I'll confess right from the beginning. I am a Star Trek fan. A gizmo-loving hardware freak. I fell in love with The Enterprise the first time I saw it (along with every variation and model designation since). I cut my eye teeth on the original James Tiberius Kirk and my no bull shit, pointy-eared friend Spock. I booed and applauded whenever the original Khan Noonien Singh showed up. And those fracken' Klingons . . . . sigh!
I've loved it all, buddy.
But I gotta say I'm a sucker for tekkie gizmos in flashy Sci/Fi movies.
Example; when The Enterprise punches into Warp from a standing still position, a big, big, big grin of pure dumb pleasure spreads across my lips. Every time. Without exception.
(Even love the difference in the way Captain Picard says, "Make it so," and boom! Warp speed. While the rebooted Kirk can say, "Punch it!" And whammo! We're there, baby!)
Loved J.J. Abrams rebooting of the series. Thought the way he remolded the major characters in the series into deeper, more interesting three dimensional living creatures fascinating. And so when I heard Abrams was making Star Trek Into Darkness . . . . Holy Hanna and her bad Habits! I was ready for it!
(By the way . . . have I said to you how much I love Star Trek? I did? Oh . . . . okay. Just wanted you to be aware of my fondness for it.)
So how was Star Trek Into Darkness, you ask. My answer: FRACKEN AWESOME, BABY!
Made so, no less, by the amazing Benedict Cumberbatch's portrait of Khan Noonien Singh. The original Kahn (portrayed by Ricardo Montalban) was a revenge-filled monster who allowed his hate for Kirk to cloud his judgement and dim his so-called super intellect. The New Khan of Cumberbatch's vision is very different. We have a darker nuanced, far more interesting look onto that cold dish called Revenge. Cold. Calculating. Infinitely cruel. Incredibly intelligent. Absolutely determined to exact every savory second of maniacal delight from those he wishes to torment.
And that voice of Cumberbatch's. That deep, deep voice. Measured and precise. And oh so
deliciously menacing!
If you want a truly good bad guy, Cumberbatch is your fella, Sherlock!
But there was more to this movie than just Khan. I really enjoyed the word play between Kirk and Spock. The personalities growing to like each other and meld into a deep, deep friendship everyone knows Kirk and Spock had from the first go around. But there was Bones' constant pessimism mixed with a commitment to get things done. Along with his friendship developing between Kirk and Spock. And there's Scotty . . . the ship's Chief Engineer. Feisty little fella, this Scotsman.
Aye, laddie. Ya gotta hand it to J. J. Abrams and his talent at making a good movie. I agree with the pundits; there was an uncanny but subtle visual feast of a man who loved and admired the Star Trek series back in his childhood. A man who, while honoring the past, has definitely put a stamp of his version of a new Star Trek.
The opening four day run of the movie sucked in $84 million dollars. A fantastic haul from the box office. But the studios were disappointed. They actually thought Into Darkness would crack the $100 million mark. The greedy bastards. Before this movie goes into the DVD market it's going to go way over the billion dollar mark. Waaaaaaaaay over that mark!
Surely that should satisfy every one's expectations, shouldn't it?
Even if you're not a Trekkie you should see this movie. It's that good.
Here's the newest Turner Hahn/Frank Morales novel. Not out yet. But coming to you shortly. Self-published in ebook format only.
Time to experiment. To explore some ideas. The quest is to push this novel into the widest number of markets I possibly can manage on a limited budget.
Yeah, that's right; even though I am amazingly handsome and unusually endowed with the gift of gab, nevertheless the acquisition of money (income) has never been a long-cherished trait I've experienced in this karmic go-around.
(And just to keep it straight . . . the jab about being amazingly handsome and unusually endowed with the gift of gab? Sarcasm, my friend; sarcasm)
Self-published authors who have hit it big. How the hell did they do it? I know you've asked this question ten thousand times or more. I certainly have. Maybe asked it even more after picking up the self-published novel, reading it, and experiencing the first reaction as 'How the hell!?'
Sometimes 'talent' has nothing to do with being 'successful' when it comes to self-publishing.
So okay.
Past efforts in self publishing have fizzled. Why, you ask. And what to change? I've got a few ideas.
One: Artwork. I think artwork is absolutely critical. Always have and prefer coming up with my own original stuff. Commissioned, of course. My ideas. An artist's visual expertise.
Two: Markets. Gotta figure out a way to get the book into as many markets as possible. Amazon, Smashwords, Barnes & Noble. Push for 100 markets where a potential reader might find this and purchase it.
Three: Book trailers. Spend what limited funds you have on building a kick-ass book trailer and then again, flashing the trailer out to as many video sites as possible.
Four: Friends and their blogs. Shamelessly hit your friends up with a request if you could squeeze a word or two about your new creation on their blog sites. I do this all the time for my friends on this blog. Should be a no-brainer.
Five: Solicit reviews. Figure out a way to get as many reviews posted on the book as you can. Good or bad. The more reviews you have the more curiosity is generated. Again, revert back to your friends.
This is the plan, Tonto. Spend a little money. Expand the market exponentially. Hit the video sites as hard as possible. Solicit reviews. Maybe this will work. If it does and the book starts selling there should be one immediate benefit (other than actually earning an income!) coming your way. The more success you have in selling your book makes you more attractive to both agents and publishers. They just might come to you with a little enthusiasm behind their offers to help you become even more successful.
Who knows. Hell, I still believe in Santa Claus!
I slipped out of the house on Friday and went off to the theater to see Iron Man 3. I've been reading all kinds of glowing reviews about how this might be the best of the Iron Man movies yet. And maybe the last we see Robert Downing Jr, Mister Iron Man himself, playing the part.
So what I went forthwith filled with high expectations. I must admit I am kinda a 'gadget' man. I like my movies teetering dangerously close to hardcore traditional sci-fi abyss filled with cool gadgets. And without doubt the mechanical suits and neat holographic computers Mr. Stark uses to build his armored suits are right there in my 'Gee Whiz!' notebook of wonders.
So you ask, "How did I like the movie? On a scale of 1 to 10 how would you rate it?"
Uh . . . it was okay. And I'd give it a rating of about 7. And that would be pushing it.
Look. I like my gadgets. I love my Gee Whiz moments. And I sure as hell like my action. This is, as were all the previous Iron Man movies, essentially an action move. So one should expect big explosions, fast cars, incredible getaways. etc. But . . . somewhere a little over half way thru the movie (maybe about the time we discover who The Mandarin truly is) something happened. It was that feeling akin to a kid suddenly losing all the air out of the balloon he just won at a circus side show. Everything just hissed away into the afternoon sunlight.
What happened?
I got the feeling the movie was straining. Straining to be too 'hip.' Too witty. Too chic. I got the feeling the writers realized what they were doing and decided to switch over to the gadgets and let the action take over.
I know . . . I know; it's my fault. My warped sense of story-telling. I wanted more of a mystery to solve. More human-to-human and human-to-computer interaction. I wanted more of a story-line between Stark and this young engineering whiz-kid he came across in some backwoods little town out in No Where Land. A mini-Stark who was just as witty, just as cool, and just as grown up Stark.
THAT subplot had miles and miles of possibilities to play on. Yet it was handled as an afterthought thrown in just to hurry along the main story line.
And the gadgets. These gadgets so, close to being sentient life forms themselves, acted more like slaves. Mindless. Obedient. Colorless. I wanted more interaction here.
I mentioned 'The Mandarin' already. As visually a stunning villain as has ever been created. Very dark. Very menacing. Very existential. Oh, brother! That story line would have been fascinating to develop! But it's not to be. In the end it fizzles into nothing as well.
Really, in the end, I just wanted a better, more intricate, story!
Don't get me wrong. It's a well made film technically speaking. The acting flawless. The special effects marvelous to behold. I strongly urge you to go see. Undoubtedly when you do, you'll completely disagree with everything I've said.
That's okay by me. Hell, you already know I'm the biggest contrarian sitting at the dinner table with you. Why change now?
Let's rant and rave a little bit on artwork again, kiddies. A subject that, frankly, intrigues me. A link in the publishing chain that has, traditionally, not been a focus for authors. Either because the author wasn't/isn't interested in what kind of cover will grace their literary effort . . . or more likely not involved because traditional publishers have consistently viewed that decision as being in their bailiwick and not in the author's bailiwick.
But as you may have noticed . . . the publishing world is changing. And so too should a writer.
If you're a writer you should be intimately involved in the selection process. If you're lucky enough to pick up a traditional publishing contract, what a potential reader sees on a book shelf could be the critical deciding factor in the decision to buy, or pass up, that purchase.
I think the same thing is true for ebooks. Nope, most potential readers do not browse when they shop for a book to read on the internet. But, along comes an eye-popping cover in a genre they're interested in, and I'd betcha half interest in the Brooklyn Bridge said curious reader will stop and closely examine both the artwork and the contents the artwork represents within.
Therefore let me reiterate. As a writer you should be closely involved in the design and look of the book cover. You should find an artist(s) whose style appeals to you. Hopefully an amicable working relationship evolves between you two where give-and-take suggestions back and forth between artist and writer helps create the perfect image. Use the world 'collaboration.' It fits perfectly in what I'm trying to say.
Above is the finished process for the cover of a book of short stories called The Turner Hahn Files: Twenty for the Grave. It's not out yet--still looking around for a publisher (and one may be very, very, very close to saying 'yes'). Twenty short stories featuring Turner Hahn and Frank Morales. Stories that stretch over a two and a half year span of time.
The artist(s) are a couple of brothers Javier and Jesus Carmona of Madrid, Spain. We've worked on other projects of mine before. Mostly my Fantasy novels (see Roland of the High Crags cover in the list of books in the right hand column). I like their use of vivid color; their composition and lay outs, their attention to detail. But more than anything, I truly enjoy their desire to work closely with me in coming up with the perfect image.
The above illustration started out as a mental image in my minds' eye. Especially the background: the polished green marble with the gold veins. My original idea was to have the two standing together like you see now . . . but in submitting my idea to the two in writing I didn't make it clear enough. So the rough-draft version came out looking like this.
I'm sure you see the differences. More importantly I'm sure you see in the rough draft no visual representation of what the marbled back ground would look like. A very important point. When you select an artist to help you out, you have to rely their artistic ability to get the whole design hammered out correctly.
So there was an exchange of emails. I suggested changing the hands on Turner. We discussed the marble background. There was another discussion on making the two look like they were 'moving' somehow.
In the end: Voila!
The perfect image!
I plan to use this image on more collections of Turner/Frank short stories in the future. When they come out the artwok will essentially be the same---but with some differences. Very slight alterations in the color of their suits and ties. Maybe a more wind-blown look involving Turner's hair. (Oooooh! I like the idea, for instances, of 'punching' gouged out bullet holes in the marble behind them. That'd look really neat.)
The writer and the artist in close collaboration in the making of a book cover. Absolutely essential in my estimation.
(By the way, looking for an artist to hire? Allow me to recommend the Carmona Brothers of Spain. You'll find they could very well be interested in hearing from you. Look at the selection of sites to wander through and find Carmonaart. Contact them there.)
A writing mentor. Every writer needs one. You want to be a writer you first start out being an avid reader. Or . . . . you should.
You read hundreds of books. Thousands of books. Finish one, immediately pick up the next. There is no stopping.
But somewhere down the line the bug bites you. Or like a Grizzly in heat, mauls you. That urge to write. You get this itch under your collar; your mind gets restless. All kinds of strange plots for stories explode into your conscience and you've just GOT to sit down and hammer it out on paper or a computer screen!
That's when you know the Writing Bug has taken a chunk out of you behind. It's permanent now. There is no antidote. No divorcing it. The two of you are going to grow old together.
But the thing is this; you need a mentor . . . a favorite writer . . . to show you the first initial steps in writing whatever it is that's rolling around in our nogg'en. I sincerely doubt any writer started out absolutely fresh. Coming up with his own personal 'voice' (as MFA professors will tell you you need to find in writing classes) without first mimicking your favorite writer.
As your probably by now have guessed, I write (love) the mystery/detective genre. I'm not saying I'm good at it. Or successful at it (yet). But I am saying I love the genre and occasionally . . . occasionally . . . have written a story or two I'm particularly proud to claim as my own.
And it wouldn't have been possible without the mentoring from a writer by the name of Ed McBain.
Ed McBain, or by his other pen name (one of many) Even Hunter. . . or by his real name, Salvatore Albert Lombino . . . was a New York writer who was prolific in his writing. Using the McBain moniker he wrote detective/mystery novels. And his most accomplished success was the fabled 87th Precinct series. The 87th introduced me into the sub-genre of the detective novel called police-procedural. Writing about cops and their line of work. McBain was a master at this, introducing us to a number of hard working, mostly honest, sometimes foolish, homicide detectives out of the 87th. Each on you got to know personally. They were three-dimensional. Well rounded. They actually breathed.
But what truly made me admire this man . . . and thus want to mimic him . . . was the crisp brevity of his writing. Clean, sharp, crystal clear. Short, precise sentences which grabbed you and bodily hurtled you into the middle of the scene with vivid intensity.
If you can write like that, bambino, you're a writer. A damn good writer.
McBain . . . just for the 87th Precinct series . . . churned out something like 55 novels. God knows how many he wrote if you add in all his pen names and his real name. He averaged about two novel a year for decades so that should give you an indication he was prolific. But as Ed McBain the 87th was/is his crowning legacy.
And in my opinion, nobody writes a police-procedural better. But of the 55 books in the series, the six novels which introduces a deliciously evil genius know as The Deaf Man stands head and shoulders above everything. Talk about being diabolically evil! Wow! A complex creature who . . . in the end . . . walks away and is never caught. He's still out there somewhere plotting his next caper.
The best book in the series (always subject to change, mind you) is one called Eight Black Horses. The Deaf Man plots a very intricate game of wits to challenge and irritate the detectives of the 87th as he prepares for a spectacular robbery. Brother, the writing in this one so spectacularly brilliant! Five pages into this one and you know, just know, you are reading the words uttered from a master story teller.
So there you are. You're a writer. You want to be the best writer you can possibly be. Well, be one! Find the writer who moves you the most. Experiment with his style. His voice. Branch out--try some sentence structures of your own design. Throw in, or discard severely, descriptive phrases until you find something that fits your standards. (that's finding your own Voice, by the way . . . just in case you didn't pick up on that)
Voila! Master your own style and you've become a real writer!
Which means, of course, that like the rest of us you'll starve to death trying to earn a living off your writing and your name will be forgotten completely the day after they throw your coffin in the ground.
But, hey! That's Life, ain't it?
Let's talk about gumshoe side-kicks. You know, the Doctor Watson wannabes.
I've never really liked'em. I'm thinking of creatures especially like Hercule Poirot's Captain Haskins in the early Agatha Christie novels. Or the bungling, but lovable old buffoon of a Dr. Watson played by Nigel Bruce in the Basil Rathbone Sherlock Holmes movies of the 1930's.
Clownish amateurs there to screw up the crime scene, maybe give a little humor to a story, but really present to build up the brilliant detective work and intellectual genius of the main character.
Two emotions come to mind at the same time. One is Yuck! And the other is Why?
The Yuck comes to mind because, in my opinion, the buffoonish nature of a Captain Haskins is just too distracting to the overall story. It is a physical and obvious insertion of a sounding-board . . . or automatic applause machine . . . the author slaps in to get the reader to appreciate the main character better. Unneeded and unappreciated.
The Why? comes in asking this question; "Why so buffoonish? And why so amateurish?" Can't an author create a side-kick who is smart and intelligent? One who can infuse a little humor (if its needed) into the plot without making him look like he was just released from a loony farm?
I say there is. And I have a few examples (although two of them are not the 'humorous' kind of fellas to be around).
If you've ever read Robert Crais' Elvis Cole series you run across a character by the name of Joe Pike. Ooooooh . . . . one mean SOB! Someone you wouldn't want to be on their bad side. But one hell of an ally when the chips are down. Joe Pike is no second hand caricature to be easily dismissed. He's every bit as talented and every bit as tough (maybe even tougher?) than Elvis Cole.
A second side kick that comes to mind is Hawk from Robert B. Parker's Spenser series. Big. Mean. Bald. And very loyal. So good in fact one quietly speculates on what would have happened if Hawk and Spenser became enemies. Who would come out the winner on that one? It'd be a toss up, fella. A real toss up.
The absolute best example of a side kick I'd root for is the Robert Downing Jr. Sherlock Holmes movies featuring Jude Law as Dr. Watson. Two movies in this re-imaging of of this classic character where Dr. Watson is portrayed as being a near-intellectual equal to Holmes. But more importantly, Watson is absolutely essential to Holmes' success. Therefore he is an equal to his more famous compatriot.
Jude Law's portrait of Dr. Watson brings wit, sarcasm, humor, humanity and genuine friendship to play in these moves. Absolutely astonishing to watch! I could watch (and fervently hope the do!) this cinematic series forever.
I'm writing this as a blog today because of the red headed guy in the artwork at the top of the blog. The red head is Frank Morales.
The side kick to Clark Gable lookalike, Turner Hahn. Both of'em are homicide detectives and partners. And so far, in the 23 or so short stories and 3 novels I've written featuring them, both are in almost every scene together playing off each other.
But maybe it's time for Frank to spread his curmudgeon's wings and fly on his own power. He's certainly is capable of taking on cases by himself. Technically he's smarter than Turner when it comes to sheer IQ numbers. And his personality is . . . shall we say . . . a little more brutally direct than Turner's.
Together Turner and Frank make a great investigating pair. But separating Frank from Turner and giving him his own cases to solve creates some interesting possibilities. Of course the red headed SOB won't like it . . . being on his own. He's very smart and very observant. But the one thing he isn't is he doesn't play nice when he's on his own.
But not being able to do the nice-nice makes for great possibilities. Don't you think?
Here it is. Darren Sant and Craig Douglas' Gloves Off. A heaping together of nineteen of the roughest, toughest, most critter-like writers of hardboiled, noir, and horror to be assembled under one pup tent.
And yes, I've claimed my little spot of space underneath the tiny patch of canvas along with the others. I've got a story in here entitled 'Cold.'
I've got to say that I'm very pleased to be associated with this assortment of bad asses. There is some truly genuine talent in this gathering. Talent like Richard Godwin, Graham Smith, Paul D. Brazil and Gareth Spark. To be asked to contribute something of mine was a great honor. To be even remotely ranked up there with the headliners featured in the anthology is kinda intoxicating.
Who knows? I might turn out to be a genuine writer after all.
The bloke who came up with this nifty idea, Darren Sant, has an ezine called Near To The Knuckle. Over the last two years I've hacked together some stories and bopped them electronically over to England for him to consider. Surprisingly he's accepted every one I've sent. (either a terrible case of amensia overwhelms him every time one of my stories comes up for review and he thinks I'm someone else . . . or maybe he just likes what I write. The first option makes sense. The second option would be nice too.)
Near To The Knuckle covers a wide spectrum of stories which, in one way or another, involves a bloody mess and a dead body stuffed in some one's closet somewhere. Or maybe underneath a divan. Or a street gutter. Or . . . well, you get the picture. Lots of writers show up with their unique prose and styles. From all over the world.
That's one of the two things I've grown to enjoy with the coming of the Internet. The first is this tremendously huge rebirth of writing short stories which seems to be directly attributable to the invention of the electronic age. And secondly ezines popping up everywhere willing to pull in writers from all over the world to fill their pages with stories.
It truly is a writing renaissance we're witnessing.
Go get you a copy of this anthology. You won't regret it. And then come back and tell me what you thought of my story.
(Of course it is the best in the lot! I wouldn't be a real writer if I didn't secretly believe that!)
And that voice of Cumberbatch's. That deep, deep voice. Measured and precise. And oh so
