Last night we finished watching the 16-part series, Stranger, also known as Forest of Secrets. It's available on Netflix; apparently that company paid its producers $200,000 per episode. It appeared on Korean television in June and July of this year, so it's very new.
Is it worth that kind of money? I'd say it is. Made in South Korea with an all-Korean cast, it's a top-notch thriller-cum-detective story. The two leads, Jo Seung-woo as the Prosecutor, Hwang Shi-mok, and Bae Doona as the female detective, Han Yeo-ji.
Hwang is one of the few honest Prosecutors in his department, and thus a threat to those who allowed bribery and corruption to creep into their work. But he has had brain surgery when younger because certain things, such as loud noises, affected his emotional state. Unfortunately, the operation has reduced his capacity for empathy and emotion. Jo Seung-woo has to play a man mostly incapable of smiling or expressing happiness or anger. In spite of this the actor comes across as a man with whom we have great sympathy, and some characters in the story admire him greatly.
Korean prosecutors involve themselves in judicial procedure by conducting investigations, determining indictable cases, and the prosecution process, a mode of operating that's different to the English adversarial system. Thus in this story the Police and the Prosecutors work hand-in-hand for the most part, while still complaining about each other's methods at times.
Bae Doona is a wonderful actress, and a great foil for the seemingly straightfaced prosecutor. She's gutsy, generous, sympathetic, warm, sharp, cool...everything you want in a heroine. She comes across to the audience as someone you want to keep spending screen time with. A delight.
There's a massive cast of characters, and to give even a brief indication of the plot would take several paragraphs. Suffice to say a man involved in offering bribes on a large scale is murdered early in the piece, and this leads to an ongoing investigation that gradually sees men of high status brought down. Slowly.
When I say slowly I mean that the events play themselves out in such a way that we're fooled by red herrings; confused about who's on the right side and who's not - at times; discovering characters who appear to be playing the wrong game but who turn out to be playing the right one, and vice versa. I don't think you'll guess who the actual murderer is before he's revealed (there are three murders scattered over the story), even though you'll know who the real baddies are in the story quite early on.
The series isn't concerned with a constant rush: many scenes take plenty of time, and reveal character in detail. There are certainly action scenes, and big crowd scenes (a chase through one of Seoul's airports late in the series, for instance), but there's plenty of quiet space as well.
The series is subtitled, and this is well done, but it takes a bit of getting used to the names. You have to latch onto at least one of the three names virtually every character has and hold it in your head. This isn't always easy, because there are least a half dozen Kims in the story. Kim is a surname, of course - and a very common surname in Korea - but when the characters refer to each other, they tend to put the surname first. So hang onto the first names, if you can!
The music is great, especially the main theme, and the photography outstanding. Even though it's in colour, you come away with a sense of monochrome. We've been gripped by it, even watching two episodes in an evening on some occasions.
In addition (25th Aug, 2017): Forgot to mention the constant bowing towards superiors that goes on during this series. I'm sure it's a common factor of Korean life. It shows up a politeness that doesn't exist in European countries or the USA.
And one other thing: cellphones are ubiquitous in every episode. And they always work and no one ever runs out of data and they always get the person they want (with one or two exceptions). They can even track people at the drop of a hat. But in one delightful moment, the hero is forced to go to a computer (shock, horror!) to view a video that's been sent to him. Which kind of puts cellphones in their place...
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Thursday, August 24, 2017
Wednesday, August 16, 2017
Five top blog posts
I'm always interested in stats, though that doesn't mean I always use them well, or understand their finer points.
Blogger obligingly provides stats on a number of things related to my posts, and, out of curiosity today I checked the top blog posts of 'all time' from my blog. They're a real mixed bag, and there seems no rhyme nor reason as to why any of them should have been viewed so often.
But for the record (because possibly they'll change at some point) here are the top five posts as of the 16th August, 2017.
Top of the list is the Commonplace post which dates back to 2011, and is a bit of a riff on the word insurance, and the sorts of things that came up when I searched that word on my Evernote. A more random post you'd hardly imagine. Perhaps people search for the word insurance a lot! It's had twice as many views as number two on the list.
Curiously enough, I hadn't checked this post for a while. I'd thought it related to an entirely different subject...
Number two is Random thoughts on the Zirka Circus which goes back to 2010. This was a positive review of a small circus that was touring New Zealand at the time, and in fact has been back again at least twice since then. You'd think small circuses wouldn't be very impressive, but in fact they often include considerable talents (and these people really work for their money), and are very enjoyable. But then, I'm a circus fan from way back. Though I must say I miss the performing animals, even if that isn't a very PC thing to say anymore.
Third on the list is Skinny ties, also from 2011, which seems a most unlikely subject to be viewed Twilight series, Robert Pattinson. It's been amongst the top five since it first appeared, pretty much. I wonder if it has to do with the photo that accompanies it, which may possibly be the actor from the Twilight movie, Robert Pattinson.
Fourth on the list is Debating Compost, which dates way back to 2007. It's a brief piece arguing that cooked foods go just as well in composts as uncooked. Though someone's concern about this was that it encouraged rats. That's possible. We used to have a cat who dealt successfully with any rats and mice around the place, but when my daughter moved out, she took the cat with her - it did belong to her after all. During the course of the move the cat walked out the door of the new house and vanished for a couple of months. The daft thing was living at the park just down the road and was being occasionally fed by some kind person who eventually took it to the Vet. The cat had been microchipped, so the Vet was able to identify my daughter as the owner.
And fifth is Fat amplification, the most recent of the bunch, from 2016. It's merely a bit of chat about the joys and woes of amplification of musical instruments, particularly in a church setting. Maybe the problem is widespread!
Blogger obligingly provides stats on a number of things related to my posts, and, out of curiosity today I checked the top blog posts of 'all time' from my blog. They're a real mixed bag, and there seems no rhyme nor reason as to why any of them should have been viewed so often.
But for the record (because possibly they'll change at some point) here are the top five posts as of the 16th August, 2017.
Top of the list is the Commonplace post which dates back to 2011, and is a bit of a riff on the word insurance, and the sorts of things that came up when I searched that word on my Evernote. A more random post you'd hardly imagine. Perhaps people search for the word insurance a lot! It's had twice as many views as number two on the list.
Curiously enough, I hadn't checked this post for a while. I'd thought it related to an entirely different subject...
Number two is Random thoughts on the Zirka Circus which goes back to 2010. This was a positive review of a small circus that was touring New Zealand at the time, and in fact has been back again at least twice since then. You'd think small circuses wouldn't be very impressive, but in fact they often include considerable talents (and these people really work for their money), and are very enjoyable. But then, I'm a circus fan from way back. Though I must say I miss the performing animals, even if that isn't a very PC thing to say anymore.
Third on the list is Skinny ties, also from 2011, which seems a most unlikely subject to be viewed Twilight series, Robert Pattinson. It's been amongst the top five since it first appeared, pretty much. I wonder if it has to do with the photo that accompanies it, which may possibly be the actor from the Twilight movie, Robert Pattinson.
Fourth on the list is Debating Compost, which dates way back to 2007. It's a brief piece arguing that cooked foods go just as well in composts as uncooked. Though someone's concern about this was that it encouraged rats. That's possible. We used to have a cat who dealt successfully with any rats and mice around the place, but when my daughter moved out, she took the cat with her - it did belong to her after all. During the course of the move the cat walked out the door of the new house and vanished for a couple of months. The daft thing was living at the park just down the road and was being occasionally fed by some kind person who eventually took it to the Vet. The cat had been microchipped, so the Vet was able to identify my daughter as the owner.
And fifth is Fat amplification, the most recent of the bunch, from 2016. It's merely a bit of chat about the joys and woes of amplification of musical instruments, particularly in a church setting. Maybe the problem is widespread!
Labels:
amplification,
blogger,
cat,
circus,
commonplace,
compost,
evernote,
insurance,
Pattinson,
stats,
ties,
zirka
Guest post: Marlena Smith
Continuing a month-long focus on authors from RWISA:
Throughout August we'll be showing extracts from the work of these authors.
For more information about any particular writer click the link under their photo.
Will it
ever be enough?
Will I
ever be complete?
These
questions haunt me;
They
scream out defeat.
A mind
vacant of answers;
A soul
lost in time;
A heart
full of sadness;
And eyes
that just won't shine.
A whisper
full of sorrow;
A smile
full of regret;
A life
less than ordinary;
One I wish
to forget.
* * *
Life is
too precious to not make the most of every day.
Cherish
memories.
Strive to
make more.
Make every
moment count.
Tell
others you love them.
Forgive
quickly.
Laugh
often.
Pray every
day.
Have a
thankful heart.
* * *
Author Bio:
Marlena Smith |
Marlena Smith is a true Southern Belle at heart.
Her home has always been in Alabama and she couldn’t imagine living anywhere
else. Growing up as a preacher’s daughter, faith and family played a large part
in her life.
Her earliest memory of writing was that of 2nd
grade when she was selected to attend the Young Author’s Conference in her home
state. Little did she know then that her future was being mapped out.
Marlena now wears many hats, including: writer, author, blogger, freelancer, reader,
reviewer, researcher, paranormal enthusiast, traveler, and Secretary of Rave
Reviews Book Club. Writing, though, has and always will be her main passion in
life.
Marlena has several works in progress, including
an upcoming short romance, titled THE POWER OF LOVE. This debut book is
expected to be out in 2017. In addition to her debut, she has a romance novel,
a cookbook and a horror screenplay on her to do list.
Follow Marlena online:
Twitter - @_MarlenaSmith_
Facebook - @AuthorMarlenaSmith
Instagram - @MarlenaLafaye930
Thank you for supporting this member along the WATCH "RWISA" WRITE Showcase Tour today! We ask that if you have enjoyed this member's writing, to please visit their Author Page on the RWISA site, where you can find more of their writing, along with their contact and social media links, if they've turned you into a fan. We ask that you also check out their books in the RWISA or RRBC catalogs. Thanks, again for your support and we hope that you will follow each member along this amazing tour of talent. Don't forget to click the link under the author's photo to learn more about her.
Saturday, August 12, 2017
Guest post: Laura Libricz
Continuing a month-long focus on authors from RWISA:
Throughout August we'll be showing extracts from the work of these authors.
For more information about any particular writer click the link under their photo.
The writing today is an untitled piece by Laura Libricz:
The lunch bell rings and I
set my brush aside, returning the unpainted porcelain Debby Doll head to the
tray. A kettle whistles. Sarah runs to make the lunchtime tea.
“Thirty minutes and that’s
all!” Mr. Denton barks at her as he hurries towards his production office,
whacking his elbow on the filing cabinet as he slams the glass door shut.
The shocked moment of quiet
is replaced by the delicate clinking of brushes against glass jars, chairs
scraping on the concrete floor, and the idle chatter of the doll painters on
their way to the break room.
Laura Libricz |
Do you remember Denton’s
Debby Dolls? The ones from the 1947 film “Ten Days Till my Birthday,” where
Tammy James plays a little girl who got one for her birthday? Denton’s Debby
Dolls Inc. make the dolls the same ever since. Tammy is well into her 80’s but
is still loved and remembered for that tearful scene where she unwrapped the
Debby Doll on her tenth birthday and said, “Well, gee, Mother, all I ever wanted
was a Debby Doll!”
All I ever wanted was a
Debby Doll but I didn’t get one on my tenth birthday. That year I moved from
the city to Krumville, to Aunt Fay’s, and she said I was too old for dolls. She
was a recovering heroin addict who hung photos of herself dressed as a vampire
on all the walls. I was not allowed in the kitchen and had to eat my meals in
my bedroom decorated with Aunt Fay photos. She said if I wanted a Debby Doll, I
should petition the goddess Diana. I thought she was being funny.
Aunt Fay’s house was in the
oak forest. She made oak dolls with hair from deer. The deer hair was arranged
to look like human hair. She said these were petitions to Diana. Under an oak
tree, Aunt Fay had an altar where she buried the dolls. Sometimes she burned
them.
There were always gunshots
in the oak forest. I never went outside that fall. In the city, there was
shooting every Saturday night in our neighborhood and I was never allowed out.
I don’t remember my city house much. One day Aunt Fay went outside and never
came back in. Child Services came and took me away. I was now a ward of the
State of New York.
What luck, I ended up in the
same city as Denton’s Debby Dolls. When I turned eighteen, I went to work in
the factory and I still do.
“Aren’t you coming to
lunch?” Sarah asks.
“I’m working on my doll,” I
whisper.
“Don’t let Mr. Denton see
you doing that,” Sarah says. “He’s in a bad way today. I heard we’re 500K down
this year. We have orders but there’s no stock. We can’t work fast enough.”
“I can tell Mr. Denton that
I’m experimenting with new colors on my lunch break, which I am doing.” I
stroke my Debby’s porcelain cheek with my pinky. “Look at her complexion. It’s
lavender oil and China Pink pigment.”
“She’s not real, you know,”
Sarah says. “I’ll bring you some tea.”
“Tea. Thank you.”
A year has passed since I’d
first started working on my own Debby. I’d modeled what was to be the hollow
shell of her head. Each hand painted layer and each firing was personally
carried out by me. Today, I am ready to add the final details and fill her
empty eyes. It’s ten days before Christmas. She’ll be my daughter, mine all
mine. Mommy loves you, Debby.
There had been a man once,
just once. He left a few hairs on my gingham pillowcase. And a legacy. My body
changed in ways it had never before; swellings in places that had been unripe.
Rosy cheeks, like a Debby Doll. I so wanted the child. Although I could not yet
feel the child, I could. The growing presence of another life made me feel
otherworldly.
But I was unmarried, alone,
and I would lose my job when the baby came. Panic set in. It must have been
eight weeks into the pregnancy when the fever came, followed by some mild
cramping. During the night the cramping pulsed and intensified until I finally
passed out. The next morning, the otherworldly feeling was gone. My unformed
child had been born, its life over before it even began.
I forced myself up and out
of the house, not wanting to be alone. I was working in the molding department
that week and I would bear my child. From Denton’s secret mixture of minerals,
bone ash, and alabaster, I poured the liquid clay. Before the first firing, I’d
made a small imperfection on her cheek, like a chickenpox scar, so the other
workers would reject her. I would always recognize my child. During lunch
breaks, I stole moments to paint her face and sneak her head back to the kiln.
You’re here with me now,
Debby, forever.
The lavender oil calms me as
I blend your complexion to a natural sheen. I can almost feel your heartbeat.
Light brown eye brows are added one hair at a time, your sense of humor. Would
you like brown eyes like mine? Each brush stroke to your iris gives you another
fleck of depth. Two dots of white on the left side of the iris ascertain your
personality. I cover your eyes with high-gloss tears and now you have emotions.
The creation process is almost finished.
See? I’ve made you a soft
pellet body, into which I stitched your preserved mortal remains, hair from
your Daddy, and oak bark—my petition to Diana. Your body lies hidden inside the
top drawer of my workbench, along with your new gingham dress made from the
pillowcase Daddy rested his head on. I forged a certificate from a midwife
confirming your birthday, today, and your name, Debby.
Mommy’s here, Debby, don’t
worry…
“What are you working on?”
barks Mr. Denton. “Ten days before Christmas and you’re messing around with
that B-stock? Those get smashed.”
I never saw him come up to
my workbench. Debby, don’t cry, I’ll sort Mr. Denton out.
“You have a whole tray with
these new dolls that have to be painted!” Mr. Denton’s face ran red. “You’ve
been messing with that one since I came in!”
“Sorry, sir, it’s lunch,” I
whispered.
Now Debby, be a good girl
and get in my top drawer.
“You want to hide the thing
as well! Is that a pellet body in there? Are you the one out selling B-stock on
the weekends?”
“No, sir, I…experiment.” We
may have to make a run for it, Debby.
“So, it is you! I’ve been
told there’s a woman on the flea market every weekend with B-Stock Debby Dolls
for real cheap. Give me that!”
“No, sir, don’t, you don’t
understand…”
“Tea!” Sarah plunks my
unicorn mug onto my workbench, brushes my Debby’s head into my top drawer, and
slides it shut with her hip. She grabs
my hand and pulls me up. “Come on, we got pizza and it’s getting cold.”
Thank you for supporting this member along the WATCH "RWISA" WRITE Showcase Tour today! We ask that if you have enjoyed this member's writing, to please visit their Author Page on the RWISA site, where you can find more of their writing, along with their contact and social media links, if they've turned you into a fan. We ask that you also check out their books in the RWISA or RRBC catalogs. Thanks, again for your support and we hope that you will follow each member along this amazing tour of talent. Don't forget to click the link under the author's photo to learn more about her.
Wednesday, August 09, 2017
Guest Post: Wendy Scott
Continuing a month-long focus on authors from RWISA:
Throughout August we'll be showing extracts from the work of these authors.
For more information about any particular writer click the link under their photo.
Note: Wendy is a fellow-New Zealander, a writer who first introduced me to the Rave Reviews Book Club.
Navigator by Wendy Scott
Luke's body whirled through the portal
in a kaleidoscope of starlight and rainbows. Burnt ozone stung his nostrils,
and his stomach roiled as if live dragonflies flitted inside. He clutched his
grandfather's palm tighter, the only connection anchoring them together while
they spun into the void, guided by the compass in his grandfather's other hand.
"We're here." His
grandfather's words whistled with wheeziness.
He released Luke and turned away,
pocketing the compass, but his old man's movements weren't quick enough to hide
the tremors or his shortness of breath.
Add caption |
"Follow me." His grandfather
rolled his shoulders back, lifted his head high, and led the descent.
Mindful of their journey's mission doubt
dragged at Luke's feet. At only twelve, would he be found worthy? He didn't
want to think about his grandfather's declining health if their bid was
rejected.
Metallic scent tainted the air as they
skirted past the dwellings; a one-room cottage, barn, and a smithy. Orange
coals smoldered on the forge, hammers, and tongs lined up in military
precision, but the pockmarked leather apron hung empty from a hook on the open
door.
Without pause, his grandfather guided
Luke out the back to the horse corrals. A bear of a man with arms like anvils
leaned against the fence. Leather pants and knee-high boots sheathed his legs,
but his chest was bare except for a star patterned tattoo, staining his chest
muscles indigo and cobalt. At their approach his head swiveled, snaring the
pair with a deep ocean gaze. Dryness etched Luke's throat.
"Navigator, so many years have
passed, I feared you would not return."
Luke's grandfather bowed his head.
"Farrier, events have been unkind, but I keep my promises. My grandson had
agreed to assume the responsibility in the place of his father who died when he
was a babe."
The men spoke as if Luke were a phantom,
but he remained silent, remembering his grandfather's instructions only to
speak when asked a direct question by the otherworld farrier.
Grass scented warmth huffed through
Luke's hair. A midnight coated horse towered above his head. A white star
marked the stallion's forehead.
Luke clambered up the railings, but he
still had to stretch to trail his fingertips along the horse's snout. His
breath caught when he gazed into the depths of the creature's starlight eyes.
Firm fingers clasped Luke's shoulder,
and the farrier bowed towards the steed.
“Kasper approves of you. Come inside."
The temperature in the smithy scorched
the hairs inside Luke's nose, and sweat trickled beneath his tunic, but the
farrier worked the bellows until the coals combusted into flames. Next, he
sprinkled a handful of sand into the hearth, and the fire danced into violet
and malachite hues.
"You understand, old friend,
without the enchantment your life span will be reduced to mortal years?"
My grandfather nodded."These old
bones grow weary, and the pathways are becoming muddled. My time is past. Luke
is young, but he is pure of heart. "
The farrier studied his friend for a
moment before he reached out with his palm. "Navigator, of your own free
will do you relinquish your powers to your grandson?"
The old man answered by dropping his
compass into the farrier's outstretched hand. "I do."
The farrier's otherworld stare
scrutinized the boy, and although the being didn't touch him, a prickling
sensation rippled up Luke's spine. After several heartbeats, the farrier
inclined his head. "Your soul is free of darkness, but perhaps you are too
young yet for any temptations to have challenged your values."
"He's a good lad. I vouch for him
and will guide his path." His grandfather squeezed Luke's shoulder.
Calloused fingers gripped Luke's chin.
"Are you sure you want this? It's not too late to back out and live a
normal life. Be warned, once you accept you are bound for life. Each time you
enter here seeking my help a non-negotiable toll must be paid."
Before crossing over doubts had plagued
Luke's thoughts, but after tasting magic, he couldn't settle for a dull life on
the farm when his world had been opened to the lure of other realms.
Luke moistened his lips. “Navigator
blood runs in my veins. I'm young, but I'm ready."
The farrier released him. "Do I
have your solemn vow you will only guide your passengers by the way of the
light?"
Heart thundering, Luke focused on the
compass. "I swear I'll follow the true pathways."
Light glinted off the chain as the
farrier dangled the compass into the sparking coals. “Hold out your hand.”
Luke flinched, expecting his skin to
sizzle when it touched the metal, but the compass was cool. He didn’t feel any
different. Had the transfer worked?
The farrier clasped forearms with the
older man. “You owe me one last favour, but I will redeem what’s due at another
time.”
“As always it will be an honour to
serve.” Luke’s grandfather stepped away.
“Navigator, peer into the fire.”
Several moments passed before Luke
responded to his new title. Within the flames, he spied a young woman’s face,
whose striking features seared into his memory.
“One day she will seek your skills, and
when she does you must bring her to me.” The farrier crossed his arms.
Questions burned in Luke’s mind, but he’d
been schooled on the protocols, so he suppressed his curiosity, and lowered his
eyes. “As you command.”
The farrier ushered them into the yard
and bid them farewell. “Keep your promises, follow the light and your direction
will always be true.”
Outside Luke paused, blinking. A
glittering path lit the way up to the portal.
Unshed tears gathered in his grandfather’s
eyes. “The navigator’s sight is now hidden from me.”
Grasping the compass in one hand, Luke
held out his other hand. “Come grandfather, I will guide you home.”
***
Thank you for supporting this member along the WATCH "RWISA" WRITE Showcase Tour today! We ask that if you have enjoyed this member's writing, to please visit their Author Page on the RWISA site, where you can find more of their writing, along with their contact and social media links, if they've turned you into a fan. We ask that you also check out their books in the RWISA or RRBC catalogs. Thanks, again for your support and we hope that you will follow each member along this amazing tour of talent. Don't forget to click the link under the author's photo to learn more about her.
Typos and editorial errors
I've come to accept that books published in the last decade or two, both in print format and as ebooks, will have typos in them. It's not entirely surprising with ebooks, since the transition from print to digital seems fraught with typo-traps, and there doesn't appear to be the same amount of time given to the publishing of ebooks that's usually given to print versions. You expect more of print titles, I think, but even these nowadays seem to have more typos in them that I've seen in books published in earlier decades. Even books published in the distant past, such as the 19th century, rarely have typos.
I've just finished reading Elly Griffiths' second Ruth Galloway murder mystery, The Janus Stone, on Kindle. It's a good read, the characters are well-drawn, and the mystery has enough red-herrings in it to keep from guessing what's up until well near the end. However, there were a number of typos in it - mostly words missing from sentences - as well as formatting issues, where there were paragraphs that proved to be unnecessary to the material in hand.
Many years ago I read a fascinating book on the man who edited most of F Scott Fitzgerald's books. This was Maxwell Perkins, a man also credited with getting Hemingway published as well as bringing Thomas Wolfe's books into a readable form. The book about him was, I think, Max Perkins: editor of genius by A Scott Berg.
Perkins didn't just take the manuscript and publish it, he assisted the authors to clarify details, tighten structure, make good decisions about changing things for the betterment of the book, and much more. He was more like a patron than an editor.
I mention Perkins because he's always seemed to me to be the epitome of a good editor: a man who could see faults in the overall book that eluded the writer himself, but also a man who would nit-pick and refuse to let anything faulty go by. He and Fitzgerald had some serious arguments about the latter's work.
By contrast, the editor of The Janus Stone - Jane Wood - should have picked up one major error, which I presume is also in the print form.
One of the characters, a Catholic priest called Hennessey, says, "What about the Holy Ghost? The most important one of the trilogy as far as I'm concerned." This statement is repeated a second time later in the book, when Ruth Galloway remembers him saying it.
I thought at first it was a clue that Hennessey wasn't who he said he was. No Catholic priest - indeed no minister of any Christian denomination - would ever call the Trinity the 'trilogy.' Quite apart from the fact that a trilogy relates to a series of three things, usually of books, but occasionally of other art forms.
Hennessey,however, is definitely a priest, and therefore is hardly likely to use the wrong word in this instance.
I know from my own experience of publishing ebooks just how hard it is to pick up every error - missing words are far more common than misspellings. But errors relating to well-known information should be picked up long before the book goes out into the world.
Galloway, as a character, is very prone to dismissing anything to do with religion. But surely Griffiths, although she has some wry things to say about Christianity in the course of this book, isn't so opposed to religion that she would put something so completely wrong in the mouth of one of her Christian characters.
Bring back Max Perkins and his ilk, I say!
I've just finished reading Elly Griffiths' second Ruth Galloway murder mystery, The Janus Stone, on Kindle. It's a good read, the characters are well-drawn, and the mystery has enough red-herrings in it to keep from guessing what's up until well near the end. However, there were a number of typos in it - mostly words missing from sentences - as well as formatting issues, where there were paragraphs that proved to be unnecessary to the material in hand.
Many years ago I read a fascinating book on the man who edited most of F Scott Fitzgerald's books. This was Maxwell Perkins, a man also credited with getting Hemingway published as well as bringing Thomas Wolfe's books into a readable form. The book about him was, I think, Max Perkins: editor of genius by A Scott Berg.
Perkins didn't just take the manuscript and publish it, he assisted the authors to clarify details, tighten structure, make good decisions about changing things for the betterment of the book, and much more. He was more like a patron than an editor.
I mention Perkins because he's always seemed to me to be the epitome of a good editor: a man who could see faults in the overall book that eluded the writer himself, but also a man who would nit-pick and refuse to let anything faulty go by. He and Fitzgerald had some serious arguments about the latter's work.
By contrast, the editor of The Janus Stone - Jane Wood - should have picked up one major error, which I presume is also in the print form.
One of the characters, a Catholic priest called Hennessey, says, "What about the Holy Ghost? The most important one of the trilogy as far as I'm concerned." This statement is repeated a second time later in the book, when Ruth Galloway remembers him saying it.
I thought at first it was a clue that Hennessey wasn't who he said he was. No Catholic priest - indeed no minister of any Christian denomination - would ever call the Trinity the 'trilogy.' Quite apart from the fact that a trilogy relates to a series of three things, usually of books, but occasionally of other art forms.
Hennessey,however, is definitely a priest, and therefore is hardly likely to use the wrong word in this instance.
I know from my own experience of publishing ebooks just how hard it is to pick up every error - missing words are far more common than misspellings. But errors relating to well-known information should be picked up long before the book goes out into the world.
Galloway, as a character, is very prone to dismissing anything to do with religion. But surely Griffiths, although she has some wry things to say about Christianity in the course of this book, isn't so opposed to religion that she would put something so completely wrong in the mouth of one of her Christian characters.
Bring back Max Perkins and his ilk, I say!
Labels:
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Saturday, August 05, 2017
Guest post: Gwen Plano
Continuing a month-long focus on authors from RWISA:
Throughout August we'll be showing extracts from the work of these authors.
For more information about any particular writer click the link under their photo.
Love
at First Sight
by
Gwendolyn M Plano
“It doesn’t seem real. It just doesn’t seem
real.” Mom muttered as she ran her hand over the curves of dad’s headstone. Sighing
deeply, she stared blankly into the horizon.
Gwen Plano |
After a few minutes, she turned and faced me.
“I tell myself that it must be real.” She seemed to want my approval. “The
stone says we were married 70 years. It must have happened; I must have been married. But, but…why can’t I remember?” She
searched my face for answers.
Stooped from the burden of years now elusive and
sometimes vacant, mom held my arm while she walked to either side of the
monument.
“I saw him in a dream. Did I tell you that?”
“No, mom, I don’t think you did.”
“Really? Could you tell me about how you
met?”
“How?” Mom’s eyes darted to and fro as she
struggled to answer. Then, as though the curtains lifted, she responded.
“Yes…yes, I can tell you how we met.”
“Let’s sit here, mom.” I led her to a cement
bench under a tall oak tree near dad’s grave. “Now tell me how the two of you
met.”
Mom took a deep breath and began. “It was
during the war. I remember it now. It was 1944. There were posters in our high
school which asked us to sign up to work at the Consolidated Aircraft factory
in San Diego. They needed help building B-24 bombers. We called the bombers the
Liberators. My sister and I and several
of our girlfriends decided we wanted to help our country. Most of the boys in
our class were enlisting in the army or navy. We wanted to do our part too.”
“Like Rosie
the Riveter?”
“Oh, yes! We all wanted to be Rosie. Your grandparents didn’t much
like the idea, but they knew the families of the other girls, and since we’d be living together and would watch out for
one another, they finally agreed. After all, it was the patriotic thing to do.”
I couldn’t help but smile at the thought of
mom being Rosie and asked where she
lived.
“We lived with Aunt Lena on India Street in
San Diego. She put in bunk beds for us. At night, we’d wash out our clothes and
tie the pieces to the bedsprings so that they could dry overnight.”
“When we arrived at Consolidated, they gave each
of us a uniform – blue pants and jacket. And, we had classes for a week or two.
Most of us were assigned the job of riveting.
It’s hard to believe, but there were
about 20,000 women working at the factory. The assembly line was a mile long, and believe it or not, we built about nine
bombers a day. Isn’t that amazing?”
“That is amazing, mom.” Pride glowed from
mom’s face, and I couldn’t help but feel proud of her as well.
“I was assigned to the wings. I hate heights,
but I’d climb on top of those wings and pretend
I was sitting on the hood of a car. I didn’t get afraid that way. One day, when
I was sitting up there, holding a riveting gun, your dad came by.”
“Hey,” he said. “What’s your name?” I thought
I might be in trouble, but he smiled, so I smiled back.
“It’s Lauretta.”
“Well, Lauretta, you’re doing a great job. If
you need anything, let me know. My name’s Jim, and I’m the foreman for this
area.”
I put my arm around mom’s shoulder. “My
goodness, mom, you were on the wing of a bomber when you met dad?”
“Sounds funny, doesn’t it? But, yes, that’s
the first time we talked. I didn’t pay much attention to him, but my sister would
whisper to me, “There he is again. I think he likes you. He keeps looking this
way.”
Mom lowered her eyes and giggled. “Of course,
I didn’t believe her.”
After pausing a bit, she continued. “Your dad
started walking home with us in the evening. He lived further up the hill from
us, so it wasn’t out of his way. Mind you, I was wearing the company uniform
and had my hair in a bandana, so I was hardly a beauty.”
“Anyway, one day he asked if I’d like to come
up to his place. And, I was stupid and said okay. That’s when I learned about
the facts of life. You know, sex.”
“You didn’t know before then, mom?”
“No, but he taught me that night.” Mom
giggled and put her hand on her face. “He
wanted to get married right then. But, I told him no, he had to talk to my parents. We needed to do it right. Besides,
I hardly knew him. There were a lot of shot-gun marriages those days. We all thought
the end of the world was coming, and well, young lovers didn’t hold back.”
“So, you and dad became lovers?”
“You know the answer to that, don’t you? When
I didn’t have my cycle, I knew I was pregnant. Your dad was elated and didn’t
hesitate to talk to your grandparents. Of course, I was ashamed. But, I want
you to understand something. You might have been the reason we married, but you
were not the reason we stayed together for 70 years.”
“Did you love him, mom?” The question came
out before I could filter it.
“I did, I just didn’t know I did. Your dad
would tell anyone who would listen, ‘When I saw Lauretta on the wing of a B-24
bomber, I knew that she was the one for me.’ He’d say it all the time, ‘She’s
the one for me!’” Mom giggled as she thought about this story. “Your dad always
said it was love at first sight. But it wasn’t that way for me.”
“What do you mean by that, mom?”
“Well, love is a strange word, isn’t it? Your
dad seemed to know from the first time he saw me that he wanted to marry me. I
didn’t feel that way. I think my focus was romance or dreams. And, your dad
wasn’t the wooing type.”
“I believe I fell in love with him after you
were born. He thought you were the most beautiful baby in the whole world. In
fact, I think he was happiest when he was holding you. He’d sing to you and
rock you to sleep every night.”
She dropped her head, and tears rolled down her cheeks. My tears fell as well.
“He was a good man, a faithful man. Did I
tell you his promise?”
I shook my head, and said, “no.”
“You know that he grew up hungry, right?
During the Dust Bowl, his family barely survived. In fact, two of his sisters
died. Well, your dad promised me that
his children would never go hungry. He would make sure of it. And, he did. He
worked two jobs most of our marriage, and you kids were never hungry.” She
paused and looked into my eyes.
“Your dad kept his promises.”
Mom grew silent. Her face turned from animated
to expressionless, and I did not know what to think. She whispered something that
I had to ask her to repeat. She sighed and looked at me again.
“It just doesn’t seem real.”
Thank you for supporting this member along the WATCH "RWISA" WRITE Showcase Tour today! We ask that if you have enjoyed this member's writing, to please visit their Author Page on the RWISA site, where you can find more of their writing, along with their contact and social media links, if they've turned you into a fan. We ask that you also check out their books in the RWISA or RRBC catalogs. Thanks, again for your support and we hope that you will follow each member along this amazing tour of talent. Don't forget to click the link under the author's photo to learn more about her.
Guest post: Beem Weeks
Continuing a month-long focus on authors from RWISA:
Throughout August we'll be showing extracts from the work of these authors.
For more information about any particular writer click the link under their photo.
Wordless by Beem Weeks
“What’s that word say?”
“That’s an easy one, Daddy. Just sound
it out.”
Levi Bacchus can’t read. 36 years old,
and he’d never learned the meaning of a single sentence.
“I just ain’t cut out for this, Jamie
Lynn.”
The girl’s countenance dropped in
disagreement—just like her mother, that one.
“So, you’re a quitter now?” she
bellowed, sounding too much like the woman who’d walked out of their lives two
years earlier.
Levi took offense. “Mind your manners,
Missy. I ain’t never been called no quitter.”
Beem Weeks |
“Reading is something everybody should
be able to do, is all I’m saying.”
“It’s easy for you,” Levi argued.
“You’re just a kid, still in school. You have teachers telling you what to do
and how to do it. I’m just too old for learning.”
The girl narrowed her gaze, jabbed a
finger into the open book. “From the beginning,” she demanded.
His heaving huff meant he’d do it
again—if only for her sake.
Words formed in his head before finding
place on his tongue. Some came through in broken bits and pieces, while others
arrived fully formed and ready for sound.
Jamie’s excitement in the matter is why
he kept trying. Well, that and the fact he’d long desired the ability to pick
up the morning paper and offer complaint or praise for the direction of the
nation. All those people in the break room at the plant held their own opinions
on everything from the president to the latest championship season enjoyed by
the local high school football team.
“That’s good, Daddy,” Jamie said,
patting her father on the arm. “That’s really good. You’ll be reading books
before too long.”
A smile worked at the edges of his lips,
refusing to go unnoticed.
“I’d like that, Sweet Pea.” That’s all
he’d say of the matter. If it came to that, well then, he’d have accomplished
something worth appreciating.
Levi harbored bigger notions than merely
reading books. When a man can read, he can do or be anything he wants to be.
His own father often said a man who can’t read is forever in bondage. How can a
man truly be free if he cannot read the document spelling out the very rights
bestowed upon him by simple virtue of birth? No sir; being illiterate no longer
appealed to him.
Of his immediate family—father, mother,
two older brothers—only Levi failed to attend college. Oh, he graduated from
high school. Being a star quarterback will afford that sort of luxury. But when
those coaches from the universities came calling, low test scores couldn’t open
doors that promised more than a life spent in auto factories.
He’d seen a show on TV about a man who’d
been sent to prison for five years for armed robbery. While there, this man
learned to read, took a course on the law, and became a legal secretary upon
his release. Eight years later, he’d earned a law degree and opened his very
own practice.
Levi didn’t see himself arguing cases in
a court of law—defending criminals most likely to be guilty just didn’t appeal
to his sense of right and wrong. What he did see, however, is the need for a
good and honest person to run the city he’d forever called home.
“Think I could be mayor?” he asked his
daughter.
Jamie Lynn always grinned over such
talk. “Everybody has to have a dream, Daddy.”
It’s what she always says.
Everything begins with a dream.
She gets that part of her from her
mother.
“Once I can read without stopping to ask
questions,” he mused, “maybe I’ll throw my hat into the ring, huh?”
“There’s nothing wrong with asking
questions,” she answered, weaving wisdom between her words.
* *
*
She’d been a girl scout, his
daughter—daisies and brownies before that. It’s the other girls who bullied her
out of the joy that sort of thing once offered. Straight A’s have a way of
making others feel inferior, even threatened.
But Jamie Lynn isn’t the type to pine or
fret. She chose to tutor—and not just her father, either. Kids come to the
house needing to know this and that among mathematics or English or science.
Her dream? To be a teacher one day.
And she’ll accomplish that much and
more.
Her mother had that very same sense
about her as well. She knew what she wanted in life, and cleared the path upon
which she traveled.
High school sweethearts they’d been,
Jamie Lynn’s mother and father. She’d been the pretty cheerleader, he’d been
the All-American boy with a cannon for an arm. She went to college, he didn’t.
But she returned to him, joyfully
accepting his proposal for a life together. Her degree carried her back to the
high school from which they’d both graduated. This time, rather than student,
she became teacher—American History.
Levi went to work building Cadillacs in
the local plant. It paid well, offered medical benefits and paid vacation time.
Life settled into routines.
Then came their little bundle. This
didn’t sit well with the newly-minted history teacher. No sir. It’s as if Levi
had intentionally sabotaged his own wife’s career in some fiendish plot to keep
her home.
Words of love became “stupid” and
“ignorant” and “illiterate ass.” She walked out one evening and never came back
to the home they’d built together.
A former student, he’d heard—five years
her junior. They’d ran off together, supposedly making a new home somewhere out
west.
Levi didn’t challenge it. He received
the house and the kid in exchange for his signature on those papers he couldn’t
even read.
Jamie Lynn, she’s the light that shined
in his darkness, showed him there’s still so much more living to be done. And
learning to read, well, that just added to the adventure.
* *
*
The night came when he read an entire
chapter from one of Jamie Lynn’s old middle school books—straight through,
unpunctuated by all those starts and stops and nervous questions. By the end of
the month, Levi had managed the entire story—all 207 pages.
“We have to celebrate, Daddy,” she
insisted.
It’d been the silly draw of
embarrassment that twisted his head left and right, his voice saying, “No need
to make a fuss, Sweet Pea.”
But fuss is only the beginning. “Dinner
and a movie,” she ordered. “Then we’ll stop off at the mall and pick out a few
books that you might like.”
There were stories he recalled from his
boyhood; books other kids clutched under their arms and took for granted.
Stories that stirred so much excitement in those young lives.
They’d belong to him now.
“You’re finally blooming, Daddy—just
like a flower.”
And so was his daughter.
A teacher in the making.
Thank you for supporting this member along the WATCH "RWISA" WRITE Showcase Tour today! We ask that if you have enjoyed this member's writing, to please visit their Author Page on the RWISA site, where you can find more of their writing, along with their contact and social media links, if they've turned you into a fan. We ask that you also check out their books in the RWISA or RRBC catalogs. Thanks, again for your support and we hope that you will follow each member along this amazing tour of talent. Don't forget to click the link under the author's photo to learn more about him.
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