Author Archives: hermit

Patriots Day 2013

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Two explosive devices detonated in Boston today. I went to university in Boston; the city schooled me. I fell in love, got robbed, and even did a little growing up. I lived too close to Kenmore Square to enjoy Patriots Day much. The crowds always stayed amiable, but the crush could get intense, even in usually deserted locales like Charlie’s Diner and Nemo’s Pizza, a few doors down from Store 24.

I don’t understand why anyone would lob bombs in the midst of all that happiness. I don’t care what cause or creed is invoked by the perpetrators; nothing can justify the murder and maiming of innocents.

No blog post tonight. My imagination (and heart) is in Boston.

Revision Histories

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The Nova/National Geographic documentary ‘Great Incan Rebellion’ challenges the old story of ‘Spanish Conquistadors arrive in New World and use superior technology to crush primitive native peoples.’ Forensic pathologists collaborate with archaeologists and historians to uncover a much more plausible narrative, in which the discontents and ambitions of the native tribes of the Andes feature prominently.

I don’t doubt for a second that steel, gunpowder and horses gave the Conquistadors a significant advantage. But advanced technology alone is no guarantee of success, no matter what the myth makers may want us to believe.

Reflections and What Lies Beneath

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The ‘money pit’ on Oak Island in Nova Scotia has a (multi?) storied history. I’m not going to try to recap the history of the place: the Wikipedia page on the ‘money pit’ is thorough, balanced and sharply written. Cribbed from that is a list of the ‘treasure’ believed to be waiting: pirate doubloons, British or Spanish government money, Marie Antoinette’s jewels, the Ark of the Covenant, proof that Francis Bacon was the real author of Shakespeare’s plays, and (naturally) the Holy Grail.

I’m inclined to view the pit itself as the treasure. It’s better than a reflecting pool, because it reveals the innermost hopes, desires and dreams of all the seekers who come looking to plumb its mysteries.

The Fools Lecture Series, Vol II: Naming Names

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In the manuscript for ‘Thief,’ a large fortified structure constructed by persons unknown is central to the events that unfold. The name for that structure that I’ve used the past year (‘the Spire’) never fit perfectly, and that minor failure itched like a half-healed sunburn. The itch needed to be addressed.

First, I searched for alternates to the noun ‘Spire.’ While I liked the evocative power of ‘Spire,’ I wanted something more tangible, descriptive and (of course) concrete.

  • Fortress
  • Tower
  • Castle
  • Redoubt
  • Keep

    • All of these had the solidity I wanted, but no glamor. I tapped my pen against my mouth (terrible habit when you’re holding an uncapped Sharpie) and I came up with more options.

  • Lighthouse
  • Monument
  • Stele
  • Needle

    • My interest was pricked by ‘needle.’ Vivid noun, but I felt like it needed an adjective or modifier of some sort. More scratching on paper with my Sharpie and I had another list.

  • Iron
  • Silver
  • Marble
  • White
  • Obsidian
  • Sapphire
  • Redemption
  • Dominion
  • Elvish/Dwarfish
  • Vernus

    • ‘Redemption’ refers to the Bay the former-Spire watches over, ‘Dominion’ the principal military power of the colonial period, and Vernus was the name I’d settled upon for the man who discovered the ‘Spire.’ Many of the place names we take for granted (Virginia, Jamestown, Columbia) honor individuals. ‘Vernus’ Needle’ didn’t exactly fall sweetly from the tongue, though. More tapping of my pen against my mouth. Sharpe’s Needle, now… that sounded better. Switching the name from ‘Vann van Vernus’ to ‘Sir Sydney Sharpe’ is easy enough, this early in the game.

    And the itch I’d felt to revise that name vanished.

    Magic (Every Now and Then)

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    I spend a lot my time (in my imagination) in a world where technology hasn’t advanced past the level enjoyed in Europe in the 16th and 17th centuries. I think maybe that exercise helps me retain some degree of appreciation for the magic we can wield in the contemporary world. And yeah, I think ‘magic’ is the right word. Consider:

  • I can reach into the most extensive library imaginable and pull out books and documents from throughout the ages, in every language spoken on the planet.
  • I can summon up a limitless cast of players, eager to perform all comedies and tragedies great and smallish by daylight, or in moonlight, and even on a day when the rain barrels from the sky.
  • I can make a few gestures over an image of a loved one stuck anywhere on the planet and not only can I speak with her but I can see the expression on her face when I tell her ‘I love you.’

    • Don’t get me started on the miracle that is contemporary plumbing.

    The Fool’s Lecture Series, Vol I: Sense and Sensitivity

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    I mentioned in a previous post that one of my goals when doing a first-pass round of edits is to focus on appeals to all five senses. Done properly, the effect for the reader should be to make the story more pungent, vivid, and easier to imagine. I score two more benefits, though. I’m obliged to imagine the scene in fine detail in my own mind, and I’m also forced to confront some of the very different ways in which other people see the world.

    For many people, I think meals are the (fanciful metaphor alert) hinges of the day, closing one segment of the day and swinging open another. Morning doesn’t begin without breakfast, lunch is a breath before the afternoon’s labor, and dinner heralds the calm before a night’s sleep. Food is a visceral pleasure. Food provides common ground for good conversation, and good food translates into better health.

    None of that resonates with me. If I could pop a pill in the morning and have all my nutritional requirements met? I’d be content. I’m a rarity (not to say an oddity.) If I want to write fiction that appeals to people who aren’t like me, I think I’m obliged to see the world from different angles.

    Or maybe that should be ‘I’m obliged to sample the different flavors of the world’?

    (Close to the) Edits

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    I was up until the wee hours last night working on the THIEF sample available on this web site. I’m editing, which is absolutely premature. But I am, and I thought it might be helpful (for me, maybe not so much you) to document exactly what I’m trying to do. Basic stuff:

    (1) Eliminate sentences, paragraphs and pages which don’t fit within the emerging narrative structure.
    (2) Simplify verbs and verb tenses. The nuance provided by more complex verb tenses isn’t worth the page clutter, at least in commercial fictions like WITCH and THIEF.
    (3) Rehearse and revise narrative voice, with an eye towards consistency, plausibility, likability, and trustworthiness. In later revision rounds (after a full draft of the manuscript is complete) this step will become a higher priority.
    (4) Reinforce appeals to all five senses.
    (5) Eradicate stray spaces, misspellings and unintentional grammatical follies.

    Simple stuff, but important enough to keep me up at night. (The coffee helped.)

    The Sanctity of Reason

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    We have Freemasons in the family. Not my generation. (Um… not that I know.) But the light-blue apron I discovered in a dusty trunk decades ago is tangible proof that, once upon a time, my family was on the inside. We knew people. Also, presumably, stuff. Secret stuff.

    Alas. I’ve yet to hear any revelations about the meaning of the eye in the pyramid or the current resting place of the Holy Grail. I haven’t received even a minute of coaching for any time-hallowed rituals. (Not unless that coaching was subtly concealed within episodes of ‘Hee Haw’ and ‘the Lawrence Welk show.’)

    None of this stopped me from enjoying the first hundred pages or so of the loopy, shaggy-dog silliness of Robert Anton Wilson’s Illuminati books, wherein much is made of a purported connection between the Knights Templar, the Freemasons and the Founders of this country. (I finished the books. I just didn’t enjoy much past the first hundred pages. Ymmv. Also: Fnord.)

    In an era when respect for the men and women who founded the United States borders on hagiography, I think it’s important to recognize that Washington, Jefferson, Franklin et al were a quirky and very human bunch. They weren’t saints. They had weird fascinations, flaws and obsessions, to be sure. But I tend to believe that the Freemasonry of the Founders’ era had more to do with giving people an excuse to socialize than anything more devious. People are awful at keeping secrets, and worse at working together amicably. I don’t doubt that conspiracies have been launched every few minutes throughout the whole of human history. I just struggle to believe many survive a single week, never mind many generations.

    Oddly, no one in my family seems to know what happened to that trunk I opened, or the Masonic gear I examined. The house where I found the trunk was sold, and I’ve heard conflicting accounts of what happened with the contents. So-and-so thinks there was an auction. Another source reports that anything salvageable was donated to the Salvation Army and the rest thrown away. I’m certain that one of those two explanations is the right one.

    Well. Almost certain, anyway.