Copyright © 2008, Steven E. Houchin
I've recently done more research into styles, phrases, and slang from 19th Century America. I found a great book at the library tailored for this purpose: The Writer's Guide to Everyday Life in the 1800s, by Marc McCutcheon (1993, Writer's Digest Books). It lists all sorts of things by category, such as Slang, Fashion, Travel, and Crime. In the section on travel, there is a great sidebar entitled "Stagecoach Etiquette", which is from an 1877 Omaha Herald article. Here is a fun excerpt from it:
"... Don't smoke a strong pipe inside especially in the morning; spit on the leeward side of the coach. If you have anything to take in a bottle, pass it around; a man who drinks by himself in such a case is lost to all human feeling. Provide stimulants before starting; ranch whiskey is not always nectar. ... Don't swear nor lop over on your neighbor when sleeping. Don't ask how far it is to the next station until you get there. ... Never attempt to fire a gun or pistol while on the road; it may frighten the team and the careless handling and cocking of the weapon makes nervous people nervous. Don't discuss politics or religion, nor point out places on the road where horrible murders have been committed, if delicate women are among the passengers. ..."
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Book Review: The Godfather, by Mario Puzo
Copyright © 2008, Steven E. Houchin
( Originally written 1 June 2008 )
Critiques of my first book, Linear Descent, revealed that dialog among my Mafia characters needed some additional color. So, I bought a ratty, old paperback copy of The Godfather (possibly an original 1969 edition) at Half Price Books. After reading it, I had a few thoughts about its construction as a novel.
First, the main characters are superbly developed. Their Sicilian ethnicity pervades their psyche. Each character has his/her distinct personality, fears, problems, lusts, faults, and desires. They are believable. Unlike most books that have a clear main character, The Godfather is a conglomeration of characters and subplots whose lives are affected by their relationship to the Godfather, Don Corleone. A whole chapter may focus on some aspect of one character's life, then the next will switch to another character. But always the story is moved forward.
Second, the book has a definite turning point in the middle: Don Corleone is gunned down in the street. Though he survives, his life, and the future course of his organization, are irreversibly changed. There's no going back to "business as usual" for The Family. The organization careens into a tragic mob war, and must compromise -- temporarily -- to survive.
Third, the author completely ignores the rules on point of view. You, the reader, are in everybody's head within each chapter and scene, even changing from paragraph to paragraph. It takes a bit of getting used to, but Puzo seems to make it work. I've recently discovered that this isn't all that unusual in books of this genre. So, clearly, POV violations aren't absolutely fatal for publication, or even success.
( Originally written 1 June 2008 )
Critiques of my first book, Linear Descent, revealed that dialog among my Mafia characters needed some additional color. So, I bought a ratty, old paperback copy of The Godfather (possibly an original 1969 edition) at Half Price Books. After reading it, I had a few thoughts about its construction as a novel.First, the main characters are superbly developed. Their Sicilian ethnicity pervades their psyche. Each character has his/her distinct personality, fears, problems, lusts, faults, and desires. They are believable. Unlike most books that have a clear main character, The Godfather is a conglomeration of characters and subplots whose lives are affected by their relationship to the Godfather, Don Corleone. A whole chapter may focus on some aspect of one character's life, then the next will switch to another character. But always the story is moved forward.
Second, the book has a definite turning point in the middle: Don Corleone is gunned down in the street. Though he survives, his life, and the future course of his organization, are irreversibly changed. There's no going back to "business as usual" for The Family. The organization careens into a tragic mob war, and must compromise -- temporarily -- to survive.
Third, the author completely ignores the rules on point of view. You, the reader, are in everybody's head within each chapter and scene, even changing from paragraph to paragraph. It takes a bit of getting used to, but Puzo seems to make it work. I've recently discovered that this isn't all that unusual in books of this genre. So, clearly, POV violations aren't absolutely fatal for publication, or even success.
Sunday, June 1, 2008
Fun With Numbers; To Hyphen Or Not To Hyphen
Copyright © 2008, Steven E. Houchin
( Originally written 14 April 2008 )
I tend to spell out most numbers in my novels (the main exception being dollars and cents). There are definite, but sometimes conflicting, rules for how to spell out numbers in a manuscript. There are several web sites that attempt to deal with this subject. One is Tina Blue's Grammar and Usage for the Non-Expert. Another is at edufind.com.
I'll try to summarize some of the points here.
1. Hyphenate compound numbers from 21 through 99. For example: sixty-five, thirty-one. But, larger numbers aren't hyphenated: one hundred fifty-six (not one-hundred-fifty-six).
2. Hyphenate fractions. For example: three-fifths, one-tenth. But, there are exceptions. If there is already a hyphen present in either the numerator or denominator, no other hyphen is added. For example: twenty-five thirty-eighths (not twenty-five-thirty-eighths). Also, no hyphen is used when the fraction is used as a noun: They were scoreless after three quarters.
3. Hyphenate numbers when joined with a unit of measurement to form an adjective. For example: twenty-five-minute walk, thirty-six-year-old man, fifty-yard pass, seventeenth-century historian. This rule also holds true when using digits: 25-minute walk. But, when not used as an adjective, the joining hyphen is not used, as in: walked twenty-five minutes (not twenty-five-minutes), passed fifty yards (not fifty-yards).
Clearly, describing these rules is quite complicated, but if we write numbers this way, it is a subject we need to understand.
( Originally written 14 April 2008 )
I tend to spell out most numbers in my novels (the main exception being dollars and cents). There are definite, but sometimes conflicting, rules for how to spell out numbers in a manuscript. There are several web sites that attempt to deal with this subject. One is Tina Blue's Grammar and Usage for the Non-Expert. Another is at edufind.com.
I'll try to summarize some of the points here.
1. Hyphenate compound numbers from 21 through 99. For example: sixty-five, thirty-one. But, larger numbers aren't hyphenated: one hundred fifty-six (not one-hundred-fifty-six).
2. Hyphenate fractions. For example: three-fifths, one-tenth. But, there are exceptions. If there is already a hyphen present in either the numerator or denominator, no other hyphen is added. For example: twenty-five thirty-eighths (not twenty-five-thirty-eighths). Also, no hyphen is used when the fraction is used as a noun: They were scoreless after three quarters.
3. Hyphenate numbers when joined with a unit of measurement to form an adjective. For example: twenty-five-minute walk, thirty-six-year-old man, fifty-yard pass, seventeenth-century historian. This rule also holds true when using digits: 25-minute walk. But, when not used as an adjective, the joining hyphen is not used, as in: walked twenty-five minutes (not twenty-five-minutes), passed fifty yards (not fifty-yards).
Clearly, describing these rules is quite complicated, but if we write numbers this way, it is a subject we need to understand.
Monday, April 14, 2008
Murderous Prose
Copyright © 2008, Steven E. Houchin
It seems I just can't get enough of author Raymond Chandler (1888-1959). His portrayal of the hard-bitten, working class Private Dick may only be matched by his contemporary, Dashiell Hammett, with his starring ace detective Sam Spade.
Chandler is famous for his gritty detective protagonist Philip Marlowe, who prowls the streets and environs of 1930's and 1940's Los Angeles, richly transporting the reader headlong into that era. Two of his most famous Marlowe novels, Farewell, My Lovely (1940) and The Big Sleep (1939), were also successful movies.
I'm currently reading Chandler's The Simple Art of Murder (Vintage Books, 1988), which begins with an essay - often scathingly critical - on the state of the "detective story", and his disdain for its many practitioners. He says, "The average detective story is probably no worse than the average novel, but you never see the average novel. It doesn't get published." The remainder of the book is a series of - you guessed it - short detective stories.
What amazes me most about Chandler is his stunning descriptive phrases. For example, his story Spanish Blood begins:
"Big John Masters was large, fat and oily. He had sleek blue jowls and very thick fingers on which the knuckles were dimples."
Or, the first paragraph of I'll Be Waiting:
"... Carl, the night porter, turned down the last of three table lamps in the main lobby ... The blue carpet darkened a shade or two and the walls drew back into remoteness. The chairs filled with shadowy loungers. In the corners were memories like cobwebs."
Wow!
Chandler is famous for his gritty detective protagonist Philip Marlowe, who prowls the streets and environs of 1930's and 1940's Los Angeles, richly transporting the reader headlong into that era. Two of his most famous Marlowe novels, Farewell, My Lovely (1940) and The Big Sleep (1939), were also successful movies.
I'm currently reading Chandler's The Simple Art of Murder (Vintage Books, 1988), which begins with an essay - often scathingly critical - on the state of the "detective story", and his disdain for its many practitioners. He says, "The average detective story is probably no worse than the average novel, but you never see the average novel. It doesn't get published." The remainder of the book is a series of - you guessed it - short detective stories.
What amazes me most about Chandler is his stunning descriptive phrases. For example, his story Spanish Blood begins:
"Big John Masters was large, fat and oily. He had sleek blue jowls and very thick fingers on which the knuckles were dimples."
Or, the first paragraph of I'll Be Waiting:
"... Carl, the night porter, turned down the last of three table lamps in the main lobby ... The blue carpet darkened a shade or two and the walls drew back into remoteness. The chairs filled with shadowy loungers. In the corners were memories like cobwebs."
Wow!
Monday, March 31, 2008
Meet Your Perpetual Agent
Copyright © 2008, Steven E. Houchin
So, you’ve finally been published, but your agent has lost interest in you, or you’re not getting along. It’s time to find a new agent, someone you like, who is enthusiastic about your career potential. So, you terminate your old agency agreement. Your new agent can now aggressively move forward selling your book’s rights into new markets, right? Well ... maybe not. You may be hampered by “The Interminable Agency Clause”.
An Interminable Agency Clause, also known as an “Interminable Rights Clause” or a “Perpetual Agency Clause”, essentially gives your old, unloved agent all rights to represent your book as long as the book’s copyright is in effect. That’s your lifetime plus 70 years - a very long time - and a big problem. Normally, the agent would only have rights during the life of a publishing contract. So, if your publisher drops your book, your new agent can’t re-sell it to a new publisher because your old agent has perpetual representation rights. Even if your old agent agrees to cede representation to your new agent, he can still demand commissions for any new sales.
Many professional writers groups warn against this practice. Even if you love your agent, agencies that own the rights can change personnel or be sold, leaving you out in the cold with strangers.
My main source for this is novelist Victoria Strauss’ blog entry at:
http://accrispin.blogspot.com/2007/12/victoria-strauss-interminable-agency.html
The Interminable Agency Clause: don’t let it happen to you!
So, you’ve finally been published, but your agent has lost interest in you, or you’re not getting along. It’s time to find a new agent, someone you like, who is enthusiastic about your career potential. So, you terminate your old agency agreement. Your new agent can now aggressively move forward selling your book’s rights into new markets, right? Well ... maybe not. You may be hampered by “The Interminable Agency Clause”.
An Interminable Agency Clause, also known as an “Interminable Rights Clause” or a “Perpetual Agency Clause”, essentially gives your old, unloved agent all rights to represent your book as long as the book’s copyright is in effect. That’s your lifetime plus 70 years - a very long time - and a big problem. Normally, the agent would only have rights during the life of a publishing contract. So, if your publisher drops your book, your new agent can’t re-sell it to a new publisher because your old agent has perpetual representation rights. Even if your old agent agrees to cede representation to your new agent, he can still demand commissions for any new sales.
Many professional writers groups warn against this practice. Even if you love your agent, agencies that own the rights can change personnel or be sold, leaving you out in the cold with strangers.
My main source for this is novelist Victoria Strauss’ blog entry at:
http://accrispin.blogspot.com/2007/12/victoria-strauss-interminable-agency.html
The Interminable Agency Clause: don’t let it happen to you!
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
In the Dark During Bowl Week
Copyright © 2007, Steven E. Houchin. All rights reserved.
( Originally written 27 December 2007 )
Okay, I admit it. My time spent writing has been almost non-existent during the holidays. I’m not one of those “up at 4 a.m. and write for three hours” kind of superheroes you read about in author interviews. It’s Christmas, after all, with shopping, wrapping, cards, sugary cookies (zzzz…), and a slippery, snowy drive across the state and back. Am I expected to pour out paragraphs while creeping across the pass in second gear at 10 mph?
Oh, and now it’s Bowl Week. How am I supposed to work on deep character development when BYU and UCLA come down to a last second, failed, chip-shot field goal? Or when Boise State ties East Carolina on a miracle fumble recovery with 90 seconds left, only to lose by a field goal with zero left on the clock? I’M ONLY HUMAN!
Maybe it’s the dark, short, gloomy days. Yeah, that must be it. The weather sapped my creative energy and drowned me in winter’s funk. It raps at my window with big wet drops and whipsaws my trees more than I think they can stand. Can I really write when a huge cedar may crash into my house at any minute? Plus, there’s moss spreading all across my yard….
Then I look at the schedule of literary contests coming up in the new year. A whole bunch have January and February deadlines, and me with nothing to submit. So, do I quickly slap something together, throw it into the pile, and hope that my possible competitors were ... let’s see ... watching BOWL GAMES? I’d really hate to just write off (so to speak) these early 2008 contests.
Oh, Oregon State and Maryland are about to kick off. Let’s see, if I just get up tomorrow morning at 4 a.m....
( Originally written 27 December 2007 )
Okay, I admit it. My time spent writing has been almost non-existent during the holidays. I’m not one of those “up at 4 a.m. and write for three hours” kind of superheroes you read about in author interviews. It’s Christmas, after all, with shopping, wrapping, cards, sugary cookies (zzzz…), and a slippery, snowy drive across the state and back. Am I expected to pour out paragraphs while creeping across the pass in second gear at 10 mph?
Oh, and now it’s Bowl Week. How am I supposed to work on deep character development when BYU and UCLA come down to a last second, failed, chip-shot field goal? Or when Boise State ties East Carolina on a miracle fumble recovery with 90 seconds left, only to lose by a field goal with zero left on the clock? I’M ONLY HUMAN!
Maybe it’s the dark, short, gloomy days. Yeah, that must be it. The weather sapped my creative energy and drowned me in winter’s funk. It raps at my window with big wet drops and whipsaws my trees more than I think they can stand. Can I really write when a huge cedar may crash into my house at any minute? Plus, there’s moss spreading all across my yard….
Then I look at the schedule of literary contests coming up in the new year. A whole bunch have January and February deadlines, and me with nothing to submit. So, do I quickly slap something together, throw it into the pile, and hope that my possible competitors were ... let’s see ... watching BOWL GAMES? I’d really hate to just write off (so to speak) these early 2008 contests.
Oh, Oregon State and Maryland are about to kick off. Let’s see, if I just get up tomorrow morning at 4 a.m....
I'm In a Blue, Blue Subjunctive Mood
Copyright © 2007, Steven E. Houchin. All rights reserved.
( Originally written 13 December 2007 )
I recently had my Linear Descent manuscript critiqued. A number of my sentences were marked for incorrect grammar. The problem involved use of the word “was” when “were” was the correct usage. I had descended into a bad subjunctive mood. Now, I must admit, I do often get moody, but I never realized my subjunctiveness was so out of whack.
Usually, the use of these words is obvious. For example: “The clown was squeezed into the tiny car”, versus “The clowns were squeezed into the tiny car”. This is a singular versus plural past-tense usage, where the proper word to use must match the subject “clown(s)”. Although, I do sometimes have trouble with phrases that seem ambiguous, such as “The pair was up to no good”, versus “The pair were up to no good”. Hmmm....
And then there are phrases that describe situations that depend on probability or likelihood, such as “If I was a rich man ...”. However, “was” is grammatically wrong. The correct phrase is “If I were a rich man...”, even though “I” is singular. Why?
This is an example of a subjunctive clause. A verb is in the subjunctive mood when it expresses a condition which is doubtful or not factual. In this example, I am not really rich, so the verb “was” - normally the singular past tense of the verb “to be” - is really in subjunctive tense. In English, the subjunctive past-tense of “to be” is “were”, not “was”, and the plurality of the subject “I” is irrelevant. “If we were rich men...” uses the same word, even though the singular “I” has changed to the plural “we”. It is still subjunctive mood.
So, as I slog through my latest manuscript looking for occurrences of this error, my mood quickly turns blue, blue, blue.
( Originally written 13 December 2007 )
I recently had my Linear Descent manuscript critiqued. A number of my sentences were marked for incorrect grammar. The problem involved use of the word “was” when “were” was the correct usage. I had descended into a bad subjunctive mood. Now, I must admit, I do often get moody, but I never realized my subjunctiveness was so out of whack.
Usually, the use of these words is obvious. For example: “The clown was squeezed into the tiny car”, versus “The clowns were squeezed into the tiny car”. This is a singular versus plural past-tense usage, where the proper word to use must match the subject “clown(s)”. Although, I do sometimes have trouble with phrases that seem ambiguous, such as “The pair was up to no good”, versus “The pair were up to no good”. Hmmm....
And then there are phrases that describe situations that depend on probability or likelihood, such as “If I was a rich man ...”. However, “was” is grammatically wrong. The correct phrase is “If I were a rich man...”, even though “I” is singular. Why?
This is an example of a subjunctive clause. A verb is in the subjunctive mood when it expresses a condition which is doubtful or not factual. In this example, I am not really rich, so the verb “was” - normally the singular past tense of the verb “to be” - is really in subjunctive tense. In English, the subjunctive past-tense of “to be” is “were”, not “was”, and the plurality of the subject “I” is irrelevant. “If we were rich men...” uses the same word, even though the singular “I” has changed to the plural “we”. It is still subjunctive mood.
So, as I slog through my latest manuscript looking for occurrences of this error, my mood quickly turns blue, blue, blue.
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