H.B. Berlow's Blog, page 16
July 2, 2022
The Pizza
There have been many occasions on this blog throughout the years where I have compared my two most profoundly important methods of creativity: writing and cooking. Of course, the writing goes off into fiction, poetry, screenplays, non-fiction articles, blog posts, and just about any other form of written expression. Cooking includes baking, pastry and candy making, and craft cocktails. But there was one time, last year, when I approached the closest approximation of both.
I created a completely homemade pizza.
Now, wait, before I lose you to uncertainty and confusion, allow me to expand on this (and show you some photos to boot). When all the lockdowns were occurring during the pandemic, I continued to write. Not doing so would have been far more depressing than the circumstances themselves. However, I took my cooking to a new level.
A few years prior, I purchased a KitchenAid® stand mixer. I had been baking bread for years and was starting to feel entirely too arthritic to knead dough. I learned there was a meat grinder attachment as well as a pasta extruder. So, I’m thinking, I’d already invested in the stand mixer and these two attachments were a few dollars more and, well, that’s all the motivation I needed.
I played around with various pasta recipes and styles. I baked more kinds of breads than ever before. I started making muffins and cupcakes. And, to try to continue on a pattern of healthy eating, I made a variety of sausages out of chicken. There was a breakfast sausage, a bratwurst, an Andouille style sausage, a personal recipe, and, of course, Italian sausage.
That’s when the idea occurred to me that I had most of the makings for a pizza. I had come across a whole-wheat rosemary pizza dough recipe that I had made before. From an abundant crop of tomatoes from family and friends, I made a fantastic marinara sauce using my Instant Pot®. All that was missing was cheese. I was looking for something without rennet but the mozzarella recipe turned out to be closer to cream cheese than a nice chewy mozz.
In the picture, you can see all the homemade ingredients. Included as well are some homegrown tomatoes and freshly grown basil. The dough, being whole-wheat, took some effort to roll out to a thin crust. But after all the work thus far, what was a little more elbow grease.
In this picture, you can see the pizza put together before final baking. I was not trying to achieve a thickly adorned pie in which the ingredients would fall off. I also put chunks of the cheese in as many areas as possible. I knew it tasted good; I just didn’t know if it would melt well.
The final picture is, well, the dinner my wife and I had that night. I could be picky about slight, small aspects of it. But to perfectly honest, I’m not going to. This was the culmination of my years of cooking and months of experimenting. And just like ANYTHING I had ever written, it was completely created by me. Every single aspect. Every ingredient (the tomatoes and basil notwithstanding).
And I felt, after dinner, like I do when I complete the first draft of a book. Or, better yet, after all the revisions with my editor and the manuscript is ready to go to print. It is a gratification based on personal commitment and dedication. A celebration of the craft. And just as we publish a book and are satisfied, we go onto a new one.
My next forthcoming culinary adventure: A delicatessen bagel with homemade cream cheese and smoked salmon. Because, well, there aren’t any good delis in Wichita, Kansas!
Bon appétit and happy writing!
June 29, 2022
“What Do You Do When You’re Not Writing?”
This sentence does not occur to me, is not part of my consideration, and subsequently, is unable to be answered. Perhaps, some people, who are not writers, think that “writing” means solely the act of sitting down in front of a preferred keyboard and, well, writing.
But there is a great deal more involved. Whether you are a Plotter or a Pantser, there is a certain degree of outlining. Maybe it’s just character names or places, a scribble here or there to remind you of an intriguing scene you wish to include, or a link to refer to at a later date. After the writing, the first draft, there is the dreaded process of revision, followed by editing. Or maybe that’s vice versa. If you plan on trying to sell this work, there is writing the synopsis, cover letter, query letter.
Okay, so let’s say you’re NOT writing any of those things. You’re NOT reworking your novel, editing and revising it. Sorry, but I’m still writing. When I read or watch t.v., I’m feeling that story being told and trying to innately understand what is being presented and where things are going. I’m noticing scenes. I’m hearing dialect and word choice in dialogue. I am allowing myself to be entertained but I am also learning.
Perhaps I come across a news article or a non-fiction book. There is an abundance of new information and maybe the tidbit of a fact that makes me ponder “What if?” and I follow that nugget to the thread of a story.
And, trust me, it is not an affliction for which it is necessary to be cured. We writers are often in a state of heightened awareness, looking out for the next tale to be told. We may not always be sitting behind a preferred keyboard. But we ARE writing.
You see, most writers will tell you they can’t shut it off. The ideas and stories and characters and dialogue float around, sometimes like a pounding migraine, or just as often like an ethereal cloud. You might have to break a writer’s trance when you’re having a “normal” conversation with them because they are often, as we say, in another world.
June 25, 2022
60
Today I turn 60. Officially at 5:27 p.m. Eastern Standard Time. In the history of civilization, there have been billions of people that have reached their sixtieth year. This is really no big deal. Except it’s the first time I have turned sixty, so it’s a big deal for me.
I think of a pretentious writer composing a poem on his 21st birthday. And then an older more mature and pretentious poet writing a poem on his 30th birthday. Ah, how we celebrate our milestones. What makes the even number birthdays so much more significant than others? Hope to get that first million by the time you’re thirty? Hoping you don’t wind up with a mid-life crisis at forty? Hoping you don’t wind up with a gut at fifty?
It’s likely these are arbitrary checkpoints in life. I could just as easily contemplate my fifty-eight year as my sixtieth. But, of course, we prefer nice round numbers. They’re cleaner in the long run.
In 1982, I turned 20 during the summer preceding my junior year in college. I was growing up and not really learning anything that would help me later in life. My father was 60 then. He was probably hoping his youngest child and only son was making progress toward a fruitful life. Eventually I would. At that time, I was partying and feigning responsibility.
The past forty years have been an amalgam of relationships screwed up, pompous literary adventures, and a clearing of the mind coming to an understanding. Those forty years have also included a move toward self-identity, focus on writing and passion for the craft, embracing of friendships of the widest variety of acquaintances, experimenting in a wide variety of culinary and creative endeavors, finding a woman who I can share mutual love and respect with, and acceptance of a peacefulness based in my Jewish faith.
You know, I’m not really saying anything that any other sixty year old would say. It’s just being said through the filter of my mind and my experiences. I have come to embrace Judaism, Dudeism, the poetry of Rumi, the teachings of Rabbi Sacks, the writings of Marcus Aurelius, the comedy of Groucho Marx, the music of Charlie Parker, the films of Alfred Hitchcock and Martin Scorcese…I could go on.
There is so much that influences my life. There is so much I accept and read and absorb. Turning sixty is not the end nor the beginning. It’s a stepping-stone toward the next chapter.
L’chaim!
June 23, 2022
Diversion. Deviation. Different.
I love Charlie Parker. Don’t get me wrong. I’m a big fan of Diz, Miles, Trane, Sonny, Chet, and Stan. There is a whole world of be-bop, cool, West Coast jazz that is intriguing and fascinating. But, for me, Charlie Parker stands out alone. His improvisations based on finding melodies within chord changes…Wait a minute! For a moment you’ll assume I know what I’m talking about.
I was introduced to Parker by, of all things, the 1988 movie “Bird” in which Forest Whitaker seemed to inhabit the man’s soul. Realizing it was directed by Clint Eastwood made it all the more fascinating. Sure, anyone and everyone can take issue with movie biographies, what they choose to show and what they choose to omit. But if the movie got me to listen to his music, then all of that is moot.
It was ten years after he had his musical breakthrough, his epiphany, that he recorded “Charlie Parker With Strings.” There was some criticism with the making of these tracks with purists feeling he was selling out. Producer Norman Granz at first didn’t want to proceed until Charlie persisted. To Parker, bridging the gap between jazz and classical music by taking inspiration from modern composers (Stravinsky, Bartok, Shostakovich) was a natural progression.
Perhaps too many people were viewing Parker based on his lifestyle and couldn’t comprehend just how intelligent he was. The less-than-enthusiastic murmurings on the live tracks from Carnegie Hall are a testament to that. The recordings today are viewed as masterpieces. Lush, poetic, and romantic.
Why does an artist, of any kind, choose to go in an opposite direction, one that is antithetical to their existing style and talents? Is it a diversion based out of boredom? Could it be a deviation due to a belief there is something in that direction? Are they just trying to be different?
The answer is: It doesn’t matter. To put an artist into a finite set of circumstances, the proverbial box if you will, is to tamp down the creative energy that allows for the art to be made. While there may be “rules” of a sort to publishing and performing, the process, the craft is a flow, less like a river and more like air, the breeze in the sky. The artist goes where those impulses take them. It is not a guarantee of success, only of the continuing ability to be able to create.
If someone ever asks you, “Why do you want to do THAT?”, simply smile and head off in that direction. If you come back, you can tell them it was an interesting path. If you don’t come back, they were never meant to follow.
June 18, 2022
Sammy Davis Jr. was right.
In the 50’s and 60’s, popular singers had signature songs. Tony Bennet had “I Left My Heart in San Francisco.” Frank Sinatra’s was “Strangers in the Night.” And Dean Martin told us that “Everybody Loves Somebody Sometime.” All those songs are deeply embedded in the American Songbook and are instantly recognizable.
But Sammy Davis Jr. took a song from a relatively unsuccessful Broadway show and turned it into a deep, personal, and meaningful message: “I’ve Gotta Be Me.” A colored man, a Jew, during a period of social upheaval (the Vietnam War, the Civil Rights movement), Sammy sang this song with quiet defiance, standing firm in the face of opposition and oppression.
For me, as time marches forward, I can relate to the lyrics in a different sense. No, I am not oppressed nor find myself at great odds against the world. However, in today’s culture, it is easy to see where extremism can lean on the innocent as they merely try to live their lives. Stating your opinion in the faces of those who are red-faced and fuming is today considered a declaration of war. Where is civility?
It has taken me nearly sixty years to figure out who I am, and the process continues. Sure, I’ve made mistakes and regret them. But I will not alter my opinions or beliefs because it is either popular or necessary to do so. Marcus Aurelius wrote: “Someone despises me. That’s their problem.” Two-time Academy Award winner Sir Anthony Hopkins stated: “It’s none of my business what people say of me or think of me. I am what I am and I do what I do.”
It’s enough to try to live a fruitful and peaceful life without the entanglements of expectations other than your own. I wear Hawaiian shirts. I have a big white beard and long hair. I write traditional fiction as well as experimental fiction. I have published and would like to publish again. But my instincts run toward creating and craft. As Cyril Connolly said: “Better to write for yourself and have no public, than to write for the public and have no self.”
But let’s get back to Sammy Davis Jr. That simple pop tune from an unsuccessful musical clearly delineates a power in self-confidence, self-reliance, and self-awareness. And after sixty years, I’m all about that.
Whether I’m right or whether I’m wrong
Whether I find a place in this world or never belong
I gotta be me, I’ve gotta be me
What else can I be but what I am
June 15, 2022
Crime, Punishment, and Self-Discovery
For the longest time I told people the reason I wrote crime fiction was because of my extensive (i.e. forty year) career in customer service. Obviously, you can’t kill or harm a customer, client, or purchaser of goods or services. However, you can use their name (or a reasonable facsimile thereof) as a character, more likely a victim, in a crime novel. Hey, it works for me. (There are also some former co-workers who can claim the same type of “fame.”)
My first venture into crime fiction, the now out-of-print Swan Song, was described as a neo-noir hardboiled mystery. There was a snazzy imitation of Hammett and Chandler, a lot of action, even more violence, and a twist at the end, unless, of course, you saw it miles ahead. The second, also out of print, was The .9MM Solution. It was primarily a Dirty Harry-type vigilante story, with a gimmick regarding names of victims, and an early attempt to show the world of profilers (which I knew nothing about).
I moved in the direction of historical crime fiction. Over the course of the four book series, the Ark City Confidential Chronicles, I introduced a main character who was a facially scarred World War I veteran. From the beginning in Ark City Confidential, there was the element of a search for identity. Over the next three books, Secrets of the Righteous, Lost in the Plains, and From Somewhere in a Dream, this notion was woven in among the various crimes being investigated and solved. They evolved away from neo-noir (by virtue of their time setting) and not nearly as hardboiled as Sam Spade or Philip Marlowe. This character aged over time (twenty years to be precise) and came to learn more about himself.
Now, I’m on to a new series in which the main character is seeking missing persons while at the same time seeking the Truth, or something reasonably approaching it. As a former police officer, World War II veteran, and a Jew, the Laws of God and the Laws of Man pull at him in his struggle to understand the world he inhabits. While there are elements of a procedural within, the moral conflict as well as the constant drive toward self discovery are the primary elements.
There are paramount concerns regarding historical accuracy, logic in the structure of the crime and the resolution, and a strong desire to avoid the tropes created by Hammett and Chandler. Yet, there is an underlying motivation to comprehend Good and Evil as something that is not always resolved by law and not as clear cut as indicated in scripture.
Though he was one of the premiere writer of crime fiction, Raymond Chandler had greater aspirations regarding his writing. While he may not have always been successful, he enunciates the type of main character he is creating:
“Down these mean streets a man must go who is not himself mean, who is neither tarnished nor afraid. He is the hero; he is everything. He must be a complete man and a common man and yet an unusual man. He must be, to use a rather weathered phrase, a man of honor—by instinct, by inevitability, without thought of it, and certainly without saying it. He must be the best man in his world and a good enough man for any world.“He will take no man’s money dishonestly and no man’s insolence without a due and dispassionate revenge. He is a lonely man and his pride is that you will treat him as a proud man or be very sorry you ever saw him.
“The story is this man’s adventure in search of a hidden truth, and it would be no adventure if it did not happen to a man fit for adventure. If there were enough like him, the world would be a very safe place to live in, without becoming too dull to be worth living in.”
I have a conscious desire to imbue my tales of crime and punishment with something further that makes my main character someone who is coming to terms with the realities of life above and beyond $25 a day and expenses. We’ll see where we wind up.
June 11, 2022
The Juggler
Are you a juggler or a tightrope walker?
I’ll bet you never heard THAT one before. Well, that’s because I just created it. Oh, sure, every writer is familiar with Plotter and Pantser. For those of you non-writers unaware of these terms, let me explain:
A Plotter is the kind of writer that creates detailed outlines of chapters, story arcs, character development, character biographies, etc. The Plotter follows the outline immaculately. The Pantser, well, writes by the seat of their pants. There is also the hybrid, which I tend to fall into. This is where you create a synopsis, write down your character names, and then just let the pieces fall where they may.
Those describe methods of actually writing. My new example, the Juggler and the Tightrope Walker, is more about personal approach to writing and less about craft itself. To me, as the name implies, the Juggler is the one who has multiple projects going on at once. Whether they have the tendencies of a squirrel or simply want to “keep things fresh” and avoid so-called writer’s block, they may have detailed notes on their projects and work on them as time and schedules permit. The Tightrope Walker is singularly focused. They have to be. One false step and they fall (hopefully into a net.)
I am most assuredly a Juggler. Right now: I’m working on the fifth draft of a new historical crime fiction series while trying to pitch it to several publishers; outlining the second book of that series while editing the first book and pitching it to several publishers; working on a stand-alone historical crime fiction piece for my current publisher; and just starting on an experiment in writing as pure a piece of 50’s pulp fiction as I can.
And keep in mind, my wife and I are house hunting as we seek to downsize and make our way slowly into retirement (where, I imagine, I will become even more of a Juggler).
So, where do you fall into the mix?
June 8, 2022
How do you bake? How do you write?
We are sitting across from each other at a large table. In front of each of us is the exact same amount of flour, salt, water, and yeast. Maybe one of us gathers fresh herbs and makes a rosemary focaccia. Maybe one of us goes for a longer rise and steams the bread while it bakes to make a crusty artisan bread.
Same ingredients. Different outcome.
This is true for writers. And when I say “writers” I am referring to novelists, short-story writers, playwrights, poets, essayists — the whole gamut of wordsmiths. The words are our tools much as the aforementioned ingredients are used by bakers. How we mix and process is unique and special only to ourselves.
Please note I am not referencing “craft”, which is a vital component in all that we do as creative individuals. Writers and bakers. In this case, I am focused on the methods by which we use these tools.
Take for example dialect. I have read novels by Irvine Welsh written primarily in Scots dialect. It was an amazing experience trying to understand and maintain focus in order to follow the plot. In transforming my mind temporarily I was able to immerse myself in his world. Would it have been different written in a mostly English vocabulary?
There is other types of slang to consider. Whether it is cultural or historic, you have to question how much to use in order to create a real world as well as determine at what point your reader may simply tune out. I salt and pepper my historical crime fiction with just enough to imbue the work in a kind of realistic sensibility.
Some readers are decidedly against curse words. Some writers swear by them. (Did you catch the humor there?)
Those writers who describe scenes and characters in great detail must be aware to use evocative words that have not been bandied about for hundreds of years. Analogies, similes, and metaphors must sound fresh. The latest edition of the Merriam Webster dictionary contains over 470,000 entries. Surely, there must be a new way of describing a person, place, or thing?
And what of the writer of experimental fiction who opts to create words, create portmanteaus, or go wholly off the rails like James Joyce in Finnegans Wake? Joyce spent 17 years on a work of created and combined fables in a kind of deconstructionist setting. Either he would be considered the finest pastry chef in Europe or the guy who put into his cake whatever he had available in his pantry.
Personally, I am fascinated by words, etymologies, spellings, homophones, palindromes, slang, dialect, double entendre — just about anything with the written and spoken language. Reading a poem and listening to it read can create differing emotional impacts. A pause or emphasis in just the right place creates a mood that is indescribable.
Again, this goes beyond craft. I believe in words and understand their power to influence, instill an emotional impact, and cause both alarm and praise. Just as the two of us sitting across from each other, with the same set of ingredients, ready to bring out something hot and fresh from the oven, it is important to focus on the tools, the words, at our disposal.
Make them count.
June 4, 2022
Have we lost the sense of adventure?
I’m currently re-reading “On The Road” for the fourth or fifth time in the last thirty plus years. It is interesting to gauge how my relationship to such works changes over the course of my life. In considering it, I have to differentiate between thinking of its ‘naivete’ or its ‘innocence.’ The former word has a tendency to imply aimlessness while the latter, for me, has a connotation of wonder.
But consider hitch-hiking today. Think about a mad dash across this country, from east to west or west to east. Stealing food from small Mom and Pop general stores or taking on riders to bum enough money for gas. While conceptually the novel still resonates in its passionate yearning for growth and experience, no one today would be able to replicate the actual travels of Sal Paradise and Dean Moriarty.
Billy and Wyatt from “Easy Rider” were ostensibly outlaws. The movie starts with a drug deal before wandering off in a search for freedom and the American Dream. Most recently, motorcycle clubs were depicted in “Sons of Anarchy”, but their motivations were considerably different. Perhaps the only remnant of the movie that remains today is the bigotry and hatred toward those who are unlike ourselves and follow a different path.
The utter joy and hopefulness of “America” by Simon and Garfunkel is uplifting and completely reflective of the time the song was written.
“Let us be lovers, we’ll marry our fortunes together
I’ve got some real estate here in my bag”
So we bought a pack of cigarettes and Mrs. Wagner pies
And walked off to look for America
It seems to me the youth of today is more inclined to look for either a well paying job or a smartphone with the latest and greatest features. Perhaps this “old guy” is just being cynical, but I truly wonder if collectively we have lost our sense of adventure. And by this, I am not referring to the cottage industries established whereby middle aged folks “test their mettle” with whitewater rafting and rock climbing (as I have seen recently in a lawn mower commercial).
I know that, at my age, I am less inclined to reach out and take a chance. Too close to retirement to risk injury or financial collapse. When you knowingly accept the responsibilities of relationships and home ownership, you are not as willing to make too many sacrifices. The sense of loss is far greater.
What does that leave me with? My one avocation: writing. For the past half dozen years, I have focused my attention on historical crime fiction. As I advocate attention to the craft of writing, it is useful to continue in a pattern to make myself better. However, as I wrote in an earlier post, I feel the need to expand within the writing genre. Getting back to playwriting or screenwriting. Getting back to writing poetry.
For over ten years, I have had two works-in-progress that are far different from anything I have written prior. “Weekend Getaways, Or Adventures In Contract Killing” is a transgressive novel that explores a mid-life crisis and the entire self-help and wellness industry. “The Novel Titled, This is Not a Novel” is a metafiction which looks into the relevance of knowing and understanding who the writer is in order to enjoy their works. While I have not worked on them in a while, they remain fixed in my mind. That is because they represent a measure of adventure that I am willing to take.
You see, I am not a famous writer with numerous books on bestsellers lists. I am not nationally known. I would be risking little by continuing work on them and aggressively seeking to publish them. The adventure lies in working outside of my preferred genre, stepping into potentially dark and intriguing places.
I can still look for America in the various media presented before me. Heck, I can even go on a weekend getaway (albeit not one involving contract killing) and see and experience the beauty of my surroundings. As for the rest of the world, they will find their own sense of adventure in their own fashion in their own time.
May 31, 2022
Purposefulness
Let’s leave the discussions about the “MEANING OF LIFE” to the philosophers and the heavy thinkers. What is more significant is your purpose in life. What is it you are doing? What is it you’re supposed to be doing?
It starts in our youth when a well-meaning adult poses the question “So, what do you want to be when you grow up?” You might not have even ridden your first tricycle but already your future occupation or avocation must be decided. Your formative educational life is built around what job or career or profession you intend to follow. For at least the first quarter of your life, your entire focus on your purpose in life is wrapped around just that.
I started out with an interest in journalism before segueing into film-making and screen writing. Having never followed either of those two, I got married and then divorced which put me in a perfect position to be a poet. However, any artistic endeavor might not present itself as to my purpose as a human being. Certainly, it is a compulsion to write and I have discussed that notion both on this blog and in person with a great many people.
Perhaps all of this introspective analysis is coming on the heels of my forthcoming sixtieth birthday and eventually a long-awaited retirement. I wonder if I’ve lived up to my full potential or done what I so longed to do in the dreams of my youth. It is then I realize I commented many many years ago that I would die never having listened to all the music I would wish to hear, never having read all the books I wanted to absorb, never having watched all the movies that intrigue and delight and captivate me.
It is common, I guess, that middle-aged folks yearn for traveling. Then a pandemic and a volatile world situation put the brakes on those notions. How about local or regional traveling? Well, with inflation and the cost of gasoline, even that seems a reach at times.
What AM I doing? What am I SUPPOSED to be doing?
Every so often I come across these words from Ralph Waldo Emerson and things appear to be put into perspective:
“The purpose of life is not to be happy. It is to be useful, to be honorable, to be compassionate, to have it make some difference that you have lived and lived well.”
From my own family comes a brief story my late father told. My grandfather, toward the end of his own life, told my father that he was giving him all that he had: a good name.
At times I struggle with how I am supposed to carry myself in the face of conflict, divisiveness, alienation, uncertainty, and artistic passion. Whatever I have may not be much by other’s standards but it was honorably earned and deeply held in earnest. Whatever I don’t have is now but folly.
What I hold onto with profound assurance is a name and reputation that I believe is beyond reproach, held aloft by integrity and sincerity. It is a name I inherited from my father and he from his.
This is my purpose. I hope you find yours.
