Craig MacIntosh's Blog, page 2
December 7, 2015
Dec. 7, 1941
Yesterday was the seventy-fourth anniversary of Pearl Harbor. There soon will be no survivors of that attack to speak to visitors who visit Hawaii to see the site. I grew up in Hawaii in a military family—my father was a WWII Navy veteran—and often visited the base with friends on Saturdays. As military dependents', we would show our IDs at a gate and catch a shuttle bus to roam the base at will. Our routine was the same: visit the base exchange, hop off the bus at one of many snack bars for a hamburger, fries, and malt at, visit the submarine base memorial—the father of one of my close friends was lost during the war—stop at a Japanese "Human torpedo" on a pedestal, and then get back on the next bus for a ride to catch a boat ride to Ford Island. Pretty much deserted on the weekends, the island was home to an airfield, "Battleship Row" and mooring quays, numbered to remind everyone which ships had been there on that fateful day.
The Arizona Memorial had not yet been built—in its place a plain wooden docking platform from which the flag flew. The rusting turrets and hazy outline of the hull were visible, the oil bunkers leaking as they still do. On the return, we would pass "Ten-Ten" dock, another scene of carnage that December day. It was a lazy Saturday adventure, but even as a teen I was struck by the sacredness of the setting. It was to imagine another sun-filled day that began so quietly.
After my father, dressed in formal whites, retired from the Navy at a brief change of command ceremony, I began a ritual phone call that lasted until his death at age 95. Each December 7, at 7:55 a.m. Hawaii time, I would call my father and announce, "Air raid, Pearl Harbor. This is no drill!" My father would respond with a call to "General quarters" and we would chat briefly about the fate of the Pacific Fleet that morning so long ago. He had not been at Pearl Harbor that morning. Instead, he was on destroyer escort duty in the Atlantic. I have saved a December 7, 1941 page from his desk calendar, on which he noted the attack.
Since his death I no longer have anyone to call with the terrible news of the Japanese attack on our fleet. The column inches devoted to news stories about that day shrink in size each passing year. In Hawaii, with the military still a notable presence, the day is solemnly marked at the graceful white marble memorial floating above the Arizona, the hulking USS Missouri in the background. But I wonder if succeeding generations will mark that date with the reverence it deserves.
There is hope, however. My son calls me on occasions like D-Day and other benchmarks of WWII. But this year for some reason my phone did not ring. Perhaps next year. I did however; call my younger brother to alert him to radio reports of an air raid on Pearl Harbor. He did not answer, but I left a message.
The Arizona Memorial had not yet been built—in its place a plain wooden docking platform from which the flag flew. The rusting turrets and hazy outline of the hull were visible, the oil bunkers leaking as they still do. On the return, we would pass "Ten-Ten" dock, another scene of carnage that December day. It was a lazy Saturday adventure, but even as a teen I was struck by the sacredness of the setting. It was to imagine another sun-filled day that began so quietly.
After my father, dressed in formal whites, retired from the Navy at a brief change of command ceremony, I began a ritual phone call that lasted until his death at age 95. Each December 7, at 7:55 a.m. Hawaii time, I would call my father and announce, "Air raid, Pearl Harbor. This is no drill!" My father would respond with a call to "General quarters" and we would chat briefly about the fate of the Pacific Fleet that morning so long ago. He had not been at Pearl Harbor that morning. Instead, he was on destroyer escort duty in the Atlantic. I have saved a December 7, 1941 page from his desk calendar, on which he noted the attack.
Since his death I no longer have anyone to call with the terrible news of the Japanese attack on our fleet. The column inches devoted to news stories about that day shrink in size each passing year. In Hawaii, with the military still a notable presence, the day is solemnly marked at the graceful white marble memorial floating above the Arizona, the hulking USS Missouri in the background. But I wonder if succeeding generations will mark that date with the reverence it deserves.
There is hope, however. My son calls me on occasions like D-Day and other benchmarks of WWII. But this year for some reason my phone did not ring. Perhaps next year. I did however; call my younger brother to alert him to radio reports of an air raid on Pearl Harbor. He did not answer, but I left a message.
November 30, 2015
Starting Over
There is nothing worse than losing your written work during a productive session. You face the dreaded “Where did those paragraphs or that page go?” It’s as if small gods ruling keyboard or hard drive sabotaged your day’s work. What’s the alternative to spending hours digging through files searching for your brilliant piece? Trying to recreate exactly what you’ve lost can be frustrating…or…it can produce something better the second time around. Case in point: I began a story based on a South African friend active in anti-poaching efforts. A veteran of that continent’s civil wars, as well as fighting illegal ivory sales, he sketched a dozen scenarios as story fodder. I took notes and began writing. The story came together. I decided to rearrange my chapters into a more easily understood chronology. What I had written had disappeared! Faced with missing prose, I panicked, searching without success. Back to square one. I started writing again, using what I remembered. Not easy, but it had to be done. This time I was vigilant about saving my work. When I reassembled everything, checked my words, and began a rewrite, I discovered an odd thing—computer imps produced my missing words—a silver lining of sorts. I had two competing versions. Which words to keep? I sorted my sentences and eventually ended up with a stronger first chapter than my original effort. Of course, I immediately “saved” this new version and swept away discarded words left on the cutting room floor. How this happened is beyond my semi-Luddite mind. Perhaps the ether remains bloated with lost words, missing chapters, and errant emails.
Lesson: Save as you go, don’t panic when you’ve lost something; get back at it as soon as possible…and be open to starting from scratch. Who knows, your second or third version might be even better.
Lesson: Save as you go, don’t panic when you’ve lost something; get back at it as soon as possible…and be open to starting from scratch. Who knows, your second or third version might be even better.
November 13, 2015
Man in the White Suit
“There is no motivation higher than being a good writer.” Author Tom Wolfe
Wolfe, the much-admired writer who coined so many catchy phrases to describe life in this American century, is still laboring at 84, an age when most people drive golf carts in Florida’s sunshine or shuffle down hallways behind their walkers. Just read an interesting interview with Wolf in November’s Vanity Fair. Wolfe, wearing his iconic white suit, gave us “Bonfires of the Vanities” and “The Right Stuff,” and is among the founders of “New Journalism.” Using narrative non-fiction, Wolfe and his contemporaries melded sociology and journalism. He got inside the heads of those he wrote about, and while doing so, created memorable phrases. More urbane than the caustic Mencken, more civilized than the brawling Mailer, and more sober and grounded than Hunter Thompson, Wolfe is a delight to read. November’s profile is an intriguing look into his formative years and novelist’s success. An inventive wordsmith, and gifted with an eye for delicious detail, Wolf feasted on every human foible he found in drawing rooms from New York to Los Angeles, and from the Hamptons to Washington. His description of Miami: “A melting pot in which none of the stones melt. They rattle around.” Classic Wolfe. Why read Wolfe? Because he stirs the imagination with his use of words, and makes it possible to say, “Maybe I can catch some of that magic he bottled.” Why not? Read, read, read, then write, write, write. Finally, Wolfe’s advice to you, dear author, as well as to himself when facing the blank page or the self-imposed daily thousand-word goal—“What I write when I force myself is generally just as good as what I write when I’m feeling inspired. It’s mainly a matter of forcing yourself to write.”
Wolfe, the much-admired writer who coined so many catchy phrases to describe life in this American century, is still laboring at 84, an age when most people drive golf carts in Florida’s sunshine or shuffle down hallways behind their walkers. Just read an interesting interview with Wolf in November’s Vanity Fair. Wolfe, wearing his iconic white suit, gave us “Bonfires of the Vanities” and “The Right Stuff,” and is among the founders of “New Journalism.” Using narrative non-fiction, Wolfe and his contemporaries melded sociology and journalism. He got inside the heads of those he wrote about, and while doing so, created memorable phrases. More urbane than the caustic Mencken, more civilized than the brawling Mailer, and more sober and grounded than Hunter Thompson, Wolfe is a delight to read. November’s profile is an intriguing look into his formative years and novelist’s success. An inventive wordsmith, and gifted with an eye for delicious detail, Wolf feasted on every human foible he found in drawing rooms from New York to Los Angeles, and from the Hamptons to Washington. His description of Miami: “A melting pot in which none of the stones melt. They rattle around.” Classic Wolfe. Why read Wolfe? Because he stirs the imagination with his use of words, and makes it possible to say, “Maybe I can catch some of that magic he bottled.” Why not? Read, read, read, then write, write, write. Finally, Wolfe’s advice to you, dear author, as well as to himself when facing the blank page or the self-imposed daily thousand-word goal—“What I write when I force myself is generally just as good as what I write when I’m feeling inspired. It’s mainly a matter of forcing yourself to write.”
October 30, 2015
A Story For Adults
Just when you think Hollywood can think of nothing better to do than afflict us with sequels, ever-louder explosions, gratuitous sex and violence, the industry catches us off-guard with something intelligent. Even more ironic when this feature film, “Bridge of Spies,” followed a preview of the latest James Bond eye candy. Caught this new Tom Hanks movie last week. Surprised to see Ethan and Joel Cohen credited as writers, along with Matt Charman. Their contribution makes sense now when I recall the film’s dialog. This is a movie written for adults who like to think. Spoiler alert! There are no transformers, no mutant monsters—unless you count the East Germans and the Russians—and only one explosion, a realistic, frightening downing of the U-2 spy plane piloted by Gary Powers. The screenwriters, bless ’em, kept the script spare and grim, as was the subject matter and the era. Rare touches of humor lighten this Cold War classic but they are few and appropriate. Director Steven Spielberg picked the ever-able Hanks to play a buttoned-down lawyer tasked with making a prisoner swap in divided Berlin. As straightforward as the dialog was, it was certainly never dull. Have to give a nod to the set designers as well. They recreated the deadly grayness of communist East Berlin. Lot of white hair attending the afternoon showing, all belonging to those who lived through that era. I’m sure they appreciated the good writing.
September 29, 2015
Details, Details, Details
“They had me with the haircuts.” You’re due an explanation—I meant to say, once I saw the haircuts of actors playing WWII soldiers in 2014’s “Fury” I bought into the story. Charismatic Brad Pitt, gifted with star wattage, was a major force in getting this movie of an American tank crew to the screen. Set during the final weeks of the war in Germany, this gritty realistic film is filled with graphic details, including those crude haircuts Pitt and his tank crew wear. Someone was paying attention to detail. Too often, movie stars play the part without looking the part. Their dialogue may be correct and the setting may be realistic, but the actors are still recognizable. 1940’s haircuts hurriedly done in the field in primitive conditions were practical, not chic salon jobs. Wardrobe people, set designers and hair stylists are no less important than scriptwriters when it comes to creating the film’s world for theatergoers. So it is with writers. Get the details right. Set the scene flawlessly with your words. Don’t let your readers down with inaccurate research or out of place details. The reader who notices mistake will be less forgiving than those who read blissfully on, unaware of the faults. Don’t you want to win them both with your attention to detail? If Brad Pitt can subject himself to an authentic butchered coiffure to set the mood, authors can certainly pay equal attention to words, facts, and details to woo readers to their created worlds.
September 19, 2015
Boring (or Dig It)
Can building a subway capture a reader's imagination? When the book is about two cities and their respective efforts to engineer subways beneath the ground on which they stand, the answer is a resounding "Yes!" Author Doug Most tapped the same (*pun alert) vein that David McCullough did when writing about the Brooklyn Bridge or the building of the Panama Canal. Boston and New York, home to the wealthy Whitney brothers, Henry and William, each desperately needed a modern answer to their urban transportation woes. Most weaves a terrific story about the Herculean challenge to go underground to find the solution to nosy, filthy, dangerous, overcrowded streets. He fills the pages The Race Underground: Boston, New York, and the Incredible Rivalry That Built America’s First Subway
with characters: scam artists, closed-minded city officials, robber barons, and stubborn visionaries. This is a tale of an urban revolution that opened the modern epoch of metropolitan transportation, the lifeblood of cities.
with characters: scam artists, closed-minded city officials, robber barons, and stubborn visionaries. This is a tale of an urban revolution that opened the modern epoch of metropolitan transportation, the lifeblood of cities.
September 17, 2015
Gem in Hand
Life’s unexpected turns taken in the pursuit of something often drops gems in our hand if we’re alert enough to recognize it as such. For me it was writer Hilary Mantel, author of Wolf Hall and 2012’s Bring Up The Bodies. I found this extraordinary wordsmith while writing a review of Charles Spencer’s Killers of the King. Spencer had written about the fates of men who signed King Charles I’s death writ in 1649, after the English Civil war. I stumbled across Hilary Mantel’s work—that gem in hand—while writing my review. Intrigued, I read an interview with her, and then followed that with an excerpt from Bring Up The Bodies, her story of Anne Boleyn’s fate at the hands of her philandering husband, Henry VIII. She has leapfrogged to the top of my “must read” authors list. This brief description of the scaffold scene in which a wooden chest is quickly requisitioned to serve as a coffin for the executed queen shows what command of words Mantel has!
He has not thought of a coffin, but an elm chest for arrows has been hastily emptied and carried to the scene of the carnage. Yesterday it was bound for Ireland with its freight, each shaft ready to deal separate, lonely damage. Now it is an object of public gaze, a death casket, wide enough for the queen's little body. Hilary Mantel’s “Bring Up The Bodies”
He has not thought of a coffin, but an elm chest for arrows has been hastily emptied and carried to the scene of the carnage. Yesterday it was bound for Ireland with its freight, each shaft ready to deal separate, lonely damage. Now it is an object of public gaze, a death casket, wide enough for the queen's little body. Hilary Mantel’s “Bring Up The Bodies”
August 25, 2015
Memorable Lines
Traded trivia about memorable movie quotes the other night—favorites, some of which others instantly knew. Can you name these lines and the movies from which they came?
“It was beauty killed the beast.”
“I coulda had class." "I coulda been a contender. I coulda been somebody.”
“Rosebud.”
I thought of classic book leads in fiction—opening lines that capture readers. Authors search for just the right words to draw readers. Yes, titles and covers are what a potential readers first glimpse, but once they open to the first page…what then? I’ve listed some gems among the best.
“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…” A Tale of Two Cities by Dickens
“It was a queer, sultry summer, the summer they electrocuted the Rosenbergs, and I didn’t know what I was doing in New York.” Sylvia Plath’s The Bell Jar
“All this happened, more or less.” Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse Five
“All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.”
Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina
These openings have stood the test of time. Trying to give a reader a hint of what’s to come, style, and mastery of words is a challenge. Brevity, as you can see from the quotes above, works, but then, a string of words that is music to the ear is another way to entice reader. Shock is one tactic, but should be used sparingly so its effect is not diluted. I always read a book’s lead. If the writer has done their job I read further…if not, I close the book and look elsewhere. More often than not, my instincts are right. You can’t judge a book solely by its cover, but you can certainly help your decision by reading a lead.
(Movies: The original King Kong, On The Waterfront and Citizen Kane)
“It was beauty killed the beast.”
“I coulda had class." "I coulda been a contender. I coulda been somebody.”
“Rosebud.”
I thought of classic book leads in fiction—opening lines that capture readers. Authors search for just the right words to draw readers. Yes, titles and covers are what a potential readers first glimpse, but once they open to the first page…what then? I’ve listed some gems among the best.
“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…” A Tale of Two Cities by Dickens
“It was a queer, sultry summer, the summer they electrocuted the Rosenbergs, and I didn’t know what I was doing in New York.” Sylvia Plath’s The Bell Jar
“All this happened, more or less.” Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse Five
“All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.”
Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina
These openings have stood the test of time. Trying to give a reader a hint of what’s to come, style, and mastery of words is a challenge. Brevity, as you can see from the quotes above, works, but then, a string of words that is music to the ear is another way to entice reader. Shock is one tactic, but should be used sparingly so its effect is not diluted. I always read a book’s lead. If the writer has done their job I read further…if not, I close the book and look elsewhere. More often than not, my instincts are right. You can’t judge a book solely by its cover, but you can certainly help your decision by reading a lead.
(Movies: The original King Kong, On The Waterfront and Citizen Kane)
July 19, 2015
Did I miss you at the launch?
Launched WOLF's Vendetta this past week. Had a great time linking the story's characters with the Russian Mafia, a Soyuz launch in Kazakhstan and a race pitting the good guys against the bad. Already back at work on the next installment in this series!
