The Next Big Thing : A Beast in Venice blog meme

I’ve been asked by my friend Beth Barnay to take part in a blog meme called “The Next Big Thing.” I chose to do it on my finished novel A Beast in Venice. I've been killing myself working on the query letter with the hope of finding an agent.  Here goes:


What is the working title of your next book?

A Beast in Venice

Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency?

I hope to get an agent and publish it through a traditional publisher.

Where did the idea come from for the book?

Part of the inspiration came from my own experiences as an expat living in Venice. But I thought that it should also include an element relating to Venice at night, which can be very spooky. Then I read an article about archaeologists finding a skull in an old cemetery near Venice with a brick in its mouth. This was done to stop the corpse from eating through its burial shroud and eating the other corpses, allowing it to rise from the dead as a vampire. My story is not about vampires, but I took the idea of the “shroud eater,” and bastardized it, if you will.

What genre does your book fall under?

Literary, with elements of horror.

How long does it take to write the first draft of your manuscript?

It usually takes several months to a year.

What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?

I don’t know any, it’s unique. I would like to be compared to a cross between Stephen King, Cormac McCarthy, and Nick Cave.

Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?

Brigham (protag) - Gary Oldman; Charles (antag) - Michael Caine; Rose (Brigham's wife) - Isabella Rossellini; Gloria (the temptress) -Valeria Golino; Lorenzo (a decent bad guy) - Danny Trejo.

Who or What inspired you to write this book?

I've always toyed with the idea of being a writer. Now I have the time, and hope to develop a vocation I can do sitting in a chair.

What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest?

It talks a lot about art, and the state of modern art. Also, there's a lot of symbolism, if one cares about such things.


What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book?

Brigham Stone’s dream of living in Venice as an artist turns into a bloody ruin when he is converted to a ghoul.

Book Review: The Secret History, by Donna Tartt

I had no idea. I knew there was a lot of drug use in the eighties. I was in the Navy, and a good number of my friends and acquaintances were druggies. Certainly a number of them were heavy drinkers. I never took illicit drugs, but I have been known to tip a few, and still do. But I had no idea that the focus of virtually every college student was the acquisition, use, and perhaps distribution of, illegal narcotics. Constantly. All the time. That is the impression one gets from reading Infinite Jest, and the subject of this review, The Secret History.


As I mentioned in my review of that book, I hated Infinite Jest. But I enjoyed The Secret History. Both stories are about college kids in the pre-cellphone age. In both novels the characters and everyone they know are drug users to some extent. They drank (no problem) and they smoked (yuk). Incessantly. I find smoking disgusting and horrifying. The characters smoked so much that I feared getting lung cancer from reading The Secret History. But I liked it. Why? I think the answer is that the characters in The Secret History had the redeeming characteristic of being intellectual. Students of history, literature, and languages. The characters in Infinite Jest were stupid jocks (is that redundant?) I therefore was able to identify with the characters, at least at that level. We had two things in common: an interest in intellectual pursuits, and booze. That was enough to get me over the hump.


The Secret History is about a group of college students at some schmancy Vermont college who are in a special class where only a few students are accepted, where they have only one professor for all their subjects (except French) and where they are engaged in the ethereal task of learning ancient Greek and Latin, amongst other highfaluting subjects.


They are all a little eccentric, as is the teacher, and most of them are rich, with the exception of our narrator. One night, when some members of the group are out on some sort of drug induced vision quest, they encounter something they believe to be a farmer, and scrap with it. They are so out of their minds that they don’t really know what happens. Actually, the author never does come out and tell you, but it can be inferred from a few clues. Read carefully. They form the opinion that they killed this farmer. One of those not involved in this murder becomes aware of it. They fear that he will rat them out, either by actually talking to the police, or by running his drunken mouth. So they decide to do away with him. The story deals with events leading up to that murder, and the aftermath of it, and how they deal with it.


I enjoyed the book. I thought it was too long, but it was not the soul smashing burden to read that Atlas Shrugged and even The Fountainhead were, but it weighed in at over 500 pages of small print. Could have been shorter. But it was well done enough for that not to have been a big problem. The writing was smooth and clear.


There were two things I didn’t like. One, there was a prologue. I have come to hate prologues. And from the get go, we know that these people kill one of their own. The author tells us right up front. And you know how. Might have been better if she left it up in the air until the deed is done. Two, there is a bit of a hole in the story. After the boy they murder is discovered missing,  the FBI showed up, and appeared to be involved with the investigation of a small town disappearance and, and later (when the body is found) murder. The FBI would have no jurisdiction. In this type of matter. It’s a state law issue. Yet, none of these smarty pants even asked the question. Now, I know they were painted as some sort of geniuses who were above the mundane world relating to federal jurisdiction, but once the FBI got on the scene, one of them should have gone and checked what the heck the FBI did. That issue was touched on, and the agents themselves said they had no jurisdiction in the crime at hand (to the surprise of the protagonist and his compatriots), but none of our group of real smart friends questioned it. We are never really told why they were there. It seemed to me to be a thread that was dropped.


Outside of that, the story went quickly, was well written, and entertaining. I give it four stars. I dock it a star only because of the smoking. They all smoked all the time. I know that at the time there were few restrictions on smoking, but give it a rest. One or two guys constantly lighting up, blowing smoke, rubbing the horrible thing out in the ashtray is enough. But all of them? All the time and everywhere. In their rooms, in restaurants, during conversation, while out walking, while eating, while drinking, while studying, while doing anything or going anywhere. It got to be tiresome. I realize that part of it was to provide gestures for the characters during dialogue, but what’s wrong with rubbing an eye, or scratching a chin? There was less smoking in Atlas Shrugged, and that was written in the 40s.

Writing a Novel is Hard

Writing a novel, however, is the hardest thing I have ever done.  I have been a reactor operator on a submarine, earned a master’s degree in business, earned a law degree, passed the bar, and practiced law. Nothing, however, has been as difficult as writing a novel.


The first novel I completed I self-published. I was curious to see what that experience would be like, and I didn’t want to fool with trying to get an agent. Sitting on my desk in front of me now, though, is the most recent draft of my next novel. I’ve struggled with it for over two years. 


The first novel (which was really the second, as the one on my desk was started before it) I just sort of cranked out. I never intended to get a publisher, so it made me much less concerned with what they would be looking for. 


For the second novel, however, I intend to try to find an agent. For that reason, I’m much more concerned with story arc, character arc, structure, and proper form. Not only that, I always have in the back of my mind the question of what would an agent want to see, and serious doubts as to whether the novel is anything other than crap.


I hired an editor/mentor (at no small cost) which was a huge benefit. I learned a lot from her, and intend to still avail myself of her services. But she was a cruel master. I needed, valued, and took her advice (for the most part), and I needed her frank analysis. Every writer, new or experienced, needs that. But it is no way to build confidence and self-esteem.


The novel on my desk is the third draft. A few other drafts were abandoned in progress. The original version was 90,000 words. This version is 73,000 words. I wish it were more like 80,000 words, and it may yet be, but in the whole scheme of things, 73,000 is enough.


What’s the book about? Don’t laugh. Vampires. In Venice. Italy. Not really vampires, but critters known as shroud eaters. Did I really start out to write a novel about vampires? I don’t know. I started out thinking I would write a book about my experiences as an expat in Italy. Then this shroud eater thing came up. There was actually one found in a graveyard in Venice. The skeleton of a woman with a brick in her mouth, buried during the plague of 1576. During that plague they would open mass graves and find that previously buried corpses had tried to eat through their death shrouds. They thought that they were also eating the corpses of the other inhabitants of the grave, so they put a brick in its mouth to stop it. If they ate enough, they would rise from the grave as vampires. That piqued my curiosity. They really had vampires here. And Venice is a spooky place, anyway. Hence . . . .


Then I had second thoughts, based in no small part on comments from my editor. Maybe I should scrap the vampire thing. It’s beginning to be a little played. But then I wondered what the heck the story would be. I got 20,000 words into the new version, and then hit a wall. Now what? Maybe I should keep the vampires. So, back to work on the vamps. Then doubt crept in again. Back to no blood suckers. I was a deer in headlights.


I talked to my wife, who is a hell of a lot smarter than I am. Vamps or no? “If there are no vampires, then what’s your story?” she asked, cutting (as usual) right to the heart of the matter. Exactly! So, back to having vampires. And so it went, until I finally decided to keep them, finish the damn thing before I die of old age, and throw it up against the wall and see if it sticks. 


This brings me to what’s so hard about writing.  First you’ve got to have a plot. Well, some idea of what the story is. All right, an idea as to how it starts, a vague notion of what happens in the middle, and some theories on how it might turn out. Then you have to have characters, know what they’re like, where they fit into the plan (to the extent that there is one) come up with some way of building conflict and tension, think of a climax, then have a way to tie it all together.


Then you start to write. They say that writing is a solitary act. It is. But you are not alone. There are demons. While you struggle to put this thing on paper, they torment you. “You can’t do it.” “No one will ever read that.” “You’re stupid.” “Your English is bad.”  “They will laugh at you.” “Quit.” “Give up.” “Have you seen the videos from agents? They are all jaded and cynical, and snotty. You want to subject yourself to that?” “They will hate you.” “Your plot sucks.”


But you can’t listen to these devils. If you are going to write, it is hard enough to come up with a story line, and put it down in a coherent form in something resembling proper English. You can’t worry about what others think. You need to have a good story and good characters. You’ve got to have tension and structure, and all that (i.e., you’ve got to know the craft). But you can’t write for everyone. Just write your story. Don’t worry about what will sell, you can never figure it out. Don’t worry about what agents look for, you have no way of telling. 


So, just put your little caboose in the chair and go to work. Cast out the demons, and write what you like. Find your own voice, and your own style. As the late Gore Vidal said: “Style is knowing who you are, what you want to say, and not giving a damn.” If you ever want to finish a novel, you can’t give a damn about what other people think.

Book Review: The Crossing, by Cormac McCarthy

If you want to be a writer, read the works of Cormac McCarthy. They are crisp and clean, with no extra words. As one of the review snippets on the back of the book said, “He writes prose as clean as a bullet cutting through the air . . .” 

As is true with all of his books, the story is of an actual journey, and of the things that happen along the way. The story takes place in the years just before and just after the beginning of World War II, and follows the adventures of 16 year old Billy Parham as he travels back and forth between his home in New Mexico, and various places in Mexico to accomplish various deeds. I don’t think it’s spoiling the plot to say that they end in calamity.

The writing is unbelievable. “The thin horned moon lay on its back in the west like a grail and the bright shape of Venus hung above it like a star falling into a boat.” Near the end of the book he describes an old crippled broken dog in such a way that you actually feel its pain. “[The dog] stood there inside the door with the rain falling in the weeds and gravel behind it and it was wet and wretched and so scarred and broken that it might have been patched up out of parts of dogs by demented vivisectionists.”

This is literature for a man. There is no romance, no sex. It is violent and bloody with suffering and pain for man and beast throughout. McCarthy follows rigidly the rule of never giving the protagonist what he wants. Billy finds himself in a world where there is plenty of good. Plenty of people help him along the way. But the myriad evil in the world is more powerful. The good can only huddle and quake in its shadow. In the end he is left with nothing. All is taken from him by evil men with vile and bloody ways. That is, the ending is not all sunshine and happiness. But is filled with philosophy and insight as to the nature of man and the hard and deadly world he has created for himself.

This is the second novel in “The Border Trilogy.” I have yet to read the others, but will. One of the best books I have read. The story is thoughtful and compelling. Read it. 

Another Way to Improve your Writing: Kill the Cute

I have always considered myself a good writer. That is, I felt that I had a command of the language, a reasonable idea of how to use commas (although there is still a mysterious element to them), and a way with words, as they say. The way with words part is what I intend to talk about here.


In our studies to become writers, we are often told “kill your darlings.” This is great advice. Usually, the part of a story that you think is the best thing ever written is horrible, and ruins the story. Take it out. I have received other advice, as well. For example, “go on a which hunt.” Go through your work, take out all the “whichs” and replace them with “that.” Then go through and take out all the “thats.” I would like to add one more: Take out the cute.


As a novice writer who thought he had a way with words, I would often write something that I felt to be witty and humorous, demonstrating my clever use of words. I was wrong. This often manifested itself in the form of witty banter amongst the characters. The result was to turn a scene that I intended to be scary, into one that was funny or, more accurately, one that not scary or funny, but rather stupid. Consider the following:


Original: 


(Rose’s husband has been kidnapped, and put into a tomb somewhere in Venice. Rose and their friend Mauro have determined that the tomb may be located under a church in the crypt. They set off to find him. Is this a time for humor? There are other obvious problems with the writing that I also correct in the revised version)


“Let’s go,” Mauro said, taking out his flashlight, and stepping off the bricks into water, and heading for the hidden places of the crypt.
Rose took out her flashlight, and they headed back into the heart of the crypt.
“Won’t the little man guarding the door wonder where we went?” she asked.
“No, it’s taken care of.”
“What do you mean, ‘it’s taken care of?’”
“I told him we wanted to go on an extended tour.”
“So?”
“That’s code. We’ve known each other since we were boys. We used to bring girls back here to impress them, and such.”
“And such?”
“Yes, they were usually quite impressed when they left.”
“So he thinks–”
“Yep.”
“You bastard.”
He grinned.
“I’m not going to kill you now,” she said, “I need you. But when we get out, you die.”
He laughed out loud.
“Fine, but keep it down,” he said. “We need to be quiet.”
They turned the corner and shined their lights off into the crypt. It was surprisingly vast, and clearly covered a span of territory greater than the footprint of the church. Walking slowly through water that was about six inches below their knees, they moved through the pitch dark of the crypt. The darkness seemed to devour the light from their flashlights. 
Shelves cut into stone and heaped with skulls and other bones lined the corridor, below which ran a row of sepulchers decorated with elaborate carvings and odd figures, such as lions with bat’s wings, screaming skulls, and creatures half man and half snake.


Revised:


“Let’s go,” Mauro said, stepping into the water, shining his flashlight into the darkness, which seemed to devour the beam. 
Rose followed with her flashlight. They moved into the damp gloom of the crypt, sloshing slowly through ankle-deep water. Skulls  peered at them from shelves cut into the stone. Below these bones ran a row of sepulchers decorated with elaborate carvings of fantastic figures. Lions with bat’s wings, screaming skulls, and creatures half man and half snake.


Even if you simply take out the silly dialogue, the scene changes from one of comedy to one more serious and (hopefully) more frightening. Dress it up further, and you begin to get the feeling I was shooting for. I realized that the cute and witty banter ruined the feeling of dread I hoped to achieve. This passage was actually a darling, as well. Better that it’s gone. What do you think?

Book Review: The Comfort of Strangers

I became interested in this book by watching the movie of the same name, starring Christopher Walken and Natasha Richardson.  The film is beautifully shot in Venice and is worth watching.

The book hardly qualifies as a novel at one hundred pages in paperback, which I recon to be about 35,000 words, but in the world of overly large novels, that’s probably a plus.

The story takes place in Venice around 1980, I suppose, as the book was published in 1981. A divorced woman (Mary) and her lover (Colin) visit Venice for vacation. The book opens with them pissed at each other for some unknown reason. Mary has kids and misses them, while Colin has no kids, and shows no real interest in hers.  We get the impression that the relationship has gone stale.

No age is given for Colin or Mary, but with Mary being divorced with two children, one ten, the other about eight, that would put her at at least thirty, but probably older. We have way to gauge Colin’s age. He is always described in feminine terms, such as “beautiful,” “like and angel,” with his body being hairless, and the hair on his head being long and curly. He is physically weak. The name “Colin” means “pup” or “whelp.” It’s fair to conclude that Colin is substantially younger than Mary. In fact, Robert, the antagonist, takes much more of a shine to Colin, essentially ignoring Mary.

For some reason (and in spite of not sharing the same bed) these two cannot get themselves out of their hotel in time to get dinner, and they wander the streets (apparently without a map) trying to find (of all things) a hotdog stand they remember passing. They become lost and ran into Robert, a man who lives in Venice. He befriends them, and they start on their journey, the outcome of which I will not spoil. Suffice it to say that it is a dark story with a surprising twist at the end.

I like the story. One difficulty I had with the book, however, is that it gives no meaningful description of Venice. To the extent it gives any description, they are vague and frankly unpleasant. They show that either the author or the characters have no appreciation for Venice, and don’t know anything about it. No place names are given, and some of the information is simply wrong. For example, the author refers to the bell tower at St. Mark’s square as the clock tower. I had the impression that McKewan had been in Venice long enough to get a taste of it, but not long enough to know it, or to care to give actual names of places. This may have been a literary trick to keep the focus away from Venice, and maybe I’m biased because I live in Venice, but I think if you are going to set a story here, you might as well spend a little time giving meaningful descriptions of some of the places. As it is, the story could have taken place anywhere.

Though only a hundred pages long, some interesting themes are dealt with. A May-September relationship, male domination of women, women resisting and then acquiescing in their role as subservient, perhaps as a way to gain power over their situation.  Sexual violence. The love-hate relationship between men and women. Even the relative helplessness of a traveler who must rely on others for help. Maybe a failure or refusal to take control of your own life, or any situation.

For example, it’s clear that Mary and Colin are having difficulty figuring out where their relationship is, or what it should be. Neither is willing to make a hard decision. In the pivotal scene, Mary and Colin are at Robert’s house. While Mary is out of the room with Caroline (Robert’s wife) Robert strikes Colin in the gut with his fist, sending him to the floor gasping for air. What does Colin do? Nothing. I might have called it a night and decided that this man was possibly not the right sort of friend for me. But he does nothing, in keeping with the theme of women (in this case the effeminate Colin) being subject to the brutality of men and, to a large extent, giving in to it voluntarily. Perhaps this was a test by Robert to see whether Colin really was a man. A man would have fought back. Or he would have left, not accepting the treatment. But Colin just took it.

While at Robert’s house Mary notices photographs, which she later realized are pictures of Colin taken after they arrived in Venice. In spite of being aware of that, and in spite of Colin being struck by Robert, the two return to visit Robert and Caroline. This I found strange. It seems more logical to avoid Robert. Maybe just go on back to England. But they go back. Why? The answer lies perhaps in the man-as-abuser theme. The abused often cannot free themselves mentally or emotionally from their abuser, although they have the power. Caroline is such a person. She is horribly abused, yet thinks she likes it or deserves it. Very typical victim mentality. Needless to say, Caroline would be better off without Robert, and Colin and Mary would have done well to stay away from Robert.

A compelling and interesting story, and quick read. I recommend it.

The Movie:

If you are writer, it has been beat into your head since you were in elementary school to “show, don’t tell.” But what does that mean? One area I have learned to show, rather than tell, is describing emotions of people in dialogue. I’ve discovered a great tool to help.


For example, you could write:


“Yes,” she said excitedly. 


But this is telling, not showing. So, how would you describe a person saying something excitedly?  What does the face of a person saying something excitedly look like? How does their voice sound? How do you describe it?


It would be helpful to look at a person expressing the emotion. I’ve discovered that through a Google search you can get a large number of images of people showing certain emotions.  Do a search in “Images” for “facial expressions of emotions,” and you will find images showing an array of emotions. Do a search for a specific emotion, and you will get millions of images showing that emotion. I did a search of “facial expressions of excitement,” and got almost six million. You can’t look through six million images, but you’ll find that after about three pages the relevance starts to diminish.


You can see that they have some things in common. Brow raised, eyes wide, smiling or mouth open. Some are gesturing, such as arms in the air, on the face, and so forth. You don’t necessarily need or want to use them all. It depends on the character and the situation.


So, instead of


“Yes,” she said excitedly, 


You could write: 


“Yes,” she said, her eyes wide, smiling.


Her eyes grew large and she smiled. “Yes.”  Or,


She flung her arms out and smiled. “Yes.”


You could use an exclamation point (use sparingly):


Her eyes grew large and she smiled. “Yes!”


Another way to add emphasis to it is by using italics:


 “Yes,” she said, her eyes wide.


There are certainly better or different ways to write it. The point is that through a Google search you can get hundreds of useful images from which you can write a description showing the emotion, rather than telling.