Give Me A Break

I think it is a good idea if a blog site has a trashcan and trash-bag available for such things as this post; the non-essential, frivolous, probably not worth reading, but maybe something to make you smile a little. Smiling is good, not as good as a really deep-down, shake-you-up laugh, but good.

I have discovered that there are different levels of break times. When someone says, “Take a break,” it is important to know just what kind of a break they are suggesting you take. The one with the highest acceptability level is the cigarette break. Because of the not smoking in public buildings law, which applies to most work places, we no longer have people working hard at their job with a cigarette or a cigar hanging from their mouth, or a pipe clenched tightly between their teeth. That has effectively cut down on the amount of work done but not on the amount of smoking.

Now I am not an anti-smoking nut. Used to smoke 3 packs a day minimum, plus a cigar or pipe after dinner, all of it inhaled deeply and deliciously, coating my lungs with tar and giving my blood the needed shot of nicotine energy. I still love the smell of tobacco smoke. I will stand down wind of a smoker just to get a whiff of that old, familiar love. I started when I was in the Navy and could buy a carton of cigarettes at the ship’s store for 80 cents a carton. That’s right 8 cents a pack. It’s a wonder I’m still alive. But I digress…

The second unquestionably acceptable break at work is the coffee break. Because someone often joins you with his or her cup of coffee it is a good thing because it is a social break. We all know how important it is to be sociable and that is the reason Facebook is such a phenomenal success. In fact we are social creature like; elephants, bats, whales, gorillas, ants and all sorts of other creatures so a social break is highly acceptable.

I’m not an anti-coffee person either. I used to drink 16-20 cups of coffee a day, probably to wash down the nicotine. I still drink 3 to 4 cups a day; I mean mugs of coffee, you know the big ones, the kind of coffee mugs I make which hold a minimum of 16 ounces. You know when a can of coffee states that it makes 120 cups it is talking about those piddling little 8 ounce cups.

However, when you walk away from your desk and go outside for 15 minutes without a cigarette, or a mug of coffee, not smoking or being social, but just admiring the sky and the passing clouds, that break is considered a waste of time.

May all your waste-of-times be delightful ones.

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Paul’s book The Telephone Killer published by 2nd Wind Publishing is now available on Amazon and from the publisher. Kindle and Nook versions just $4.99.

A Donkey And A King

The Donkey
by Paul J. Stam

With clopping feet and floppy ear
He walks unmoved amid the cheers.
He knows not what they cheer about
Or why “Hosanna” is the shout.

Did unknown peace upon him come,
When on his back they placed the Son
Of God made flesh to dwell among us,
Come from all our sins to save us?

I was not there, I do not know
If the crowds knew ‘twas not for show.
Their cry was, “Save us now,”
But to that King they did not bow.

With braying voice that has no beauty
He knew only to do his duty.
With grotesque ears so unseemly,
He sought not another’s glory.

He walked amid the cheering throng
Wide-eyed with face oblong.
He was not fit for singing song,
But only to bring the King along.

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Paul’s book The Telephone Killer published by 2nd Wind Publishing is now available on Amazon and from the publisher. Kindle and Nook versions just $4.99.

 

Please feel free to re blog any of my posts.

It’s All In The name

Funny the way people get nicknames. It is said that Earvin “Magic” Johnson got his nickname from the way he handled a basketball. Another guy I knew has the nickname “Birdie.” I am told he got that name because he was an avid hand glider.

When I was a kid my best friend’s name was Lawrence. No one called him Larry, which I guess is the common nickname for Lawrence, but everybody called him “Skip.” I have known more people named “Skip” than any other nickname I know.

I had a cousin named Paul. Just like my name. Everyone called him Skip. Then he had a son who they named Paul, but everyone called him Skip also. Then that Skip (Paul) had a son whose real name was Paul and they called him Skip too. It just don’t figure, but I guess if you can’t think of a different first name it’s not likely you’d come up with a different nickname.

I’ve had some strange nicknames in my day. In fact all of mine were a little weird except the one I didn’t like and the reason I didn’t like it was because it was true.

Growing up the natives had a nickname for me. They never called me it when talking about me to my parents or other missionaries, but used it when talking about me among themselves and to me. My native nickname was, “Mbekede.” The closest translation of “Mbekede” would be “Smartass.” I kind of liked that name.

I came to the United States when I was 15 and got introduced to a bunch of food I had never tasted growing up in the Congo. I discovered such things as potato chips, Baby Ruth candy bars (the 1/2 pound size) in abundance, and Coca-Cola. Those foods had a direct influence on me and the next thing I knew I had the nickname of “Fatso.” Sure didn’t like that nickname, but I had earned it.

But I lost that excess weight and went in the Navy and I got another nickname, “Postage.” Sometimes it was, “Hey, Post office,” but usually it was, “Hey, Postage…” That came about because at muster, or for a work detail they called you out by the last name and the initial of the first name. Obviously if my name; Stam. P. was said real fast, or if there was a typo on the roster sheet it came out – Stamp. Got out of the Navy and was never called “Postage” again.

Then for years; through college, with all kinds of jobs such as teaching, or construction work or sailing, I was simply Paul. Now suddenly, just because I put my website address on the bottom of all my potter instead of my name, people around the studio are calling me “WW.” They don’t even make it “WWW” but I guess some nicknames are shortened versions of the real name like “Sal” for Sally or Salvatore.

So, what’s in a name anyway?

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The Telephone Killer is available from Amazon, the publisher, Second Wind Publishing and other bookstores for $15.50 and the Kindle and Nook editions are only $4.99.

View the video here.

Please feel free to re blog any of my posts.

Starting 2013 Correctly

Starting the New Year correctly takes some doing.

The three-week Christmas break at Windward Community College is over and I’m behind schedule. That’s OK. That’s my normal state. However, I don’t think I have ever been behind schedule in every area of my life, but this year I am behind in everything. I’m even behind in my sleep. But I digress…

In the mud department I decided to get away from coffee mugs, dinner plates and spaghetti bowls like those above and try something a little more challenging.

Being one who needs a road map if I’m going where I’ve never been before I started by make a cardboard guide to help me stay on the clay road so to speak. Since the clay that I extruded was ¾” and my mockup guide was inside the piece I had to make it an 1-1/2” smaller. If you look closely you can see the lines I drew as to where I hoped to place the first lay of clay. The height of this fair maid is 39 inches.

The first day of actually working with the clay I didn’t get very far. In fact I had to do it over because I didn’t like the lay of the bottom of the skirt.

The next time, 2 days later, went very well. In fact it went so well that I let the time get away from me.  To tell the truth it didn’t get away from me, I just ignored it. Worked on the sculpture for 7 hours straight. Went home tired as hell but well pleased with what I accomplished.

Well, here’s where I am today. I can see that I’m going to have to do something to soften her face and make it more feminine. I am also going to have to smooth down the whole figure.

I think I’m going to use under glazes and with a crackle finish, but I’m not sure yet. I’ll let you know where we’re going.

In the “paper” department, I got an email today that my murder mystery, “The Telephone Killer” would be out by the end of January. I don’t know why I’m so outrageously blessed, but it is great news for starting the New Year.

Hey, everyone, have an outrageously wonderful New Year!!!

Paul’s book The Telephone Killer published by Second Wind Publishing will be out January 31, 2013.

Please feel free to re blog any of my posts.

To Vid or Not To Vid

What sells a book?

It is obvious that people are not going to buy something they don’t know about. We are told the best way to inform people in this cyber age is with a website, a blog site and be on every possible social network. I have a website and blog site and I’m on Facebook and Twitter. To be very honest with you I don’t quite yet have Twitter figured out. I’m also on Linked in, but that’s another one I haven’t figured out yet.

Having done all those things, my question is, “When they come to your site what is the more effective sell; an excerpt or a video?” If you want to share your opinion the comment tab is open.

So here is a picture of the cover, and a brief description of The telephone Killer. I will also post a brief excerpt and a short video. What I’m wondering is if the video really does something or is it just fluff in the selling process.

Someone said of the video, “Well it lends credibility.” It seems to me it is the writing that has to be credible. So if you would read the excerpt and watch the video I would love I if you would let me know which, if there was only one or the other, is more likely to get you to buy the book.

OK. Here goes.

Who will he kill next? A local television station is the link between a murderer and his victims. When the unknown killer calls the station, misleading clues cannot help his intended targets.

But why is he killing seemingly random people? An insurance salesman, a police officer and a hitchhiker; the police cannot connect the victims to each other much less to the killer.

The questions haunt Vince Williams as he takes charge of the task force set up to stop the serial killer. When the team comes too close to answers, the killer makes a bold and very personal move against Vince. 

As Vince races to find the killer and rescue his fiancé, he is haunted by the killer’s calm promise to destroy the woman Vince loves. Vince will do anything to save her. - Anything.

Excerpt for Telephone Killer

‟KWBD newsroom. Andrea Becker speaking.”

‟I have a news story for you.” The voice was quiet, but was easily heard and had a calm and soothing quality. ‟I would appreciate it if you did not interrupt me with questions until I have finished what I have to say.” He paused. ‟I have just killed a police officer. After determining there was no one else in the area, or anyone in his car with him, I shot him in the head. The bullet entered the left temple and exited on the right side. The killing took place at precisely ten forty-seven this morning. You will find his body in his car located at the end of Harmon Place. He did not suspect a thing. I imagine he thought I was going to ask for directions or something of that nature. He was in car number seven, twenty-six and his badge number is eighteen, twenty-one. I hope as a public service you will make the most of this news opportunity. ”

The phone went dead but still Andrea said, ‟Hello. Hello.”

* * *

Harmon Place rose up the gentle hill to end at a barricade beyond which there was some tall grass and scraggly brush interspersed with a few scrub oak trees. The street was paved with curbs and sidewalks in place and sloping driveways leading to bare dirt lots that were beginning to fill with weeds. From the end of Harmon Place, at the top of the hill, one could look down on Falcon Heights and beyond it to the city. At night, the sight of the city lights was spectacular and the curbs of Harmon Place, and other streets like it, were dotted with the cars of young lovers. Officer Remke had never parked there at night himself, but often in the middle of the morning, he parked at the end of Harmon Place to catch up on his reports so he would have that much less to do back at the station when his shift was over.

The KWBD crew from the senior citizen center, which was two miles away, got there a few minutes before the first patrol car. In that time the KWBD crew were able to get pictures of the dead officer sitting behind the wheel of his car with blood on his cheek and neck and splattered all over his uniform and the car seat. So much of the right side of his head was blown away it would have been hard to determine it was a human head if it were not for the neck and then the uniformed body below it.

More patrol cars arrived, and the police started stringing up yellow tape to keep people back. Unmarked cars with detectives and professionals from the homicide division arrived. Five minutes later, the Live-News truck arrived. Although the crew from the truck was prevented by the police from getting close enough to the crime scene to get any good pictures, the video George Patton had taken before anyone else got there was transmitted by the Live truck to the station for broadcast.

Here is the video for Telephone Killer

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Paul’s book The Telephone Killer published by 2nd Wind Publishing will be out in December, 2012.

Please feel free to re blog any of my posts.

A Picture for Some Words

It has been said that one picture is worth a 1000 words. At the end of this post I will show you a picture for 100,000 words. Actually The Telephone Killer is a mere 85,000 words, but at one time it was more than 120,000 words.

Some years ago, in the dark recess of my numb mind, an idea swirled around and in that swirling found other ideas that attached themselves to it. Then, suddenly it was no longer just one or a few little ideas, but a whole, big idea and it was no longer content to be trapped in my mind. It had to get out. Through vague mental promises and absurd hopes it convinced another part of my mind to let it out – make it into a story.

It was not easy. Sometimes the idea had to almost force me to continue working on the process that would let the complete idea out. The idea knew the whole idea had to come out, not just little bits and pieces of it.

Finally, there it was, but no one seemed interested except friends who will almost always tell you something you did is good, even when it isn’t.

You’ve been there. You’ve been a guest at a meal that was just horrible, but you thank the host telling them their special pudding was delicious when it looked and tasted like warmed-over swamp mud.

But sometimes with a little bit more of this, and a lot less of that, that thing that tasted like swamp mud can be made to be, if not delicious, at least acceptable.

In the realm of story ideas that adding a little and taking away a lot to make something acceptable is called editing. And so you edit, over and over again until you’re pretty sure you have the ingredients right and that is when you invite total strangers to sample your pudding. That is called the query.

Sometimes the person you asked to sample your pudding will say something like, “Yes, it is good, but I don’t think I can cook it on my stove.” Usually the strangers just say, “No! Not for my menu.” They don’t tell you if they think it is good or bad, just “No.”

Half a world away, another mind, one that abides in the bright light of seeking is willing to take chances, comes across the sample I sent him and says, “Send me the whole thing.” That man was Mike Simpson at Second Wind Publishing.

Eventually that leads to signing a contract, some more editing and creating the cover.

The idea of a good for a good cover is that it stand out from the hundreds of others on the bookstore shelf and then make the person want to take a closer look.

I think this cover art does that. So here it is!

Tracy Beltran at Second Wind Publishing did it.

The latest word is that the murder mystery The Telephone Killer will be released December 11, 2012.

Check back with us.

More later - Thank you!

Paul’s book The Telephone Killer published by Second Wind Publishing will be out in December, 2012.

Visit me at Paul’s Books

Death On the Church Steps

Death On the Church Steps is a novel I just started. Here is a little from the first chapter. Who knows, maybe it will be picked up by Second Wind Publishing.

 I have reduced the chapter to about half for this blog, but in it you will be introduced to all the characters who could be the killer. Or maybe it is someone I haven’t met yet. Who will the killer be?

As a writer I do not have everything outlined well in advance. I just sort of let my imagination run wild and let the story go wherever it will. All of the characters introduced are pastors at the church except Radford who is the church janitor. So, is one of them the killer, or someone not yet introduced? I don’t know. What do you think? Tell me who should be the killer and why.

You can make you suggestions either by comments to this blog, or by email to me at paul@paulsbooks.net

DEATH ON THE CHURCH STEPS
By Paul J. Stam

CHAPTER ONE

She was young, exceptionally beautiful, and except for her sheer lace panties, completely naked, and definitely dead. She lay on the top of the steps that led up to the front of the church. If you stood in just the right place you could see two of her, her real self and her reflection in the large, plate-glass, front doors to the church. Her head was turned to hang over the top step with her long, blond hair cascading down over the next two steps. Her right arm lay stretched out on the second step, and her left arm was thrown back over her head. She looked as though she had been arranged to have a picture taken for an art calendar, or some magazine. It was hard to believe that someone so young and beautiful was dead. But then it was also hard to imagine anyone alive would have been lying naked on the church steps.

Between the church and the office and classroom building, was a large mango tree. It always produced a great abundance of fruit, but the fruit was small, and stringy, and not worth bothering with. Consequently the fruit dropped to the ground staining the sidewalks, attracting flies, and creating a lumpy and slippery hazard for those trying to climb the steps.

Several of the mangoes had bounced and rolled to within a few feet of the dead woman’s left hand. If you had looked down from God’s vantage point it would have looked as though the woman had scattered the fallen fruit with the hand flung back over her head like a sower scattering seed.

Pastor Douglas Bautista discovered her at ten minutes after six when he arrived at the church. A few others, driving by in the morning traffic who glanced that direction at exactly the right moment had seen the body before he did. The glimpse was so fleeting that the only thing they could think of was that someone was playing a practical joke on the church by laying a mannequin on the church steps.

The church custodian, Radford Lee, had also seen the body. He had unlocked the side doors to the church at five-thirty for those who might stop in for prayer on their way to work. After unlocking the side doors he walked through the church to the foyer, and wondered why the foyer lights and the outdoor, front floodlights were not on. He distinctly remembered turning them on the night before. He was about to unlock the front door when looking through the glass doors he saw the woman.

He was startled at first, and stood for a while behind the glass doors, running a hand nervously through his wavy brown hair. He stood just staring at her and wondering what he should do. Under the circumstances he thought it best not to unlock the front door. He thought she was dead, but he wasn’t absolutely sure. He didn’t quite know how to handle a naked woman on the church steps. If she was alive and drunk, he thought it best not to be seen handling her. From where he stood he couldn’t tell for certain if she was breathing or not. Maybe she was protesting something. His logical conclusion was that if she were dead there was nothing he could do for her, and if it was a publicity stunt he didn’t want to get involved.

Radford walked back through the church and left by the side door. He used the back entrance to the classroom building, and walked through to the church offices. He went about emptying the wastebaskets. From time to time he would set down the plastic bag full of waste paper and walk to the window. He would part the blinds a little, and look out at her. Each time he looked out at her he became more certain that she was dead and that became increasingly more frightening. It was very unlikely that anyone would get naked to go and die on church steps of natural causes. He was certain therefore that she had been murdered and that he had made the right decision in not discovering a murder victim.

Although Radford had actually seen the body first, Pastor Bautista would take credit for it. He approached from the parking lot behind the buildings. He walked with a swagger as he made his way through the yard glancing to the left and the right looking for something about which he could get righteously angry. He noted that the leaves and fallen fruit had not been raked up from under the mango tree in the schoolyard. Children attending the pre-school would start arriving in half an hour, and the leaves and fruit were supposed to be cleaned up by then. Radford was supposed to rake up the fallen fruit first thing in the morning and it pleased Bautista that it had not yet been done it. It would give him something about which to scold Radford.

Bautista was just about to start up the mango splattered steps to the office when he looked the other direction and saw the body. He went over to it, and walked completely around it once having to go down a few steps and then up again to get around it. From the way her open eyes stared out at the world he knew she was dead, but still he knelt down and put his fingers on her wrist feeling for a pulse.

He stood up, and swaggered up the steps, and into the office. He found Radford vacuuming the reception area. “Go get me a sheet, Radford.”

“What?” Radford asked turning off the vacuum.

“Get me a sheet.”

“A sheet? What kind of sheet? Do you mean a drop cloth?”

“A sheet, Radford. Any kind of sheet. A sheet to cover the body.”

“What body, Pastor Doug?” Radford said pretending complete ignorance.

Pastor Bautista looked at him for a moment and then said, “There is a body of a dead woman on our front steps. Get me a sheet to cover her.”

“There is? Oh, my goodness! Where did it come from?” he said hoping he had accurately conveyed shock and disbelief. “We don’t have any sheets that I know of.”

“Find something. Go to the baptismal room and get me one of the baptismal robes. One that isn’t assigned to anyone.”

“Yes, Sir,” Radford said leaving and Pastor Bautista sat down in the receptionist chair and dialed 911.

By the time Radford returned with the baptismal robe Pastor Doug had finished explain everything to the police. When they went back out to cover the body the news trucks from three television stations were already there taking pictures of the body. He roughly pushed the cameramen aside as he went over, and very piously laid the baptismal robe over the body. When he was through she was demurely covered with only her head, her feet and her arms exposed to the prying eyes of the cameras.

When he straightened up the cameras were on him, and three reporters held their microphones in front of him. “Did you discover the body,” one of them asked.

“Yes, I think so. At least no one reported it to the police before I did.”

In the distance they could hear the sirens of a police car trying to get through the morning traffic.

“Now I think, Gentlemen, that we should save any more questions you might have until the police get here.”

The reporters kept trying to ask him questions and he kept putting them off. It made him feel important to have them all trying to get a question answered, and it made him feel even more important to not answer their questions.

Three squad cars, with blue lights flashing, arrived almost simultaneously congesting the traffic even more than the TV trucks had. Soon after that there was an ambulance, and then two more police cars till the one-way traffic on the two-lane road in front of the church was reduced to one lane of traffic. The police moved in quickly stringing up yellow ribbons that said, CRIME SCENE – DO NOT CROSS.

A detective started questioning Bautista. “Are you the one that covered the body?” The detective asked.

“Yes.”

“You shouldn’t have done that, you know. That was disturbing the evidence.”

“I couldn’t just leave her there for everyone to see. This is, after all, a church.”

The detective looked at him as if to say, ‘so what?’ and asked. “Did you touch the body at all?”

“Just to take her pulse.”

“Oh? And just where was that: at her wrist, her neck, her stomach? Just where did you touch her?” he asked sneering.

“I resent the implication of that question.”

“Just answer the question.”

“Her wrist.”

“And then what did you do?”

“I went into the office, and told the janitor to go get the robe, and then I called the police.”

Radford told the police that he had not seen the woman until he came out with Pastor Bautista to cover the body. He too did not remember ever having seen her at the church before. He was certain he had turned on the floodlights at the front of the church, and the lights in the foyer the night before. With the lights on it would have been hard for anyone to walk up the steps and not be seen. With them off the area of the steps would have been almost completely dark.

“Could anyone have turned them off after you turned them on?” the detective asked.

“Lots of people have keys. Anyone could have gone in and turned off the lights.”

“Who, for example has keys to the church?”

“Lots of People. All the pastors, all of the schoolteachers, all ministry leaders. They all have keys because they all have to get into the sanctuary. And there might be people who have keys that we don’t know about.”

“How’s that?”

Radford shrugged his shoulders and ran a hand through his wavy brown hair pushing it back from his face. “Someone loans a key out, and forgets who they loaned it to.”

“How many such missing keys do you think there are?”

“I don’t know. A half a dozen or more.”

“Is the sanctuary locked most of the time?”

“No. It’s always opened during the day. People come into pray and there is something scheduled in there almost every day.”

The staff was continuing to arrive. Each, in one way or another learned what had happened, and the detectives informed each that they would all be questioned. Pastor Bell arrived and very graciously, but firmly told the detectives that the staff morning devotions were at eight-thirty and everyone was required to be there. He invited the detectives to join them, but the detectives declined saying that they would be back after nine to talk to the staff. They assured everyone that it was just routine, but since the body had been found on the church steps they had to talk to everyone employed by the church.

“I understand,” Pastor Bell said, and went into his office until it was time for devotions.

Betty Clipper burst into the reception area at 8:25 screaming, “Is it true?… Was there really a dead girl on our steps?… Oh, My God. I can’t believe it… What are we going to do?… Was it anyone we knew?… Oh, Dear Jesus, this is terrible.”

She was a large woman, just over six feet tall, and weighing almost two hundred pounds. She had the title of Music Minister, and was in charge of all the musical groups in the church.

“I can’t believe it. I’m shaking so much I can hardly stand,” she said dropping her bulk into the closest chair.

“The reason you’re shaking, Betty, is because your legs are too spindly to hold up all the weight of your body,” Doug said looking down on her. His dark eyes gleamed with hatred because she was white, a woman, and when standing taller than he was.

She started to cry. “Can’t you see this is a hard enough time for me, Doug, without your picking on me. This thing really has me scared.”

“Oh, stop crying, Betty. You have nothing to be afraid of. No one would want to kill you, or do anything else to you for that matter,” Doug answered.

Pastor Bell walked in just after that and Doug suddenly became seriously pious.

“Betty. Betty. What’s wrong? Nobody’s going to hurt you. We all love you,” Pastor Bell said walking toward her.

Betty stood up, and cried that much louder going over to him like a child that needed to be comforted. He put an arm around her, and let her cry on his shoulder.

“It’s all right, Betty. You go ahead and cry if you want to. This thing has all of us a little upset.”

He comforted her until the sound portion of her crying was on mute, and then sent her back to her chair sniffling, and wiping at her tears with a soggy tissue.

Pastor Bell sat down then, and started the devotion by singing a chorus, and the others joined in. But the singing was not very sincere, and when it came time for the devotional, Don Bjork, who was to do the Scripture reading and bring the devotional message that morning, spoke about how the events of the morning should make them aware of just how uncertain life was, and they should all be living righteously.

The prayers were mostly that the family of the dead girl would know the comfort of the Holy Spirit. None of them knew who the girl was, or who her family was, but it was a safe thing to pray. No one prayed that the police would quickly find the killer of the woman, which surprised Jim Sloan, who although he was a pastor did not really believe in prayer.

By the time devotions were over the police were through with the front steps of the church, and the crowd of spectators separated as the coroner took the body away. The TV cameras tried to focus on the stretcher as it moved from the steps to the coroner’s van. The police started spreading out around the church, looking behind the shrubbery while the detectives went into the church office building to talk to the staff.

Copyright © 2012 by Paul J. Stam
All rights reserved

Visit me at Paul’s Books

Paul’s book The Telephone Killer published by Second Wind Publishing will be out in Oct. 2012.

Who’s Watching the Writer? by Paul J. Stam

I was in the studio throwing some bowls when a student pulled a stool over and said, “Do you mind if I watch you?”

People will watch anyone work except writers. I know, I’ve been writing for over 60 years and had my first novel published in 1978. No one, not even my wife, ever wanted to watch me type. Well, I did have a cat that used to watch me, but that was in the days of clanking typewriters and I think the cat was really watching the typebars and ribbon jumping.

Actors, musicians, standup comics, preachers, and some others charge a fee and so earn a living by having people watch them work. People will even watch ditch-diggers, carpenters, mechanics, painters and anyone doing any kind of work except writing. People are just not interested in watching someone sit and hit keys, unless of course they are piano keys.

Whatever your work, in order to do one’s best, to do something significant, one needs inspiration. In the arts that inspiration often comes not only from within yourself, but also from instructors and from working next to others; both those who are at about the same level as you, and from seeing the masters at work and working right alongside them.

When that student asked if he could watch me, I knew exactly what he was thinking. In my pottery work I have learned more from watching someone do something than from all the lectures and one-time demonstrations by the instructors. You see someone’s finished work and wonder, “How did they do that?” Next time they are at work you sit down and watch them and learn.

In writing the watching and learning comes in associating with other writers. You associate with the masters by reading their work and you are inspired not only by what they said, but the way they said it. There are millions of people who have inspirational things to say, but don’t know how to say them. It is in the knowing how to say it that people will read your work and tell others about it.

In writing the inspiration from working with others often comes from a writer’s group. The help comes from other writer’s reading and honestly commenting on your work. Notice I said, “honestly commenting” not just saying things to make you feel good.

I belong to such a group. It is a working group, not a social group. We meet once a week. Participation in the group is limited to seven members. The reason for the limit is because the way the meeting is structured more than that number and the meetings just go on too long.

We each bring a printed copy of a portion of something we are working on for each person in the group. We limit the submission to 1000 words. We each read the submission silently to ourselves, which is the way most reading is done, and then each person comments. We criticize, suggest, encourage and do what we can to help each other become better writers.

The discussion for each submission is limited to three minutes per critique. With seven people if each of them say something that is 21 minutes right there. So, with about five minutes to read each person’s submission, and then with the discussion, and with interruptions to get a drinks or snacks, the meetings easily run more than three hours.

Occasionally someone brings in a portion of a short story, but we are all working on novels.  Consequently, over a period of time we all get an idea of where the story has been and where it is going because the submissions are usually brought in sequentially. That is not one of the group’s requirement but if you are working on something you just naturally bring in what you have been working on that week.

Sometimes you bring in a passage that has been giving you trouble, and you want help. Another time you may bring in something with which you are real pleased and you want to be sure, from a reader’s perspective, you have a right to be pleased with it.

Sometimes a member will bring in a rewrite of something from before to get input on that.

So, who’s watching the writer? If you are lucky a support group of fellow writers is watching you and hopefully, eventually, the reading public.

Paul’s murder mystery The Telephone Killer, published by Second Wind Publishing will be out next month.

Visit Paul at Paul’s Books.

Writing is Business

Avon Books, a division of the Hearst Corporation, published my first novel in 1978. Before that my agent had sold several of my short stories and I thought I was a writer. Then other things took over and for almost 30 years writing was set aside.

Five years ago I decided to go back to writing and I would approach it as my job. With every job there is a boss and an employee. The problem with this job is that the boss and the employee are the same person. The role of the boss is to set the criteria for satisfactory performance. As the boss I demanded that my employee spend a minimum of 7 hours a day, five days a week at the job of writing. The employee had to spend at least 4 hours a day writing and produce at least 2500 words which ever came later. The remaining time each day could be spent researching material and thinking about another book. As the employee I am very lucky in that I can be working on two or three totally different stories at the same time.

After three years of writing I had material I thought was ready and I started looking for an agent. My former agent had died and no one there, or at any other agency, wanted to handle me. Obviously I was going to have to find a publisher on my own. That’s where Preditors and Editors came in.

With Preditors and Editors the research becomes finding a publisher that publishes your kind of material. The agent is one who is supposed to know what different publishers are looking for. Now it is up to the writer to find someone who likes what he has written.

About the writing itself. I have heard people talk about “writer’s block.” I don’t know what that is. As I mentioned earlier I am usually working on two or three different books at the same time. I may arrive at work in the morning and decide that I want to work on a murder mystery or an adventure story rather than a historical or romance novel. My boss is quite agreeable to this as long as I put in my hours and produce the required number of words. To me the excuse of “writer’s block” is the employee calling in sick because I want to do something else that day. However, my boss is quite willing for me to take a Tuesday or some other day off as long as I make it up on Saturday or Sunday.

I never suffer from “writer’s block” but there are times when I want to say something and I am not sure exactly how to say. That is not “writers block” but a question of method. When that happens I go to my exercises. When a pianist, or violinist or other performing artist cannot render a passage they way they would like to, they goes back to the basic exercises.

For me the exercise is this. – The four basic parts to every story are: the characters (people, dogs, birds, whatever), the action (conflict), the setting (where the action takes place) and the theme (the message you want to convey – good triumphs over evil, or whatever).

There are also four basic ways of telling the story: exposition (stating the information – that’s the worst method. That’s how textbooks are written and that is why they are so boring),  Narrative description (drawing word pictures for the reader), introspection (thoughts – stream of consciousness) and dialogue (two or more people talking).

I know where the story is going, I just may not know how I want to say it. Then is when I go to the exercises. Let’s say there is a character. Am I going to describe him from an omniscient point of view – using narrative description? Or maybe describe him by having two other characters talk about him – using dialogue. Or from the point of view of someone just thinking about him – using introspection. Well you get the idea. A little while in the exercise room and I pretty much know how I want to say it.

Happy Writing.

Paul’s Books - The Telephone Killer to be released 9/15/12 by Second Wind Publishing.

The Telephone Killer

“At exactly ten o’clock this morning, if everything goes as I have planned, there will be a sizable explosion in the downtown area resulting in considerable property damage and hopefully significant injury and loss of life.”

No one dies in that explosion, but with that announcement to the television station the killer starts on his killing spree. He is labeled the Telephone Killer by the media because he almost always calls the TV station to tell them who his next victim will be. The clues, though true, are often misleading.

The case is made more complicated because there is no connection or similarities between the victims. He kills an insurance salesman for allegedly cutting in front of him on the freeway. He kills a police officer and a hitchhiker just because they are convenient victims. On those two occasions he calls the TV station immediately after he has done the killing.

When Vince Williams is made the lead investigator, the Killer concentrates on him to try to get Vince to back off in his investigation. It is just before Christmas when the TK calls the TV station and the duty officer calls Vince.

‟Williams here,” he said answering the phone.

‟The television station got another call from the TK, Captain. About three minutes ago.”

It had been two months since the ice-pick murder, and Vince had begun to hope that the Telephone Killer would let the Christmas season pass without an incident. ‟What did he say?”

‟Very short, Captain. Asked to make sure he was being recorded like he always does and then said, ‘Tonight I’m going to get a very important person. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’”

‟What have you done so far?”

‟Jonesy happened to be here, and he is calling all the rest of the team.”

‟Good. If it hasn’t been done, notify the State Police, the Sheriff’s department, the FBI, the Capital Security office, and Homeland Security. God,” Vince said sounding both desperate and angry, ‟this could mean anybody, judges, state senators and representatives, the Mayor, almost anybody. We can’t give them all protection. Check and see if any of the Washington people are back home for Christmas or something. See if we have any foreign dignitaries in town and be sure to notify the Secret Service. I’ll be there in a few moments.”

Williams is in his office the next day when he learns the important person the killer was referring to was Torri, Vince’s fiancée. He recognized the voice even before he heard his name mentioned. ‟This call is for Detective Captain Vincent Williams. If he is not listening at the present time be sure that he hears this message. I have Ms. Torri Billingsly, Captain. I understand she is a good friend of yours. I told you it would be someone important. How important someone is depends on who you ask, doesn’t it, Captain?

She is in good health and comfortable. Though I brought her to her present location, she has never seen me so would never be able to identify me. Being both blindfolded and unconscious there is no way she could tell you where she is or where she has been.

‟I told you last time I talked to you that it was only by my kindness that you are still alive. Now it is only by my kindness that Ms. Billingsly is alive. How comfortable and healthy she remains depends entirely on you.

The situation is this, Captain. Ms. Billingsly’s comfort and well-being is directly proportional to the comfort and well-being that I feel. For her optimum comfort and well-being you will have to call off your investigation into my activities. If I feel that I am in danger, she will be in danger. I hope that I have made myself very clear.

I may from time to time permit her to talk to you via cell phone or video tape. That way you would at least know that I am keeping my side of the bargain, and that she is alive and well. All I am asking for is peace and safety. I hope we understand each other.”

“The Telephone Killer” is Paul’s latest book and will be released in 2013 by Second Wind Publishing.