Telling It Like It Is...with Whistles and Bells

Writing exposition into a scene is tricky and often difficult. You can’t just have your characters blurt out info. It will make for a dull, heavy scene. Something else must be going on at the same time. One idea would be to have two characters in a state of conflict, with the tension created masking the exposition. Another is to have some physical action in play, either in the background or directly between the characters.

I learned this many years ago when I watched the film “Raiders of the Lost Ark.” In one key scene, Indiana Jones has just finished up teaching a university class on archaeology. The students file out. In comes his boss, Dr. Marcus Brody, with two guys in suits. Brody introduces them as FBI agents interested in the Lost Ark for reasons of national security (when have we heard that phrase before?). What they want to know is does Indiana have any idea of where the Ark is.

And of course he does. At this point he has to fill them in (and us) on archaeological stuff crucial to the quest, most of it technical in nature. If Indy just spouted these things out, it would have stunted the flow of the movie and brought it to a grinding halt.

But director Steven Spielberg is too tricky for that. So he plays it like this: there is a blackboard in the lecture hall. Indiana picks up chalk, and as he starts telling the FBI agents important info, he rapidly draws rough pictures of what he is talking about, all the while hitting the blackboard hard with the chalk, like audio exclamation points.

Rather than play the rest of the scene out in the same manner, Spielberg adds a new distraction to the mix. He has Dr. Marcus pick up chalk, too, and now both he and Indiana are drawing things when they speak, almost like they are in competition. Going one step further, Spielberg uses the excitement Indiana and Dr. Marcus are feeling to color the way their dialogue comes out. Both start either finishing off the other’s sentences, or talking right over them. The frenetic quality of this type of dialogue gives the scene an electricity, bringing it alive in a way simple exposition could never do.

The audience doesn’t really assimilate all the exposition, of course, but the pictures and words on the chalkboard have been planted in our minds and will resonate later when they come into play durinig the course of the action.

In writing four books in my mystery series, I had numerous times when I used a variation of this technique in key exposition scenes.

In one instance,  a young boxer has some important info to give my private investigator. I obviously didn’t want him to just tell it in simple dialogue, so I built on something that had happened earlier in the book. In that earlier scene, my PI conned the boxer into making a five dollar bet which he lost. The boxer felt stung, and the desire to get even is left there festering.

So when the boxer has this important info, he tells the PI he won’t let him have it unless he gives him a chance to win back his five bucks. The boxer, who happens to be a master pool player, makes the PI pull his car over at a pool hall. They take a table, and the con slowly unfolds.

The PI says he doesn’t want to play because he’s rusty. The boxer keeps pestering him until he reluctantly agrees. The scene then turns into an amusing con job by the PI with a great reversal of fortune. And while the pool game is going on, the boxer gives up his information (not to mention another five dollars).

That scene is one of my favorites in the series. It’s funny and filled with twists and turns and amusing interaction between three of my main characters, further building chemistry.

While exposition is an important part of a story, it must evolve organically from what has happened before. Action or conflict shouldn't just be arbitrarily inserted into a scene. In the case of my pool hall con job, the earlier con by the PI left the boxer with motivation to want to win his money back. So the new scene flowed naturally out of the other.

I’m fond of saying that most of what transpires in my novels comes to me from Visions in the Void, which is true to an extent. Artists of all types experience sudden inspiration without having a clue as to where it came from. That being said, a writer is not just a channel for ideas from another dimension. We think, we calculate and we consciously set up things. I guess it’s a marriage: the writer’s intellect working with the Void to produce a good book.

Rise of the Planet of the Small Publishers

The publishing world is experiencing a sea change and recently I experienced it in a personal way.

The new paradigm bursting boundaries in the book world reminds me of the rise of independent movie companies, who not only challenged the studio system, but have come close to parity in terms of turning out quality films, making a nice profit and garnering Oscar nominations.

The trailblazer was Miramax Films, owned and operated with the kind of hands-on approach the old studio moguls did back in the day. The Weinstein brothers had an acute eye for quality scripts, and also a knack for plucking the best indie films from film festivals, quirky flicks the studios passed on.

Today, major studios produce far fewer films than they did in their hay day. In searching for box office hits and potential Oscar nominated films, they are picking up the distribution rights to movies made by indie companies. The majority of the movies I watch today tend to come from these indie studios, with or without Hollywood distribution.

In publishing there is also a sea change that is taking many forms, beginning with the powerful effect of E-books, sold on Amazon Kindle, Barnes & Noble’s Nook and various other tablet formats. A few months ago Amazon even announced that the sale of E-books on their site had totaled more than hardbacks and paperbacks combined, quite stunning. A glance at the New York Times Book Review section will tell you even the Old Grey Lady has accepted to a degree the new paradigm. Under the heading Best Sellers, the first subhead is Print & E-books, followed by hardback and paper.

Another change is the arrival of hip new, no old-world rules-apply small publishers. Many are open to submissions without the middlemen, agents. That was virtually unheard of in publishing when the so-called Big Six--centered in New York-- was the Master of the Publishing Universe.  These small publishers are hungry and on the cutting edge to alternative ways to sell their product, including E-books, marketing using the social media and “book trailers” (similar in style to movie trailers). So far, only St. Martin’s Press among the elite old houses has understood the change coming, having hired about eight months or so ago a vice president for social network marketing.

Until recently I was still old school: write a book, get an agent and then wait endlessly for the Big Six to respond to submissions. I went that route with the first book in my new mystery series, and the majority of responses I received from agents was: it is almost impossible in today’s market for a new mystery author to get published. Even when they liked the samples I sent them, they had the same answer, which surprised me. History has shown that in the Great Depression, entertainment was a major form of release for people. Hey, does entertainment get any cheaper today than a good mystery book?

Another problem with agents is they are inundated with email queries from authors, so much so that it takes them usually a minimum of two months to respond, and some don’t even bother to reply at all, even with their ubiquitous rejection form letters.

I eventually did get an agent, but without going into details, we parted ways. So I hunted for small publishers who take submissions without the “broker” (think: real estate agents who have inserted themselves into the equation). I followed the small publishers submission instructions and sent off material. Each said they would respond within six weeks, which is a helluva lot sooner than agents did.

I happen to have a talented friend who is a mystery, chick-lit writer, a young first-timer who had just gotten a three-book deal from one of the indies I sent samples to. Her series takes place in the world of baseball, mostly behind the scenes. She knew I had 19 years experience as a sportswriter covering New York baseball teams, among other sports. I offered to read her book when published and give a blurb.

She mentioned me to her publisher, gave my creds, including writing currently for HBO’s boxing website. The publisher sent a PDF version of the book to me--which will be out Dec. 1--and asked in a personal note if I would like to review it. I wrote back and said I would gladly, and threw in that I had a submission of my own with her publishing company. I said nothing further.

She wrote back right away and said: “I'm so sorry you haven't heard back from us. We are in the process of trying to catch up on submissions. I will have a look right now. We have a new Acquisitions Editor and I will make sure to bring your manuscript to her attention.”

Such a response from a major, old-world publisher would have tilted the earth on its axis. Six different buffer flaks would have replied before the publisher would, if they even bothered. I was stunned and also very impressed. This was a publishing company that was looking for new stars and not constipated by the old rules. I realize, the times they are a changing.

No matter what happens, if the company ends up publishing my book or not, I have realized these small, hip companies are the way of the future, just like the indies were in film. If I were 25, this would seem to me to be no big deal, just the way of a world. For a guy who wrote and published his first two novels using a manual Remington typewriter before the internet and computers arrived on the scene, it was eye-opening and revolutionary.

Some say it is hard for old dogs to learn new tricks, and to an extent that is true with humans. I resisted at first, but adapted to the new reality because the reality is if I didn’t, I would become a dinosaur. And most importantly, my work would never be seen.

I quote the great actor Sir Lawrence Olivier. When asked by a reporter when he was in his 80s: “You have accomplished everything there is to do in acting, won every award, why do you still act?” Olivier responded: “Because there is still so much to learn.”

A Chat Virgin Breaks His Cherry

I had my first extended chat experience with my guest blogger/writer Robert Jones. We went at it for two and a half hours, talking writing, unloading our personal burdens and occasionally our phobias and neurosis. Chat is certainly different from email and telephone. In email you get time to think out your thoughts. In chat, you have to be more spontaneous and things come out of your mouth you might not ordinarily have written.

On the phone, Robert says he feels less open and wary of saying the wrong thing. Writing chat frees him of that. What was really fun was not having to wait for a response from the other side. The Chat Wizard would say, “Bobby is typing,” and I was free to also type at the same time. In vocal conversation that is called overriding your talking partner and kind of rude and annoying, in chat totally cool. For me it was like  a jazz riff, a stream of subconscious, let it all fly. I imagine if Jack Kerouac were alive and young today, he would adore chat.

As opposed to chat, when I write email I always am careful to express myself clearly, and correct typos. That’s the writer in me. In chat, I didn’t have that luxury. I guess it felt liberating, because when working on a novel I’m always judging what I am typing while doing it, making a lot of decisions and choices as to wording, grammar, and the rhythm of the things I am putting down.

I am not a fan of chat per se, and would never just do it about daily trivia. I see that as a waste of time, better suited for email. Chat has electricity, it is happening in the Now and you can either grab hold of the current, hang on to it and go for the ride, or fall by the wayside.

The experience reminded me of when I was a sports writer and had to go into locker rooms with only a few ideas of what questions I wanted to ask. Once there, I had to do what the Marines do, improvise, adapt and overcome. Winging it in a locker room one-on-one interview with millionaire, writer-adverse athlete is stressful, because any pause in your questions and the person, who would welcome a chance to get away from you, would close the conversation and escape.

Sometimes my mind would vapor lock, I had no idea of what I wanted to say or where I was or who I was even talking to, like my brain had stopped working. My back would always break out in a sweat. You’re losing this guy, say something, dummy. Usually I just blathered something nonsensical, but it bought me time to unscramble my brain, and then a real question would pop into my head.

Chat was nothing like that. I kind of dug it. Didn’t like that I was still doing it closing in on 3 a.m. EST., which would result in me getting up later than I usually do and cut into my valuable novel writing time. Bobby is on the West Coast, it didn’t faze him. When I brought up my time/sleep/writing problem, he scoffed at me and asked, are you addicted to your schedule? What I should have said to him is: a writer must be disciplined in his/her work habits. Instead, I got defensive and said some meaningless dribble.

But in a way Bobby was right.  Some of the best experiences I’ve had, and would one day recall and use in my writing, came when I abandoned my scripted life. Some real gems emerge from doing that.

Amazing how much you can learn from a 28-year-old fledgling writer. Different generation from mine. Foreign to me in some ways. But I improvised, adapted and overcome my inhibitions and habit addictions.

Chat. Thanks, Bobby, for the enlightening experience.

The Rules of the Game

Agents, editors and writing “teachers” (is that an oxymoron?) all have their own nifty set of rules: Never do this. Always do that. Be careful of… Avoid too many commas. Try to not use “that” if the sentence reads fine if it is eliminated. Don’t begin a sentence with “And” or “But.” The list goes on and on. Pay strict attention to these rules and you could wind up with a severe case of writer’s constipation.

If Jack Kerouac had adhered, he’d probably never have written a word and wound up teaching Latin, geology, the fine art of drinking cheap wine or just sitting on the rocking chair in his mother’s house watching the seasons change. But Kerouac was not one to be told how to express himself. Like a lot of other great writers, Kerouac followed his inner voice even when people were screaming at him to conform. He didn't even use a typewriter the way other novelists did.

The standard typewriter back then just wasn't suitable for Kerouac's style. He wrote very fast in a sort of jazz riff, so he had no patience for changing paper. Instead, he had a roommate who was an AP writer steal one of the long spools of paper used back then in wire service machines. Those machines would teletype news that rolled off and cascaded to the floor in one long piece containing multiple stories. Copy boys would then use a scissor to cut up the stories and deliver them to the appropriate editors.

Armed with this big AP roll (think toilet paper custom-made by Charmin for Goliath) he'd hook it up the cylinder of his typewriter and start the music, writing and writing and never having to pause from his rhythm to pull out paper and insert another page. Rules weren't for Jack, who wrote some of the longest sentences every put on paper, often a paragraph or more, using commas whenever it suited him.

The point of this riff/rant is that some of the best and brightest have ignored rules and done quite well. When I was laboring under the dos and don'ts, I felt they constricted the flow and rhythm of my words. One day, feeling especially frustrated, I decided to leaf through the novels of my two favorite mystery writers, Michael Connelly and Lee Child. To no great surprise they broke many of the rules, and it wasn't just because they were bestselling authors who could do as they please. They were faithful to their own style which was evident early in their careers. 

Sure there are certain elementary rules which theoretically are necessary to writing a novel or a screenplay: have a beginning, middle and end; define your characters early and have them change and go through an “arc;" don’t telegraph what’s going to happen next or 40 pages down the line, let it come out gradually and surprise the reader. Etc...

But that being said, history has shown us that style trumps even these basics, in both novels and film. Orson Welles’ in the 1941 classic movie “Citizen Kane” abandoned linear narrative in favor of a then radical mosaic structure which was more suited to the telling of his story. Nine years after Kane, the great Japanese director Akira Kurosawa -- undoubtedly influenced by Welles (as he was by many Western directors) -- created one of his masterpieces, “Rashomon,” in which a crime is recounted from five different witnesses, each having their own perspective on what actually happened. (Rashomon was most recently copied in the American movie "Courage Under Fire," starring Denzel Washington and Meg Ryan, and pilfered by other filmmakers).

The lesson? There is no lesson. If you're a writer who turns to the craft to express emotions and ideas without regard to the “Voice” telling you: “Don’t,” then money is not the main reason you took up the insane act of putting words onto paper in the first place. Sure, it’d be great if you got the big bucks down the line, but mostly you do it in the beginning to just be “you” in print, not the person your parents, peers or teachers expected you to be.

Well, I guess I’m wandering, another rule no-no. Where is my tight, coherent string of thought? Hell if I know. I’m a rogue writer. I live in the “Void,” a place where chaos and random events shape lives, creative writing, and in a larger sense, the planet. If you have realized I have absolutely nothing instructive to say about writing, go read Dear Abby, Page Six of the NY Post or the National Enquirer in order to find true wisdom. Me? I'm going to move on now to much more important things, like structuring my Netflix queue, checking out what my very few friends are saying on Facebook and immerse myself in email. I mean, let’s get our priorities straight!