H.B. Berlow's Blog, page 2

SOONER OR LATER

I’m not sure where the notion of becoming a millionaire before you turned thirty came about. Perhaps it started after WWII when America grew more prosperous and opportunities flourished in the wake of the Great Depression. I never really had that as a dream growing up in the 60’s and 70’s but I would hear it all the time. Naturally, I wouldn’t have turned down the chance to be wealthy and successful at a young age but I didn’t see it happening.

When I went to college to study film-making and creative writing, my fertile imagination had me winning awards and writing screenplays for the biggest actors, actresses, and directors at the time. The problem was I was more eager than skilled. My twenties came and went and I had a three-ring binder filled with poems, a handful of short stories, a lot of ideas, and very little opportunities or definable talent.

What would have happened had I been more diligent, focused more on craft, and fostered more professional relationships? It’s hard to tell really because the course of my life went as it did, not as it “should have”, at least according to the aspirations of those of my time. The “alternate timeline” is the stuff of fiction.

The field I would pursue artistically was different than those of other professions: engineers, lawyers, doctors, accountants, etc. There is a definitive educational standard: law school and the bar; medical school and residency; or passing the Uniform CPA exam. Art is a progressive learning experience, based on application of given standards in the hope that the personal voice or vision becomes clear and precise.

I’ve documented my journey on the pages of this blog. The steps, the years, the moderate successes, the unfortunate setbacks. At the age of 63, it’s too late for regrets or speculation. By the same token, I have six books published through The Wild Rose Press, a seventh due out later this year; two out-of-print books from 2012-2014; I’ve been a speaker at a writer’s conference three times with a fourth coming up later this year; and I’m the co-host of Tikiman and the Viking Podcast.

You can ride the see-saw when it comes to discussions of when it is best to attain success. If you do so when you’re younger, you might have more time to enjoy it, or you might not appreciate it as much. You could become bitter as you age, or grateful for what comes along. The key, though, isn’t at what age you achieve it but how you define it.

I am not on any bestseller’s lists, have not won any major significant national or international awards, and perhaps only a solid handful of writers know me personally while social media acquaintances pay attention to me every now and again. To be doing what I love and to continue to love doing it is the real definition of success.

The notion of sooner or later is irrelevant at this point in my life. There are no regrets for what I didn’t accomplish because of what I never attempted. With a fertile imagination and a gracious appreciation for all that is happening now, I continue to move forward each day, proud of what I have accomplished and still dazzled by the possibilities of the future.

A MIND AT WARP SPEED

I can’t stop thinking about writing. I can’t stop coming up with ideas. I currently work full time, am a husband and homeowner, and have a finite amount of time available to me on a daily basis and afforded to me for life. It’s a dilemma but perhaps an enjoyable one.

When we did our recent podcast interview with Jim Butcher, a writer who has a vast number of works within his various series. I was taken by his comment about books AND series having a beginning, a middle, and an end. For the individual books, that made sense. But to end a series takes a lot of guts.

So, I considered how long I would want to keep my Wichita Chronicles series going with Jewish private detective Harold Bergman going through his moral and spiritual development. Where does his story end? Or does it? Three books published, a fourth in the pipeline, a fifth being outlined…There’s a lot of thought that goes into this.

The Ark City Confidential Chronicles ended because the inspiration for it, my wife’s uncle, passed away shortly before the release of the fourth book. That was an abrupt and yet natural end. After that one and this most recent series, I’ve got a good feeling for historical crime fiction and have developed two distinctly different series main characters. Why not consider a third? Perhaps a slightly later time period, 50’s or 60’s, and a character that is unlike the others. Something IS in the works.

Oh, and I finally outlined a standalone piece of literary historical fiction focusing on an artist whose life spans the entirety of the 20th century. I’d had a similar idea years ago but it just came together thematically recently, perhaps due to being more attune to my own writing instincts. And, yes, I started an outline.

There are also two W.I.P. from a while ago: A Transgressive novel and an Experimental metafiction. I started by taking a contemporary crime fiction piece from 13 years ago and reworking it as an historical piece based in the 1930’s. I also was working on a pure pulp piece in the style of the 50’s pulp writers. Got a bit done on the first draft, but might need to recapture the flavor.

There is new stuff, old stuff, new stuff based on old stuff, a few worthwhile poems from 30 years ago…and a brain that just won’t stop. And, of course, there’s the Tikiman and the Viking Podcast. We’re having a great time, and it really fascinating talking with other creatives and experiencing their passion.

What good would it be to have all the time in the world and nothing to work on? I will never complain about the ideas. They are like the blood flowing through your veins that keep you alive. The ideas of a creative individual are what keeps us going, not only motivates us or drives us, but gives the very breath to our existence.

I have mentioned before the quote by Swedish filmmaker Ingmar Bergman: If I don’t create, I don’t exist. I adhere to the concept and believe it to be true of human beings in general. We do have the capacity for intuition and imagination. What history has shown us is that we are capable of coming up with marvelous notions, ideas, stratagems, and inventions. I would not wish to be someone who is simply a consumer without putting to use the gifts I have at my disposal.

I do not wish to cease to exist.

HOW YOU COOK IS HOW YOU CREATE

At about the time my gas grill was starting to show signs of rust and malfunction, some neighbors who were dear friends gifted me a spare gas smoker. A simple device requiring only a tank of propane and a bit of education.

Over the course of the last eight years or so, I created my own spice rubs for pork and chicken, as well as a cure to create gravlax-style salmon. I am nowhere near the level of those who enter competitions. However, family and friends have enjoyed several delicious meals.

There is a process to smoking, one that requires patience, attention to detail, and a sense of timing. The very first thing I smoked was a 10 lb. Boston Butt. My grocery store had it on sale at .99/lb. It was too good of a deal. I brined it for a day, rubbed and wrapped it for a day, and then woke up exceedingly early on a weekend morning to prep the smoker and get it cooked. It took about eleven hours.

Needless to say, we had plenty of leftovers and I have not smoked anything of THAT size since. Nevertheless, I learned what is required. For a chicken fryer or pork roast, I will likely put the rub on at least a day prior. Choice of wood is significant to create a particular flavor profile. I have a digital thermometer with a separate device to read it remotely.

For the salmon, I developed a cure based on various recipes I encountered. My notes indicate it should be cured a minimum of three days but up to seven. I typically use the latter. This means the salmon I buy this weekend is getting smoked the next. That takes planning.

My new stainless-steel cookware set requires a different technique than the old cheap non-stick set it replaced. I don’t need to crank up the heat as it is bad for the cookware and worse for what is being cooked. Cleaning is a completely different consideration.

I could provide countless more examples of the greater care I now take in cooking and all things culinary. Perhaps they are related to growing older. I have noticed they all translate to creative aspects as well. Care and attention. Planning. While I may be considered more of a pantser as a writer, this does not preclude a consideration of the work in progress. There will have been enough written down in the beginning to allow a process to continue.

Rewriting is the fine-tuning process, when the work has simmered for a bit and needs to be seasoned to bring out its inherent qualities. Editing, on the other hand, is the cleanup portion where all the errors (previously advised to me by my editor!) now get a good scrubbing to hopefully eradicate the major identifiable flaws.

I have primarily focused on historical crime fiction for the past nine years but previously wrote poetry, screenplays, and other literary “cuisines”, some of which I would like to go back and re-explore. Some fry cooks have dreams of being pastry chefs. It is only natural to consider other literary endeavors.

The kitchen and the office are the two places where I “create”.  The tools may be different but the steps that are needed to be taken are quite similar.

MAYBE I NEED MORE VITAMIN D

I’ll say this without making excuses: I’m not the handyman type. I’m not “outdoorsy.” I like quiet indoor venues. I like my office.

When my wife and I moved, the non-conforming bedroom in the basement (called so because it had no windows) became my office. It was large enough to hold nearly three quarters of our books, a space to workout, as well as contain my desk, printer table, and file cabinet. I don’t shut the door, unless I’m recording a podcast episode, and freely welcome my wife and the cats as they please. Since my back is not to the door but to the side, I’m rarely shocked or surprised.

I’m not a complete homebody. I DO get out of the house. My wife and I enjoy walks in the neighborhood or local parks. And I’m mowing the yard or mulching the leaves for a solid seven to eight months out of the year.

Truth be told, I’m not all that interested in changing much. It’s taken me 60+ years to get to be who I am. My health is good, I exercise five days a week, I pay close attention to my diet, and I do not have a Vitamin D deficiency. When it comes right down to it, you may suffer a decline regardless of your lifestyle simple because you’re getting old.

The thing that is most important for me is doing whatever it takes to keep my wits about me. Reading, whether a book, an essay, or a recipe, fills the mind with the tools to keep it working. The research I do for historical crime fiction novels allows me to analyze aspects of human life from nearly eighty years ago, or more, and find a degree of comprehension.

If my BMI were 24 and my body fat percentage were under 20% but I had no capacity for logical reasoning nor any creative spark, my life would be empty. I’m certainly not advocating going toward the other end of the spectrum and indulging as a raging alcoholic like so many great writers of the early 20th century. There is a balance to be had between mind and body that has nothing to do with Descartes.

My hope is to maintain myself physically to be able to enjoy a long life filled with writing and baking bread and making sausages. In essence, all the joys of creativity which is what makes me who I am.

THE INEVITABLE DISCUSSION ABOUT GETTING OLDER…ON MY BIRTHDAY

For the past several years, I have posted a blog article on Wednesdays. It’s a good day for me and a nice thing to have a regular writing exercise. This day just so happens to be my birthday. (For anyone even remotely interested, I’m 63!) So, as you can imagine, it is inevitable that I discuss something related to birthdays, getting older, and the like. Sure, there is some aspect of my writing and my baking and my sausage-making. But for the most part, this is an Old Dude talking about getting older.

I seem to have a recurring usage of expressions that start with: “I really can’t do THAT anymore”; “I don’t find THAT to be as fun anymore”; “I’m not all that eager to do THAT anymore.” Now, there are various versions of ‘that’, and I could certainly make a list. But making lists, except for artistic ones, is one of the thats that I don’t need to or want to do anymore. Notice as well the time constraint of ‘anymore’ is in repeated use. It is as though the thought is “Been There, Done That, Don’t Need To Go Back.” I’m sure there are a lot of people who think, or may even verbalize the notion, “MAYBE I could try that again.” For me, making an old recipe from fifteen years ago is a lot different than being daring enough to want to try, let’s say, sky-diving now, especially considering I never wanted to do that in the first place.

Did I purposely buy a stainless-steel cookware set because it was better quality or because such quality forces you to take your time cooking and washing it? After all, what’s the point in cooking something so fast that it’s, well, cooked, but doesn’t have the same flavor as something cooked to allow simmering and braising and blending of flavors? Granted, my back and knees don’t enjoy endless standing but that’s what the anti-fatigue mat is for. I can be patient if it is the things important to me: cooking or writing. I’m even patient with people. Waiting for technology gives me heartburn.

There are concerns about things like seeing and hearing. I’ve been in a headset-type customer service position for over twenty-five years. I’m not deaf, per se, but I do assume a degree of hearing loss. As long as I can listen to Stevie Ray Vaughan and Charlie Parker and Frank Sinatra, et al, without cranking up the volume so the neighbors hear it, I’ll be fine. Let’s not forget the eyes. That customer service position requires being in front of a computer. So does the writing. I’ve gone from glasses every other year to every year.

I tell a story about being a manager at a full-service restaurant in a mall in my mid-twenties. I was out, shall we say, enjoying myself until 4 in the morning, BARELY caught two hours sleep before getting to work and unlocking the place to allow the head chef and morning waiter to do their work while I passed out in the office. Ah, the good old days!

I haven’t watched the ball drop in Times Square for several years and typically don’t see 930pm on my watch. Then again, I AM up every workday morning at 430am. It’s a trade-off. Early or Late seems largely dependent upon age.

I certainly pay more attention to my diet and exercise and overall quality of life. Three cocktails at most, maybe two or three glasses of wine, but never ALL of that of an evening. I never expected to be able to do things in my sixties that I did 30 or 40 years ago. I don’t want to be a bald man with a white beard and washboard abs like all those ads show. Those images seem to look like a hybrid beast from a 50’s sci-fi movie. I know who I am now more than ever before. I have certain skills that I did not have when I was younger. Everything about life is a balance; the nature of the scales simply changes over time.

I’m counting down to 65 when I can completely retire. I honestly imagine I will continue to eat well and exercise and be even more productive as a writer. Oh, and continue to bake as long as I have my KitchenAid stand mixer to avoid using arthritic hands for kneading. I’d like to volunteer my time judiciously, perhaps at a library where I can impart my passion for writing and reading.

And now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s getting precipitously close to 9pm!

PLOTTING IN A SERIES

Writers tell stories. That’s what we do. How we do it are dictated by personal preference, the genre, and whether or not the book is part of a series. While there aren’t cliffhangers, per se, there can be elements that tease something that may happen in the next book and therefore engage the reader.

My latest series, The Wichita Chronicles, involves the Jewish private detective, Harold Bergman, whose experiences as a former police officer and veteran of World War II inform his business dealings. His religion is a large part of his persona and, at times, cases have a moral implication.

The first book, The Day of Calamity, gives us an introduction to the man, his surroundings, and cast of characters that are part of his daily life. There are two cases he is working on that cross each other. Whereas they are separate in nature, there are elements in each that are parallel or complimentary. Book Two, The End of the Treachery, also contains two cases. Stylistically, it is very similar in terms of two cases being investigated at the same time. There is more thought as to the nature of the cases and how they impact Harold’s life decisions. The secondary characters are well-established and have already become part of the landscape.

The third as-yet unpublished book takes a different approach to the cases. As the nature of the investigations has been established as a tool to help Harold navigate the challenges of life, the plotting has become more focused. There are still two cases; however, one is the first half of the book and the other is the second. I am not certain how much of a conscious decision this was so much as a natural progression.

The fourth installment revolves solely upon one case. The moral imperative of that case brings Harold face to face with his biggest religious decisions. It was always my intention of using the hardboiled genre as a way to follow and develop and interesting and atypical character for such a genre. Harold Bergman is a man who no longer feels comfortable with the absolute attributes of law and order as characterized by the police department nor can he fully understand evil and darkness after serving in the war despite his passionate hold on his religion.

This development in plotting will hopefully keep the series from becoming formulaic. The main character is nothing like many of those found in crime novels nor is he so eccentric as to be cartoonish in nature. As with all of us, life presents situations and circumstances that force us to accept or challenge our belief systems. If I can continue to develop the plotting in such a fashion, I will prevent both the reader, and myself, from becoming bored.

“I HAVE AN IDEA”

I wrote in various genres before coming to historical crime fiction. I also wrote poetry extensively from the early 1980s to the mid-1990s. My education was in film-making and screen writing. I have also dabbled in short plays. To me, these are just the vehicles for doing what a writer primarily does: tell stories.

I have been writing historical crime fiction since 2016. With the exception of entries in writing contests, my focus has been largely on that genre. It is my hope that such concentration has allowed me to develop my craft. However, it is the craft of writing itself, exclusive of any genre, that must be developed.

Certainly, there is a part of me that has developed a comfort level. You know, take your series character and determine the next step in their life; figure out a good case to work on; do whatever significant research is required; and write the next installment. It’s just that these ideas keep popping into my head. Some of them are ideas from the past that get stuck like a piece of popcorn in your teeth. Others are like flashing lights that burst out of nowhere.

They are too significant to put them aside completely. You wouldn’t tell one child you are too busy with the other child. On top of having ideas, I have files. Not digital ones. Good old-fashioned paper ones.

A manilla folder marked WIP. Except they aren’t Works; they’re Ideas. And they’re not really In Progress, more like In Stasis. (IIS doesn’t have the same ring as WIP!) Nevertheless, the ideas that are more profound, that go off with a bigger bang, are worth a little scribbling on any available scrap of paper. Perhaps there’s a title at the top or just as likely not. Then into the manila folder they go.

It’s the same with recipes. I find one online, save it somewhere, determined if it’s worthwhile to print up, then put it in my regular binder to make one day. I routinely go through the binder as I plan menus. I also purge usually twice a year. What started out as an intriguing meal MIGHT wind up in the trash.

The real point is I don’t let what I’m working on block out other ideas that may be viable at some point in time. We can’t save all of them. We certainly can’t write all of them. While it is possible that mental deterioration can impact all people, one hopes to have the ability to either retain or come up with new ideas as long as one is exercising the creative portion of the brain.

Ooh, that reminds me of another idea.

THAT COMPULSION

At one point in early April 2025, I: submitted book three of my historical crime fiction series “The Wichita Chronicles”; completed the first draft of book four; and started to outline book five. There could be some people who might consider I was overextending my reach, that I would be best suited to focusing on one project at a time. Those who don’t think that way are other writers.

Now, I don’t know if this is because it is a series and the ideas to connect one story to the next seem to flow more easily after the first two books were published. Is this the same feeling for those writing standalone novels? Or is it simply…. that compulsion?

I know for sure my wife gets several ideas for gardening and landscaping projects simply by gazing out into the backyard. A rock bed. A kind of mulch. Perennials vs. annuals. Bushes and shrubs. I no more castigate her and suggest she slow down than she does with me. You don’t need to work in the same field to share the sense of that compulsion.

There is nothing inherently adverse in this condition, nothing for which psychiatric care or pharmaceuticals would have any degree of impact. These are not garden-variety obsessions (no pun intended!) that impact our lives. Rather they enhance it. They connect us to a greater creative impulse that I believe is within us all but emerges only for the lucky few.

Too many people think such activity is either a waste of time or will yield nothing substantive in the long run. These people have convinced themselves that only the absolutely tangible in life has value. A flower bed with annuals will be a plot of dirt. A fresh-baked loaf of bread will be eaten and gone. Nothing remains.

However, for a period of time, the garden puts forth color and aroma and beauty. The bread is an integral part of a meal. And the books, while they may or may not earn significant money or awards, are the fulfillment of a creative mind putting various resources together to create a holistic entity: a story.

It is because of that compulsion that the mind still churns and the engine keeps rolling along. The end result may not be any more significant than the time and effort it took to create it. The disdain of others is utterly meaningless. We create because we have to.

THE BREAD BAKING ANALOGY, PART 2

It should be no surprise to anyone who reads my blog posts that there is a definitive connection between culinary activity and writing. Both are creative in nature, are deeply personal to me, and relate quite strongly to one another.

In an earlier post, I described the process of baking bread as it related to writing. But there are other aspects which have relevance. Let me show you.

A while back, I decided to try making cheese. Most recipes were simple yet in order to make a good mozzarella, for example, you would need to add rennet. I’m quite certain I could buy it locally if not online but I didn’t want to go that far. I did make paneer and it was palatable but not what I was looking for.

So, I downsized my interest and found a way to make cream cheese. The basic recipe would yield something for toast or my homemade bagels and it could be modified to add herbs if I wanted to jazz it up. A very simple recipe that called for separating curds from whey in whole milk using an acid of some sort, white vinegar or lemon juice.

The recipe actually had the audacity to suggest discarding the whey. I figured there must be something I could do with whey liquid. After all, I put whey protein powder in our morning smoothies. Through diligent search, I found a recipe for a honey whey bread. For the most part, the whey is used in place of water when proofing the yeast.

Writers have a tendency to accumulate a lot of information while writing. Historical fiction writers perhaps even more so. After all the effort, it seems almost wasteful to discard it, simply hit the DELETE button on a file. That tireless effort resulted in a treasure trove of information that could be used at a later point. Perhaps something that didn’t fit into the Work In Progress could lead down another path, a different story, or, at the very least, the seed of something yet to be determined.

Many years ago, I tried my hand at making wheat bread. I had a couple of bread recipes that I made regularly. A good challah (which I learned how to braid much later). A rustic artisan bread. My wife’s late grandmother’s dill bread. It was time to expand.

I don’t recall exactly what went wrong but the result of that formative effort delivered a dense, thick, flavorless bread. If you toasted it and doused it with butter, it was palatable. I gave up the idea of making wheat bread.

Until I got an e-coupon for Bob’s Red Mill Wheat Flour at my local grocery store. I had bought several items from the brand and felt it to be of quality. I still didn’t have a viable recipe but the coupon was about to expire.

When I finally got around to making it after searching for what appeared to be a manageable recipe, I risked any possibility of success by adding in sunflower seeds to make a seeded wheat bread. Well, I’m not sure if it was the recipe or the flour or me getting better but this batch came out great. So much so that I made a second batch with sunflower, pumpkin, and chia seeds. A fully seeded wheat bread.

How often has a writer started a project and didn’t like where it was going? It is certainly easy to just stop and move on. Perhaps there was something about it that keeps coming back to you. Perhaps the storyline, the genre, or one of the characters. Maybe, just maybe, when you’re in between projects, you take another look.

I’ve got many like that from fifteen or twenty years ago. I can’t recall exactly why I stopped. Maybe if I review them, I’ll realize they are better left in the trash heap. Perhaps I’ve got fresh (yet older) eyes and could see something worthwhile.

Recipes are written by someone else but they are managed by you. Your writing is wholly personal from start to finish or until they are no longer viable. I routinely purge recipes that I printed up thinking they might be interesting if that interest has passed or my tastes change. With writings, I keep them around. It’s a reminder of where I’ve been. It’s a portent to where I am going.

I DIDN’T CHOOSE WRITING. IT CHOSE ME.

The first thing you come to realize is the thing that fulfills you the most. Athletics comes easier to you. Perhaps mathematics and computer science. Those of us with a creative bent understand what we are capable of.

But even within those respective disciplines, there are endless paths to follow, a myriad of opportunities that are rife with possible contentment. I suppose if you are exceedingly tall you are better suited to basketball than hockey. Those with tactile capabilities would rather build electronic equipment than write code. There is certainly a vast difference between hands that throw clay and those that pound a keyboard.

The story I have told many times throughout the years is that the house I grew up in had books in every room, including the bathroom. We also had record albums with a variety of popular and classical music and artwork of all kinds, primarily Oriental in nature. It would seem I was destined for the arts in some fashion.

However, I missed out on a chance to learn a musical instrument and could progress no further than stick figures. While I was by no means a literary prodigy, I turned toward the written word early on. My higher education in college revolved around creative writing and film-making. Though my parents encouraged me to follow my dreams, I had absolutely no idea what they were. Neither did my parents. Sure, write a great screenplay in college and have your professor secure you an agent or hook you up with a producer. Nine, ten months later, you’re walking a red carpet at a premier. All that hard work paid off.

It only happens in the movies.

Needless to say, from my early twenties to my early sixties, an improbable series of adventures, missed opportunities, and fortunate occurrences brought me to a point of having six novels (thus far) published. There was ‘real life’ pervading all those years and creative endeavors woven in-between. I didn’t write the script.

I think the only thing that helped maintain any degree of balance and stability was the desire to write, to learn the craft, to get better, and ultimately, just to tell a good story. All those jobs (meaningless and unimaginative) were solely for paying the bills and building a nest egg. They did not feed my soul nor did they offer anything of ultimate value beyond a minor knowledge of a few scattered industries but a greater comprehension of people. And, after all, that latter partis a writer’s primary trade.

From the beginning when I realized I could create…something, I understood this was not a path of ease nor financial prosperity. It was an extension of who I believe I would become as a person. The tools of the trade took time but the essence was always there from the start.

Too often, we believe we have chosen a life or path but ultimately, we were aware enough that greater forces were guiding us to what we need to do or be. Accolades aside, it is more likely this path made me the person that I am and ultimately what I will be remembered for.