Tuesday, August 22, 2017

The Chapter From Hell

The "chapter from hell" has finally fallen!

Those of you following my most active social media channels (https://twitter.com/RossPonderson and https://www.facebook.com/pages/Ross-Ponderson-Author/441583685981864) know that a critical chapter in the novel I'm currently writing has had me spinning my wheels like a subcompact car in a snowbank.  I've come to refer to this problem child as my "chapter from hell."

For those unfamiliar with my literary career (shame, shame,shame!), I'm well into the first draft of my second novel, a story I've come to love even more than my debut offering, "Child of Privilege." (http://amzn.to/1AbE1ty)

Was that a shameless plug?  Yep.

For months now, I've been tied up in a creative knot by one of my novel's most pivotal chapters.

Having already painted the backstory, emotional makeup, and current circumstances of my protagonist--a young woman named Samantha--I'm reaching the juicier portions of my suspense arc, the part where Sam carelessly surrenders her heart and soul (and body, eventually) to the most diabolical, backstabbing, and cold-hearted S.O.B since Richard Van Werner in "Child of Privilege."

(Subliminal message: "He sounds like my kind of S.O.B.  I'll buy the book.")

In fact, I think Cole (my antagonist) makes Richard look like a kindly, gentle soul with a heart of marshmallow.  What a sub-human piece of s***!  (heh, heh)

A requirement that I impose on myself as an author is to experience my novel from the reader's point of view rather than my own.  What do I mean by that?  It isn't enough for a novel to be as structurally, grammatically, and mechanically correct as I'm capable of producing.  That's only part of it.  Each chapter (and each scene, for that matter) should have a definable feel to it; it should convey something--fear, sadness, anger, happiness, anticipation, empathy--or your reader will disengage and pick up another book.

Let's face it--there are millions of works out there from which to choose.

For you, however, that's a major no-no.

Every chapter and scene should flow at a proper pace while still taking the time to explain whatever may need explaining.  You don't have to sacrifice a scene's richness and texture on the altar of "Show, don't tell."  No, expository prose isn't a capital crime when used wisely.

Dialogue can also be used to divulge information; it should be interesting yet credible.  ("Do real people talk like that?")

At the end of a sequence, the reader should have a gut-level sensation of "I get it."

If not, oops.

If a sequence of events doesn't feel right--or, as I like to say, doesn't lie down right--that's a problem I need to address.  This may require relatively simple revisions, a more involved re-staging, or a complete rewrite--whatever's fair.

Such was the case with this chapter of my discontent.

Sam was about to allow her life to be changed--and potentially trashed--by her relationship with Cole.  My initial treatment didn't feel right; it didn't lie down right.  This was a major turning point in this woman's life and it simply didn't have the right OOMPH to it as first written.  Even though this is a first draft--and I let many things pass at this stage--it felt so wrong that I simply couldn't let it go.

So, what was the solution?  You're cooking up a literary omelette--crack some eggs, dammit.

Because of storyline restrictions, I couldn't alter the chapter's setting or basic premise; so I turned to my minor characters for help.  I had done this with great success in my first novel.  

(Subliminal message: "Hmm, that sounds like an interesting literary approach.  I'll buy the book.")

Luckily, I did have several offline characters just itching to come back onto center stage.  It was time to start the "What if" games.  

I started shuffling the supporting players in and out, "auditioning" them singly and in various combinations.  In all, I wrote over thirty different scenarios before I found one with the right flow, character sync, dialogue, credibility, and conflict potential.  It also set up a wonderful segue into the rest of the story.  It worked; it felt right; it laid down right.  Result: a happy author ... and hopefully, happy readers once the book is published.

Chapter from hell: doneWoo hoo!

There are innumerable solutions out there for writer's block.  Use whichever remedies work for you.  But please don't fail to consider the simplest solution of all: write through it and never give up.

It works!

Don't forget to pet your thesaurus today.

Saturday, April 29, 2017

Listening to the World

On December 25th, 1964, I opened a Christmas present from my parents, a gift they were hoping would somehow appeal to their grade-school-aged son’s affinity for writing, electronics, and communication.

What I received that day was a portable radio about the size of a shoe box--American-made (what a concept!) and transistorized, no less.  While equipped with a carrying handle, AC adapter, AM and FM bands, a large speaker, a lighted dial, and a telescoping antenna, one feature immediately captured my imagination and hasn’t let go of it since: it could receive shortwave radio broadcasts.

With that humble beginning, my lifelong fascination with international radio had begun.

The mid/late 1960s was one the most turbulent eras in American history.  To say that the tapestry of American life was being torn further apart with each passing day would not be an exercise in exaggeration.  We were still reeling from John F. Kennedy’s assassination in 1963; little could anyone have predicted that Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and Robert Kennedy would meet similar fates in the coming years.

The Vietnam War was polarizing the nation into hostile and irreconcilable camps: hawks and doves; police and protestors; conservatives and liberals; old school and new school; patriots and draft dodgers; students and draft boards; politicians and average Americans; the military establishment and pacifists.  Each faction trumpeted its “perfect” solution to the unsolvable: letting South Vietnam deal with its own problems; more soldiers and more bombs; immediate withdrawal; pacification; more effective weaponry; a negotiated peace; nuking North Vietnam ”back to the Stone Age.”

The air waves of the time were crackling with anti-war songs from iconic folk singers and rock-and-rollers alike.  Even the beloved Glen Campbell got into the act with his hit song “Galveston”—whose lyrics included “I am so afraid of dying,” and “While I watch the cannons flashing/I clean my gun/and dream of Galveston.”  At the opposite end of the musical spectrum, Sergeant Barry Sadler proudly sang of the bravery and patriotism of “The Green Berets.”

(Sidebar for those who are interested: Glen Campbell is currently suffering through the final agonizing stages of Alzheimer’s Disease.  He reportedly can no longer play his beloved guitar; neither can he communicate in any meaningful fashion.  The day he leaves us will be a very sad day in my life.)  

It was amidst this international turmoil that I began my shortwave radio foray.  I quickly discovered that battle lines had been drawn along the air waves.  Each day’s listening found mega-broadcasters such as Radio Moscow, Radio Peking (as it was known back then), and Radio Havana Cuba on one side—and the Voice of America, the Armed Forces Radio and Television Service, Radio Canada, and the BBC on the other duking it out for the hearts and minds (and support) of millions of worldwide listeners.  One concept I instantly learned was the extreme “spin” employed by both camps.  Objectivity?  Forget it.  The same news stories routinely assumed radically different meanings depending upon the station.  This served as my real-world introduction to Propaganda 101 and spin control

I recall a Radio Peking newscast which was prefaced with: “My God, Dean Rusk must’ve made another appeal for peace.”  What followed was a detailed recounting—accompanied by somber, funereal music--of a Hanoi bombing raid that allegedly destroyed private homes, hospitals, and orphanages.  That same raid—as reported by the VOA--reported the successful destruction of weapons caches, military command posts, and guerilla safe houses.

Who was right?  I don’t know; I wasn’t there.  But the truth was likely somewhere in between. 

Secretary of Defense Robert McNamara, Secretary of State Dean Rusk, and then-President Lyndon Johnson were the favorite targets of those newscasts and were pilloried daily … and mercilessly.  Imagine if social media had been around then. (shudder!)

Okay, enough of the political background.  This blog isn’t meant to be a forum for ideological or political debate.

But shortwave wasn’t all propaganda during those war years.  Moscow and Peking did occasionally present culturally-oriented programs showcasing their finest artistic talents.  And I vividly remember an evening’s enjoyment of sensuous Latin rhythms during a broadcast entitled “Cuban Music of Yesterday and Today.”

Some stations avoided the war news as much as possible.  Radio Netherlands Worldwide focused rather on Dutch culture, upbeat music, cheerful program hosts, and informational dialogues with its global audience.  I recall one of its most popular shows was called "The Happy Station."  Ecuador’s HCJB ("The Voice of the Andes") and Trans World Radio beamed a steady stream of soothing religious programming from their transmitters in the southern hemisphere.  

As my appetite increased for more distant and exotic stations from around the globe, I gradually acquired higher quality and more expensive radios to feed my shortwave jones.  While I drooled over the top-of-the-line receivers from Hammarlund and the R. L. Drake Company, they were well beyond a teenager’s financial resources.  But I must admit I didn’t fare too badly with an Ameco R5 made in North Carolina (Electronics made in America?  Those were the days!), and a Knight Kit Star Roamer from that center of the electronics universe, Allied Radio Electronics.  Both are pictured below:

Ameco R5 - my primary receiver

(Photo courtesy of Universal Radio, Inc.)

Knight Kit Star Roamer
(Photo courtesy of Universal Radio, Inc.)

So what exactly was shortwave radio listening (otherwise known as SWLing or DXing)?

Many stations were either supported, subsidized, operated, or owned outright by their governments.  Broadcast operations were very costly, and the politicians wanted proof that their programming was being heard.  Maximum bang-for-the-broadcast-buck, as it were.  After all, listeners were the raison d’ĂȘtre for the station’s existence.

Was anybody listening?  

When I encountered an interesting station from amidst the atmospheric noise, static, and interference of other stations shoehorned into a very small range of frequencies, I would keep the “fix” going as long as possible, continuously adjusting my radio’s controls to improve the reception.  I would take perhaps 30 minutes of program notes including announcer names, music, news, commercials, features, etc.  This was needed to convince the station that I had actually heard them.  Finally, I would rate the broadcast signal’s strength, consistency, intelligibility, and clarity.  This information was then snail-mailed to the station.

If my reception report was validated, a “verification of reception card” (or, as the early telegraphers’ brevity-oriented code dubbed it, a QSL card) would arrive via return mail.  This was legitimate proof (and a badge of honor) within the SWL fraternity that I had indeed heard that station.  QSL cards were as varied as the stations themselves; no two were alike.  Below is what remains today of my former collection:

Armed Forces Radio and Television Service

British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC)

Canadian Broadcasting Corporation

Radio Moscow

Radio Finland

Trans World Radio

If you were really lucky (or if your report was especially valuable to the station), they might also gift you with a memento or souvenir.  These station pennants are some examples:
Radio Deutsche Welle (West Germany)

Radio Bucharest (Romania)

Radio Nacional de Espana (Spain)

My most noteworthy gift was from Radio Peking: a copy of Quotations from Chairman Mao Tse-Tung, the infamous “little red book”.  While I neither embrace nor endorse Communist ideology, I keep the volume as a fond keepsake of that turbulent era.

But hard times have befallen the hobby in recent years.  Technology, national economics, and shifting audience tastes have prompted many major broadcasters to shut down their radio operations (and dismantle entire transmitter facilities) in favor of digital-delivery-based (spell that I-N-T-E-R-N-E-T) platforms.  Are these methods more cost effective?  Yes.  Are they more dependable than broadcasting?  Yes.

But I ask you: where’s the sense of achievement in that?  Where’s the thrill of searching the dial for THAT elusive station you’d been pursuing for weeks or months?  Where’s the challenge of straining to hear a station long enough to complete an acceptable reception report?  Where’s the serendipitous pleasure of scanning the shortwave frequencies and discovering a new and unknown station to explore?

Simply put, the thrill of the chase is gone.  It just ain’t the same anymore.

But I still have my memories of listening to war news, cultural exchanges, ethnic music, travelogues, concerts, and interviews at all hours of the day and night.  I still have the memories of meals eaten in my radio “shack” while straining to listen to some rare station I had spent months pursuing.  I still have the memories of receiving those treasured QSL cards in the mail and proudly pinning them to my bedroom wall much to my father’s disapproval.  I still have my memories of discovering Radio Somewhere-or-Other completely by accident at 3 a.m.

And what wonderful memories they are.

With that, we will now conclude our broadcast.  This is Ross Ponderson Radio signing off.  Thanks for listening and Good Night!

P.S. Don’t forget to pet your Thesaurus today.

Tuesday, January 17, 2017

What If I Played What If?

Ya gotta break a few eggs to write a novel.

The alleged success recipe is intimidating enough to make a grown author cry: mechanically-sound and easily-readable prose; a roller-coaster of a story line; enough subplots to populate a small town; characters capable of bringing you to tears, hurting your sides with laughter, or making you want to strangle them; a level of suspense that hooks readers from the very first sentence and never lets them up for air; and plot twists capable of keeping your readers wide awake and turning the pages at 3 a.m. on a workday.

To make matters worse, there are no guarantees that this recipe—even when strictly followed--will produce a best-selling novel.

Damn!  The prospect of all that work makes me want to crawl into bed, pull the covers up over my head, and settle in for the proverbial long winter’s nap. 

To be perfectly candid with you, I’ve come sooooo close in recent months to doing just that, at least within the context of writing.  More bluntly put, I’ve quit more times than a cheap watch. My debut novel, “Child of Privilege,” taught me a variety of sometimes brutal lessons in writing, editing, marketing and promotion, networking with other authors and bloggers, and social media basics. (Before “Child,” I was one of six people in the U.S. who had neither a Facebook page nor a Twitter account nor any kind of social media presence whatsoever. I was such a radical back then. Sigh.)

I had undertaken my next book believing that 2nd novels imposed even larger responsibilities upon their authors. Why? Because they were expected to be so much better than their debut siblings.

I was determined to bring this newly-acquired wisdom to bear on Novel Number Two which is slowing wending its way (with a lot of stall-outs along the route) through its first draft. Number Two was to be as perfect as I was capable of achieving. We’re talking soaring to new heights, crashing through barriers, raising the bar, pushing the envelope, reaching for the stars, breaking new ground, reaching the other side, rewriting the record book, ad nauseam.

God, I love it when I write like that!

The result? Analysis paralysis. Too much thinking and not enough writing. Worrying. Chocolate overdose. Doubts. Do-overs. An overwhelming urge to turn off the computer and watch my fingernails grow. Fussing over every finicky detail which is generally a huge no-no at first-draft time. I became obsessed with perfecting this book in just one draft rather than following that time-tested writing protocol of just-get-the-damned-thing-down-and edit-it-later. This has been going on for months now as I’ve gotten myself stuck like a subcompact car in a snowdrift.

So, I remembered that line from one of my favorite movies, the iconic feature, “Speed”: “What do you do?” 

You call out the reserves; shorten your bench; signal to the bullpen; reach back for that little something extra; send for the literary equivalent of the U.S Cavalry; google the phone number for Ghost Busters; try to find Clark Kent so he can summon Superman.

Last but not least: go for the doughnuts.

More realistically, you grab the most potent tool in the writer’s toolbox: the game of What-If.

One of my more troublesome roadblocks consisted of four characters intended as antagonists for my beloved protagonist and heroine, Samantha. (Yes, Virginia, Sam would eventually have seven really bad eggs determined to skin her alive. That’s quite an antagonist omelet, don’t you think?)

Problem: these four nasties were too weak to execute their own subplots. As individuals, they lacked depth, roundness, credible back stories, and complexity. I didn’t want to devote precious “onscreen” time to them in order to endow them with what they needed to work. They were germane to the story but not THAT germane.

What do you do? You start playing What-If.

What if I created additional characters to bolster these four weaklings? No, I didn’t want to overcrowd the stage. You CAN have too much of a good thing.

What if I dropped them all? No, Samantha needed a menagerie of villains to overcome. Otherwise, there was little point to the story.

What if I developed them all? No, too little time and space. 

What if I dropped some of them? No, that would still weaken the overall story line.

What do you do?

What if I did a “mix and match” amongst these four characters? Could a “personality transplant” between these four ineffective entities create more formidable players whose subplots could then be reworked and expanded to make Sam’s life even more miserable? Could a literary Six Million Dollar Man get my novel started again?

THAT’S what you do.  And that's what I did.

When the dust finally settled, I had “grafted” bits and pieces of those three characters onto the fourth, creating a considerably more powerful force whose subplot I’m already expanding … with several tantalizing plot possibilities under consideration. The three “donors” were then consigned to my Outtakes folder.

And more importantly, my desire to complete this book seems to have returned with renewed vigor. As the wonderful Fred Rogers used to sing: “It’s such a good feeling!” 

So don’t hesitate to reach for the What-If tool when your stories or characters need a little something extra. Sometimes an acceptable stew can be amped up into an epic stew with the simple addition of the right spices and accents. You might be pleasantly surprised at what happens. 

Before you leave:
Due to the success of my recent “Child of Privilege” Amazon Giveaways, I’ve been finalizing plans to conduct some future Giveaways in this space through the use of Rafflecopter. After several weeks of research, I’m excited about the potential for reaching new readers and connecting with them. Stay tuned to this space (following this blog via email is the easiest way of doing that!) and watch for future announcements.

P.S: Don’t forget to pet your Thesaurus today.