Meeting of the Minds

Of all the places to hold the coveted title of ‘best third places,’ San Francisco has to be at the top of the heap. While London has its pubs, Paris, its sidewalk cafes, and Beijing, its teahouses, I haven’t found a spot that carries such a coveted history.

Down through the decades, the ‘old lady by the bay’ has attracted a wide swarth of the talented, troubled, possessed, dispossessed, and marginally-coherent individuals who gave the city its unique brand of literacy.

The Montgomery block, when constructed in 1852 on the bay shore survived earthquake and fire long enough to become San Francisco’s most illustrious literary landmark. More than two thousand creatives are reputed to have lived in the building over the years. Among the writers, Stoddard and Joaquin Miller had rooms and affairs there. Ambrose Bierce wrote his blistering ‘Prattler’ newspaper column there. Jack London stayed there near his friend George Sterling who had a room for his many secret amours.

Long before North Beach and the infamous Barbary Coast brought San Francisco to America’s attention, the disenfranchised creatives were gathered on the Montgomery block. South of the city, Monterey Bay, also became a literary hot spot.

Much like Carmel before it, the area attracted a wide swath of brilliant, troubled, talented, drugged out writers, artists, actors, anarchists, alchemists, and socialists.

Many years later, my mother lived and worked as a maid in the same fog-draped, wind-swept enclave known as 17-mile drive after the bohemians moved back to San Francisco. The Black Cat Café, located next to the Montgomery Block, was the most famous of bohemian hangouts during the 1930s right up until the Berkeley Renaissance of the late 1940s.

My brief exposure to the sights and sounds and aroma of post-beatnik, pre-hippie culture came from several jaunts to an old working-class neighborhood not far from the base. Haight Ashbury was just beginning to attract a younger crowd of Berkeley intellectuals, folkie drop outs, drug dealers and young people looking for the next big thing. I was just a lonely GI accompanying a seasoned veteran looking for weed and hippie chicks.

As a young enlisted man, the closest I got to those mid-Sixties social and cultural changes was working at the Larkin Theater in the Art District and watching a ton of foreign films. Barracks life exposed me, for the first time, to a wide swath of other life styles captured as we all were by two or more years in Uncle Sam’s Army.

Life in the barracks was but a brief moment in time when we were all young and stupid and far from home. Asinine antics, weed-smoking on the window sills and stupid horsing around were daily occurrences. It was a non-stop party we all knew would end all too soon.

As a motley collection of draftees, we all knew there were eventual transfers for all of us to other army bases far less permissive than the Presidio. So, while we were there, the collective mantra seemed to be ‘let’s be stupid now for who knows what our future holds?’

After the service, it was the Triangle Bar on the West Bank that gave me the same comfortable ambiance to continue my search for direction and a glimpse into my future. It wasn’t the Chelsea Hotel in the Village where my folk idols gathered but it was better than nothing.

Third places take many shapes and forms but all serve as a collective gathering spot for like-minded souls. Mine have come and gone, based on current writing projects, Sharon’s art classes and lucky accidental meetings.

The one coveted ‘third place’ I’ve only visited once was the Henry Miller Library in Big Sur. It played prominently in my last novel ‘Playground for the Devil.’ The kids and I stopped there on our tour of the West Coast a couple of years ago.

The place reeks of moldy paperbacks, old rag sheets, new literature, cook-out and sing-alongs on the back porch and a gathering spot for the eccentrics of the area.

Unfortunately, there are no third places in Palm Springs, at least not for me. A patio chair and coffee will have to suffice. Minnesota does better with my mulch garden hideaway, my ‘Coffee and Chat’ sessions and one coffeeshop in Norde East.

It’s not the same as other third places but it still provides an out-of-the-way place to collect my thoughts, jot down writing ideas and spend the quiet with other like-minded souls.

This Baby is Different

Writing my latest novel ‘Playground for the Devil’ began, like all the rest, as an exercise in blindly following my instincts and believing that it would all work out in the end. When I started the project last summer, it was a decision forced upon me by the COVID-19 pandemic which had closed down ‘live’ theater, made my planned group reads impossible and creative music sessions not realistic. My only option seemed to be writing another novel to add to my portfolio of vernacular ramblings.

I’ve blogged about this process of creating my twelfth novel twice before in El Pais Grande Del Sur and Fractured Love Affair.

With all due respect to childbearing, for me writing anything is like giving birth. Each manuscript was conceived out of the germ of an idea, thought, or image swirling around my head. They then began to take shape and form as I delved deeply into the storyline and the characters that began to inhabit that space.

My first gestation of story-telling took place in Reisterstown, Maryland in 1973 and then again in 1974. Impressed by the writings of several well-respected western writers like Will Henry, I took the first tentative steps toward creating my own storyline. The result was ‘Apache Death Wind, a trilogy’ and ‘Apache Blue Eyes.’

After those respective births in print form, it was off to the races. Next came a semi-autobiographical novel entitled ‘Love in the A Shau’. Then an Ode to Palm Springs in the form of a trilogy entitled: ‘Debris.’ That streak of novel writing ended with my 566-page doorstop entitled ‘Follow the Cobbler.’ ‘Cobbler’ featured a female protagonist called Katherine (spelt with a K) who came the closest to resembling my wife. The character is modest, reserved, very smart and intuitive. The kind of woman who can cut any man off at his southern fork.

Last summer, while deep into creating the ‘Playground for the Devil’ storyline, I tried to share the background for my novel and the interesting characters who lived in that fictional world in a blog. It really wasn’t until I had finished my first draft last fall that I felt I knew them all pretty well. And what a collection of characters I had created! All of them were (cliché here) not what they seemed to be. What I didn’t know was the extent to which some of them were damaged and almost bi-polar. They ended up saying and acting in ways my fingers didn’t understand as I frantically typed in an attempt to keep up with them and their antics.

My two protagonists, Brad and Laci, changed, evolved, and slowly began to reveal more and more about themselves as their story progressed. The emotional bantering back and forth surprised even me but I just let them’ go at it’ as I took copious notes in the form of story chapters. I realize now I was retelling the story of my own relationship with my better half.

Granted the comparison was done on a very subconscious level but it was there nevertheless. The Bradley-Laci story is, in retrospect, a metaphor for my own marriage. As in the book, first impressions don’t count and it’s only after a period of time and circumstances that the true characteristics of my protagonists reveal themselves. What seems to be a power imbalance at first slowly morphs into a realistic balancing act between two strong-willed, determined personalities.

My first pass at the book jacket showed a two story cabin. However, as the storyline progressed and my protagonists finally reached their quest, the cabin in question didn’t fit the image I had created in my mind.

At that point, a one story cabin was more in line with the structure that emerged in the novel. The first book cover showed a Big Sur landscape that was simply too bright and colorful. I needed something dark and sinister that better conveyed the dangerous environment my protagonists entered into when they ventured into the backwoods of Big Sur. Vida, my editor and creative designer came up with three versions of the cover.

Finally, my editor and I settled on a darker, more sinister landscape that seemed to better reflect the danger and mystery the Big Sur area presented to my main characters.

When I began writing ‘Playground’ I worried that there might not be enough ‘red herrings’ and twists and turns to my plotline. I needn’t worry because as the chapters slowly came rolling out of my head, the characters and their quest took on a number of surprising twists, turns, detours and stumbles. I even surprised myself by the conclusion to the story.

I asked myself at the end of my ‘FracturedLove Affair’ blog whether Brad and Laci would be together at the end of the novel. I never really knew for certain until I typed in ‘The End’ one day. Theirs was a fractured, wounded relationship that ended the way it was meant to end for the personalities involved. I think the three of us knew it probably would end the way it did. No one is complaining.

At one point, I was torn between labeling my novel a murder mystery or a suspense thriller. Unsatisfied with either description, I’ll simply call it a suspense novel with, I hope, enough action and mayhem to satisfy either audience.

A little over a year ago, I drove up to that big San Francisco mansion for what turned out to be a swingers party. It only got more complicated, intriguing and dangerous from there on. It’s been one heck of a venture exploring the backwoods of Big Sur with these characters who carry more than their own weight in issues, attitudes, and attributes.

We’ve completed the journey. At least some of us have. There is a deeply satisfying feeling being able to pull it off and hopefully leaving my readers asking for more.

Fractured Love Affair

It was a simple idea last spring; to write a new novel (my twelfth) in lieu of workshopping my three new plays. Perhaps, I thought, by this fall the pandemic would be over and I could get back to theater work. So why not try out a new genre, a murder mystery perhaps, and be productive this summer. Little did I know that there would a host of sinister and diabolical thoughts, ideas and plots lying just beneath that murky mass called imagination inside my head.

It turns out my newest ‘novel in progress’ is set in both San Francisco and Big Sur. The storyline has given birth to some rather interesting subplots. They, in turn, have only added to the twists and turns my two main characters are experiencing before my very eyes and imagination. These ‘red herrings’ and ‘false leads’ came out of the blue as my protagonists, Brad and Laci, en-countered one another for the first time. Almost immediately, things were not as they seemed on the surface.

My original treatment, written several years ago, started out simply enough. The first chapter would begin with a company party in a tony neighborhood of San Francisco. Immediately things got a bit complicated when the party turned out to be a combination sex and drug fest. My fingers kept tapping away and I wondered where the hell my imagination was taking me.

This chance encounter at a swinger’s party was neither planned nor scripted as it began to unfold in front of my keyboard. As Brad and Laci started talking, (more like verbal fisticuffs) I frantically tried to keep up with their fast-paced dialogue. The three of us were collectively ‘off to the races’ and it has only got more complicated after that first volley of dialogue.

It’s safe to say we (that would be the main characters and I) were all rushing forward by the seat of our collective pants and short skirt. As a novice murder mystery writer, I’ve got a vague idea of what my two sinister criminal kingpins are up to. But their real motives and ultimate goals have thus far eluded me. They’re the worst kind of killers; calm and placid on the surface and diabolical beneath. They are truly amoral, evil men like the devil himself.

Laci, my heroine, is on a quest to find the truth about her father, the firm where she works, the mystery of the missing authors and how her father’s life in Big Sur holds the ultimate answer to all of her questions. But the more she probes these unanswered questions, the more secrets about her past are revealed. A reluctant yet burgeoning love affair with Brad only complicates matters worse.

Brad’s inquisitive nature as a writer has drawn him into the strange occurrences in and around the firm. But those inquiries are now threatening his life and also Laci’s. No one is safe to talk to at the firm. Lies and deception roll of staffer’s lips like raindrops in a sudden shower. No one and nothing offers up a plausible explanation that comes even close to the truth. That includes Brad and Laci and this makes their slow simmering attraction toward one another just another set of rapids thrown into this fast moving, omni-directional suspense thriller.

By the first one hundred plus pages, I came to the conclusion that my previous working title of ‘The Trades’ just didn’t do justice to the action taking place in the storyline. There was too much darkness and evil taking place so a new title was called for.

My new working title is now ‘Playground for the Devil.’ Considering some of the characters I’ve had to deal with thus far, I think this is a much more appropriate and descriptive title.

About a third of the way into unraveling this storyline, I’ve had people disappearing, bad guys knocking folks off, missing authors with their own gravestones, Big Sur facts and fiction colliding with reality along with a host of well-placed stumbles and distractions.

The most visible objective in the storyline is the search for Henry Miller’s lost writings in Big Sur if they exist at all? Both Brad and Laci believe these writings may answer many of the questions surrounding her ailing father and reveal a criminal enterprise masquerading as their publishing firm.

At this point in the storyline, the book has taken on the feel of a Dashiell Hammett movie like ‘The Maltese Falcon.’ While my protagonist isn’t another Sam Spade, private investigator, he does have the instincts of a good detective. I’d like to capture the attitude, atmosphere, darkness, and genuine sleaziness of some of my characters; good and bad - almost like an old post-war film noir set in old black and white San Francisco.

Grandpa’s fragile memory seems to be the only key to solving the mystery of the missing authors; Henry Miller’s lost writings, and a past assassin trying to kill him. But dementia is quickly closing his last remaining grasp on reality. If dementia doesn’t get to him first, then the bad guys might.

Thus far, I’m still trying to unravel in my head the mystery of Henry Miller’s lost writings, mysterious deaths in Big Sur, Laci’s fathers ‘real story’ with the artist colony in Big Sur, ‘Arrows’(money mules) working for the firm, ‘Swinger parties’ as a corporate perk and a dozen other unanswered questions about the firm. I’m confident it’ll all come together by the last chapter.

I just haven’t figured out where it is going to go or end with Laci and Brad. They are both damaged individuals, head-strong, focused and determined to reach their collective goals. Add to that chemistry a slowly dying father, a troubled daughter and long held secrets slowly revealing themselves and both Brad and Laci have mountains to climb before they reach their common goal and a resolution in the attraction they feel for one another.

Then again, isn’t that how most relationships stumble along until they come to some sort of resolution? This is no different. I just wish I knew how it was going to end with Brad and Laci and if I can put a smile on my face as I write ‘The End.’

Paradigms

Henry Miller, the avant-garde, bohemian writer and activist said it best:

“If at eighty you’re not a cripple or an invalid, if you have your health, if you still enjoy a good walk, a good meal (with all the trimmings), if you can sleep without first taking a pill, if birds and flowers, mountains and sea still inspire you, you are a most fortunate individual and you should get down on your knees morning and night and thank the good Lord for his savin’ and keepin’ power.”

Henry Miller probably didn’t know at the time that he could have been talking about the paradigm of growing older today when he made that statement back in the sixties.

In science and philosophy, a paradigm is a distinct set of concepts or thought patterns, including theories, research methods, postulates, and standards for what constitutes legitimate contributions to a field. And the fields are endless.

Paradigms are happening all around us and now at a faster pace than ever before. Even the idea of the aging process has evolved. The old paradigm that defined the last phase in a person’s life has changed how we look at old age.

Becoming a senior isn’t what it used to be. The old ideas of retiring and waiting for the inevitable are now a thing of the past for many older folks. It also means they’re old enough to see the power of paradigms happening all around them…all of the time, but especially now in the time of the pandemic.

Back in the eighties, Joel Baker, a local author out of Burnsville, Minnesota made quite a name for himself writing several books about the phenomena of paradigms. I was reminded of that recently when I watched a fascinating documentary on comic books.

Marvel and DC Comics ruled the world of comic books for decades. Their stable of cartoon characters hadn’t changed much over the years. It wasn’t until the early 1990s, when radical change came knocking on their corporate doors. From their talent pool arose a group of very unhappy artists who were chaffing at the bit to create new action figures and colorful characters to match their fertile imaginations. The group broke away from Marvel and DC Comics and formed their own organization under the banner of Image books. They totally upended the world of comic books.

Other examples of shifting paradigms abound all around us:

In the past, if a person wanted to stay overnight someplace, they had the choice of hotels, motels, and resorts. The lodgings came in all shapes and sizes but the premise was pretty much the same. They had rooms to rent; with or without amenities and the competition was limited.

Then two guys got this crazy idea that perhaps there were people who were willing to rent their rooms out to perfect strangers and a whole new lodging industry sprang up seemingly overnight. Now any world traveler can couch surf anyplace on the planet and never step into a hotel ever again. Now Airbnb, VRBO, and other facsimiles crowd the short-term lodging market.

Then there was Yellow cab, Super Shuttle and local, regional, and national cab companies that dominated the shuttle business. They had the market sewn up since the advent of the automobile. Once again, a couple of folks thought that private transportation might be an attractive alternative to the fixed high rates charged by most cab companies and shuttle services. Hence, Uber and Lyft came about and changed the industry forever.

At one time, there were six major publishing houses; each with many smaller imprints for specialized subject matter. Many of these publishing titans had been around for more than a hundred years. Their business model hadn’t changed since the mid-to-late-1800s.

Those six houses have now shrunk to three or four with more consolidation taking place every day. Electronic publishing and the new world of Print-on-Demand has turned the old publishing model on its head. Minimum print runs are a thing of the past and the internet has broadened the marketplace to include the entire planet.

Broadcast television made its debut in the United States in the late 1940s and gained a strong foothold in American consciousness in the early 1950s. That broadcast model/formula remained stable until the advent of cable television in the mid-1980s. Then, just as television had usurped much of the power of the movies, cable television disrupted the power of the major networks.

From there it was off to the races with the advent of DVDs and home entertainment crowding into the movie/ television business. CDs replaced LPs. Eventually computer technology allowed streaming content on multiple platforms to replace much of the DVD business model and the broadcast influence of the networks and cable channels.

The examples of paradigms disrupting the ‘tried and true’ procedures and processes continue at an ever-quickening pace. It’ll be up to my children and grandchildren to embrace and adjust to the changes swirling around us. For me, it’s an excuse to reflect, smile, and mostly watch from the sidelines. On a more personal level, it means the old adage that I grew up with of ‘retire and wait to die’ has now been replaced by ‘retire and now what?’

Following Henry Miller’s advice, I’d like to reach my eighties in good shape and still writing. It’s been one heck of a wonderful run thus far. I can only imagine what is in store for my grandchildren as they maneuver their way through life in the future. I’d like to stick around for a while to watch them do just that.