David Patneaude's Blog: Different Worlds - Posts Tagged "david-patneaude"

I think we've all heard the metaphor people use to describe a too-busy life: having too many balls in the air. Although I never could juggle--balls, swords, pitchforks--I know the feeling. Right now I'm working on two novels--a middle grade story that would probably be called urban fantasy if you had to put it in a category, and a YA mystery--and a collection of short stories, some of which were published in 1995 in the book DARK STARRY MORNING. And I'm hovering over (from a distance) no less than a half dozen manuscripts (various genres and age groups) my agent is trying to place. Of course also in the mix that I'm trying to keep elevated and undamaged is my delicate writer's ego. So I spend some time giving myself pep talks: those stories are all winners; some intuitive editor is going to snap them up; keep at it; you may not be able to juggle, but you can write.

On my way to the Sudoku I glance at the obituary page
and glimpse a familiar smile on a familiar face and my breath abandons me,
leaving an aching vacuum in my chest, because I saw this familiar man—James,
the obituary says, but I knew him as someone with the more affable name Jim—
only a couple of weeks ago, full of life, in the locker room at the Y,
where we traded pleasantries almost daily, and he gave me his usual hello then,
as always a little wistful but amiable in a genuine sort of way.

He had arthritis, an affliction that slowed his walk and stooped his shoulders,
but didn’t keep him from greeting the guys dressing nearby or wandering past,
and everyone said hi back at him, which is how I came to know his name
(formal introductions don’t fly when you’re half-naked or dripping sweat).
He was a lap swimmer, and I once asked him about his swim fins and he took
the time to tell me about them and where to find them and how much they cost.
I never bought any—I’m a dry land kind of exerciser—but you never know.

The fins propelled us into a chance to talk, something beyond a nod and a grunt.

The bare-bones obituary says he was 63—
an age that I once thought was old,
but not now.
It says he had a dad and some cousins.
That’s it.
It doesn’t mention the men at the Y who enjoyed seeing his smile
and exchanging a few friendly words with him and now wish they’d done more.

It doesn’t say how he died.
It doesn’t say how empty the locker room seems these days.

If a guy dies at 63, he shouldn’t be written off, he should be written about,
his obituary should say more,
especially if he’s someone whose smiling photo can catch my eye—
and pilfer my breath—
on my way to the Sudoku.

Dancing butterfly
brings life to fading lilac,
stays for the winter

So many books...You know the rest. So many four and five-star books on Goodreads and elsewhere. So if you're a reader, how do you decide what to read? And if you're a writer who's written--or is in the process of writing--something, how do you get your book noticed, and once it gets noticed, how do you convince readers to pick it out of the pile or off the shelf or click on it on the website and spend a week or two of their precious time reading it? How do you get the elusive "buzz" going, and how do you take the next step? These questions are mostly rhetorical, but one answer (not always true, unfortunately) is to write something good. It's not always true because good books get neglected and bad--or mediocre--books for one reason or another make millions. So you do what you can. Write a good book, find a good agent, hope that she or he can find you a good publisher, hope that nothing goes wrong along the way, hope for strong reviews, hope that the publisher believes in the book enough to spend some money on publicity. Then you do what you can to promote yourself and the book--appearances, parties, social media, whatever. If you're good and fortunate, you could have some success. But it's a long road, and regardless of what happens, you have to keep in mind that writers write. You have to love what you're doing--creating characters and their stories. What happens next is important, but you can't let it overshadow your creative side. In many ways, it's out of your control.

Self Editing for Fiction Writers: How to Edit Yourself Into Print by Renni Browne and Dave King

Getting ready to start your novel? Partway through the first draft? Done with the first draft and ready to re-draft or revise? Struggling? Not struggling but want your manuscript to stand out? Get this book, and don't just put in on your bookshelf. Read it. Explore it. Underline. Highlight. Keep it open and within arm's length as you move along. Whether you're frequently published or new at this game, it's an invaluable tool. I had the first edition early in my career and practically wore it out. The newer edition (2004) is equally as valuable. The chapter on voice alone is worth the price of the book.

Some of us remember the original movie (you know--John Wayne as Rooster Cogburn), and more of us are probably familiar with the Coen Brothers'2010 remake with Jeff Bridges in the starring role and Hailee Steinfeld as Mattie Ross, a girl of singular convictions and courage. But if you haven't read the book, do it. When Charles Portis's most famous novel was published, the Boston Globe called it "An American Masterpiece." I can't argue with that. It truly is. If you like stories with complex characters, adventure, suspense, bravery, loyalty, eccentricity, humor, lyrical writing, delightfully unexpected dialogue, and yes, true grit, you'll love this book. Rarely, if ever, do I read a book and find myself unable to NOT laugh out loud. But I read parts of TRUE GRIT on the train in Europe, laughing at the dialogue, marveling at the writing, prompting people around me (including my wife) to wonder, prompting me to read passages out loud to prove that I had reason to laugh. Check it out. The five stars are earned.

It's Poetry Month, so here's a poem from my yet-to-be-published novel CAUGHT IN THE WAKE, the sequel to the award-winning THIN WOOD WALLS.

Castle Rock

I often dream of Castle Rock,
its crumbling peaks of rosy scorched nakedness rising over sentry towers
and shacks and barbed wire and us in our ill-fitting hand-me-downs.
I dream of its long shadows and early sunsets and Mike,
my brother,
silhouetted against its face on a smoldering dead-end afternoon.

But lately in my dreams Mike's familiar image is gone,
and a stand-in named Sandy, a soldier, appears, inviting me on an adventure
and a getaway ride in a Jeep, and we slip without trouble past the armed guards
and through the forbidding gate, and reach the base of the red mountain,
and dripping sweat, hike to the summit, where the gauzy curtain of my life-long myopia drops away to reveal the giant panoramic movie screen in front of me,

and for long moments I can see for a hundred miles in every direction,
but no matter where I look, I see no sign of my brother, so I surrender,
finally, and halfway through our descent I hear a hushed hissed greeting and
look down at a thick coil of smooth mottled skin and rattles poised on a flat rock, and the serpent whispers from its deadly yawn that it hasn't come for me,
and I stumble back, startled, and it repeats itself: I haven't come for you.

Most authors use writing as the vehicle for telling a story; Fewer use story as the vehicle for showcasing their writing. The former is usually thought of as commercial, the latter as literary. What I prefer reading is neither of those (although if I had to choose between the two, I'd go for the pretty words every time). I prefer a story in which the author hits the sweet spot, somewhere in the in-between. In other words, I like literary stories in which something happens. Or stories with a plot that are well-written and thoughtful.

So when I review and rate a book, I consider how well a story meets those two criteria--does it engage me with scenes happening on the page, and is it well-written? And if both of those factors are present, what's the ratio? Too much scenic stuff? Then I don't have time to take a breath and get to know the characters and think about what's happening to them and what it all means. Too much prequel and sequel? Then boredom sets in and I find myself skimming and skipping, at least mentally, to hurry on to the next page on which something is actually happening. And I start to resent being told what the characters are thinking/feeling/deciding. I'd rather experience what's going on and decide that stuff for myself.

I love books that manage to balance scene and sequel, action and narration, plot and character, dialogue and interior monologue, calm and conflict. AND are intelligently written.

Given that Goodreads reviews are on a one-star to five-star continuum, I try to assign stars to both story and style, five for each, and then average them to get my final evaluation. For instance, recently I reviewed a book by David Baldacci called Wish You Well. I thought the story merited a four, the writing a two. Then, using my advanced math skills, I averaged the two and came up with a three. Highly scientific, right?

But enough of my wonkiness. Where this is leading is an explanation for a review of my most recent read, Richard Ford's Canada. Richard Ford is a wonderful writer--he's won a Pulitzer, for cripe's sakes. And I gave him five stars for the literary merits of this book. On the other hand, not much happens, and what does happen takes place, for the most part, off the page. It's revealed retrospectively by a passive narrator who observes everything (even the stuff that happens to him) from a distance, either actual or determined by disinterest or the passage of time.

So like the protagonist (Dell) I found myself observing, waiting for the other shoe to fall, waiting for something to happen. Which in one way works. The tension builds. Doom is on the horizon. But it's so slo-o-o-w in coming. Page after page of telling and introspection eventually lead to a real scene (a short one), but then we're on to another batch of sequel followed by prequel to whatever might be coming way down the road.

I admired the writing greatly. If you're a writer who wants to know more about how to put a sentence together, read this book. It's worth it. But I thought the writing excelled to the detriment of the story. So I gave the story a one. One plus five equals six. Divided by two is three. So there you go. My review: three stars.

If you're not a baseball fan, you should read ONE SHOT AT FOREVER. It's about much more than baseball. If you are a baseball fan, you'll think you've just been transported to your own personal field of dreams. Think of "Hoosiers" on a baseball diamond, but with a different cast of small town characters on a quest for an unlikely goal--a state championship--in a time--the early seventies--when Illinois high school teams weren't classified by school size. Picture "our" team, representing a rural school of fewer than 300 students, grades nine to twelve, boys and girls, competing against, among other behemoths, a Chicago area school of more than four thousand boys. Throw in a charismatic but counterculture coach, small town conservative values, lack of support from just about everyone including school administrators, no budget for uniforms and equipment, a divot-filled infield with no pitcher's mound and an outfield split by a running track and surrounded by corn stalks, and you have an intriguing but impossible situation, right? A fool's journey? You haven't yet met the boys (and girl) of Macon High. Read the book.

I just posted a review of WORLD WAR Z (below), and did it as a straight critique of the story and the storytelling, but I think it's also fun and more meaningful perhaps to look at this zombie story on another level, kind of like INVASION OF THE BODY SNATCHERS was about more than aliens taking over or replicating human bodies and THE INVISIBLE MAN was about more than a fictional man becoming invisible. Those stories about real-life humans losing themselves to convention, to sameness, to ordinariness, to numbness, to uncaring sociopathy, to being relegated to a less-than-human state. So maybe WORLD WAR Z is about more than zombies. Maybe it's about the spread of other, real-life kinds of deadly epidemics--willful ignorance, superstition, intolerance, hate, blind allegiance to buffoonery, denial of facts and reason (past, present, and future), the perpetuation of dumb-ass conspiracy theories, and a general failure to evolve, to be what a human is capable of being. Maybe it's metaphor/allegory/symbolism. And in that case it's not just fictional face-value scary. It's real-life frightening.

Review: In need of a book for a flight home from Los Angeles, I picked this one up at the Burbank Airport bookstore. Not usually a reliable source of promising reading, but in this case I managed to pick something worthwhile. Zombies? you say. Worthwhile? you say. Well, yes. When the zombies come packaged in a high-concept, well-researched, well-written novel that anchors the fantastic and speculative in human realities, a good read is born. At the time I bought the book I didn't pay any attention to the fact that it was soon to be a movie (starring Brad Pitt, no less). So now that I do know about the movie, I'm interested in seeing how the film will overcome what I felt was the book's shortcoming--the lack of a main character. The story is told as a series of interviews (dozens of them) with survivors of the zombie war. They're consistently interesting, sometimes gripping, and often creepy, and all together comprise a comprehensive picture of the world war between humans and the rise of the reanimated. But other than the interviewer, who takes a personality-deprived backseat to each interviewee, there's no protagonist. There's no one to identify with. There's no continuity in character. So I'm curious about one thing: What role will Brad Pitt have? A reanimated interviewer?

All in all, a good book, an accomplished method of storytelling, such as it is. I just missed getting inside a main dude's head.