David Klein's Blog, page 67

MARIETTE IN ECSTASY – Ron Hansen

While practicing social distancing, I’ve decided to read from a list of the 25 most important novels in my life.

Ron Hansen’s MARIETTE IN ECSTASY came out in 1991. I read it then and I re-read it this week. This haunting, melodic, vivid story woke me up almost thirty years ago to what “voice” means in fiction, and the impression the novel made on me then remains indelible today.

Mariette is a beautiful 17-year-old postulant when she enters the convent of the Sisters of the Crucifixion in upstate New York in 1906, against the wishes of her father. She quickly becomes a favorite of the other sisters until she begins to exhibit the signs of divine possession, specifically experiencing the stigmata — bleeding from locations of Christ’s wounds when he was nailed to the cross.

Some of the sisters believe her and adore her, while others insist she is a clever fraud or sexual hysteric.

As readers, we are immersed in the strange, spartan and superstitious world of the convent and the extreme religious devotion of its sisters. And we are also immersed and mesmerized by the language of the novel:

Mariette’s “wet blue eyes are overawed as she stares ahead at a wall and she seems to be listening to something just above her, as a girl might listen to the cooing of pigeons.” And “Blood scribbles down her wrists and ankles and scrawls like red handwriting on the floor.”

“Waterdrops from the night’s dew haltingly creep down green reeds.”

The novel is short (179 pages) and the limited plot unfolds like a mystery: Is Mariette actually God’s vessel? Hansen doesn’t provide an easy answer, which only adds to the enigma and increasing tension.

This novel had a profound impact on me in 1991, and still does today.

5 stars out of 5

The post MARIETTE IN ECSTASY – Ron Hansen appeared first on by David Klein.

Writing in the Time of Covid-19

Writers shouldn’t rush to put out a Covid-19 book, according to Sloane Crosby in her recent New York Times essay.

Even though every writer in the world is seeing the world through a virus lens at this moment. Even though we’re all sentenced to our desks. Even though we can’t concentrate on writing anything else.

At least Crosby understood the irony of her own writing about what we shouldn’t write about. Because we’re too immersed in its moment, too much living the experience. We don’t have perspective. She pointed out that novels appearing a year after 9/11 have not held up well, without naming any.

But me? If I’ve got a brilliant idea, even if it’s the same idea that every other writer gets, I’m going to run and run hard with it. Why not? It will be the story I want to tell. My voice. My style. My imagination. It might be a good one.

But Crosby says slow down. Take all the notes you want, but don’t try to write the book. So notes:

When I was running in the park today I put a hand up to wave at someone I passed. I wondered if there might become a new gesture when two people pass each other in the era of social distancing. It’s a wave, where you raise your hand in a way that also blocks your face in a gesture of defense against airborne toxins. “Hello and stay away,” the sad gesture says.Our dear leader doesn’t just call it the Chinese virus but he blames Covid-19 on a Chinese plot to bring down the western world. The Chinese were willing to sacrifice a certain number of their citizens as a cover and then clamp down and control the virus, knowing the United States was not prepared in any way to handle the pandemic. China is sure to take over the world now, but they underestimate American resolve, who fight back and somehow prevail. [This idea is the kind that once went straight to video upon production].Another thing about China: I played Chinese Checkers last night, first time since I was a kid. Interesting game, requires a strategy I haven’t figured out yet. I lost to my more analytic spouse.From a survival-of-the-species perspective, it’s not a bad idea to pull back the throttle on economic expansion, wealth hoarding, and consumerism. Look how much better the air is around the globe in the last two weeks. And a disease that takes out 2 million, or 200 million, or 2 billion people, could be seen as helpful toward long-term species survival. Volunteers? Anyone? Lottery draw? Check out THE CULLING.I need something that administers as an electric shock every time I touch my face.

The post Writing in the Time of Covid-19 appeared first on by David Klein.

Troubled Times: Day Six

It’s been one week since I’ve been practicing
social distancing. Mostly I’ve mostly stayed home, which is what I usually do
anyway, since I’m a writer that works from home. So in some ways my usual
routine is intact. In other ways, not.

Both college-age offspring are living
again home. I’m pleased. Spouse now working from home. We’re a family that’s
together. But now we’re four adults and that makes a house of modest size feel
smaller, more crowded, and messier. Space shrinks. Tensions tighten. But at
least we all love each other, and are trying to give each other space and also
be together.

I’ve seen one friend for a bike ride early
in the week and probably got too close physically. I’ve had a long distance
conversation with a neighbor from the safety of my driveway. I’ve driven my car
once. Cooked a lot. Washed a lot of dishes. And my hands. Lots of hand washing.

Plus chores. I’ve cleaned out three cars.
I’ve organized papers and cleaned out the garage. I’ve raked the yard, turned
the compost pile, washed mildew off the back of the house. Too early. The
forecast calls for snow on Monday.

I’m also re-reading from a backlist of
some of my favorite books. Right now it’s Ron Hansen’s MARIETTE IN ECSTASY,
about a 17-year-old postulant who enters a nunnery and experiences the stigmata,
which mimics Christ’s bleeding on the cross, and causes both distress and
delight among her sisters. The haunting, melodic voice perfectly dovetails with
the story. For this reason alone it has made my list.

I’m also staring at the box of a 1000-piece jigsaw puzzle. I expect I’ll be starting it today. I also have a new door to make for my Little Free Library. I can always stay busy, although I wished I were deep and consumed in writing a novel right now, but I’ve just finished one (THE SUITOR) and am in that flailing, spastic, self-defeating stage during which I don’t think I’ll ever have another idea.

But I have this idea, really it’s a progression of ideas: At first, I believed I could protect myself from contracting the virus. Now I think I’m likely to get it. I’m healthy and have a strong immune system, so I should be able to fight it off. Or maybe not.

I could be dead in two weeks. I’d sign up for that fate, if it meant the rest of my family could be safe. But no one if offering that guarantee. That’s my real source of anxiety.

The post Troubled Times: Day Six appeared first on by David Klein.

My First Novel Was a Disaster

I’m on page 38 of 327 pages of a novel I’m reading and I want to put it down. I’m uncomfortable reading. Anxiety is building in me. Anguish weighs me down. Even shame.

And yet also — I experience a sense of wonder.

The novel is called THE PETTING ZOO, and it’s the first novel I wrote, 30 years ago. I came across the manuscript — wasn’t sure I still had it — when I was going through old papers as a way to stay occupied and entertained during this period of coronavirus and social distancing.

There was a time when I truly believed I would never write a novel. I was still unpublished at that point. I was exclusively a short story writer, basking in my collection of stories that served as my master’s thesis and helped me earn an MFA.

A novel was an insurmountable project. I would never do it. I had no interest. And then I started writing and my vision got longer and the next thing you know . . .

It took about a year to write the first draft. Another year of rewriting until I thought the novel was finished. I was proud — and nervous. I wanted my novel published. I wanted to make a name for myself as a literary figure. I submitted to agents and publishers. I received rejection after rejection.

But then I received a response from a publisher who said THE PETTING ZOO was an important novel and absolutely had to be published. My heart soared — but not for long. Turned out this response was only from an editorial assistant, and the actual publisher didn’t share her passion for my work. Another rejection.

More rejection. Eventually, I gave up on THE PETTING ZOO, and went to work on another novel. Not sure how I could have made the decision to try again after such a sense of failure and so much rejection, but I’ve been making that decision all my writing life, as most writers do, if they’re still going to write.

I don’t put THE PETTING ZOO down on page 38, like I’m tempted to. I push on, hoping it gets better. By halfway through, I begin skimming to reach the end. What I was grappling with: this novel is bad. Real bad.

I’m not even sure what the story is about. Something involving a romantic drifter who believes in love at first sight and falls for a conflicted woman who is currently being gaslighted by another man. Plus several subplots including one about an advice columnist and another about an incestual relationship.

The novel is obviously overwritten (passages of cringe-worthy turgid prose) and underwritten (undeveloped characters with vague motivations). The narrative voice lacks control; the point-of-view strays. A lot happens, but it’s still too long.

My anxiety and shame — where does that come from? There was a time when I thought this novel was going to be my breakout — and I actually let, even encouraged people to read it. Some praised my work (they must have been gaslighting me, like one of the characters from the novel). No one told me my writing was bad. Well, one person tried to tell me, in an indirect way, and I responded by eventually breaking up with her.

And yet . . . I recognize the nuggets of promise in the novel. I had a knack for plotting, structure, and pace, which have always been one of my writing strengths. Some scenes were strong enough to be the foundation of future scenes in future work. I could dig into the emotional states of characters.

So all that is on the positive side of the ledger. But what mostly rescues me from despair is letting the past be the past and realizing how far I’ve come as a novelist. How much I’ve learned and grown and honed my craft. How much better I’ve gotten.

Last year, I took the time to re-read my two published novels, STASH and CLEAN BREAK, and when I finished I was mostly satisfied. I’d written good books. That’s all I’ve ever wanted to do. And have readers like them.

As for THE PETTING ZOO: I don’t need to save it. I’ll certainly never read it again and I’d prefer if no one did. This manuscript doesn’t need to become part of my “papers” collected after I’m dead. Ha, ha. I’m going to make a fire today. I’ll add the pages to the flames. I’ll watch them burn.

The post My First Novel Was a Disaster appeared first on by David Klein.

Passing Time Hunkered down at Home

I once gave a poem I wrote as a wedding present, slipping the envelope into the basket among all the other envelopes which I’m sure contained money and not poems.

It was years ago, when I lived in Santa Cruz. I remembered this now because I’ve been hunkered down at home against the coronavirus and have found time to go through some old journals.

The poem I wrote was for Maz and Gwendolyn, who lived romantically on a sailboat in a slip in the Santa Cruz Harbor. They would come into the Sea Cloud Restaurant, where I worked. They were a cool and arty couple and I got to know them and they invited me to their wedding. Maz did lighting or artwork for Neil Young. Gwendolyn made crafts. I loved her name, and I used it for the character Gwen, from my first novel STASH.

The wedding was December 2, 1990. That’s the date I wrote in my journal. Right after that, I wrote: “I can’t say I had a good time.”

Lou and Christi who owned the Sea Cloud were at the wedding. And Pat and Jean. And Melidna and Olaf. I came with this woman I’d been trying to win over for six months and knew I never would. Soon I realized she didn’t want to be there, at least not with me. I should have come alone.

The wedding took place in a green meadow in the Santa Cruz Mountains overlooking the Pacific Ocean on a Sunny afternoon. There was a sweet, short ceremony followed by a fresh buffet. Their wedding song was “Unchained Melody.”

I don’t have a copy of the poem I wrote. I remember it had to do with their boat in its cozy slip, and their love, which seemed profound to me, and their boat rigging chiming against the mast in the breeze. When Maz and Gwendolyn sent thank you notes to everyone, they reproduced my poem on the cover of the cards.

A private and personal poem I had written just for them had now been seen by a hundred people, or two hundred. I wasn’t sure how felt about that.

I was thrilled. The most important thing to me then was my writing. And a little bit the woman who didn’t want me.

The post Passing Time Hunkered down at Home appeared first on by David Klein.

What it Means to be a Man. Part 1

“THERE’S A BUG! IT’S REALLY BIG!”

Yes, there is a bug. However, ‘Really Big’ is a relative terms: It’s about the size of my pinky fingernail. It’s clinging to the ceiling, or the wall, or the window frame. It has been discovered either by spouse or daughter.

And it’s my responsibility to do something about it. Invariably that means that I must destroy the creature. Typically, my weapon of choice is a tissue or a scrap of toilet paper poised between the pincers of my thumb and forefinger. If there’s no tissue or toilet paper available, I attack bareback.

This is one of those beetly bugs that appear around the house this time of year. They have a shell that resists just for a sec before giving way to a definitive little crunch, like that first bite of cereal.

Several times I’ve been implored to take the bug outside, a catch and release maneuver, but I’m not in that business. I tell myself that once an intruder has penetrated the perimeter, it’s war, baby. And crushing the bug is much easier and quicker than going for the capture.

Side note: I read a joke today. My wife said there was spider, but could I take it out instead of kill it? So I did. We went out for drinks. He’s a very nice spider. Works as a web designer.

But there’s no pleasure in this bug bashing. I wish I wasn’t called upon. I’d rather others do their own dirty work in this regard. I once tried encouraging that tactic: “You can handle a bug,” I said. The idea did not go over well. I did not suggest again.

Last night there was a bug. It came as an announcement from the other room. I asked: “Do you need me to deal with it?”

“Yes, I think so.”

It cost a paper towel.

This is what I do. What I must do. Is it because I’m a man? Is this part of being a man? The soldiering, dirty, violent part. The rescuing of the distressed part. I’m sure there are plenty of women who are effective and efficient bug killers; I just happen not to know any of them.

But I do like to be needed. I like that others can depend on me to do what must be done.

Then just this morning, daughter calls from the other room: “There’s a bug!” Her voice like a bugle signaling for the calvary. I was at my desk in the next room. I sighed under the weight of responsibility. I began to get up. But then I heard: “Wait, I think I got it!” Then: “I did. I got it!”

I looked in. Daughter was holding the tissue clenched between her fingers. She’d learned from the master. I was proud, and a little sad.

The post What it Means to be a Man. Part 1 appeared first on by David Klein.

The Bunker Mentality Sets In

Everything is getting cancelled: opera, plays, sports, travel, school, campaign rallies. Canned goods and staples are getting plucked from grocery shelves. We decided to postpone a small dinner party we had scheduled for this week, all in the name of social distancing.

Was that a necessary action? I don’t know. But we’re all responsible for the potential spread of the coronavirus and the only sure way to do your part is not to expose yourself or others. And inviting people into my home, even my friends — well, that’s my bunker. Home is where I ride out storms.

It’s not that hard for me, this social distancing and hunkering down. I’m a writer. I work from home. I’m often alone. I can go for days without interacting with anyone except my family. I haven’t even started my car in two days.

Most people don’t have that advantage (I do consider those things an advantage). Most people have to get to work. They have to ride on public transit. Their jobs put them in contact with many people. And then there are those who still think this coronavirus thing is a hoax, a liberal conspiracy, a deep-state maneuver. To them I say: Please go hide in your own bunker. And stay there.

It’s a good time to settle in and read a novel. Try STASH. Or CLEAN BREAK. And wash your hands.

The post The Bunker Mentality Sets In appeared first on by David Klein.

“The Getaway” — McQueen & MacGraw

I was excited to watch the 1972 movie The Getaway, starring Steve McQueen and Ali MacGraw.

I had seen the film once before, probably in the late 1970s, and I had a romanticized memory of it: tough and ultra-cool Steven McQueen, beautiful and mesmerizing Ali MacGraw, a taut and compelling plotline based on noir crime writer Jim Thompson’s novel.

And then I watched the movie.

The story itself is a classic crime caper and has a lot going for it: when Doc McCoy (McQueen) is denied bail after four years time served for a bank robbery conviction, he enlists his wife, Carol, (MacGraw) to approach a dirty politician to pull strings to get him out. McCoy gets out, but on the condition that he pulls one last bank heist for the dirty politician. Things go awry, and Doc and Carol end up on the run.

The movie did not live up to my expectations or my memory of it. I’ve defended MacGraw in the past because I loved her debut film, “Goodbye, Columbus,” which was based on an early-career Philip Roth novella, which I also loved. I don’t remember MacGraw’s performance so much in “Love Story,” although I do remember my sisters sobbing when she was on her deathbed.

But in The Getaway, MacGraw is pretty bad. She’s wooden, nervous, and dull (although still something to look at). She didn’t get another movie role for six years after this film, and that’s telling a lot about a beautiful actress in her prime.

McQueen was his usual tough-guy self, although the scene where he slaps around MacGraw after finding out she had sex with the dirty politician in order to gain his favor is a scene that could never be filmed today — and shouldn’t be. But that’s a story and culture issue, not a performance issue.

I got a little bored watching the movie. The dialog was mostly hoaky. There was absolutely no chemistry or spark between MacGraw and McQueen, yet it was while filming this movie that the two actors fell in love leading to marriage later. That storyline is actually more interesting than the movie storyline.

One high note was a performance by Al Lettieri, who played a side character on McQueen’s crew and double-crosses McQueen. I recognized him immediately as the actor who played the villain Virgil “The Turk” Sollozzo in “The Godfather.”

Also noteworthy in a funny way was the depiction of blood. There was a lot of shooting and the blood was a color of red you just don’t see anymore in film. It really did look as bright as ketchup! And Doc and McCoy make an escape in a white Ford Country Squire station wagon with fake wood paneling — almost exactly like one that my family had in the early 1970s.

For years, I’ve been meaning to re-watch The Getaway. I finally did. Now I’ll never have to think about it again.

3/5 Stars. An extra point is given for nostalgia.

The post “The Getaway” — McQueen & MacGraw appeared first on by David Klein.

The Backstory On First Chapters

Here’s the backstory on the first chapters of novels posted on this site:

My literary agent sold STASH to Random House in a two-book contract, the second book turning out to be CLEAN BREAK.  After years of writing and rejection, I had made it as a novelist with a major publishing house.

Everyone was excited about STASH. The publisher at the novel’s imprint, Broadway Books, said it was exciting and full of moral complications.

And then things got complicated for me. Within a week of signing the contract with me, the publisher and my editor at Broadway Books both were fired. I don’t think it was because they signed me, but I’ll never know–I never spoke to either of them again.

I’d lost my main advocates at the publishing house, but other editors took over. As part of the two-book deal, the Random House retained “right of first refusal” on a third novel. That means they had first dibs on anything I wrote next.

Turned out for a number of reasons that STASH and CLEAN BREAK weren’t bestsellers, but most readers who discovered the books gave positive reviews. In publishing, like most businesses, sales results drive a lot of decision making, and my publisher exercised its right to refuse my third novel, THE FINISH LINE. I’m pretty sure almost anything I would have written they would have rejected. Why would they want to lose more money on me?

I had a lot of passion for THE FINISH LINE, which continued the story of two minor characters from STASH who had stayed with me after I finished writing that novel. Their story still fascinated me–Aaron and Dana–and I had to keep writing it. My agent loved THE FINISH LINE. She tried to sell the novel to other publishers, without success.  

So I went back to work. I wrote A SERIOUS LAPSE. That novel didn’t sell either, despite my agent’s efforts and enthusiasm, and her support for me as a writer. Our relationship began to show strain. She probably wished I wrote a different book; I wished she had better connections in the publishing world. At this time, I might have entered a fugue state, as had Robert, the main character in the unsold novel.

Following these publishing setbacks, I veered in a new direction with my writing. No doubt inspired by the state of the world around me and my personal world, I wrote a dystopian speculative thriller, THE CULLING, the most commercial, page-turning idea my brain could conjure. The novel is a cross between Shirley Jackson’s “The Lottery” and Ridley Scott’s “Bladerunner,” about a woman on the run from an unjust death sentence and the mercenary assigned to hunt her. I really enjoyed writing it.

My agent, who strongly preferred upmarket and literary fiction, read THE CULLING and parted ways with me. Not for her. I need a new agent now.

But writing. I’m always writing. A story is always being conceived, mulled over, worked on, discarded or continued. There’s always a light peeking through the clouds, like in the photo I took at the top of this page.

New addition (3/11/20): I recently finished a new novel, THE SUITOR, about a recent college graduate who suddenly falls in love with an ambitious schemer, causing her father to become obsessed about preventing the marriage.

This is almost an afterthought: I wrote STILL LIFE (and other novels) before I wrote STASH. It began as a short story, “The Painter’s Son,” that was published in Storyquarterly, a respected literary journal. It is another example of characters and story I wasn’t finished with yet, and so I expanded the story into a novel, adding an essential character into the protagonist’s life. STILL LIFE has a very secure place in my heart.

That’s the backstory on the First Chapters. Here are introductions to those novels:

THE SUITOR

It’s
been a tough year for Anna. She barely escaped a murderous shooting and has
faced relentless academic pressure to be accepted at a prestigious law school. She
needs a break from all that stress. Following college graduation, she heads to
her family’s unoccupied lake house for the summer and takes a job at a resort
restaurant, but her adventure goes awry when she is seduced by the party life
and falls in love with her boss, the ambitious and scheming Kyle.

Kyle
has risen from a miserable childhood and remains on the lookout for any
opportunity to further advance. While he tells himself he loves Anna, he also
sees in her a path to his own success. He will do what it takes to keep her,
including encouraging her destructive behaviors and manipulating her feelings.

Soon,
Anna realizes she doesn’t want to go to law school—she wants to marry Kyle and
open a restaurant and bar with him, which she will help finance using
inheritance money from her grandmother. Anna’s father, Art, senses the trap his
vulnerable daughter is falling into. Faced with personal health issues, he must
also battle against Anna and Kyle’s relationship, and prevent the marriage
without alienating his daughter.

At first, Art offers to pay Kyle to disappear, and when that doesn’t work he resorts to blackmail and threats. But he doesn’t anticipate Kyle’s response or the impact his maneuvers will have on Anna or even himself, and all three of them end up facing life or death consequences.  

Read Chapter One: THE SUITOR

THE CULLING

A barbaric constitutional amendment has resulted in a
Lottery that culls a percentage of the population each year—all in the name of ensuring
equality. The algorithm draws your number, you report. No exceptions, unless
you have immunity. Maren, a director at a charitable organization founded by
the country’s first lady, still has immunity from when her husband volunteered
for the Lottery. To battle her loneliness and despair, she regularly runs all
76 flights of stairs in her apartment tower.

During a special news event, the first lady volunteers to be
culled in the ultimate show of support for her husband, the president general.
She lies in state during a national broadcast. Yet that same night Maren spots
the first lady in disguise with two guards—and in turn is spotted by
them. Quickly, Maren is notified to report by the Lottery Commission, and her
immunity credentials are invalidated.

Ven Nowak, a mercenary who hunts citizens that refuse to
comply with a Lottery notification, is working to earn permanent freedom for
his disabled brother and himself. He’s running out of time because his license
is about to expire and he’ll never pass the recertification test. Not with his
arthritic shoulder and debilitating asthma.

Ven is awarded the assignment to hunt Maren, which can earn
him enough points to retire. But when he discovers she is the woman he recently
met and has been fantasizing about, he hesitates capturing her, misses his
deadline, and is himself now eligible for the Lottery. Instead of hunting
Maren, Ven forges an alliance with her, against his brother’s warnings.

Maren and Ven attempt to escape to Canada together where they can join the resistance. The long and dangerous journey requires them to get past checkpoints and navigate the violent upcountry, while being relentlessly pursued by other mercenaries and federal troopers. Relying on skills, wits, and luck, they’ll make their escape together—or be destroyed in the process.

Read Chapter One: THE CULLING

A SERIOUS LAPSE

Successful, happily married man and devoted father Robert Besch is traveling for business when he survives a deadly plane crash. He manages to rescue fellow passengers from the burning plane, but he lapses into a fugue state, forgetting who or where he is.

Several days later he wakes up in a hotel room with a woman beside him. He has no idea what happened. No way to explain. Returning home, he must put his life back together while enduring the stigma of his psychological collapse and the pain he’s caused his family.

As a series of unwanted memories from the fugue state slowly return, Robert begins to question his motives in the crash’s aftermath. Is he is really the man he believed himself to be? Or have unconscious desires taken control of his life?

Read Chapter One: A SERIOUS LAPSE

THE FINISH LINE

When Aaron, a damaged young veteran just released from prison attempts to apologize to Dana, the collegiate athlete he’d once sexually assaulted, she recoils in fear and rejects him, but soon an uneasy bond develops between them when she discovers he might hold the clue to her father’s unsolved murder.

Read Chapter One: A FINISH LINE

STILL LIFE

A painter on the verge of success loses his creative spark and alienates the woman he loves when his estranged father forces him to confront their damaged relationship.

Read Chapter One: STILL LIFE

The post The Backstory On First Chapters appeared first on by David Klein.

My Brilliant Career

People sometimes ask me how I became a writer. The path was anything but straightforward.

I didn’t start out wanting to be a writer, but I gradually veered in that direction, bumping a few guardrails along the way.

Here is a list of all my paying jobs (unless I’ve forgotten some). Does this constitute a career? One definition of career is “a person’s progress or general course of action through life or through a phase of life, as in some profession or undertaking.”

Up Through High School Graduation

Harvester. Picked corn on the farm across the street from our summer cottage in Canada. I was paid some awful rate for every dozen ears of corn picked. I learned about being underpaid for the amount of corn I fairly picked. I also learned I was capable of overreporting my haul. Not sure which of those I learned about first. I also discovered that some ears of corn are crawling with maggots.

Janitor. In my elementary school. I was paid by the principal to clean blackboards, wipe desks, and mop floors for a few days before school opened in September. I accidentally spilled some mop bucket water on a hallway floor and thought that looked close enough to being mopped. Got caught by the nun. Yelled at.

Paperboy. That’s what they were called then: paperboys. I had a big blue wagon emblazoned with The Buffalo Evening News logo on its sides. My route was a big one — over one hundred papers. I went door to door collecting the $.95 weekly bill. Most, but not all, customers gave me a dollar and let me keep the nickel change.

*Sometime in this era of elementary school, I wrote a play about kids who kidnap Santa Claus and my class produced it. I also wrote a “book” about Nazi Germany, which won first prize in the history category (it was the only entry in that category). I also wrote a story about a hot dog that comes to life and runs away to avoid being eaten. It was a real page-turner.

Picker. Brand Names was a catalog store in Buffalo where customers came in and browsed through a showroom and ordered from a catalog. I worked the back for one holiday season, picking the orders off the shelves: alarm clocks, toys, gadgets, all kinds of stuff. A forgettable experience overall.

Store clerk. Mesmer’s Dairy was another Buffalo fixture. This retail outlet was an early convenience store. I worked there during my senior year of high school. I scooped one hell of an ice cream cone. The manager read pornographic magazines in the back room while I ran the register.

Factory worker. I spent two summers working at Westwood Pharmaceuticals, later acquired by Bristol Myers Squibb, mostly in a warehouse loading trucks, stacking boxes on pallets, and performing other mindless tasks. Full-time, 7:30 am – 4:00 pm. Reinforced my desire to go to college. My father worked in the executive suite, which is how I got a job at the company (as did my brother and sister).

College Years

Lumber baron. Maybe not a baron, but a laborer at the family-owned Zoladz Lumber Company. Two summers during college, plus one winter break. Unloading boxcars of lumber, picking orders, driving a delivery truck — six days a week. Hard work, but I was flush with money.

Dishwasher. I was perhaps one of the best dishwashers ever in the dining hall at the University at Albany. Worked a lot of the early breakfast shifts and learned to make a perfect egg over easy. I’ve put my dishwashing skills to work recently helping out my friends Paul and Caroline who run a cooking school.

Busboy. Oh, the old Stuffed Mushroom in Buffalo. Graduated at one point to barback, then bartender.

Landscaper. Another summer job working for a landscaping company. I cut a lot of lawns. Hated it.

Carpenter’s helper. I wasn’t much help. Didn’t know how to use tools yet, worked for a guy who had no patience or willingness to teach me. Lasted a couple of weeks.

Bank teller. Full-time job during a semester I took off from college because I was a bit lost. This at least made me want to go back and finish college. Since then, I’ve always had to have my paper money facing the same way.

Bartender. The Lark Tavern in Albany, last call at 4:00 am. Made more money than at any other job to date. I started as a bouncer and lied and said I had bartending experience. Got busted right away, but the manager kept me on and trained me. I had another long stint as a bartender at the long-gone Cranberry Bog, after I got out of college.

After College and Grad School

Temp. One job was counting the number of garbage trucks that came to Buffalo’s transfer station. I sat in my car and recorded the appearance of the truck and its time of arrival. Not sure what the point was. Another job was weighing pudding cups as they came off the filling line at Rich Products. If the weight was beyond an acceptable standard deviation, I got to turn a dial to increase or decrease the flow of pudding. Now that’s shouldering responsibility.

Builder/Remodeler. I went into business with two friends, Jim and Teri, doing remodeling work as well as house flipping. Financially and in other ways, the venture did not work out, but I learned skills and how to use tools.

*At this point, I decided to go back to graduate school, because I’d taken up writing short stories with a feverish gusto and thought (ha!) I’d do that for a living (ha!).

Writing Instructor. As part of my MA in creative writing program, I received a stipend to teach English Composition. I parlayed this into additional adjunct teaching positions over the years at D’Youville College, Cabrillo College, and Schenectady College.

Reporter/Editor. First at the Bee Group Newspapers, where I started as a “cub” reporter at a weekly and then became its editor. Some years later, I became the editor of a weekly newspaper in Santa Cruz, CA.

Waiter/Bartender/Manager. A seven-year stint at a single restaurant, the Sea Cloud, in Santa Cruz, CA. Fine restaurant, good job. By this time, I’m a novelist working as a waiter.

Marketer. Following a second master’s degree (Technical Communication, RPI), I worked in marketing for a software company, MapInfo Corporation. While I lasted more than six years and learned a lot about marketing, I also learned I wasn’t a good fit for the corporate world. I didn’t like being managed, or managing others, and I was a failure in the realm of office politics.

Entrepreneur. I abandoned a regular paycheck and put out my own shingle as a marketing consultant and freelance writer: Klein Marketing. This ended up being a smart and successful decision, mostly. The shingle is still up, but somewhat weathered.

Novelist. At this point, I’ve written dozens of short stories, had several published in literary journals, and written four previous novels, none of which had found daylight. But finally, I signed a two-book contract with Random House, resulting in the publication of STASH and CLEAN BREAK.

More novels to come, is the plan.

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