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Friday, 25 February 2011

Lust to read will never dwindle with a Kindle


Some said it was the end of an era. After five years as Chairman of the Torrevieja Writers' Circle (TWC), I was stepping down. My last day wielding the gavel was Wednesday, 23 February. There were about 28 members in attendance and several apologies. The first half was a normal session of reading and critique, then cakes, buns (thanks to the bakers)and drinks for the halftime period. There followed a presentation of a Kindle, contributed by the members. I was very touched by this thoughtful present. (Some whispered I've been a bit touched for ages, hence the puns...) Mary K (Hasta Luego)and Chris (Woe...)read out poems, which were both appreciated and struck several chords. Several - about 22 stayed behind to eat a menu del dia. A really good day, thank you all!


I finished off with a small 'thank you':

After five years as Chairman, I ask myself, why do we come to the TWC meetings? Presumably, we all like to read – whether books or magazines. Most of us were brought up with a love of books – either imparted by our parents or our teachers. Even in this age of the e-book, books play an important part in our lives. As Cicero said, ‘A room without books is like a body without soul.’

The Canadian-Japanese Professor of English, Samuel Hayakawa said, ‘In a very real sense, people who have read good literature have lived more than people who cannot or will not read… It is not true that we have only one life to live; if we can read, we can live as many more lives and as many kinds of lives as we wish.’

They’re talking about books. But we aren’t a reading circle. We strive to write. As E L Doctorow said, ‘Planning to write is not writing. Outlining a book is not writing. Researching is not writing. Talking to people about what you’re doing, none of that is writing. Writing is writing.’

So it’s the placing of your bum on a chair and writing. No pressure, there then.
Still, as we know – no pressure, no diamonds.

Many of you have written for years and received little or no pecuniary reward, but that doesn’t stop you, nor should it. Richard Bach, who wrote Jonathan Livingston Seagull, says, quite rightly, ‘A professional writer is an amateur who didn’t quit.’

So, if it isn’t for the financial reward, why do we write? Is it because we must? Katherine Mansfield said, ‘Looking back, I imagine I was always writing. Twaddle it was, too. But better far to write twaddle or anything, anything, than nothing at all.’ Maybe we want to make sense of the world, or understand ourselves, our past. Indeed, the life of every person is like a diary in which he means to write one story, and writes another.

I think I’ve used this quotation from O Henry before, but make no apology for using it again: "A good story is like a bitter pill, with the sugar coating inside of it."

Maybe that’s it: we just like telling stories! To know is nothing at all; to imagine is everything. Of course, you don’t have to rely on imagination; you can reminisce about your past. You don’t have to write fiction. You can write memoirs and poems, rants and articles. It doesn’t matter, really, so long as you write. You write to be read, however. You write for an audience, even if that’s an audience of one or the circle members only. You don’t write for praise, though it’s always welcome. You write to affect others, to raise a laugh, stir an emotion, elicit a tear. You don’t write to slavishly copy your favourite authors. Each one of us is unique, and we see the world and humanity in different ways. The secret is that in our writing we invite the reader to see the world – our imagined world – as we see it.

In my five years of Chairmanship, I’ve been privileged to listen to a vast array of writing from the TWC members – poems that made me think or cry, stories that made me laugh and empathise, articles that made me see some aspect of life with a fresh eye. Many of you have already done it, but I would recommend that in your writing, make the most of yourself, for that is all there is of you.

Thank you for putting up with my terrible puns over the years. I’ll miss banging my gavel, and inevitably I’ll miss several gems that will be read out in future meetings, since I will no longer be a regular attendee. However, to use a final quotation, in the immortal words of the Terminator, ‘I’ll be back.’

Friday, 18 February 2011

ENDURING LOVE - Raymond Chandler

It took over fifty years but on Valentine’s Day this year, author and screenwriter Raymond Chandler finally got his wish and he was reunited with his wife. I haven’t read much about this – it was in the Los Angeles Times, and I noted it in the Craig Brown column in the Daily Mail. Craig Brown is a humorous writer, often bursting pompous bubbles. This piece is both straight and quite moving.

Chandler’s wife Cissy was much older than him. She died in 1954 and he never really got over it. He wrote, ‘She was the best of my heart for thirty years, ten months and four days. She was the music heard faintly at the edge of sound.’ He died about three years later, but unfortunately his alcoholism prevented him from properly finalizing the paperwork that would ensure his last resting place was alongside his beloved Cissy.

Then in 2009 Chandler fan Loren Latker unearthed the expressed wish of Chandler to be buried with Cissy. It was a wish, and not legally binding. Loren hired Aissa Wayne, daughter of John Wayne, and after eighteen months of legalities, the Los Angeles judge gave the go-ahead for Cissy Chandler’s ashes to be moved to her husband’s grave in the San Diego cemetery.

A cortege of cars of the Philip Marlowe period, accompanied by Dixieland jazz band, made the ceremony most memorable, and actor Powers Booth, who played Marlowe, attended with other celebrities.

The shared headstone has a quotation from The Big Sleep: Dead men are heavier than broken hearts.

Sunday, 13 February 2011

Coming soon - The Riflemen


The third Solstice Western will be ready soon. Keep an eye out for its striking cover.

Two men - against an army!

Mexico, 1868. Two men. One white, one colored. Proficient in only one thing. Shooting with the long arm. The greatest long range weapon of the age. The .50 caliber Sharps rifle.

When the two ex-sharpshooters, Nick Guardeen and Thaddeus Johnston receive an invitation from the Arizona State Governor, they answered his call out of courtesy for a fellow veteran. But he offers them something they've never had before. Land. The prospect of their very own homestead leads them to accept a highly dangerous mission across the border into Mexico.

Hounded by a merciless gang of assassins, they press on into the desert redoubt of the self-styled and ruthless General Wyatt whose crazy ambition is nothing less than reinstating the Confederacy. Their only help is the beautiful Christine Lenoir. Her hatred for the General is the reason she risks all and remains a spy in the heart of the renegade fortress.

Alone in the wilderness, they need all their skills and technique to survive against Apaches, murderers and a reinstated army of rebel forces.

Cover painting/illustration by Tony Masero.His website is at http://www.artnillustration.com/tonymasero-weste.html

Thursday, 3 February 2011

A Day in the Life...


Banco Sabadell produces a quarterly magazine, Prestige. The latest issue, #46 Winter features A Day in the Life of... me, talking about my fondness for Spain and my short story collection Spanish Eye - tales from Leon Cazador, PI.

The magazine is around for about three months and is sent to the international clients of the bank group and can be found in all their banks - so that may be thousands. Doesn't mean they'll all want to get a copy of Spanish Eye, though.

Coincidentally, as well as mentioning those 21 tales about Leon Cazador, the magazine runs a feature about Leon, the medieval and photogenic Spanish city.

Tuesday, 1 February 2011

New job - Chief Ed



Today is quite exciting for me, as I start work as the Editor in Chief of Solstice Publishing. Where before I was responsible for submissions to the new western imprint, now I’ve been hired to deal with all submissions. Fortunately, I have an excellent and keen team of editors.

Since first taking up an editing pen in the 1970s, I’ve always found it exciting to open a new submission, hoping to discover new voices and great stories. I hope to find a good number of really good stories within all genres published by Solstice.



Naturally and inevitably, there will be a goodly portion of material that ‘still needs work’. And that’s the point: anyone beginning in this writing business must keep writing regardless of rejection, striving to learn from other writers. They must persevere. A thick skin, inordinate patience and a good dollop of self-belief will help, too. Maybe a sense of humour helps too. A rejection isn’t personal, it’s subjective, merely an opinion. True, that opinion may be based on years of experience and knowledge of the market, but it’s still subjective. Many a household name author was rejected a lot of times. That’s not the point. A rejection should ask you at least to take a step back from that work and be self-critical: after time and further reflection, is it good enough or could it be improved?

A third Solstice Western – The Riflemen by Tony Masero – is being prepared, and he's just completed the cover, which is excellent. A couple more western novels are in the pipeline.

Submissions details.
Electronic only
American English spelling
Double quotes for speech
Indent paragraphs
No line spaces between paragraphs
Maximum 100,000 words
See website: http://www.solsticepublishing.com/pages/Submission-Guidelines.html
Manuscript with synopsis should be sent to:
Westerns – westernsubmissions.solstice@live.com
Everything else (see website for genres) – submissions.solstice@hotmail.com

Monday, 31 January 2011

The House Always Wins

My short story, ‘The House Always Wins’ was the genesis of my second Black Horse Western, Last Chance Saloon. It can be found on p16 of the magazine New Coastal Press, which can be found at:

http://www.newcoastalpress.com/PDF/Coastal%20Press%20JANUARY%202011%20web.pdf

The magazine can be downloaded as a pdf and read at leisure; it will be replaced by the February edition in a couple of weeks or so.

Sunday, 30 January 2011

Solstice Westerns - launch-02



The second book from Solstice Westerns is Mead’s Quest, which is set in the early days of last century. The blurb tells of a poignant story that just also happens to be a western novel.

Idaho, 1906. Seventeen-year-old Jacob Mead was glad to see his pa buried. He wanted to be free of him and the ranch – but it wasn’t that simple. His past, painful though it was, held an astonishing surprise: an inheritance beyond his wildest dreams. It had something to do with a small leather ledger, the railroad and a family he’d never known. Leaving the ranch might help him locate his roots.

The clues were scant, the trail was cold, but the result of Jacob’s quest would be stunning.

Unfortunately, his sudden wealth attracted Neil Browning and his cousin, Randy, who had plans on relieving Jacob Mead of his money and his life. There will be bloodshed and tears before long.

Jacob’s story weaves movingly through the lives of an intriguing assortment of people, plunging him into danger, terrible anguish and heart-stopping delight as he tracks down members of his family during the awakening of the Twentieth Century.

Jacob’s heart is big and forgiving, it seems, which is just as well. His life wasn’t particularly easy or good, yet he transcends the pain and anguish to become a decent man; though he recognizes that he needs to better himself, get educated, and find his roots. His quest is long and full of surprises for the reader and him. It’s something he needs to do to find closure, something that many in his position were never able to accomplish.

“America's orphan trains delivered more than 150,000 children across the land to whomever would take them. Jacob Mead was one, taken in by an abusive man and his almost equally abusive wife. His struggle to survive, to become a responsible man, and to find his missing siblings forms the core of Mead's Quest. A startling tale of life and death as the West stumbled into the 20th century.” – Chuck Tyrell, international prize-winning author of Vulture Gold, Hell Fire in Paradise, and The Snake Den.

Mead’s Quest would make great historical reading for high school and middle school students. It presents history in a wonderfully entertaining format. Thanks for the enjoyable hours. — T. Michael, Lane Community College

A touching, sensitive, suspenseful story, I was moved to tears. — W. Jenkins

The plot is solid and fascinating. It is a story based on fact and it carries with it a strong feeling of reality. — D. Hays, Statesman Journal literary editor.

I must say that Mead’s Quest was one of the best books I’ve ever read. The characters had believable emotions, Neil Browning was the perfect bad guy, the setting, the time period, everything was just wonderful. I can’t wait for the next book to come out. — R Cox

While these books are only available in electronic format at present, there’ll be print versions published in about ten months.

Solstice Westerns - launch-01


A few months ago, I was appointed as Chief Editor of the Solstice Western imprint of the US publisher Solstice Publishing. The first two e-books are now available from online bookstores, with more on the way. Each cover image maintains the feel of the imprint while also promoting the strong storylines. You can order either or both at the links on the left.

These tales are not your typical westerns with men in white and black hats shooting it out. There are many facets to both. Take the blurb for The Snake Den, for example.

Arizona, 1882. Falsely accused of theft, 14-year-old Shawn Brodie is sent to serve three years in the Hellhole called Yuma Territorial Prison. Lamb to the slaughter, maybe?

The Mexican Zapata wants to stick him with a knife, the warden wants him to mend his thieving ways, and the sergeant of the guard wants to get into Shawn’s pants. If he won’t do what Sergeant Tarkington wants, he’ll end up in the Snake Den, a cube of iron straps hung from the ceiling of a dark cave. If he doesn’t do what Zapata says, he’ll end up with a nail sticking out of his eye. If he can’t convince the warden that he’s not a thief, he’ll spend his days tromping Colorado River mud to make adobe bricks.

Is his young life going to be made up of beatings, rape, and incarceration in the deadly Snake Den? The odds seem stacked against young Shawn ever getting out of Yuma Prison alive.

The Mexicans hate the whites, the Chinamen and blacks stay out of the way, and the whites fight among themselves. Somehow, Shawn must learn how to defend himself, and chance throws him in with Shoo Lee, a cellmate, an Oriental proficient in the barehanded fighting technique Kara Ti. Perhaps if he becomes Shoo Lee’s disciple he can endure...

Advance review copies have picked up good comments, too.
“Remarkable. A page turning thriller set in a frontier prison where a boy convict learns about the tough world of survival as he grows into a man. Told with gritty courage and honesty – a surprising blend of East and West, it’s a coming-of-age story like none you’ve ever read.” – Corinne Joy Brown, author of McGregor’s Lantern, Sanctuary Ranch, and Come and Get it!

“Chuck Tyrell has brought authenticity and poignancy to a western with a difference...”
– Jack Martin, author of The Ballad of Delta Rose.

I’ll feature the second book in a separate post. While these books are only available in electronic format at present, there’ll be print versions published in about ten months.

Absence

Sorry I haven't updated this blog for several weeks. While the festive season might have been an excuse, it was only part of the story. Both my wife and I succumbed to a popular bug - we wre not alone! - and were laid low for two or three weeks. Jen is only now recovering her voice - a bind, since she loves to sing... Then we were host to our old friends from UK for two weeks...

Anyway, excuses over.

Maybe posts will appear more regularly from now on.

Nik

Friday, 24 December 2010

A Christmas Story

OUTCAST

She came out of the godforsaken planet's seasonal mists, struggling under her immense weight. She wasn't welcome. Abraham Hertzog didn't like company. That's why he had settled in this inhospitable place, a last fuelling stop at the rim of the galaxy: a bleak station, where sand and dust vied with alien plants, neither succeeding for long to cling onto the barren rocky landscape. Planetary storms were too frequent. Which reminded him: he was due to telecast Headquarters. It was a full 3 months since he last ordered victuals.

His metal shack abutted onto the side of a towering ultramarine cliff. The rock was heavily pitted, from recent meteor showers and severe gales: he used the nearest caves for storage. But now stocks were running low.

He squinted out the porthole, past the thousand-meter landing pad, the fuelling depot and its attendant robot-mechanics.

As the green six-legged creature stumbled onto the tarmac, a robot wheeled toward her and solicitously helped her to large ungainly feet. Even from this distance, Abraham could detect the gratefulness in her protruding eyes. They were so damned trusting!

Perhaps that was why he didn't want to see her?

Guilt?

Not a thousand kilometres to the west there had been a luxuriant mauve forest, sprouting from purple springy grass. Now there were just a few tree-stumps; the rest was overbuilt by settlers. When mankind seeded the stars, he also brought diseases, pollution, greed, prejudices and weapons... The aliens were decimated, the survivors now outcasts on their own planet.

The robot helped the creature to the door, which chimed.

‘Just a minute,’ Abraham called, ‘Oy veh!’

The airlock whispered and he stepped out of the air-conditioned atmosphere onto the metal veranda. The air was thick with dust, the ozone crackling. ‘What is it?’

But he needn't ask. The pregnant creature was exhausted, and near term.

Against his better judgement, he directed the robot to bring her round the back and made room in the half-empty storage cave.

‘Stay here with her,’ he instructed the robot, ‘while I get some halvah.’

Later, as he dialled Headquarters about those victuals, he looked out the rear port.

The creature had managed a guttural approximation of English: her name was Yram; she had voraciously devoured his offered confection and now lay contented, watched by a number of mechanic and haulage robots. His attention was suddenly drawn to the green bundle of limbs swathed in sacking as the telecast speaker announced: ‘Merry Christmas, Abe!’

And he looked up at a star, twinkling overhead, brighter than any he'd seen on his journeys through the Milky Way.

‘Yes, of course. It would be, wouldn't it?’ he mused and realised that perhaps this planet wasn't God-forsaken after all.

Happy Christmas to all readers of this blog.
Nik

Tuesday, 21 December 2010

Beating the snow and ice, my gratis 3 copies of the Linford Large Print book The $300 Man arrived today. I like the cover - it features a train, which is significant since the book begins with a train robbery. And the standing gunman could conceivably have a hook on his left hand, since it's hidden!



Interesting to see how Linford have managed to shorten the blurb; a good abridgement. The book, of course, is complete and unabridged.









The hardcover blurb:
What’s a life worth? $300, maybe. Half-Mexican Corbin Molina lost a hand during the Civil War but he has adapted. Now he’s on a mission to Walkerville. On the way, he prevents a train robbery and finds an old friend. Corbin always carries $300, which is significant, since that’s what he was a paid as substitute soldier for the Union.

When Corbin starts asking questions about Walkerville’s law and administration, he discovers that the Walker family, who seem to have bought and paid for loyalty and position, dominates the townspeople. Inevitably, Corbin’s questions attract plenty of trouble. And his past emerges to confront him during a tense showdown that threatens not only him but also his newfound love.

The Linford blurb:
What’s a life worth? $300, maybe. Corbin Molina lost a hand during the Civil War and always carries $300 – his pay as substitute Union soldier. He’s on a mission to Walkerville. When he arrives Corbin investigates their law and administration and finds that the Walker family dominates the townspeople and his questions bring trouble. His past emerges to confront him during a tense showdown that threatens not only him but also his newfound love.

Pleased to see that The $300 Man is 4th in the book depository Black Horse Western bestseller table, for December:
http://tainted-archive.blogspot.com/2010/12/western-bestsellers-at-book-depository.html

Sunday, 19 December 2010

Editor’s pet peeves-01: what’s empty?

From time to time, I’ll offer a few (possibly pedantic) comments on what tends to grate slightly when reading novels or works in progress.





‘Rossiter and Jacaud sat at a table… a bottle of cognac between them. Otherwise the place was empty, except for Mercier, who stood behind the bar counter polishing glasses.’ – A fine night for dying, Jack Higgins (1969).

Otherwise the place was empty, except for… Why not simply write: the only other person was Mercier…?

I’ve seen this example time and again, ‘empty, except for…’ The place wasn’t empty, since there were at least two other people in there. What constitutes full? When is it half-empty? This phrasing is often used by new writers who haven’t mastered critical self-edit yet.

I just happened to read this book yesterday so there’s no intention of slighting fellow Geordie-born Jack Higgins – a writer who has published over 60 novels and sold 250 million books and doubtless given pleasure to even more. Some years ago, a Sunday supplement journalist castigated him for unoriginality and regurgitating much of his material – whether gun lore, dialogue, events or even characters. Probably written by a disgruntled author who hadn’t achieved Higgins’s success. When you’ve written so many books, it’s quite possible some repetition creeps in. For example, Tarzan kept tripping over lost cities and civilizations in Africa, so that it seemed that the continent was overpopulated with them, but that didn’t detract from reader enjoyment.

It’s a strange coincidence but in the above book, Higgins writes: ‘Rossiter’s… hand dipped into his pocket and emerged clutching the Madonna. There was a sharp click and the blade jumped into view.’ And in Bad Company(2003), which is advertised at the rear of this book, there’s the passage: ‘(Marco) keeps an ivory Madonna in his pocket. When you press the button, the blade jumps out and shears right up under the chin.’ But, so what?

The majority of his early books are competent thrillers, though these days it’s unlikely they’d get published. And maybe that’s a fault of the present system; Higgins wrote 35 books before his breakthrough The Eagle Has Landed. Few, if any, publishers would now consider nurturing talent for that period of time. Yet he tells good fast-paced stories, is prolific – and popular. Go figure.