Where Am I Today?

Where am I today?

I ask myself that from time to time.

Though my writing is intended to take my readers on a journey, over the years it has taken me on quite a journey as well.

I think the one of the biggest excitements for me in my writing has been the research.  Finding new places is not just a Google Earth or Wikipedia kind of thing. 

For example, when writing about a small town somewhere in the northern reaches of South America, I don't just want to know about the town.  I want to know about its festivals, its back streets and alleyways.  I want to know about that little cafe on the corner.  You know the one, just up from the fountain in the town center.  It's the place where all the old men meet and drink coffee just a little too bitter for me as they play chess or dominoes.

There is a Mancala board set up, too.  It's stones, so polished from play that they shine.  The pockets on the board worn deep, well past the depth of the stain and paint that originally made the board so attractive.  Paint and stones worn by the hands of adults and children alike.

I want to know the people, the traffic, the surrounding mountains and rivers.

I'm going to interject a little something here so you 'know' a little more about me.  When I was a young boy living in Las Vegas, Nevada, we had an elderly neighbor that liked to chat with us kids (brother, sister, and I).  Nice old fellow.  Never said much about his life, but always seemed interested in ours. 

He would ask about our school.  Wanted to know what little project we might be working on in the garage that had us banging and sawing on some piece of wood.

One day he asked me if I knew how to do woodwork or something like that.  My answer was a proud "Of course I know how!"

But he asked more questions.  Questions about the tools.  Questions about the wood.  Things I could not answer.  Then he explained... there is 'knowing' and there is 'KNOWING'.

Of course I was puzzled.

What I learned that day was simple.  It is easy to say you know something.  For example, you know how to weld steel.  But do you really?  Do you KNOW about the metals, how they are mined, how they are refined and processed?  Do you really KNOW what is happening to that bit of melted metal as the arc is moving across your work?  Do you know how the arc is made?  What makes the difference between one kind of rod coating and another?  How did they make the welder?  How did they make the welding rod? 

In woodworking, do you know woodwork, or do you KNOW woodwork?  How do the trees grow?  Where do the trees come from?  Do you not only KNOW how your tools are made, but can you make your own tools?  Can you tell me how the metal was refined and 'assembled' into such a fine blade? 

It is possible to know something... and not really KNOW it.

In my writing, I have endeavored to KNOW what I am writing about.  It may seem a small thing, but to me, it makes all the difference in the world.  I hope it does for my readers, too.

I have 'walked' the streets in Street View programs that have allowed me to peek into the front door of the little restaurant on the other side of the fountain.  Outside, several of the wives of the old chess players have gathered.  They share stories as their kids play about the fountain.  They discuss the bumper crop of avocados and corn in their back yard gardens with the wonderful weather, and what they are going to do when their relatives come to visit with the festival starting this coming weekend.  And of course, they grouse about their 'old men' playing chess on the far side of the fountain.

In one of my stories, a roundabout in England gave me pause as I looked at it with its five intersecting roads.  I started to sweat looking at it through a computer screen.  So I checked the road statistics on that roundabout.  Fascinatingly, it was as bad as it looked.  In a single sentence in The Watercolor Murders, I mentioned my character being a bit panicked about it.  One of my readers commented that he was, too - he had been through that roundabout.

The journey I take my readers on is only complete for me when they can feel the way my characters feel.  When they can wince at a near miss in a knife fight.  When they get angry when a loved character has died (as an important part of the story, I assure you).  When they think "All RIGHT!" as the bad guy gets his comeuppance.  When they hoot loudly as a character surprises them.  And when they smile and shed a tear as a character makes an emotional announcement. 

It pleases me that I can do this.  I get no greater pleasure in my writing than knowing a reader wants a sequel because the characters have so come alive for them.

I think I will keep on writing.

Toot! Toot!

Or should that be 'honk, honk!'

This is, once again, all new to me.  But I wanted to share something.  A story I've been working on for a little while called 'The Watercolor Murders', or just 'Watercolors', has been coming along.

As part of a little foray into a competition site, they encouraged me to go ahead and post anything I'm working on for readers to take a peek at.  So I did.  With several chapters yet to finish and about eight more in total to post, this is the response on an unfinished story:

Amazing!

The story has a great flow to it and it really kept me attentive and interested. It seems like an ordinary story at the beginning, with the description of how Michael and Michelle met, but then turns out to be a completely different topic, different genre, and a very intense, mysterious and amusing one. I love how you paid attention to the detail on the paintings, and the way that Michelle’s friend wrote to her about the anomalies in the photos of the car was simply fascinating. You have a great eye for details and a great style of writing. In my opinion, you are a talented author who could write great, mysterious crime stories (such as this one). This is an unusual story, one that you cannot not read. I am looking forward to the rest of the story.

Five stars across the board!

And...

Watercolours
This is an amazing story and one I thoroughly enjoyed.  It has the backdrop of a sweet, young, married couple continuing to show their love, humor and intelligence throughout the story of their innocently begun quest.  It has all sorts of realistic touches of life to keep it real. It is not just another "Everyman thrust into danger"  tale, although the innocence of the quest does turn dangerous. It has such a ring of truth to it all, from their banter to their affection for one another to the kind friends they make and who gladly help along the way. The mystery keeps deepening the more they discover and they find that, although the "accidental" deaths occurred years ago, something those acts to the present, since the couple falls into danger themselves. The story moves along very swiftly even though it includes time for tea and scones and mornings through evenings of each day, with interesting hours in between. A truly fascinating mystery: very puzzling yet sort light-hearted because of the loving freshness of the protagonists. The story is not finished, so naturally I hope the author continues with it soon. At the same time it is one of those stories one wishes would not end. Perhaps after the highly gifted author ties up this intriguing mystery, he could use the same couple in another story and another and....  They really are that excellent as protagonists. Thank you, sir for a great afternoon of pleasure.

Again, five starts across the board!

It tickles me that I have written something that can entertain.  To those folks that have been so encouraging as well as those that have been critical, I thank you.  I will have the rest of the story posted soon and available to THESE readers.  From there, I guess it's just a process of trying to find a publisher and/or an agent.

The story I actually entered into the competition, Boston Knights, has also been well received.  The version posted for the competition does NOT have all the 'corrections and editorial cleaning' that the final version has.  In the short competition (I entered late in the process) I managed over 515 reads in the last quarter of the competition.  This was one of the early comments:



Fun


This story is just so realistic and so amazingly written that I felt I was a part of it. It starts off completely ordinary, describing the lives of three young brothers, then slowly shifting the focus on one of them, putting him into the spotlight and following him into this unusual, but yet so realistic and genuine adventure which resulted in finding not the gold he was looking for, but love. Even though this type of romance might be a bit unusual for the readers, it still did make a good impact. The whole story is very interesting, and going from Chapter to Chapter, all I could think about is what is going to happen next. It kept me attentive and interested. There was not a single paragraph, a single sentence that made me even a little bit bored. The writing is so smooth, readable, with a great flow to it. And the technical level of the story is also commendable.



The other two stories, The Hollerinth Affair and Waiting For The Past (both also well received) were the first stories to be finished.  The reviews I got on them were more critical, and taken to heart in finishing Boston Knights and Watercolors.  I have been re-editing the first two and expect to be finished with the re-edit and re-posting them within a few weeks to a month.


Once again, thank you for all the reviews, the reads, and the encouraging words.

One of those odd little things....

As I wander more deeply into the realm of social media, I received in my email a link to a little short story competition.  It sat in my inbox for days.

I finally responded.

Short story... 350 words or less.  The inspiration was picture of someone walking wearing a hooded sweatshirt, backpacked, thumb out, forested scene.

I stabbed at it.

____________


It had been two years since Paul left.

Abusive step-father.  Alcoholic mother.

He swore he would never come back.

News of his step-father’s passing and a pleading call from his mother had him heading home.

Hood pulled low, hands shoved in his pockets, Paul found it far easier to just walk everywhere.

Today, the mosquitoes teased at his face more than he could remember.  Every breath threatened by the chance to inhale some of the annoying insects.

The sound of the car rounding the curve behind him hinted at relief.

Little did he know the unseen car coming toward him was about to change everything.

He stuck out his thumb hoping whoever it was would stop… give him some respite from his tormentors.

The car blew past causing the mosquitoes to scatter for a moment.

All too soon they returned to begin again their energetic attempts to dine.

Just as Paul had resigned himself to his fate, brake lights came on in the distance.

Backup lights.

The car was coming back.

Without hesitation as one particularly aggressive insect landed in his eye momentarily blinding him, he squinted past the blurred tears and a rubbing fist to climb into the passenger seat.

“Thank you.  The bugs were trying to eat me alive.”

“You don’t say,” came a soft, dulcet voice.

Startled, Paul held his eye shut against the last vestiges of the insect and turned to stare at the driver.

Tall, what you would call willowy.  Long flaxen hair.  Skin almost the color of ivory.

“Where are you headed?”

Still struggling to clear his eye, he muttered a depressed sounding, “Home.”

“Good.  So am I.”

Hours passed with the drone of the car lulling Paul to sleep.

Awakened as the car stopped somewhere dark, the driver got out.

After a moment, Paul got out, too.

Standing in the darkness, he could just make out the driver standing close.

The drone of mosquitoes filled the air.

“Where are we?”

“Home.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You will.”

“Huh?”

“Let’s eat,” was the last thing he heard as he was blinded and suffocated by mosquitoes.