Joylene Nowell Butler's Blog, page 6

Getting Historical Facts Correct by Phyllis Zimbler Miller

As writers we know that sometimes things in our writing can interrupt the “fictive dream” as John Gardner discusses in his classic book THE ART OF FICTION. For example, this can be an unfamiliar word rather than a familiar one, the deciphering of which pulls readers’ concentration from the story.

For me, the most upsetting instances of interrupting the “fictive dream” occur both in fiction and nonfiction about historical facts, such as in this example:

In the second episode of season one of the Australian TV series A PLACE TO CALL HOME (on Acorn TV now), the protagonist — Sarah Adams — tells her aunt she was happy in Paris in 1943 “before the Germans came.”

Having already learned in episode one that she has converted to Judaism and will not speak about the war years, I was pulled from the dialogue. Why?

The Nazis marched into Paris unopposed on June 14, 1940.  If Sarah meant when the Germans first occupied Paris, she was off by three years. If she meant when the Germans came for her (to arrest or deport her), stating this in the dialogue would have prevented me from being pulled out of the story while I did the historical calculations in my head.

Thanks to the internet, checking historical facts is easier than ever. And historical facts do not only mean dates.

Here are two examples from my free nonfiction Holocaust theater project THIN EDGE OF THE WEDGE – both explanations of which I added to the Historical Footnotes page that I created on the project’s website.

Tattooing of numbers on the arms of inmates in concentration camps:

Although the tattooed numbers are often associated with inmates in Auschwitz, not all inmates in Auschwitz received tattoos on their arms, and, as Judith in the play recounts, she was not tattooed at Auschwitz but was later tattooed at Stutthof. (The men, women and children sent directly from the deportation cattle car trains to the gas chambers did not get tattoos.)

Romanian Ruth Kluger and Austrian Ruth Kluger:

Romanian Jewish rescuer Ruth Kluger (1910-1980) is in the THIN EDGE OF THE WEDGE (SCHRITTE IN DEN ABGRUND). She was one of 10 original members (the only woman) of a Zionist group dedicated to helping Jews escape the Holocaust in Europe. Fluent in nine languages, she raised funds and helped organize ships to carry Jewish refugees to the land of Israel, which at that time was controlled by the British.

This is not the same person as Austrian Holocaust child survivor Ruth Kluger (1931-2020), who became a recognized authority on German literature.

Why did I feel compelled to add this information to the project’s website?

In terms of the tattoos, while I knew that Judith was describing her own experience, I wanted to make sure that others would not question the truth of her report.

And the Ruth Kluger entry?

A college professor of German asked me why I had fictionalized parts of Ruth Kluger’s story. I explained to the professor that I had not done this; there were two well-known Ruth Klugers connected to the Holocaust. And then I added the information to Historical Footnotes.

Subsequently I was annoyed when Wendy Lower in her nonfiction book THE RAVINE: A FAMILY, A PHOTOGRAPH, A HOLOCAUST MASSACRE REVEALED quoted Ruth Kluger (the Austrian one I assumed) with absolutely no identification other than her name.

And this brings us to another point about not interrupting the “fictive dream” (whether in fiction or nonfiction):

Do not make readers guess what you mean, especially if by adding a few extra words (such as “Austrian Holocaust child survivor” or “German literature authority”) you can make it easier for a reader to know what you intended to convey.

In conclusion, while I thought it was John Gardner who wrote about the “fictive dream,” before attributing the idea to him in this blog post, I did a search on the internet in order to check my facts!

Phyllis Zimbler Miller is a screenwriter, playwright and book author in Los Angeles. She is the co-founder of the free nonfiction Holocaust theater project www.ThinEdgeOfTheWedge.com to combat anti-Semitism and hate. The play is also available at www.SchritteInDenAbgrund.com in a professional German translation.

 

 

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IWSG – May – My Readers

I’ve always wondered what it must be like to have one thousand people show up at your book release. Can you imagine? It would be incredible. But whether there are one thousand, or four hundred, or five, readers are precious. I did a reading many years ago at our local library in Prince George. When it was over, a teenage girl dragged her mother to the front of the room so “mum” could tell me that her daughter was my biggest fan. Every time I remember that it makes me smile.  One time a new writer wrote to express how much I’d inspired her. She said knowing we were both from the same town gave her hope for her own career. She thought if I could do, she could do it.  Years ago, a Polish librarian sent me a photo of his granddaughter holding up Dead Witness. She had a huge smile on her face. He said they both loved my book and asked me to please write more.  A friend called one day to see if I’d come over. They had a surprise. I got there to find they had out-of-province guests who’d read my novel, wanted to meet the author, and needed their copy autographed. They made me feel very special.

In 2018 I met a lady at a campsite in New Brunswick. When I told her my name, her mouth dropped open. She’d seen one of my books on her sister’s bookcase in Alberta on her last visit.

Our youngest was stationed in Afghanistan during the Iraq war. As soon as Dead Witness was released, I sent him a copy. Eight months later we joined him for his wedding in Jamaica, which took place the day before my birthday, twelve years ago. They gave me pearls from Kandahar and then handed me back Dead Witness. I was about to say, “It’s yours. You keep it,” when I noticed the inside cover. Both pages were filled with comments and signatures from the men and women he’d served with. Cory had passed around my novel for everyone to read. I read the comments and cried.

Thank you for this month’s question. It made me think back to those exciting days when I was first published. I forgot how special the author’s life could be. I have a new book coming out this year titled Kiss of the Assassin, and I’m going to treat it like it’s my first.

Ninja Captain Alex J Cavanaugh created IWSG — because Alex understands we need a safe place to congregate, insecurity is part of our creative nature, and together we’re stronger.

On the first Wednesday of each month, you can write on any subject related to your writing journey or adopt the option of answering the month’s question. Either way, you’re in safe territory.

If this sounds like a good place to be, sign up here.

IWSG’s Twitter handle is @TheIWSG, and the hashtag is #IWSG.

Every month, a question is announced that members can answer in their IWSG post. These questions may prompt you to share advice, insight, a personal experience or a story. Include your answer to the question in your IWSG post or let it inspire your post if you are struggling with something to say.

Remember, the question is optional!

May 5 question – Has any of your readers ever responded to your writing in a way that you didn’t expect? If so, did it surprise you?

My awesome co-hosts for the May 5 posting of the IWSG are Erika Beebe, Tonja Drecker, PJ Colando, Sadira Stone, and Cathrina Constantine!

When you have a moment, please stop by and thank the hosts for their time. They’re the reason nobody gets left without visitors.Be sure to visit the Insecure Writer’s Support Group Website.–namastejoylene

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TUNNEL VISION, a short story by Hank Quense

A long time ago, (in the last century) I wrote and sold a bunch of short stories. They were collected and published by a small publishing house as Tunnel Vision. It’s filled with stories about knight-accountants, warrior-chefs, aliens visiting Manhattan, befuddled wizards

Long out of print, I started reading them again and was surprised at how well they had aged. Pasted here is the title short story. Tunnel Vision refers to the filters we all have that determines how we interpret events.

I’m thinking of republishing the collection.  What do you think?  Is this worth-while?

TUNNEL VISION

Maestro Allegro, the Dean of Musicology and conductor of the Urban Symphonic Marching Jazz Band entered the university’s auditorium for a faculty meeting.  Traditionally, the musicology staff sat left of center while the physicists sat on the right.  The two faculties of the Frank Sinatra University of Musicology and High Energy Physics rarely mingled and never agreed on any issue except that a comatose Chief Administrator was a joy to work with.  Allegro walked towards the front row and spotted Dean Clifford Webley, the head of the physics department and Allegro’s detested opposite number.  Fifty-ish, tall and heavy-set with a florid complexion, Webley looked at him and turned away without acknowledgment.

The university, located in Sinatra’s place of birth, Hoboken, NJ, was the town’s only institution dedicated equally to Arts and Science.  For Allegro, the real purpose of the Science school was to bring in government grant money.  The more grant money that came in, the less funding restraints he faced.

He took the seat reserved for him by the other musicology teachers just as two porters pushed a hospital bed onto the stage under the supervision of a young, buxom nurse.  The bed contained Chief Administrator Buchler, now in his second year of a coma.  With the bed in place, the unpopular Administrative Assistant, Jon Gunthrie, stepped up to the podium.

“I regret to inform you,” Gunthrie paused to clear his throat, “that cost-cutting measures must be implemented.”

Allegro started.  Funding cuts!  The last time Gunthrie cut funding, he gave himself a raise.  Allegro raised his right arm in the air, and, when he brought it down, his staff moaned in B-flat, their signal of negation.  Gunthrie winced at the flatulent noise while the physicists applauded the protest and giggled at Gunthrie’s discomfort.

Gunthrie regained his composure and glared at Allegro.  Before the man could speak again, the faculty collectively sucked in its breath.  “He moved his arm,” a professor screamed while pointing to the bed.  Buchler’s eyes were open and he glared at the faculty.  Gunthrie moved swiftly to the bed, grabbed the oxygen mask and clapped it against the man’s face.  “Please, sir,” Gunthrie said.  “Compose yourself.  Don’t try to talk.”

Buchler smacked the other’s arm, displacing the mask.  “Back,” he croaked.  “Back, you spawn of Satan.”  The old man coughed twice and said, “I have an announcement.”  He paused to take a hit of oxygen.  “At the end of the semester, I shall resign in order to pursue a hobby of rock-climbing.”  He looked at the nurse, reached up with a trembling arm and squeezed her right boob.  His arm fell back on the bed and he relapsed into a coma.  With a smile on his face.

The nurse blushed charmingly.

Pandemonium broke out among the faculty.

Gunthrie yelled for order.

The physics faculty gathered around Webley and shook his hand or patted him on the back, as if Webley had been just installed as the new Chief Administrator.  Webley looked to be in shock.

Allegro’s mouth felt like he had eaten a ball of cotton.  He ignored the questions of his staff and left the auditorium.  He had much to contemplate.  These events imperiled his beloved band.

~

Allegro stared across the Hudson River, deep in thought.  Hoboken, located between the Lincoln and Holland Tunnels and across the river from Manhattan, featured a glorious view of the city.  In the clear, spring twilight, the glass towers reflected the setting sun and the entire skyline glowed with orange light.   Overhead, squadrons of strident seagulls wheeled and swooped in their search for nasty tidbits.  His nostrils quivered from the acrid stench of the diesel exhaust that belched from the ferry boats.  Dead fish and salt water provided additional layers of pungent smells.

Allegro focused on Dean Webley.  Once, they had been friends, but their friendship had floundered on Webley’s insistence that Allegro add Sousa marches to the band’s repertoire.  Sousa indeed!  A classic example of talent that relied on out-dated instruments.  Made of brass!  Webley wallowed in the over-rated music of Beethoven and Mozart and others of that ilk and he often insulted the band, calling it an unfiltered noise source in need of a good silencer.

Webley often commented on how he loved dealing with politicians and bureaucrats, and Allegro had to admit the man was unsurpassed at it.  His High Energy Physics Laboratory was exceptionally well-funded and attracted the best graduate students in the world.  This success gave Webley an irritating air of arrogance.  As if mere science could ever be superior to musical arts!

Allegro nodded to a passing member of the band, one of several reed ensemble synthesizers.  This  one had trouble telling the oboe passages from the bassoon passages and usually played the wrong one.

If Webley received the Administrator’s post, the paper-pushing job would take so much time he would be forced to give up grant-hunting.  That didn’t bode well for the Musicology Department.  With Webley’s department almost completely funded by grants, Allegro received the lion’s share of the other funding

In front of him stood the High Energy Physics Lab building, a converted warehouse with old-fashioned, multi-paned windows that opened.  Allegro recalled the recent campus blather caused by the installation of a plasma ion transmogrifier or some such nonsense.  Reputedly, the device would allow research in new concepts in science.

Through the open windows, Allegro heard the yells of grad students.

“Do it!”

“Throw the switch!  Let’s see what happens.”

A beer can flew through a window and landed in one of the few patches of grass on the mostly concrete campus.

Allegro ignored the students and evaluated the situation.  Webley’s promotion would signify massive changes in Allegro’s aspirations.  Reduced funding would delay the performance of his greatest work.  Indeed, Webley could even force the band out of existence through fiscal pressure.

This shift could spell the end to all of Allegro’s grand achievements.  Like someone about to die, his lifelong titanic struggles passed before his eyes.  The manual labor as a stage hand.  The constant urging of his mother.  The torment of playing an instrument under another conductor.  The pain of rejection as orchestra after orchestra refused to play his compositions.  Finally, the success of his Symphonia Urbana in Seventeen Movements.  Only to hear it inadequately performed by close-minded conductors who substituted traditional instruments for the ones specified in the score.  He hungered to play it the correct way.

To reach his present position and then have it threatened by a poltroon like Webley was not to be borne.  Allegro squared his narrow shoulders and stuck out his scrawny chest.  He would not give up without a fight.  He would do everything in his power to prevent Webley from becoming the Chief Administrator.

It was one thing to swear to fight, but what could he do to prevent the man from advancing?  He took stock of his weapons.  Pettifoggery always worked wonders.  He could count on duplicity when the going got tough.  Finally, he knew Webley hated confrontation.  When faced with opposition, Webley lost his composure and acted precipitously.  This last character flaw may be Allegro’s ultimate weapon in his campaign to prevent the rise of the recreant.

Allegro felt somewhat relieved now that he had plan.  To demonstrate his defiance, he shook his fist at the High Energy Lab.  The street lights dimmed an instant before the building disappeared.  An entire three-story structure had winked out of existence!  Leaving only a large hole in the ground and a whiff of ozone to mark the spot!  While Allegro stared open-mouthed, the building reappeared, shaking and creaking as it refilled the foundation hole.

“Awright!!” someone in the building yelled.

“Let’s do it again!”

“Gimme another beer!”

He shook his head in wonder at the stupidity of the grad students.  And Webley.  He would never understand why Webley let the students play in the lab after classes.

~

Allegro, exasperated by the lack of talent displayed during his audition, sat in the rehearsal hall, a large bare room that formerly served as an apparel manufacturing plant.  Heavy drapes hung over the windows to block the traffic noises from Hoboken’s busy streets.  The drapes also gave the room a menacing aspect that made visitors reluctant to stray too close to the corners.

His band needed a new Fender-Bender percussionist and he had just listened to a dozen students fail a simple test.  He shook his head in amazement.  All the students had to do was bang together two pieces of metal and plastic.  One piece came from a front panel from a 2023 Ford Hover Utility Vehicle and the other from a 2024 Chevy Personal Transporter.

A woman entered the hall and walked up to Allegro and said, “Ms. Dunlap would like to see you,” she said.  “Right away.”

“I’ll be there in a few minutes.”  Allegro smiled.  His plan was working.  Dunlap was a university trustee.

While on his way to meet Dunlap, Allegro suppressed his feelings about the inadequacies of the candidates.  To compensate for the students’ lack of talent, he wanted to sprinkle the band with a few professional musicians disguised as students.  He would need better funding to do that, but then the world would finally hear his signature work performed as he had composed it, not as the shiftless conductors of several major orchestras had mis-interpreted it.

Allegro entered Dunlap’s office

“Good afternoon, Dean,” she said.  “I appreciate you coming to see me because I’m quite perplexed by this memo.”  She was a pleasant-looking woman in her early fifties.  As always, she wore a skirt and a sweater topped with a string of pearls.

Allegro sat down and smiled at her.  The memo detailed a new regulation.  Sent to all of Webley’s staff, it implied that he, Allegro, had the authority to dictate to Webley’s staff.  He hoped Webley would go ballistic over the implication and cause an incident.

“I hadn’t realized the University had a problem with intruders.”  Dunlap raised an eyebrow.

“An occasional vagrant wanders around, but that’s all.”

Dunlap started and waved a copy of the memo.  “Then what brought this about?  Why are you insisting everyone wear an ID badge,” she glanced down at the memo, “I quote,  ‘to preclude an invasion of unauthorized intruders,’.”

“Leadership.”

“You’ll have to explain that comment.”  She leaned back in the chair and crossed her arms.

“Of course.”  Allegro smiled to himself.  Dunlap led the conversation as if she followed a script written by himself.  “Leaders steer their organizations in the direction of their vision.  Part of my vision is to maintain the safety and security of the campus as it currently is.  When I ponder the future, I foresee a flood of unauthorized people drifting around the campus and no one will be able to tell them from the staff and students.”

Dunlap gaped at him.

“Consequently, I eliminated the problem before it became into existence.  That, Ms. Dunlap, is what leaders do.  They obliterate the roadblocks that impede the route to their vision.”

Dunlap looked down and examined the memo.  Allegro gloated.  This discussion should put a crimp in Webley’s promotion by demonstrating Webley’s lack of leadership.

Dunlap gave Allegro a smile that made him leery.  She should be looking pensive, thinking about Webley’s character flaw.

“Well, this certainly is an unexpected bonus.”

The back of Allegro’s neck tingled.  What was wrong with the woman?  Couldn’t she see the obvious?

“When I show this memo to the selection committee and explain your reasoning, I’m sure your name will be added to the short list of nominees for the job of Chief Administrator.”

“Wh . .  at!”

“Leadership is one of the key qualities we are searching for.”

“But . . . I won’t be able to fill the post and still conduct my musicians.”  Bafflement clouded his mind.

“True.  You’ll have to turn over the band to someone else.  The Administrator’s job will be a full-time position.”

Allegro stood up and left the office without saying good-bye.  How could this happen to him?

Outside the building, he took several deep breaths to clear his mind then sorted through the confusion. With the promotion, he could funnel as much funding as necessary to the Urban Symphonic Marching Jazz Band.  There would be money to hire professional musicians.  But what good would it do him?  The band was his soul and his soul was the band.

How could he turn down a prestigious promotion?  His mother always urged him to rise as high as possible.  But to forfeit his musical dreams for mere advancement?  She would rise out of her coffin and box his ears if she knew what he was thinking.

How could he not compose new music for the band?  How could he not transcribe songs for the plethora of new instruments the band used?  How could he not conduct the band?

And worst of all, how could he give up his dream of conducting the Symphonia Urbana as he wrote it?  He needed to develop only one more new instrument.  He was so close!  He shook his head in wonderment.  How could Dunlap mess up his plan?  While he might have illustrated the lack of leadership in Webley, he was caught in a trap.  He didn’t want Webley to get the promotion but neither did he want it himself.

He pledged himself to fight in the name and spirit of his ancestors.  He was a tenth generation maestro, and he wouldn’t allow Webley and Dunlap to strip him of his aspirations.  The original maestro had struggled to eke out a living.  He traveled the length and breadth of Tuscany with his string quartet serenading the vineyards in order to make the grapes sweeter.  Well, Maestro del Vino —as they called him — never gave up and neither would Maestro Allegro, del Vino’s progeny.

He returned the wave of a band member, the pneumatic drill player, a position requiring more brawn than musical aptitude.

The decision to remain as Dean of Musicology made him feel better until the Lab building disappeared once more.  It’s reappearance unsettled him.  Accompanied by the sounds of tortured steel and grinding cinder blocks, the building materialized further to the north.  Towards his rehearsal hall!  Rubble surrounded the building like the bow wave of a moving ship.  Loose dirt and rocks filled the original foundation hole.

Since the founding of the university, the sidewalk he stood on constituted the boundary between the turfs of the Physics and Musicology Departments.  The lab building now straddled the sidewalk.  Standing in front of him was unmistakable evidence of Webley’s pernicious intentions.

Webley had invaded the Musicology grounds!  War had been declared!

Allegro looked around and saw a band member, a string instrument keyboardist.  He called her over.  “We have an emergency,” he said.  “I want everyone in uniform within the hour.  We’ll assemble outside the rehearsal hall.”  He waved a hand at her.  “Call everyone on their cell phones!  Go!”

He glared at the lab building.  He would respond to Webley con bravura.  Amateur warriors though they were, his musicians would repulse the invaders.  The effrontery of Webley would be answered with gusto blended with grace and artistry.

~

Allegro felt his heart swell with pride as the Urban Symphonic Marching Jazz Band formed up.   Their uniforms —his own design —sparkled in the light of the afternoon sun, especially the gold lamé trousers.  So did the white silk shirts, blue cravats and black cut-aways.  They all wore black shakos with a golden feather.  Except for the pneumatic driller who, by state law, had to wear a hard hat.  Allegro had written to everyone in the state government but so far had been unable to get the half-witted bureaucrats to issue an exemption for the man, even though the hat ruined the visual impression of the band.

He shot the sleeves of his uniform and climbed into his hover-podium.  Not for him the traditional wooden podium used by the Philistines of classical music.  His podium, made of stainless steel with brass fittings and crammed with electronics, sparkled in the sunlight.  He caressed the handrails.  The cold metallic touch invigorated him.

Allegro tapped his baton.  “Your attention please.  In a few minutes, we will begin a march that will go down in the annals of history.  Today, we strike a blow against despots.  Today, we will assert our will against those who seek dominion through foul means –”

He pointed to the young lady with a raised hand.

“Is this gonna take long?  I have to be at my hairdresser in an hour.”

“Our beloved campus is under attack.”  Allegro’s voice quivered with emotion.  “How dare you suggest a time limit on our activities?  The enemy has no such limits.  They toil day and night in their nefarious laboratory.”

The young woman shrugged.

“Here is my plan.  I refuse to make a dastardly sneak attack against the foe — that is his tactic, not mine.  We will circle the campus once in order to alert everyone of our presence.”  Especially Dunlap.  He ground his teeth as another hand shot up.  “Yes?”

“Who’s this enemy you keep talkin’ about?”

Shocked to his core by the ignorance of the band, he pointed his baton towards the lab building.  “There is the menace.”

“Hey,” the musician said.  “When did they move the buildin’?”

“Enough chit-chat.  On the circuit of the campus, we will play my transcription of  When the Saint’s Go Marching In.  That always gets the crowd’s attention.  After we return here, we will wheel into the attack and march straight at the lab building.  As we advance, we will play the stirring Frank Sinatra University Fight Song, as composed by yours truly.  At the building, I will present my non-negotiable ultimatum to the forces of mischief.”

Allegro pushed the button to power up the hover-podium and spun the control ball.  The podium turned to face the direction of march.  A built-in monitor displayed images captured by the rearward facing video camera.  The monitor and two side-view mirrors allowed him to direct the musicians while he maneuvered the podium.

He filled his lungs with a deep breath, exhaled and shouted, “To victory!”

Allegro wheeled his podium into the street on the north side of the campus.  His musicians pumped out the notes of the classic jazz song as revised for an urban setting.  The pneumatic driller set the tempo with frequent blasts of staccato disharmony.  The keyboard-controlled string instruments played sweetly, a reed synthesizer played a passage on an oboe instead of a bassoon.  Allegro glanced in a mirror at the offender, but she ignored his look of disgust.  On every eighth beat, the sirenist imitated the whoop of a police car pulling over a traffic violator.

Allegro maneuvered the band toward Washington Street, the western boundary of the campus, while checking his image in a side-view mirror.  At the intersection, he boldly pointed his baton to the left and drove against the heavy traffic while he signaled the band members to change to rout step.  Horns blared, drivers cursed and brakes screeched as the drivers joined the band in celebrating urban life.  The temporary fender-bender percussionist poorly imitated the sounds of several minor accidents caused by the podium weaving through traffic.  He coughed from the miasmic cloud of fumes.  The musicians followed, making their way around cars and between trucks while dodging empty coffee cups and other missiles tossed by the high-spirited drivers.  Sour notes told Allegro of an accurate throw.

A block to the south, he made another left turn onto a side street on the science side of the campus.  He marked time on the podium while the band extricated itself from traffic and from several altercations with irksome truck drivers.  He waved the members back into formation.  By now, the people who lived in the tenements on three sides of the one-block-square campus hung out their windows watching the show.

“Lookin’ good,” one woman shouted.

Others whistled encouragement.

“Pipe down!  I can’t hear my soaps,” a crone yelled.

Allegro shook his head in consternation.  How could the hag prefer an insipid, taped TV show to a live, stimulating concert held right beneath her window?

Nearing the original empty vacant grounds of the lab building, a score of physics students watched the parade.  Exactly what he wanted.  That group would spread the word and soon the entire campus would have their eyes on his forces of liberation.

Two more lefts brought him back to his starting position.

He rotated the podium to face the musicians, slipped it into neutral and ended the tune.  “After that brave and bracing march, we must now confront the beast in its lair.”  With a flourish,  he indicated the lab building with his baton.   “Strike up the band,” he ordered and switched the podium into gear.

The opening notes of the Frank Sinatra University Fight Song always made his heart beat fast.  He had composed the jubilation of car horns and crashing metal parts before he realize the tiny university didn’t field a team in any sport.

He noted the many physics students milling about the lab building. Were they aware of his plans?  Had the enemy infiltrated the band with spies?  Did Webley have a counter-confrontation planned?

He braked the podium when he reached the boundary walkway, now mostly rubble.  Allegro spotted Webley wearing Bermuda shorts, black knee-high socks and white sneakers to complement his white dress shirt, without a tie.

“No one invited you and your noise makers.”  Webley glared at Allegro.  “Begone!”

“This is a counter-invasion, not a social call.”  Allegro stepped down from the podium.  “Remove this building immediately or you will suffer the consequences of your actions.”

The physics students watched the developing confrontation with amused smiles.  The band  members  played an urbanized rendition of The Battle Hymn of the Republic to encourage their leader.

“Or what?  You insufferable fusspot.”

“Or I’ll deliver a sound thrashing.”  Allegro bounced on his toes to make himself taller than his five-four height.   “And then, I shall force you to move this building.”

“Hah!”  Webley assumed a pugilistic stance and threw air punches in Allegro’s direction.

Allegro pushed his baton forward like an epee and shouted, “En guarde!”  He regretted the need to misuse the baton this way because it was a cherished artifact, hundreds of years old.  Maestro del Vino had personally selected the oak twig and, to show his versatility, removed the bark with his very own hands.  Since then, the baton had passed from generation to generation.

The physics students shouted and whistled encouragement to Webley.

The band switched to the New Orleans funeral classic, Just a Closer Walk With Thee, playing it as a dirge led by an electronic bagpipe squealing in harmonic discord.  Allegro grimaced at the implied insult to his bellicose abilities.

“What are you doing!”  Dunlap charged out of the Administration building.  “Are you two out of your minds?”

Allegro smirked at the rhetorical question.  Webley would soon be disqualified for the promotion, and so would he.

Dunlap stopped and stared at the lab building.  She looked around the campus and finally said to Webley, “What is this thing doing here?  Who authorized you to move it?”

“I guess my grad students did it.”

“All the maps of the campus have to be revised if this stays here.  Restore it immediately!  And the Physics Department budget pays for the sidewalk repairs.”

Allegro felt a tentacle of doubt flick through his mind.  Webley didn’t authorize the building movement?

“I’ll look into it after I thrash this noisy twerp.”  Webley air-jabbed with his left hand and moved towards Allegro who waved the tip of his baton-epee in small circles.  Dunlap jumped between the two.  Both moved to avoid her and closed on each other.

“How dare you fight in front of the students?”  Dunlap slapped Webley’s face, grabbed Allegro’s baton and broke it over her knee.  She dashed the pieces to the ground.  “I’m removing both your names from the list of candidates.”  She spun on a heel and marched off toward her office.

Allegro, in shock over the wanton destruction of his family heirloom, looked at its remains and wondered if super glue or duct tape offered any hope.   At least the baton had been sacrificed in a good cause.  Webley’s ambitions had been crushed.  He looked at his arch-enemy, who mouthed “Thank God!” at Dunlap’s retreating back.

Dizziness washed over Allegro.  He steadied himself by grabbing the podium with his left hand. “You’re glad?”

“I don’t want that paper-pushing job.”  Webley waved his hand in disparagement.

“You don’t?”

“I want to match wits with the bureaucrats and bring back the grant money.  I want to run experiments and play around in the lab.  I can’t do that if I’m the Chief Administrator.  I wouldn’t have time.”

“I didn’t want it either.  I want to compose music and direct my band.”

“I’ll be damned.”  Webley laughed.  “We still have something in common.”  He held out his hand.  “We should join forces against whoever gets the position.  Then we can prevent the new Administrator from dividing and conquering.”

Allegro fought to overcome his confusion.  Webley thought the same way he did.  They really were similar.  And instead of stabbing the man in the back, Allegro’s actions had actually helped him.  He shook hands with Webley while his brain regained equilibrium.

“Say.”  Allegro smiled at Webley.  “Maybe your students can help me out with a problem.”

“Which is?”  Webley looked quizzical.

“I’m trying to develop an instrument that will duplicate the sounds of broken mufflers.  Everything from a motorbike to a garbage truck.  I need help with it.”

“You want me,” Webley wiggled his eyebrows, “to help you make more noise?”

Allegro sighed.  It was a valiant try, but doomed from the start.  Webley wasn’t going to change because of a handshake.

“I’ll help but only if you put three or four Sousa marches in the band’s repertoire.”

Allegro gasped.  Sousa!  The pinnacle of ancient classic triteness.  The very type of music he had avoided all his adult life.  But the muffler instrument was the missing piece required to faithfully perform his Symphonia Urbana.  “I’ll transcribe two Sousa marches and no more.”

“Done!”  Webley held out his hand again.  “I’ll put some grad students on the muffler development as soon as they move the lab building back where it belongs.”

A physics student reached both hands into a trash can and brought out four bottles of beer, holding them by the necks.  “Beer’s cold.  Who wants one?”

“We’re having a party to celebrate our latest grant.”  Webley placed a hand on Allegro’s shoulder.  “C’mon.  Let’s get a beer.”

 

For vacations, Hank and Pat usually visit distant parts of the galaxy. Occasionally, they also time-travel.

Besides writing novels, Hank lectures on fiction writing, publishing and book marketing. He is most proud of his talk showing grammar school kids how to create a short story. He used these lectures to create an advanced ebook with embedded videos to coach the students on how to create characters, plots and settings. The target audience is 4th to 7th graders. The book’s title is Fiction Writing Workshop for Kids.

Blogs & Books

Hank’s Amazon Page Creating a Story

How to Self-publish and Market a Book

Writers & Authors Resource Center 

 

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Phyllis Zimbler Miller – Making It Easy for People to Say Yes

No, this isn’t a marketing guest post, although I often give the marketing advice of “Make it as easy as possible for your targeted audience to say yes to you.”

Here I’m talking about applying the same advice to our daily activities with others – whether friends, colleagues, family members, or strangers (and whether remote or in person).

Picture this recent experience I had while driving my adult daughter to get her first vaccination shot at a specific appointment time:

We looked on the vaccination’s website and the appointment confirmation to see where at a huge hospital complex we should enter the driving “line.” No info.

When we got near the hospital complex, we saw a sign that said for vaccinations to turn right on a certain street. I knew from studying the online map that this street was in the middle of the complex.

I turned right and came out at a stop sign, which confused me because I saw other cars in line from a different direction. But I had followed the sign so I pulled into line.

A moment later I looked up to see a young man—unmasked — screaming names at me through (thank heavens) my closed window (and I was wearing a mask even though I am fully vaccinated). And when we got up close to the head of the line, he told a vaccination worker that I had “cut,” and the worker made me get out of line and go around again.

I wasn’t upset about getting out of line – just grateful about the shot appointment. But I did try to save other people from my mistake by telling the worker that the sign I followed was incorrect. He could have cared less.

One hour later when I had circled the complex in the slowly moving line, my daughter and I saw the same thing happen to another car who had clearly followed the same sign we had – and then was “told on” by others behind that car.

In retrospect, I understand that the sign was probably originally there when fewer cars were lined up. As news of the vaccination site spread, the route had to be changed. So why not take the simple step of removing or changing the incorrect sign?

And this is what I mean about making it as easy as possible for people to say yes.

MAKE SURE THAT SIGNAGE IS CORRECT! Think of a sign from a stranger’s point of view and not from your point of view, because you know what to do.

While this may seem simple, I notice this one thoughtful action is often NOT carried out. Yet as we are all under a great deal of stress, especially now with Covid, we should try to reduce the stress for others as well as ourselves when we have the opportunity.

Encouraging doing the right thing …

Charles Passy’s March 28, 2021, article in The Wall Street Journal carried the headline “The Best Coupon in Your Wallet? Your Vaccination Card.” The article described businesses such as Krispy Kreme giving a free donut with proof of vaccination. And this encouragement is a two-way street, with these free offers promoting the business while promoting vaccination.

Recently I read a heartbreaking article about a teenage suicide and the importance of letting young people know about getting help. Suddenly it occurred to me that with both my military websites for veterans and active duty personnel –

www.FilmsThatSupportOurTroops.com and www.OperationSupportJewsInTheMilitary.com

– I had the opportunity to put information about the national suicide hotline on the sidebar of both websites. Who knows whether providing this information may prompt someone to get help when he or she needs it most?

We can all of us look around in our online and in-person lives to see where we can make it easy (or easier) for people to say yes to positive actions. Let’s commit to doing this together!

Phyllis Zimbler Miller is a screenwriter, playwright and book author in Los Angeles. Check out the new social impact section on her website at www.millermosaicllc.com/social-impact/

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IWSG – April 2021 – Kiss of the Assassin

Happy IWSG Wednesday, everyone. I have some good news. I am pleased to announce that my political thriller Kiss Of The Assassin has been accepted for publication and will be released sometime this year. I don’t have all the details yet. I don’t have a cover. I’m just sitting here excited and a bit surprised by that excitement. I think it’s because in my heart this is my favourite novel. It took years to write, months of research, and though I tried to suppress it, this unrelenting hunger to see it published would not die.

I am a storyteller, synopsis writing is not my forte, but here goes:

Kiss of the Assassin is the story of Marina Abramova, a Soviet agent who saves the life of American soldier Mateo Arcusa during the Vietnam War, and later defects to the United States when she learns that she and Mateo are on the hit list of a rogue CIA agent. When it’s clear that the head of the KGB is pulling the strings of the CIA, Marina and Mateo return to the Soviet Union to even the score.

Kiss of the Assassin is a political thriller that spans 10 years and tells the love story of Marina Antonovna, a Soviet spy, and Mateo Arcusa, an American homicide lieutenant. They first meet in Cambodia during the Vietnam War as enemies. Secret covert agent to the head of the KGB Vladimir Kurenkov, Marina risks everything to defect to the United States. She promises Mateo that her days as an assassin are over. Vladimir, the most powerful man in the Soviet Union, is determined to do whatever it takes to bring her back and, by threatening Mateo, forces Marina to break her promise. 

I wrote Kiss Of The Assassin in the late 90s. I put it through many many writers workshops and finally had it proofread respectively by my two dear and trusted friends, authors Vicki L. Smith and Keith Pyeatt. My American agent sat on the manuscript for 2 years. I then landed a Canadian agent who sent it to every top publishing house in Canada.  An editor at McClelland And Stewart sent me a handwritten note encouraging me to continue submitting even though they were not interested in this particular novel.

After my Canadian agent had a massive heart attack, I decided to go solo. Around 2005 I began querying again. I submitted the manuscript to every publishing house in North America that accepted these types of novels. Some of those editors sent me encouraging feedback, but each of them made it clear they were not interested in stories based on the Vietnam War. One publisher suggested I switch from Vietnam to the Gulf War, then resubmit.

There’s only so much rejection I could take, so I put the manuscript aside and, over the next six years, found homes for Dead Witness, Broken But Not Dead, and Maski: Woman Who Cries.

Am I risking taker? My first impulse is to say no. But when I look back over my writing career, it’s clear I am.

IWSG was created by Ninja Captain Alex J Cavanaugh — because Alex understands we need a safe place to congregate, insecurity is part of our creative nature, and together we’re stronger.

On the first Wednesday of each month, you can write on any subject related to your writing journey or adopt the option of answering the month’s question. Either way, you’re in safe territory.

If this sounds like a good place to be, sign up here.

IWSG’s Twitter handle is @TheIWSG and the hashtag is #IWSG.

Every month, a question is announced that members can answer in their IWSG post. These questions may prompt you to share advice, insight, a personal experience or a story. Include your answer to the question in your IWSG post or let it inspire your post if you are struggling with something to say.

Remember, the question is optional!

April 7 question – Are you a risk-taker when writing? Do you try something radically different in style/POV/etc. or add controversial topics to your work?Alex’s awesome co-hosts for the April 7 posting of the IWSG are PK Hrezo, Pat Garcia, SE White, Lisa Buie Collard, and  Diane Burton! When you have a moment, please stop by and thank the hosts for their time. They’re the reason nobody gets left without visitors.–namastejoylene

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TRELLO et al

by Hank Quense

I’m a big believer in planning.  As such, I rely on various software programs and apps to help out . For instance, I use five mind-mapping programs (they all have different features and different graphics).  I also use Trello to keep organized.

The thing with Trello is, I keep trying to find something to replace it.  Now, Trello is very good at what it does.  It basically is a sophisticated to-do list.  I want a program that has the Trello functions but also does more.

So far, I’ve spent a lot of time mastering the idiosyncrasies of a number of potential replacement programs.  This isn’t as simple as finding a program with a list of features.  The program has to work in a way that is compatible with the way my mind works.  A long time ago, I learned that for someone to like a software program, that program has to compliment the way the user thinks.  If the program forces the user to rewire her brain the user will hate the program.  Trello works fine for me and any replacement has to fit in with the way my mind works.

Coda, for instance is a very powerful program but it is also too complex for me.  Notion is solid program but its rules are a bit bizarre and foreign to me.  Asana is pretty much the same as Trello and there are any number of Trello look-a-likes.  Taskade is colorful but ultimately, it’s too weak.. I took a look at Monday until I saw the price.  It’s monthly subscription price is too bloody expensive to use.  Clickup almost made the cut.  So did Infinity.  One of Infinity’s strong points is you can buy the program and don’t have to pay a monthly subscription.

Then, about a week ago, I was browsing apps on my iPad.  I came across Monday and noticed it didn’t have the usual fine print that reads “in app purchases.”  Curious, I dug in and found out that Monday now has a free plan (with limited features, of course) .  I grabbed the web version for my laptop and the iPad version and dug into the program.  I love it!  If does everything Trello does and way more.  It fits right in with the way my mind works and the limited feature set is adequate for my needs.

Since I’ve discovered Monday, I’ve spent gobs of time converting Trello content into Monday content and merrily adding much more stuff to Monday.

Now, I know what you’re thinking: this guy is just procrastinating.  You’re right, I am procrastinating, but I can justify the goofing off by noting I’m ultimately increasing my efficiency and (bonus points) I’m getting better organized.

Until I find something better than Monday.

 

For vacations, Hank and Pat usually visit distant parts of the galaxy. Occasionally, they also time-travel.

Besides writing novels, Hank lectures on fiction writing, publishing and book marketing. He is most proud of his talk showing grammar school kids how to create a short story. He used these lectures to create an advanced ebook with embedded videos to coach the students on how to create characters, plots and settings. The target audience is 4th to 7th graders. The book’s title is Fiction Writing Workshop for Kids.

Blogs & Books

Hank’s Amazon Page Creating a Story

How to Self-publish and Market a Book

Writers & Authors Resource Center 

 

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Phyllis Zimbler Miller – Kindness of Strangers All Year Round

I learned from the Beverly Hills Courier on February 11, 2021, about National Kindness Week (February 15-21), of which I had not been previously aware.

Yet I had already been contemplating my March guest post on the topic of the kindness of strangers, encouraged even more so by Bob Greene’s February 12, 2021, Wall Street Journal article “The Kindness of Strangers Probably Saved a Boy’s Life: Five people decided to intervene in a family matter when they saw a bruised child.”

To summarize that heartwarming article, in a family-style restaurant in Orlando, Florida, a waitress noticed something strange about a family of four – the adult male, adult female and a four-year-girl sat on one side of the table eating and talking. The 11-year-old boy on the other side of the table sat silently with no food. The waitress also noticed bruising near the boy’s eye and a cut above his nose plus more bruising on his lower arm.

As Greene said, she could have done nothing.

“But she couldn’t just let it go. On a piece of paper, in big letters, she wrote: “ARE YOU OK?” She stood behind the table and held the paper up so only the boy, alone on the other side, could see it. He made a motion with his head. She sensed he was afraid. So she wrote another message: “DO YOU NEED HELP?”

“The child nodded yes.

“Ms. Carvalho thus became the first person that night to do the right thing. She went to a phone and called the owner of the restaurant, Rafaela Cabede. She said what had happened. Should she call the police?”

Ultimately the restaurant owner and three other individuals – the 911 dispatcher, the Orlando police officer who arrived, and then another officer with experience in cases of battered and traumatized children – did the right thing. Five people in all did the right thing to rescue this badly abused child.

Why have I spent so much time describing this one example of the kindness of strangers? Because I think that it epitomizes what so many of us fail to do – and what we can commit to doing better in the future.

What is that?

Noticing what is going on around us – whether in person (currently following all Covid safety protocols) or online.

Especially now during the pandemic when the mental health of so many people around the globe has been affected by Covid lockdowns, illness and death, it is important to step up our awareness of the needs of others.

In the pre-Covid days this could be as simple as complimenting a stranger in the elevator on his or her outfit. Or simply holding open a grocery store door for someone laden with grocery bags.

In the current Covid world these opportunities for little acts of kindness to strangers might be harder to find. It requires more awareness of what is going on around us —usually online.

Most of us have probably read about the strangers – teens and adults – who have snagged online vaccination appointments for seniors. What a wonderful example of kindness to strangers ONLINE!

(As you may know, I am the co-founder of the free nonfiction Holocaust theater project www.ThinEdgeOfTheWedge.com to combat anti-Semitism and hate. And I was blown away when the German high school history teacher Amos Kraemer – after “meeting” me online via a sci fi Zoom meeting – offered to pay for a professional translation of the THIN EDGE OF THE WEDGE play into German.)

Those of us who are writers may have an easy way to undertake kindness to strangers – simply connecting online to a stranger who may ask a question that we can answer or wishing someone “Happy Birthday.” Whatever it is – we need to commit to spending a few minutes each day extending kindness to strangers.

And, of course, if we are the recipient of kindness from a stranger, we need to express gratitude, perhaps by paying it forward.

Wishing you all well and safe!

Phyllis Zimbler Miller is a screenwriter, playwright and book author in Los Angeles. She is the co-founder of the free nonfiction Holocaust theater project www.ThinEdgeOfTheWedge.com to combat anti-Semitism and hate. The play is also available at www.SchritteInDenAbgrund.com in a professional German translation.

 

 

 

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IWSG – March ‘21 – The Angle of Flickering Light by Gina Troisi

Poignant and Heart Wrenching:

The Angle of Flickering Light by Gina Troisi is a beautifully written and elegantly narrated memoir that I couldn’t put down. The little girl’s voice was wise yet innocent. I wanted to wrap my arms around her, protect her, save her. It became an urgency. During the worst of it, my heart pounded. I cried because no child should have to experience what little Gina experienced.

How can a father be so despicable to verbally abuse his child for years and then allow his new wife to torment her psychologically? He dimissed his duty as father and protector. His blatant self-centeredness was unpardonable.

To endure, Gina crawled inside herself and became the picture-perfect child, seen but not heard. At age 12, scarred, psyche damaged, she dove head-first into abusing drugs. As a teenager, she entered reckless and doomed sexual relationships. It was her will to survive that finally freed Gina. Her courage heartened me. I thought of all the people who should read this memoir, victims who need to understand that they too can survive.

Gina dissects the worst of her past and ends up proving to this reader that we all have an innate ability to rise above that which would keep us down. And while we can debate forever why people abuse their children, we should find solace in knowing that if we support victims and teach our young to honour each other, we can put an end to abuse.

The Angle of Flickering Light shares emotions that few of us can put into words. I was saddened, enraged, but mostly moved by Gina’s memoir. I encourage you to read it. It’s a beautiful thing when someone opens themselves up and trusts you with their truth.

The Angle of Flickering Light can be preordered at Amazon.com

 

My MacBook Pro’s battery died Friday, so I’m working with my iPad. Not as easy as I hoped it would be. I’m just out of practice. If you leave a comment, I promise I will return the favour.

IWSG was created by Ninja Captain Alex J Cavanaugh — because Alex understands we need a safe place to congregate, insecurity is part of our creative nature, and together we’re stronger.

On the first Wednesday of each month, you can write on any subject related to your writing journey or adopt the option of answering the month’s question. Either way, you’re in safe territory.

If this sounds like a good place to be, sign up here.

IWSG’s Twitter handle is @TheIWSG and the hashtag is #IWSG.

Every month, a question is announced that members can answer in their IWSG post. These questions may prompt you to share advice, insight, a personal experience or a story. Include your answer to the question in your IWSG post or let it inspire your post if you are struggling with something to say.

Remember, the question is optional!

March 3 question – Everyone has a favorite genre or genres to write. But what about your reading preferences? Do you read widely or only within the genre(s) you create stories for? What motivates your reading choice?The awesome co-hosts for the March 3 posting of the IWSG are Sarah – The Faux Fountain PenJacqui Murray, Chemist Ken, Victoria Marie Lees, Natalie Aguirre, and JQ Rose!

 

When you have a moment, please stop by and thank the hosts for their time. They’re the reason nobody gets left without visitors.–namastejoylene

 

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DAYTIME TV: A VALUABLE ADDITION TO YOUR WRITER’S TOOLBOX

by Hank Quense

Fiction writers need all the tools they can find, but over time, these tools can become dull and rusty. When this happens to me, I turn to daytime TV. These programs are bashed by critics and viewers, but I have a different spin on these show; I find them, especially the soaps, to be very educational. I write Science Fiction and Fantasy fiction and an exposure to the these programs improves and sharpens my writing skills. How? By providing vivid demonstrations of what happens when a writer ignores the accepted dictums of the craft. The soaps have a wealth of writing violations that can be exploited by experienced and beginning writers as a whetstone to sharpen their crafting tools.

I have no intention of disparaging the script writers for these soaps. I can’t produce a new script or story every day the way they can and I have nothing but respect for their ability to do this. However, the necessity of getting a show on the air means they can revise their scripts only for a short period of time. I, on the other hand, can revise my stories as often as I want, over long periods of time. My early drafts are sprinkled with faults such as I discuss here, but I have the time to weed them out before I submit them to an editor. This is an advantage I have over the script writers.

Using the soaps to fine-tune one’s writing skills requires a special technique. You have to listen to the TV, not watch it. By only listening, the writer will approximate the experience of a reader perusing a book. In other words, you will be using only a single sensory input, but it will be audible instead of visual. The danger in watching the screen is that is you will encounter a variety of sensations, including the spoken word, music, sound effects and colors in the costumes and settings. These multiple inputs will prevent you from getting the point of the illustration.

I have arranged my findings in three groups: Characterization Issues, Storytelling Issues and Story Issues.

CHARACTERIZATION ISSUES

Character Reactions: Memorable characters display a range of emotions just like people do in real life. The more emotions a character can display, the more life-like the character seems. In the soaps, two primary emotions are used by the characters: hostility and hysteria. A friendly greeting by one character is often met with a torrent of abuse from a second. It’s a rare occasion when a character’s dialog isn’t filled with argumentation, whining or out-right threats. Listening to this dialog becomes irritating and demonstrates what a reader will experience if we writers use limited and repetitious character reactions.

Multi-dimensional Characters: These types of characters are inherently more interesting to readers than flat, one-dimensional characters. These latter types quickly grow stale and detract from other elements in the story. The soaps, however, specialize in single-dimension characters that never display any variations. Day after day, scene after scene, the characters remain as unchanging as the mountains. The same dialog, sentiments and verbal mannerisms are endlessly repeated. Of course, on TV, the characterization may be rigid but the costumes change, as does is the setting and the background music so the repetition doesn’t appear as static to the viewer as it does to a listener.
High Tension and Drama: Whenever the script calls for a strong emotion such as grief, terror, consternation, fear, love, dread, shock or apathy, the actors whisper their lines. Apparently, this is a code to tip off the viewer that a scene of high tension or deep emotion is taking place. This ploy is especially useful to fiction writers because it demonstrates the effect of uniform emotional responses by the entire cast. It’s not very entertaining and neither will be a story that uses this unvarying approach.

STORYTELLING ISSUES

Unnatural dialog: Nothing is more boring to me as a reader then stilted and unnatural dialog. Many novice writers have trouble understanding just what constitutes this type of dialog but the soaps provide countless examples. Characters lecture each other about an aspect of the plot that the entire cast already knows (as do the viewers). Known as expository dialog, it is to be avoided at all costs since the reader will instantly recognize it for what it is. Another facet of the soaps is that characters routinely give long-winded speeches punctuated with words that no one uses in ordinary conversations. Often, the dialog clashes with the character’s persona. For instance, a character portraying a poorly educated worker will suddenly spout large, obscure words that make a listener wonder if the character understands what he just said.

Foreign accents: Writing instructors caution against giving a character a foreign accent. One reason is that it is difficult to be consistent with the accent from one scene to the next. A more important reason is that the accent soon becomes irksome to the reader. The soaps offer endless proof of this guideline. Many of the shows have one or more characters spouting dialog with an accent so wretched it is amusing. For a short while. An alternative to these accents is to let the character use an occasional foreign word in the dialog. The foreign word reminds the reader of the character’s background.

Clichés: Clichés are the bane of writers everywhere. Nevertheless, the dialog in the soaps drips with clichés. Every imaginable cliché can be heard on these shows, and not occasionally but constantly. To listen to this smorgasbord of platitudes is to understand the prohibition against using them.

STORY ISSUES

Plots: A good story has a plot that integrates the elements of the story and allows the reader to suspend her disbelief. In other words, the reader is willing to accept that the plot didn’t happen but could have. To ensure that the reader stays comfortable in her state of suspended disbelief, the writer must eliminate any trace of unbelievable events. These types of events will lurch the reader out of suspended disbelief and end the relationship between her and the author. Yet, the events in the soaps are incredible. A woman falls out of an airborne balloon damaging her hairdo and nothing else. A long-lost object, the subject of a weeks-long futile search, is found by a character with a single phone call to an obscure part of the globe. To a TV-watcher, these incredible events do not stand out because the incidents are masked by the other presentation elements. By listening only, the plot flaws become apparent as does the danger in writing a story with an incredible plot.

Endless scenes: Good writing means a scene ends at a point that teases the reader into turning the page to see what happens next. The soaps, however, won’t give up a good scene without a fierce battle even if the scene has reached its logical conclusion. The same plea/order/advise/command/request/chastisement is repeated for several days. In one soap, a female character held several others hostage and waved a gun at them for an entire week. Every afternoon, she gave the same reasons for her actions in virtually the same words. It’s a wonder her hand didn’t get tired from holding the pistol that long.

To offset the soaps, the writer can listen (no peeking!) to Law and Order or one of its many offshoots. Like the soaps, these shows rarely have action scenes and are essentially all dialog. Unlike the soaps, the characters show a range of emotions, speak naturally and don’t use clichés. The plots are coherent and the tension builds during the show. Contrasting one of these shows with the soaps can only serve to improve the writer’s craft.

So, with all these faults, why are the soaps so popular? One basic reason is that the soaps consist of a lot more than the written word. The beautiful people in the cast, the designer clothes and the background music provide enough stimuli to hid a weakness in a single area such as the dialog or plot.

In contrast, we fiction writers can only use our words to convince a reader that our characters are worth caring about. We can’t use colorful or picturesque backdrops for the reader to see; we use no soundtrack and the characters can’t model the latest fashion designs. The reader has to use our words to build her own mental images of the setting and the characters.

While the soaps and novels have very different presentation formats, the script elements of the soaps offer a method for fiction writers to refurbish their writing tools. I recommend a yearly exposure to a few soaps to eliminate rust and to apply a coating of lubricant to keep the writing tools in good condition.

 

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Phyllis Zimbler Miller – In Defense of Zoom (or Similar Online Technology)

I recently spoke to a fellow screenwriter to remind her about an upcoming Zoom networking opportunity. I did this because I had originally met her when, before Covid, this particular group’s networking meetings were held in person.

She said that she felt Zoomed out and thought she’d wait until the in-person meetings resumed.

Afterwards I pondered what she had said and how I disagreed with her.

To begin with, putting aside the question of Zoom versus in-person, there is the important consideration of staying in touch with people, especially when we aren’t able to freely mix with others.

As writers or other professionals, are we keeping up with those relationships we have established and nurtured, perhaps over years? Or are we so “locked down” that we can’t even think beyond our own walls?

When the lockdown first began in Los Angeles in mid-March, I admit that I didn’t undertake to move online the Beverly Hills Great Books discussion group (of which I am the unofficial chair). And this was truly foolish as I had already been on Zoom webinars for many months and knew how easy and effective they could be.

Luckily one of the other members galvanized us into moving online, and it has been very fulfilling. In fact, we now have three new members Zooming in from different parts of the U.S. No one has to fight the Los Angeles traffic and, surprisingly, people are now on time to the meetings. (We also are not prevented from holding meetings when our Beverly Hills meeting room is closed for various mandated public holidays.)

Bottom line? We’re going to stay online even after it is safe to return to in-person meetings.  And I admit I would have been very remiss to have passed up this expanded opportunity for our engaging book discussions.

If you are not into attending Zoom (or the like) webinars or conversations, are you still staying in touch with your connections? For example, if you see an online article that could be of interest to Person X, are you sending that article link to Person X with a “thinking of you” note?

Or when given the opportunity to invite guests to a free online program, are you considering who might enjoy being invited? Even if the person ultimately doesn’t attend online, the person may be very pleased that you invited him/her.

Perhaps this seems somewhat of a trivial topic for a guest blog post. Yet I think that, as many of us stay hunkered down in our own pods, it is important for us to reach out to others we know, particularly people living alone. Just saying hello via email, phone or text can make someone’s “safe at home” day!

Phyllis Zimbler Miller is an author and screenwriter in Los Angeles. She can be reached through her website at www.PhyllisZimblerMiller.com

www.linkedin.com/in/phylliszimblermiller

http://twitter.com/ZimblerMiller

 

 

Skype: PhyllisZimblerMiller12

Member of Women in FilmMember of the Dramatists GuildMember of Military Writers Society of AmericaSubscribe to updates for the free nonfiction theater project THIN EDGE OF THE WEDGE to combat anti-Semitism and hate.

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