I am a non-violent person.  While I served in the U S Navy, I didn’t see combat, but I was involved in the Cuban Missile Crisis.  The only time I have actually been in a fight was when I was about ten.  At summer camp, I got into a fight with an older, bigger boy who didn’t like me.  (Come to think of it, I didn’t like him much, either.)  For the first couple of minutes, I was giving at good as I got, but then his superior size and strength took over, and I was beaten up.

Violence happens.  We all know that, and sometimes a writer finds himself in a position where he has to write about it.  When writing about violence, I try to keep several things in mind.  First of all, violence is fast moving, so the description has to move rapidly.  So rapidly that sometimes the reader has to fill in the details with her imagination.  Details just slow the action down, and the violence loses its horror.  To keep the action moving, I try to use short sentences, so that the action seems staccato.  When describing violence, I  want to minimise the number of adjectives and adverbs, sticking as close as I can to nouns and verbs.  This also keeps the action moving  rapidly.  Finally, I think it’s best to use hard clear (punchy) words.

Here’s an example from Fishing in Foreign Seas.  Jamie and Caterina are on their honeymoon in Mombasa, Kenya.  They are walking back to their hotel after dinner at a nearby restaurant.

The road was nearly deserted, it was hot, and Jamie had taken off his jacket, which was folded over one arm.

“Good evening to you!”  It was a male voice with a Kenyan accent.   Jamie turned slightly and saw the man, dressed in a brown T-shirt and jeans, overtaking them.

Jamie said, “Good evening.”

Then the man swerved toward them and said: “Give me your money!”  He was inches away from Jamie, who reacted without thinking.  He punched the man in his mid-section and then delivered a kick which sent the man to the ground.

“Give us your money, man!” This from another man who had emerged from the shadows in front of them.  He advanced rapidly toward Jamie, who suddenly saw the gleam of a blade in the man’s hand.  Jamie stepped back and flung his jacket at the man.  The jacket covered the man’s face, and as he came on, Jamie kicked out at him, connecting solidly with a leg.  The man sprawled headlong forward, dropping the knife.  Jamie seized the knife and stood looking down at the man.  The man rolled away, and got to his feet.  He glared at Jamie for a moment; then he said: “Come on, Joe.”  The first man struggled to his feet, and the two of them disappeared.

Then, there’s this example of bullying from Sin & Contrition.  It takes place in the boys’ restroom at school.  Gary and Gene have been demanding candy from Xing, a smaller, Chinese classmate.

“Oh hi, Chinkie,” Gary intoned with an insincere smile, “Where’s our extra candy?”

“I can’t get it,” Xing said softly, hurriedly rinsing his hands.

Gary moved close to Xing: “’I can’t get it, Sir Aramis’ is what you meant to say – right, Chinkie?”

Xing moved away and drew a paper towel from the dispenser.  “I can’t get it,” he repeated.

Threateningly, Gary said: “No, Chinkie, that won’t do.  We deserve to be treated respectfully.”  And he took a hold of the smaller boy’s shirt.

Wordlessly, Xing pushed Gary away.

“Now, just a minute, Chinkie.  We haven’t finished our conversation,” Gary said through clenched teeth, and he balled his right fist.

This time, Xing anticipated the blow, and turned so that it struck him in the ribs rather than the belly.  “Leave me alone!” he shouted, and he hit Gary in the throat with a chopping blow.

Gary recoiled, then rushed forward in a frenzy at having been thwarted.  He aimed a roundhouse punch at Xing.  Instantaneously, Xing blocked the blow with his arm, and landed another chopping blow, this time on Gary’s neck.

“You little bastard,” Gary shouted, realising for the first time that Xing knew how to fight.  “I’m going to fix you good!”  And he hurled himself at Xing, who was able to partially sidestep the rush, striking Gary in the belly.

Gary doubled over in pain, and Xing turned to go, but Gary attacked again – this time landing a solid blow on Xing’s shoulder.  Xing responded with a kick to Gary’s shin.

Gene, who had been watching, began to realise that his friend would not beat Xing in a stand-up fight.  “He’s too quick and he’s using Karate, or something,” he thought.  The two combatants jockeyed for position in front of Gene, with Gary taking the worst of it. The thought sprang into Gene’s head:  “I can’t let Gary down!  It’s ‘all for one’!”

Suddenly, Xing had his back to Gene, and Gene reacted immediately: he kicked out at Xing’s legs, landing a blow behind one of Xing’s knees.

Xing crumpled to the floor, and Gary flung himself onto the smaller boy.  In a fury, Gary began to pummel Xing, hitting him on either side of his head and in the face with his clenched fists.

Xing began to scream, and cry out for mercy, but Gary refused to stop until Gene grabbed Gary’s shoulders and shouted at him: “That’s enough, Gary!  You’re going to really hurt him!”

In painful triumph, Gary stood and looked down at Xing, whose face was bruised, battered and bleeding.  “That’ll teach you, you little shit!” he spat out venomously.

And, finally, this passage from Sin & Contrition.  LaMarr and his buddy Mason are on guard duty at a Marine base near Hue during the Vietnam War.

LaMarr was nervous.  He looked at his watch; the luminous dial said three fifty-three.  Still another two hours to go, he thought.  Quietly, he walked to the other end of his sentry position, brushing aside the invisible foliage.  Deeper in the jungle, a bird called out an alarm, and monkeys in the treetops took it up.  Something’s going on in there!  He stood still, listening.  Nothing but the monkeys, and now several birds.  Dawn was still an hour away, and he tried to peer through the pre-dawn glimmer.  Was that something moving over there – behind those trees – maybe thirty yards?  Yes!  It was something bigger than a monkey.  Now, two dark shapes.  No!  Three or four moving between those trees.  LaMarr shouted out the challenge: “September five!”  (to which the correct response would have been ‘eleven whiskey’) but there was no response. Even the birds and monkeys seemed to be listening.

LaMarr raised his rifle and fired a single shot above, but in the direction of the shapes.  Out of the jungle came a cacophony of yells and high pitched battle cries.  LaMarr could see a line of muzzle flashes ahead.  He shouted “hit the deck!” to Mason, whose position was thirty-five yards to his right.  From the ground, he realized he could see nothing.  He crawled rapidly to a large tree, and cautiously rose behind it, his M16 now on full automatic.  Peeking around the tree, he spotted the muzzle flashes again.  They were clustered right there!  He fired a burst from the M16, and paused.  There were several loud cries.  Were they orders or have I hit someone?  He heard Mason fire three bursts in quick succession, and from his muzzle flashes, he could just make him out – also standing behind a tree.  It was absolutely silent for a long moment.  Then there was a shout from the jungle.  That was definitely an order!  The battle cries and the firing from the forest resumed.  LaMarr heard bullets strike his tree; one tore off a chunk of bark just above his head.  He dropped down to one knee, but still able to see the enemy’s position, and partially shielded by the tree.  He fired until his clip was empty.  Pulling a fresh clip from his jacket, he saw Mason firing again.  “Take cover, Mason!” he shouted.

We’re bound to get some backup from camp soon!  Then he heard the shouting from the barracks behind him.  There was another period of silence from the jungle.  Suddenly, ahead and to his right a heavy machine gun opened up.  It was firing toward Mason’s position.  LaMarr fired a burst at it.  There was shouting from that direction, and then it resumed its loud, staccato chatter.  Bullets sprayed through the forest, tearing large splinters from his tree.

Mason shouted: “LaMarr, I’m hit!”

“Hang on, buddy!  I’ll be with you in a minute!”  Gotta get that machine gun first!  Rifle’s no good in this situation!

LaMarr crawled on his belly for perhaps twenty yards, hearing the clatter of the gun and its bullets flitting through the jungle growth above him.  He pulled a grenade from his jacket, and waited for the firing to cease.  Cautiously, he raised his head just it time to see the muzzle flashes as the gun directed its fire at the camp.  LaMarr pulled the pin and lobbed the grenade.  There was a loud concussion and a bright flash.  Then silence.  LaMarr could hear reinforcements pouring out of the camp, and he heard Mason moan.  Rising so that he could run bent double, LaMarr dropped down next to Mason.  “Where are you hit, buddy?”

“Here!”  Mason was covering his lower belly with his hands, and pleading.  “LaMarr, help me!  I don’t want to die!”

LaMarr said: “You’ll be OK, Mason!  Just hang in there!”  Then he shouted: “Medic! . . . There’s a man down!  We need a medic over here!”

Gently but firmly, LaMarr pulled Mason’s hands away from his wound.  In the semi-darkness, he could make out the dark stain which was spreading over Mason’s trousers.  “Let me get a dressing on you!”   He fumbled in his pack for the medical supply kit, and tore it open.  He wrestled with Mason’s belt and trousers until he exposed the wound: an ugly tear just below Mason’s navel, which was overflowing dark blood.  LaMarr tore the wrapping off the field dressing and pressed it on the wound.

Weakly, Mason said: “I can’t feel my legs, LaMarr!”

“You’ll be OK, Mason.  There’s a medic on the way.  I’ve got to get another dressing on you.”  LaMarr had seen that the first dressing was already soaked with blood, and he thought, Oh my God!  This is really bad!”

A Marine (actually a U S Navy Corpsman) dropped down beside them.  “Let me tend to him,” he said.

LaMarr removed his friend’s helmet, and softly stroked his head, which was cool and sweaty.  Mason’s eyes would focus on LaMarr’s face for a few moments, and then he would seem to be looking at the sky.  “I’m not going to make it,” he whispered.

“Yes, you will, Mason!” LaMarr was pleading, now: “Help is here!  There’s a corpsman tending to you.”

Mason seemed to relax, and his eyes looked only at the sky.

The corpsman reached up to feel Mason’s pulse at his throat.  He withdrew his hand, and sat back.  “There’s noting we can do,” he said, “I’m afraid he’s gone.”

LaMarr collapsed on his friend’s chest.  “No, no, Mason.  You can’t go, buddy!  Please don’t go!”  He pressed his cheek to Mason’s and wept.

(For more information about my novels, see www.williampeace.net.)

Those of you who have read my novels will know that there is a fair amount of heterosexual activity  included.

I think that, for most adults, sex is something we enjoy, and we have a natural curiosity about the experiences of others (short of being voyeuristic).  But, from a writer’s point of view, there is more to it than that.  What we do, with whom, when, how, and the way we feel about it are character-defining aspects.  For example, Ellen’s first real boyfriend in Sin & Contrition  is Rick, whom she admires greatly: he is good-looking and two years older than she.  She engages in some heavy petting with him, but she dumps him when he pressures her to go further.  Later, however, with Rick’s younger brother, Gene, she lets down all her barriers.  Ellen is self-confident and intelligent; she recognises that Rick wants to use her, while Gene really loves her.

Also in Sin & Contrition, Gary, who is bright and has a big ego, but not much common sense, makes his life-defining mistake: he cheats on his wife.  She takes their daughter and leaves him.  He slips  into alcoholism.  But, with the prospect of getting her back, and, with a little help from his friends, he gives up alcohol, and becomes a model husband and father.

In my opinion, the problem for a writer is: how far does one go?  At one extreme, one doesn’t ‘go there’.  This is the ‘romance but no sex’ school of thought typified by Victorian and earlier novels, where two characters get married, and the story resumes a month later.  I can guess what might have happened, but I’d like to know!  People are capricious and unpredictable.  That’s what makes them so interesting.

At the other extreme, one goes there and wallows in it.  This is the ‘sex before romance’ school of thought typified by some chic lit, where even the size of the equipment is described.  This is probably intended to arouse, but for me, it gets confusing.  I wonder, “am I reading something arousing, or am I reading something enlightening?  Which is it?  It can’t be both!”

So, I struggle to steer a middle course, trying not to let the reader doubt what has happened, in at least a general sense, but more importantly how the characters feel about it.  I don’t use slang words, except when a character would be out of character not to use them.  I try to keep the passage somewhat oblique and non-descriptive, using non-traditional words.  In a later post, I’ll discuss some rare instances where I’ve written explicit (but brief) passages, and I’ll explain why I did so.

Comments from the readers are welcome!

The setting(s) where the action(s) takes place in a novel is, I think, quite important.

In our day-to-day existence, we are quite conscious of where we are, and, when we find ourselves in an unfamiliar place, we tend to look around, taking in our surroundings.  We want to know and understand where we are.

For a writer, the challenge is to describe the setting sufficiently so that, to the reader, it seems plausible and real, but without so much detail as to be boring.  Sometimes one ties to paint a word picture of the setting.  Here, for example, (from Sin & Contrition) is Joseph Bishop’s study in the rectory at Central Presbyterian Church in New York:

The office looked south onto Sixty-Third Street, and the late morning sun streamed through the large windows, whose cream-coloured drapes had been pulled aside.  The pastor’s desk faced the windows, and I was seated in one of three brown leather, upholstered arm chairs in front of him.  Behind him, and covering the right-hand wall were over-flowing bookshelves – to the point where some newer acquisitions had to be content with being piled on the floor below.  The left-hand wall was covered with framed photographs – mostly black and white, but a few in colour – they were, without exception, pictures of people of all ages and walks of life.  

In other cases, it may be more appropriate to set the scene with sound descriptions.  Here is the description of the butcher shop in Sicily (from Fishing in Foreign Seas):

The butcher shop was packed with people awaiting their turns.  There were four butchers behind the counter, and it was noisy with the sounds of their shouted exchanges with customers and the ‘thwock’ ‘thwock’ of their cleavers hitting the huge cutting blocks. 

Of course, it is easier as a writer to have ‘been there and done that’.  The scenes in Sicily in Fishing in Foreign Seas reflect my personal experiences on the island.  As a brief diversion, I would add that my wife and I are just back from Sicily, and one of my agenda items on the brief trip was to take the ferrovia circumetna (the narrow-gauge railroad around Mr. Etna).  This would have given us the opportunity to see the lava flows, the wineries, the farms, the towns and the people who live at the base of Mt. Etna – all from the comfort of a moving seat.  But it  wasn’t to be.  The only day available was a holiday, and the trains weren’t running.

It is not essential to have actually been to the setting being described in the novel, as long as: the setting is important to the story, and the reader will find it interesting, and the writer has researched the place well enough that readers who have been there will find the description accurate.  For example, I have never been to a lingerie manufacturing plant in Taipei, but here is the one in Sin  & Contrition:

The Blue Dragon warehouse fascinated Bettina as much as the production hall.  Here, down the center of the room, and reaching floor to ceiling, were hundreds of storage cells.  Larger cells, at one end, contained bolts of fabric.  Smaller cells contained labels, herringbone, wires etc., but most of the cells were for the storage of completed lingerie. One side of the cells was the ‘production side’, where completed products were sent to storage and raw materials were withdrawn from storage.  The opposite side was the ‘shipping/receiving side’ where raw materials were placed into storage and finished goods were withdrawn for shipment to customers.  The warehouse was under computer control so that the basket of thirty-four B Precious Lady Pink Springtime bras would be automatically moved into cell BJ59, and the quantity automatically added to the stock level of that product.

I can’t visualise myself writing about an important political issue, real or imagined.

John,  Jamie’s brother in Fishing in Foreign  Seas, wants to be a politician.  He gets elected and eventually ends up as a US senator.  Gary, in Sin & Contrition, wants to be a politician, and moves up through the ranks to become a senior member of the US House of Representatives.  But, neither character faces a real political challenge, other than getting elected.  Both of them are motivated primarily by ego.  In fact, Gary vetoes the opportunity to be a well-paid lawyer so that he can gain political power.  John is a likable, devil-may-care character, and a bit of a skirt-chaser until he (at Caterina’s urging) meets a comely French nurse. 

Gary is a darker character.  The product of a broken family, he is a selfish bully, who commits adultery, misappropriates campaign contributions, becomes an alcoholic, and abandons his ill parents.  It’s hard to like Gary, but one wonders how he can get so many things wrong and still land on his feet with a devoted wife and two normal children.  I think we all know people like Gary.

Perhaps my attitude toward politicians is influencing my selection of political characters.  At the moment, in both the US and the UK, it seems to me that the number one objective of politicians is to  get (re)elected, and that number two is toeing the party line.  Whereas, I feel that the number one objective should be doing what’s best for the country and number two should be looking after the interests of constituents.  What do we have to do to change their priorities? 

Interestingly, here in the UK, about half of the MP’s (Members of Parliament) who voted against the directives of David Cameron (the Prime Minister) and in favour of a referendum on the relationship between between the UK and the European Union were newly-elected MP’s.  They said they voted the way they did because their constituents are very much in favour of a referendum.  They hadn’t yet been contaminated by the system.

When I worked for Westinghouse, I got to know a Congressman named John Murtha very well.  He died a few years ago; he was a long-serving Democrat in the House, who became chairman of the Armed Services Committee.  When I knew him, the coal gasification plant for which I had responsibility was in his constituency.  We were working on a new technology to give the US energy independence.  We could always depend on John to set aside the funds we needed to keep our research project going.  But it wasn’t just money, he believed in what we were doing and he gave us his time and attention.  He was a down-to-earth, likable guy – a family man,with a good sense of humour.  He wasn’t perfect, but he was a lot better than many of his present-day colleagues.

Those of you who have read my novels know that the characters are sometimes engaged in discussions about religion.  This is particularly true – unsurprisingly – of the characters in Sin & Contrition. Before I explain, I should tell you a little about my religious background.  In a word: checkered.  I grew up in a family where my father was an atheist, and my mother was agnostic.  Still, my mother thought I ought to be introduced to the church (Episcopal), and I was pressed into service as an altar boy.  I particularly remember, at the age of about eight, nearly fainting from a combination of incense smoke, heat, and sacred solemnity.  I also went to Sunday school in the same church.  When I was a little older, I was sent to a private Quaker day school: William Penn Charter School.  I wasn’t sent because it was Quaker, but because it was a good school, and my father had attended it.  Once a week, there was an hour long Quaker meeting, which was silent unless someone felt moved to say something religious.  (I was never so moved – mostly for fear of saying something stupid.)  I then went through about ten years of hibernation: in high school, college and in the Navy.  During this time, I went to church when it was socially necessary: weddings, funerals, baptisms, etc.  When I got married to my first wife, we were married in a Congregational church, and most Sundays we attended the service there.  But, because it was closer to where we were living, we joined the Presbyterian Church, and it was here that I was inspired by the minister, Joseph Bishop.  Those of you who have read Sin & Contrition will recognise that name as the minister I interview in the last chapter.  The real Joseph Bishop has been transformed into a fictional character preaching in New York City.  But his sermon about praying with Christ at the bedside of the dying woman is absolutely true.  So for a good portion of my adult life, I was a Presbyterian: teaching Sunday school and serving as an elder.  When I moved to England, I attended the Church of England, but this wasn’t particularly satisfactory because my wife, Anna, is Catholic.  When she found a church and a priest she liked, I went to see him, and he invited me to attend.  When I said that I wanted to take communion, he said I should do so.  So now, Anna and I go to mass on Sunday, and even though I’m not officially a Catholic, I behave like one.  Why have I not made it official (as Tony Blair has done)?  Because, while I have great respect for the Catholic Church, I don’t agree with some of its dogma. So, why do my characters talk about religion?  Because it says quite a lot about their character and values.  Caterina in Fishing in Foreign Seas is a committed Catholic, but she doesn’t question it.  Her faith is just ingrained in her: she believes in doing things the right way, which is what she was taught as a child.  Bettina in Sin & Contrition was brought up a Catholic, but she becomes a member of the Presbyterian church so she can meet the right people who will get her into the right country club.  She’s an amoral religious opportunist.  (And a little immoral.) Also, I think that a novelist should encourage his readers to think: to examine their own views and values.  Several of my characters are agnostic.  They have doubts of various kinds.  None is an atheist, because I regard atheism as a logical impossibility.  How can one say categorically that something doesn’t exist without proof?  Merely naming it suggests at least the possibility that it does exist.  In my third novel (not published yet) there are Muslim and Jewish characters, and for two of the characters, their faith is explored to reflect their values.  While I’m a Christian, I have respect for the Islamic and Jewish faiths, because we worship the same God, and because those religions have some core beliefs which I find attractive: a daily regimen of prayer in the case of Islam, and the strong sense of family and community in Judaism. As good as their core messages are, I have little interest in the polytheistic religions like Buddhism and Hinduism.

More recently, as in my fifth novel, Sable Shadow and The Presence, I have begun to explore the conflicts between good and evil on a theological level: if there is a God, is there also a devil?  If so, who controls our destinies, why and how?  If there is good in the world, is there necessarily also evil?  When I lay out these issues, I try, through the characters, to suggest what the answers may be, but, at the same time there are other characters who will take an opposing view.  Ultimately, the reader must decide.