H.B. Berlow's Blog, page 25

I’ve finished the first draft…and it sucks!

Most writers will understand what I am getting at. Even though I no longer participate in NaNoWriMo, every time I work on a novel and complete a first draft, it feels like my effort is solely about completing the first draft, come hell or high water, just like I’m trying to write a 50,000 word novel in one month.

But I’m not. I’m working on Book Three of the Ark City Confidential Chronicles, a series of historical crime fiction. I’ve done massive amounts of research, gone to actual locations, purchased books necessary for creating a realistic atmosphere. You would think that I would have SOMETHING worthwhile to rave about.

However, my style is not of the writer who puts down 100,000 words and works diligently to whittle it down to something manageable. I’m the guy who gets the STORY written and works on filling out the pieces, fleshing out the characters once they are down in a manuscript.

As each book in the series becomes more detailed, so does the research become more intensive. The percentage of research to writing gets closer to 50-50 and the process for completing a first draft is starting to take longer. It is for this reason that I’ve written the outline to Book Four. No, I’m not looking too far ahead. I just want to get a running start after this book is ready to go off to my publisher and editor.

On top of that, well, we’re less than two weeks from Thanksgiving and the utter chaos and madness of the holiday season. It is now more than ever that I must make the time for the writing and editing to get through this time of year. I’m trying desperately to release one book per year in this series and I can’t let something like the holiday season get in the way.

Ok, so the first draft sucks. But, it’s a start.

Archimedes cries “Eureka!”

If you’re my age (or older) you probably learned of the story of Archimedes, the Greek mathematician who, upon discovery of a particular principle while in a bathtub, cried “Eureka!” (Greek for “I have found it!”) and ran naked through the streets. We cavalierly refer to this as an “Aha!” moment which, to my way of thinking, lacks any imagination.

As writers, we get these moments and often wish they were with greater frequency. I can recall the moment at work when I realized how the first in my historical crime fiction series, Ark City Confidential, was going to end. I did not, however, run naked throughout the department.

The assumption by many is that occurs largely with pantsers, those who write without a definitive outline. I have determined a am a hybrid between a plotter and pantser. I do create an outline initially, often being surprised at how I may have strayed from it. I have a keen awareness of the major characters and some of the minor secondary ones. Yet, I do allow for the story to grow organically. If this means deviating from a general outline intended to be a preliminary road map then so be it.

I truly enjoy those Archimedean moments, when a group of people allow you into their world and reveal something you had not expected. I knew how the second book in the series, Secrets of the Righteous, was going to end but I didn’t anticipate the closing scene or the telling dialogue of it. On those occasions, the story became something even more than I anticipated.

Naturally, I hope readers share the same feeling, coming across a section or line of dialogue they weren’t expecting and being pleasantly surprised. It makes the whole process of writing that much more worthwhile.

Jim Potter

Writing, for the most part, is a solitary adventure. Which is why it is important for writers to step out into their communities to find other writers (as well as artists, musicians, etc.). There is much to be gained by hearing other people’s trials and tribulations, successes and failures, and perhaps glean some new…something to aid in their own craft.

Now, while I have been attending OWFI Conference since 2012 and have made friends from Oklahoma, Arkansas, and Texas, I have in some small way neglected by own backyard. I was briefly the president of the Kansas Writer’s Association but quickly became disenchanted with an “organization.”

I had been invited to participate in an event called Epistrophy which was designed to offer musical accompaniment to poems read by the writer. While the title and the musical unit were jazz based, the poems were not required to follow that genre. I broke out a piece from nearly 25 years ago called Love Supremacy, influenced by the music of John Coltrane. Overall, the event was a success.

What was even more significant was meeting other writers/poets/musicians from Wichita and the surrounding area. The work being read/performed was scintillating, alternating between whimsical and reflective. It was natural in this day and age to reach out and connect with those other participants. Facebook friend requests, Instagram and Twitter follows were placed the next day.

When one of the poets, Jim Potter, commented on a Facebook post, I discovered we had more in common than I realized. We were both postcard collectors (although he is still a member of the Wichita Postcard Club and I am not). We both have an appreciation for orange manx cats. He is a retired police officer and I write crime fiction. And we both love history. So, based on his comment I suggested getting together.

We had brunch at Beautiful Day Cafe, a couple of writers pretty passionate about what we do. Jim had asked if it was okay to bring a notebook and interview me for his blog. I certainly acquiesced. (He, perhaps, was not aware I had planned to blog about the meeting as well.)

That’s it. That’s the sum total of today’s events. But it is highly important. We as writers need to be around other writers, need to share experiences, need to validate each other’s efforts. This primarily solitary avocation can easily go unheeded if not for a simple social interaction to remind ourselves that these efforts truly are worthwhile.

For Art or for Money?

I have had discussions with other writers regarding the author of the Fifty Shades of Grey series. Most think she is a horrible writer. Keep in mind I have: never read the books, and the conversations were held during writers conferences were elements of craft are of high importance. However, when you consider the enormous success of the series AND the movies, how can you argue or find fault?

I used to be a big fan of James Patterson and his Alex Cross series. I certainly don’t begrudge an author getting weighed down by a series character and wishing to venture off in other directions. However, it seems as though he “works” in “collaboration” with other writers whose names are not quite as prominent on the cover. And, oh, he does some fun commercials.

By contrast, the 2018 Pulitzer Prize winner for fiction, Andrew Sean Greer is not a household name. Neither is the 2015 Nobel Prize winner in Literature, Svetlana Alexievich. And I’m not all that familiar with the 2018 Man Booker prize winner, Anna Burns. These writers, however, have prestige on their side as well as a substantial monetary prize. But nothing beats royalties ad infinitum.

There it is. You’ve got to make a choice. Art or Commerce. Make money or create something exhilarating. You think you can do both? Perhaps. Maybe in the course of your writing career. Maybe you focus on writing popular fiction that will sell while working on The Great American Novel in the background. You could be working on literary fiction or experimental fiction while continuing your historical romance series.

And there’s nothing wrong with wanting to make money, wanting to (dare we say it?) make a living as a writer. It is dismissive to denigrate those writers. If you want to, denigrate the readers. Or better yet, keep working and making good fiction. Keep producing and publishing works that are meaningful, touching, engaging, and entertaining. In the end, it is the fulfillment of your creative dreams that matters. Art and Money are the by-products.

A small part of a cool book!

So, you think that all I do is write historical crime fiction, get involved in jazz and poetry readings, hang out yearly in Oklahoma with a bunch other writers, and pass along various musings about writing on this blog. Well, you would be wrong.

I had the opportunity to edit a collection of work-related stories from a couple of retired telephone technicians who have over 60 years combined experience. The fact that I, too, worked for the phone company drew me to the project. Christopher Gulick and Shelley Staib had many interesting tales to tell of basically walking into a complete stranger’s home or back yard to fix their telephone service. As any writer knows, the human race is interesting, complex, strange, and weird. So are these stories.

The collection is titled I’ve Got a Pole You Can Climb: Tales of a Telephone Technician. It’s taken from a comment a couple of guys made to Shelley while they sat around drinking beer and watching her climb a telephone pole. The stories are shocking, bizarre, and every once in a while quite touching. My part as editor was to formulate their frenetic words into stories that would hit you in the gut. Make no mistake: the stories are all theirs.

A book launch is planned and from the enthusiasm on the part of the two authors a sequel is more than likely.

It’s a collection of tales about working with the general public. We can all relate, even if we don’t want to.

What’s in a name?

It was October 1990. I had just turned 28 the previous June. In the ten years prior to my moving back to Boston I had: gone to college; gotten married; gotten divorced; moved from Florida to Connecticut to California, back to Florida (to live with my parents), and finally to Boston. The apocryphal story I keep telling is that when I moved back, I was trying to minimize my life and took with me only ten books. (I wish I remembered what they were.)

I was from the South Shore of Boston but hadn’t spent a lot of time there as an adult. Everything was relatively new to me. But I was excited nevertheless. It was my desire to get back deeply into my writing after this ten year journey worthy of Odysseus. I scoured local periodicals and found several poetry readings within the city, not too far from a subway stop. And since where I was living at the time was right across the street from a station, it seemed like a worthwhile thing to do.

For the time being, having no real friends and nothing of any consequence of a literary nature, I simply sat in the back of this venue, quietly taking in the youngsters and hipsters and older folks. I counted myself among the latter category.

At the end of the reading I was approached by two guys who introduced themselves as Tom and Joe. Without a second thought, I blurted out “I’m H.B.” Now, my given name at birth was Hugh Bradley Berlow. I’m not exactly sure where the initials came from other than the desire to keep everything simple and, in essence, start my live over.

It became easy to determine my relationships with people: pre-1990 folks still referred to me as Hugh while those after that date called me H.B. No one gave it a second thought. No one made inquiries of the “What-does-that-stand-for?” nature, or “Is-that-your-real-name?” insult. Perhaps it was the arts community that cred less about what you called yourself and more about how you approached art and your passion for it.

Twenty-eight years later, I step forward into a zone of having been H.B. longer than I’ve been Hugh. Close friends, family, co-workers, and generally considerate people don’t care what I call myself. It is only the random idiot (I mean, customer) in a call center environment that believes somehow I am joking or my parents were merciless individuals.

So be it!

People of that ilk are of no importance in my life. I know who I am. It has taken me fifty-six years to figure that out. And just as I have, maybe there’s still more to unveil. The point is the name is of little significance. Yes, you’ll recognize who I am when someone says H.B. But it is more important that I am remembered for how I act and who I am than what I choose to call myself.

It is an amazing journey, one that requires no name, only that I keep my eyes and heart open to all that is around me.

Oh, and to keep writing.

Whoa! Put on the brakes!

You are probably aware that I have started writing a historical crime fiction series. It was completely new to me, at least the historical part. As for this series, well, things have suddenly turned into the proverbial runaway train. Let me explain.

The first in the series, Ark City Confidential, came after numerous tales told to me by my wife’s uncle, a long time resident of Arkansas City, KS. Stories of underground tunnels and the nickname “Little Chicago” spurred my interest. After coming off two (now out-of-print) books of contemporary crime fiction, I was looking for something different and gave this a shot.

While pitching it at the OWFI Conference in Oklahoma City, I was advised by one publisher that series were really in. On the two plus hour drive home, I worked out three more plot lines and figured five total would work. I also paid attention to my driving.

As I was in final stages of editing Secrets of the Righteous, Book Two of the Ark City Confidential Chronicles, I started outlining and researching Book Three. After a publication date for Book Two was announced, I started writing Book Three.

Here’s where it got tricky/interesting. I had a brainstorm for the story for Book Four, ran it by a co-worker who is an avid supporter. She loved it. Ok, fine. I can do a synopsis for Book Four while writing Book Three, even though I was still in the midst of some heavy research regarding WWII POW camps in Kansas.

Eager to get writing Four even though I’m still writing Three, I recently returned from my 20th anniversary trip with my wife to San Francisco. Where we toured Alcatraz

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and ate dinner at John’s Grill, a place frequented by Dashiell Hammett.

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Well, it was only natural that I should come up with a story line for Book Five (and especially after my wife suggested it would be great to use Alcatraz in a story). I’m enjoying my vacation spending a magnificent time with my wife in celebration of my marriage…and my mind is racing! (Hey, I’m a writer.)

After we got home, more of THAT story came into focus. Then, it dawned on me: I haven’t even completed the first draft of Book Three. Whereas it is exciting to write and create and weave stories, everything must come in due time. If this were simply a matter of “another project” there COULD be a sense of juggling. However, as these are sequential, the emotional development of the main character is vitally important and can’t be rushed.

For now, Book Four and Book Five are on the back burner. Book Three gets my undivided attention.

But, WOW!…….

Our San Francisco Anniversary Vacation – Part Two

After twenty years of marriage (twenty-three all together), you could say I know my wife well and she knows me just as well. This, of course, presumes that we are the same people we were when we first met. We’re not. We’ve grown and changed (for the better), and this requires, well, to put it frankly, staying on your toes. I can’t act as though I know her so well that I’m not willing to see her anew, experience who she has become, and vice versa.

For the same reasons, celebrating a marriage together meant a new adventure, different places, different experiences, things we might not get to do again. We chose San Francisco largely because of recent sinus issues I developed that caused problems flying. We overcame those on this trip. The similarities to Boston, the city where we met, were too striking. The history, the seafood, the various neighborhoods — far too enticing to pass up.

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We saw locations featured in: BULLITT, DARK PASSAGE, VERTIGO, DIRTY HARRY, THE ENFORCER, SUDDEN IMPACT, POINT BLANK.

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Oh, and THE MALTESE FALCON.

We tried a new cocktail, the Negroni, which has now surpassed the Martini as my wife’s favorite.

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Having dubbed myself as Tikiman for quite a number of years, in possession of nearly 80 Aloha shorts, it was incumbent of me to go to my first Tiki bar. The Tonga Room and Hurricane Bar lived up to expectations.

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We saw the magnificent redwoods at Muir Woods, witnessed the power of the Pacific Ocean at Carmel, and were challenged by the streets of San Francisco while becoming breathless at the beauty of the architecture.

We traipsed around Fisherman’s Wharf, The Embarcadero, Telegraph Hill, North Beach, Chinatown, Nob Hill, Union Square, Haight Ashbury, The Castro, and Fillmore. We stayed away from the Tenderloin.

We had Dungeness Crab, dim sum, and Sam Spades Lamb Chops. We meticulously avoided any fast food establishments that we have at home but were impressed we could buy bananas at Walgreens.

We felt the sense of history, most notably in paying tribute to my mother, a Navy veteran stationed in the same city during World War II. And all along the way, from food servers to Uber drivers, to the magnificent host, Halim at the Golden Gate Hotel, we found an openness and welcoming attitude, a courteous and genuine friendliness that was truly refreshing.

So now, as we prepare to return to our regular lives, we have countless memories of adventures that have marked our lives together: an appreciation for the historical; an embrace of varied cultures; and good food and drink. And I say most emphatically these ARE a part of our regular lives that gives our life together a vivid zest for all the good we can find each and every day.

(We are already talking about our twenty-fifth anniversary trip. I’ll let you know what we come up with.)

Our San Francisco Anniversary Vacation – Part One

Time is a relative thing.

To a convict, twenty years can seem like a lifetime of waste. When you are in a loving relationship, you stand at a point, look back, and ask where the time has gone. It’s all too important to cherish the moments and reflect on the time diligently, not just by looking through photos or videos.

Trust me, this won’t be a dissertation or philosophical musing on a life spent with my wife (although, by calculation, I have been with her for 41% of my life). This is the immediate remembrance of a visit to a city that captivated our minds and hearts, inspired me further as a writer, and challenged my notion that I was relatively physically fit. In retrospect, those hills could challenge anyone.

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Obviously, the Golden Gate Bridge is the most recognizable icon of the city. We managed to cross it and my dear wife actually got me (who is deathly afraid of heights) to walk about a third of it. That is, until the chain link fence opened onto the bay below. We also photographed it from as many angles as possible. Such magnificence requires a detailed viewing.

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I offer these two photos in conjunction. For me, as a writer of historical crime fiction, a visit to Alcatraz and dinner at John’s Grill were no less than inspirational. Watch any movie you’d like that takes place in Alcatraz. It doesn’t approach the somber atmosphere of the place itself. And perhaps a meal of Sam Spades Lamb Chops or sitting at Hammett’s bar stool (or one booth over from his spot) won’t make you appreciate his writing more. But it will provide a sense of the writing life from nearly a hundred years ago.

However, probably the most important thing I did was to honor my late mother. At the age of twenty, she enlisted in the U.S. Navy and wound up stationed in San Francisco during World War II. Throughout her life, she never “made a big deal” out of it. Sure, there were some fun stories, a lifelong friendship, and memories. So I made it my business to toast her with a cocktail at the Top of the Mark.

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I salute Telegrapher Third Class Charlotte Entin, later more fondly known as Ma. I honor her service and respect her life as a wife, a mother, and a woman.

Cheers, Ma!

Ark City Confidential Chronicles Readings

These readings from the first two books of my historical crime series, ARK CITY CONFIDENTIAL and SECRETS OF THE RIGHTEOUS, were playing at the book signing held in Wichita, KS on August 31, 2018.

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