Cleveland
Since several of our bloggers live in the Cleveland area, and since I am signing May 12th at Joseph Beth Booksellers in Lyndhurst, I thought I’d relive some of my days in Cleveland.
Shortly after graduating from college, (69) I moved to Cleveland and played guitar. There were several places downtown that featured single guitar acts. One, that was open for a very short time, was Alice’s Restaurant. Right across the street was a club called, I believe, The Agora. I walked in late one night and saw the Doors closing their show with Light My Fire. Jim Morrison was lying on the stage, out of his mind and people were streaming out.
I played folk music in the the attic of of a club called Dickey Poo’s Tool and Die Works in the flats, while downstairs rocked with bands like Joe Walsh and the James Gang, The Choir, and a couple of bands with Eric Carmen. On Sundays, I would go down and jam with the bands. About two oclock in the morning all the entertainers, bartenders, waitresses and whoever else was left would go out to Captain Frank’s at the end of a wharf and have breakfast. D Poo’s opened under a new roof a number of years ago, but I don’t think it exists anymore.
I was off on Monday and I’d go down with some friends ( Alex Bevin and other musicians) to Diamond Jim Brady’s and we’d sit at the bar and listen to Art Model tell us about the Brown’s weekend game. Pro football wasn’t what it is today.
I became friends with a drummer named Bill Shwark who beat the skins for a group called The Damnation Of Adam Blessing. They played local clubs and got a gig with a big time record label. I corralled Bill into drumming on a demo I recorded in Fremont, Ohio. At the last minute, Alex Bevin came along and added some tasty guitar licks.
36 years ago. What a time. Cleveland was jumping, and I felt like a part of the whole scene. Alive with the possibilities that big things could happen. A disc jockey named Chris Eric Stevens was breaking Cleveland bands with major labels and anything seemed possible.
The funny thing is…anything still seems possible. Take your pessimism, your negatives, the bad news stories of the day and I’ll put up the possibilties, the promise of tomorrow and the chances to make your dreams come true. It’s an exciting time to be alive. It’s an exciting time to try to make things happen. And if you don’t believe that, it will never happen for you!
From the pages of FCMWM
C.R. Corwin is in Arkansas this week, receiving the prestigious Gooseberry Award In Contemporary Fiction. In his absence, we run this recent interview with Lloyd Hemphill, editor of Flyover Country Mystery Writers’ Magazine:
Hemphill: C.R., The Unraveling Violeta Bell is your sixth novel in ten years. That’s a lot of work. Which do you like better, boiled eggs or bananas?
Corwin: Uh—
Hemphill: I mean, they’re both great, aren’t they? The egg has a shell. The banana has a peel. You can eat them and the packaging is biodegradable. So as different as they appear, they’re sort of the same.
Corwin: Oh–I see what you’re getting at. I write both mysteries and literary novels. You’re asking which I like best. Clever.
Hemphill: So, which do you like the best?
Corwin: I guess I like them about the same.
Hemphill: Of course the eggs have to be boiled first. Which makes them different, I guess.
Corwin: We’re back on that, are we?
Hemphill: Actually, I was being metaphoric again. Writing a mystery must be way easier than writing a literary novel.
Corwin: Actually, it’s the other way around. With my mysteries I have to do a lot more plotting. Clues, evidence, suspects, all that. Everything has to relate to the murder in some way. So my outlines are far more in-depth. With my literary novels I work from a much loser outline and let the characters dictate where things are going. Of course I yank on the reins if they get too crazy.
Hemphill: I guess you could boil a banana if you wanted to.
Corwin: Look, Lloyd, I have to catch a bus to Hot Springs at three o’clock. Could we focus here?
Hemphill: Sorry. Let’s see: Your sleuth, Maddy Sprowls is an elderly woman. Do you secretly wish you were an elderly woman?
Corwin: Are you sure you’re the editor of –
Hemphill: Hey! There’s nothing wrong with wishing you were somebody else. I, for example, wish I was Zorro.
Corwin: That explains the mask and the pencil mustache.
Hemphill: Actually, I’m not wearing a mask.
Corwin: Really? You look like a raccoon.
Hemphill: I haven’t been getting much sleep.
Corwin: Afraid you’re going to swallow that centipede on your upper lip?
Hemphill: You know C.R., I don’t have to put you in my magazine.
Corwin: That would be a shame. What’s your circulation up to now? Eleven? Twelve?
Hemphill: That’s it. The interview is over.
Corwin: Ah, I was just kidding, Lloyd. I love your mustache. Very machismo insequro, to use a literary term.
Hemphill: Really?
Corwin: Cross my heart.
Hemphill: Boiled egg?
Corwin: Don’t mind if I do.
(Actually, C.R. was at Malice Domestic in Washignton this weekend and Monday was enroute to the Festival of Mystery in Pittsburgh. Two great events.)
Feeling old
Well, this is the week that makes me feel old. I have bookended family birthdays. Two Taurus (or is it Tauri?) in the family is interesting. We have lots of strong-willed people in my family. I think you have to be to survive in our family. I think a mild-mannered person would be bulldozed in our house.
But on to the birthdays, Ryan (who we helped to raise) turned 21. The only thing worse than a benchmark birthday for me is a benchmark birthday for a loved one. 21 is that big legal day. Drinking and all. Drinking with your wards puts you on a different level than before. It just sounds old.
On the end of the week is my father’s birthday. My dad is 69, not quite the same as 21, though he still acts much younger than his years. He does not go quietly into the night — it’s more like being dragged grumpily into the night. Birthdays are not a pretty sight around my parents’ house. The week before and the week after are always a bit dicey. I think I’ll Fedex my present next year and then visit in June!
But even with the hazardous conditions, it makes me feel old. If everyone else is getting older, than it must follow that you are too. It’s not something I think about until this week comes along. But then of course my nephew is graduating next month, so be prepared for more grumbling.
The worst moment of the week was realizing that I had white paint in my hair (from my bathroom adventures) and no one had noticed!!!!
Currently reading The Black Dove by Steve Hockensmith
Thursday Jottings
First off, let me thank all of you who showed up at The Lion and Lamb Peace Center to help celebrate the launch of Lost Sons last night. The party was great fun, and a rollicking success. I hope you all had a great time, as well.
This morning I didn’t have time to recuperate, as I am off to Malice Domestic! As you read this, I am either driving to Detroit to catch my plane, or I’m on my plane heading for DC. Or, if you’re coming to this late, I am in DC already, and could be hanging out with Casey, CR, Jeff, or any number of other folks. Malice is always a good time, and you’ll probably get four separate reports next week.
In other news, I am in the middle of getting my first round of critiques for the juvenile fantasy I wrote during the last several months. Our blog friend Steve Faul, who is a fantastic writer of middle-grade fiction (I’ve had the honor of reading his as-yet unpublished manuscript which, by all rights, should be published), managed to wrest the book away from his cat, Lord Greye, long enough to do a thorough and entirely constructive critique, giving me lots of pointers and helpful suggestions which, I can already see, will make the book stronger. Thanks, Steve!
I’m also going back and forth between writing the first book of my new series for Poisoned Pen (which will come in the fall of 2008) and that women’s fiction I’ve told you about. It’s great having two projects going, and having the freedom to work on the one which is uppermost in my mind at the moment. But I need to get a move-on, because come the end of May the kids will be home for the summer, and writing will have to take a back seat to swimming, traveling, and chaperoning the kid to their various camps, Bible schools, and athletic events. I do love summer!
Have a great day, and I’ll see you next week! Unless I see you at Malice first…
The Business of Writing
I don’t do a lot of surfing around the Internet. It’s a time sink and let’s face it, there aren’t enough hours in the day the way it is! One of the sites I do check regularly, though, is called Ravelry. If you’re a knitter, a crocheter, a spinner or a weaver, there are endless diversions on Ravelry, from reviews of yarns, to patterns and tips.
Last week, one of the patterns attracted me (I don’t remember what it was, but I suspect it was for socks; I love to knit socks). The way the site works, you can click on the picture of the design and from there, go to the homepage of the designer.
I did just that, and discovered that the designer in question (I don’t remember her name) has a Master’s in Fine Arts in creative writing, and is hoping to be a published author someday. She had just posted a blog about her work in progress and how it’s been rejected again and again by publishers.
The blog was well written and interesting and from that, I can only assume that the woman’s fiction writing might be, too (I know, that’s a leap of faith). Be that as it may, she’s received lots of rejections, done revisions, and gotten more rejections still.
I feel her pain. It’s not easy hearing that a book you love isn’t anything a publisher wants to put into print. Fortunately, the woman’s attitude is good. She realizes it’s time to put that book away and start on something new. She’s hoping that this time, it’s something publishers are interested in. She understands that markets are tight and she’s had that reinforced by numerous publishers who’ve told her that they simply don’t have a spot for her book.
But here’s the kicker . . .
Scrolling around her blog (no doubt looking for more sock patterns) I ran across a post from a few weeks ago. In it, this same writer talks about how thrilled she is; she’s just been out book shopping and has come back with a huge bag of books to read.
And since you’re all smart, you know the punch line, right?
She did all her book shopping at the used book store.
I know, I know . . . it makes me grit my teeth, too, and wonder why a woman who’s goal in life is to be published doesn’t understand how buying used books undermines that goal by further limiting sales (and thus the fiction market). Of course, it also hurts all of us who are publishing and not earning royalties on the books she buys.
I wonder what they teach in those MFA programs. Something tells me that though they may spend a lot of time talking about symbolism and alliteration, they never say a word about the business of writing.
Ah, The Stories We Could Tell
I just had a birthday last week, and I was thinking about some of the things that have happened to me over my life. Thinks I’d like to someday write about and maybe work into a novel. Like signing at the Playboy Mansion…or warming up the Ray Charles show. Singing the Star Spangled Banner solo at a Reds game and exploring Havana, Cuba, while meeting the roll model for The Old Man And The Sea. Some of the events were highs, and some were lows.
Before Hustler magazine, Larry Flint owned a group of clubs called, believe it or not, the Hustler Clubs. They weren’t anything flashy. They consisted of girls dressed in bikinis and drinks that cost the customers probably ten times their value. I was working with a guy named Dave, and we were district managers for, I believe, 6 or 7 clubs in Ohio. In my very brief stint with the organization, I worked with club managers, prepared a video for new employees, and went from club to club making sure things were running smoothly.
I’d been with Flint a very short time, and already run into trouble with his girlfriend ( who later died of aids) Althea Liesure. ( I question whether that was her given name, but hey…she was Flint’s girlfriend.) One night I was closing the books with the manager of the Columbus, Ohio club. The club was closed and the manager and I heard shouting outside. We walked out and saw a drunk, abusive boyfriend picking up his girlfriend after work. She was one of our dancers. He was screaming at her on the sidewalk outside the club.
The manager and I walked outside and tried to calm him down. I could see a car parked across the street with two or three guys waiting for them. As we pleaded with the boyfriend to settle down, Jimmy Flint, Larry’s brother, walked out and started shouting at the drunk. They started pushing each other and Jimmy hit the guy and knocked him down. He called inside to Larry who came out with a pool que and started beating the guy.
The friends across the street started shouting, telling then to stop. I walked out into the street,hoping to appeal to the guys to stay out of it. One of the men opened the trunk and pulled out a shotgun. He swung it toward the club. I remember falling to the ground and crawling back to the sidewalk, inside the club, and going out the backdoor. I never went back. I assume somewhere, I have a paycheck coming, but that was 38 years ago and they may have marked it off by now.
High points, low points. It’s been an interesting life. Like the time I auditioned for the singing group the Vogues and turned the position down, or the two years I wrote for the National Enquirer and delved into some very strange stories.
We all have strange stories to tell. The more years you live, the more stories you have. Someday I’ll write about my inviation to work with the Beach Boys and the James Gang. Or entertaining for the New York Yankees when Major League Baseball went on strike in the early 70’s.
What’s your favorite story? Z may not be able to remember many of his. Judy is too young to have many stories. Casey writes about stories that dead people tell, and C.R. can top us all. And Jeff…who knows.
It’s not easy playing God.
It rained all night. A slow soaking rain. So this morning the grass was taller and greener, getting closer to where I’ll have to mow it. The grass seed I sprinkled on a bare spot in the back finally got enough water and warmth to start growing. Man cannot do with a hose what Mother Nature can do with a long, slow rain.
After surveying my greenery, we headed off for our morning walk with the dogs. Our street was lousy with big thick nightcrawlers that came up during the night. And now they were crawling across the asphalt, doomed to be sure.
So as we walked, I started picking them up and tossing them onto the lawns. They were no doubt terrified at suddenly being grabbed and tossed. Little did they know I was just trying to save them from getting squashed by cars or roasted by the sun.
But of course I couldn’t save them all. There were hundreds. And I felt guilty not saving them all. I bet God feels that same guilt. He picks us off the asphalt as fast as He can, but there are just so many of us crawling to our doom.
Relax, I’m not going to get religious here. It’s just when I see helpless little bugs or worms in peril, because of us crazy humans and our blasted civilization, I always feel a little guilty. Yes, I’m one of those loony nutballs who catches flies and spiders and lets them go out the back door. I admit it.
I also admit it’s all very selective, situational and hypocritical. Yesterday I had a corned beef sandwich. Tonight I’m having ribs and chicken. I could never bring myself to hunt but I always liked to go fishing. I’ve been known to smack a mosquito when it gets too close to my ear. Every time I take a shower I kill millions of bacteria. And so do you, by the way, so get all cleaner-than-thou on me. Who knows how many zillions of living things each and everyone of us kills every day? Such is life.
And speaking of fishing, when I was a kid, my brother and I would go out with my dad on rainy nights and pluck nightcrawlers off the lawn – you shine your flashlight on them and then grab them quick before they can retreat down their holes – and then use them to catch fish.
What is it about we humans that our hearts are touched so arbitrarily?
About fifteen years ago I was painting my parents’ garage. I was up on the ladder slathering paint. There was a tiny little spider on the clapboard in front of me. I could have painted right over the little sucker. But I carefully picked him off the wall and, without looking, reached back and let him go. Saved him. When I went back down the ladder, I saw that I’d let him go right into my open can of paint.
Feeling under the weather
Sorry, but I’m not feeling well today. I have bronchitis, which means no voice and a fever. It’s not the best combination for a schoolteacher, but that’s the way it is. I have a doctor’s appointment this afternoon, and I’m sure, a long regimine of antibiotics. In any case, I’m a bit lightheaded to be sharing any thoughts of matters of importance.
Maybe it was the fact that I had to pay a huge sum in taxes (I’m not good at estimating apparently despite my career as a math teacher) or the fact that NCLB testing starts on Monday or it could just be that I just never recovered from the strep last month, but I’ve been run down lately. Or all of the above could have played their part.
So I’m keeping this short. I hope everyone has a good week.
A New Book!
You are all invited to a Book Launch party for my new book, Lost Sons, next Wednesday, the 23rd, at The Lion and Lamb Peace Center at Bluffton University, from 6:30-8:00 PM.
Lost Sons was a work of my heart, and I am extremely excited to have it coming out. Back in 1920 there was a Mennonite missionary named Clayton Kratz who went to Russia to help suffering Mennonites during the Russian Civil War. He was arrested as a spy, and that was the last anyone ever heard of him. I grew up hearing this story, having graduated from Goshen College, the same school Kratz attended, and have always wanted to share it with a wider audience.
For the book I created a contemporary character, Stan Windemere, a police detective, whose son Jamie is a Navy sailor. Jamie goes MIA, and Stan is no longer able to do his job because of the emotional toll. Taking a temporary security position with a Mennonite organization, Stan discovers the story of Clayton Kratz, which becomes an emotional surrogate for his own worries. He begins to feel that if he can solve the mystery of what happened to Kratz, perhaps his own son will come home.
If you are anywhere near NW Ohio, please stop by on Wednesday. I’d love to see you!
Here’s the book front: the photo is an actual shot of Clayton Kratz from 1920, before he went to Russia. I’m really thrilled with the cover!
The Week that Was . . .and Will Be
I try to write my Wednesday blog postings on Tuesday morning. That way, I can get it out of the way and not worry I might forget as I race about doing all the things Tuesdays demand, like this book I’m working on that needs to be done very soon, and watching episodes of “House” (when it’s not in reruns) and in general, just taking care of life.
This week, though, I was already eating lunch on Tuesday (a sensible salad rather than the peanut and butter indulgence CR enjoys for lunch) when the realization hit. Ohmygosh, I had yet to write a blog. Even worse, I wasn’t even sure what to write about.
I’ve decided to fall back on the tried and true, an update on the week past and the one looming.
First of all, it’s National Library Week, so happy, happy to all the librarians out there, as well as to readers everywhere. Let’s face it, we’re all book geeks and that automatically makes us library geeks, too. Can’t imagine what life would be like without those wonderful establishments. As part of my Library Week celebration, I spoke to a nice group of readers at the Perry (Ohio) Library. Thanks to Susan for inviting me out there.
I’ll be at the Nordonia Hills library this evening at 7, so if any of you are in that area, stop in. And this Saturday is my first Pepper Martin Mystery Tour of Cleveland for this season. We’ve got two trolleys full of riders set to go and explore the places featured in the Pepper Martin mysteries, including Lake View Cemetery, the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Cleveland’s famous West Side Market. If any of you have any pull with the weather gods, we’d appreciate sunshine and warm temperatures!
In other news, the Malice Domestic conference is fast approaching. Who’s going to be there? And the Festival of Mystery in Oakmont, PA is a week from this coming Monday. I’m looking forward to that event, too.
Of course, I don’t want to say too much about Malice, or the Festival of Mystery. Then I won’t have anything to blog about next week!
