Flamethrowers

Never argue with stupid people. They will drag you down to their level and then beat you with experience. –Mark Twain

Nothing in particular causes me to combine flamethrowers and a quote about arguing with stupid people. I do, however, note that Twain is right. I once commented in a class reading The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn that you can't win an argument with stupid people because they can't see that they're beat. They can't make the connections rational argument requires. If they can't make the connections, logic has no power over them, and what they believe can never be refuted.

I spend most of this week researching and writing--lots of the former and little of the latter. Nevertheless, I am almost half way through the short story I plan to submit. The problem is that research is addictive. Every new fact discovered leads to more questions and the pursuit of additional details to add verisimilitude to the story, or at least not to demonstrate that one is a total idiot with regard to the relevant subject. I doubt than anyone who reads the story will know any of the details I've researched, but the fact that I've searched the ruins and discovered forgotten secrets to mix with my flights of fantasy as brick and mortar for constructing a story lends an air of confidence and determination to my progress. 

I had planned an ambitious project covering two grand battles. My reach exceeded my grasp and I came to realize that one battle would have to do. The second battle will make a perfect the sequel. 

 

 

 

 

 

Ford v. Ferrari

 Showing without telling:

When I was in grade school, we sometimes had show and tell. Somebody would have something cool to show, a new toy or a fossil or a new puppy, and they would show us the cool new thing and talk about it. Some of us never had anything cool to show, but we did have an experience to share. I'm reminded of the time I told the story about getting cow manure in my mouth but blew the ending when in my excitement I said "on my foot" instead of "in my mouth" and thus didn't get the response I was expecting. Anyway, it's a short and not-all-that-entertaining-tale, but I still remember the taste. My point, if I had one, was that now we're told over and over "Show. Don't tell."

I'm firmly committed to doing whichever one I want. No one is the boss of me. Seriously, I think it's better to show than tell, most of the time. However, if that show takes three chapters, three pages, or three paragraphs of boring details or otherwise uninteresting minutiae, just tell me; spare me the boredom. I say, "Show me the good stuff. Tell me the condensed version of the boring stuff, and then only if the story requires it." That was a longer explanation than I anticipated--and it was all telling with no show.

Let me tell you how Ford v. Ferrari showed rather than told. I watched the movie in short chunks over three different days. It's. Totally. Awesome. I've seen it a few times before and get angrier at the Ford VP of Obnoxious Nincompoopery who kept Ken Miles out of the first race and fraudulently stole the title from him in the final race. That's not my point. I do love the movie. At it's heart, it's a great tale of the relationship between Carrol Shelby and Ken Miles as they strive to win a Grand Prix title for Ford, in spite of everything Ford and his malevolent toady do to hinder them. 

There's a scene after Miles has been denied the chance to race in the Grand Prix after doing all the testing and providing the technical advance to perfect the car when Shelby comes to ask him to come back to the team and do it again. Miles takes the request poorly and they fight, with Miles dropping his bag of groceries. As viewers, we don't know how serious these two are in their attempt to hurt each other. However, it all becomes clear when Shelby is on the ground with Miles on his back; Shelby grabs a stray can of food with which to strike Miles in the head, but drops it when he realizes the kind of damage it could do and instead begins walloping Miles with a bag of bread. It was brilliant. That one small act demonstrated the relationship and the terms of the fight. It was showing, not telling. It didn't take a long explanation (like the description I just gave) or require the viewer to interpret motivations based on the intersectionality and relative victimhood of the characters. It was straight forward and subtle. The detail could easily have been missed. Masterful.

If you haven't seen the 2019 movie directed by James Mangold, I insist that you do so at your earliest convenience. It's on Prime.

If you're interested in more bloviating about writing, check out: 

Part II of my substack post on Forging Unforgettable Stories 

 

Shuffling off this mortal coil

  

I suppose that's what writers tell their characters. I don't make a habit of offing my creations--at least not the ones who have become interesting and integral to the story. However, we occasionally fall upon times that try the writer's soul, when a beloved or captivating character must become referenced only in the past tense. 

Should the character's demise be played out on stage, or merely reported by messenger number three or via a sad dispatch from the front? I'm in favor of the matter getting stage time, provided that it's meaningful. If I've gone to the trouble of creating a name and backstory and linked the character's tale to the hero or plot, that character deserves a demise worthy of the role. More importantly, beyond what any character deserves, the reader has earned the scene. If the reader has had any chance to get attached to the individual, the reader needs understand that the dissolution fulfilled some purpose, that the sacrifice ennobled the character, revealed a flaw, or that the progression of the story required it. Such matters merit the stage--and should make for great reading.

A major character's expiration demands at least one good scene, if not a series of scenes with a foreshadow, a build up, and terrible climax. A little dialog or soliloquy adds a meaningful touch and can provide closure or resolution to some lingering question--or not. Final words cut short or imbued with ambiguity may provide more questions to be resolved later--and the generation of intriguing questions often drives interest and deeper meaning in the story. Remember the Trauma, the Drama, and the Dream, my three keys to great stories.

Naturally, I now think of a character whose demise did not get a full treatment and think I could've handled it better. On the other hand, I recall some characters who crossed the threshold of immortality and feel a sense of satisfaction with their final scenes even though they will be missed.

 

 

Drown Melancholy

 

Drown Melancholy
By STANLEY WHEELER
An old sea shanty, a reminder of a curse, drives a pirate captain to the brink of madness… Can the crew make their final score, or will the curse destroy them all?!
It's in Cirsova issue 24 which you can pre-order now. 

 I taught Sunday School again today. It happens twice a month and I try not to miss it. It's a good gig that provides a lot of satisfaction both in trying to learn enough to be prepared to lead a discussion and then actually discussing the material with the class. Today's material was totally awesome, but rather than try to expound on the awesomeness, elaborate on the mind-expanding connections, and share all the cool stuff I experienced in studying myself and getting insights from others with more expertise than myself, I divided the material into chunks and asked volunteers to talk about something from each chunk that appealed to them. It turned out pretty well. One constant seems to be that great things happen when I'm not talking. 

On the writing front, I'm editing a book for submission. I wrote it a year ago, I think, but it does fit a call for submissions I discovered a while back. I was going to submit it, but I changed my mind, and then, after some months of not thinking about it, I reconsidered. What's to lose by trying? Winston Churchill is credit with saying, "Success consists in going from failure to failure without the loss of enthusiasm." - Or something like that. Almost no one belittles my enthusiasm more than I do, so no one's stopping me but me. I would hate to be barred from success by declaring myself too much of a failure to try. Babe Ruth is credited with saying that whenever he struck out it wasn't a failure, it was an effort toward success. I could turn that to, "What baseball player would simply declare himself out without even taking a turn at bat?" There's the rub. Am I a baseball player? Am I a writer? 

What makes a baseball player? What makes a writer? Playing baseball and writing, respectively, I guess. What makes a successful player or writer? Well, if the player strikes out every time, he's not a successful batter; he could still be great in the field. As for the writer, what is the measure of success, or the lack thereof? Getting published? Making money? Every writer must make his own call on that. However, I do know that every completed story and novel is a victory. If that result of sweat and inspiration finds acceptance by a publisher and readers, maybe it's a home run rather than merely a base hit. When you think about it, a .300 or higher is an excellent batting average. That's only a success rate of about one hit for every three times at bat--if I understand correctly. I don't know what chance there is of getting this novel accepted by this particular publisher, but completing it and submitting it is some measure of success in itself. I can always self-publish it or submit it somewhere else if this up is a strikeout.

On the other hand, wrestling may be a better analogy than baseball. Wrestling almost always provides better lessons than those sports that are bound to a ball. Writers grapple with their subject, struggling to bring finite order and creation to the infinite chaos of the blank page/screen, using tropes and techniques to subdue the opponent: the half-nelson sentence, the double-paragraph take-down, the chapter reversal, and cliff-hanger arm-bar, just to name a few. Sometimes the writer overcomes the chaos on points; sometimes it's a technical fall, or an outright pin; and sometimes the infinite chaos cannot be contained. How does that relate to actually getting a piece published? 

Perhaps we should combine the analogies. Trying to get a story or novel accepted is like walking up to home plate and attempting to get a hit by using your wrestling opponent as a bat. Completing the story is a two-point take-down. Submitting the story is three near-fall points. Getting published is a home run.

 

 

 

Writing Buddies

 

The characters and items pictured above have been my writing companions for a few years now. On the left is what may be an Aztec death whistle. It makes a sound like rumbling wind or growling jaguar. There are two stone dice from Texas, some poker chips from a production I was in, one white plastic die, an Eiffel Tower replica (not actual size), and a dragon I found at Walmart. The two flanking denizens not only assure that I focus on my work, like the other items, they also have special functions.

The stone dice are a reminder  that the protagonist can't always succeed--even sure things are subject to chance. Even when he does succeed, there must be high probability that he won't. The plastic die suggests that after a failure or a success, there may be more unanticipated possibilities that can change the earlier result. A little luck never hurts. The chips represent the idea that a good story requires rising stakes. Eventually, the protagonist has to go all in.

The Eiffel Tower replica is a reminder to write stories that stand out from the rest of the landscape. The real tower was assembled in two years, two months, and five days. Although that was record time for the age, it's a reminder that a quality project takes time. The Eiffel Tower is made of wrought iron from the Pompey forges in France. The metal was refined through a process known as puddling, which creates almost pure iron. Eiffel claimed it was the best and most robust of materials--another thing it has in common with my stories. It was the first building to reach 1,000 feet in height and remained unchallenged for 40 years. (These facts and more about the tower can be found here). Don't forget, the tower symbolizes Paris, a city of mystery with countless faces. Stories there may rise to the tower's lofty pinnacle or descend to the dark catacombs. Whether in Roman, Viking, medieval, or modern times, Paris makes a fabulous setting. Anything can happen in Paris. A great story has no limits, and the boundaries of every setting and genre can be expanded.
 

What about the monsters? The Aztec death whistle conjures images of human sacrifice with bloodstained altars, stone knives, and naked hearts offered to the sun. Sometimes a story should tear your heart out--or at least nick it. On the one hand, it's death at the hands of evil or deceived fanatics. With the dragon on the other hand, it's have death by fang, flame, and claw. A good story should have some fire to it, with multiple ways to land the protagonist in jeopardy. The antagonist or difficulties must be formidable; it helps if they seem insurmountable and are complicated by a serious case of awesome. 

Finally, note that the death whistle and the dragon bookend the tableau. They remind me to get the protagonist into some peril or adventure early--it helps the reader get interested--and to have a powerful finale. Those monsters on the flanks also symbolize the terrible choices the characters must face. Awful consequences and uncertainty torment the protagonist. The big decisions turn on the small hinges of character and necessity. All the alternatives have their risks and drawbacks. The monsters are Scylla and Charybdis. The true hero sometimes must place his hope in something beyond himself and his own abilities, and trust that he has made the right call--just like the writer does.

Remember, time is running out to get the first three books in the Tomahawks and Dragon Fire Series for only 99 cents each. The first two books lead to the thrilling finale in the third.

Affair in Trinidad

 

 

I watched this 1952 black and white movie staring Rita Hayworth and Glenn Ford during my workout sessions on the M5 over a few days or a week. It was directed by Vincent Sherman and features Alexander Scourby as Max Fabian, Howard Wendell as Anderson, Steve Geray as Wittol, Torin Thatcher as Marplon the inspector, Juanita Moore as Dominique, and Valerie Bettis as Veronica.

Rita plays a nightclub dancer/singer who's married to Steve Emory's (Ford) brother. Except she isn't married anymore as brother Emory has turned up with pennies on his eyes. Meanwhile, Ford is on his way from the States in response to a letter his brother wrote him on the say day he allegedly committed suicide.

Ford begins his own investigation. He learns things weren't great between Rita and his brother. at one point, the gentleman in the picture above tells him something like, "When a man is married to a goddess, he must expect other men to worship her." Although he isn't getting the answers he wants, he does get to stay in his brother's house with Rita and Dominique.

That's Dominique, the domestic in the background. She's the wise woman of color, as some might be inclined to describe her. 

 Marplon The Inspector is decidedly short on answers and information for Ford/Emory, but the inspector has more going on that Ford knows.

Ford sticks around in search of his own answers and things heat up between him and Rita.

 

They have a bit of a whirlwind romance over three days or so until Max Fabian shows up to revive all of Ford's suspicions about his brother's wife.

He's loaded with cash and has the hots for the lady. He's also got some Nazi scientists in his bedroom. SPOILER ALERT. Rita and her deceased husband had been trying to get the goods on Fabian. The decedent got caught and made a hasty exit from the spy game in a permanent way thanks to Fabian. Rita ends up telling off Ford to continue her cozy up to Fabian.

While Ford stomps off mad that he's been booted from the fancy party and banished from Rita's heart, she finds an opportunity to search upstairs.

She discovers plans, blueprints, or otherwise incomprehensible drawings, but leaves a fancy chiffon hanky Fabian had just given her at the scientist's desk.

Nevertheless, she strikes gold when she overhears the bad guys and sees the low-budget map with yarn and everything showing how the missile bases in the Caribbean will be able to threaten the entire United States.

A girl may not kiss and tell, but the chiffon hanky tells. It tells Fabian that Rita's a spy. He hastens his plans to depart from the island with his evil henchmen, adding Rita to the flight list, but noting that her ticket will include takeoff but not the landing. 

Dominique talks Ford into going back to rescue Rita, convincing him that she didn't even want to go to Fabian's and really only wanted to be with Ford.

Ford shows up just in time to save the damsel from her distress and get the drop on Fabian and most of his henches--emphasis on most. That guy in the background sneaks up while Fabian keeps Ford in place. The hench gives Ford the old ka-bong on the head, which causes Ford to involuntarily ka-pull the trigger. The ka-bang puts a slug into Fabian, who tells the others to leave without him and to take care of Ford--"take care of" in the sense of without-the possibility-of-future-complications way.

As they're taking Ford out, the cavalry shows up in the form of the inspector and his constables. In the quick exchange of pleasantries in hot lead, Ford takes his captor's gun and goes back inside the mansion.

Not wishing to be rude, he remembers to bring a gift this time, delivering a series of heartfelt presents to Fabian, who receives them at the top of the stairs in the manner in which they were intended. Fabian is overwhelmed at Ford's generosity and pitches over the railing.

After that, it's all over but the cruise back to the States with Ford and Rita closing it out with a last lip lock before the credits roll.

--I thought the show started with a lot of potential. It had a noir feel at first and Ford and Rita came across as intriguing characters--Ford being especially good wearing his frustrated-man-desperate-for-answers persona. Rita's role could've been better written, in my opinion. The film tries to recapture the magic of Gilda,which starred Ford and Hayworth, but never rises to that level of intensity. What started as a noir dish morphed into a predictable conclusion to a matinee serial. I give it 3.5 out of 5 slugs - which is probably the same number Ford gave Fabian.

_________________

My adventure book for boys sails onward with the twins and their only friend in the strange new surroundings all in constant peril. The pieces are falling into place for the race to the finish. A certain exhilaration comes with writing the characters into dangerous circumstances without any knowledge about how they're going to extricate themselves and presenting them with difficulties to solve without having planned the resolution. Letting the circumstances and the characters drive the story becomes an adventure in itself.

Gobsmacking

 Sometimes things don't go as planned:

 

The bugmageddon novel isn't complete, but I did get it nearly finished on Saturday as my fingers danced over the keys while episodes of Magnum P.I. (the good old one) played in the background.

 Excerpt from Bugs in the System:

Doot triggered the carbine. A bullet pierced the chitinous belly and exploded from the back of the rising centipede. The gun spoke no more. The last magazine was empty. The pede shot forward. Doot swung the gun like a bat, knocking back the crawler. The monster’s many legs held its lower body in place and it thrust again, head and upper body darting toward its prey. Doot took the pitch to the inside and smashed it wide.

The novel is deep in the gobsmacking wonderclash. The hammerschlag falls and the streams are crossing. A couple evenings or another Saturday writing session will have it complete for my Skirmish Team's review.

Speaking of wonderclashes, hammerschlags, and crossing streams, that reminds me that the time for my presentation on forging unforgettable stories is drawing close. I had hoped to do a local presentation this month as a practice for the Utah conference, but scheduling didn't work out. Those writers will get the raw, unrefined product, husks and all.

FYI Truth in Flames, my favorite book so far in the Tomahawks and Dragon Fire Series is only 99 cents for a few more days, before it goes back up to $4.99.