Maegan Beaumont--Writer Extraordinaire!

Hi folks,

I rarely do this, but I’ve asked a student of mine to provide a guest blog today. Please welcome Meagan Beaumont! Her story is truly inspirational as you’ll see.

Maegan first entered my life when she enrolled in a class I was teaching for Phoenix College a couple of years ago. That class has since morphed into an ongoing class with some of those Phoenix College students, some of the folks I taught for Writer’s Digest classes, some from the Skype class I co-teach with Jenny Milchman for the New York Writer’s Workshop, some from the ranks of the private clients I coach on their novels, and some from other contacts who asked if I had a class. We keep it to about a dozen writers (and unlimited auditors) and the majority of them continue on into each succeeding class. Classes run various lengths—from eight weeks to twelve—to give us a bit of variety. (And a rest! We usually take a week or two off between classes.)

In all my classes, no matter what the venue, I require two things to begin with. We begin with each class member’s novel and at the beginning and work through from that point. I ask each to submit a 15-20 word outline for the entire novel and I ask each to submit five pages for the first week which should include the inciting incident.

The thing is, if a writer doesn’t begin where their outline indicates it should—with the inciting incident—that writer continues to submit that beginning scene until they’ve created a bona fide inciting incident. Over time, class members have adopted the phrase “inciting incident hell” to describe this experience. It’s very rare for a new writer to deliver the proper inciting incident in the first week. And, they’re not allowed to proceed beyond that five-page limit until they do.

My feeling is that if the novel doesn’t begin properly, the writer is headed for the shoals of an unfinished novel, or, if finished, an unpublishable novel. It’s imperative that they begin in the right place.

Most spend from an average of 2-4 weeks before they nail the opening and get past that first five pages.

Maegan holds the all-time record.

Maegan spent NINE WEEKS IN INCITING INCIDENT HELL.

Nine weeks…

Out of a 12-week course. For nine weeks of the total of 12 weeks in the class, she never got past the inciting incident. At the end of nine weeks, she had a grand total of five pages of her novel written.

Did she quit? Well, you already know the answer to that. Did she get mad at me? Call me a no-heart  bastard? Get frustrated? Of course. But, the important thing is, she didn’t quit. She hung on like a bulldog. That’s when I knew she was going to be successful at this writing thing.

Maegan had talent. That was obvious from the very beginning. However, there are a ton of people who have talent who will never get published. Talent is rarely the deciding factor in who finds their books on the shelves of Barnes & Noble.

Hard work and perseverance are what separates the author from the typist. Paying one’s dues through old-fashioned blood, sweat and tears is the determining factor, almost always.

And, Maegan had both of those traits in abundance.

She also had a 700-page completed novel in her possession when she began.

Long gone.

In its place, she has a top agent and a two-book deal with an option for a third. I recommended her and her work to my agent, Chip Macgregor, and Chip just placed her novels with Llewelleyn/Midnight Ink with a separate advance for each novel. Be on the lookout for the first novel, Maegan’s riveting thriller titled THE FIRST. You can be sure I’ll announce the release date here!

Kind of cool, isn’t it? Her journey as a writer is much the same as the journey of the protagonist in a good novel. As it should be.

Here’s Maegan, with her story in her own words.

From the pen of Maegan Beaumont:

My journey started as they all do—I took one foot and placed it in front of the other, foolishly believing that I had it all under control. I had a finished manuscript—a 750 page tome that I knew needed work. A lot of work. The problem was—I had absolutely no idea what I was doing. I mean, really, I had no idea what I was doing. I knew enough to be certain that 250,000 words was a bit heavy for a thriller, but beyond that—color me clueless. I’d never taken any type of writing class. I’d never had any type of instruction… did I mention how utterly and ridiculously ignorant I was?

I enrolled in an online college class, and this is where I think fate (or whatever you want to call it) intervened. I read the course description for a class called Planning and Structuring the Novel and noted that I needed pre-recs I didn’t have. I contacted the instructor (Les Edgerton—sounds like a nice guy—I imagined sweater vests and Hush Puppies…) and asked for an exemption, and guess what? He gave it to me. I was in. 

The first week was brutal—Mr. Sweater Vest ripped me a new one. Week two had him shoving his Hush Puppy-clad foot up my… well, let’s just say it was a tad uncomfortable. Weeks three through eight were similar. I cried. I bled. I fantasied about strangling Mr. Sweater Vest with my laptop cord.

Things were not going as I had planned.

See, he wanted me to write this thing called an “Inciting Incident”. I mean, what the hell is that? Turns out, if I’d have just stopped crying so freakin’ loud, I would’ve heard him explain it to me. An Inc Inc (as we call it in the Land of Les) is your protagonist’s catalyst. It’s the first sign of trouble—and we all know that novels are about trouble… But I digress.

Week nine was my week—the week it finally sank in. I nailed my Inc Inc. I delivered a believable scene that wasn’t overwrought with melodramatic bullshit. I created believable characters and figured out that I have a way with dialogue. All the while Les guided me, gave me kudos when I earned them and smacked me silly when I lost my way. It sounds brutal—and it was. But I needed it and looking back, I’m damn glad I was fortunate enough to find him, smart enough to realize that this is a man that knows what he’s talking about, and too stubborn to quit when things got tough.

It took me a year to re-write my novel. Three months to place it with an agent and another four to find it a home. That’s right, folks—I landed a book deal. A two book deal with an option for the third. My hard work isn’t over, as a matter of fact I have a feeling it’s just begun—knowing that makes me feel like it’s week one all over again and I’ve got Mr. Sweater Vest doing the Hush Puppy wind-up.

But I can handle it. I know I can, because Les didn’t just teach me about proper story structure and character arc. He taught me how to survive. 

His methods aren’t for everyone. He can be brutal. And he’ll tell you flat-out that just wanting it badly enough—isn’t enough. It takes hard work and a willingness to check your ego at the door. A desire to learn and an understanding that the learning never stops. In short: you have to become a writer.

A real writer—and that’s what I am. I am a writer.

Because Les Edgerton made me into one. 

Be that as it may, my life isn’t actually conducive to the craft. Two of my four kids are adopted. Both have ADHD and were born exposed to meth. My oldest—my only daughter—is a grade-A drama queen who will burst into tears if I so much as offer her a piece of gum (true story) and my middle son believes wholeheartedly that it is his destiny to invent time travel... so every day is a goat rodeo. I don't think of it as a struggle. That's just my life. People always ask me "How do you do it?" I think the question is a silly one. I just do it. What's my alternative? Running away to join the circus? Thanks, but I've already got one, and besides, I think clowns are creepy.

Amidst the chaos I make the time to write. I don’t find it. I make it—there’s a difference. I don't sleep. Sometimes my kids eat PB&J for dinner. Most times there are dishes in my sink. I'm late picking my kids up from school at least one day a week. Because writing is more important to me than getting a full 8 hours (or even 5, for that matter...) of sleep, or combing the tassels on my area rugs. Writing keeps me sane and my sanity is important.

My saving grace is and always will be my husband. He can be a colossal pain in my ass and is never home (he's a truck driver—home 3 days out of 7) but when I got my book deal, I could practically see the pride oozing from his pores. When I’m on a roll and he’s just come home from a 36-hour run, he slams a Monster and takes the kids to the park so I can write it out in peace. When I say “I’m almost finished with this scene,” he understands that that means he won’t see me for another six hours. He doesn’t like it. But he gets it. We’re teammates—sometimes he’s playing football while I’m playing water polo, but we make it work, because failure has never been an option for either of us and because I choose my teammates very wisely. 

I’ve lost a few along the way. People I loved. People who didn’t understand or appreciate the journey I was on. People who didn’t like the fact that I was changing. Who seemed to take my growth and happiness as some sort of personal insult. Like I was doing it to them on purpose. I wasted time and energy trying to make them happy. I fought against the loss of them, because that’s what I do, but in the end, I let them go. I came to understand that what was wrong with them, had nothing to do with me, and nothing I do will ever change the way they feel about themselves.

But for every person I lost, I found someone that loved me more than their idea of who they wanted me to be. They understood if I didn’t call them for a week and a half. They’d offer to pick my kids up from school because I was knee-deep in it and knew that even though I could put a pin in it, I didn’t necessarily want to. They read my crappy first-drafts and didn’t panic when I bought books on how to poison people and spent weeks at a time researching nanotechnology. If they found my obsession with serial killers alarming, they kept it to themselves. These are the people I share my success and failure with. The ones that stuck it out. The ones that matter.

So, my advice: 

Write. Don’t worry about the number of dishes in your sink or the fact that your kids might eat more peanut butter than the kid next door. Buy paper plates and put Pizza Hut on speed dial. Kids love pizza and guess what—they’re resilient. 

Write. If you have a support system—use it. Your spouse. Your friends. Your family. If they love you, they want you to be happy and will be willing to go the extra mile to see you that way.

Write. Don’t be afraid to let go of the person people think you are. You are so much more than the expectations of others. Dive in, head-first. The ones still waiting for you when you come up for air are the ones that matter. 

Write. Find a mentor—someone willing to offer guidance and support in things your friends and family might not understand. Join a writing group—a good one, not a cheerleading squad. A group of writers, willing to leave your blood on the page for the betterment of your craft. Every writer needs one, and I thank God everyday for mine—a group of writers that I never want to be without. They don’t always say what I want to hear, but they always say what I need to hear.

Write. You are a writer. Say it. The next time someone says, “So, what do you do?” Look them dead in the eye and say, “I’m a writer.”Because that’s what you are. You’re a writer.

Maegan Beaumont, author of the forthcoming novel THE FIRST from Llewelleyn/Midnight Ink Publishing.

…and, in closing…

Please visit Maegan at her blog at http://www.maeganbeaumont.blogspot.com/ At it, she answers questions about plotting—trust me, Maegan understands plots!

And, forget all that nonsense about “sweater vests” and Hush Puppies! Never owned either in my entire life. You can write that down…

Thanks, Maegan, for sharing your story. And thank you for providing a shining example of what a writer really looks like.

Blue skies,

Les

THE BEST WRITERS' WORKSHOP EVER!

Hi folks,

I’ve just returned—well, returned a few days ago and just now recovering from total exhaustion—from the week-long Antioch Writers’ Workshop in Yellow Springs, Ohio.

Check it out here: http://www.antiochwritersworkshop.com/

Simply put: One of the single best experiences of my life.

I’ve been privileged to have participated in a bunch of really cool writer’s workshops and writer’s events, but this one is at the top. My favorites that I’ve taken part in include Wordburst in Phoenix for Phoenix College, the BEA, the Writer’s Institute at the University of Wisconsin, Gemini Ink in San Antonio, the First Annual Texas Book Festival, the Writer’s Retreat Workshops, and others. But, Antioch stands alone in my experience.

Lemme tell you about it.

 Audience at a reading in the auditorium at Antioch.

My group—THE BEST WORKSHOP GROUP EVER

First, I want to introduce you to the participants in my own afternoon fiction workshop. I had six writers in my merry band, which all of us refer to routinely now as “The Best Workshop Group Ever.” There was my new best friend, Rob Boley whose laugh-out-loud novel about a Snow White we’ve never experienced had the first 50 pages requested by a visiting agent with the Fine Line Agency (Rob and I hung out every single night and closed down a few bars…). Along with Rob, our family included Sarah Zettler, a teacher in Columbus with an amazing YA novel titled Breaking the Flatline, Audrey Craig who grew up and lived for years in South Africa and is writing a very original sci-fi, titled Calidis, Toni Lapp, a magazine editor from Kansas City who has a novel based on a true story that is going to sell tons of copies when finished, Kate Geiselman, who brought to our group a brilliant short story titled “Presents” which she intends to be one of a collection of linked stories—a story that haunted me long after I read it, and Sherie Cooper-Daragh, who allowed me to call her by her real name (Cheryl—don’t try it without her permission!) and who is writing a stunning novel about a relationship that’s a winner.

Every single one of the writers in my group is a winner and is writing publishable stuff. They’ve all got major talent up the yazoo. And, I mean major talent. Made my job easy!

My group of writers provided me with the single biggest moment I experienced. A couple of days before the end of the workshop, I had left a restaurant and was on my way to our daily meeting spot, the Spirited Goat Coffee Shop (never did find out the source of that name…), and passed by the Ye Olde Trail Tavern, and there my entire group, sans one (Kate, who would have been with them but as she was on the Antioch board was required to be somewhere else at the time) was sitting at a table together, hanging out. They had bonded as a family! I may have missed it, but I don’t think any other workshop group ended up together just hanging out. It just drove home to me that we’d truly become a family.

Later, at the reading where all the groups read their work, I introduced our group as “The Best Group Ever” and said that while I was sure all the other groups were good, we were going to knock it out of the park. After the event, I had half a dozen people come up to me and tell me I’d called it—there was no doubt they were the best group. They hit it into the upper deck, way out past the Budweiser sign into the cheap seats…

 The Best Group Ever!

L-R front row--Cherie, moi, Kate, Toni and Sarah.

L-R back row--Rob and Audrey

(At our meeting place, the Spirited Goat Coffee Shop)

Private consultation. We presenters were also privileged to be able to offer private consultations with writers on their manuscripts and I had the pleasure of working with Greta Holt on her Mennonite coming-of-age novel, titled Babyface. We were supposed to spend 45 minutes on each consultation, but I liked Greta’s novel so much and saw so much promise in it that I asked if she minded if we spent another hour on it and she liked the idea, so we set up another time to do so a couple of days hence. I predict she’ll get this puppy published.

One thing jumped out at me when working with Greta. I only had one such consultation, and Hallie Ephron had nine. Not to mention, she was a major presenter in the mornings and had to take a day off to fly to New York to attend and participate in a memorial service for her late sister, Nora Ephron. I can’t imagine how she got it all done. I was exhausted after the week and Hallie did everything I did, plus, and, in addition, somehow found the time and energy to take part in nine evaluations. She’s not only an amazing author and teacher, she has a work ethic that is unmatched by us mortals.

The town of Yellow Springs, Ohio

I was absolutely knocked out by this town! I understand it was a “planned town” back in the day and if so, whoever planned it, got it absolutely perfect. I’d move there in a nanosecond. It’s a town you aren’t prepared for—once you visit it, you begin to think you’re on the East or West Coast and not in the Midwest. The shops are small and comfortable and interesting. And, everywhere. It’s a Made-for-TV town—exactly the kind of place one would design for families who are interested in intellectual stimulation and the arts. The Tannenbaums would be at home here. I hung out in a bunch of places, including the Spirited Goat, the Ye Olde Trail Tavern, Peaches Grill, and even my kind of bucket o’ blood bar, which I kept calling “The Dungeon” but was actually called The Gulch Saloon. (For my Vermont College friends, think “Charlie O’s.”) For some reason it reminded me of an old hangout of mine in New Orleans called The Dungeon. What sold me on the town was passing by a souvenir shop that had work by R. Crumb in the window. Where do you see R. Crumb’s art featured in the Midwest? Yellow Springs, that’s where!

It’s a bicycle town—a mecca for those nuts who ride bikes (like my wife…). There are gorgeous bike trails everywhere and everyone seems to ride every place they go. Didn’t see many skateboarders which was a good thing… One cool thing—we were advised to cross streets in the middle of the block—the residents would always stop—and nobody local crossed at the “official” crossing places on the corners and if we did, we might surprise the residents who might run over us in surprise.

Laid-back is the most apt description for Yellow Springs. All of the locals are friendly and speak to you and are genuinely happy you’re in their town. I’ve been to plenty of other towns where the citizens loved the tourists’ money but it was clear they didn’t always like the tourists themselves, but Yellow Springs folks are genuinely glad to see and meet you.

On the night of the participants’ reading back at the campus, I was down at the Spirited Goat where an out-of-town poet was setting up for her reading later on. We reluctantly told her we couldn’t attend as we had our own event and then, when I walked outside to go back up Dayton St. to the campus, there were two middle-aged guys, dressed and looking exactly like screenwriter Buck Henry, sitting outside with scripts in front of them, trying dialog out on each other and making notations on their scripts. I asked if they were screenwriters and they said no, they were playwrights and were making last-minute corrections to their play that was opening in an hour across the street. They invited us to attend and we had to decline. But, can you imagine? We had our reading at the college, a visiting poet was having her own reading and across the street a play was opening? What other town would this be a regular occurrence in? Can’t think of any, at least in a town of this size.

And there were street people like I’ve never seen before. Now, I’ve been a street person myself and homeless, but these folks were unlike any street people I’d ever encountered. Most were musicians and were the reincarnation of the wandering minstrels of old England. Only playing contemporary and original music. And, truly beautiful, gentle people in spirit and deportment. One morning, I struck up a conversation with a homeless musician at the Goat and as it transpired, he was from Goshen, Indiana, and as we talked, it turned out his older brother was best friends with my nephew, Kevin Bowen. He borrowed the Goat’s owner’s phone—a delightful guy named Michael—and called his brother back home to tell him he’d just run into Kevin’s uncle “Butch” (that’s me). It brought home to both of us how small our world really is. This young man—sorry, I can’t recall his name—will have to ask Kevin—was barefoot and showed me his feet, which were as black as Macbeth’s heart and covered with countless cuts. He showed me not for sympathy, but to ask what I thought his “sign” should be that day—to say “WORK WANTED” or “NEED BAND-AIDS.” I recommended the Band-Aids one… I thought originality might pay off better and he agreed.

Each night—most spent going back and forth between Peaches and The Gulch—we spent outside on their patios, chinning with both locals and the homeless and it felt like Haight-Asbury without any of the negatives. We had a “core” group of me, Rob and Amanda Winfield, who is a student at Antioch and works in the library. Three Musketeers and we all just hit it off wonderfully. Amanda is a poet and a beautiful person, inside and out.

Every day for lunch, workshop participants would sign up to have lunch with the faculty at various places around town and there’d be two of us faculty people and up to ten participants. Just like everything else, Antioch is integrated into the town and you feel the town is just part of the campus. Just a truly unique and delightful place.

Most days, when we had a bit of free time, I hung out with my other new best friend, nonfiction bestselling writer, Jerry Dennis. We flat-out hit it off. Turns out we have several mutual friends like poet and nonfiction writer Sydney Lee. I’m reading Jerry’s brilliant book right now, The Living Great Lakes, an instant classic and wonderfully-writ account of the history of the Great Lakes. When we met, for me it was like meeting my long-lost twin brother. You know how there are certain people when you meet there’s an instant and deep connection? It was like that for me with Jerry, with Rob, and with Amanda. Old souls I knew well in a former life. People I just want to spend lots of time with, sipping on a brew in an outdoor patio, and talking literature and life.

Poet Jeff Gundy came down to The Gulch and had beers with Amanda, Rob and me, and we had a great conversation. Another poet, Jim Daniels, was a guy I would have liked to have spent more time with, as I would have like to with Dave Halperin whose new novel, Journal of a UFO Investigator is one of the most original coming-of-age accounts ever.

All of the faculty gave readings of our work. Since Hallie Ephron had to leave for her sister’s memorial, we switched places and I read on Monday along with Sandi Wisenberg and Chet Kelly Robinson. I read one of my personal favorites, “Toothache.” Other readers included Crystal Wilkinson, Linda Gerber, Trudy Krisher, and Carrie Bebris, every single one a winner.

The participants had their own reading night at The Emporium, a coffee and wine shop downtown and it was amazing. There were close to forty readers and I’ve never seen anything like this before in my life—there was not a single clunker in the bunch! This never happens! There wasn’t even one reading that was mediocre! They made a mistake, perhaps. They let comedian John Bunyan lead it off and he is one tough act to follow. Just laugh until your ribs crack humor.

Maureen and Richard Lynch

I stayed in a private home that I kept raving about to my wife Mary when I called home. I kept describing it as a “Frank Lloyd Wright designed-home if it were commissioned to create his dream house.” My gracious and wonderful hosts were Maureen and Richard Lynch and if I were them, I’d never leave their house!

Antioch Writers’ Workshop folks

I hesitate to begin naming names as I know I’ll leave somebody out and then I’ll feel bad as each and every person I met became my “new best friend.” It begins with Sharon Short, the guiding light of the workshop and the hardest and most tireless worker that I’ve ever met who wasn’t on drugs. That sounds bad, doesn’t it? Especially when you meet Sharon and are pretty sure the only drug she’s familiar with is her amazing adrenaline. Get Sharon’s newest novel, the forthcoming “book club” novel, My One Square Inch of Alaska, or any of her previous nine mystery novels for a terrific reading experience.

The first person I met upon arrival, Cyndi Pauwels, greeted me warmly and set the tone for the entire week. One of my many “new best friends” was Dave Kunka, the bookstore manager who not only went way, way out of his way to help me, but we really hit it off as friends.

Two guys who helped run the place and who I became good friends with, were Tobin Terry and Ron. Tobin was the second-in-command working with Sharon and was everywhere I went, organizing things. Ron, I’m sorry I can’t recall your last name, dude! He and I really hit it off as we’ve lived in some of the same places in Louisiana—he’s a Cajun and a graphic artist. The reason I can’t remember Ron’s last name is that he’s one of only two Cajuns who aren’t named Boudreau…

*Late note. Tobin just emailed me and told me Ron's last name is Maynard. No wonder I couldn't remember it. What Cajun is named "Maynard?" Change it to Boudreau, dude! Ron is one of the coolest guys I've met in a long, long time. Just on top of his game.

I wish I could remember the names of all the dozens and dozens of people I got to chat with, but hope they’ll excuse me and attribute it to my Halfzeimer’s… Just so many terrific people!

If you can only go to one writer’s conferences/workshops in your lifetime, this is the one I’d recommend. I’ve been to dozens and while they were all wonderful experiences, none were like this for just a pure enjoyable experience for everyone.

Tell ‘em I sentcha!

Blue skies,

Les

Postscript. All week long, I kept telling my workshop group that when I left Yellow Springs, I was going to appear at the Indiana Romance Writer’s group in Indy on Sunday. I kept raving about what a terrific group of professional writers romance writers are—and they are! Well, the only problem was my appearance was scheduled for Saturday, not Sunday. I got back into Ft. Wayne on Saturday and went immediately to bed. I was utterly exhausted. Left over 900 emails unopened. Just too tired to even think about opening them.

My bad.

I got up early Sunday, preparing to drive down to Indy, and opened my email… to discover I was supposed to have been there the day before! I have never done anything like this in my life and I can’t begin to tell you how awful I felt! I emailed Jeana Mann the director and told her what had happened. What a gracious person she is. Not only did she forgive me, but has invited me back in October. Jeana—I’LL BE THERE! I PROMISE!

 Signing books after my reading. The tall drink of water standing in line is comedian John Bunyan.

 Next to me is my other "new best friend" Jerry Dennis

Me, Chet and Sandi (Triquarterly Review editor taking questions after our readings.

 Urging audience to "buy 10 copies of my book apiece--Christmas is just around the corner!"

 Me and my new best friend, Rob

 The rest of our class on the patio at the Ye Olde Trail Tavern. 

L-R beginning bottom left--Cherie, Kate, Audrey, Sarah and Toni. Rob and I left to have a smoke break on the other "smoking" patio.

NEW SHORT STORY TITLED "TOURETTES"

Hi folks,
Still without electricity! This bites... Word is, we'll have juice back on tomorrow. Anyway, I can get down to a nearby coffeeshop once a day to charge the ol' laptop and check emails. Usually have about an hour to do stuff, and one of the things I'm doing now is posting this.

Noir writer/editor Court Merrigan contacted me a while back to ask if I'd send him a short story for his emagazine Bareknuckles Pulp Press which he was relaunching after a hiatus, and he did me the honor of saying he'd like mine to be the first story for the relaunch. How in the heck can anyone refuse such a distinct honor? I sure couldn't! Problem was, I don't write short stories these days, but I came up with a solution, and came up with an excerpt from my as-yet-unpublished black comedy crime novel, THE GENUINE, IMITATION, PLASTIC KIDNAPPING.  This book was the most fun I've ever had in front of a typewriter and with most of my clothes on and I'm writing a second novel with the same characters in what I hope becomes a series. I sent the excerpt to Court and he claimed he loved it and I guess maybe he did as he published it and if you want to check it out, just go to http://www.outofthegutteronline.com/2012/07/bareknuckles-pulp-no-1-tourettes.html and start reading.

Not to give stuff away, but there's a scene in it where the protagonist's main squeeze, Cat, who happens to be a call girl, provides a diversion for him in a black bar so he can escape being rendered room temperature by Sam Capelli, the enforcer for the local Mafia to whom he owes money. This novel came to life first as a short story published in THE SOUTH CAROLINA REVIEW, and then I wrote this novel, and then I wrote a screenplay based on it. When I wrote the screenplay, I was teaching for the UCLA Writer's Program, and was engaged in co-writing another screenplay with Steve Duncan, a black screenwriter who wrote THE COURT-MARTIAL OF JACKIE ROBINSON (A TNT Special), and was the creator/runner for two TV series, A MAN NAMED HAWK and TOUR OF DUTY. I was afraid this scene might offend black readers/viewers, so I ran it past Steve to get his opinion from a black man's pov. "Shit, Les," he said. "This is just plain funny stuff! Nobody's going to be upset at all." And so I kept it in.

Hope you enjoy the read. Also, if anyone happens to be friends with Woody Harrelson, I'd love to have him read the screenplay. I wrote it envisioning him to be the lead character, Pete, but he'd need to read it to determine if he'd be interested or not. I almost had a chance to contact him a few years ago when my dentist said he'd send it to him, but that never materialized. My dentist, a cool guy named Ron Rumbaugh played in a band with Woody when they were both at Hanover College and they've remained friends, but time passed and I didn't press Ron to send it to him and now we've kind of lost touch. So...

(You just never know who knows who...)

Blue skies,
Les

Storms, electricity, reviews and a contest!

Hi folks,

It’s been a hectic few days here in Ft. Wayne. Last Friday, the temp reached a record 106 degrees (108 by our own thermometer!), and then a cold front came in and along with it near-tornadoes. Don’t know if we had any actual tornadoes—rumors were that two touched down—but the winds were fierce—reportedly 80-90 mph--and power lines were (and are) down all over town. As of this morning, there are still over 70,000 homes and businesses without power—including us. We’re still staying in our house and nights are miserable as the heat’s back. They’re telling us we may be without power until late Wednesday night. I’ve been able to go to coffee shops and cobble this together a bit at a time.

First thing is, I want to post a review I did of Brit author Richard Godwin’s amazing new novel, MR. GLAMOUR. A fantastic read! Here’s what I think of it:

My review of Richard Godwin’s MR. GLAMOUR

While most readers and reviewers were drawn to the plot and the mystery of Richard Godwin’s brilliant novel, Mr. Glamour--as I was as well--I was struck even more by the setting. After all, once you know “whodunit,” usually there’s no reason to return to the book. In this case, there is. I’ve now read it twice and will read it several more times and it’s not to find out “whodunit” but to learn even more about both the psychology of the characters and to learn about a part of London I was sharply ignorant of. The insights Godwin provides of both are worth many hours in rereading what I predict will become a classic.

What Eugene Izzi did for the city of Chicago in novels like The Criminalist, Richard Godwin has done for London in Mr. Glamour. Like Raymond Chandler who was one of the best at creating a character out of the setting—in his case, Los Angeles--Godwin has given us London as a character. A London not seen heretofore, at least in noir. Most writers deliver us the seedy underworld of the city—the world of workingman’s and thieves’ bars and prostitute haunts and dank gaols populated by sadistic guards and murderous felons—whereas Godwin has sharply defined the world of the upper crust as being veined with the same dark blood as flowed through Jack the Ripper’s carotid… if Jack wore Armani and ate at the best four-star restaurants.

This is a story of the “Beautiful People” but none are beautiful save for their designer clothes and cars and mansions and platinum cards and the other trappings of wealth. All are twisted and ugly in one way or the other. This is surely the nihilistic view of a writer who has experienced life and thought hard about it and knows with a surety that’s discomfiting, that we all possess what Jung termed “the shadow side” no matter what level of society we find ourselves perched on. This is a story about the upper crust, but not the faction that we normally expect to see—not the royalty of London and England, but the portion of wealthy society that’s gained its advantage in ways other than inheritance or family. This is a part of London that’s more akin to Hollywood than either the England of Lord Faversham or the London of Tiny Tim and Nell. It’s a world that is particularly of the 21^st century and could not have been set anywhere else or in any other period.

This novel reminds me of something author Sharon Sheehe Stark told me during one of my MFA residencies at Vermont College where she was on the faculty and my workshop leader. She said, “When you create a villain, if you want a truly great one, don’t use that oft-advised technique of ‘making ‘em like kittens.’” No, she said: “Paint them as black as you possibly can, for if you do that, the light will shine through the cracks.” She’d be pleased about Mr. Glamour, for that’s exactly what Godwin does.

Flannery O’Connor, in speaking of great endings, would doubtlessly approve of Godwin’s ending here, when she said (badly paraphrased) that “a great ending will surprise the reader, but, upon reflection be the only possible and best ending to be had.” A perfect description for Mr. Glamour. Trust me—you won’t see this one coming! And then… you’ll exclaim, “Of course!”

For readers of mystery, of thrillers, of horror, of noir—this novel will satisfy each particular taste. It will also satisfy the palate of those who enjoy simply good literature, for it is that as well. If this were a restaurant, it would have earned its Michelin star.

You can glom onto a copy (U.S.) here: http://www.amazon.com/Mr-Glamour-Richard-Godwin/dp/0956711332/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1341241255&sr=1-1&keywords=mr.+glamour

Or in Europe, here: http://www.amazon.co.uk/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=mr.+glamour&x=0&y=0

Susan Lerner

And now I’d like to give a wonderful new author some props with her first novel. Please meet Susan Lerner. Susan asked me to work with her on her novel A SUITABLE HUSBAND. It’s out now, available both in paperback and as an ebook. Here’s the review I wrote for Amazon and Goodreads:

A stunning portrayal of the changing social and political climate of 1930s Poland as embodied by Bianca Lieber, a young Jewish woman caught between the traditional family values of her parents and those of a volatile younger generation, unwilling to accept the status quo.

It has become almost a cliché to describe a novel as a `page turner,' but in this instance, the description is apt. The writing is never forced, and the pressure never lifts from Bianca, her mother, and her twin brother; each with their own, often conflicting, hopes and dreams, but all of them struggling against increasingly anti-Semitic government policies and harsh new realities.

Occasionally, a work of fiction appears that transcends mere genre and simple entertainment and enters a new level of literary worth. A Suitable Husband is a book that is a truly modern look at the issues that face all of us in a rapidly-changing world. It is one of those books that has the potential to change the reader in a profound way.

Glom onto a copy at http://www.amazon.com/dp/B008EMDUEO/ref=as_li_ss_til?tag=sbleau-20&camp=213381&creative=390973&linkCode=as4&creativeASIN=B008EMDUEO&adid=05ZM7ZPY6XG27RBJ7F48&&ref-refURL=http%3A%2F%2Fsblerner.com%2F

You’ll be glad you did—it’s a truly remarkable novel.

And, finally… Zurich writer Veronica Sicoe is having a little contest on her blog that includes yours truly. Kind of a cool contest. Veronica liked my 5-sentence outline so much that she’s having a competition to see which of her readers (or anyone else who wants to, including you guys) can come up with the best 5-sentence outline for their novel. Veronica and I will judge them and the winner will receive a signed copy of my lil blue book, HOOKED.

Check it out and enter! Details at: http://www.veronicasicoe.com/blog/2012/07/how-to-write-a-kickass-outline-and-get-hooked/

Well, my time here at the coffee shop is over. They’re giving Mary and me dirty looks, so… Just hoping the juice will be on when we get home…

Blue skies,

Les

RICHARD GODWIN INTERVIEW--CHIN WAG AT THE SLAUGHTERHOUSE

Hi folks,

I've been waiting for a long time for this to appear--I participated in an interview with the brilliant writer, Richard Godwin, that took us over a month to create and I'm extremely proud of it. Richard asked the kinds of questions I've never been asked and have always wanted to respond to. I've been honored to have been interviewed by lots of folks, but never to the depth Richard goes to.

Please check it out if you have a few minutes at http://www.richardgodwin.net/author-interviews-extensive/chin-wag-at-the-slaughterhouse-interview-with-les-edgerton

I doubt if I'll ever have another opportunity like this one. As exhausting as the process was, I don't know if my mind and body could hold up! It was a draining experience.

Blue skies,
Les

STORAGE WARS AND CREATING TENSION IN NOVELS

Hi folks,

Just about all of us writer types are always looking for ways to improve our craft. I know I am, and I’ll bet a month’s rent you are as well. Sometimes, I think we limit ourselves a bit by only going to the “regular” sources for help on improving our art. You know: craft books, webinars, writer’s conferences, blogs, video presentations… all of those places we know we can find information. Those are all great sources, but sometimes I think we miss other great places where writing instruction might be available.

If you’ve followed my lil blog here awhile, you might remember the bit I did on Chef Gordon Ramsay. Remember I compared what he put forth on his KITCHEN NIGHTMARES shows as being perfectly suited for writers? Absolutely!

Well, for the past few weeks I’ve been thinking about another show that I think provides great examples for writers to use in improving our craft.

STORAGE WARS!

Yep. If you haven’t seen an episode, check it out on the Arts & Entertainment network. http://www.aetv.com/storage-wars/ You’ll be happy you did I think, especially after seeing what I found valuable for our craft in the show.

TENSION.

Yes, tension. As gripping as any Linwood Barclay mystery or Stephen King horror novel. Well, maybe not quite as tense as Mr. King’s and Mr. Barclay’s work—pretty hard to beat the masters! But, still enough tension to warrant our taking a look at how they achieve it and apply it to our own work.

First, for those who perhaps haven’t seen the program, it’s about a group of people who make their livings by going to storage locker places and buying, in auction, those lockers which’ve been abandoned by their previous owners.

Sounds kinda sucky, doesn’t it! I imagine the producers had a better pitch description than I came up with! But, basically, that’s what the show is about.

I’ll bet that before this show aired many of us have at least been to a storage locker place and never once thought of it as the setting for a gripping show. I know I never did! But these folks made this apparently innocuous setting and “ordinary” characters so interesting that my wife and I have even talked about chucking it all and entering the business ourselves… Well, briefly. Then, my wife Mary inserted some common sense into the discussion by uttering the magic words, “No way, Charlie A. Cheese.”

Anyway. Back on point.

If you haven’t watched an episode, do so at your first opportunity. When you watch the show, take note of the commercials. Well, not the commercials themselves—the part of the show immediately before the commercials come on. Notice something? If you’re anything like me, you’re silently urging the commercial to “hurry up, already!” We want to return to the place the narrative stopped before the ad popped up. We grow more and more impatient as the ads appear, and then, finally… finally… the show returns. But… another groan escapes our lips as what we see next is a brief snippet of what was last on the screen. And, what was that? Several standard things. It might be a glimpse at a locker that was just opened and Barry has just spotted an item at the back everyone else missed. Although  It might be Jarrod and his bosomy (and sharp-tongued) wife Brandi who’s just gone through the locker he won in the auction for it and everything they looked at was junk, until this last box and when he opened it, he exclaimed, “Oh my God!” At which point the screen went to… you guessed it… commercial breaks. Without allowing us to see what he’s going bananas over.

Not only were we transfixed waiting for the revelation of what was in Jarrod’s box or what it was Barry spotted that put a gleam in his eye… the producers show a really cruel and even sick side of themselves… they don’t show what we’ve been waiting for right away, but heighten our tension even more by repeating the buildup that they ended the previous segment with.

Tension.

By pros.

Spend some time some evening and watch this show. See if you don’t see techniques you can steal for your own fiction. I’ll bet that aforementioned rent money that you will.

What other TV shows do this for you? Start watching shows with a new eye—when you come across one where you can’t wait for the commercials to be over, study how they achieved that effect in you and figure out how to apply it to your own writing.

If a show about a storage locker facility can generate this kind of tension, imagine how their techniques will work in your own novel which has a way more cooler setting than a storage locker!

What other television shows can you think of that achieve this? And, besides TV shows, what other sources are out there that can help inform our craft that we don’t normally think of? And, what are some of the other ways STORAGE WARS works to create tension? Can you spot at least two?

Blue skies,

Les

LIVE WEBINAR with moi(!) on CREATING GREAT NOVEL BEGINNINGS

 Hi folks,

I’ll be teaching a StoneHouse University 3-class series on creating great novel beginnings. It will be held for three straight days for two-hour sessions from 1:00 p.m to 3:00 EST, on June 26, 27 and 28. Anyone with an internet connection can participate. Each class requires a separate signup and each class builds on the previous, so for maximum benefit I’d suggest signing up for all three classes. Complete details on content for each class are given at the link below.

Note: Registration for all 3 classes isn't required, but is highly recommended. You must register for each class separately.

Complete information and details, including registration sign-ups for all three classes, are available on the StoneHouse University blog at http://stonehouseink.net/creating-great-novel-beginnings-3-classes-with-les-edgerton/

Cost: Cost for each class is $50.00, but StoneHouse University is offering a discount for only $32 per class if you sign up before 6/9. After that, the regular price will apply.

We’ve been working on these classes for over six months and I’m very pleased with the results. I think you’ll feel the same after attending. StoneHouse Ink is the publisher of two of my novels—JUST LIKE THAT and THE PERFECT CRIME, and will be coming out very soon with a new YA of mine, titled MIRROR, MIRROR.

Hope to see you in the audience!

Blue skies,

Les

P.S. If you haven’t seen the recent video interview I did for the Allen County Public Library for their YouTube series, check it out at: http://youtu.be/PoihFwCJKYw

 

You’ll see that myth that the camera adds ten pounds to you is just that—a myth. (In my case, it added 25 pounds… And, transformed my voice into something I don’t recognize…)