Category Archives: Writing

THINNING THE HOARD

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Not talking about war, illness, or old age. Not even talking about our callous disregard for those who we let starve. Much, much more mundane.

This is about cleaning my office, which, this time, includes deciding what books to keep and what to give away. I’m not a pack-rat, but I find letting go of books to be an painful task, despite not being much of a re-reader. As I mentioned in my last post, I didn’t even re-read my own books until forced to. Still, this is a job I’d avoid, but with a cellar that ruins everything that wanders near it, I have no choice. Ouch.

Some decisions are easy. Long before I began to write the Matt Jacob novels I spent years tracking down little known mystery authors like Bart Spicer, Brad Soloman, Max Byrd, and others. Loved ’em. Keepers. Also easy is the decision to cling to my role models–Raymond Chandler, Dashiell Hammett, Ross Macdonald, and James Crumley.

But what about the few one book knock-offs I own like Murder One by Dorothy Kilgallen? Or the mystery novels that Gore Vidal wrote under the pseudonym of Edgar Box? Or Earl Stanley Gardner’s A.A. Fair books? All tough calls because they were a bitch to find and were very different than what these authors usually wrote. The idea of owning them also amuses me.

Then there are the series that are good, but not great. I have a ton. Loren D. Estleman’s Amos Walker books come to mind. Is it enough that his stories take place in Detroit, Sue’s hometown which she feels deeply about? Those are in the “maybe” pile. The others, out the door.

All this angst despite my decision to stop reading mysteries once I began writing them. I didn’t want to unconsciously glom onto someone else’s work. What’s funny is that during all the years I was on writing hiatus, I still avoided reading them. Sometimes consciousness is the last stop of information. Somewhere inside I guess I knew that Matt Jacob was still alive.

The non-mystery shelves aren’t easy either. Charles Bukowski, Harry Crews, Doris Lessing, and Christopher Isherwood are safe. But do I want to go through another round of depression by revisiting Bernard Malamud, Phillip Roth, Saul Bellows, and John Updike? I doubt it, but I’m not sure I want to say goodbye to old friends either. Friends who kept me company throughout my own years of depression. Misery loved that company. And it might be tempting fate to say I had moved beyond them. Should I commit this act of faith?

Luckily not every shelf or decision involves this much self-examination. William Gibson’s Neuromancer is a brilliant book. His others-not so much. Keep the great, give away the rest. I’m extending this rule to other favorite authors: Norman Mailer, Truman Capote, John Le Carre. The clunkers are gently laid down instead of dropped in the giveaway pile as a tribute to their best work.

Where does this sifting end? The classics? Dime bags to expensive ounces, I won’t re-read Faulkner or Fitzgerald or even Hemingway. But can a modern writer really pitch the bulwarks of American literature? Especially after watching and loving a seven-hour play where the actors read and acted every line of The Great Gatsby? They stay, but it’s a close call.

Speaking of plays, what should I do with the bookcase full of them? Especially since a part of me has always been interested in writing for the theater. At the same time, I’m no spring chicken and Matt Jacob comes first, so really, what are the odds of me actually writing a play? Don’t bet rent, but they too are probably keepers.

I haven’t even mentioned nonfiction or modern fiction writers like Richard Russo and Richard Ford, but the point isn’t the decisions, as difficult as they may be. It’s really about the times of my life that each book or group of books represent–including my Hardy Boys and Nancy Drews.

It’s hard not to feel like I’m giving away a piece of myself with each book I box. I know that it isn’t really true–I am who I am, was who I was, and that can’t be donated to charity. But somehow each giveaway feels like one of those thousand cuts.

On another level, I find it passing strange to identify different aspects and eras of my life with inanimate objects. It’s a lot easier to understand the emergence of these feelings when people I care about move or pass away; this connection to things is less comprehensible though not surprising given our culture. At least there aren’t too many other objects that would raise similar feelings. My Bakelite radios, my saxophones, for sure. Definitely all the music I’ve collected–except the collections I bought during stoned stupers deep in the night for $19.95 plus shipping and handling. I really have no need for Yanni or Zamfir no matter how good they sounded at the time.

But one thing is absolutely certain. I’ll be hanging on to every single draft of all the Matt Jacob books no matter how much space they take or how few times I read them.

CHEERS & FEARS

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I’m not gonna lie, when I read the line“…the measure of my Jewishness had been tossed into a hospital’s foreskin container…” I laughed out loud.  As those of you who follow my posts know, I’m deep into proofing my four original Matt Jacob books for digital downloads.  And what I’m discovering is how much I enjoy my earlier work and how scared shitless I am about the new Matt Jacob books that will be coming.

Frankly, I’m not sure that at my age of sixty three I still have the chops to turn a phrase, think of a phrase as snappy or interesting as I could in my forties.  Forgetfulness alone makes a huge difference.  When I was forty and walked into a room to retrieve something, I remembered what I was there for.

Not that I was a young forty.  I was born old, or quickly got there given my childhood experiences.  But even an old forty is damn different than sixty three.  There are, however, similarities.  Then I decided to write because I had used up being a counselor.  Now because I felt finished with my time as a trial and jury consultant.  In both instances I turned to writing because the way humans act and interact is, for me, the most interesting aspect of life.  And to fictionally chronicle both is a way to express not only what I see, but how I understand it.

I’m still confident in my ability to observe and understand.  Confident about relationships.  How they work—or don’t.  Why they work—or don’t.  How groups of people function—or dysfunction.  Furthermore, age brings the gift of deeper understandings.  But at forty I never even bothered to define those talents.  I simply decided to write detective fiction, sat down, and wrote.

In those days my biggest worry was the twists and turns of a plot.  Could I create situations where readers would wonder about what was happening, but look for clues and not find the ones that were there.  (An aside—I start writing by thinking about a theme I want to explore, the natures of my ongoing and non-ongoing characters, and finally try to imagine a dénouement that ties the theme with the people—though my endings are never even close to those which I imagine before I begin.)  Back then I was still young and brash enough to push away the plot fear and plunge ahead, secure with my voice, main characters, and ability to write in a style that would hold readers.  And be pretty funny along the way while I developed interesting stories.

Now the fears are more numerous.  What will Matt Jacob sound like now that I’m 20 years older and he is older as well?  Hell, my personal voice is different, won’t his be?  My personal issues are different, won’t his be?  Can I still see the world with the same quirky eye?  Can my style be as captivating as it had been?  How will Matt’s neuroses play out now with more age and experience packed onto his life?  Mine are certainly different and, while fiction is, in fact, fiction, it’s also a reflection of a writer’s insights.  And of course there’s still that deeply felt plot fear, which has never left and I don’t expect ever will.

Now that I’m older and gifted with deeper understanding something just struck me.  Are my fears really more numerous now—or am I just more capable of admitting and eyeballing them?  A somewhat comforting thought.

It’s funny how things change.  In my forties I felt competitive with Raymond Chandler, Dashiell Hammett, Ross Macdonald, Charles Bukowski, Harry Crews, and a number of other writers I admired and respected.  Now I find myself in competition with only one author—me.

It’s also funny how things stay the same.  Then I really, really wanted to push the limits of detective fiction into the world of literary novels and not be consigned to the genre bin.  Now I still want to push those same limits, but no longer care about categories.  Though the goal is still the same, and I’ll work just as hard to attain it, age has taught me something about what I can and cannot control.  I don’t do the labeling of my work, other people do–and it will be what it will be.

Soon my new website will be up, the books for sale, and it will be crunch time.

But as I write this I remember sitting down for the first time to work on STILL AMONG THE LIVING thinking, Damn this is one hell of a cliff dive.  Well, the cliff is now different but the void is the same–and it’s almost time to jump.

“Fasten your seatbelts, it’s going to be a bumpy night!” Margo Channing from Three Faces Of Eve.

OPENING DAY(S)

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Some people begin their new year at midnight every December 31st.  Some, the first day of school in September (you know who you are).  And while I really enjoy partying on New Year’s  Eve–often too much–my year starts in April.

Twice actually.  First, on the opening day of major league baseball, then a week later with Jah Energy’s first game.

That said, April softball in Boston isn’t much fun.  Layered clothing–two pair of socks and occasional long underwear–is not the appropriate uniform for the “summer game.”  But the game must go on as must I, despite my antipathy to the cold.

When I first joined Jah, a year after the league began, I had no idea how long I’d play or how important the team would become to me.  As time passed, its importance increased and I began to dream of playing until I was 65.  In fact, the team, league, and games grew so important that I’ve begun considerig having my ashes scattered on home field.  Seriously.

I was lucky to have never missed a game due to injuries.  Even luckier to have both sons, a nephew, and a niece play alongside me for many years.  And even able to bring home a couple of championships.

A banjo, but steady, hitter and an excellent defensive first baseman, in tough situations I always wanted the bat in my hands or the ball to be smashed toward me at first.  But a couple of years ago I started feeling the tickle of fear when an opponent’s left-handed power hitter strode to the plate.  Eventually, I was forced to acknowledge that I no longer wanted them to hit toward me.  I simply couldn’t cover ground the way I used to.  And worse, that banjo’s strings started to break and I had more and more trouble getting on base.

Two years ago I finally admitted the obvious, talked to the manager about playing half games and coaching third the rest of the time.  We also agreed that his wife Sammy and my son Jake had become much better at first than I.  To say nothing about their hitting, which dwarfed my own.  So the half games I played were usually at catcher, though the manager still liked the way I picked the ball out of the dirt and put me at first in particular situations.

Last season our manager stepped down so I co-managed the team with Sara.  Although Jake would yell at me for not placing myself into the line-up, I had the teams’ interest at heart and felt he and Sammy were so much better it would have been unfair to sit them.  I was able to play a couple of games as catcher, and one or two at first, but mostly I helped Sara and coached third.  Still, the dream of playing when I became 65 never faded and I just assumed it would occur.

Then came my shoulder problems.  The operation and the months and the months of rehab ahead has made it impossible for me to even coach or manage.  And so, for the first time in 24 years, I am no longer a member of Jah.  One of the most painful aches I’ve felt since my operation was putting my glove away.

But I’m here to praise baseball, not bury it.  I often catch a lot of grief during major league play-offs because I root for other teams if the Sox aren’t in it.  I’ve always rooted for my home teams so I don’t hate the Yankees or White Sox, or the Tigers in loyalty to Sue.  Even the deserters, the Dodgers and Giants, which, after they left New York, I’d listen on my transistor radio to Les Keiter bang sticks together in front of a fan noise record as he called the Giant’s games from a delayed ticker tape.

For me the game is larger than any single team.  Yeah, I know it’s millionaires playing for billionaires and much of the enterprise has nothing to do with anything but money.  No matter.  When I see players running onto the field, it’s all about what happens between the white lines.  The fleet outfielder gliding, body outstretched to snare a certain base hit.  A runner sliding headfirst into second safely then jumping up, pulling on his pants to get the dirt out of his crotch.  The myriad of signs that emanate from the 3rd base coach, a batter lunging after a pitch that’s impossible but somehow manages to slap a flare single.  Frankly, I could go on for pages. (And no doubt someday I will.)

I know baseball has lost its preeminent role as ‘America’s pastime.’ (Yea football.)  But for me it will always be the beginning of my year and the backbone of my summers.

Oh.  As far as Jah goes, I intend to rehab all year so next season when I’m 65 (which will be my 25th year in the league), I will play a single game then retire on my terms.  Some dreams never die.

“It’s so hard to say au revoir, so let’s just say hors d’oeuvre.” Martin Mull

 

 

Miscellanea

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If I had imagined that “A Tough Write,” the last four posts chronicling my relationship with my dad, was going to be cathartic, I was wrong.  I do feel good about my honesty and my ability to get it down on ‘paper’, but I don’t feel much different than I did before I wrote the series.  Presumably I’m learning a lesson that many people already know—time helps more than venting, however well written and honest that venting is.

Maybe it’s that I don’t feel as “light and airy” as I had hoped.  Maybe it’s that I feel drained.  Maybe it’s the countdown to Jewish Christmas (Chinese and a movie).  But it’s one of those weeks where, as my friend Bruce Turkel put it, “I got nothin’.” (see: http://turkeltalks.com/index.php/2011/10/16/i-got-nothin/)

Rather than make something out of that nothin’, which Bruce already did so well, I’ve decided to let the week’s thoughts, ideas, insights, lack of insights, wishes, and experiences lope onto the page.  Or at least some of them.  I may be honest, but I do have some limits. (Where are they?  Where are they?)

In no particular order:

Television

NCIS, which has one of the highest television viewerships is my “comfort food.”  And like mac and cheese or take-out pizza, familiarity is probably more important than quality, especially when you’ve had a bad day. Nothing on NCIS makes you jump out of your skin and the relationships between the characters never surprise—that’s sort of the point.  Despite the above, Mark Harmon, in his role as Gibbs, has serious ‘duende.` ((P)RAISING THE DEAD): http://www.zacharykleinonline.com/1/archives/07-2011/1.html).

If you do want to jump out of your skin, Homeland, Showtimes’ series based on Gideon Raff’s Israeli Hatufim or Prisoners of War, makes that happen.  Claire Danes, as Carrie Mathison, is terrific as a manic on a mission to prevent a major terrorist attack.  Her intense mishagas is wonderfully offset by Saul Berenson (Mandy Patinkin), Carrie’s calm, soulful, mentor who mostly believes her hunches, but spends as much time trying to keep Carrie’s head together as hunting down any potential attack.  Damian Lewis as Nicholas Brody (whose acting is also marvelous) is an American Marine held captive by Al-Qaeda for eight years, originally the object of Carrie’s suspicion but becomes…well, I’ll let you discover what happens.

If you have Showtime and On Demand, I suggest you start from the beginning.  The show is that good.

Another pleasure on the television front is Starz’s Boss, which chronicles Mayor Tom Kane of Chicago (Kelsey Grammer, cast against the grain).  Although the series takes place in the present, it’s really about how the first Mayor Daley ran his town.  I think the series is worth watching, but I’m biased since I Iived in Chicago during three or four years of Daley’s term.  Again, if you do have On Demand and Starz, I’d suggest watching the show from the beginning.

(If folk have different recommendations, please let me know in the ‘comment’ section.  I’m always ready to hear about something decent on the tube.  Grateful too.)

Books I’d like to read:

Coming through Slaughter by Michael Ondaatje

House of War by James Carroll

Time Bites by Doris Lessing

The Art of Fielding by Chad Harbach

On the recommendation front:  But Beautiful (A Book About Jazz) by Geoff Dyer.  Truly fabulous as he riffs about jazz greats, writing those riffs in the style of each particular musician he profiles.  A stunning book for anyone who loves jazz.

Movies I want to see:

Sherlock Holmes: A Game Of Shadows.

The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo.

Mission Impossible-Ghost Protocal.

Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy.  (LeCarre’s second best book next to The Spy Who Came In From The Cold.)

Dangerous Method (Viggo as Freud?  He’s been great as everyone else).

My Week with Marilyn.

Documentaries I want to see:

Page One: Inside The New York Times.

Urbanized.

Eames: The Architect & The Painter.

The Black Power Mix Tape 1967-1975.

 Art I want to see:

Degas Nudes at Boston’s Museum of Fine Arts.

Play I’d like to see:

THE FRIENDS OF EDDIE COYLE at Club Oberon.

But mostly I want to finish the work of getting my Matt Jacob Mystery Series prepared for download.  It’s been a hell of a lot more effort than I imagined and I’ve yet to even figure out how to cut through the noise of the Internet where the books will live.  How to get the Matt Jacob series a following despite the overwhelming infoload of virtual reality? Of course, if anyone not on my mailing list wants to be, please let me know at zacharykleinonline@gmail.com.

I want finish because I’m chomping at the bit to write new ones.

So I plan to take the next two weeks off of my Monday posts.  I won’t finish my project, but it will give me an opportunity to do some catching up.  It will also allow me to recharge my Monday post batteries.  A Tough Write was tougher than I realized

I hope you all will return when I do.  Have a great, safe holiday; then let’s meet up again online Monday, January 9, 2012.

Feliz Navidad

Whoever undertakes to set himself up as judge in the field of truth and knowledge is shipwrecked by the laughter of the Gods. – Einstein

“A Little Help From My Friends

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…and the kindness of strangers

As I’ve mentioned in past posts, I’m doing my serial careerist thing, moving from working in the law, back to writing.  Although writing new Matt Jacob novels may seem like simply returning to a prior career, I see much of it as something new.

I left writing sixteen years ago, in large part, because my experience with publishing houses drove me out of the writing world.  (Another story, another time.)  That hurt a lot and I wouldn’t have thought about writing books again if it meant duplicating that experience.

But we live in a different time now; all types of communication have gone through revolutionary changes.  And publishing is no exception.  Self-publishing is no longer just the domain of people writing their family history for their grandchildren, or seen that way.  Some people have become bestsellers through their self-published books.  Some bestselling authors have left their publishers to strike out on their own.

I’ve been watching these developments and have created my own plan.  I am digitally re-publishing the first three volumes of the original Matt Jacob series as e-books (the cover for the first one is fantastic!).  Then when I publish the fourth book in the series (which I took when I escaped my publisher), it will come out both as an e-book and a paperback Book On Demand (BOD).  And that is what I will do for all the new books I write for the Matt Jacob series.  These publishing methods allow me to bypass the censorship issues I was forced to battle sixteen years ago.

It’s not just the technological innovations that lure me to write a “new” Jacob series, but in fact, the sixteen years that have passed since writing the fourth novel (TIES THAT BLIND).  Times have changed, I have changed, and I’m really interested to learn how Matt is dealing with his and our social and cultural changes.  I imagine many aspects of his character will remain, but sixteen years certainly adds more than just years to one’s life.

So Matt and his crew will be different.  I can’t say exactly how since writing for me is a discovery process.  But I do know that the prospect of playing with that time difference is really exciting and has captured my interest in a big way.  So much so, that it transforms the series into something that feels like moving forward, not going back.

Which brings me to my request for help.  As mentioned above, before I can begin to write a new Matt Jacob, I’ve been getting the original series ready for digital release.  Building a new website, formatting the originals for the various Ebook platforms (Kindle, Nook, Ipad, Downloadable PDFs etc).  If all goes well, STILL AMONG THE LIVING, my first book and a N.Y.Times Notable, should be ready for downloading by the end of October.  In the meantime I’d like to build the distribution list I’ve been using to announce my Monday posts.  Sorry, those ain’t going away despite this new venture.

If you know someone—friends, family, colleagues–who you believe might be interested in my posts and/or book it would be great if you checked with them to see if they’d be willing to be added to my mailing list.  Sorry to ask for that extra step, but I really don’t want to spam anyone.  If they are, please send me—or have them send me—their email address to: zacharykleinonline@gmail.com.

Of course, if any of you are uncomfortable with this request, just ignore it.  You folks have already been kind enough to follow my posts on a regular basis and I don’t want to impose.

This isn’t one of my regular Monday raps, but I appreciate your time and understanding.  Thanks.

If you do not change direction, you may end up where you are heading.
Lao Tzu