Consistency and Prolificness

One thing I will say about Lee Child (here), the man writes alot. The other thing I will say about him is that I think I could write as well as or better than he does.

There are some books that I read where I sit back and kind of give up on writing. Alot of Lawrence Sanders books are like that. I think to myself, "There's no way I can write that well." Same with James Dickey or Pat Conroy. They are so poetic in their writing I feel that I could never get to that level so I just stop writing for a while.

Then there are those books that I read and I think to myself, "I can do that! Heck I can write better than that."

That's what I think when I read a Lee Child novel. Like I said yesterday (here) his books are a bit formulaic and easy to read. The thing that is impressive is that he's built a brand and he continues that brand with verve.

I'm only on my fourth novel, and barely started on it. He's written twenty-one. Now he has twenty years on me, but I better hit high gear real soon if I hope to catch up.

I haven't been sitting around. I have a collection of short stories I'm sitting on, a thriller novel rough draft I'm happy with and a couple of romance cum literary fiction novels that are in various states of completion. But still there is number four sitting her staring me in the face each day.

Lee Child doesn't just give me that feeling that I can do that, he also inspires me to get up and write everyday, to just plug away a little bit at a time and eventually I'll get there. Perhaps I need to embrace the formula and the pedantic. It seems like that's what gets the novels produced.

From Thick to Thin and from Liam to Dwayne

I've read a few really thick books lately. First there was Uris and The Haj (here). Then there was Lawrence Sanders' The Third Deadly Sin (here). Finally Hickory Dickory Doc (here). Please don't judge me too harshly when I reveal the depths to which I've fallen in my next selection.

Another Jack Reacher Novel, by Lee Child. This time it's Running Blind (here). It's not that bad, I suppose. It's not smut . . .is it? Sure it's formulaic. And yes they remind me of westerns (see here), and they're simple and sometimes plodding and just plain silly, but they're fun to read, particularly after that summer reading list I provided up in the first paragraph.

One thing I find interesting is that since talking to my buddy at work a few months back, I've changed who I imagine as the main character. It should come as no surprise to readers of this blog (that means you, Mom) . . .  I suppose I should say "reader of this blog" rather than "readers"  . . . that I substitute people I know into the place of characters when I read books. Reading a series makes this particularly fun. I have a very clear idea in my mind who Stephanie Plum and Lula are (here). I have a terrific person who represents Archy McNally. I had a good one for Reacher, then the movie came along and ruined it all.

Reacher is described as huge, extremely tall, even though the characteristics and dimensions that Lee Child uses hardly makes him seem that way. I think he wrote once that Reacher was six-three, two fifty. Coming from a guy who is six-two, two forty, I hardly think of myself in the same way that Reacher thinks of himself, and I'm just an inch and ten pounds short. For a long while I thought of Liam Neeson. Have you seen Taken? He would be a great Reacher. Then the movie people cast Tom Cruise as Reacher and everyone who ever read a Reacher novel thought it was horrid casting.

One of my work friends said to me in passing one day, "They should have cast the Rock" and Boom! It was an epiphany. The Rock would have been perfect. So now I've gone through an evolution in my reading of Reacher novels. From Liam to Dwayne.

Surprising Friends

Last night I had the opportunity for one of my irregular guy's night out poker nights. Last time I won almost five hundred dollars. This time I lost three hundred. Win some, lose some right? But I found something out that was surprising and my mind was worth the three hundred dollars I lost.

I am in the midst of writing my fourth novel. No name yet, but I have several themes that I'm exploring. I think what I liked most about my third novel, Vapor Trail (see here) was that I had far more and more complex themes than I did in my first and second novels. Among the themes I wrote about in Vapor Trail was the idea of the ends justifying the means. That's an obvious one. Another was the nature of conspiracies to overwhelm a person's life for the negative. There was a return to civilian life theme as well as a nine circles of Hell. Lots more depth than either Toe the Line (here) or On the Edge (here).

Some of the themes I hope to write about in this fourth book include writing about Anthony (see here) and writing about a guy at the end of his life who realizes he's not leaving much behind. There will be more, but that leaving something behind will probably be a major theme.

At poker last night one of the guys wished me a happy father's day. Keep in mind these are guys I see maybe once every three months. They play at least once a month, I just don't get there as much as I'd like. So, although I know them well by now, we aren't "friends" in the classic sense of the word. Secondly, even tough I like to think I break even, I probably lose more than most of the core group of players, so I suspect they only invite me cause I'm an easy mark. Still, the point is I know them, but only in a poker sense.

What stunned me was that this "poker friend" stopped himself when he said he hoped I had a nice Father's Day and said, "Oh, sorry man. Forgot about your Dad."

You see he remembered that I had to miss a poker night because of my father's funeral this past year. This is a guy who I had thought was just a passing acquaintance, in the life then out again, someone who might be tone deaf about that aspect of my life, and instead he was more in tune than most others in my life. I look forward to using this as a theme in my next novel. Perhaps the main character will be surprised by the end of the book that he has more friends than he previously realized.

When my father passed away I wrote a little blog post and in it I talked about this same surprisingly aspect of friendship and how friends will pop up in places that you didn't expect. I planned on making it a theme back then as well. I suppose I should be happy that I'm thematically consistent.

Summer Chills - Late Spring Dulls

For several years I've made a point to go to our local theater's "Summer Chills" series (see here) which always features an Agatha Christie play. I remember being, and still am, stunned by the fact that each year there was a new play and I had never heard of it. Many times it's not quite as good as I hope. Such is the way I feel about Hickory Dickory Dock (see here).

This is one of those many hundreds of Agatha Christie novels that she produced that I would bet most people have never heard. Good thing too. It's a throw away novel in that you read it, in some way you must force yourself to plow on, and afterward there may be some memory of the fact that you read it, but it's vague and you wish you could forget it. It just wasn't very good.

Since I love cataloging first lines, and have a whole section of this blog devoted to it (here), I'll leave the sample from Hickory Dickory Dock below:

Hercule Poirot frowned. 

“Miss Lemon,” he said. 

“Yes, M. Poirot?” 

“There are three mistakes in this letter.” 

His voice held incredulity. For Miss Lemon, that hideous and efficient woman, never made mistakes. She was never ill, never tired, never upset, never inaccurate. For all practical purposes, that is to say, she was not a woman at all. She was a machine— the perfect secretary. She knew everything, she coped with everything. She ran Hercule Poirot’s life for him, so that it, too, functioned like a machine. Order and method had been Hercule Poirot’s watchwords from many years ago. With George, his perfect manservant, and Miss Lemon, his perfect secretary, order and method ruled supreme in his life. Now that crumpets were baked square as well as round, he had nothing about which to complain.

Christie, Agatha - Hickory Dickory Dock: A Hercule Poirot Mystery

Completely Complete . . . Sigh

My favorite authors when I was younger were probably Stephen King (here) and Louis L'amour (here). Stephen King is good a long, interesting yarns. Louis has that black, white, no moral relativism, man against man and nature story.

Once I hit my teens I think I fell in love with Dick Francis (here). Had never been to a horse race, but reading about his adventures around the horse racing world was spectacular to me. Also, I loved the way the story didn't necessarily have to do with racing, racing was sometimes tangential.

Then, later, as an adult, I ran across Archy McNally. What a fun character. But I ran out of them quickly and for more than a decade I was Lawrence Sanders-less.

It wasn't until just a few years ago that I did a bit of research and found out that Lawrence Sanders (here) wrote some much more gritty and more interesting detective stories with New York City as the backdrop. I fell immediately in love with them.

Sadly, I think I've read my last of these.

I just finished The Third Deadly Sin (here) and although it wasn't the best, I sure do love the way Sanders writes. I'll miss being able to read things like:

SOME DAYS LASTED FOREVER; some were never born. She awoke in a fury of expectation, gone as soon as felt; the world closed about. Once again life became a succession of swan pecks. 

Zoe Kohler, blinking, woke holding a saggy breast, soft as a broken bird. The other wrist was clamped between her thighs. She was conscious of the phlegmy light of late winter, leaking through drawn blinds.

Outside, she knew, would be a metal day, no sun, and a sky that pressed. The air would smell of sulfur. She heard traffic drone and, within the apartment house, the dull thumps of morning doors. In the corner of her bedroom a radiator hissed derisively.

Sanders, Lawrence - The Third Deadly Sin

So, now that I've read my last, I'll  be sad for a bit. But, it was serendipity that lead me to the Edward X Delaney series in the first place, perhaps a bit of serendipity will come again and I'll find some more.

Commitment Complete!

Awhile back I started the idea of reading "commitment novels" every now and then. Trash and pulp and thrillers are fun, but a good commitment book, a Charles Dicken's, a Tolstoy, a book that you really have to sink your teeth into for a really long time, . . . those are sometimes necessary.

My latest commitment was The Haj by Leon Uris. It wasn't bad, but boy it was nowhere near as good as Armageddon (see here). Uris has a wandering, tangential style, but in the case of The Haj, I just never got around to identifying with the main characters. I hated them all the entire way through the book. That's no way to read a book.

I knew going in that it was going to be a slog, but boy I had no idea just how hard it was going to be. I have to admit, I skimmed the last 20 pages just to be done with it.

Now . . .on to TRASH!

Released!

I always said I wouldn't seriously promote my writing and my novels until I had three under my belt. I don't know why I came up with the magic number of three, I suppose I just felt that was a decent sounding number. I've finally finished my third novel and I've gotten some good reviews, so now would be the time (buy it here!)

Leah, who has reviewed two of my books, wrote:

"Vapor Trail is a fast-paced and interesting mystery with a great lead character," and "I read Dick Hannah’s first book Toe The Line a few years ago and though I generally enjoyed it, I had trouble liking any of the characters. I didn't have that problem with Vapor Trail though since I found it much better and I’m glad I had the chance to read it."

Not too bad if you ask me. I'll take that criticism. Then I read this and was quite happy:

"I happen to love shows/series like NCIS and Strike Back, so it was easy for me to get behind a character like Jeremy Stubbins who is portrayed as analytical and military-minded – very much like the characters in these shows. The novel is written from his perspective so you’re clued in on what he’s thinking in every scene."

I liked hearing that. 

I got a second review from  Jeanne Richardson. Also a 4 out of 5 stars. Jeanne wasn't as verbose but she wrote:

"The storyline was interesting, just not what I was expecting. I had a hard time completing the book, don’t get me wrong it is a good book, it’s just not the type I normally read. If you like stories with conspiracy theories then you’ll truly enjoy the book."

I would love if you read it too and left a review. I've dropped the price for the next week or so. If you'd like to get a complimentary copy for a review let me know and we can see what we can do.

It feels good to have three books in the personal library. What's best is what Leah said in her review. She liked Vapor Trail more. I think each successive book has shown improvement as a writer. Toe the Line read like a first time novel. On the Edge was more polished. Vapor Trail is my best work yet. Still there is room to grow and I'm already writing number 4, (to order any of these novels, see here).

I would love to know what you think of my novels if you get a chance. Feel free to drop me a line when you buy it and then again once you are done.

Happy Reading!

Could Be My Last

Wildfire (here) could very well be the last novel I read by by Nelson DeMille, I'm at that crossroads where you have given an author the chance a couple of times and he's just not coming through for you.

I remember well how much I enjoyed that opening sequence in The Lion's Game (here) about the airliner filled with dead folks landing in New York and how the antagonist, The Lion, escapes despite all of the police presence. It's a great opening. I was rapt with attention.

Sadly I also remember how poorly that book ended. Beginning, great. Middle, meh. End, horrid.

I read the review for Wildfire before buying it I saw that one reviewer had written something about how it seemed like Nelson DeMille had given up by the end of the book and just wrapped up the damn thing to be done with it. It all came to and end too abruptly and too succinctly. I wrote about this as a good thing a couple of posts ago (here) saying that if a reader thinks it ends too soon, it could be that they just want the book and the story to continue. Still true. Sadly, it could also mean that the story just stinks. I think that Wildfire falls into this second category.

It's one thing if the author starts the novel with a spectacular opening sequence as The Lion's Game did. It's another if the opening sequence is boring, plodding and silly with the villain explaining his plan to take over the world while sitting around a dinner table as he did in Wild Fire.

Lastly, it was way too James Bond movie silly, with secret, underground, hidden layers, a ruthless villain and his silent body guard, an army of mercenaries and a plan to nuke the entire world. It left me dumbfounded that the person who wrote it could still be taken seriously by anyone after they had read it.

I liked The Lion's Game, enjoyed Nightfall, but so found everything about Wild Fire so reppellant as a reader and author that I doubt I'll try another DeMille book.

First Line from and Old Friend is a Dan Browner

I like Nelson DeMille novels (here). I especially like John Corey novels. I don't know why. John Corey and I would definitely not get along in real life. I don't like Yankee jackasses, . . . nope, not even Donald Trump. Still I like Nelson DeMille's John Corey so I'm looking forward to reading Wild Fire (here) despite the first line which seems lacking in verve.

I’m John Corey, former NYPD homicide detective, wounded in the line of duty, retired on three-quarter disability (which is just a number for pay purposes; about 98 percent of me still functions), and now working as a special contract agent for the Federal Anti-Terrorist Task Force. 

The guy in the cubicle facing me, Harry Muller, asked, “You ever hear of the Custer Hill Club?” 

“No. Why?” 

“That’s where I’m going this weekend.” 

“Have a good time,” I said. 

“They’re a bunch of rich, right-wing loonies who have this hunting lodge upstate.” 

“Don’t bring me any venison, Harry. No dead birds, either.”

DeMille, Nelson - Wild Fire

It's not just a lame opening, it's also a tad of a "Dan Browner" (see here). What's a Dan Browner? Go look at the link. It means he opens like having a guy look in a mirror and describe himself for the reader. "I'm John Corey, former NYPD homicide detective . . . ." That's a Dan Browner.

Fifty pages in and it hasn't gotten much better. Come on DeMille, pull it out of this nose dive soon!

NaNo Info Graphic

There is a great link (here) and shown below from Pinterest. Having been in many NaNoWriMo events over the years (see here), I can relate to much of what is shown in the little info graphic.

I agree with the 76% who say not to edit as you go. NaNo works best as a "brain dump." I just write as much and as fast as I can. Sure the final product is completely different, but the final product is also twice as long, so it's naturally never going to look like the first draft.

I was surprised to find that 67% of the surveyed folks found that the time of day they wrote was crucial. For me, whenever I could find time to write was a blessing. Maybe that will change as my kiddos age.

Who the hell are these 12% who wrote on the toilet, or 9% who wrote in the car? I hope they weren't driving.