Novel Blog - Writing The Great American Novel

USA Today recently featured an article celebrating John Grisham's twentieth year writing legal thrillers. The Firm, Pelican Brief, and A Time to Kill are 3 of my all time favorite movies.

I found an insightful interview Grisham granted to Bill Moyer's in 2008 that provides an insight into his thought process.

The last day of grade school was generally around May 15th and we returned to school the day after Labor Day each year. From May 16th until Labor Day, we rarely wore shoes during the daytime unless we were working with hoes or rakes in the garden, feeding the livestock, or going into town for some reason.

Bare feet in the summertime meant freedom. Freedom from the hour long bus ride to school, from spelling bees, school lunches, and homework. It was glorious. Aside from the occasional stubbed toe or sticker patch, walking on rough dirt, grass, or gravel rarely caused any issues.

One day while walking from our house toward my grandmother's house a few hundred feet across the road, I felt a tingling sensation on my right foot. I thought little of it, but glanced down quickly to look. I must have jumped two feet in the air and hopped, skipped, and clamored around something fierce, because my mom stepped out on the porch and asked me what was going on. It must have been a sight to see.

The cause?

I stepped on a garter snake laying in the shallow grass near the edge of our graveled driveway. Harmless yes, but I'd been raised to hate snakes. Seeing one twisted around my foot temporarily frightened me. To this day, they still make me squirm. In the zoo, behind glass walls, or in the wild, it doesn't matter.

I guess it's a good thing I didn't grow up in South Florida. They've got snakes that are 19 feet long that have been discovered digesting small deer and even aligators. The problem is so concerning, that they are considering implementation of a bounty program to encourage hunters to kill them.

When I was six or seven my grandmother gave me a book by Mel Bay titled something to the effect of Learn to Play the Guitar. My dad had an inexpensive guitar and let me strum it sometimes. I sat down and tried to duplicate the chords and techniques Mr. Bay demonstrated in the book. I spent most of the summer trying, but I did not learn to play the guitar that year. Or the next one either. But, I started out at a big disadvantage - neither of my parents can play the guitar either - but I've learned to appreciate and recognize a good guitar player when I hear one.

Stevie Ray Vaughn
I discovered the venerable Stevie Ray style like most people my age - after his untimely death. He died in a helicopter crash the same year that I graduated college. The local radio stations played a lot of tribute programs in the following few years. I believe one was called Tuesday's with Stevie (or something close). The radio station featured a "block" of three or four Stevie Ray songs at the same time each Tuesday night just after drivetime. I've been a fan ever since.

I absolutely love his version of The Sky is Cryin'. (I soon collected all of his albums and as many tribute albums as I could find.) Nobody's better in my opinion. I once asked a friend of mine who does play guitar to "play me some Stevie Ray". His answer, "I can play the notes, but it won't sound like the Stevie you're thinking of." His style is hard to duplicate.

Albert King
When I hear an Albert King song playing on Sirius, URGE, Pandora, or Playlist.com, it always reminds me of Stevie Ray Vaughn. It's easy to see that Mr. King influenced Mr. Vaughn greatly. Albert Cummings has picked up a little or both of these greats (o.k., alot actually).

Charlie Daniels
He's known for the fiddle but before The Devil Went Down to Georgia made him a household name, he played recording sessions with some of the biggest and best stars on Nashville's Music Row. Do yourself a favor and make a point to see Mr. Daniels at a live concert while you still can. You won't be dissapointed.

I saw him live in Dearborn, MI at a "free" summer concert in 2004. Before the concert a woman seated next to me on the portable bleachers actually asked me if he was the one who played The Devil Went Down to Georgia. That was the only thing she knew about him. She came to the concert because it was free and it was "something to do". As we were walking toward the parking lot I asked her how she liked the concert. Her response, "Charlie Daniels has a new fan in me that's for sure." His style of Southern Country Rock has had that effect on lots, and lots of people throughout the decades.

The rest of the story....
In 6th grade I decided to try out for band. My mom suggested the drums because two pieces of wood were cheaper than a trombone or trumpet. A lot of other parents must have had the same idea, because in 7th grade their were about 6 drummers sharing a snare and bass drum on the first day of school. The band director held tryouts and three of us got the boot. As a consolation prize she asked me if I'd like to try the Baritone. (The school had one I could play for free.) I later stepped up to the Tuba/Sousaphone. I played the hell out of it too winning a spot in the All District Band a few years later.

Who says tuba players don't have any fun?

I recently read an entry on another blog about an adult's struggles with returning to college after several years in the work force. She has been laid off from her "career" job and is now taking Algebra I, which is a prerequisite for her new career (hopefully).

I know exactly how she feels, but for me it was Algebra II. I made B's and A's in Algebra I, but for whatever reason couldn't "get" the concepts in the more advanced problems. I had before school and after school tutoring. If I had difficulty completing homework, I even called the teach at home for late night help. To his credit, he never complained.

I really tried and tried, but it just didn't "click". The teacher passed me with a C, just so I could move on. I made 50's and 60's on most of the tests, but I worked every problem, carefully showing my work, and really put in an effort on each and every test problem. Most of my other high school math teachers told me to stick with English (which I excelled at) and that I didn't have an aptitude for advanced math, so it became a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Guess what I do for a living now? Financial analysis and accounting. And, I've aced every statistics course I've ever taken. I also made an "A" on my first trigonometry exam as a college freshman. I guess I had an aptitude for "practical math" after all.

When we were kids, my mom let us eat popcorn on Saturday nights. The four of us usually were given a choice between a small amount of ice cream in a tiny bowl, or all the popcorn we could eat. Popcorn won almost every time. It was cheap, easy, and quick to fix. A little oil in a medium sized skillet and a ½ cup of popcorn and 3 minutes later you had a slice of buttery heaven.

We later graduated to a plastic see-through purpose-built electric “popper”. You put the popping corn in the Teflon coated base, slipped the lid on, and placed 2 TBSPs of butter in the reservoir. Three minutes later you flipped the popper upside down to serve it. Some of our relatives had the “air” poppers that shot the popcorn out of a tube and directly into a bowl. The first time I saw one of those, it was mesmerizing.

As a teenager, I ate microwave popcorn for the first time. In college, I think I lived on it for a few days when I was short on cash. I continue to marvel at the diversity of popcorn brands, flavors, and packaging available in the grocery store, vending machines, and quick marts. It’s a simple treat that has become an industry of its’ own and it's still relatively inexpensive 30 years later.

Where would movie theatres be without $7.00 Jumbo Sized bags of butter and salt to go along with $5.00 cups of corn syrup? The movie might not be any good, but I still enjoy the popcorn.

Interesting fact: Kernel Seasons resulted from one college student's love of popcorn and his desire to find new ways to enjoy eating it.

I used to collect bottle caps. At eight or nine years old, it was a quest to collect as many as possible and as fast as possible. In our house, it was Pepsi's. At grandma's you got RC Cola and Dr. Pepper. I don't remember too many Coca-Cola bottle caps. Come to think of it, where I grew up, no one really drank Coca-Cola's (and they still don't).

I'm not sure I remember the exact number, but it was almost enough bottle caps to fill up an empty 5 gallon plastic lard can. It must have been tens of thousands. O.k. maybe it was only tens of hundreds, but it was alot. (I wish I still had them.)

I later graduated to 16 ounce returnable bottles. I remember asking the neighbors for them, relatives for them, and like finding a lost treasure - finding several of them in trash cans at the city park and wondering how anyone could possibly just throw them away. I even pedaled my bike several miles down the black top in either direction from our home, picking them up, and riding home with half a gunny sack full. On Saturday's we'd take them to Foster's General Store and exchange them for 10 cents each. If you could scrounge up three or four of them, you had enough money to buy a bottle of ice cold Pepsi from the vending machine.

Ahh...those were the good ole days.

I don't remember a lot of my childhood before the age of three, but a few things do stand out in my mind starting a few years later.

• My finger was smashed by some neighborhood kids while playing on a pile of concrete blocks. A few hours and a short doctor's visit later, I was diagnosed with a broken finger. It's still crooked.
• My favorite dog named Pepe died when I was five years old. I'm told the name resulted from a four old me constantly calling him "puppy". He was following my dad on the tractor and the neighbor's dogs ran out to greet him. Tractor tires meet dog and tractor tires win.
• My pig had a litter of 12.
• I hit my first homerun in a real baseball game.
• I was elected president of the local 4-H club.
• We traveled to Siloam Springs, Arkansas and attended my great-grandmothers' funeral - someone that I'd never met.
• A trip to the Missouri State Fair qualified as our official "family vacation".
• California was a neighboring town, not a state, Versailles was not in France, and Centertown was in the center of nowhere (and still is).

My parents, grandparents, and all who came before them were farmers. They grew gardens to put food on the table and raised cows, pigs, acres of corn, soybeans, milo, and wheat to put money in their pockets.

At five years old, my dad moved our family into a mobile home situated in the middle of a cow pasture. There were livestock, dogs, cats, trucks, trailers, and tractors. And to accompany it all…a lot of hard work, blood, sweat, and tears.

Like a lot of people, I earned good grades in high school. I received a scholarship and earned a college degree.

I attended the U.S. Army paratrooper training school in Fort Benning, GA. I watched two people fall from the sky and “bounce” when their parachutes failed to deploy. I spent 8 years in the U.S. Army Reserves as a Second and First Lieutenant. I attended the Officer Basic and the Officer Advanced courses at the U.S. Military Police School in Anniston, AL.

I was hired for my first corporate job. It was my dream job with a large stock brokerage firm. Things didn’t go as planned and I was delivering pizza and washing windows within a couple of years.

I’ve had grunt jobs, sales jobs, and management responsibilities. I’ve worked as a newspaper reporter, short-order cook, house cleaner, and janitor. I spent some time in inside and outside sales positions with varying levels of success. I was a life insurance agent, multi-level marketer, and a semi-successful car salesman.

For the past 12 years, I’ve worked for a large Fortune 500 corporation. I’ve got health, life, and long-term care insurance benefits. I’ve got a 401K and pension fund benefits (as long as they last).

I’ve put my heart and soul into my career and relocated to five different cities for various assignments. I lived in Nashville, Baltimore, Orlando, Detroit, and Tampa. I’ve worked my way into a mid-level position and I earn a mid-level salary. I’ve been promised promotional opportunities that have not materialized and I’m constantly worried about the possibility of downsizing, layoffs, and cutbacks in benefits. At this point, I have very little control over my time, my salary, or my career in general.

I’m constantly on the look-out for new opportunities. I’ve started several part-time businesses, but none have earned significant revenues. I feel there is a perfect business for me out there somewhere, but at this point I haven’t found it.

I’m a self taught photographer, website developer, wannabe bonsai artist, and a possible future restaurant owner.

A few years ago I started a website about southern-style barbecue that features a how-to section, recipes, and products for sale. I started selling my own barbecue rubs online and cooked in professional barbecue contests.

I’m a homeowner, husband, and owner of a green cheek conure. I’m a son, son-in-law, nephew, and uncle to seven.

I watch football and NASCAR. I enjoy reading mysteries and biographies of famous Americans. I watch 60 Minutes and I like to research things.

I’ve been confined to my recliner, bed, and a too-small wheel chair for the past three weeks. I’m in my third week recovering from double knee surgery. I went into surgery for a partial knee resurfacing and left with 2 holes drilled in the left knee and 7 in the right knee. I’m told the cartilage might grow back…if it works (and I’m lucky).

I saw the T-Birds while attending Westminster College in the 80's. It's funny, I appreciate them much more 24 years later.

Wrong. Take a look at this dose of reality from someone who had a book on the New York Times list last year.

I read the first six chapters of Doug Worgul's bbq novel today. It's put me in the mood for some harmonica music. Here's one of the best harmonica players on YouTube.com - Lee Sankey. Learn more about this artist at LeeSankey.com. I love his rendition of Monkey Lips.

Here is the second draft of Chapter 1 of my novel effort. I've incorporated the suggestions from my online critique friends at Scribophile and agree that it's an improvement.

Riley and Tim were inseparable during the summer months. They played on the same youth sports teams, attended the same vacation bible school, and each July the boys attended the Cross Creek Youth Camp together.

The first Tuesday morning after returning from two weeks at Cross Creek, the boys packed their tackle boxes and fishing poles and made the 30 minute bicycle ride to Turner pond. They rode past Grey Wolf cemetery, up Sly hill, and past McGill's Christmas Tree Farm. From there, it was a short ride down the cow path to the boys' favorite fishing hole - a paradise for twelve year old fishermen.

The boys rigged their Shimano spin casters and 6 pound line with purple plastic worms. The artificial diving motion and wiggly tail action were effective for catching bass and crappie. After an hour, they had caught three fish a piece and switched to Zebco 33 bait casters rigged with 12 pound line, treble hooks, and chicken livers to pursue the lunker catfish in the deeper sections of the pond.

After the first cast, Riley cranked the fishing reel a few turns to tighten the line and felt a tug. He reeled it faster and stepped backwards from the water's edge. The fishing pole began to bend.

Tim ran toward him from half way around the pond shouting encouragement.

"Rod tip up. Keep the line tight. Careful so you don't lose this monster."

"Would you look at the arc on that pole?” Riley said. “I don't know if I can get it to the bank. It must weigh 30 pounds at least. I've never caught anything that compares to it."

"Don't give up on it Riley. It's sure to be the biggest catfish we've ever hauled out of this pond."

"I've hooked some big catfish Tim, but this thing's a whale."

Stressed past its' limit, the fishing line broke.

"Damn it."

"Man, what a bummer," Tim said, now standing next to Riley on the bank. "I thought you had it for sure."

"I don't know what it was, but it's the heaviest fish I've ever hooked," Riley said, flailing his aching arms and hands.

"Uh, Riley....that was no fish," Tim said, now pointing toward the water. "Look."

The afternoon sun cast a glare on the water and he did not immediately see it. Beginning to catch his breath, Riley dropped the rod and reel and bent down for a closer look. And there it was, staring up at him from three feet of murky pond water--the shrunken, shriveled, decaying face on the shoulders of a fully clothed dead man.

“What should we do?” Tim asked.

“Help me get him out of there,” Riley said.

Riley waded into the water and took hold of the leather belt with one hand and supported the back of the head with the other hand. The hair was matted and sticky with blood and the eyes were wide open. The skin on the neck was pale white, like hands left in dishwater.

“Don’t just stand there Tim. Help me!”

“What do you want me to do?"

"Get in here and help me."

"I don’t think we should touch it,” Tim said, backing away. "Look at him. It's gross, we need to tell someone."

“We will, but first we’ve got to get him out of the water. We can't just leave him here like this.”

"You do it then."

"Get down here!"

Riley and Tim took positions on opposite sides of the body, facing one another, and struggled against the weight of it. They walked the body out of the pond water and up the bank a few feet before lowering the body in soft mud.

“It stinks,” Tim said, clamping his nose with thumb and index finger.

“Help me roll him over,” Riley said. “Let’s find out who he is.”

"Haven't we done enough?" Tim asked. "I'm serious - we need to tell someone about this."

"We will, but first help me roll him over."

Dressed in dark suit pants, light blue shirt, and black wingtip shoes he lay exposed on the pond bank. They rolled the body to one side and removed the wallet from the rear pocket. The leather and most of the contents were ruined. Pictures were unrecognizable; and various papers were reduced to mush, but the laminated driver’s license was fine.

“Says here, this is Gregory Pritchard.”

"I wonder what happened to him," Tim said. "It looks like he might have went for a swim, but forgot to take off his clothes first."

"Maybe he was fishing and fell and bonked his head on something and drowned," Riley said.

"I have never seen anyone fish in Sunday clothes. How long do think he's been in there?"

Riley pointed to the hands, "Long enough for the snapping turtles to find him. He's missing a couple of fingers."

I attended a presentation by Debora Coty, author of The Distant Shore, Billowing Sails, Mom Needs Chocolate, and others. She shared her experiences going from occupational therapist and mother to a author with six books in print six years later.

It was an eye opening session that delved into a variety of writing topics from getting started in a writing a career with magazine articles, how to write query letters for fiction and non-fiction, how to get paid, marketing, agents, editors, etc.

The biggest writing tips that I harvested from the presentation included ommitting "ly" adverbs whenever possible and writing with action verbs. Example: "She walked across the room" can be changed to "She stomped across the room" or "She tip-toed across the room" or "She strode across the room" and each version depicts a different image and meaning for readers.

During the question and answer session a lady asked whether, with six books in print, the author's writing efforts had been profitable. The answer...no. She explained that for beginning writers, royalty payments are usually small ranging from $.60 - $1.00 per book sold.

The biggest tip I took from the session - publishers are interested in working with authors that have a built in audience. Example: As a new author, if you have a newsletter subscribers, an e-mail list, etc. it's an advantage when querying for publication.

You can read more about Debora Coty in the Tampa Tribune.