The Next Big Thing

The Next Big Thing

I was tagged by Lesley Diehl to participate in The Next Big Thing, a blog event asking writers to talk about their works in progress. 

I’m happy to talk about my newest project.

1.What is your working title of your book?

The working title for my book is When a Young Girl Dies

2. Where did the idea come from for the book?In 2011 I published my first novel, Murder on Route 66. This is a story about a Harley Rider, Bobby Navarro, who finds his boss’ body stabbed to death and dumped in a parking lot in Tucumcari, New Mexico, on old Route 66. Bobby promises the victim’s ten-year old son he’ll do everything he can to find the killer. This story is a intended as a sequel to the first novel and, as it turns out, concerns another murder on old Route 66.

3. What genre does your book fall under?
This is a traditional mystery.
4. Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?

Bobby Navarro is of mixed ancestry, Mexican-American and Native American. I would want the part played by someone who displays these characteristics. Bobby is a biker, who loves riding solo on an open road, but he’s not covered with ink and doesn’t look like someone who belongs to a biker gang. He can be sensitive, especially when it comes to children…the victim in the second story is a young girl. He’s believable, and not an action hero. Any suggestions?

5. What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book?

Bobby Navarro doesn’t know if the eccentric, who told him he knew who killed the young girl really does, but he knows he cannot get her image out of his mind, and won’t give up on finding her killer.6. Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency?

While the uncompleted manuscript is not yet under contract, I do not plan to self-publish it when it is finished.

7. How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript?

With significant interruptions from floods and home remodeling projects, the nearly completed first draft has taken me about a year at this point.8. What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?

I think I had the old television series, Route 66, in mind when I wrote the first book of this series. My character rides alone, and on a Harley rather than in a Corvette, but there are similarities, and the spirit captured by that original series is alive and well among Route 66 aficionados to date. I can’t think of any authors I’ve read who are doing that, so I would have to compare my story to the old television series.
9. Who or what inspired you to write this book?

I ride, I love the southwest, and the adventures one can find as they meet others.

10. What else about your book might pique the reader's interest?

This is not a simple whodunit, or action adventure. It’s about a person who tries to find himself on open roads, and becomes involved in the lives—and deaths—of others along the way.

The Writer's Voice

Writing with Voice

I've read a lot of comments about the writer's voice, that intangible element in a writer's work that is a unique and defining quality of that writer. Everyone seems to agree, finding one's voice is essential, and a good voice is priceless. Trouble is, voice is hard to pin down when you’re trying to explain, or talk about it. A writer’s voice can reflect his or her use of tempo, style of dialogue, or narrative description. Voice is not one thing, it’s not even a compilation of several, it’s the over-all effect of the way a writer expresses herself, or himself. And more. It even reflects subconscious aspects of the writer’s personality, mood, etc.
I like to think of voice as being similar to a person’s handwriting. Everyone’s handwriting is unique. It identifies the owner, and tells something about them. It may indicate openness or suspicion, optimism or negativity, a strong or weak ego, and so on. It can change over time. I think it’s interesting to see documents I signed years ago and how my own signature has changed. I’m sure I’m not alone.
So, what makes up this unique stamp? With handwriting, it has to do with the shape given various letters, their slant, size and even the pressure used to inscribe them. I’m not talking about the conscious formation of letters and words, but the impact of subsconscious elements on the script.

The author of the book, Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain relates this phenomenon to artistic expression. We can all express ourselves, give indications of our mood, character and temperament in our handwriting. Without even trying. Even if we think we have no artistic talent. I think the same thing is at work in voice.
As writers we can, and should, make a conscious effort to craft our work. We need to be concerned with tempo, plot, description, dialogue, and all the elements of effective writing. But on top of all that we are told we need to find and develop our voice. That used to puzzle me. How can you develop something that is subconscious to begin with? Why do you need to develop something that occurs subsciously and without intent? Moreover, this so-called developmental process we were supposed to seek seemed to be largely a matter of write, write, write. It was all a big mystery.
In Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain, the aspiring artist is offered various exercises which have the effect of loosening the “left-sidedness” of drawing and enabling control by the right side of the brain. Learning that made me think of things I had read regarding Zen exercises, which seemed focus on giving up conscious thought control and freeing up the flow of deeper energies. These analogies also make me think of golf. As a golfer, I know it is disasterous to focus on the pond you don’t want to hit into, or the line of trees you don’t want to claim your ball yet again. The hit ball tends to follow the flawed pattern you seek to avoid every time. Instead, one needs to feel and remember the desired golf swings. A good golfer knows when a swing feels right and is able to remember and repeat the components that produced the desired outcome.
With these analogies to drawing and asthetics and athleticism in mind, it now makes sense that ones voice is developed through mastering the craft of writing and recognizing and releasing the flow of feelings, etc. that produce one’s desired “signature” voice. The craft side of writing is a constant conscious effort. We take pains to re-read our manuscripts, fine-tune our sentences, and pick out the perfect words. We ask ourselves if the plot is moving, if the tempo flows properly, if there’s a better adjective or verb. That work is necessary. But there are also times when the dialogue flows so freely it seems like we are merely transcribing an actual conversation. There are editing instances when a needed deletion frees the action and makes the scene pop. There are times when a paragraph of description sets the pace of a scene and creates the desired mood for it. We feel it, and know that it works, and hopefully remember how to do it the next time we want to. That’s where I think the writer’s voice is at work. Not through conscious effort to produce it, but through shutting off mechanical effort and releasing one’s inner self into the writing moment.
These moments may be rare, or frequent, long or short, but when they occur everything simply flows and the experience can be a writer’s high. They are more likely to occur when the craft side has been developed to the point of not having to think about it so much. They are likely to last longer when our familiarity with the characters in our story is so deep that we simply understand how they react in the situation at hand, when we mentally experience a landscape with all our senses, when our own viscera respond to the threat, or loss, or gain in the action taking place. For the writer, I think these feelings make up much of the most treasured experience of writing. It’s what makes writing so great, so worth all the effort. But, does it make the writing better? Is there a payoff for the reader? Obviously, yes. But, not all the time.

A writer’s voice may change over time, gaining different character, becoming more, or less, pleasing to a given reader. The writer changes. The writer’s life changes. The writing cannot stay the same. It it effected by the different conscious involvements and concerns of the writer, and by the writer's altering subscious. I suspect the writer cannot remain the same over time and through many publications. Something will change. But the changes may be wonderful, too. When the craft is supurb, the writer’s interest intense, and the voice is flowing through the work like a stream of cosmic enery, the reader is treated to scenes that are transportative. The reader can become lost in the writer’s moment, the time, the place, the event. The reader doesn’t read about a conversation, or get it second hand. The reader is there, hearing it, feeling it, a part of it. A good voice is like a comfortable chair, we know we can imerse ourselves in a wonderful experience as soon as we settle in and start to read.

At Year's End

End of the year coming up, and what a busy year it has been. My book, Murder on Route 66, came out in July, I took a six week motorcycle tour to promote it, we went through two (either hundred, or five-hundred year) floods, and still managed to make our annual trek to rural Florida for the winter. And now at year's end I just put my book up on Kindle. Check it out http://tinyurl.com/867y8zo .

Don't laugh, for me this meant conquering a big technological hurdle, even if most of it was mental.


There were other mental challenges to take on during the year as well. Before I hit the road, I had contacted a number of places I thought might carry my book. I made a point during the tour of visiting as many as I could. I'm a strong believer in face-to-face contact. This wasn't always easy. I hate trying to be a sales person, and I respect the fact my book, any book, is not suited to everyoe. I did it anyway. Somewhat difficult, but it did pay off in some books being ordered that might not have been picked up otherwise.


In a similar vein, I hate making cold calls, but I made it a point to stop in at places I felt might be potential markets for my book. When I was a teenager looking for a summer job, my mother gave me some excellent advice. She convinced me I should go up one side of the street, then down the other, making a job pitch at every business I encountered. I had a job long before the day was over. I didn't pitch my book at every business on Route 66, but I used some of the same principle. Some places turned out to be interested, others didn't. In those cases where they declined, I still made out. I learned. Knowledge is power.


Sometimes success is a matter of luck. At other times, success is in the details. In Tucumcari, the setting for Murder on Route 66, the Chamber of Commerce held a signing for me. I had a great time, and a great turnout. They had done a terrific job of promoting the event before I got there. Great attention to detail. For example, when I arrived for the signing, Lisa Laureault, the director, asked me to park my motorcycle at the entrance to the building. The bike drew attention. It sparked interest. It told people the guy doing the motorcycle tour was on the scene. It let everyone know the guy inside wearing a bandana and biker clothes was the author they had heard about.


One important lesson I learned was to not put too much store in all the things I thought I knew. I had heard not to bother with independent book stores, and I had heard I should focus on them and forget about the big chains. What I learned from experience, was that preconceived stereotypes are unreliable. Some events will work, and some won't.


Overall, I felt the tour went very well, and was a terrific thing to do. I met a lot of people, introduced my book to (hopefully) future fans, book stores, and shops. And, how could I go wrong taking my bike on a sixty-five hundred mile road trip? What I would do differently would be to do even more promotional work in advance, especially trying to get articles and interviews in newspapers and journals. Every day on the road was a set of opportunities, but most of the work had to be done in advance. Once on the road, there was no such thing as advance time. It was all execution.

I always have fun revisiting my trip. I hope you enjoyed your vist to my blogspot. You can also visit my website, http://www.glennnilson.com/ , or e-mail me at ride2write@yahoo.com . Most important, have a good year, and enjoy the ride.
Glenn

Lessons Learned-1

Lessons Learned-1

I recently completed my six-thousand-five-hundred mile solo motorcycle trip to the Southwest promoting my novel, Murder on Route 66. When I was in Gallup, New Mexico, almost at the end of my tour, Tropical Storm Lee turned the creek at the end of our backyard into a raging river determined to gouge away our property. I was more than anxious to get back to Lesley, who had stayed at home, so I pushed the return run. For example, I drove seven hundred fifty-three miles the last night out. To my delight, Lesley had supper waiting when I finally reached home. Next day, I threw myself into the clean-up. Then I built a shed to store things we did not want to return to the basement. I’m afraid my writing had to take a back seat for awhile. Now, things have settled down and it’s time to do a little reflection on the lessons I can take from the tour. For this blog, I’m going to look at what went well, what did not, and what lessons I can learn from my experiences.

There were a number of things that I felt went well. The radio interview I did in Albuquerque was one. My host, Travis Parkin, did a terrific job with the questions he asked and in taking a few minutes before air time to explain the process and put me at ease. The fact that I had been a guest on radio shows before helped as well. Interviews like that not only get the message out about what you have written, but help to develop a comfortable public persona. The lesson? Grab any opportunity you can to make a public appearance as a writer.

Some of the signings I did went well, and others failed to produce more than a faint trickle of people. I'm told that happens to everyone. I never discovered a magic formula for getting a large audience, but did learn one thing, location counts. I enjoyed sitting in a place where I could meet and greet people as they came in, not hawking my own wares, but rather as a guest member of the team. It was fun, too. It allowed me to be a part of everyone's visit, whether it be a visitor center or bookstore.

People I met at signings mentioned hearing about me on the radio, or seeing an article in the newspaper, or noticing a flyer. The impression I got was, the more coverage the better. I think it helped that I sent out e-versions of flyers and announcements my host could use if desired. Anything to help get the word out.

I’m used to people coming up to exchange a few words when I’m on the motorcycle going cross-country. People often exchange “good mornings” in the motel breakfast room or even at fuel stops at a travel center or gas station. Since this was a business trip, I had to get used to saying I’m a writer doing a promotional book tour. Putting myself “on-stage”, happy to talk about writing, my book and tour, paid off. A number of people were eager to get a signed copy of my book. Lesson learned...don’t be afraid to adopt a public role as a writer, and realize that you’re on-stage twenty-four—seven.

I'll have some more lessons-learned to share on my next post. Love to hear what lessons others have learned about the business side of writing.

Old Town Albuquerque Plaza

Old Town Albuquerque

The Old Town Plaza in Albuquerque is a terrific place to visit. Dozens of shops crowd around a central plaza. Crowds of locals and tourists walk about, some with destinations and others apparently checking things out. When I arrived, a Mexican band was setting up for a wedding. The gazebo in the plaza is a popular site for such functions. Treasure House Books, my destination For a signing, is located on one side of the plaza. Luckily, I was able to park my motorcycle close by.
It turned out to be a terrific day, and I enjoyed getting to know John Hofsis, his father and their clientele. John takes pride in knowing his clients and their reading preferences. He had read my book, liked it, and was effective in steering people who would like my book toward the table where I sat to do the signing. Everything went well, and I had a great day.
One more stop in Amarillo, and I was on my way home. I have to say, the people at Hastings in Amarillo treated me wonderfully. I can't thank them enough. I also have to say, knowing Lesley and our home had been through a flood, I was more than ready to ride in earnest. By that I mean laying some miles down. From Amarillo to New York in three days. With weather promising to get worse the day after I got home, I pushed things a bit and rode seven hundred thirty five miles my last day out. It should have been a little shorter, but some of the roads were washed out, and I had to take a detour in New York. The good thing was, I made it home safe and sound, and Lesley even had dinner waiting. It felt like more than the end of another trip. It felt like the completion of an oddesy.
A few days rest would have been good, but that was not to be. I was astounded at the amount of damage the stream had done to our property, and the clean-up in the cellar couldn't wait. In addition,I decided to build a shed to house the things I took out of the cellar and didn't want to put back. With the days filled with projects, all rush items, I can't tell if I've been back a week or a month. I hope however, at this point, to find a little more time for the business of writing. That includes getting ready for a presentation at Huntington Memorial Library in Oneonta on the seventeenth and catching up on some of the things I want to talk about on my blog. I was unable to post pictures on my trip as readily as I had expected, and I have some I want to share. I also want to do a piece on lessons learned and vision gained. I hope you'll join me for them.

At the Eagle Cafe in Gallup

At the Eagle Cafe In Gallup

I was in the Eagle Cafe, in Gallup, downtown on old Route 66, a place where locals hang out. I mentioned it in my last blog. They have terrific lamb stew. An old man, an Indian, came in and sat in the booth next to mine. As it turned out, we sat facing each other. His face was deeply creased, his eyes sunken. I put him to be well into his eighties. It was clear he had had too much to drink.

He also ordered the lamb stew. I thought his selection reinforced my own decision, you know, eat what the locals eat. I dug into my serving with relish. The lamb was falling-off-the-bone tender, the hominy savory and delicious, the onions and carrots a perfect accent. It was wonderful.
Suddenly the old man gave a shout. I think he could have been heard clear out on the street.
I was shocked, both by the volume and the occurrence. It turned out the old man felt his stew not edible. He complained that he didn't have any teeth and couldn't eat the stew without them. Shoving the plate away, in a show of disgust, he told the young woman serving us to just bring him some soup.

He then sat for awhile, toying with the food on his plate, eating some of the bread and slurping coffee. Then he sampled the mashed potatoes that came with the plate of stewed meat and vegetables, but with his fingers rather than his fork. I looked away in disgust and tried returning to my own tasty meal.

After a few minutes he again shouted out, this time demanding more coffee. The waitress told him she was helping other customers and he would have to wait. When she finished the other table, she brought his coffee, but not before he shouted his demands another time or two.
As she poured his coffee, she caught me watching. She rolled her eyes slightly and smiled. I smiled back and signaled for my check. When I paid her, I added a generous tip, in part to reward her patience with the old man in spite of his obnoxious behavior.
When I later thought about the whole event, I had quite a range of reactions, and my thoughts keep coming to mind, ergo this blog.

Clearly, the old man was rude and obnoxious. On the one hand, there was no excuse for his behavior. I've seen drunks thrown out of places before for behaving like that, and I was glad to see them go. On the other hand, the waitress handled the situation rather well, I thought. I don't know if she excused his behavior, but I think she understood him. I tried doing the same.
An old man should not be obnoxious, but shouldn't an old man be allowed to come into town once in awhile, even to get a little drunk? Who am I to judge? He was very old. He was Indian. Perhaps he carried memories of receiving worse consideration from others than he displayed. Perhaps it was that he harboured memories of injuries beyond his own personal experiences. Maybe he just felt resentment beyond his caring about others, and anger beyond his concerns for what they might do to him in return.

I could not respect his behavior. I'm not even sure I should respect the man. He may be a thorn in the lives of those around him all the time, and may have been that way all his life. In any case, I'm sure he'll inspire a character in my writing somewhere down the line, and I can’t wait to see that.

But I had respect for the waitress and the way she handled him. And for a little while, I thought I gained some perspective and a bit of understanding. I hope to hang onto that. In spite of his behavior, I did feel some respect for the old man, and a little more tolerance as well. And I did like the lamb stew at the Eagle Cafe in Gallup.

After Kingman

After Kingman

Kingman, Arizons was my farthest point west for this trip. I still had additional signings in Albuquerque and Amarillo as I started my return trip, but first, a bit of down time in Gallup, New Mexico.
I used to go to an intertribal pow wow in Gallup. I wondered how much might have changed. Of course, the pawn shops selling Indian jewelry and curio stores selling souvenirs still lined the strip, and native Americans still appeared in numbers for a day or two in town. Not much had changed that I could see. Not like some of the places on Highway 40 that had gone from half-deserted mining towns to boomtowns once again as McMansions and new shopping centers blossomed overnight.
I discovered a restaurant in the old section I hadn't been to before, the Eagle Cafe. The sign said it offered lamb stew. Are you familiar with that? It's pretty common in the southwest, but varies a lot from group to group. The Hopi have a version called "nuc qui vi" that has a clear broth. The Navajo use a tomato base broth. Both seem to use hominy corn, which gives the stew a distinctive taste and combines with lamb extremely well. What a treat. I love it.
The tough part about my stay in Gallup centered on New York. Tropical storm Lee was dumping inches of water on ground already saturated by Irene and a generally wet summer. Lesley was reporting the rise of the creek into our backyard and the state of emergency in the area. It was frightening. Much more so for her.
So many people have been devastated by bad weather this year. Everyone seems to be commenting the same way, first it was a hundred year storm, then a five hundred year storm. Is this the new norm? Or, will it be worse next year? Some talk about end times, and others about global warming. I wonder how many of us who write will be including a flood in our next novel?
I once heard that the adventures you talk about most are the ones that scared the hell out of you at the time. My trip was an expected adventure, but not anticipated to be especially frightening. Old places, new faces. Fresh experiences along a route traveled before. A different reason for being on the road, and a set of goals I hadn't any familiarity with, but not terrifying. Sometimes the greater "adventure" can occur at home, watching the creek come up, and rising to meet the challenge. How did all of you fare with this year's storms? Will you be talking about them for years to come? I hope you fared well.