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.’

El Pais Grande Del Sur

I’m going back to Big Sur for the first time.

The reality of covid-19 hit me upon my return to Minnesota. Between the pandemic and its social distancing guidelines, I suddenly find myself unable to workshop any of the three plays I’d just completed back in Palm Springs. Furthermore, I wouldn’t be able to work closely with musicians to create the music for those plays. At least for the foreseeable future, the plays were on hold and stuck in their first draft. I really needed feedback to proceed further with their development.

Added to that disappointment, my gym was closed as were the coffee shops where I love to hold my cerebral salons. The libraries and bookstores were closed so I had to get my books online or at Half-Price Books. Then some of my friends were reticent to visit on my patio even though I could guarantee them a good ten feet distance between us. I was stuck in a kind of limbo without any of my regular routines to follow.

So what is a hyperactive, overly scheduled adult supposed to do in such a situation? I could quarantine myself and wait for the virus to leave. I could putter around the lawn all day. Knowing me fairly well, I knew I had to do something more productive. Productive in my world translated into more writing and editing. Therefore, I could edit what I’d already written, select more subject matter for future blogs, or write something entirely new.

I opted for the latter and decided to write another novel. But it would not be just any new novel (which would be my eleventh thus far). This new novel would be an entirely new genre for me - a murder mystery / thriller entitled ‘The Trades.’

The novel would be set in the fast-paced world of publishing in San Francisco and the dark, mysterious backwoods of Big Sur. It would host a cast of characters that are still vapid ghosts in my imagination but are slowly taking shape. I see them as each being corroded with human foibles and yet hope (among a few of them) for the future. It would have good guys, bad guys, and many more that float between good intentions and not so good. Many of them can’t be categorized so easily. It would naturally include a love story but one where none should have surfaced in the first place.

I already have an eighteen-page treatment that over several years, I’ve sliced, diced, and mixed up quite a bit. Now I just had to put finger to keyboard and make these characters come to life. Research of the ‘trades’ and the Big Sur area would be critical since I had only been there once earlier this year but that was just passing through at sixty miles per hour. See my past blog: Solvang for more details.

As a young man in another life, I had been close to the Big Sur wilderness area once before. Unbeknownst to me, In 1964 I had just missed meeting a new wave of strange characters that would soon be wandering Big Sur’s deep impenetrable forests and jagged coastline. In 1964-65, I was stationed at the Presidio of San Francisco. I wandered up the northern coast of California but never made it as far south as Big Sur. Half Moon Bay was a far as I got on my motor scooter.

Historically, the Big Sur area was derived from that unexplored and un-mapped wilderness area which lies along the coast south of Monterey. Back in the day, it was simply called el pais grande del sur, the Big South Country. Today, it refers to a 90-mile stretch of rugged and beautiful coastline between Carmel to the north and San Simeon (Hearst Castle) to the south.

In 1937, the present highway was completed after eighteen years of construction at a considerable expense even with the aid of convict labor. Electricity did not arrive in Big Sur until the early 1950’s, and it still does not extend the length of the coast or into the more remote mountainous areas. There is no cellphone service so if your car breaks down, you’re truly SOL (____out of luck).

In the 1940s, 50s and 60s, Henry Miller lived in Big Sur on and off for years. Miller was an American writer known best for breaking with existing literary forms and developing a new type of autobiographical novel that blended character study, social criticism, philosophical reflection, stream of consciousness, explicit language (Tropic of Cancer), sex, surrealist free association and mysticism. He was also part of an avant-garde art colony centered around his controversial writings and philosophy of life. I knew Henry would be the perfect kind of idol for some of my characters in the book.

Jack Kerouac followed Miller in the 1950s. Then in the ‘60s Allen Ginsburg, along with Wavy Gravy and the Merry Pranksters, made annual pilgrimages down there to smoke dope, take LSD and get lost inside their heads. Timothy Leary used the area as the perfect setting for his pro-motion of LSD as a mind-expanding drug. He often times hosted events in the forests of Big Sur.

Esalen became a new age enclave and heralded the advancement of its human potential movement. It seemed only appropriate that the wild, weird, and wonderful characters that are a part of the fabric and tapestry of San Francisco and Big Sur should play a prominent role in this next novel.

The main characters, along with an assortment of bit players, masked strangers, and two-faced villains are all rehearsing in the twenty-five chapters I’ve outlined thus far. I’m trying to capture some of their dialogue, at least in my head, so I can begin to pound it out on my pages very soon. I’ve already seen the novel take a number of surprising twists and turns. Unbeknownst to me, motivation and greed and evil intents aren’t always as easy to recognize as I first imagined. I expect the first draft of this endeavor will come relatively easy for me. It’s going to be the second, third, and perhaps fourth draft that really make or break the novel.

This genre is a first for me so it’s going to be a different kind of journey. I’m comfortable in the saddle. The sixties were a charm. I’ve been to the A Shau and traveled around the world in the company of an endearing friend. However, putting on a criminal mind and plotting the demise of others is a whole new ballgame.

I think I’ve created an interesting main character (at least in my head) and (once again) a woman who is beautiful, smart and can kick ass with the best of them. Of course, it doesn’t help that both are overshadowed by the ghost of Henry Miller and Lewy Body syndrome. I expect they’re going to take me on one interesting adventure. I hope others will ultimately want to come along and share the excitement with me.

TBA