Marketing regarding Politics and Religion

I love a good book.  I love a good movie.  I have and have had some wonderful favorite actors and actresses.

As I sit and watch the evening news, one of my favorites suddenly becomes not so much so.  Why?  Why is it they feel the need to alienate half their audience over politics or religion?

I have wondered about that.  Americans are free to expound on any topic they wish.  We are free to protest in any form we chose.  That might be in the form of an interview on Chris Matthews or with Sean Hannity.  Celebrities have a built-in audience with their fan base.  Because of that, they are presented with a platform to  run off their mouth to a national audience.  

That is their right.  Then it is my right to stop purchasing their work, be that a book, movie or music download because they upset me with their personal values.  For instance, as a Vietnam veteran I have not spent a penny on anything to do with Hanoi Jane (Fonda).  These celebrities that have this national platform are wealthy.  They made their fortune on their efforts, like Gary Sinise and Madonna. I assume those like them are rich enough not to care if anyone still likes their work or not when they go on the record as being for or against one thing or another.

There are varying degrees of angst among people when they talk or write about politics and religion.  The things they put out range for a warm heart, ignorant of reality like Katy Perry spoke on last night, to outright treason like Hanoi Jane. 

How about the rest of us?  Those of us that are marketing to people to sell our books.  Those of us that want to increase our audience.  Those of us that are following the prescribed formula to get our work out into the hands of those that we hope will like what we've done and write a glowing review and pass on the word about us.  Most of us are not wealthy.  Why then would we post on the very platforms that we are trying to grow an audience material that will alienate a large segment? 

My thought is it's hot-buttons.  Something someone posts, or a breaking news report, or other some other item pushes a hot-button and we trip off line and have to write about our feelings about it post haste.  I know, don't know why, not everyone agrees with my philosophy on life.  I accept that.  I can still admire the person for what they have done or are striving to do.  Where I go off the tracks is when they rile on a stance contrary to mine and vilify me and those of my ilk for thinking otherwise.  I have unfollowed a few like that over the years.  I would be unlikely to buy or read one of their books.

What puzzles me is why would a person beat the drum on if Global Warming is real or not on their post in a writers discussion group or on their author web/blog page knowing they are going to upset part of their growing audience.  That seems counterproductive to me.  People that say negativity in posts, especially posts that devolves into personal attacks doesn't bother them isn't being honest with themselves or others.  I am a Navy Chief Petty Officer (retired) and none come any more thick skinned than those of my kind.  Yet, I get a pain in the chest when I start to read some of the that rotten stuff in a place I don't expect to see it. 

I have strong and passionate views on politics and religion.  My profile is benign, I think, when I say I'm a Republican and a Christian.  If one my hot-buttons gets punched it will never be posted here.  This is my author blog.  What I post here are thoughts on the trade of writing that also includes marketing. 

That takes us back to the beginning.  It makes no sense to alienate a hopeful audience and a growing following with overly passionate personal beliefs in posts where they don't belong.  I suppose a counter argument is that it is our personal beliefs is built into our writing and to post those feelings is okay.  To that, I suggest good writers have the ability to cross the aisle and get into the mind of a character that is contrary to our personal view.  If I were researching and need a strong counterview to my protagonists there are places online I can go and push a hot-button or two and get the responses I want.   But, not here.

If you see a point I might have missed here or disagree, let me know.

Is my writing adequate?

In my reading, I have come across all sorts of advice, tricks of the trade, instruction on how to overcome common and shared conditions between writers.  These range from structure, grammar, plotting, outlining to writers block and feelings of inadequacy and other guilt tripping problems.

Some of those things I suffer with a little.  One of them that sticks out for me is adequacy.  From time to time I come across an author that I am practically in awe with their prose.  I suppose this points to voice.  They are quick witted.  They write with a easy flow that enables me to chew up chapters at a sitting.  Gee, I think, they are head and shoulders over where I am.  I don't feel like I will ever measure up to what they have accomplished.

That is okay, if I don't.  Readers are at all different levels, just as authors write at different levels.  The authors I admire are those where I can appreciate such skill and use them as a learning lesson; someone to try and emulate.  Even though it is said we are competing within a genre for readership, there are still those that will like what I write if I write it well.  Perhaps, my plots and subplots are not as complicated and vocabulary isn't as rich or have as many syllables as the artist I admire, but I'm not a slouch (completely).   However, that said, my writing is maturing and growing in skill.  My largest problem is my late start with fiction writing. 

Having a long career of writing white papers, technical manuals and prospectus doesn't translate well to invoking emotion, and making up people to live in a fictional fact based world that you will find interesting.  Because of that, I get a twinge occasionally that I'm not adequate to the task. 

That's it.  I got that off my chest.  Time to write.

 

IN THE PAST - Flash Fiction

Here is a story I wrote based on a writing exercise that Vincent Ruiz posts every couple weeks on Google+.  It's based on a picture he finds and is limited to 600 words.  Sometimes, I have to think on it for several days before an idea comes to me.  Other times it flows.  Here is one from a couple months ago.  I hope you enjoy it. 

In The Past

"Is that really you, Grandma?"  Sixteen-year-old, Amy asked the silver haired stodgy woman standing by her side at the  Museum of Science.

"Yes, it is dear."

"Wow, Grandma, you were pretty,"  Amy hesitated and quickly amended.  "Not that you're not pretty now.  Just difference."

Silvertone smiled.  "That's fine, Dear.  That was a long time ago."

"What were the lines for?"

"Those were for laser tracking.  I was working at Compass Sports doing a sportswear shot at Nordstrom's when Dr. Samuel Roberts was shopping with his wife and saw my routine."

"The Dr. Roberts, trillionaire;  father of Techsapiens, the cyborg corporation?" 

"Yes, I was a contortionist, showing off the stretchability of the full body wear.  After the show, he came up to me and asked me if I could model my moves for his cyborg range of motion studies.  I told him I liked working for Compass.  Then he told me the pay.  So, there you have it."  She lifted one arm out and twisted an open palm in a circle. "Funny how much shorter my arms seem now they're so much bigger around."  She laughed.

"What about the light, and that thing in your hands?" 

"And the clear plastic shoulder pads, too?"

"Yea, those too."

"Didn't have them.  No backlighting, no mystifying ball thingy in my hands and no plastic shoulder pads.  I guess they added that stuff to jazz up the display.  At least, they have clothes on me for this?

Amy's eyes widened.  "You mean you didn't have clothes.  You were naked?"

"Yes, Dear.  I had marks and lines like you see here everywhere.  Even on the bottom of my feet."  Silvertone winked at her.  "How do you think I landed your Grandfather.  He was a joint development engineer for Dr. Roberts." 

"Wow, I had no idea.  I know Grandpa was an engineer, but guess I wasn't interested enough to pay attention to what he did."  Amy looked at her Grandma, "I'm sorry.  I'm glad I come here with you."

"That's okay,"  Silvertone assured her.  "Let's get on and see what else there is here to see.  I have to get home in time to fix Grandpa dinner."

As the pair turned to move on, the eye's on the display opened and watched the pair disappear around the corner. 

Writers Groups

Writing Groups

The second week of the month is a particularly fun week with my writing odyssey.  The month of May is no exception.  On the second Tuesday is the Kitsap Writers Group (KWG) and on the second Saturday is the Bremerton Writers Meetup.  These two groups have largely different formats for presenting and critiquing writing.

The KWG uses a group on YAHOO that story portions are downloaded into.  If I download a file for critique, I am expected to critique at least seven pages of everyone else’s work.  We have a whole month, providing a file is posted early to get it done.  Being that I am a more methodical sort of person, I like the time to digests the material.  Also, I don’t feel pressure only to do seven pages and generally will critique twenty plus pages.  Besides that, they are a talented group, and despite the rawness of the material, the stories are interesting.  It seems like we are reading a serial.  Then on meeting night, we discuss the critiques (generally already returned by email).  We learn quite a bit.  We get the idea as to what seems to work and what doesn’t so that we can make up our mind as to change a part of the story or not.  For my book, the two chapters I submitted is approaching mid second act (the middle of the book).  Several concerns were, as I built tension for the confrontation everyone is expecting, is that I was climaxing too early -like that has never happened.  Relief was prevalent when I assured everyone that it was just a close call.  Then we lively conversations about aspects of each other’s material.  The insights given on story are jewels that I would ‘almost’ feel guilty about using.

The Bremerton group is a gathering that goes by the seat of your pants.  We read aloud seven to ten pages and receive immediate feedback.  I like format as it gives a more visceral input.  How the material sounds verbalized.  As a side note, not all material is written with the idea of being read aloud.  Yet, I think the best authors that are good wordsmiths that naturally write to presentation’s orally and by reading.  Unfortunately, I’m not quite there yet.  Reading out loud does accent poorly written sentences that don’t bother me silently.  This on the spot format does more to tighten the piece being presented.  It has less to do with the overall story/novel construction.  Meaning that plotting, character arcs, resolution are not addressed.  I feel somewhat deficit in my feedback because if the reader doesn’t bring a copy for me to follow along with, I can’t do as good a job giving feedback.  I simply can’t remember points I thought of by the end of the reading.  If I try to write them down, then I lose track of the story.  Also, this group is more active in the community.  We have had Poetry Reading nights with well-attended audiences, Poets, and storying tellers presenting. 

I have to admit that were it not for these two groups I could not have written my novel to the point it is.  I chuckle when I refer to it as my throw-away novel.  It seems, most of the published authors refer to their first and sometimes second, and third novels as paperweights.  I have hope in my heart, because of the running commentary on my book from these two groups that my novel will be at least modestly successful upon completion.  Time will tell. 

How does it work for you, if you have a writers group or beta readers that you interact with?  Do you think you would be as good a writer as you are if you didn’t have their influence in your work?    

Tying things together

Bell Tower in Red Bluff, CA

Let me preface this with I am not a accomplished writer yet.  If what I write here seems a bit naïve to those that are  accomplished I apologize.  Hopefully, there will be a noticeable maturing of my postings as there is in my fiction.  Okay, with that off my chest here is my thought this week.

I understand about outlining, and plot points in a novel.  I have them.  What I don't have is the sinews that connects them all the time.  I have a protagonist with a positive character arc, an antagonist with a flat to slightly negative character arc and the theme of a young boy having to grow up faster than young boys should have to do.

In my book, one of the main confrontations people are looking for (those that are beta reading as I go) is the meeting between the young boy and his father.  Everyone expects sparks to fly.  Perhaps, sparks will fly.

I moved the boy from the location at the start of the book to another spot hundreds of miles away.  Then I was stuck.  How was I going to move the antagonist (the father) back into the path of the boy? 

I stopped writing for almost six weeks as I pondered the how to tie this together.  It lingered in the back of my mind, I discussed it with wife and friends.  Finally, it came to me and I started writing it up. 

I was so proud of myself.  It flowed well.  I neatly tied up components to set up the encounter.  It was emotionally laden.  Everyone (almost) liked that section.  What's the problem then?  Well, it's in the middle of the book.  I am not ready for the encounter, nor am I ready to let the reader have it either.  Just because I 'm not ready for it doesn't mean it isn't going to happen. 

Here's the dilemma, if I have them meet what do I do for the rest of the book?  If I don't have them meet, just have a close call I'm back to where I was at six weeks ago.  How can I get them together again?  The thing is my writing group likes what I've done.  One thinks it's contrived and I forced the encounter or near encounter.  I don't think I have contrived it and one person out of ten isn't a solid indictment.  It still gives me pause.  I don't see how I could have done it better to satisfy the one person.  I suppose it goes to the point, we can't make everyone happy.

Here we are.  The meat is in the details.  I have plenty of backstory to draw from.  When it comes to actually moving one situation to meet up with another isn't easy without being forced or contrived.  Regardless of what happened when I ended up with the boy and his father six inches apart and they don't know the other is there, I'm six chapters on down the road from there. 

Is this unique to me?  Do those accomplished novelists have this situation I've repeatedly gotten myself into know better and don't suffer with tying things together?  I don't know.  What do you think? 

May Day 2017 - Protests

May Day 2017

Monday, May 1, 2017

6:33 AM

May Day - the day that typically signifies the turn of weather from yukky to nice.   I, for one, look to May Day in that light.  Not everybody does.  As I turn on the News this morning and get a review of the three planned protests and the seven other not authorized.  Starbucks along the protest route is closed and has covered their windows in OSD wood.  A smart precaution I think.   Why have I brought this up on my blog about writing? 

Because I'm reading the book by K.M. Weiland 'Creating character ARCS', this thing about protesters interest me.  I know, here I am half way through my first novel and I'm reading a book on characters.  It is one of those things that I've just gotten around to.  This is the second time the term ARCs has come up in my studies.  Before, it was about story ARCs where story elements are tied together like bridges.  In this book by Weiland, it is about the mind of the character and how the story works on it.  The tension is about what the character wants verse what is needed.  The character is living a lie, and in one instance concerning the positive ARC, the character starts off at a low point and rises to an awareness that enables him or her to realize the lie and overcome it.  Thus, if I break down the protest into individual characters that makes up the body of the mob, I come to a couple of questions.  What do they think they want and what is it they need?  What is the lie they are living that brings them to the streets?

It is a long held tenant that we can gather and protest because that was not permitted by the British in the days before our becoming the United States.  Stalin and Hitler first used protests to kick things off then forbid them.   We are adamant about our right to gather and voice our ire about whatever.   We always hope for a peaceful protest and plan for the violence that nearly always ensues.  Understanding of the individual gathering together to meld into a group mentality is great fodder for us writers. 

One of the protests in Seattle today is the "May Day Workers Resistance Protest."  Tongue in cheek, I wonder does that mean they resist working?  I 'm sure that is not the case.  But, what does it mean?   Honestly, I don't know.  Perhaps as you read this, you might have an idea about it.  Nevertheless, we can see the signs, hear the chants see the effects of their actions, all of which we can use in developing our stories.   There are lies, needs and wants embedded in the characters. 

For instance, a protester may want a Mazda WRX, to speed down the road where they can challenge every car to race.  What they need is a job.  The lie is as they sit and toke on a duper, they comment, "It isn't fair for them not to give me a job because I smoke pot at lunch."  Or, the lie might be because it's snowing in Denver on April 30th global warming is to blame and because I had to spend my last dollar on marihuana I have to walk to the protest on global warming.  It doesn't matter for the sake of fiction whether global warming is real or not; it is how the character's frame of mind fits into the scene.  Then their motivation for their action plays out as they set a police car on fire and/or throw bricks through the bank window.

In the mid-1930s the CPUSA (Communist Party of the USA) was peaking.  They were shifting from their battle on capitalism to class warfare.  The CPUSA  would show up and bolster the Unions and sow the seeds of violence in their recruiting efforts. 

In my book, I have an encounter.  For a little background, Ernest is almost sixteen and the protagonist.

#

The sawmill was a buzz of activity.  Four men were handing out pamphlets as a man with an arm missing was yelling at everyone through a large cone.

Leon pulled in at the far end of the employee parking lot.

“What’s that all about?”  Ernest asked. It looked a bit like the union rallies held outside the railyard gate he had seen back in Oakland.

Shaking his head, Leon stared at the disturbance at the truck entrance to the mill.  “I think it’s Union.”

Ernest watched the group as Leon went in the office to arrange for another five yards of sawdust. They were too far away to hear what the man was shouting.  More men were filing out of the gate of the mill, many with axe handles in their hands.

The truck door slammed shut.  Ernest looked at Jason as Leon settled in the seat. “Well?”

Leon sighed.  “All set.  Hate to have to confront that bunch, but it’s the only way in.”  He started the truck and pulled out of the lot and headed down the dirt slope to the Mill entrance and stopped ten yards from the gate.  Sticking his head out the window shouted, “Hey, make a hole.”

It was getting increasing testy in front of the gate.  No one paid any attention to Leon for no hole was forthcoming.  A few words reached Ernest now, downtrodden, communist, and oppressed were a few, but nothing coherent.  He adjusted his seating to reach the club he had in his jacket pocket and laid it next to his leg.  Around his wrist, he slipped the club’s lanyard and pushed the bead tight.  His palm still hurt if pressure was applied.  Mrs. Jamison had taken the stitches out of his palm four days ago, and the labor since kept his hand limber.  The gloves he wore helped to pad direct contact with his work.

“Wait here,” Leon instructed.  Slipped down to the ground and headed over to a man standing by the gate latch.  He waved his hand and pointed at the truck and pointed in the Mill.  The man he was talking to shook his head.  Leon repeated his gestures as suddenly a burly man with an axe handle struck Leon across the back of his shoulders driving him face first into the gate’s chain link.

Ernest was out of the truck and moving at a dead run bringing his club down on the side of the man that hit Leon with a glancing blow that drove down to the collarbone and heard a loud crack as the bone gave way.  Ernest stepped over the fallen man and started helping Leon get to his feet as two more men charged them.  Ducking the first swing of a hickory handle, Ernest jabbed his club end straight into the man’s solar plex.  The fellow dropped to his knees in a gasp and toppled over.  The second man dropped back and went in search of easier prey. 

Jason was in front of the truck, wide-eyed and hopping from foot to foot like he wanted to join in but didn’t

Ernest had Leon under his arm as he half-carried and half-dragged Leon back.  “Jason, help me get him in the truck!”

Jason ran over and shored up Leon on the other side.  Pulling open the passenger side, Jason climbed in and pulled on Leon while Ernest pushed him up from behind.  Once Leon was secured, Ernest slammed the door and ran around and climbed in behind the wheel.  Twisted the key.  The truck roared to life, he jammed it in reverse and gunned it into a backup.  Almost instantly he felt a thump followed by a scream as the rear tire rose and fell.  Ernest looked in the mirror to see a man on the ground writhing around holding his leg.  Quickly spinning the steering wheel to the left, he swerved the truck’s front tires to avoid running over him again.   Then slammed on the brakes.  He jumped down and ran over to help the man.  He saw a sea of flyers on the ground around the man as he approached him to help.

Ernest was just coming up to him as a gun appeared in the man’s hand.  As Ernest drove his club into the man’s hand, more bones crunched. The gun went flying to skid along the ground.  Ernest kicked the gun wielder in the face, and he collapsed into a heap.  Climbing on him, Ernest grabbed his lapels with his sore hand, pulled him up and started slugging him over and over. 

Leon pulled him off.  “Ernest!  That’s enough. STOP IT!”

 Ernest rolled to standing and faced Leon heaving and raised his club.  Leon stumbled back, blood running down his lacerated forehead where sharp beads of galvanized plating on the gate had cut him.  “Ernest.  Let’s get out of here.”  He held his hands in front of him.  Ernest looked at him for a second longer and headed back to the truck, stopping to pick up the gun and a flyer jamming them in his waistband with Leon dragging his feet along to climb back into the passenger side with Jason’s help again.  Ernest put the truck in gear and spun the truck up the assess road to the main street.

This segment is the second time the CPUSA has made themselves known in the book.  The communists have two agendas.  One is to recruit, and the other is to disrupt.  Like protesters today, the motivation of the mob is obscure.   I know you don't have any sympathy for any of the characters, but give me your thoughts on this.  Do you have any ideas for strengthening it?