Publishers

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My third novel, Efraim’s Eye, a thriller, with romance, has just been accepted for publication by Strategic Book Publishing.  So Efraim’s Eye is about a corrupt charity which provides funding to a terrorist.  The terrorist is planning to knock the London Eye over into the River Thames with 800 people locked inside the capsules.  The plot is discovered by a consultant who audits the charity with an Isreali woman who works for the British head office of the charity.  The consultant and the Israeli become lovers, but can they stop the terrorist, and do they have a future together? In my post about literary agents, I promised to discuss publishers later, so it’s time to make good  on that promise. First of all, I’m hardly an expert on publishers, but I think I’ve learned enough to offer some (hopefully) useful comments. In my view, there are three types of  book publishers:

  • self publishers (like Lulu)
  • co-operative publishers (like Strategic Books), and
  • conventional publishers

Conventional publishers are the ones we are most familiar with: Harper & Collins, McGraw Hill, Penguin Books, etc.  They receive manuscripts from literary agents, and after editing, they print, promote and sell the book, taking full responsibility for everything that happens.  They pay the author royalties (out of which  the agent takes a commission).  They use various techniques to induce the book stores to carry the book.  But book stores generally take books only on a ‘sale or return’ basis.  If the book doesn’t sell, the publisher has to take the unsold copies back, and provide the book store with a refund for the unsold copies.  The return of unsold copies represents a major risk for conventional publishers. Interestingly, Amazon does not operate on a ‘sale or return’ basis: it buys books outright at heavily discounted prices, which it can command because there is no risk of  returns.  Amazon also has a stocking advantage: it faces a very large  market with centralised stock, instead of facing a local market with local stocks as book stores must do. In my mind, conventional publishers work on a ‘push’ basis.  They use advertising and  promotion liberally to get the books into the book stores.  They push books into the stores to drive up volume.  They work hard to get media coverage of their books: again pushing their books. Other publishers (self publishers and co-operative publishers) work on a  ‘pull’  basis.  They tend to be rather passive in a sales and marketing context, relying on their authors to create demand for the book. I’m not really familiar with self-publishers. but my understanding is that for a fixed fee, they will print and bind a completed manuscript as an agreed number of copies.  All other responsibilities fall on the author.  If the author is able to sell some copies, s/he can pocket all the revenue. Co-operative publishers (like Strategic Books) lie between self publishers and conventional publishers.   They won’t necessarily accept every submitted manuscript.  Those that are accepted are subject to cost and revenue sharing with the author.  The author pays an up-front fee to get the book into print.  This fee includes layout, typesetting, back and front cover design, ISBN number, copyright, establishing a price, listing of the book in catalogues, and with the online book sellers.  They make the book available through their distribution network.  They insist that their books be professionally edited.  (They will either do it for a fee, or the author can have it done.)  Strategic Books uses three print-on-demand printers: one in the USA, one in the  UK and one in Australia.  Print-on-demand raises  the cost of printing, because – in theory – a press run could be as short as one book.  But, on the other hand there are no unwanted books  printed. The co-operative publisher will typically offer the author a 50% royalty.  Which means that the author is entitled to half of the difference between sales of the book and the cost of printing it.  Authors can buy copies of their book at slightly more than  the cost of printing it. After the book is printed the co-operative publisher will provide the author with a website and will write and issue a press release.  They have considerable marketing and promotional advice which they make available.  All of this is included in the up-front fee.  There are a number of other services which are optional at extra cost.  These include reformatting the book as a Kindle and eBook, participation in major book fairs, special websites and press releases.  Book signings were included in the basic fee, but they are no longer offered, perhaps because of the difficulty of getting book stores to carry books which are non-returnable.  (I offered about ten independent book stores in London the opportunity to hold stock for them, but none was interested.  Not  enough book shelf space; too much trouble for one book.)  Recently, Strategic Books struck a deal with Barnes and Noble where B & N would agree to stock pre-approved books in certain selected stores, provided that the author would reimburse them for unsold copies.  The reason I haven’t pursed this is that Strategic Books wanted me to take 100% of the risk (on the down side), while they retained 50% of the benefits on the up side.  I argued that this wasn’t equitable and fair – to no avail.  The business model for co-operative publisher is based on no returns. In all other respects, I find Strategic Books professional, competent and fair.

I should add that more recently, Strategic Books offers authors the option to make a book available to bookstores on a sale or return basis.  There is a fee for this (about $350) which includes issuing a press release that the book is available on sale or return and which covers the publisher’s administrative costs.  The fee is also used as a deposit against the costs associated with returns.  (So, the author still has 100% of the risk and only 50% of the profits.)  But, I think I’m going to try this with my sixth novel when it is published at the end of 2014.

Literary Agents

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Every author would probably like to have an agent.  After all, an agent can probably find the author a publisher.

I don’t have an agent.  I work directly with a co-operative publisher.  (More about this in a later blog.)  My experience with agents hasn’t been good.  When my first book was ready to publish, a friend referred me to the Writer’s Handbook, which lists the UK and US literary agents.  I wrote to all of the relevant US agents, and in that process, I was referred to my current publisher.  When my second book was ready for publication, I wrote to all of the relevant US and UK agencies.  I say ‘relevant’ because a particular agent may not be interested in specific genres (romance, science fiction, etc.).  When I say I ‘wrote’ to the agents, this can be quite a time-consuming task, because I double-checked the agent’s ‘submission requirements’ against what was posted on the agent’s website.  In my experience, most agents want:

  • a cover letter introducing the writer and the book; it should also say why the agent should be interested in the writer and his/her book.
  • a one page synopsis of the book
  • a brief biography of the author
  • the first three chapters of the book, double spaced, Times New Roman #12, on one side only

The vast majority of agents want the submission via post as a hard copy.  (This saves them the time and expense of having to print the material.)  A few will accept email submissions; several agents protest that they are concerned about becoming infected with viruses.  A tiny minority accept submissions via their website, so that the author is requested to paste the desired material into the windows on the website.  For many of the agents to whom I submitted, the bundle was over eighty pages, and, if one wanted the material returned (I didn’t), it was necessary to include a self-addressed envelope with return postage.

Most agents say that it will take about eight weeks before they are able to respond; some say that they receive over one thousand submissions per week.  At the time I submitted my first novel, quite a number of agents were saying that authors should advise them if the work was being submitted to more than one agent.  For me, this was a coded way of saying, “We are not going to compete for your work.”  Recently, an agent’s website made the point that “we don’t engage in beauty contests”.  I didn’t particularly like this attitude.  Do agents really expect authors to make one-at-a-time, serial submissions?  If so, based on the agent’s typical eight week response time, it would take a year to approach six agents.

With my first two novels, all the agents I contacted did send form letter responses, making the point that because of the number of submissions received, they could not elaborate on their reasons, other than to say “it’s not for us.  Good luck.”

With my third novel, I made submissions to thirty-one UK agents.  After about ten weeks, I sent follow-up letters (or emails) to those twelve from whom I had heard nothing.  Months later, there are still seven who have not responded at all (not counting those who say “if you don’t hear from us, assume we aren’t interested.)

This must be a difficult time for literary agents.  Independent book stores are going out of business; big book store chains are cutting back.  Amazon, with its purchasing and discounting policies, is putting great pressure on publishers’ margins.  Kindle and other eBook forms have very low margins.  And to top it off, Amazon has started to cut deals directly with big name authors.

But I continue to believe that literary agents have a place in the world.  They can be excellent coaches/critics for their authors (a role that publishers have largely abandoned and I doubt that Amazon will ever take up).  If one believes, as I do, that there will always be bookstores – in some form – the route into them will be via the ‘push publishers’ and literary agents.

It seems to me that there are some things that literary agents could do to make their life easier (and longer-lasting):

  • better define what it is that they are looking for (or what they’re not interested in).  This implies that some agents should consider specialising in limited genres.
  • shorten their decision-making process.  I believe that the first three chapters with every initial submission is a waste of time and money for everyone involved.  Reading the first ten pages of a book, one can tell whether the author can write.  If the submission passes the genre test (via the short cover letter and brief synopsis) and the author can write, the next step could be the first three chapters and – maybe – a face-to-face meeting.

Critics

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In my experience, capable, honest critics are hard to come by.  All writers need thoughtful criticism, but it’s not easy to find. 

My wife reads my material, and she often points out passages that could be improved.  Mostly, she’s right.  Occasionally, I’ll disagree with her, but her comments are always valuable.

One of my friends read the first few chapters of a novel I was writing with an existential theme.  He found it ‘boring’, so I have set it aside for now.  Interestingly, his wife was fascinated with my descriptions of college life at Notre Dame University.  She said, ‘but you went to Yale.  How do you know so much about Notre Dame?’  The answer to this question can be found in my post about Research.  (There is also a passage about Cornell University in Sin & Contrition.  My father went to Cornell and I have visited the campus several times as a child/teenager, but I had to research Cornell in depth to write that passage.)

Most friends who are asked to be critics, recognise that their feelings about a book are likely to be coloured by their preferences.  Some people like war stories: others enjoy love stories.  According to their preferences, they like a book or dislike it.  But this preference may not distinguish good writing from bad writing.

There are, of course, lots of professional critics out there.  They include literary agents and publishers.  Of necessity, their most important criterion is: will this sell?  Then they examine the quality of the writing.  The decision ‘will this sell?’ is not as straight forward as one might think.  We can all mention books that should never have been published, and some that were initially refused publication but which caught fire with the public when they appeared.

Similarly, a book reviewer has to consider what the subscribers to his/her newspaper like to read.

Perhaps academics have the least biased viewpoint.  No commercial considerations are present to colour their judgement, and they can focus on the quality of the writing.  But book publishing is a business, and, as a business, commercial decisions are essential.  Besides, for the author, seeing his/her ‘creation’ published represents an important recognition.

It is very easy for a writer to produce less than perfect quality material.  Before even considering ‘will this sell?’, there are many things that can go wrong:

  • grammar and syntax errors (a good editor should catch these)
  • spelling errors (ditto)
  • excessive wordiness
  • insufficient clarity
  • stereotyped characters
  • characters without credibility
  • excessively complex plot
  • plot is too simple to be interesting
  • dialogue is stilted
  • confusing sequence of events
  • use of confusing language
  • etc.
  • etc.

A well-known American author wrote about a female character: ‘her pussy was like a baseball glove’.  I thought ‘Whoa!  What does that mean?’  Then it occurred to me that the writer was trying to use unique language to differentiate himself from the hoi polloi of writers.  OK.  But, still, what does it mean?  Does it mean that the lady was leathery?  had a pocket? was worn? was used to play a game? or something else?  To me, ambiguous writing is not good writing, even if it is unique.

So, I seriously and sincerely invite the reader to comment on my blog and to criticise my novels.  Because I’m still learning, you may find that I agree with you.

Settings

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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.

Politics

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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.

Dialogue

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 I think that dialogue is very important in fiction.  It can make the characters seem more real than they would otherwise be if what they said was merely described.

An example from every day life: a friend tells me that he’s had an argument with his girlfriend, and leaves it at that.  How much more real (and interesting) the argument becomes if he says, “She said to me . . . . and I said to her . . . . but then she said  . . . well, then I replied . . . .”

Dialogue also helps to define the characters; we know them better when we hear them speak.  For example: two characters have a headache.  One of them says, “Oh, I feel poorly today.  I’ve got one of my headaches.   I’ve taken some tablets, but it’s still there, throbbing away.”

The other character says, “I’ve got a bit of a headache at the moment.  Nothing to worry about.  I’ve taken a couple of tablets and it’ll be gone soon.”

You might say that the first character is a bit of a hypochondriac and a pessimist.  The second character you might decide is an optimist with a stiff upper lip.

Good dialogue can also move the story forward.  Facts, impressions, attitudes and values can be revealed.  Decisions can be taken (or not).

The dialogue I write is probably a bit artificial in the sense that real people seldom speak so concisely.  We all tend to use a lot of extra words when we’re talking.  Rather than telling someone, “I saw a fox in my garden this morning!”  We’ll say, “I saw a big red fox in the back of my garden this morning!  You know, right where I have those white chrysanthemums, to the left of the garden furniture.”  The essential facts are contained in the first message: we can visualise a red fox in a flower bed.  The second message is friendlier than the first: it’s reminding the listener that s/he knows the garden, and since s/he knows the garden s/he is certainly a friend.  But for the reader (who probably doesn’t care about the layout of the garden), it has too much information, and therefore invites that deadly criticism: boring!

Here is a piece of dialogue from Fishing in Foreign Seas.  Jamie has just lost a huge order and his wife, Caterina, has just discovered something in his desk.

She didn’t answer, left the room and returned with a small piece of paper.  She gave it to him and asked: “What’s this?”

His premonition suddenly turned to dread; ‘Oh shit, why didn’t I throw that away?’ he thought, but he said: “It’s an advertisement for a bit of jewellery.”
“I can see that!  And why was it in your desk?”  Her tone was cold, and her face was hostile – untrusting, as she looked, unflinchingly, at him.

“I was going to buy it for someone” He paused. “but . . . .”

She cut in: “Did you buy it?”

“Yes,” he said softly, eyes on the floor, anticipating the next question.

“For whom?”

‘I’ll have to tell her,’ he thought, ‘maybe she knows – anyway, no good to lie.’  His eyes were still on the floor.

“FOR WHOM?” she repeated.

Softly, he said: “It was a birthday present for Mary Beth.”

“A birthday present?  For five hundred dollars?  For your secretary?”  She was almost shouting now.  Her face was red with anger.

“Well,” he responded lamely, “she gave me those nice trout cuff links, and I . . .”

“Those ‘nice trout cuff links’ couldn’t have cost her more than fifty dollars!  But you, Jamie, felt you had to give her a present worth ten times as much!”

He said nothing.

“What’s going on between you two?”  Her voice was insistent, now.

“Nothing.”

“Some nothing!” she shouted.  “You give your pretty, young secretary with big boobs a five hundred dollar bracelet covered with hearts!”  She paused, studying him.  Then, in a low voice, she asked: “are you in love with her?”

“No.”
“I don’t believe you!”

“Caterina, I swear to you – No!”  He paused.  “I just . . . “

Her anger returned.  “YOU JUST WHAT?”

He shrugged.

“Have you f***ed her?”  She spat out the words.

He recoiled with shock: “No.”

“I don’t believe you!  . . . Your pretty young secretary with big boobs reminds you of Alice – doesn’t she? . . . I looked at Alice’s picture in your Yale year book, today.  They could be sisters!”

“I haven’t . . .” he faltered.

“You haven’t what?”

“I haven’t had sex with Mary Beth.”

“But you were hoping to, weren’t you?” Her malice was evident.

He nodded.  “Oh, Caterina, I’m so sorry.  I really am.”

She ignored him: “why didn’t you?”

“Why didn’t I what?”

“Why didn’t you f*** her, you bastard?”

“Because . . . because she said ‘no’.”

“She said ‘no’?” she asked, incredulously, “at least she has a little sense to go along with her big boobs . . . When did this happen?”

“Last night.”
“Last night when she asked you to go to that country bar and she asked you to go to bed with her, but she changed her mind?”

“She didn’t ask me, but she said ‘no’.”

“So you asked her.  You were feeling low because of your precious Mid America, you tried to have a pick me up with your pretty young secretary.  But she wouldn’t have it.”

He said nothing.

“Why didn’t you come to me?”

He looked truly forlorn.  “I don’t know, Caterina. . . . I’m so sorry!”

She suddenly turned, walked away, went upstairs, and he heard their bedroom door slam.

What happens in this dialogue is a role reversal between Jamie and Caterina.  Jamie, the ever-confident, masterful husband is reduced to a shamed, naughty child.  And Caterina, the beautiful, compliant wife, fuelled by her anger, suddenly takes charge.

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

Religion

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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.

Imagination/Inspiration

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I suppose every author relies heavily on imagination – I certainly do.  If I didn’t, I would be writing autobiographical, non-fiction: pretty boring stuff.  But I think there’s more to it than avoiding the mundane.  It’s also about surprising the reader with something s/he hadn’t expected.  Reading a novel should take the reader to a place unanticipated, so that it becomes something of an adventure.  At the same time the unfolding scene has to be credible; if it’s just improbable, the reader will lose interest.

For me, there’s also an element of inspiration involved in the process of imagining.  Sometimes I think of the word ‘muse’ when I feel inspired.  Do I have a muse?  There’s no other person involved inspiring me to create a scene or a situation.  Yet it does feel very personal: as if someone whispered to me, “what about saying . . . . “  This often happens when I’m searching for just the right word or phrase.  It will suddenly come into my head.

Similarly, when I’m trying to create an interesting new situation, a concept will spring to mind.  Before calling on my imagination to develop the concept, I’ll examine it.  Is it interesting?  Occasionally not, and it gets discarded.  But if it is interesting (at least to me), I’ll consider its credibility.  Could this follow from what’s happened already?  If ‘yes’, I’ll turn my imagination loose, fleshing out the detail, while keeping it both interesting and credible.

One example from Sin & Contrition: Ellen is making a lot of money as a designer of fashionable, expensive ladies evening wear.  She challenges her husband, Gene, to think of a way for her to avoid paying taxes.  He comes up with a scheme that will allow her to write off non-existent losses against her taxes every year.  In brief, the scheme was that Ellen bought a business, including a package of dress designs, from Aldo, an Italian immigrant, for ten thousand dollars in cash.  The business included goodwill valued at $2.2 million and a long term payable of $2.3 million as an earn-out.  The dress designs were real: they were old pieces of work which Ellen had done and which had been re-labelled with the name of Aldo’s shell company (which Gene created).  After signing the deal, Aldo returned to Italy with his ten thousand dollars.  The accountant at Ellen’s business added the acquisition to Ellen’s business.  Each year, a chunk of the good will was written off, and the write off reduced Ellen’s taxes.  In my final interview with Gene, he admitted that the IRS suspected that it was not an arms-length transaction, and that they tried to contact Aldo for verification, but they were unable to find him.  Gene told me it saved over four hundred thousand in taxes over eight years, but at the risk of a fine of five hundred thousand dollars and five years in prison.  Gene liked to live dangerously.

Research

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I do quite a lot of research when I’m writing.  In fact, it’s not unusual for me to spend more time researching a particular point about which I’m writing than it takes for me to write the actual passage.

I was amazed to learn that Jonathan Franzen, the very popular American writer, does not have an Internet connection in his office.  He must have a marvelous imagination – a subject which I’ll cover in a later post.

As for me, I can’t rely completely on my memory and imagination.  For example, I used to live in the town of Aspinwall, Pennsylvania, in the States – a town where much of the action in Sin & Contrition takes place.  But I had to use the Internet to remind myself of the names of streets, churches and important landmarks.  The professional baseball players who are mentioned briefly in Fishing in Foreign Seas and Sin & Contrition are (or were) real people who were playing major league ball at the time in question.  I had to research the Marine Corps training process to write accurately about LaMarr and Jason’s experience of it in Sin & Contrition.  As part of my training to become a naval officer, I went through a month of Marine Corps training at Little Creek, Virginia, but it’s not the same – although I sometimes felt much as LaMarr and Jason did.  Similarly, I had to research the city of Hue, Vietnam to be able to describe the young Marines walk  to the brothel.

For my third novel, Efraim’s Eye, I felt that it was important for me to understand Islam.  I bought English language versions of the Qur’an, and I listened to an audio version for hours while I was in the gym.  (It absolutely amazes me that some Muslim children in madrasahs  learn to recite the Qur’an by heart.   My copy of the Qur’an runs to 440 pages!)

The places in my novels are, generally, real places, as are the hotels and restaurants which are mentioned.  The menus are (or were) real.

For me, writing as I do about largely fictional characters – though some of them remind me slightly of people I know – it’s important to place the characters in real settings.  That way they seem to me more real, alive and credible.

Why the Blog?

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I’m planning to  share with my readers some of the joys and sorrows of a writer of fiction.  Sometimes writing can feel like a eagle gliding on gentle updrafts in a clear blue sky, and sometimes it seems like climbing a slippery ice mountain in your bare feet!

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