WRITING TIPS FROM ELMORE LEONARD - ONE OF THE VERY BEST

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In recent times, I have tried my hand at writing flash fiction and around 2,000-word stories.   Some of them have been edited professionally and are out there for consideration.  So I wait.  But, as is often said, if you want to write and are any way serious about it, you've got to read stories written by the very best.  And one of the very best is Elmore Leonard.

My current book on the go is Fire In The Hole by Elmore.  It contains nine stories including Fire In The Hole, the basis for the brilliant TV series Justified.

As I read the stories for entertainment, I am also reading to learn what to say and how to say it.  He outlined his 10 tips for writing:

1. Never open a book with weather.
2. Avoid prologues.
3. Never use a verb other than "said" to carry dialogue.
4. Never use an adverb to modify the verb "said"…he admonished gravely. 
5. Keep your exclamation points under control. You are allowed no more than two or three per 100,000 words of prose. 
6. Never use the words "suddenly" or "all hell broke loose."
7. Use regional dialect, patois, sparingly.
8. Avoid detailed descriptions of characters. 
9. Don't go into great detail describing places and things. 
10. Try to leave out the part that readers tend to skip.

My most important rule is one that sums up the 10.

If it sounds like writing, I rewrite it.

Thank you, sir.

Elmore Leonard 11 October, 1925 - 20 August, 2013

OCTOBER FREELANCE WRITING IDEAS

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I can write a piece on any or all of the following - joecushnan@aol.com

OCTOBER

1 The People's Republic of China was founded 70 years ago.

1 Concorde broke the sound barrier for the first time 50 years ago.

1 Orchestra maestro Andre Rieu turns 70.

2 Mahatma Ghandi was born 150 years ago. Died at 78 in 1948.

5 The first episode of Monty Python's Flying Circus shown on BBC TV 50 years ago.

6 Actress Bette Davis died at 81 30 years ago.

10 Kirsty McColl born 60 years ago. Died at 41 in 2000.

11 Henry J. Heinz (he of the beans) born 175 years ago. Died at 74 in 1919.

12 Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams first published 40 years ago.

14 The 50p coin was introduced 50 years ago.

14 Designer Ralph Lauren turns 80.

14 Swashbuckling actor Errol Flynn died at 50 60 years ago.

18 JFK Assassin Lee Harvey Oswald born 80 years ago. Died at 24 in 1963.

19 The Guildford Four were released from prison.

20 Actor Burt Lancaster died at 80 25 years ago.

24 The Wall Street Crash happened 90 years ago.

24 Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid was released 50 years ago.

27 Actor/comedian John Cleese will be 80.

More might be added. 

BOOK REVIEW - BELFAST GATE BY TONY MACAULAY

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Belfast Gate

by

Tony Macaulay

so-it-is 2019

https://tonymacaulayauthor.com

It's Belfast in 2019 and despite more than twenty years of peace, scores of so-called peace walls continue to separate Catholic and Protestant neighbourhoods. Jean Beattie's grief turns to anger when police refuse to open the peace gate at the end of her street to allow her best friend's funeral procession through to her church on the other side of the peace wall. The gate remains closed because local youths, led by Sam on one side and Seamie on the other, are recreational rioting. Comforted by her friends Roberta, Bridget and Patricia from the cross-community pensioners' club, Jean vows the gate will be opened.

It takes some skill to write a comedy novel against a backdrop of some terrible history, and Tony Macaulay demonstrates that skill here in abundance.  The blurb above sets the scene.  It is a story of four women, two Catholics, Patricia and Bridget, and two Protestants, Jean and Roberta, who decide to ‘do something’about the huge gap between cross-community efforts for lasting peace and re-establishing normal lives, and the existence of a ridiculous, divisive, so-called peace wall.  They plan a campaign – Get Our Gate Open– and call their gang the GOGO Girls.  Jean is the leader of the pack.

They know it is not an easy thing to do to challenge thugs, bullies and shadowy figures, but they find the grit and determination to at least try to find a way to improve their divided streets.  It is a journey of anger, frustration and exasperation, but also of strength and bravery.

The dialogue is written beautifully in pure Belfast-speak and many of the exchanges between the women, the self-appointed big shots and slabbering youths are hilarious. I was born and raised in Belfast and I can hear these voices clearly.  It has always been a ‘wait-a-wee-minute’, ‘catch-yourself-on’ kind of place.  

Tony Macaulay keeps it real all the way through, using incidents and graffiti messages and other references to maintain a feeling of tension. Sometimes, it is, as advertised, a laugh-out-loud novel, although some of the jokes are groaners, but, hey, in comedy that’s allowed. There is much grass roots wisdom in the lines and between the lines too.

But, don’t be lulled into thinking that it’s laughs all the way.  There is a moment that made me gasp as the plot took an unexpected turn, and, as I mentioned right at the beginning, it takes skill and writer’s courage to pull a surprise without harming the spirit of the story.

Jean is the stand-out character but the individuals in the supporting cast are strong too.

This is a superb novel, and timely.  It is a reminder that ordinary people can make things happen while idle politicians fail to work positively for the people.

Belfast Gate – stickin’ out!

THE GREAT BELFAST CREAM BUN, JAM PUFF & SNOWBALL DISASTER

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I saw this blurry photo of McErlean's bakery vans and it reminded me of an incident in the late 1960s.....

Frank Rooney was driving a McErlean’s van from the bakery in Arizona Street 

To the shop on the Springfield Road, Belfast. I was riding shotgun, so to speak, 

Saturday assistant. The van was two-thirds full, trays of cream buns, snowballs,

Jam puffs and other goodies, first delivery on the roster, busiest day of the week.

At the crossroads, vehicles travelling from left to right and right to left gave way,

Except the driver of an Austin-Healey, I think, who zoomed out of nowhere,

Causing Frank to slam on the anchors, skid and screech to halt. The van lurched 

Like a bendy cartoon wagon. No contact. Austin-Healey was quick to disappear.

We got out and Frank opened the back doors. “Fuck me,” he gasped, staring

At what looked like a mountain of goo - jam, cream, coconut, pastry, a work 

In progress for a Turner Prize art award, a huge blob of white and red slime.
The busiest day of the week screwed by a Stirling Moss/Mr Magoo hybrid jerk.

I'M IN OWEN MULDOON'S GETTING A HAIRCUT IN 1965

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Owen 'Owny' Muldoon has you in and out of the big leather barber’s chair in under five minutes. He is quick, cheap and tolerates only one hairstyle for school kids; short back and sides, with the begrudged option: Fringe or no fringe? Not only is he quick, he is rough, his big shovel-hand clamped to your skull every so often to twist and turn the head, while he stands on the same spot throughout. His array of weapons includes electric clippers, scissors and a steel comb with sharp teeth. He clips away, shaves away, no time for chat.

The ordeal over, he slathers on Brilliantine and combs the hair into a shiny Hitler-style. He glides a mirror to show you the back but nobody ever complains if he’s drawn blood. You hand over half a crown and not a word of thanks, kiss my arse or anything. Next! Out you go knowing your mates will rib you mercilessly for being a baldy bap.

Some years later.....

I’m looking through the 1965 St. Mary’s Christian Brothers’ Grammar School, Belfast yearbook. It has a photograph of every pupil from Form 1 to Form 7 and there I am, a first year (the big boys called us wee legs) at the bottom of page one, between Cunningham and Daly, flanked by Crampsie and Crozier to the left, Davey on the right. It’s proof if proof is needed that I chose the fringe option, Beatle-hair just over my eyebrows. Twenty-five pages, the history of 1960s Belfast boys' haircuts right there, a substantial number hacked and tamed, no doubt, by the demon barber Muldoon, four minutes per young head, displayed in a gallery of eleven-year-olds and up, now sixty-year-olds and up evolved greys and real baldy baps.

ONCE A CHOIRBOY........

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In the mid-1960s, I was a first year pupil at St Mary's Christian Brothers Grammar School, Belfast. Just about every kid was Shanghaied into participating in music lessons run by Tommy Cooney - obviously Mister Cooney to us - and one of his major tasks was to assemble a decent set of singers to celebrate some anniversary or other to remember the life of Edmund Ignatius Rice, the founder of the Christian Brothers movement in 1802.

Mister Cooney was a plinkety-plonk piano player, somewhere between Mrs Mills and Animal from The Muppets, but he was enthusiastic and tried very hard to keep us from getting bored with the necessary repetition of scales and all the other layers of music theory. He did tell us that he expected us to jump out of bed in the mornings, open the window wide, take as deep a breath as we could muster without busting a rib and then sing the highest possible note we could manage. This, he said, was good for the lungs. Now, if anyone ever followed his advice I have yet to hear about it. Letting out a high-pitched squeal early in the morning where I lived would not only have scared the birds and the milkman, it would have been a signal for some annoyed neighbour to hurl a brick through the aforementioned window.

As the weeks went by and we moved closer to the big Ignatius Rice event, several kids were dropped from the choir. Sadly, I made the cut. Rehearsals continued at a pace. It was mostly torture but there was no escape. Light relief came from watching Mister Cooney demonstrate the techniques of singing. Whenever there was a Pavarotti vocal stretch required, he would go for it but, almost always, his false teeth would dislodge and he would chew and gurn them back into position before trying again. Picture a couple of dozen squirming kids simultaneously trying to stifle titters.

As far as I can remember, the event went well and not long after that I left the choir. My work was done.

One other thing I recall about Tommy Cooney, the music teacher - he could't sing a note!

A BRILLIANT REJECTION LETTER

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I assume many, most, all writers deal with rejections in their own way.  Sometimes, there is no response whatsoever from editors and that's okay. They must be inundated with submissions and unsolicited stuff. Most times, if a response comes, it's a form note to say thanks but no thanks. But, friends, once in the bluest of moons, an editor gives a shit and writes a rejection in a supportive, positive, encouraging, educating way. 

I want to share a rejection email with you now. I will not identify the journal.

I sent 10 haiku which I thought were pretty good, but what the hell do I know. Here's the email, edited to eliminate any identification. I love it. 

Dear Joe,

Many thanks for your submission. While there are interesting features in your haiku, unfortunately we don’t feel the poems are currently quite right for publication with us.

This isn’t necessarily reflective of the quality of the work, it’s just that the haiku don’t quite fit what we are looking to publish at the moment. Certainly you should compose your poems the way that feels right to you, but my feeling is that some of these could be effective haiku if they were stripped down from the 5-7-5 model to simpler forms of expression.

English syllables are not the direct equivalent of the Japanese sound units, which are much shorter, so composing 5-7-5 haiku in the English language very often makes the poems feel overwritten, can force you to add unnecessary content, and can create unnatural line breaks. My advice would be to consider moving away from the rigidity of the 5-7-5 model, allowing your poems to be more suggestive, focusing on a specific moment of perception or experience, and employing a more effective contrast between the fragment (1 line) and phrase (2 lines). 

An example of what I mean, to appropriate material in your submission, if I may, might be...

songbird

pain sharpens

to a peak

It is by no means perfect, but the expression is simpler/lighter, with a distinction between fragment and phrase that allows for deeper interpretation.

We would certainly welcome further submissions from you in the future, and we wish you all the best in seeking publication for these poems in other journals.

Isn't that brilliant? I don't feel like a failure or a chump. It makes me want to bounce back off the ropes and go again.

Thank you mystery editor of mystery journal, in a bizarre way, you made my day. 

SELECTED CONCERTS OVER THE YEARS

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Here's a selection of concert ticket stubs I've kept over the years.

JOHN STEWART - FINE SINGER/SONGWRITER

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John Stewart, one of my favourite singer/songwriter/performers ever. He wrote many great songs, the most lucrative being Daydream Believer, a huge hit for The Monkees. He was a Kingston Trio member for a while and then a solo performer. His live double album, The Phoenix Concerts, is a joy to behold.

Remembering him today. He would have been 80. He died in 2008. I read his obituary in a newspaper on a flight to San Francisco. A sad moment.







RIP sir. You gave and still give me so much