten that about Hemingway. No wonder his writing was so brisk. I still like the idea of keeping it sparse, and not so wordy like the great Russian writers Tolstoy and Dostoevsky. Steinbeck had an insight into the human condition that could parallel the Russian writers, I think, but his style was also uniquely American. Twain had the same insight, and maybe even more developed, perhaps, but he never took himself too seriously, which is one of the things I liked about him. It's something I hope to avoid as well, since I get too melodramatic myself.

Both Twain and Hemingway were geniuses, incidentally, and we have no business comparing ourselves to either of them. But they can still teach us a few things about writing if we pay attention.

(My apologies if I sound like I'm over-analyzing, but I'm trying to motivate the reader to hone his craft even better, to make his fiction seem more believable. I want you to explore the deep caverns of your being, wring it out so that the ore gets squeezed to the surface in a more refined form. If we keep plugging away, than I have no doubt we'll get published. I don't know how soon we'll get there, but I would rather arrive a little late with a good looking package as opposed to arriving too early with a hand full of mush.)

Watch the magazine articles for new ideas on the craft of writing -- these are often quite helpful. It’s a way of comparing it to our own writing, and then trying it on for size; if we don’t put it on then it gives nothing back of value.

I would like to hear what a person's first reaction would be -- their gut reaction -- when reading my material. If I’ve done it correctly, I think, the reader will want to continue, never realizing they got jerked into the story by my clever hook. That's what I find fascinating about the great writers; they just keep you turning pages and wanting more.

The problem I've always had with "Jodie" concerned the elements of time. I could begin the story, literally, "from the beginning," and travel in a straight line into the future. You have to be very specific as to where to "begin," and equally specific about the location of where to "end." We go from "Point A" to "Point B" and somewhere in the middle we fill up the time with all the action. But it's a very limited space because you really can't travel outside of this "template" we've created -- we have to stay within the designated points.

Most stories are told in this format; it's very elemental, and it's generally easier for the reader to follow. My problem is that I'm so far removed in time from most of the action -- some thirty-plus years now. There are just too many dead spots, and long periods of time when nothing happens. How do you fill those holes? Well, I couldn't, at least not by trying to write it "laterally." So the "linear" approach had to be scrapped.

I came up with the idea of just simply going back in time from the vantage point of creating a present that's many years into the future. That way all I have to do is pick a spot along the line -- either two years back, or twenty, and then come back again to the present.

It takes a little bit of weaving, like putting it all on a giant loom, piece by piece, thread by thread; but once finished, it becomes a complete whole, a finished afghan if you will. The only difference is that sometimes I begin weaving at the top or at the bottom, but most of the time I'm starting along the sides or in one of the corners. Eventually I'll get to where I'm going, and so will the reader -- if they want to go along with it.

If I do it correctly, at least in the way I have it constructed in my head, the climax will come at about the same time as if it had been written in the lateral form anyway. Yes, there will be huge leaps in time travel, but with each progression, the reader should be able to find his place based on what he has already read in a succeeding chapter.

Another advantage in doing it this way, as you've already noticed, is that I have so much background explaining to do -- to fill in the cracks so to speak, so the reader understands what's going on. To write all this background all at once would put a damper on the story early on, and they would never continue to turn another page. So I thought I would give it to them a little piece at a time, to let it sink in, and pick it up again in another chapter with all those boring "but necessary" details. But what's cool about it is that I don't have to do it laterally. I can either pick it up in the next chapter, or do it three chapters later.

I realized that the lateral approach, in my case, would get very tiresome, and sound something like this: And then this happened . . . and then this happened . . .. And this happened next, and so on and so and so on. When will it stop, and where? As if to say: "Please, somebody, get me off this train."

It also has another advantage: It gives me the necessary room (in time and space) to bring back some of the older characters who played a major roll early on. I can show them as young adults, and then fast-forward to where they're middle-aged and suffering the consequences of their earlier decisions, or reaping the rewards, or whatever. I can go on with some of the other advantages, but we can explore them more in depth as we go along. We'll see what happens.


About good dialogue: imagine you have a tape recorder playing back the conversation inside your head, like you’re right there listening in, eavesdropping or peaking from around a corner.

Another point I wanted to address is the number of voices that you have to deal with in a small space. This is very difficult to handle and keep in line. This brief line from my friend's novel is a good example: "I didn't say that. His blue eyes were confused."

How many voices do you see in that short line? I hear three voices: first, the main character, the one who’s speaking, and then the narrator, and third, the omniscient viewer who is the all-powerful god, the one who actually knows that "his blue eyes were confused.” The narrator must tell us what just happened, or what's about to happen. These are the two figures you must separate for the reader to understand who’s speaking, or whose point of view it actually is at that moment.

You must keep in mind that in most cases the narrator cannot be the omniscient, all-seeing god. The narrator cannot have those kinds of powers because the narrator must not be seen or heard; the narrator has no form or shape or identifiable sexual gender. The narrator is a formal structure, a vehicle of sorts that caries the action from one point to the other. It cannot make comments about "confused blue eyes." So by introducing the omniscient god, the reader is taken to another level, another layer or depth. It's a tricky subject, and shit, I'm probably confusing the reader more than being helpful.

Let me try again: Many novels today are written with the presence of the omniscient being in the background. For example, it can also take us into the hidden minds of other characters. Can it tell us about other confused eyes as well, or would that be knowing too much? No, it wouldn't really. But I think the distinction still needs to be made early on how the narration is to be carried: is it a main character such as a witness or participant, or is it someone completely out of the story?

Anyway, I just wanted to point this out while I was thinking about it, and maybe the reader will want to rethink the idea of having an omniscient character as part of their story; if you do, then you can make it do all kinds of god-like stuff -- like listening in on the President’s private conversations, or even his thoughts.

On the other side of the “Point of View” discussion, I've got a huge problem of my own. The way I'm writing "Jodie" -- in first person-present tense, the action (or voices) play back and forth from past to present, and then back again. But there are several layers of past tense, and each one has its own special verb. So I have to watch my verb usage or else I'd sound too awkward.

I was using "voice" to describe the varying points of view we were presenting, like an assortment of hidden characters that have no names, except for the protagonist and his internal voice, of course. Each one of these voices (or points of view) has their own range and tone (or lack of one) and is also positioned on a very narrow plane, like the location on a map from where each one speaks. Each point of view (or voice) is given a certain range in which to travel -- from where they can operate -- like specialized vehicles that take us here and there. The writer picks up whatever "voice" he needs at the time to carry the story along, like so many tools he takes along from the box, using them like paintbrushes, wrenches and hammers.

Third person to me is the most difficult format (voice or view point) to write in, so that's why I brought it up. I don't particularly like the all-seeing character either; it can't happen in real life, so how – somebody please tell me -- can it happen in a true-to-life story?
But anyway, the one line I was referring too: “ . . ."I didn't say that. His blue eyes were confused . . ..”

It's the use of the word "His," as if someone else were saying it about him, as if someone were outside the room and looking in, as it were, but remaining invisible. And yes, the narrator in the story remains invisible, of course. But can this narrator make distinctions about his eyes (his confused mind, really), and do it objectively, without an opinion, or subjectively, with an opinion? (Objective: Uninfluenced by emotions or personal prejudices) and (subjective: Of, relating to, or designating a symptom or condition perceived by the patient and not by the examiner.)

If our main character is confused about something, then I think it would be okay for him to just say so, even inside his own head by the use of internal dialogue. It's just that to me, anyway, it looks like someone’s holding up a mirror for him to look into so that he suddenly "became aware" of his own confused blue eyes. But it doesn't sound like it was he himself who responded by telling us they were "confused," but someone else instead. Anyway, is the main character also the narrator, or would it better that he remain out of the picture as an objective voice, and use the narrator as the subjective point of view (voice). Again, at some point, I think, we have to try to separate the two, as difficult as that may be!

Oh hell, are you as confused as I am? And I've got the poop-colored eyes rolling around inside my fat head right now trying to sort it out. It's tough to handle, but how the hell you gonna get around it if there's no one to get after the story teller about it? You must pull away from the vacuum, despite its deceptive and alluring strategies. So watch out, it will suck you in, lodge you inside a tiny hole, keeping the pressure on -- and suddenly you find yourself trapped. If you don't fight back early on, then it's that much further to climb back out.

I do have an edited version of chapter two that I've been playing with a bit here and there. It's a little different, much stronger and more descriptive I believe concerning the action. And the ending has changed the most. Although I'm not having much luck, I'm trying to convey an attitude of cynicism, with a sly twist of dark humor as well. It will take a lot more work since both chapters are so frigging weak, but the cynicism will eventually change to total despair -- and then later on to something a bit more positive. Anyway, I'm just toying around with some ideas.

I've been cutting the crap out of my chapter one; there's still too much of that flowery shit floating around, like brown poop bobbing up and down in a busted toilet. They really stink too! My intention is to create pathos, expose the cynicism, and exploit the main character’s hopelessness: a man in a state of severe depression. We can call it the 20th Century Funk, something like an extension of Hemingway’s "lost generation" of the 1920s and 30’s – the pathology of which I don't fully understand yet, unfortunately.

What I've figured out is that my writing works best for me if it gets built up from a central core – like a snowball rolling down hill. It picks up material as it goes along, expanding in size – from the inside as well as from the outside. All the experts tell us to just start writing from start to finish – literally pounding it out – but that method just doesn't work as well for me. On the other hand, I'm glad I’m still writing something, anything -- regardless of the method.

I finally read Richard Ford’s “Independence Day,” and I question how in the world it won a Pulitzer! It's well written, and sometimes-even fun, but I had a hard time finding empathy with the main character. In places it was a little contrived and I couldn't get interested in any of the other characters. His son seemed "too made up" to be real or believable, and all the women sounded like the same person except for the cook at the lodge who was dressed in really tight jeans. I think he blew a great opportunity there by NOT banging the cook; it would have been a great read hearing about his explanations when the two get caught by the lodge owners – if you’re into that kind of read. But it could have been like a fire – like two animals rolling in a hot, bottomless pit.

The first person narrative in Independence Day takes place in the present tense – and sometimes goes back to older times and memories. Most of the time, however, when he goes into past tense, it reverts back to a fairly recent memory of only a few days or even hours ago, where he's playing back a telephone conversation, for example, in his head, word for word with some inside comments. It's like you're walking along side of the narrator and listening in to the play-by-play. After a while it gets a little boring, and it's hard to figure out the point he's trying to make -- or if he even wants to make a point at all. I must admit, though, that he is a good narrator, and he's very descriptive of his settings and surroundings.

I think it won the Pulitzer based solely on his ability to carry the whole damn thing through in the present tense\active voice, and his ability to describe his surroundings as if it were being viewed through a camera lens. The subject and themes were flat. But here lately, for some reason, the Pulitzer board of directors has taken a liking to novels with characters suffering a personal angst. Maybe it has something to do with the "computer/information age-sensory overload" we're all suffering from. That, and the struggling American's hang-up with success and his bound-to-fail pursuit of the all-mighty dollar -- all driven by his need to be "the man" in the eyes of the opposite sex just so he can get laid once in a while. Something Sigmund Freud warned us about years ago, wasn’t it? It sounds like a good explanation to me. Who knows, maybe the guy's on to something.

I've been doing some writing lately. Chapter two is now about 18 pages long. There are more action scenes in chapter two but also more internal dialogue as well. It makes a lot more sense, and I think the reader will be pleased with the outcome.

I've introduced a couple of other characters, one with whom Harry carries on an ongoing dialogue. The reason I included it is because it helps to explain the Sad Sack character, and why he was so "unfriendly." It's important in understanding what some vets suffered when they came home. Today it’s called post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), but some years ago it was referred to as combat fatigue or shell shock. The character "Joe" has an interest in delayed stress syndrome because he's doing a research paper on the subject (maybe a book), and that's why he always asks Harry about his Nam experiences. My thinking is that it's a perfect excuse then to bring it up and dissect it.

Chapter one is being rewritten to reflect Joe's interest in that subject as well, but in a casual way at first. Later, in subsequent chapters, we'll learn more about it. It's not the major theme by any means, but it helps us to understand Harry and his own angst, why he seems lost, and why he's calling up old acquaintances from his Vietnam days, and why he keeps thinking about it. Why can't he get it out of his memories? Joe will be a foil -- and sometime therapist -- since he's probably the only person in Harry's life who really understands his screwed up psyche.

The strongest and best writing, the stuff that really grabs the reader by the throat, and then proceeds to hold you by the throat throughout, has to be the climax and denouement in one of your final chapters: de•noue•ment also dé•noue•ment (d³"n›-mä’") n. 1.) a. The final resolution or clarification of a dramatic or narrative plot. b. The events following the climax of a drama or novel in which such a resolution or clarification takes place. 2.) The outcome of a sequence of events; the end result. [French dénouement, from Old French desnouement, an untying, from desnouer, to undo : des-, de- + nouer, to tie (from Latin n½d³re, from n½dus, knot.]

As you already know, the climax, from what I've read, is supposed to be about the main character's worst day in his or her entire life -- not the second worst day -- but the absolute saddest, fucking day a person can possibly have. That should be the whole point of the novel, I think.

Anyway, this is what I recommend. You don't have to listen to me, of course, but the suggestions I'm giving come from my editor's chair. Based on the strength of that particular chapter, why pussyfoot around? You've got to hit the reader with both barrels if you want them to stay with you to the end, and so on. But if you don't hook them right away in chapter one, then you've probably lost them completely – and they'll never make it to the next chapter, much less to chapter 20 or 24.

If you can imagine the importance of the "lead" in journalism; the first sentence has to get to the reader immediately with the "who," "what," "when," "where," and "how." If not in the first sentence, then it better be there in the next one.

The first chapter in a novel should be like the "lead" in a good news story. Once you have a captive audience, then they'll stay with you to the end. Remember, we're talking about a piece of writing that could be several hundred pages long. In today's busy world, who the hell wants to invest much time in something that opens with a paragraph so boring they’re spilling slobber on their shirt from snoozing.

If you have a chapter that will definitely grab the reader, why not use it to your advantage? Once you've got their attention, you can now add some filler or background information. With a little stitching here and there, I think you’ll have one hell of an opening chapter. What reader would want to put the book down after getting a big thrill? They wouldn't. And that's what publishers, and readers, are looking for -- they demand it!

Remember, a good story always begins as close as possible to the climax. Everything else is just filler. Every word, every sentence, every paragraph, and every chapter must somehow support and contribute in some way to the denouement and subsequent ending or resolution of the story.

Character development is very important, as you very well know already, and that's what will add to the success or your first chapter. You want to reach as wide an audience as possible right away; therefore you have to cast a wide net. Look at it this way: After a reader has finished chapter one, he may only have about five questions that he has a general interest in. So he may, or may not invest any more time finding the answers to those questions in the next chapter. On the other hand, if he reads chapter one and then has 50 questions at the end of it, he's more than likely going to read the next chapter to satisfy that expanded curiosity.

So it's 50 questions in comparison to five: now, which would you rather have? Out of those five questions, you will have lost five readers out of ten. Or I should say, you have five readers out of ten left who want to know more about your story – those who have an interest in finding the answers to those five questions. But if you have ten readers who each have 50 questions about the story they're reading, the odds are that a much larger percentage will continue to read on -- maybe nine out of ten. I call it the "reader interest-quotient index."

So what can a writer do to increase his reader interest-quotient? Well, it starts with chapter one; it has to be the best damn writing the author can create.

One of the tips I learned about writing the first chapter has to do with writing a great opening paragraph (just like the lead I mentioned earlier). It was suggested that budding authors turn to the "classics" and "best sellers" for help, by examining the opening line(s) and paragraphs, and then writing them down in a notebook for future reference. I haven't created one of those notebooks myself yet, and I'm also not very good at writing great leads for news stories. So I should get after it myself on both ends.

I read once where this journalism instructor – to improve the lead-writing skills of his pupils -- had his students practice creating haikus. : hai•ku (hº"k›) n., pl. haiku also hai•kus. 1. A Japanese lyric verse form having three unrhymed lines of five, seven, and five syllables, traditionally invoking an aspect of nature or the seasons. 2. A poem written in this form. [Japanese: hai, amusement (from Chinese pá, farce) + ku, sentence (from Chinese jù).] I've tried it, and it certainly works. It teaches discipline as well as the art of keeping it clever, descriptive, and short. The one thing I've noticed about writing is that the more you do of it the better it gets. So that's a good sign.

My writing seems to work best if I start from a central core and work out from there. But I’ve told you about that already, I think, like rolling a snowball downhill and letting it expand around the sides. Although I've found that I can make it bigger (and hopefully better) by increasing the size from the inside out as well. Chapter two has given me a solid foundation from which to attach chapters one and three, and with a start like that, I should be able to finish the damn thing.

Sometimes – most of the time, really – my editing improves the story, and yet I've discovered that I can just as easily screw it up by trying to be too frigging’ clever, for example. And then I've got to go back and correct that later edit. I should just leave it the hell alone. It's like picking at a scab: scratch at it long enough and pretty soon it starts to bleed. Anyway, just some thoughts while I'm sitting here drinking my morning coffee.

My friend gave me some advice about the name of my main character: and I like his "Marty" suggestion. So it is. The former "Sack" is now Martin Blylevin -- and Marty for short.

Above I mentioned that we should just write, and write, and write some more until it hurts. In most cases that's pretty good advice since you you get a lot of stuff on paper. But would I do it if I wanted to be more creative, for example? No, I can't "power write" effectively, since it's not the best part of that creative process. It's not that I can't – hell, I can do it with the best of them – and have, as a working journalist. But in my novel I'm trying to create something different than what I'm used to doing. Cripes, you can't create a work of art by throwing paint at the canvas. Can you? Hey, Jackson Pollock did, and his paintings are selling in the millions. Go figure, huh?

Once I get started, however, the copy flows out of me rather quickly anyway. But, yeah, I can probably do it in one sitting if someone keeps the coffee flowing. In the old days, at the paper, I could drink a pot of coffee and suck down an entire pack of smokes at one sitting, just typing the night away -- till sun up. But that's a hell of a lot of work -- and let me tell ya, its "hard work." It leaves you numb and brain dead for days, and all you want to do is kick back and let the sun shine in. That's what Hunter Thompson was talking about, remember: “ . . .Because I've always considered writing the most hateful kind of work. I suspect it's a bit like fucking, which is only fun for amateurs. Old whores don't do much giggling." Hunter goes on to say "that nothing is much fun if you have to do it over and over, again and again . . ..”

It's just like Thompson says. I've been there, and you can you burn out rather quickly because it's no longer fun. As for me, I would like to keep my writing sessions out of the dregs, and instead approach it with a renewed vigor and brighter attitude, and let my creativity percolate. This approach seems to be working OK. I don't get as much written, obviously, but I'm finally putting words on paper nonetheless. As soon as I start thinking that I have to do something, like a job, just to survive and pay the rent, than it becomes an effort I don't like doing -- and it (the writing I'm doing now) wouldn't get done. You wouldn't ever ask a farm worker if he'd like to spend a lovely afternoon in the hot sun picking cotton -- just for the fun of it. Maybe that's why so few journalists ever write books: writing is their job, so for rest and relaxation they go fishing – or maybe picking cotton.

The word "power" writing has some horrible memories for me. I've pushed deadline with just a few minutes to go and an empty hole on the page to fill up the size of a football field. If you don't make it by deadline than it doesn't get put in the paper that issue, period. And the hole is still there, waiting for someone to fill it. How do you explain that to the editor, the publisher? The thing is, you never let it happen. If you do, then you're finished.

Anyway, most of my e-mails are written using the so-called "power" writing technique, for lack of a better description. I just get going, and suddenly I've written eight or ten pages without even looking up. I've never been out of it, and I can still write "quickly" if I have to. As long as I don't think about it – don't think about it as being work or drudgery – than I can clip along at a pretty good pace. But all you'll get is drivel – probably like some of this shit I'm writing now. Well, geese! I can go on and on, and not say a fucking thing of importance at all: all you get is filler, and no fiber.

Before I get too far along, I wanted to give you my take on Hunter Thompson’s success, since I think it’s important to the subject of writing. He wasn’t a great writer by any definition, but he was always a fun read, and the top Gonzo of his time. The “fun” part was part of his success. It’s like this: he often wrote about politicians and the establishment in a negative light, and I’m being kind when I say that. But most of us, frankly, like hearing that shit – particularly if you’re standing on his side of the political fence. Blast those fuckers in power, and watch them squirm, right? Well, I don’t know if anyone ever did much squirming, really; yet Thompson always seemed to get away with it. I think that’s because he just told us beforehand how much booze or smack he consumed or some other poison of his choice, as his poison pen went to work and laid down the law. How could anyone take him seriously after a hallucinogenic trip like that?

Hum, which reminds me of a related subject, libel and defamation of character:

Can printing the truth get a writer in trouble? If basing it on a real person or revealing family secrets in your memoir, oh yeah, you bet your ass it will get you in a world of hurt; and it will land you in court quicker than you can say “holyshit for torts and writs.”

So what are the legal issues if you write about certain people or characters taken from the real people in your life? We've all seen the disclaimer: "Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental." Slap that in your book and dash it off, right? Not so fast my little literati. It's a good start—but not enough protection for fiction writers. It’s inapplicable, of course, for memoir and other nonfiction writers – please note the word “nonfiction?” Writing about real, live people—famous or otherwise—can lead to a lawsuit. Changing names is not sufficient. If someone can prove that he or she is identifiable to even a single reader by place of setting, physical description or other characteristics, that person may be entitled to sue for defamation or invasion of privacy.

So are you worried about one of your ex-wives coming back and suing you? I don't think you've got too much to be concerned about. However: You may be sued for defamation if an identifiable character or real person in your book claims that his or her reputation has been injured by the false way you have depicted him or her. "Injury to reputation" is defined as that which "tends to bring the subject into public hatred, ridicule or contempt, or to injure him or her in their business or occupation." Oh shit, that sounds scary, huh?

Listen to this: In a case that made the publishing world tremble, author Gwen Davis Mitchell was sued over her novel, “Touching,” in which the main character conducted nude therapy sessions. (OK, it was in the '70s.) She had actually attended similar sessions once that were conducted by the real-life Paul Bindrim, who sued her for defamation. Although her psychotherapist character differed in many ways from Dr. Bindrim, the court ruled in favor of the real doctor Bindrim, finding that her fictional character had been based on him and that the public would be able to identify him as such. The court also ruled that certain of the character's traits – as described in the novel -- injured his professional reputation.

Other courts, however, have not followed Dr. Bindrim’s ruling. And I think that’s a good thing. In a New York case, the judges found that similarities such as the plaintiff's first name, physical appearance and possible relationships to that of a book's character were nothing more than "superficial," and therefore harmless. While the author and publisher were vindicated, they nonetheless had to defend a lengthy and expensive lawsuit.

So what about the “actual facts?” Isn't truth the best defense? Don't we have the right to write about our lives and what happened to us? Yeah, truth is sometimes a good defense to defamation charges. It’s like this: if a statement is proved true, for example, then it can’t be defamatory. But you still have to worry about invasion of privacy claims.

Two types are relevant here: “public disclosure of private facts" and "false light." Public disclosure of private facts is the publication of private and embarrassing facts that are not related to a matter of public concern. Note the word “public.” They must also be considered highly offensive to the average reader: Sexual issues, criminality and physical and mental ailments are the usual examples. Though it may be true, a story about your neighbor’s over-sexed daughter is off limits even if you banged her in the back of your Chevy.

A person may sue under a false-light claim even if what’s written about them is factual and not necessarily a private or embarrassing disclosure. It can be litigated if it creates a deliberately misleading impression about that person. For instance, a model recently sued after her photo was used in an article about a girl who was drunk and promiscuous. None of this is to suggest you should trash that thriller or make mincemeat of your memoir; just be aware that most publishing contracts hold writers responsible for suits arising from their works. If your material is questionable, you may want to consult an attorney or your publisher's legal department. Or maybe you could try to pull off one of Hunter Thompson’s tricks, and admit to being completely stoned as you wrote the story. Nah, that won’t help either.

As you know, most journalists are already familiar with libel laws and so on, since they’re required to take graduate classes on the subject. I was once hired as a private consultant for a small Denver law firm to research the subject and write a paper on it for them. What they wanted was just case history, really, and nothing very revealing or precedent setting.

A man cannot be charged or convicted just for thinking lewd thoughts, but there are some sticky points to consider nonetheless if his thoughts were published. This would be called the disclosure of false light if it were in fact a falsehood. It would come down to your word against the word of your accuser, which couldn't ever be proved. In this case, you are the one who brought it up in your novel, so therefore you are the responsible party and required in court to prove your statement as the truth. If you can’t, you’re guilty of spreading a falsehood.

Is a schoolteacher, for example, a public figure? In some cases "yes," and in other cases "no." If you spread a falsehood about a schoolteacher – that he had an affair with a student -- than this would damage the man's reputation and he would have cause to sue for damages. If it were true (and provable), than that's all the defense you need. The teacher simply has no case.

You'll have to weigh the facts (or fictions), and if any of your characters are represented in your novel in a bad light based on real people that you know, then you’ll have to consider a potential libel case. Could any of them recognize themselves in the novel? If so, ask yourself if you’ve damaged their reputations in anyway.

Is it enough to change the character’s looks, their names, and even the places where they lived and worked? If you do all that, can that person still have grounds for a lawsuit? Probably not! Unfortunately, all they have to do is make the claim they were "that maligned character" in your novel. That's all. They can proceed with a suit based purely on the fact they know you.

We don’t know yet if they can win -- but that's probably why it's being brought to court in the first place. To your advantage, however, you can demand this be brought before a judge beforehand so he can sort out the facts. If the judge finds this person is simply making trouble, then he can have it dismissed. Enough about that, huh?

Anyway, I like to print out my drafts, that way I can have a better and more relaxed look at a hard copy rather then a computer screen. It's the way I edited my own stuff in the past, and it still seems to work for me. Once it's marked up with a blue pencil on paper, than I go back to the computer and make the changes.

As an editor I find that a lot of writers have a tendency to use the word "its" and "it's" incorrectly, and your spell checker won't catch it either. Here the possessive rules are somewhat reversed. For example: My dog loves his new house -- it's blue and carpeted with a bone pattern. This is a contraction of “it is,” so by leaving out the other “i” you need to add an apostrophe to indicate that usage.

I have similar little glitches in my writing that keeps me jumping around making corrections all the time, but they also deal with spelling mostly. It's like someone putting a hand over my eyes every time I try to spell a certain word. There’s no way I can see it unless I run the spell checker.

There are a lot of good tips on writing to discuss. But for me, anyway, there are just too many things to keep in mind, and a guy quickly gets overloaded with information. If you’re like me, trying to keep up with all those tips seems more like a circle jerk; you’ll screw yourself up so fast that nothing gets put on paper for fear of violating some rule.

It might help, though, to know that the critics can pick most of the best-sellers apart. These dirt bags would gladly point out your errors and flaws. In most cases, once a publishing house accepts your book, they put an editor on it full time. That editor then asks you, the author, to make certain changes here and there to the satisfaction of that editor. It won't get published otherwise – at least not by that publishing house. If you don't like the changes they want, then you can always send it to another.

Well, today I looked at Chapter 2 of “Jodie” and it now has some minor edits. The biggest change is the scene where Harry is ordered to "commence firing." I wasn't sure whether to put this is in just yet, but I want to show a progression, how it starts at first, how it got established. In subsequent chapters there will be other scenes where Harry takes up the M-60 and starts blasting away. Each time, his disease gets worse. In other words, he becomes more and more intoxicated from the adrenaline rush – and he ends up getting poisoned and probably temporarily insane from the experience.

Eventually all the door gunners suffer the same fate, but most of them never learn anything from it, unfortunately, and they end up like lunatics. But Harry hits a brick wall, and becomes aware of what he's doing, and he learns something of value. But that's the great tragedy – how he learns it, and at what horrible cost. The reader has to become aware as well in how this happens, and it has to be demonstrated as a believable or logical progression. Otherwise they wouldn't understand the psychology behind the changes going on in Harry's head. It wouldn't make any sense.

The reader needs to know the "what, how and why": Why does he want out? Why does he need to escape? Why his urgent need to go home? And why does he go AWOL? Etc. Anyway, I don't think I've revealed too much yet in Chapter 2, since the final gun battle will be a real hair-raiser and bring everyone to his or her knees in pain and shock.

This is the part that's always been so difficult for me to write; in fact, it's the very experience that's kept me from writing it down after all these years now. I can do it today, now that I know how. The brief chapter title then tips off the reader that he's entering a different area or scene. If you stop using these headings, then you'll have to use some other kind of transition device to let the reader know where he's going next. You can also add a brief sentence on the end of each chapter before you write out the new heading and before you make the transition – just a little something that might tip the reader off a little better in what he may or may not expect in the next section. This may not always be necessary, although in some cases it might come in handy.

On editing: Sometimes we get in a hurry while writing and then don't keep track of what we've just written. So the stuff that follows may not jive correctly with the new stuff that appears only a few paragraphs down the page. These are the kinds of errors that worry me more than grammar, syntax or punctuation, etc. And I make them on a regular basis. So this is where I can use more help – but I’m sure the reader has already found a few instances they could bring to my attention – with impunity.

Back to “Jody” and one of the other main characters in the book: Have I told you about Julie yet? Anyway, Harry’s love interest is kinda based on her – so here I am probably violating my previous advice about mentioning ex wives or girlfriends, right? But I’m trying to be careful, so even here I’ve made the necessary changes in the character to keep her from being identified. When I think about all the dumb broads I've dated and bedded down over the years, none stands out like Julie – not even close. Yes, I've been in love with a couple of other women and even been engaged a couple of other times; but none had that unique spirit she possessed (and she probably still does). I do see Julie once in a while, and she looks the same, just older, like all of us. She no longer recognizes me, of course, because I'm old too, and my hair is gray, I have this tiny bit of hair on my chin, and I'm now fat and lumpy. And so I'm glad she doesn't point me out.

She was only 19 and 20 then, and yet she had more brains, maturity and sensuality than most women twice her age. There were never any coy mind games, no bullshit, and no teenage-girl antics. Julie said exactly what she wanted to say and expected nothing less in return. Those brown eyes could see right through you if you tried to give her anything but the truth, so you might as well not even try. She had a lot of hope too, at least when she was young. But like all of us when we become older, she's somewhat jaded and stern.

Back then it was that incredible sense of hope and good will she had that rubbed off on everyone around her. When the gods put the first woman on earth, than I imagine she must have been something like Julie. (If I'm gushing too much, than then take a break and can skip this part.)

I met one of Julie's daughters in Ouray about a year ago – she worked as a shop clerk. It was her oldest, in fact, named Dorothy, I believe. She looks a lot like her mother. She and I became friends since I frequented that particular shop quite a bit whenever I came to town. I told her who I was; that I once dated her mother, that we were, in fact, engaged once. She remarked to me one day that for the vagaries of fate I could have been her father. We had a good laugh about it.

I don't know if I've ever told you this story before. But I told it to Dorothy.
I had a painting commissioned of Julie while I was stationed in Vietnam. It was painted and copied from the photograph I had, and it probably cost about a hundred bucks back then. I remember that I was going through a small city near our base camp, it was Dong Tam, I think. Anyway. I noticed this little shop that did reproductions from photos on to canvas in oil paints. I gave them Julie's photo, which was a black and white, and I told them what shades of colors I needed and where, particularly those incredible brown eyes.

The photo was a portrait of Julie, but nothing like you see in school pictures. She was wearing a white cashmere sweater that was dotted with assorted geometric shapes. Her arms were folded in front of her, with her chin resting on folded hands, with the hands resting on a small pillow. She had a very slight smile, just enough to reveal those perfect teeth. But it was her eyes that got to you. You could see the great intellect, the energy, and the vitality.

A week later I picked up the painting. It was outstanding! The likeness was perfect, it looked exactly like the photo, except larger, and now in full color. Fuck, I was so amazed! I had them wrap the painting and box it so I could mail it off to the states. Four weeks later Julie wrote back when she received it, and commented that her entire family was flabbergasted at this remarkable work of art.

I told this story to Dorothy in the shop one day with some of my old pals hanging around. Her eyes got a little misty, since she said she had known of the painting her whole life, of course, and that it was a prized family possession. Dorothy said that the painting is still in family home in Durango. It's hanging over the fireplace mantle – the same spot where it was hung when it arrived in the states over thirty years ago.

I've visited the family a few times since, and I've seen the painting hanging there over the fireplace. I would make a point to see it whenever I visited the Barber' house over the years whenever I spoke with Julie's parents concerning stories I worked on about their ranching interests. The last time was about 20 years ago.

I watched Dorothy's response when I told her this story. I was curious to find out if she herself knew anything about its origin. She said she didn't know how the family got it, and I guess her mother or her grandmother never told her about it. It didn't bother me that she didn't know, since I'm not that significant in the Barber' family history, nor should I be I suppose. But now Dorothy knows, and now she knows a little history about her mother that she may never have found out about otherwise.

I'm not sure if that's a good thing; or if by telling Dorothy this story that I may have violated some ancient and secret bond we have with our old lovers. Something new and mysterious was revealed to Dorothy, something I'm sure she enjoyed hearing about, and something that she'll eventually share with her siblings. Dorothy may ask Julie about it one day – if she hasn't already. And she may also ask about that fat man she met in her shop who used to come over in the afternoons to buy freshly made cookies.

This makes it a more difficult since I'm trying to be objective about Julie, and yet at the same time I realize the great responsibility I have in bringing this incredible character to the surface just like she really was. "Integrity" is a pretty good word to describe her, and I'm glad you also remember how she came across to everyone, and how well balanced she presented herself. Anyway, I'm sure the reader has enough of that, so maybe I better continue with our lesson.

I've got a tad more to add about voice: You're faced with a tough writing job if you’re using the third person voice(s) point of view because the powers of your narrator’s observation are somewhat limited. Unlike the all-seeing god, who has virtually unlimited powers, and who can look inside all of the character's heads and read their thoughts, the point of view of your narrator is generally limited to carrying the story along from one scene to the next without having to explain the motivations of the characters.

As I understand it, your primary narrator has the eyes and ears of a very unique camera/microphone type of observer. This camera can see the entire valley, as if attached to the underbelly of a plane flying over-head and pointing down, giving us (the reader) a wide-angle view of the entire town and surrounding countryside.

So how can that be limited, right? Even though your narrator is gender neutral, this person is still able to describe the town's political structure, it's economic base, tell us it's population, and so on. The camera does this exactly the same way a newspaper reporter would do, while having the same limited powers of observation – with some very unique exceptions, of course. An objective viewpoint, however, is all this (camera) narrator is allowed to see and to tell us.

Its descriptions are very pure and true: it is probably the only "objective" voice in your story. And as the objective voice, it can NOT allow an opinion to slip through; no comments are to be made by this "limited voice" as to the "intentions" or "motivations" of the characters and events it is observing. It is only a camera, and therefore has "no mind of its own." And that's why it's so damn unique: this special camera can be trusted completely by the reader. We know this camera (this point of view) can be relied upon to give us “complete” and "accurate" information whenever it speaks. Who else in our story can do this?

On the other hand, the observations it makes can be extremely analytical, with pinpoint accuracy. It has the wide-view, which no one else in the story has. It can even surmise (make a summery); it can suggest (if done properly); it can anticipate events (and tell us so based on it's keen observations); it can give us the complete historical background of the town, including the life history of all the characters in the story (it does so because it has access to the library at any time, as well as the personal files and resumes of everyone -- everyone.)

The camera can also be resting on a small hill overlooking the football field during practice, observing the players, and then zooming in to witness the interactions of the coaches. Turn up the sound, and now you can hear them barking out orders to the players, you can hear the whistles blowing and the heavy breathing, and also the crack of a hard block from helmet to helmet. The camera can also smell -- ah yes, it can smell the just mowed grass.

The camera can also be attached to top of a tree at night and looking down as Sharla gets out of her car. It does this while at the same time observing that there's someone hiding in the bushes, as if ready to jump out -- virtually anticipating the action before it happens. But this "all-seeing" camera cannot make a remark or comment, at this point, about the intentions of the potential attacker. It doesn't have that power. But it can ask a question as to why this person is there, and it can comment, or surmise in this case, that he probably doesn't live at this address. You can get away with it in this case because the camera is making a logical conclusion based on an accurate observation. Certain "cause and affect" situations obviously have to be allowed since it would make perfect sense, even to the village idiot, and it therefore helps to carry the story forward.

The camera can be attached to a light pole observing the street and the intersection as Joe drives by in his smoky little truck. The light is red and then changes to green. Joe guns it, and goes through the intersection quicker than all the other cars. Why? The camera can't tell us why. It can only observe. But it's a curious camera, or I should say, it's especially designed by a wonderful inventor to be like a human-- like having the ability to be curious.

It drops off the pole (the camera can also fly) and follows Davidson as he drives down the street and out of town. He's now out in the country, there are cows standing in the field, the pavement ends, and he's now driving on gravel. (We wouldn't know any of this unless the camera is able to fly along, or if Joe tells us himself.) He's headed for the foothills, still driving erratically, shifting quicker and popping the clutch, grinding gears. It's so dry, that dust billows up from the road, leaving a trail behind the truck for half a mile.

Suddenly our camera catches up with Joe and hops into the cab beside him. The camera sees Joe's scraped knuckles on his right hand as he grabs the stick shift and slams the transmission into third. The truck fishtails around the corner, throwing dust and gravel into the dry bushes. He straightens out the truck, and now we turn up the volume on the camera and listen.

"Oh shit, close call, I better slow down," Joe said to himself. Sweat is pouring off his forehead, and he has an angry "look" in his eyes (our camera can see the expression on his face, which "looks" angry, but it doesn't know why, and can't tell us why. Although the observation, in this case, is worth a thousand words because it gave us an objective inspection (or photograph) of Joe sitting behind the wheel and noticing and "remarking" on his different expression). And yes, Joe can look in the mirror and see his reflection, which would probably be the same, but then it would be Joe making the comment about his own appearance. This may or may not be objective, coming from Joe. In fact, it would probably be subjective, and therefore can't be trusted to be a true or accurate observation.)
(The camera stops listening now, which tells us it's finally switching control over to our protagonist, Joe, and is indicated, or keyed, by the start of a new paragraph.)

"That sonofabitch Cunningham, he had no right to threaten my job," Joe thought, as he pushed the gas pedal to the floor. He looks at his right hand. "Guess I shouldn't a punched the bastard in the mouth, though, now I'll get fired for sure."

(The camera and sound comes back on, keyed by the start of a new paragraph.) He finally reached his destination at the top of Look Out Point, and skidded to a billowy halt, the cloud of dust pausing and now settling on the parked vehicle. Davidson sat in the truck for several minutes allowing the dust to blow away and move down the slope of the hill.
(Camera off. Even though I began a new paragraph, it's not necessary because the point of view is keyed with the very next sentence.) He contemplated what he should do next. He got out of the truck and looked out across the valley. He could see the town, the tall, black smokestack of the factory off in the distance, the river snaking its way through the trees and oat fields. "God, I love this place," he thought. "I don't know what else to do. I can't leave here. No, I won't ever leave." He walked up the edge and looked down, and he could see the oak brush turning brown and red, the first signs of fall, and he screamed.

(Camera/microphone on, keyed by new paragraph.) Joe screamed to the top of his lungs. Tears flowed from his eyes, (the camera can hear the scream and see the tears, but Joe can't see them, although he knows they are there) his face reddened, and he screamed and screamed. A slight breeze was blowing up from the valley floor, blowing in his face, as if (I believe the camera can, in some cases, make a conjecture, use a simile or metaphor, or make other types of comparisons) God himself was answering his lonely cry. He dropped to his knees and began to pray: "Oh Lord, forgive me. What'll I do now?" The camera zooms away, as if to leave Joe in the privacy with his god. It now sees him from a distance, it sees the truck behind him, and now pans the valley again from the height of an airplane. End of scene, narration continues.

Well, anyway, that's my example. You should realize that, over the years, I've been on both ends of the editing pencil so to speak, in a somewhat professional environment. However, very few of the people I worked with in the past were true professional types who actually knew what they were doing. I often would edit the editor's or publisher's writing most of the time since I developed a sharper eye for it for some reason. But those editing skills deal only with journalism styles and the general usage of the English language. It has nothing at all to do with writing a novel. In a lot of cases those editing jobs dealt mainly with spelling, punctuation, syntax, word usage, and simple cause-and-affect logic situations where two plus two must always add up to four.

This is where the "KISS" rule comes into play. It's one rule that was always adhered to wherever I went. It means this: "Keep it simple stupid!" What I've discovered is that keeping it "simple" is sometimes more difficult to accomplish. On the other hand, sloppy writing is easy. That is to say, it's always easy at first. Please notice I said "at first." That's because in the end I usually spend a lot more time correcting my sloppy writing – trying to whip it into shape so it makes sense. A good writer, I think, is one who can express complex ideas simply.

I was reading an article in the paper (or magazine) about the use of third-person. It dealt with the many points of view (voices) that can be utilized. It's actually more than three; of course, since the author can pick and choose whatever vehicle he wants, including the omnipresence, which opens it up completely. But it seems the base is always three: the narrator, the main character, and the main character's alter ego.

And like you mentioned in the use of the "camera," that it can be mounted directly on the main character's shoulder, or it can move around all over the place. It's the writer's option, but once he selects the point of view, he has to remain true to that voice throughout. But the variations are virtually limitless -- and complicated.

Apparently, the main character can also narrate the whole novel and express his views whenever he feels like it. But to me that would seem to change it, and become more like first-person singular, for example. Which is what I'm doing.

But anyway, I'm interested in the power (or limited power) of the camera -- or more specifically -- how far can the writer allow the camera to travel. There seems to be several layers, but it seems more complicated than I'm willing to get into right now.

Like I said, it's tough to handle. I think the third person singular point of view might be the most difficult because you have these built-in parameters. These are the boundaries from which you are to perform your magic act: you break the rules whenever you step outside that ring.

Hemingway is a pretty good example -- that's why I wanted you to have a look to see how he did it. His transitions a pretty smooth when he changes narrators from the main character to the alter ego (or narrator of the story). Yes, once in a while, one of his short stories is written in first person singular, but not very often. Whenever he does, he maintains that "first person" voice throughout the story.

But back to the third person point of view: Your main character can offer the commentary to no one in particular with his internal dialogue; or he can say whatever he wants just by telling his thoughts out loud -- either with other characters in hearing range -- or not. But because he's the main character, he can't ever step outside the novel, so to speak, just to have a chat with the reader. That would be a violation of the rules -- you'd be stepping outside the ring, and the magic act would no longer be magic.

But yes, I think the rules are probably broken all the time with "experimental" writing, just like "Ulysses" and "Portrait of a Young Man," like you mentioned earlier.
Another good example is the movie "Apocalypse Now."

From the beginning our main character provides a voice-over (in first person singular) as he tells the story. Under normal circumstances he must remain true to this "voice" throughout the tale from start to finish. But that's not what happens. Periodically the action breaks away and leaves the narrator (our main character), as it goes off somewhere else.

I have to admit, it was done with the utmost delicacy and not very often -- and you hardly notice it. It's like this big secret between the viewer and some "other" narrator; but not our main character, the true narrator, and he knows nothing about it. So how can that be? Why all of a sudden leave the main character out of the action since he's the one telling the damn story?

Switching to another location without the main character present is impossible: but how and why? Well, that's because it's a violation of the rules. Yet, somehow, the film maker got away with it. It was done with great stealth, and the viewer was none the wiser. (It's based on the Joseph Conrad novel "Heart of Darkness," as you know, but I don't think Conrad broke the rules in his telling of the tale.)

Even editors, when they write, need careful editing, particularly my stuff. Can you imagine what our stuff would look like without any feedback at all? And what if we tried to send it in that way to a publishing house -- raw as hell, with errors all over the fucking place? Publishers and editors would be horrified. It would be like getting a box full of broken glass in the mail. They mistakenly dig to bottom hoping to find the good stuff, but all they get is just more and more cuts -- all the way up to your elbows.

I realize I can't continue to write in a vacuum – neither of us can.

"Jodie's Got Your Cadillac," the novel, the book, the story, is a very special project. It's been lying dormant inside my brain for over thirty years, and I've hardly touched it with a pen. For now, finally, I'm the writer, the story teller. But I know "Jodie" belongs to everyone as much as it does to me.

Something has been holding me back all these years – holding in the lynch pin, so to speak. I've never been able to separate the two. If you can't pull the pin, then you don't get a big bang. Nothing will happen. In my own reality I have to separate my present from my past. I have to withdraw, to divide it like a living cell divides itself. But it's finally happening. It's not even close to completion, of course, but I've got a pretty good start for a change.

And what about Harry? Yes, his life changes significantly in the span of a couple of years. But it's also the cumulative affects of many years gone by that wears a man down, keeps him trapped, keeps him jaded and without hope. All this because of what happened when he was young. When men come home from war their lives are supposed to continue onward as if nothing ever happened, right? That's all we would like to believe, but it's not so. How can I demonstrate the searing affects of war to a civilized people, those same people who sent him into battle, and who later turned their backs on this man and all the other Vietnam veterans? What kind of "culture" is that?"

Anyway, one of the things I want to demonstrate is that sending boys off to war creates more casualties than just corpses on the battlefield. Shit, we couldn't even vote at the time, and in some states you couldn't even buy a goddamn beer at eighteen. Yet thousands of these same boys came home with cut off limbs, eyes blinded, ears silenced, and their once-youthful minds scorched for an entire lifetime. Here they are walking around in a daze, mostly bitter and confused, but they can't even buy a fucking drink, and they still can't vote. Here's a young man at the voting booth with only one arm. He's 20-years-old for chrise sakes, just got back from Nam, and he’s not even allowed to vote the bastards out of office who put him in the place where he lost his goddamn arm. That's Harry speaking. In a way he's still one pissed off sonofabitch. A lot of these boys were drafted right out of their mother's kitchens (Marty crying for his mama in the snow: fuck, that really happened.) I want the reader to understand that as well. That can only be done with an older narrator who still swears at that period in his life, who still holds a grudge, has an attitude about it. But he's also got some maturity about him, got some skills, and he's capable now of looking back through those different filters. We've forgotten what Vietnam was like, and now we're doomed to repeat it.

"Jodie" is a daunting task, but I want it to remain a labor of love. When I think about it, I'm aware I've only covered about one tenth of it so far. Do you realize how much more I've got to go? Yeah, I guess you do. Holy Shit! It's a massive project. I've got fifteen thousand words written and "only" a hundred thirty five thousand to go.

I find that I work best if I create (or write) the action scenes first. Once I get the action down on paper (inside the computer), then I can wrap everything else around it. "Jodie" is almost entirely action based anyway, so if I can get those scenes written, then I think the rest will follow by shear force of its existence alone.

When I try writing it from start to finish, I frequently come to a roadblock of some kind (maybe it's writer's block, I don't always know), but the writing stops. But I don't want the writing to stop. And why does so much time go by before I begin writing again? It's because I haven't figured out the problem I'm currently faced with. So how do I avoid it from happening? Ah, don't try to do it in sequence! Pick it up somewhere else in the story line! Yes, that works! And I can come back to the "stuck" part later. In the meantime my fingers are busy, putting it down again. Now I feel better, something's happening, and something's being accomplished!

As a journalist, I’m more like a craftsman. But as I novelist I have to become an artist. The journalistic part is easy for me, but I'm not familiar with being an artist at all. So I have to do what I can to get by until I can figure out the "artistic" part. I'm also hoping to save myself more work down the road by avoiding multiple rewrites. I'll just cut and paste a little here and there and try to connect it somehow – since it's only connected temporarily for now.

But anyway, Harry has to act as narrator once in a while, and he has to add a lot of background filler. I'm still working on different ways he can do that without having to fill too many pages at a time, and yet, somehow, he has to include all that information. I'm going to look at Steinbeck's "Travels with Charlie" again and see how he did it. Seems to me he used a similar technique, but maybe not so much of it at once.

About my deaf ear: Yes, I lost my hearing in my left ear while in Nam, and I've decided to leave that part out of my story since it's so damn hard to explain how this happens. I said it's difficult to explain, but I'll do my best anyway.

This is how: You end up sleeping on your side, on your "good-ear" side to protect it, while the other ear, the one that's already gone bad, is exposed to the constant noise of the artillery. What's so damn sinister about this is that you don't even realize that you're doing it – that is, sleeping on your good ear and exposing the one that's already gone bad. All you know is that by rolling over and exposing the bad ear to the noise, it's suddenly a whole lot "less" bothersome, and now you can sleep.

The "bad ear" got that way very quickly just from the night before, provided it was exposed for any length of time. Ordinarily, under normal circumstances, that freshly exposed ear would heal up and become useful again in a few days, perhaps. But now it's ringing like a sonofabitch from the night before because the guns blasted away every three seconds. Sure, the ringing will go away in three days as long as it's not exposed again. But how do you keep from exposing it again? The only way would be to expose the other "good" ear on the next night the artillery starts blasting away. But if you do that, then you have two ears that are ringing like crazy, but now you can't hear a fucking thing. After a week or two of this happening – trading good ear for bad ear – you suddenly, and subconsciously, start coming up with some kind of method that allows you to protect one ear while at the same time providing you with some comfort – sleep.

As soon as you roll over to expose the "good ear" to the constant noise, then you slowly wake up no matter how far into deep sleep you've progressed. So you learn somehow "not" to roll over, ever, just so you can get a good night's sleep. This way the good ear stays protected and the bad ear gets worse and worse and worse. But at least you get some rest that way.

I think it took less than a month, if I recall, before I learned to sleep in a stable position, the position where I didn't need to roll over. We know the noise is there, and we know that it keeps us awake. So, because we're constantly rolling over and over, trying to find a comfortable position – one that's less noisy – we finally settle on something that works. And what works is that the bad ear gets exposed to the elements, and then sleep comes. I didn't realize just how severe the deafness was until about three or four years later. And that's when I figured it out. I suddenly remembered that in Nam I always slept on one side, and one side only -- just to keep out the constant noise of the artillery guns.

Once in a while we would catch ourselves sleeping with the good ear exposed while we were still half awake (like the dog with one eye open). But even if we fell asleep that way, something would happen inside the brain. It's like a sixth sense takes over -- the antennae get turned on. I've read about it. It was also something that cavemen possessed and used to their advantage during the night. Wild animals have it still, but modern man no longer needs it -- except in very special circumstances: warfare being one of them. The ear is so fine-tuned to the sounds of in-coming rounds that we knew instinctively the instant one landed -- even if it was a mile away. We knew that sound so well, that we jumped right out of bed -- sometimes even before the sirens went off. Sometimes the bad ear would catch the sound of in-coming shells as well, but the explosion had to be closer -- and this depended with each individual in how far their hearing had been impaired up to that point.

The level of hearing loss is in direct proportion to how long you were in country. I've often wondered if the military was aware of this gradual deafening process, or if they even cared? Anyway, I've still got one good ear. And I like it that way. Some guys actually never adjusted at all – they rolled over and over all the time. Over the years I've talked to other vets about it. And some of them now have hearing aids in both ears. I'm thankful that I can still get by without a hearing aid, although I know family members have complained about it. So yeah, this might be too much to try to explain to the reader in how Harry loses his hearing. I don't know. I've covered it the best I can, but getting into the details, like I've explained here, might be too confusing and just too damn boring.

Some guys had weekly and sometimes daily visits with "boom boom" girls. But there was always that risk of getting caught by the MP's. The military (Army) police would drive around just for fun every now and then and catch a bunch of GIs in the local whorehouses and bust them. It was against military regulations to have sex with the natives because of the possibility of contracting a venereal disease. I knew several guys who got the clap and other shit, and I also knew guys who got busted with a prostitute. Either way, you were brought up on some kind of military disciplinary action that either got you busted a grade level in rank, or fined a percentage of your salary, or both. And it also went on your record.

The Army would make an example of the guys that got busted for this discretion, but thankfully if didn't happen that often. The Army would rather look the other way, but since so many troops got the clap, they started cracking down on them. That's because in some cases half the company would come down with a bad case of the drips, and therefore no work got done. The war was then put on hold (on a tiny scale of course) but it pissed them off just the same that all these GI's got the same case of the clap from the same whore. Each case of the clap, or some other horrible venereal disease, would cost the U.S. government about $200 to treat. Add it up, and it comes to several hundred thousand dollars a week for penicillin or some other treatment -- money they could be spending on bullets. It would be very interesting to know, for example, how much was actually spent in real dollars on this "love money" for the duration of American occupation.

I don't think I'll get into the details about it though. But there will be some interesting elements and tidbits to tell nonetheless. I went into a whorehouse once in this large city looking for a friend of mine. He was on the second or third floor of this old five-story building. It was a filthy motel, it reeked of urine and cigarette smoke. The floors were wet and paint was peeling from the walls in big, loose chunks. Dumb shit me, I was on the second floor knocking on doors and asking for him by name.

I suddenly found myself surrounded by four Viet Cong pimps who ran the place. They were dressed in sandals and shorts, and that's all, but each one was carrying a club, thick things, about three or four feet long. I quickly jumped over the hand railing and landed on the stairs about ten feet below and got the hell out of there. We weren't armed when we went to town or to the whorehouses. Officers were the only ones who were issued pistols -- if they wanted them. But regular GI's, who weren't infantrymen, carried no weapons at all -- ever. Yes, when they were on guard duty or patrolled the parameter at night, they did, of course. And they even had an M-16 issued to them for those very occasions -- which was stored in the company armory. But we never went around the base with a weapon, and we never went to the cities carrying our weapons. Strange, huh, now that I think about it, but those four little bastards could have beat me to death with those clubs and then fed me to the goddamn chickens.