Kyle Michel Sullivan's Blog: https://www.myirishnovel.com/, page 205
February 21, 2016
More on length vs. brevity...
To follow on my previous post about how some people say cut, cut, cut to make things tighter and better, I remembered a couple years ago TCM was showing Kurosawa's Seven Samurai with a guest host alongside Robert Osborne -- was it Rose McGowen? Rachel McAdams? I don't really remember.
Now so far as I'm concerned, this is a brilliant film I can watch over and over and over, about how in old Japan seven samurai are hired to protect a village of farmers from a marauding band of thieves. It's long, and has fight scenes that are still beyond belief, even today. It influenced action films for decades. So I made time to watch it...again.
The intro by Osborne and the co-host was nice, the film was magnificent, but then came the discussion afterwards. And both Osborne and the co-host dissed the film for being too long. I think a comment the co-host made was, "All right, I get it already, let's move on." And Osborne agreed. He has a wealth of knowledge about film and its history...and he went along with the idea a classic Japanese film was too detailed for an American audience.
I was livid. There is not one tedious moment in that movie, to me -- from the realization the bandits will be back to loot the village to the long, hard search for samurai willing to fight for room and board only to the preparations for protection and counter-attack to the tensions between the samurai and the people they've sworn to help to the final skirmishes...the movie builds and builds and builds like a symphony until the final battle in the driving rain. It shows the whole of human emotion and decency and venality.
And they got bored until the big fight. They felt a lot of the village stuff could have been cut out or down. Completely ignored the full measure of the movie and only thought of how it should be for an audience of 12 year-olds.
I haven't watched TCM since.
Now so far as I'm concerned, this is a brilliant film I can watch over and over and over, about how in old Japan seven samurai are hired to protect a village of farmers from a marauding band of thieves. It's long, and has fight scenes that are still beyond belief, even today. It influenced action films for decades. So I made time to watch it...again.The intro by Osborne and the co-host was nice, the film was magnificent, but then came the discussion afterwards. And both Osborne and the co-host dissed the film for being too long. I think a comment the co-host made was, "All right, I get it already, let's move on." And Osborne agreed. He has a wealth of knowledge about film and its history...and he went along with the idea a classic Japanese film was too detailed for an American audience.
I was livid. There is not one tedious moment in that movie, to me -- from the realization the bandits will be back to loot the village to the long, hard search for samurai willing to fight for room and board only to the preparations for protection and counter-attack to the tensions between the samurai and the people they've sworn to help to the final skirmishes...the movie builds and builds and builds like a symphony until the final battle in the driving rain. It shows the whole of human emotion and decency and venality.
And they got bored until the big fight. They felt a lot of the village stuff could have been cut out or down. Completely ignored the full measure of the movie and only thought of how it should be for an audience of 12 year-olds.
I haven't watched TCM since.
February 19, 2016
Good artists copy; great artists steal
This is, supposedly, a quote by Picasso, though no one knows exactly when he said it...or even if he did...and it's probably a play on T.S. Elliot's comment in The Sacred Wood: Essays on Poetry and Criticism -- "...(I)mmature poets imitate; mature poets steal..." I knew what he meant -- that good artists copy other artists, develop work based on their betters' styles and such, while great artists focus on the object of their art and take from its essence everything they need to remake it into whatever they perceive it to be.
That works in writing, too. You copy the style of a writer you like until you develop your own...if you do. Like Judith Krantz copied Jackie Collins, who copied Jacqueline Susan, who copied Grace Metalious, who copied Erskine Caldwell...and on and on. But when it comes to great writing, the whole idea of theft changes into something more than mere interpretation of an object's reality. It involves real theft...not of something physical but of the truth in the soul of that object or story.
So many teachers and advisers tell writers to work with that they know and use the likes of Willa Cather and James Heller and John Steinbeck to show how that works. Willa lived on the Nebraska plains growing up and colored her stories about pioneers in the last quarter of the 19th Century with that background. James Heller's experiences during WWII became the basis for Catch 22, and Steinbeck's own youth filled his novel, East of Eden. Great writers, all of them, but what is rarely mentioned is how these books are filled with stories that were stolen, not specifically lived in.
I don't know if I can put this in a way that will make sense, but a great writer steals moments from others and forms them into his own. Stories and gossip and details gleaned during conversations overheard and hammers of speech and attitudes...things a good writer can merely fit into a framework that reveals the story.
A great writer lets these stories and details and such devise a framework to suit themselves...as if they were building themselves a home to their own specifications and comforts and needs and dreams and desires and fears...and when the last nail is driven and the final coat of paint is dried, they dwell in it, happily. Even if the structure is tragic...even if it is wrong and criminal...they settle in and will not move. Tolstoy knew this. As did Shakespeare and Thackeray and Voltaire. You can feel the stories expand beyond anything one man could experience unto himself, even as they remain honest and true.
When I build my stories, I steal everything I can. From people, places, things, you name it. Does that mean I think I'm a great writer? That's not for me to decide. Sometimes I read what I have written after a time and cannot believe I wrote it. Other times I cannot believe how false and juvenile it seems, and become embarrassed. My screenplays, most especially, cause me grief in how I copied rather than appropriated far too often.
My best work grows from when I steal someone else's story and mold it into my own form of reality then let it blossom and grow. Let it shoot off in directions I'm not ready for or happy with. And the hardest part of working with that is not suffocating it. Sometimes the roots turn out to be shallow and the branches die. Sometimes I get lazy and copy another's way of dealing with the same situation...and find I have only wasted my time as the truth of the story kept going in the direction it needed, and now I have to play catch-up.
I don't know if I'll ever be a great writer. I've had people tell me there's no way in hell I could be. Not enough control over my style or grammar. I've had others remind me of how Steven King says you have to edit and cut and kill your darlings to make a good book. And maybe that's true...for him. But I keep thinking of my argument with a film professor in college.
We had a film society that showed old movies, and I ran the projector for a year. 16mm prints that had to be manually switched from one projector to the other when a reel was done. I saw movies I would never have been able to see anywhere else -- things like Even Dwarves Started Small and The Jackal of Nahueltoro and Heart of Glass.
It's also where I saw Grand Illusion. Set in WWI, it's about French prisoners of war in German POW camps, the indomitability of the human spirit, and how an aristocrat is treated with different civility from a mechanic and a Jewish scholar. The mechanic and Jewish scholar escape and are sheltered by a German farm-woman whose husband and brothers and all the men she knew were killed in the war.
I loved the film. Felt it was near perfect. My film professor -- Dr. Manfred Wolfram -- said it was too long. Said the whole section with the farm woman could have been cut and the movie would have lost nothing. I vehemently disagreed. Up until that point, the film was a good story; with that bit added in, it became poetry. It became great. It started me on the belief that a great film director must have something of a poet in his soul for his work to truly sing. So few have.
I ran into some of this same "too long" attitude with Bobby Carapisi. A couple of people who read it said they felt the story was complete with just Eric's and Bobby's tales, that Alan's wasn't needed. But to me, it was still lacking something...and adding in a vague explanation as to why Alan was like he was was what it took to make it whole. And for that, I stole a couple of stories I had a glancing involvement with...and molded them, using my own DNA to keep them malleable...and for the first time really felt like a novelist instead of just a screenwriter writing books.
I'm feeling the same way about The Vanishing of Owen Taylor. In my last pass through it, I found very little I wanted to rework or change or adjust or remove. I'm finally at the point where all I want to do is polish it till it shines. It's long -- over 112,000 words -- but everything is in it for a purpose, and to cut them would throw off the balance. And this makes me feel powerful enough to think I may know what I'm doing.
And finally...finally...that I will be able to do justice to Place of Safety, because I want that story to be great, and I am ready to steal whatever I must for it, now.
That works in writing, too. You copy the style of a writer you like until you develop your own...if you do. Like Judith Krantz copied Jackie Collins, who copied Jacqueline Susan, who copied Grace Metalious, who copied Erskine Caldwell...and on and on. But when it comes to great writing, the whole idea of theft changes into something more than mere interpretation of an object's reality. It involves real theft...not of something physical but of the truth in the soul of that object or story.
So many teachers and advisers tell writers to work with that they know and use the likes of Willa Cather and James Heller and John Steinbeck to show how that works. Willa lived on the Nebraska plains growing up and colored her stories about pioneers in the last quarter of the 19th Century with that background. James Heller's experiences during WWII became the basis for Catch 22, and Steinbeck's own youth filled his novel, East of Eden. Great writers, all of them, but what is rarely mentioned is how these books are filled with stories that were stolen, not specifically lived in.
I don't know if I can put this in a way that will make sense, but a great writer steals moments from others and forms them into his own. Stories and gossip and details gleaned during conversations overheard and hammers of speech and attitudes...things a good writer can merely fit into a framework that reveals the story.
A great writer lets these stories and details and such devise a framework to suit themselves...as if they were building themselves a home to their own specifications and comforts and needs and dreams and desires and fears...and when the last nail is driven and the final coat of paint is dried, they dwell in it, happily. Even if the structure is tragic...even if it is wrong and criminal...they settle in and will not move. Tolstoy knew this. As did Shakespeare and Thackeray and Voltaire. You can feel the stories expand beyond anything one man could experience unto himself, even as they remain honest and true.
When I build my stories, I steal everything I can. From people, places, things, you name it. Does that mean I think I'm a great writer? That's not for me to decide. Sometimes I read what I have written after a time and cannot believe I wrote it. Other times I cannot believe how false and juvenile it seems, and become embarrassed. My screenplays, most especially, cause me grief in how I copied rather than appropriated far too often.
My best work grows from when I steal someone else's story and mold it into my own form of reality then let it blossom and grow. Let it shoot off in directions I'm not ready for or happy with. And the hardest part of working with that is not suffocating it. Sometimes the roots turn out to be shallow and the branches die. Sometimes I get lazy and copy another's way of dealing with the same situation...and find I have only wasted my time as the truth of the story kept going in the direction it needed, and now I have to play catch-up.
I don't know if I'll ever be a great writer. I've had people tell me there's no way in hell I could be. Not enough control over my style or grammar. I've had others remind me of how Steven King says you have to edit and cut and kill your darlings to make a good book. And maybe that's true...for him. But I keep thinking of my argument with a film professor in college.
We had a film society that showed old movies, and I ran the projector for a year. 16mm prints that had to be manually switched from one projector to the other when a reel was done. I saw movies I would never have been able to see anywhere else -- things like Even Dwarves Started Small and The Jackal of Nahueltoro and Heart of Glass.
It's also where I saw Grand Illusion. Set in WWI, it's about French prisoners of war in German POW camps, the indomitability of the human spirit, and how an aristocrat is treated with different civility from a mechanic and a Jewish scholar. The mechanic and Jewish scholar escape and are sheltered by a German farm-woman whose husband and brothers and all the men she knew were killed in the war.
I loved the film. Felt it was near perfect. My film professor -- Dr. Manfred Wolfram -- said it was too long. Said the whole section with the farm woman could have been cut and the movie would have lost nothing. I vehemently disagreed. Up until that point, the film was a good story; with that bit added in, it became poetry. It became great. It started me on the belief that a great film director must have something of a poet in his soul for his work to truly sing. So few have.
I ran into some of this same "too long" attitude with Bobby Carapisi. A couple of people who read it said they felt the story was complete with just Eric's and Bobby's tales, that Alan's wasn't needed. But to me, it was still lacking something...and adding in a vague explanation as to why Alan was like he was was what it took to make it whole. And for that, I stole a couple of stories I had a glancing involvement with...and molded them, using my own DNA to keep them malleable...and for the first time really felt like a novelist instead of just a screenwriter writing books.
I'm feeling the same way about The Vanishing of Owen Taylor. In my last pass through it, I found very little I wanted to rework or change or adjust or remove. I'm finally at the point where all I want to do is polish it till it shines. It's long -- over 112,000 words -- but everything is in it for a purpose, and to cut them would throw off the balance. And this makes me feel powerful enough to think I may know what I'm doing.
And finally...finally...that I will be able to do justice to Place of Safety, because I want that story to be great, and I am ready to steal whatever I must for it, now.
February 16, 2016
Have I done this before?
I'm stuck at work -- snowed in. I could spend half an hour digging my car out from under all that white stuff, but instead I'm just spending the night at the office. I'm the only one here, this week, so it's not like I have to worry about offending anyone if my clothes are not fresh. I have access to a kitchenette and there's a 7/11 a couple blocks away...and I have a toothbrush...so why not?
The good thing is, I'm catching up on reading articles about writing that I'd saved. And they're kicking new ideas from the mess in my brain. Like finally seeing what The Alice 65 is really all about. Adam and Casey are trapped by things in their past -- her by Lando's infidelity, him by his father's death -- and how they help each other break free. Nothing overt, but I do want to add a line where Adam says something like, "Funny how you can be trapped by aspects of your past...things over which you have no control." I know exactly where to put it, too.
Of course it means, honing a couple of moments to link them into that...but again, nothing overt. Except...I can be unobtrusive to the point of obscurity, at times. For instance, in Blood Angel, I built Tristan as not only a tortured soul but one who was borderline suicidal. His step-mother, Anne-Marie, and his buddy, Baldo, notice and emphasize how many people he has who love him, but I never actually say that he'd like to die. It's all suggested until the end. And it's amazing how few people caught that. Well...actors tended to, but coverage creeps? Nah. Never.
I will say, the coverage I got on this script when I entered it into Slamdance made me realize just how awful and sloppy it can be. Something that is made very clear in BA is, everyone thinks Tristan's mother died in Katrina. The person doing the coverage referred to her as a suicide and felt that was cliched way to make Tristan sympathetic. There was so much wrongness in that person's comments, I complained about it. Slamdance's response? "But you still got a good grade on it. Almost made the next cut."
Talk about laughable. Nothing's changed, either. Recently I got coverage on a script where the person doing it complained about me putting a period after dashes and trashed my use of flashbacks...this on a script that's won awards. After a while you just have to laugh and realize it's nothing but the luck of the draw.
And I've never had the kind of luck that gets past that.
The good thing is, I'm catching up on reading articles about writing that I'd saved. And they're kicking new ideas from the mess in my brain. Like finally seeing what The Alice 65 is really all about. Adam and Casey are trapped by things in their past -- her by Lando's infidelity, him by his father's death -- and how they help each other break free. Nothing overt, but I do want to add a line where Adam says something like, "Funny how you can be trapped by aspects of your past...things over which you have no control." I know exactly where to put it, too.
Of course it means, honing a couple of moments to link them into that...but again, nothing overt. Except...I can be unobtrusive to the point of obscurity, at times. For instance, in Blood Angel, I built Tristan as not only a tortured soul but one who was borderline suicidal. His step-mother, Anne-Marie, and his buddy, Baldo, notice and emphasize how many people he has who love him, but I never actually say that he'd like to die. It's all suggested until the end. And it's amazing how few people caught that. Well...actors tended to, but coverage creeps? Nah. Never.
I will say, the coverage I got on this script when I entered it into Slamdance made me realize just how awful and sloppy it can be. Something that is made very clear in BA is, everyone thinks Tristan's mother died in Katrina. The person doing the coverage referred to her as a suicide and felt that was cliched way to make Tristan sympathetic. There was so much wrongness in that person's comments, I complained about it. Slamdance's response? "But you still got a good grade on it. Almost made the next cut."
Talk about laughable. Nothing's changed, either. Recently I got coverage on a script where the person doing it complained about me putting a period after dashes and trashed my use of flashbacks...this on a script that's won awards. After a while you just have to laugh and realize it's nothing but the luck of the draw.
And I've never had the kind of luck that gets past that.
February 15, 2016
Another step...
OT is off to a new editor to see how it works. I doubt I'll hear anything for a few weeks, so I may shift myself to pushing the scripts I have or maybe even finishing a first draft of Underground Guy. I've got a stack of stories and projects I need to get to, so no telling.
OT took a lot of work, and I'm happy with how it's turned out. My only uncertainty, right now, is the opening three chapters. I think they draw the reader in but I honestly cannot tell. They've been a problem to some people and I could see why; I had way too much exposition in them, in the earlier drafts. So I got rid of 90% of it and focused on making this about Owen Taylor's disappearance.
I'm deliberately avoiding asking people who've already read the book or its predecessor so I can get a feel for how easy it is to follow. A lot of details are strung out across the entire story. I just hope they gel enough to explain why Jake and Tone are together.
I suppose I could work more on planning the books. That won't be easy. For the hard copies, I need to know how many pages it is in the correct format before I work up the covers. The e-copy isn't so difficult that way, but it does have its own demands.
It's not like I can do anything much, right now. I'm broke and my Visa and Mastercard are maxed out, thanks to entering screenplay competitions and buying seminars and posting scripts on InkTip. My Amex is being taken away from me, not due to anything I did but because Jet Blue wants to partner with Mastercard instead and I got the card when I joined their TruBlue program. This is going to be interesting. I'm being sent a card I don't want to replace one I do want, and being told the one I want I can't have.
That's American capitalism today.
OT took a lot of work, and I'm happy with how it's turned out. My only uncertainty, right now, is the opening three chapters. I think they draw the reader in but I honestly cannot tell. They've been a problem to some people and I could see why; I had way too much exposition in them, in the earlier drafts. So I got rid of 90% of it and focused on making this about Owen Taylor's disappearance.
I'm deliberately avoiding asking people who've already read the book or its predecessor so I can get a feel for how easy it is to follow. A lot of details are strung out across the entire story. I just hope they gel enough to explain why Jake and Tone are together.
I suppose I could work more on planning the books. That won't be easy. For the hard copies, I need to know how many pages it is in the correct format before I work up the covers. The e-copy isn't so difficult that way, but it does have its own demands.
It's not like I can do anything much, right now. I'm broke and my Visa and Mastercard are maxed out, thanks to entering screenplay competitions and buying seminars and posting scripts on InkTip. My Amex is being taken away from me, not due to anything I did but because Jet Blue wants to partner with Mastercard instead and I got the card when I joined their TruBlue program. This is going to be interesting. I'm being sent a card I don't want to replace one I do want, and being told the one I want I can't have.
That's American capitalism today.
February 14, 2016
Log-lining for beginners...
I have three of my scripts posted on InkTip. They get their log-lines read but very few times does that progress into anyone reading the synopsis or screenplay. So I've been playing with some new ones to see if that will help. They're below.
The Alice 65
A book archivist whose world is in perfect order is sent to pickup a very rare edition of Alice in Wonderland from the actress who inherited it...and who turns his world upside down.
This is a romantic comedy so I'm not sure exactly what to say in it. And it's really a rare copy of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland...but that was kind of long and didactic.
Carli's Kills
When her daughter is driven to suicide, an ex-army sniper seeks a horrific revenge against the biker gang responsible for the girl's death...even though it may get a man she loves killed.
This is a revenge thriller written like a horror-romance. Should I emphasize that?
Marked For Death
When his family is killed by a bomb, a suicidal ex-soldier sets out to destroy the man he believes responsible…only to fall in love with the man's daughter.
Another revenge thriller about a man regaining his belief in life. This one's set in London, so that may be a hard sell.
I'd put more up, but it's $60 for 4 months -- $180 a year for each script -- while 90% of the people viewing the listings on InkTip are wannabes like me. So I'm not sure if getting to that 10% who actually are someone is worth the money. Next on the slate is synopses that kill it. But at least these are up...
If anyone has suggestions on how to intensify the log-lines, I am more than open to hearing them.
The Alice 65
A book archivist whose world is in perfect order is sent to pickup a very rare edition of Alice in Wonderland from the actress who inherited it...and who turns his world upside down.
This is a romantic comedy so I'm not sure exactly what to say in it. And it's really a rare copy of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland...but that was kind of long and didactic.
Carli's Kills
When her daughter is driven to suicide, an ex-army sniper seeks a horrific revenge against the biker gang responsible for the girl's death...even though it may get a man she loves killed.
This is a revenge thriller written like a horror-romance. Should I emphasize that?
Marked For Death
When his family is killed by a bomb, a suicidal ex-soldier sets out to destroy the man he believes responsible…only to fall in love with the man's daughter.
Another revenge thriller about a man regaining his belief in life. This one's set in London, so that may be a hard sell.
I'd put more up, but it's $60 for 4 months -- $180 a year for each script -- while 90% of the people viewing the listings on InkTip are wannabes like me. So I'm not sure if getting to that 10% who actually are someone is worth the money. Next on the slate is synopses that kill it. But at least these are up...
If anyone has suggestions on how to intensify the log-lines, I am more than open to hearing them.
February 13, 2016
Taking stock, today...
I've been beating up on myself for not achieving more in my life, up to this point. So today I decided to work out exactly what I have done...just in the last 10 years. And once I started paying attention to reality instead of my misconceptions, I started seeing a lot of what I wasn't listening to.
To start -- I've published 7 books; 10 if you consider Bobby Carapisi started out as 3 volumes and Rape In Holding Cell 6 was 2 volumes, initially. I've written my 8th book -- The Vanishing of Owen Taylor -- and have three more well en route to being done -- Bugzters, Underground Guy and Place of Safety.
I've also been pretty damn brave about the books, considering the subject matter of my first three. Very confrontational...which got three of them got banned, twice, and I still cannot get Amazon or Kobo to carry two of them in e-book. But I did face Amazon down the first time they dropped How To Rape A Straight Guy. Got them to officially agree the book was not pornography, and I kept a copy of that e-mail, as proof.
On top of that, I've written several screenplays -- The Alice '65, Carli's Kills, Blood Angel, Dair's Window, 5 Dates, Marked for Death, and We-Come -- as well as rewritten a couple of my scripts into a leaner, cleaner style. And I've done well in screenplay competitions, with them and a few other scripts. Return To Darian's Point even won me some prizes.
Plus I moved cities twice...including to a place I'd never been to before...took care of my mother for 15 months while barely making a living, tried to start my own business, and managed to help keep my youngest brother off the street despite making 25% less in salary than I did in 2006. My sister and I even helped get him to a doctor and dentist to be taken care of, which wasn't easy since he has a morbid fear of them.
And then there are the seminars and classes and professionals I hired to help me get to be better in my writing and my pursuit of a career -- these are just some of positive things I've done. It's so easy to remember the negative crap and forget about or shrug off the good. I could be the poster child for that. Even now, I'm telling myself...but you still haven't achieved what you wanted.
Which is true...but I also have yet to give up trying.
To start -- I've published 7 books; 10 if you consider Bobby Carapisi started out as 3 volumes and Rape In Holding Cell 6 was 2 volumes, initially. I've written my 8th book -- The Vanishing of Owen Taylor -- and have three more well en route to being done -- Bugzters, Underground Guy and Place of Safety.
I've also been pretty damn brave about the books, considering the subject matter of my first three. Very confrontational...which got three of them got banned, twice, and I still cannot get Amazon or Kobo to carry two of them in e-book. But I did face Amazon down the first time they dropped How To Rape A Straight Guy. Got them to officially agree the book was not pornography, and I kept a copy of that e-mail, as proof.
On top of that, I've written several screenplays -- The Alice '65, Carli's Kills, Blood Angel, Dair's Window, 5 Dates, Marked for Death, and We-Come -- as well as rewritten a couple of my scripts into a leaner, cleaner style. And I've done well in screenplay competitions, with them and a few other scripts. Return To Darian's Point even won me some prizes.
Plus I moved cities twice...including to a place I'd never been to before...took care of my mother for 15 months while barely making a living, tried to start my own business, and managed to help keep my youngest brother off the street despite making 25% less in salary than I did in 2006. My sister and I even helped get him to a doctor and dentist to be taken care of, which wasn't easy since he has a morbid fear of them.
And then there are the seminars and classes and professionals I hired to help me get to be better in my writing and my pursuit of a career -- these are just some of positive things I've done. It's so easy to remember the negative crap and forget about or shrug off the good. I could be the poster child for that. Even now, I'm telling myself...but you still haven't achieved what you wanted.
Which is true...but I also have yet to give up trying.
February 12, 2016
Almost time...
I'm close to being ready to print out a new copy of OT to do my red pen thing...but I'm going to do it differently, this time. To keep myself from fine-tuning the story to the point of infinity, I'm going through it backwards, page by page. My goal is to find as many typos as I possible can, and then send it out for feedback.
Truthfully, the book is down to 490 pages, but once blank pages are put in to keep the numbering correct, it will probably be more like 515. Except that's double-spaced and in 12 inch Courier font. When I shift the book into something like 10 inch Palatino, single-spaced and squared off, it will probably be about 350 pages.
I am going to do a limited run of hardback copies with dust jackets. I'll number them and sign them and charge more for them than I normally would. I think if I want to offer the book in hardcover without the numbering, I need to set up a new file with its own ISBN. I bought 10 of them, so it's not like I couldn't, but the little bastards ain't cheap...and I'd have to get barcodes for each one.
Self-publishing is like ordering a la carte at a restaurant.
Truthfully, the book is down to 490 pages, but once blank pages are put in to keep the numbering correct, it will probably be more like 515. Except that's double-spaced and in 12 inch Courier font. When I shift the book into something like 10 inch Palatino, single-spaced and squared off, it will probably be about 350 pages.
I am going to do a limited run of hardback copies with dust jackets. I'll number them and sign them and charge more for them than I normally would. I think if I want to offer the book in hardcover without the numbering, I need to set up a new file with its own ISBN. I bought 10 of them, so it's not like I couldn't, but the little bastards ain't cheap...and I'd have to get barcodes for each one.
Self-publishing is like ordering a la carte at a restaurant.
February 10, 2016
Who in the world was Arthur Batanides?
During my travels, this time, I happened upon a weird little DVD that has 4 cheesy creature-features on it -- The Phantom from 10,000 Leagues (1955), The Beast with 1,000,000 Eyes (1958), War Gods of the Deep (1965), and At the Earth's Core (1976). I used to love this stuff, watching cut-down versions during Saturday afternoons and midnights, on my grandmother's old black and white console TV. Some of those Saturday matinees were actually quality films -- like The World, the Flesh and the Devil, (1959) which actually dealt with race relations and the suggestion of a black man being with a blond woman after the end of the world.
But this led me to remember one of those afternoon films that really creeped me out...and affected me in ways I wasn't expecting -- The Leech Woman (1960). About an aging woman whose husband is seeking the fountain of youth in Africa...but apparently the only way she can stay young is by draining men of their blood. And one man she chooses to kill is a shady character she picks up in a bar -- played by Arthur Batanides. Whose face I saw a lot on TV after that. Here's his imdb bio --
Stocky, general purpose actor, a prolific face on the small screen during the 1960's and 1970's. Became enamored with acting after performing stand-up routines in front of fellow GIs in Europe, during World War II. Educated in dramatic art at the Actors Lab in Los Angeles, followed by extensive stage experience. Recently noted as "Mr. Kirkland" in several installments of the "Police Academy" franchise. Remembered by older viewers, chiefly as the ill-fated U.S.S. Enterprise geologist, "Lieutenant D'Amato", who died badly (cellular disruption) in the Star Trek (1966) episode, Star Trek: That Which Survives(1969); one of dictator Clemente's (
The Leech Woman was actually almost good, and it had Grant Williams in it, the guy who wore some tight shorts in The Incredible Shrinking Man (1957). But Arthur intrigued me most because he was a bastard who deserved his fate but at the same time I didn't want it to happen to him...because though I didn't know it at the time, I was crushing on him. And it seems like every guy I've gotten lost in, since, is a variation of him.
I was 13 years old...and it took me years to understand...but I already had my type worked out, and it's stuck with me, ever since.
But this led me to remember one of those afternoon films that really creeped me out...and affected me in ways I wasn't expecting -- The Leech Woman (1960). About an aging woman whose husband is seeking the fountain of youth in Africa...but apparently the only way she can stay young is by draining men of their blood. And one man she chooses to kill is a shady character she picks up in a bar -- played by Arthur Batanides. Whose face I saw a lot on TV after that. Here's his imdb bio --
Stocky, general purpose actor, a prolific face on the small screen during the 1960's and 1970's. Became enamored with acting after performing stand-up routines in front of fellow GIs in Europe, during World War II. Educated in dramatic art at the Actors Lab in Los Angeles, followed by extensive stage experience. Recently noted as "Mr. Kirkland" in several installments of the "Police Academy" franchise. Remembered by older viewers, chiefly as the ill-fated U.S.S. Enterprise geologist, "Lieutenant D'Amato", who died badly (cellular disruption) in the Star Trek (1966) episode, Star Trek: That Which Survives(1969); one of dictator Clemente's (The Leech Woman was actually almost good, and it had Grant Williams in it, the guy who wore some tight shorts in The Incredible Shrinking Man (1957). But Arthur intrigued me most because he was a bastard who deserved his fate but at the same time I didn't want it to happen to him...because though I didn't know it at the time, I was crushing on him. And it seems like every guy I've gotten lost in, since, is a variation of him.
I was 13 years old...and it took me years to understand...but I already had my type worked out, and it's stuck with me, ever since.
February 8, 2016
Getting closer on the blurb...
Too zoned, yesterday, to do any thinking...but now I'm sitting at Fort Lauderdale's airport waiting on a plane and can sort of contemplate more than just my weariness. Both fairs are done and happy...well, as happy as book and map dealers can be. It also helped that I was in a decent Best Western, last night, with quiet neighbors, access to making some evening tea and breakfast. I don't usually eat breakfast; I just grab some rolls or a bagel to take with me for later...but it makes a difference.
I'm giving up on Motel 6. I don't mind getting cheap when paying cheap, but the room I had with them was $150 a night, with taxes, and I had to pay extra for Wifi that was crap. Now they're sorry for the situation, but I don't care. I'm tired of excuses and apologies that don't come till after the fact.
So I've been sitting here with decent wifi going over the book jacket blurb, and I reworked it to the following --
Jacob Blaine was no detective; he was a graphic artist working for an advertising agency in Denmark. But then he learned his uncle, Owen Taylor, had vanished and, even more unsettling, mailed two cryptic notes to his address in Copenhagen when the man knew perfectly well Jake had been living in Texas for the past year. It was like he wanted his nephew to do something but didn't bother to explain what.
Problem was, Jake didn't really know that much about his uncle; Owen had always carefully guarded his privacy. But that was never to complete exclusion, so it was a shock to learn the District Attorney's office had filed charges against him for molesting an underage boy, and that his friends blithely assumed he had fled to Mexico to avoid prosecution. Only, Jake knew his uncle was not the type to run from a fight, especially since anyone could see the accusation was politically motivated. No question, something weird was going on.
That's when Jake set up a quick trip to Palm Springs, thinking it would only take a few days to find out what was going on with his uncle. Instead, he found himself trapped in a vicious web of lies, fear, distrust, intimidation and manipulation woven by an anti-gay group named PSALMS, who would stop at nothing to rid the city of its gay population.
Not even murder.
Better, but I feel like I need something more. Something to pop and just don't have the full notion of what, yet. Maybe when my brain is back in my mind, again...or my mind in my brain...whichever.
These days I never know which is which.
I'm giving up on Motel 6. I don't mind getting cheap when paying cheap, but the room I had with them was $150 a night, with taxes, and I had to pay extra for Wifi that was crap. Now they're sorry for the situation, but I don't care. I'm tired of excuses and apologies that don't come till after the fact.
So I've been sitting here with decent wifi going over the book jacket blurb, and I reworked it to the following --
Jacob Blaine was no detective; he was a graphic artist working for an advertising agency in Denmark. But then he learned his uncle, Owen Taylor, had vanished and, even more unsettling, mailed two cryptic notes to his address in Copenhagen when the man knew perfectly well Jake had been living in Texas for the past year. It was like he wanted his nephew to do something but didn't bother to explain what.
Problem was, Jake didn't really know that much about his uncle; Owen had always carefully guarded his privacy. But that was never to complete exclusion, so it was a shock to learn the District Attorney's office had filed charges against him for molesting an underage boy, and that his friends blithely assumed he had fled to Mexico to avoid prosecution. Only, Jake knew his uncle was not the type to run from a fight, especially since anyone could see the accusation was politically motivated. No question, something weird was going on.
That's when Jake set up a quick trip to Palm Springs, thinking it would only take a few days to find out what was going on with his uncle. Instead, he found himself trapped in a vicious web of lies, fear, distrust, intimidation and manipulation woven by an anti-gay group named PSALMS, who would stop at nothing to rid the city of its gay population.
Not even murder.
Better, but I feel like I need something more. Something to pop and just don't have the full notion of what, yet. Maybe when my brain is back in my mind, again...or my mind in my brain...whichever.
These days I never know which is which.
February 6, 2016
Quick pass on a blurb...
I worked this up last night and polished it, this morning. It's not quite there but is going in the right direction --
---------
Jake Blaine was no detective; he was a graphic artist working for an advertising agency in Denmark. But Then his uncle, Owen Taylor, vanished. And he received two cryptic notes that made no sense. And those two notes were mailed to Jake's address in Copenhagen, even though he had been living in Texas for the past year, dealing with legal issues concerning his lover, Antony Lazarre. So no question, something was very wrong.
The thing is, no one had seen or heard anything from Owen for months. The man had always carefully guarded his personal space, so Jake was shocked to learn the District Attorney's office had filed charges against his uncle for molesting an underage boy. Now everyone was assuming Owen had jumped bail to avoid prosecution. But Jake knew his uncle would never back down from fighting the DA's claim; it was too obvious the accusation was politically motivated.
So Jake set up a quick trip to Palm Springs, thinking it would only take a few days to find out what was going on with his uncle. Instead, he uncovered a vicious conspiracy of lies, fear, distrust, intimidation and manipulation aimed at the gay community by people would stop at nothing to drive them from the city.
Not even murder.
---------------This would be on the inside dust jacket, if I do a hardcover, and on the back of the paperback. Doesn't quite pop, yet.
---------
Jake Blaine was no detective; he was a graphic artist working for an advertising agency in Denmark. But Then his uncle, Owen Taylor, vanished. And he received two cryptic notes that made no sense. And those two notes were mailed to Jake's address in Copenhagen, even though he had been living in Texas for the past year, dealing with legal issues concerning his lover, Antony Lazarre. So no question, something was very wrong.
The thing is, no one had seen or heard anything from Owen for months. The man had always carefully guarded his personal space, so Jake was shocked to learn the District Attorney's office had filed charges against his uncle for molesting an underage boy. Now everyone was assuming Owen had jumped bail to avoid prosecution. But Jake knew his uncle would never back down from fighting the DA's claim; it was too obvious the accusation was politically motivated.
So Jake set up a quick trip to Palm Springs, thinking it would only take a few days to find out what was going on with his uncle. Instead, he uncovered a vicious conspiracy of lies, fear, distrust, intimidation and manipulation aimed at the gay community by people would stop at nothing to drive them from the city.
Not even murder.
---------------This would be on the inside dust jacket, if I do a hardcover, and on the back of the paperback. Doesn't quite pop, yet.
