D.B. Corey's Blog

When Lightning Strikes

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Case of the Guilty Grocer - Episode 2

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Meet Greyson Sloane-A Man Out of Time

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Poe-ta-toe? Poe-tah-toe? Toe-ma-toe? Toe-mah-toe?

On occasion, I think about those new folks in our country who have to negotiate the English language, and wonder if they experience the same confusion and bewilderment as I did in my early school years.

I’m not referring to speaking the language; I’m referring to reading and writing it. I used phonetics in/inn the title to emphasize the point, as the two/to/too different pronunciations are actually spelled the same way/whey. Then there/their is the opposite of that—words that sound the same and are spelled differently: creek or creak, council or counsel, principle or principal, capitol or capital. These last three always trip me up. Thank God for proof readers. Spell Checker won’t help you/ewe here/hear.

Ok, this is fun, but it’s making me a little crazy. What prompted me to ponder all this was a story I was working on. I never paid much attention to these variants until I began writing, and in doing so, realized what a quagmire the English language really is. Working on a short story the other day, I wrote the line:

“Cole nodded toward the large manila envelope laying on the table in front of her.”

Ooops! Is it “laying,” or “lying?” You just can’t trust the grammar checker for these things. To be sure, you have to look it up, which is exactly what I did. I happened upon a Writer’s Digest article a while back that had several links to various interpretations of how words are misused. But in searching for them here, I found a site that has everything (or most everything) in one place. I like it better.

http://public.wsu.edu/~brians/errors/...

Enjoy your/yore self.

Don’t forget to subscribe to this blog if you like it.

I need the money.

Best Regards,
DB

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Where Does the Rewriting Stop?

The first draft of my second novel is finished. Now begins the search for perfection, that unattainable point where the rewriting stops.

So, where is that, exactly?

For the most part, rewriting comes before proofing, and concerns punctuation and spelling and word choice, and in the later stages, formatting, consistency, and continuity. The obvious stuff. Then there’s the part of the writing process that drives me batty; when my mind makes changes to something I have already written and moved past. This usually occurs in the early morning hours, during that space of time between being asleep and being awake, and come from that dusty corner of the mind where the remnants of dreams live. They are wisps of thought, misty images of scenes, and they commingle with my consciousness as I wake. They are suggestions that task me when I open my eyes, and they are as fleeting as the dreams they come from.

So I write them down.

I read somewhere that writers should never ignore their dreams. They are pure creation, and they reveal themselves for a reason. As a writer, dismissing them is foolish. For my money, this applies to rewrites as well.

I mentioned earlier that my next novel is in rewrites. I woke the other morning with the thought of my protagonist’s early intro into the story. She does a job she does not care for. She doesn’t hate it because she understands the necessity for it, and likens it to the average American worker who is good at a job that they don’t enjoy. My early morning epiphany suggested I needed to drive that point home a bit more early on, in order to enrich the character, and give the changes she goes through more impact.

To emphasize the point, I’ll share with you an anecdote a friend shared with me. He said Jeffery Deaver (The Bone Collector, The October List) once told him that he would edit his novels right up to the time they went to print if he could.

All things considered, I suppose that’s where the rewriting stops … for that edition.


Best Regards,

DB


Website - www.dbcorey.com

Twitter - @dbcorey

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Does This Novel Make Me Look Fat?

I went for my annual physical a while back. I’m in pretty good health, Doc said … all things considered. BP is a little high as is my cholesterol. “We’ll use meds to get that under control. Other than that you’re in great shape,” he said. “Except for your weight. You need to lose a few pounds.”

A few pounds. OK. But as many of you out there in the Blogosphere knows, losing weight is easier said than done.

I quit smoking when I turned 60, so I expected to gain some weight. But that’s about the same time I started writing for real, and, when I started writing, I also started sitting. A lot. Now I, for one, happen to consider writing an exercise, since I work my brain to write. Ergo, sitting, being part of my writing process, is exercise too, but I might be the only one who thinks that way. Regardless, the issue remains; the exercise of writing involves sitting.

So I sit. And I write. But there are times when I sit and I think which is not writing and not exercise because then it’s just sitting. And when I’m sitting but not writing and not exercising, I’m munching.

Welllll… When I’m sitting and thinking but not writing and not exercising because it’s just sitting and munching but not drinking, I have to wash all that down with something.


That’s why ancient scribes invented beer.

So when I sit and not write and think and not exercise and munch and wash all that stuff down with beer, I’m actually getting my daily sitting/writing exercise because I’m reaching and lifting and chewing, but still, it didn’t seem to work.

I had to get serious.

I switched to sugar substitutes, sugar-free gum, and diet soda; diet salad dressings, baked potato chips, and low-cal cookies; small bags of M&M’s, low-fat double-whipped triple-churned ice cream, and lite beer. I even cut my large double-pepperoni-and-sausage pizza intake to five a week, but still I lost no weight.

So, getting back to the doctor—remember the doctor?— Maggie says because Doc thinks I need to lose weight, and the sitting/writing exercise I get isn’t enough, she’s going to make me snacks and meals that are better for me, and will help me lose weight. And the worse part of all this, she thinks we’re going to have lots-o-fun.

“I didn’t marry you just to have you die on me now,” she told me. She’s been waiting for this like a kid waits for Christmas. She sees us going to the grocery store—hand-in-hand and all starry-eyed—picking out nothing but “healthy” food. I can’t wait.

The more wheat germ, the better, I say.


So to counter my over-weight condition, she bought all sorts of stuff to sprinkle on my food. Stuff I never heard of, like Organic Ground Premium Flaxseed with Omega-3 and Lignans.

What the hell is Flaxseed?
And Lignans sound like something you should eradicate
… like termites.

Oh, you think I’m exaggerating, do you? Here’s a text message she sent me the other day:

Morning honey ... I’m getting you Egg Beaters and low calorie low carb stuff. Low calorie bread is good. Wheat or whole grain ...Cheerios … diet soda is okay. They say in moderation, cheese is actually okay. I'll pick up more stuff as I come across them in my reading. Look at the labels. You don't want sugar in the first three ingredients and you should try to keep your carb amount not above 55 grams a day. So look at the labels.

Love you lots. Going for a run.
xoxoxo

Going for a run.... The woman is effusive. You can almost hear the freaking excitement in her voice. I think she’s enjoying this more than sex.

In addition to all this, the Doc gave me a list of foods I can and can’t have.
For instance:
I can have lean meats, fish packed in water, chicken without the skin (Who can eat fried chicken without the skin?), and few breads, like Melba toast. I guess the doc thinks I’m still teething, as well.

In place of bread, I can substitute beans or dried peas. So I tried that. I slapped some light mayonnaise on a couple of dried peas and tried to make a ham sandwich. It wasn’t easy because it was so hard to hold. It wasn’t very filling either, so I made another one.

What I can’t have is duck, goose, coconuts, avocados, lard and alcohol. No problem there … except for maybe—you guessed it—the alcohol.

So Maggie comes home from work one night, very tired. I offer to order Chinese, but now, I have to see if they have dietary meals. Of course, all I need do is ask.

“Ha-row, Rucky Dragon.”
“Yes, I’d like to place an order for delivery.”
“What you rike?”
“Do you have any dietary dinners?”
“Di-a-tery?”
“Yes … low-fat”
“Ro-Fat? I’m solly, no Ro-Fat here.”
“You don’t have any low-fat dinners?”
“Ro-Fat work here no more. Rives in Okrahoma now.”
“No! No! ... Low-fat MEALS.”
“Ro-Fat no cook. Dishwasher. Quit rast week. You want order something? Robster? Pork flied lice? Egg loll maybe?”

I decided on steamed veggies. Maggie was so happy, she poured Flaxseed all over it; made it crunchy, so I pretended it was fried chicken.


All in all, I expect things will work themselves out. Maggie is a pretty good cook, so I’m sure she’ll be able to do something with me in the next few weeks, even if it’s just rolling me out to the car for my next doctor’s appointment.

DB

Website - www.dbcorey.com
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Could a Computer Have Helped Shakespeare?

I will go out on a limb here and state that most everyone today, with the possible exception of JK Rowling when she wrote the first Harry Potter book,  uses some form of computer, word processor, or technology-driven writing device to compose their work. I am not including typewriters in this group because they cannot do the things that a computer can do. If you make a mistake on a typewriter, you get to re-type the entire page; especially if you are typing a term paper—at least that is the way it was when I was in college. No Whiteout allowed. In this example, one eventually becomes a better typist.  
Last week, I was having a particularly tough time laying down a scene for my next book. I found I was cutting and pasting, copying and moving and deleting, words, phrases, sentences, and yes, entire paragraphs, all in an effort to maintain its rhythm and make it sing. And as I adjusted the flow of the language, I realized that without the tools of the day, writing would be far more difficult for me, if not altogether impossible. At the least, it would be more than simply frustrating. I began to reflect on the Greats. The ones who came before, those who set the standards for the literature I totally ignored while in high school; much to my chagrin.   
I began to wonder how the great writers in literature managed without them: Poe, Orwell, Milton, Hemingway, Melville … the list goes on and on. Did they spend hours and hours re-writing as I do? By hand? Or were they like Mozart? A savant? A man who already had the symphony written in his head, and merely needed to transfer it to paper? 
Was Dickens or Tolkien like that? Or did they make mistakes? Would a computer have helped Shakespeare? Or would it hinder him—or any of them? An ordinary writer, I stumble through scenes, writing and rewriting until I hit the right “notes.” Even as I write this short piece, I am moving entire sentences, leaning on Spellcheck, and cursing those green squiggly lines that appear under entire passages. 
It boggles my mind to imaging Twain rewriting a scene from Huckleberry Finn over and over, and he had a pen that didn’t need an inkwell. To him, I expect the Conklin Crescent self-filling fountain pen was a leap forward in writing technology. But still…. 
No, I do not believe a computer would have helped Shakespeare, or any of them, become greater than they already are. They did not have the luxury to click a misspelled word and have it magically correct itself, or suggest the proper punctuation, or remind them to avoid passive voice. They had to possess the skills and the knowledge in order to apply it to the work. I believe that these “advancements,” as we call them, help us, but may have diminished them, ostensibly preventing their greatness from bursting through.  
These crutches allow, and perhaps endorse an individual's lack of understanding of the craft; curtail knowledge, so to speak, because the answers to questions unasked are right there at your fingertips. I find I need not remember phone numbers any longer because I possess a cell phone. In these instruments of artificially administered knowledge is created a mechanism that enables an average writer such as me, to get to the meat of the writing without knowing all the rules. For this I am eternally grateful, for without a computer to guide my way, I may have never completed a novel.  
But for the Great ones? … Well, I heard somewhere that Ms. Rowling wrote her first manuscript in a coffee shoppe by hand.    
I’ve always maintained that penning a novel is not about the writing, so much as it is about the story, but that assumes an acceptable level of proficiency. One can’t expect the computer to do the writing for them. The writer still needs to have some command of the basics. They still need to know which words to put on the “paper,” and in what order. There’s nothing easy about it. The computer allows the writer to focus on the story, and not so much the rules and regulations surrounding it. 
Please understand that in this post I infer no peers, and I draw these conclusions based solely on self-perceived inadequacies regarding my current knowledge of Grammar and English.  However, I still believe that I tell a hell of a good story, no matter how I get it wrote.      DB


 

What Was It Like? - An Interview with Cyrus Webb - BlogTalkRadio.com

Last Sunday evening I was fortunate enough to spend a little time on BlogTalkRadio-Conversations Live with Cyrus Webb, internationally known TV and radio host, to discuss my first novel, Chain of Evidence .
This was no small event … not for me at any rate. Cyrus rubs elbows with the likes of Jackie Collins, Oprah, Michael Rooker of The Walking Dead, and more top-flight artists, entertainers and authors than I can mention here—and he actually interviewed me about the novel!It was a very big deal, and all day, I was fine. Until I called in.I began to sweat, because I was nervous—and I’m almost never nervous. Years ago I wrote a column for Examiner.com . One of the local FM talk show hosts had me on several times to talk about the material I reported on, and after a couple of minutes, the butterflies disappeared along with the stutter in my voice and the chirpy-quick speech pattern.But that was a column I did for fun. I was never too serious about it, even though some of the subject matter occasionally qualified as such. I just didn’t get too excited. Now I have a book published, and folks like it, professional book reviewers like it, it holds 5-Stars on Amazon, and I’m still trying to get used to all of this. When the Intrigue folks set up the interview with Cyrus, I mentioned it to one of the site managers I work with.“Oh yeah," he said. "I know him.” That was my first inkling that this was a big deal. I tried not to think about it, and honestly, there was so much going on the past few months that I didn’t have the time to dwell on it.Then the book launch was over. It was a great success, and I took a week to bask in the glow, as they say. Silly me … I should have practiced speaking without saying, “UMM, and UHH” every other word, and I should have not used a headset. Being “I-talian,” as Maggie says, I tend to use Italian-speak and move my hands and my head and everything else above my shoulders when I talk ... everything except my brain. Had I moved that more, I would have done all those other things.But, always gracious, Cyrus said to me the next day via Facebook, “You did great, DB. Was glad to have you on the show.”See? Gracious. So I am busily working on the next effort, and if I'm fortunate enough to again to be on with Cyrus Webb, I will be ready. DB  

Shopping for the Book Launch

Since the book launch is Saturday, I decided to up my blog output just a little to chronicle the events leading up to the big day. For example, Maggie said that I should have some new clothes for the launch. I don’t know why. I have plenty of t-shirts, and I thought jeans with holes were the style. Just because I wore the holes in them myself, shouldn’t change that. But who was I kiddin’….“You need some new clothes. I’m tired of seeing you in those same ol’ ratty jeans. Besides,” she said, “I’m an author’s wife and I want to look nice, so you’re going shopping with me.”“Me? You talkin’ to me?”

“Yes I’m talking to you…. I want your opinion.”

“Okay. You look good in everything.”Now most guys hate to shop. And I’m no exception. I shop when I have to—once or twice a year maybe, not counting Christmas: a couple pairs of jeans, some shirts, underwear … maybe a pair of socks, and I’m set. But then there’s the occasional occasion when there’s no avoiding going shopping ... with a woman. A book launch qualifies.

Visions of traipsing from store to store passed before my eyes; like your life when you think you’re gonna die. Back and forth, from one store to another, then back again. I mean, how many times does one have to visit the same store? I saw myself following her like a dejected child—pouting; standing around while she rummaged through rack after rack trying to find something that:

Fit.
Didn’t make her look fat.
Was pretty.
Didn’t make her look fat.
Was appropriate.
Didn’t make her look fat.

So she drags me to the Mall. There must be a thousand stores in that place. And I fully expected to visit each-and-every-one. She likes Macys. So that’s where I park. Who knew the store she’d actually buy in was on the other side of the planet.

The dressy casual dresses are on the second floor. I didn’t even know that was a category. Thank the Lord there were escalators. We head upstairs and walked a mile or so to the casual dress section. She begins her run and I wait. A day later, she says, “I can’t find anything. Let’s go to Penney’s.”

We walk to the other side of the Mall. She starts another run. I wait. “There’s more dresses downstairs,” she says, so down we go. This time, we have to use the stairway outside the store because it’s closer than the escalator. Well, that’s fine with me. It was downhill.

“There’s nothing here. Let’s go back. I want to look at one I saw upstairs again.” Now, it’s uphill. Two landings. I hate stairs. She decides “we” need to go to another store. We pass Sears.

“Let’s try here.”

“Sears? You need power tools?”

“No, silly. A dress.”

It may as well have been power tools, since there were no dresses that she liked. We make a beeline to Boscov’s. Nothing. Back to Penney’s. We come to a set of stairs that look awfully familiar. Up we go.

“I can’t make up my mind. Help me.” She disappears and comes back wearing the first of seventeen dresses she’s picked out. “I like that one. Let’s go home.”

Ooooh-noooo! I have to see each one. Between changes, I occupied myself by taking short trips across the tile floor, making sure my sneakers landed squarely on the tile without touching a grout joint. Tiring of that, I traveled in tiny figure eights. Its funny how, if you look at them sideways, they look like the symbol for Infinity, meaning without end; just like this trip.  At one point, a salesman walked by.“Can I help you, sir?”The answer came as a sigh preceded by a breath. “Noooo … shopping with a woman.”“Ah!” he said. “Well, we have plenty of comfy chairs,” and then he continued on, snickering under his breath. Eventually, she settles on a dress she likes.Finally. "You look great. Let's go home."

“I need accessories.”

“Accessories? What? … like an A/C adaptor?”

So with dress in hand, we traipse over to the shoe department.

“I’m not paying $80 for a pair of shoes,” she says. “We can find them cheaper someplace else.”

Great! Now she’s frugal.

After visiting a store that had the gall to refer to itself as “Payless,” there were four other shoe stores to visit. None had anything that matched the dress. Back to Penney’s. I forked out the eighty bucks hoping to get home before the turn of the century.

“Okay, just one more thing.”

Another “thing?” How many “things” do women need? This is a one-day affair, not a camping trip.

Back to Payless. Handbags.

“Why didn’t you just get the handbag when we were here the first time?”

“We didn’t have the shoes. The handbag has to match the shoes.”

“Don’t the dress match the shoes?

“Yes.”

“So? …”

“So the handbag has to match the shoes.”

“????”

“Weren’t you just here?” the saleswoman said.

“Yeah, in another lifetime.”

Nothing there. Back to Penney’s. I think I’m gonna buy stock.

“The weatherman said it was going to be cool Saturday,” she murmured.

“Yeah. So?”

“I might get chilly. Help me find a bolero.”

“Okay…. That’s some kind o’ hat, right?”

I never heard so many women snickering at one time.

Well, I have to admit. When we did finally get home, she put everything on and looked stunning. I decided it was worth the trip and then some.

“You know, honey” I said. “You’ll be the prettiest woman there.”

By the way, I know I have a flare for exaggeration, but honestly, most of this actually happened. I just embellished a little.


DB

 

A Matter of Perception

If, per chance, you have the opportunity and the wherewithal to engage mathematicians, or theoretical physicists, or most any science fiction writer that delves in temporal mechanics, and you ask them about the characteristics of Time, I believe they will tell you that Time, when boiled down to its simplest form, is essentially a variable; that it travels linearly through space at various rates depending on where you are, depending on who you are.

Case in point:Any little kid will tell you that Time slows down the closer they get to summer vacation, or their birthday, or Christmas, but once there, Time speeds up, and it’s over too soon. Ask the parents of those kids the same question, of the same events, and they’ll say the exact opposite. So it is with the launch of Chain of Evidence. It seemed that just the other day I had weeks and weeks before the event. Now there is less than one. Where did all that time go? It seems that Time began to accelerate as the appointed date grew closer.There was so much to do, so much preparation, and it’s nearly all complete thanks to Maggie—my wife and biggest fan. Without her help, I’d be floundering like a schooner on a windless sea.“Behind every successful man,” as they say.Thank you, honey.Of course, Maggie has an ulterior motive.She wants to see me succeed. She thinks me a great writer, and who am I to contradict her? But I am of a different opinion. I like to think that I spin a good yarn. Without a good story to tell, the writing is just the writing. It can be good or bad. It’s the story that counts. Another case in point:Fifty Shades of Grey – A story that hit at just the right time. Apparently, no one cared about the writing.Now I have a story that I want to tell. It’s a good story, and it will appeal to anyone who enjoys a good mystery, or thriller, or forensics whodunit, or even a slap-in-the-face twist, because Chain of Evidence employs all those aspects. It also speaks to our aging populace—The Baby Boomers. The story addresses current times where the economy, the political climate, and one’s physical abilities are changing, diminishing, and these changes force the Protagonist, Moby Truax, to deal with them all. This story comes at the right time as well.Now I begin the groveling.A goodly number of folks from all parts of the world read this blog, and that humbles me in ways for which I can find no words—not such a good thing for a writer to admit, so let me just say this:
Thank You.
I am honored that folks take time from their busy lives to read these words.Now that the book is out, I’ll ask those folks who enjoy reading this blog, to buy the book and discover what it is that inspires these writings, and after they read it, write a short review or a blurb and post it here, or on Customer Reviews on Amazon, or even on Goodreads. Then I’ll ask them to ask their friends to do the same. I promise … it will do for you what a work of fiction is supposed to do. I have a great deal of confidence that readers of Chain of Evidence will enjoy the hell out of it, and I’m confident they won’t see the twist coming until it hits them like an open hand on the forehead. Then, I hope, they’ll anticipate my next book, which I should complete by year’s end, thus starting he process all over again. This is what it’s all about. The story telling is what I want to do, but the marketing is what I have to do, if I’m to keep writing.
Please … let me know how you like the novel.I’ll be waiting.
DB