Keith Thomson's Blog, page 16

War Stories Contest

A call to arms and/or word processors: We are conducting a war story contest.
Genuine World-War-II-era spy cameras will be awarded to the authors of
the three best yarns, fiction or non-fiction or whatever else, so long
as they're no more than 700 words. Honorable mention gets you copies of
the novel Seven Grams of Lead,
when it's published in February. Submit stories using the form below or
in an e-mail to kqthomson [at] gmail [dot] com. Pictures optional.
Deadline is Oct. 31, a.k.a as the anniversary of England's Battle of
Britain victory. Victors in this contest will be announced here on
Veterans Day (Nov. 11). Go here for full contest rules. Over and out.

The CIA's Chain of Brothels

In 1959, the Central Intelligence Agency got into
the prostitution business, opening whorehouses in New York City, San Francisco and
Stinson Beach, California, in each case with the blessing and cooperation of
the local police. The Federal Bureau of Narcotics took a piece of the action,
too, in the role of drug dealer.

The Telegraph Hill branch

The San Francisco branch, a Telegraph
Hill duplex with sweeping waterfront views, was located at 225 Chestnut,
a short stumble away from North Beach’s saloon district. The
prostitutes, many of whom were placed on
government payroll, duped johns into taking acid. Researchers from
Operation Midnight Climax (yes, really) sat on the other side of
two-way mirrors in hope of learning to use LSD to induce subjects to
reveal
secrets or do the bidding of the United States government.

The operation was run by a colorful narcotics agent turned "CIA consultant" named George Hunter White, of whom a colleague said, “He made
that fruitcake Hoover look like Nancy Drew."

White's empire lasted until 1965, when Congress got wind of it and played its customary role,
from the Agency’s perspective, of ants at a picnic. 

For more information, read The Search for the Manchurian Candidate by John Marks.

Book Research on Secret Rooms

Att: foreign spies operating in the United States:

I'm an espionage novelist looking to write about secret rooms. Please post details of
yours. Thanks!

The Coffins of Area 51

CIA classified photo: In 1964, Agency
trucks towed these giant coffins from the Groom Lake, NV, base known as
Area 51. What was in the coffins? See http://keiththomsonbooks.com/blackbird

My Cover Story

In August 2010 I came across the below al-Qaeda propaganda
poster:

It references Abu Dujana ElKhorosani, the terrorist who exploded
himself at a CIA base in Khost, Afghanistan, in December 2009, killing seven
CIA officers). Oddly, the very same day I saw the Al-Qaeda effort, I received this mock-up of the cover design for the paperback version of my novel Once
a Spy (a thriller about a spy with Alzheimer’s disease). Kind of similar, right?

I thought: What the heck does it
say if your book jacket looks like an al-Qaeda recruitment poster? On top of that,
I worried about how prospective readers would respond to the image of a gun
being fired at them? I’d really liked this jacket on the hardcover version,
which Doubleday had published earlier in the year.

The hardcover had sold like expired tuna, though, despite
plenty of the things that you’d want—a grade-A marketing effort, decent
reviews, a couple of award nominations, etc. What hope was there, I wondered,
for the terrorist-cover version whose marketing effort consisted largely of its
shelf appeal in airport and drugstores where no one had heard of it? But in
second-guessing the venerable Doubleday sales and marketing team, wouldn’t I be
like the patient who’s perused WebMD and then figures he knows more than his
surgeons about removing his spleen? That’s where I netted out.

Fortunately. The paperback cracked the New York Times Best Seller List.

Which brings us to the cover of my first book, Pirates of Pensacola, a modern-day
pirate novel published by St. Martin’s Press in 2005, back in the days that all
books were printed on paper. Recently I reacquired the rights to the book from
St. Martin's so that an e-book could be produced by Worldreader.org, which
donates e-books to readers in impoverished countries. It turns out that when
you re-aquire rights, you get your manuscript back, not the cover. For the cover Worldreader, I
used the drawing I’d hastily made for the
Pirates galley in 2004.

One thing I can say for sure about covers: Mine
sucks. So now that I’m republishing the book digitally, I'm
conducting a covert art contest. The rules, in a nutshell, are send my crew your original cover art by May
24. There are a number of prizes, including a couple of authentic silver
“pieces of eight” coins. For the full details of the contest, see http://keiththomsonbooks.com/cover-contest.
And rest assured, I will largely stay out of the judging, leaving it up to my
esteemed colleagues.

Spanish pieces of eight

The Pirate Song

The actual, historical pirate anthem. I didn't make any of it up, no rum was involved, nothing like that:

To the mast nail our flag it is dark as the grave,
Or the death which it bears while it sweeps o'er the wave;
Let our deck clear for action, our guns be prepared;
Be the boarding-axe sharpened, the scimetar bared:
Set the canisters ready, and then bring to me,
For the last of my duties, the powder-room key.
It shall never be lowered, the black flag we bear;
If the sea be denied us, we sweep through the air.
Unshared have we left our last victory's prey;
It is mine to divide it, and yours to obey:
There are shawls that might suit a sultana's white neck,
And pearls that are fair as the arms they will deck;
There are flasks which, unseal them, the air will disclose
Diametta's fair summers, the home of the rose.
I claim not a portion: I ask but as mine--
'Tis to drink to our victory--one cup of red wine.
Some fight, 'tis for riches--some fight, 'tis for fame:
The first I despise, and the last is a name.
I fight, 'tis for vengeance! I love to see flow,
At the stroke of my sabre, the life of my foe.
I strike for the memory of long-vanished years;
I only shed blood where another shed tears,
I come, as the lightning comes red from above,
O'er the race that I loathe, to the battle I love.

105-day trip from New York to San Francisco, anyone?

Would you also be keen on spending 105 days aboard a clipper? A shame that trains and airplanes sank this operation:

What's the picture?

What's the story here?

This photograph came with the website. Your guess as to what is going on is probably better than mine. What do you think?

Do you know this waterfowl?

Any information would be appreciated.