Marc Liebman's Blog, page 46

On Being Immortal

After signing a credit card receipt, the clerk, probably in his sixties said, “Have a great day.” I responded with “at my age, every day is a great day when you are looking down at the grass.” He laughed knew exactly what I meant and said, “we’re all immortal, until we die!” While some proof – okay, its completely delusional – of my immortality. Here are three “facts” written with my tongue firmly implanted in my cheek.

One, I’ve survived ~3,800 logged ours in the cockpit in helicopters built by the lowest bid. Helicopters beat the air into submission so they can get off the ground and are nothing more than 30,000 bits and pieces of metal and fiberglass flying in tight formation. What this means is none of them have had a mid-air collision that started a catastrophic chain reaction.

Two, the bad guys – North Vietnamese and the Iraqis – couldn’t kill me despite my own stupidity. Either that, or they were totally incompetent. It is concrete proof that it is better to be lucky than good.

Three, I’ve managed to make hundreds, probably thousands of landings from the back end of a small ship where the tolerances are measured in a few feet, as in less than three. Often the ship is moving up and down ten to fifteen feet and rolling back and forth, ten to twenty degrees as it corkscrews through the water trying to get the wind flowing over the port (left) side of the helo deck at thirty degrees angle from the centerline. And its dark, and the weather is crappy.

Land to far forward and the rotor blades hit the ship’s superstructure. Too far to the left or right, and the helicopter rolls on its side and beats itself to pieces. Touch down with the tail wheel aft of the deck and besides being embarrassing and crunching the fuselage, bad things happen like the helicopter rolls left or right. The end result of any of these situations is often a fireball and you become a crispy critter because even if you manage to get out of the helicopter, where do you go to get away? Over the side? Assuming you don’t drown, the ship has to find you and it just lost its best rescue asset!

I can cite more but the point of this is at 72, I can see the end from here and I don’t like it. Life’s like a roll of toilet paper, the closer you get to the end, the faster it goes! At an age when one is supposed to be slowing down, I’m now in a hurry because there are so many things to get done before I leave permanently – like writing all the books rolling around in my head.

Not to be overly morbid, but life plays a cruel joke on you when you get older. You’re now in a hurry to do the things you’ve always wanted to do. My bucket list is relatively short – reality and finances – play a role on what’s on the list, but age also forces one to prioritize. As the years have gone on, I spend less time thinking about the past and more on what I want to do in the future. Its not memory loss, just call the past a prologue and leave it at that. The next chapters in the book of your life are what count.

Marc Liebman

November 2017

Adding Humor Through Proverbs

Recently, an editor suggested I add more humor, even if it is slapstick, to help develop the characters. It’s an interesting thought and my immediate reaction was how?

I’ve often said and written that when I am writing or doing a major edit, I become the character. In doing so, I see events unfold through his her eyes, feel his/her emotions. Humor, has to come from within the character and can’t be artificially dropped into the manuscript.

Humor comes in all forms without telling jokes which are hard to carry off in a manuscript. There’s dark humor in which the characters make light of a dire situation. There’s humor when they kid each other. Both are and will continue to be in my published books. In several passages in Moscow Airlift, Soviet characters use proverbs to make their point.

In the book, I brought back Oleg Krasnovsky from Render Harmless which takes place in 1976 when he was a KGB colonel and liaison officer to the Stasi, the East German secret police. Moscow Airlift takes place in 1991 and in the ensuing fifteen years, Krasnovsky has been promoted to major general, is back in Moscow and nearing retirement worried about his country’s future.

By 1991, the wall in Germany had come down, the Warsaw Pact had fallen apart; his country’s foreign currency reserves were at an all time low; food was in short supply; high inflation had set in; the ruble was devalued and the list goes on. In short, rather than cure the woes of the Soviet economy, Gorbachev’s policies of perestroika (Russian for listen and was meant to imply the government would listen to the people) and glasnost (word used to reference the transparency and openness in government activities) shined a spotlight on the country’s problems. In some cases, perestroika and glasnost made them worse because they raised expectations that life in the Soviet Union would get better soon.

On several occasions Krasnovsky makes his point using Russian folk sayings. For example, in a discussion about a possible sequence of events, he uses the proverb “A spoon is valuable only at dinner.’ In other words, things are best in their respective time or proper timing is everything.  Obviously, the context of the passage is important, but it works as a way to provide depth of the character and make a reader think.

While I was researching Russian proverbs, I came across this link https://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Russian_proverbs. There you get the actual Russian, the translation, literal meaning and how it translates into English. Besides being very helpful, it was fascinating reading and I probably spent more time reading Russian proverbs than needed.

Blizok lokotok, da ne ukusish. Literal translation – Your elbow is close, yet you can’t bite it. Meaning – It only seems easy!

Marc Liebman

November 2017

Talking Versus Action

One of my favorite sayings is “What you are doing, I can’t hear what you are saying…” In the business or human relationship context, the meaning is clear. What you do is more important than what you say.

Not surprising, it also applies to writing books. Here’s how and it starts with a confession. I like writing conversation along with the gestures and emotions that go with them. If the talking takes place in an interesting place, all the better.

The conflict is I write action-oriented books, not books about people talking. Often, I fall into a trap of writing conversation where the characters are talking about what happened as opposed to creating the actual event. In other words, have the characters do it rather than talk about it.

Thrillers, adventure stories, espionage novels and historical fiction are all about action. What’s happening coupled with interesting characters is what keeps readers reading.

Sounds simple, but it is not. Among other things, I use conversation to cover the passage of time, show the relationship between two characters and to “document” past events. There has to be a balance and in the first few drafts, I often err on the conversation side.

This past week, an editor hit me with the “too much” conversation club and said I needed to rewrite several passages in Moscow Airlift. Easier said than done. It won’t change the story, but it does require a lot of work.

What was strange was while I was working on what I hoped would be the last draft of the last book in the Josh Haman series, The Simushir Island Incident, I came to the same conclusion and started making changes. It’s going to need a run through to polish the rewrites. So much for the last draft! And, now I get to do it to two books!

It is much simpler said than done. When I start writing the action, I need to adjust the timeline and create more characters. Simple things like names and details to create the ‘where’ need to be researched.

Here’s an example. Saying it happened at the corner of 28th Street and Lexington Avenue in New York City is one thing. Describing it to enable the reader to see it through the eyes of the character is quite another. It requires including details that come only from research, i.e. is it cold? If so, what is the temperature? Sometimes, it takes only a few minutes. Other times, I spend hours looking for the “right” details and come to the conclusion, it won’t work, so I’ve have to start over.

Long ago, I figured out I spend somewhere between 25 and 30% of my “writing time” surfing the internet looking for information or flipping through books.

In the end, it all comes together with the right balance. The path is bumpy and guess what, it is worth a conversation or a blog. Now I have to go back to doing which in this case is writing.

Marc Liebman

November 2017

Feeling Brain Dead

It sounds like a gruesome title for a blog but for the past two days, that’s the way I feel. No energy and its hard to concentrate on writing. Worse, I’ve got to force myself to sit down at the keyboard. If this were the old days, I could write pick up a pen rather than keyboard, but this is the 21st Century and computers rule our lives.

So what do I mean by “brain dead.” Lethargic, unmotivated, tired, worn out are all words that describe the way I am feeling. It is the day after the clocks are turned back, so theoretically, I could blame it on the time change, but that would be inaccurate. I’ve felt this way for two days.

Am I sick in the medical sense? No, I don’t think so. Yeah, with tongue in cheek, you can say that of any writer. I mean, who in his right mind would spend hours at a keyboard putting characters in books in weird situations or creating weird characters or both?

Am I too old to do this? There are lots of authors my age churning out books, so I don’t think it is that.

Am I stressed out?  But about what? Actually, now that I think about it, the reason is quite simple. I have too many books I want to write and am afraid I won’t get to create them all. After all, I’m 72 so, as they say, the end is in sight. No, I am not about to die, or at least I don’t think so, but in the end, Father Time wins out. You just never know when he does.

In the recesses of my brain, here’s why I say it’s just tired (overwhelmed?) because it is working through what has to be written. There are two more books in the Josh Haman series – Moscow Airlift and The Simushir Island Incident to get out. We’re in the editing process for Moscow Airlift and it should be available to readers by March 2018. Hopefully, The Simushir Island Incident will be published by the end of 2018.

Then there is the new Derek Almer series. One book (Flight of the Pawnee) is ready for a publisher, one needs another major edit (Manpads) and two more – Strawberry 9 and The Assam’ Draggin’ – have to be written and polished before you can read them. I’m still not done. Retribution, a stand alone novel is sitting in my hard drive waiting for its first major edit.  Then, I want to write an anthology of stories from three generations of military aviators – my Dad, my son and me – called Gold and Silver Wings and Six Pointed Stars. 

With all this to be done, it is no wonder my brain gets tired thinking about all the work. It’s working overtime!!!  And, I thought I was retired. Writing is a labor of love and a passion so I’d better get back to work!

Marc Liebman

November 2017

New Labor of Love

I’ve always wanted to help restore and fly (as a pilot) a ‘warbird.’ According to the dictionary, a warbird is a “vintage military aircraft.” To that definition, I would add the word ‘flyable’ and make it ‘flyable vintage aircraft.’

Why the difference? Simple. If they’re not flyable, an airplane is a museum piece. Pretty to look at, interesting to study and wonder what it would like to fly, but a historic, static piece of machinery.

Age, corrosion, stress, lack of parts, knowledge how they were built/maintained, accidents, etc. all add up and put airplanes in museums. Restored, but not flyable. Many museums have airplanes restored to flyable condition, test flown and then put back on display because it is the only one left of its kind which puts them in a separate category, flyable but not flown.

Airplanes are designed to be flown. There are many organizations committed to keeping vintage military airplanes in the air such as The Planes of Fame Museum; Confederate now the Commemorative Air Force; Palm Springs Air Museum; the Cavanaugh Flight Museum to name a few. There are others as well as private owners scattered around the U.S. and the rest of the world who fly their warbirds regularly and bring them to airshows or offer rides.

There are museums (and businesses) that build, sell and fly replicas of WW1 airplanes using the same techniques and materials employed way back then. Because of their lack of speed, flying them long distances is impractical because of the distance, e.g. cruising at ninety knots and stopping for fuel every two hours turns a 500 mile trip into a long tiring day.

As a Naval Aviator who grew up reading about and hearing stories about flying WW1, WW2 and Korean era airplanes, I’ve always had an interest in warbirds. If I could afford it, I’d already own one. The top five on my dream list are an F-4U Corsair; a Grumman F-4F Wildcat, a Spitfire Mk. IX, a P-38 Lightning and a P-47 Thunderbolt.

I love these machines and revere the men who flew them. They were pioneers who made my aviation career possible.

Recently, I was offered the opportunity to volunteer to help finish the restoration of a PT-17 built in 1940. It’s a fabric-covered biplane used by the U.S. Army Air Corps and Navy as a primary trainer. Often dubbed the “Yellow Peril,” not because it was dangerous to fly, but if one washed out, you were often sent to be a bombardier or a navigator, or worse, to the infantry or armor. Just so you know, even during WW2, the washout rate in the U.S. Army Air Corps was 30%.

The Cavanaugh is one of those museums still flying warbirds and the PT-17 was acquired about two years ago from a maintenance school. Since then, it has been completely rebuilt, recovered, painted in U.S. Army Air Corps colors for 1941 and is now being re-assembled for its first flight which is still months away. A team – yours truly is now one – of about a dozen show up twice a week to work for four hours on the PT-17.

The work is slow and some days, it seems we get little accomplished, but then there are other times when you walk away and think wow, this was really cool. We got something done and soon this airplane will fly!

Marc Liebman

October 2017

My Helmet Is a World Traveler

As a way to make my table at a small book fair stand out, I put my helo helmet on the table. I have not worn it since Desert Shield and Storm and that was in 1991, twenty-six years ago.  A couple of passers-by asked me about it. Thankfully, no one thought it was a motorcycle or race car driver’s helmet.

It was originally issued to me in July 1969 so at the book fair in October, it was forty-eight years old. Inside, some of the foam padding has started to crumble along with the insulation. The crash resistant Styrofoam and the suspension system are still in good shape as are the dark green and clear visors. I still have the two boom mikes because some versions of the H-2 didn’t have the same radios so depending on the helicopter, one had to change mikes.

Right after I got the helmet, it took awhile to get it adjusted. It was new to me and the Navy! On the first few flights, it gave me a headache so through trial and error, we got it to fit properly. As a helicopter pilot, it was for many years, just another piece of gear one wore when one suited up.

Since I was issued this helmet, it sat on my head while I flew in and around Vietnam, the Philippines. It’s been in three wars and served me well.

It made a trip into Cape Town, South Africa on a mail run as the carrier – U.S.S. America – made its way around the Cape of Good Hope. It’s been to Japan and Korea many times either in a helmet bag or on my head. And, its been to Rio de Janeiro twice, Guantanamo Bay more times than I can count, Puerto Rico, the American and British Virgin Islands along with the Bahamas and most of the countries in the Caribbean to say nothing of visiting ports all over the Mediterranean.

My helmet heard me speaking French to a controller at the airport in Marseilles who decided one morning that he forgot his English. Through the ear pieces, it heard three dialects of English as I landed on Australian, Canadian and British ships. During Desert Storm, it visited all seven of the Gulf Cooperation Council countries along with ships from fourteen countries.  And, in my helmet bag, a stop in Diego Garcia out in the middle of the Indian Ocean.

Its been mentioned in both Pravda the Soviet Union’s propaganda magazine and Isvestia, the Soviet equivalent of the New York Times when I was photographed hovering next to a brand new Soviet ship. One day I’ll write that story and how its distinctive reflective tape design became a discussion point amongst the editors of those publications.

My bone dome, one slang expression for a helmet, has been all over the U.S. – well, not to all fifty states – but I’ve worn it flying helicopters up and down the East Coast, down to Pensacola and even out of San Diego.

For twenty-four years, it was a constant companion and now it sits on a table behind my desk, just observing. It is not a relic. It is an old friend who shared my life in the cockpit.

Marc Liebman

October 2017

My Helmet as a Talking Point

To promote my books, I’ve signed up for a series of book fairs set up by Texas Authors as well as association and industry events. In terms of book sales, ome have better results than others. So, to make my booth more interesting and provide something to attract them besides the covers of the books, a big sign that says book signing, I’ve started bringing my helo helmet.

It was issued to me in the summer of 1969 and I wore it throughout my Navy helicopter flying career. The first time I brought to an event was the Lone Star Book Festival in Dallas and the first time someone asked about it, I realized it was a little over 48 years old.

It’s showing its age. Inside, the foam insulation around the ear pieces has long since crumbled and the sound deadening material that protected my hearing has long since died. I do not plan to have it “refurbished.” It is all original and I intend to keep it that way.

The good news is it still fits, the buckles still work and I’m sure if I plugged the mike into the avionics system they would work, assuming it was compatible. The unscratched dark and clear visors slide up and down easily and the reflective tape on the helmet still does its thing.

And yes, it did start several conversations. And, yes, it got me thinking. The last time I wore it was during Desert Storm in 1991, only twenty-six years ago. That thought didn’t make me feel any younger.

The bulges around the ears the helmets worn by U.S. military helicopter pilots are distinctive. I vaguely remember the reason was that it allowed the  helmet shell to be separated from the noise suppression “system” in the helmet. I do remember when I wore it for the first time in a helicopter, it was a lot quieter.

The gratifying thing was no one asked me if it was a motorcycle helmet! I got several questions about the reflective tape and why. The answer is simple. If you were floating in the water, sunlight bouncing off the tape can be seen for miles. At night, the same thing. Even moonlight is enough to cause it to shine.

Someone opined that the tape would give away your position on the ground. And, yes, it would. However, as a pilot, my goal was not to be walking around on the ground because that meant we were either shot down or had a major mechanical malfunction that caused us to land someplace other than our planned destination. However, for the record, we had an olive drab bag we could pull over the helmet if needed.

So did it work? The jury is still out. The Lone Star event didn’t draw the anticipated crowds. However, people who came to my table, asked about it. I’m at another event this weekend and its doing its job. So, in my mind, the jury is still out.

Marc Liebman

October 2017

Reading from a Book

This weekend I have a booth at the Lone Star Book Festival. It’s in a large tent set up in Main Street Garden, a park in the heart of downtown Dallas.

Traffic at least on Saturday was not what the organizer – Texas Authors – wanted. One couldn’t blame the light traffic on the weather because it was beautiful, although in the afternoon, it got a little on the hot side. The afternoon high in the low nineties on the first weekend of October is on the high (and hot) side for North Texas.

The good news was the tables were eight feet wide and gave me plenty of room to set up my books and tabletop posters. I added – thanks to my daughter – red white and blue bunting to the table to make my set-up look nicer and brought my original helo helmet to put on the table as a conversation starter.

What was unusual was I was asked to read from one of my books to an audience. First question I asked was which one? The organizer responded – one that had won an award.   O.K. that meant either Big Mother 40, Forgotten or Inner Look. I picked Forgotten because it is the one that has one the most awards.

I spent about an hour flipping through a copy looking for sections looking that were relatively short but also made a point and selected six. Two about the POWS, one to show their despair and determination to survive and the second to show the interrogation methods used by the North Vietnamese.

Two passages were selected to show the treachery of the CIA officer who wanted the returning PoWs killed. One established his corruption, i.e. siphoning off CIA funds to offshore bank accounts and the other his link to a Cuban intelligence officer who tortured U.S. PoWs and to whom he sold classified information.

The last two were about Julia Amy Lucas who in the book morphs into Janet Pulaski. I read the opening pages of the book because they set the stage for what Janet becomes, i.e. as one reviewer wrote and I quote “a bad ass nymphomaniac lesbian assassin.” The second scene for her was what I called the “You can’t go home again…” In it, she is in front of the house she grew up in and was replaying in her mind the conversation she would have if she her parents who threw her out of the house for her extreme left wing beliefs right after she graduated from college. In the scene, she is trying to explain why she got married but doesn’t have a husband (He was declared MIA, presumed killed in 1978 but turns up alive in 1982.), how she could afford a 500 acre ranch in California (being an assassin is very lucrative.) and so on.

There were only six people in the audience. I started with context on what Forgotten was about, read the passages, took questions and quickly my half hour was up. It was fun and three out of the six bought Forgotten.

Marc Liebman

October 2017

I want to fly Pipers!

Back when we were living in Lock Haven, PA and working for Piper Aircraft, one of the benefits was one could rent planes from the company at ridiculously low rates. For example, a Piper Cub 180 was $2/hour wet! A Cherokee Six 300 was $10/hour.

If you took it on a cross-country, you paid for fuel and oil while you were gone and at the company rate for gas when you brought it back. All of this assumed one passed a check-out with a company instructor in each plane and had a valid license and medical.

At the time, my parents lived in Northport, NY located about half-way out on the north shore of Long Island. Via Interstate 80 to the George Washington Bridge or over the Verrazano Narrows Bridge it was between 250 and 275 driving miles depending on what route you took to get through/around New York City. If you didn’t hit traffic and didn’t get a ticket because you were doing 70 or more, plan on five and a half hours of driving. With a kindergartener and a pregnant wife, I’ll let you decide what the trip would be like.

For trips back and forth to my parents, the Cherokee Six 300 was perfect. Six seats, lots of room for kids and the equipment one needs for a trip with kids, stable, big windows for everyone to look out. Bad news was slow and cruised at 145 knots. Even then, in the Six, it would take less than two hours, take-off from Lock Haven to landing at Islip Airport, now known as Long Island MacArthur Airport.

As a family, the trips were perfect. Grandma got to see her first grandchild, Mom got to get off her feet and dad and granddad could go sailing. Sometimes the women came with, sometimes not.

So, one fine summer Friday afternoon, we all piled into a Cherokee Six and my daughter wanted to sit up from and be the “pilot.” To me, this was an improvement in roles because before that, she wanted to be the “flight attendant.” Now, there’s nothing wrong being a flight attendant, but mom and dad would have preferred that, if she got in the flying biz, she was a pilot. Mom said fine and climbed into the back of the cabin. My daughter was perched on a pile of phone books (remember them?) and a pillow so she could see out from the co-pilot’s seat.

I started the airplane and taxied out to the end of the runway. The weather wasn’t bad, but still required instrument flight rules and by requesting to stay at 10,000 until you were past JFK, Newark and LaGuardia, it that was the fastest way to get to Islip. I helped my daughter push the throttle forward and let the airplane roll. When it came time to rotate, a coupled of blips on the electric trim helped her rotate and away we went.

When we got above the clouds and were transitioning from Williamsport Approach and Departure to New York Center, my daughter says, “Daddy, may I talk on the radio?”

So, since the air traffic controller weren’t really busy, I said yes. And, then I told her that I would tell her exactly what to say and said it was important to follow my directions. So, since we all wore headsets, I had her listening to what was going on.

We were droning on at ten thousand feet when the New York Center controller called. “Piper 3164Z, fly heading zero-eight-five, stand-by for vectors to Islip.” I told my four and a half year old what to say. She keys the mike and precisely and professionally says ,“Roger, New York Center, Piper November 3164Z fly zero-eight-five, vectors from Islip.”

She released the microphone and gave me a big grin. I think mine was bigger. What I didn’t realize that silence had overtaken the frequency. Then the controller comes back with “Piper November 3164Z, how old is your co-pilot?”

I nod to my daughter who keys the mike, “New York Center, I’m four and a half, copy?”

By now I’m laughing and hoping everyone else on the frequency is enjoying the repartee. “Piper November 3164Z co-pilot, do you fly a lot?”

I didn’t say anything other than tell her over the intercom to answer the controller. “Roger, New York Center, I do. We go on trips all the time.”

This went on for another two or three transmissions. Then the controller asks, “Piper November 3164Z co-pilot, what do you want to be when you grow up?”

Without hesitation, my daughter keys the mike with a very serious look on her face says, “New York Center, I want to fly Pipers!”

I wasn’t smart enough to call the center and see if I could get a copy of the tape. It would have be priceless to keep. What I realized a few minutes after we finished, no one spoke on the radio while my daughter and the controller had their conversation. If you ever fly into the New York City area and get to listen to the conversations between the pilots and controllers, you’d realize how significant silence on the frequency was.

Fast forward four years, and my daughter is now a precocious eight year old.   Her future career plans had apparently changed. When asked the same question by my mother, my daughter says with a straight face AND without hesitation, “Grandma, I want to be expensive!!!”

Lessons Learned from Writers Workshops

During Q&A at about every third or forth speech I give, someone asks, “Have you every been to a writer’s workshop?” The answer is yes, I’ve been to two types.

When I got serious about writing my first novel, I started attending a small, weekly one run by a book editor with about eight to ten aspiring writers. At each one, we’d bring a passage, read it and get critiques from the group and the editor. Most of the regulars were writing fantasy, romance or sci-fi while I was plugging away at a book in the military historical fiction genre. From it, I learned three things. One, make sure the group has a several, as in more than two or three who are writing in your genre. Two, have a thick skin. And three, make sure they are at your level, i.e. or close to good enough to get published.

After about three months, the editor pulled me aside and said “you’re farther along than any member this group, and it is holding you back.” She also gave me the names of two other groups and I went to one or two meetings. It was held mid-week and job travel kept me from continuing.

So, I looked on the internet and picked two that were long weekend workshops that offered coaching and insight from experts. They were held at very nice hotels and at $2,500 not cheap. Including transportation, parking at one’s home airport, tolls, etc., the real cost was over $3,000.

To qualify, each had its own requirements sent well before the workshop. If I remember, I sent a plot summary; the first three chapters; sample query; list of competitive books; a bio, and a marketing plan outline. Keep in mind, this was in 2005 – 2008 before the advent of self-publishing, print-on-demand, etc.

What I wasn’t prepared for was the amount of “selling” that went on by presenters are pushing their books and services. I bought several, read some or all of them and within six months, took them to Half Price Books.

Were these two workshops worthwhile? Yes and no. A lot depends on the number of respondents writing books in your genre and coaches – editors, agents, publishers – familiar with your genre. At one, out of about a hundred aspiring authors, there were just two of us writing historical fiction. At the other, about twenty out of about 200.

What did I learn? A lot that very simple to explain, but much harder to execute.

Make your characters different and interesting.
Every scene should follow the same sequence – context (where the scene takes place in terms of sights, smells, noise, etc.); action (what are the characters are doing); and conversation (what are the characters saying), and if a appropriate, a “hook” to a later part of the story to keep them reading.
Each scene is written primarily from through the eyes of one character.
Don’t be afraid to write about things you don’t know, but do the research.

If you were to ask me if I would go again, I would only if is there are many opportunities to network with agents who handle my genres and publishers. That’s where the real value is so when your query arrives on his or her desk, the agent knows you. It gives it a better chance of getting read and maybe, acted upon.

That’s the long answer to the writer’s workshop answer.

Marc Liebman

October 2017