America’s biggest state fair, The Great State Fair of Texas is held annually in the fall in Dallas at the fair grounds; this year September 24 through October 17.  http://www.bigtex.com/sft/ Each year vendor-chefs bring all manner of tasty delights, deemed “food items”, to be judged in the Big Tex Choice Awards.  Many seemingly outrageous items have won the judge’s hearts, minds and of course, stomachs.  Winning gets the vendor lots of publicity and garners for that vendor thousands and thousands of customers during the run of the fair.

Long before the 2005 PR incarnation called the Big Tex Choice Awards, there has been a history of interesting fried “food items” available at the State Fair of Texas.  For example, years ago Dallasites Carl and Neil Fletcher put a hot dog on stick, dipped it in corn-batter then deep fried it, right in their kitchen.  They sold their first Corny Dog at the State Fair of Texas in 1942.  Now the ubiquitous and perennial favorite Fletcher’s Corny Dog (selling about a half-million during the fair) has to compete with newcomers such as 2008 Big Tex Choice Award entries: Chicken Fried Bacon, Fried Banana Split, Deep Fried S’mores, and Fried Chocolate Truffles.  Are you detecting a trend? Fried Coke, Fried Cookie Dough and Fried Butter have taken their turn in the deep-fryer.  In 2008 the bacon; seasoned, battered, breaded then deep-fired and served with your choice of ranch or honey mustard sauce, won the day.  Fried Beer and Deep Fried Frozen Margaritas are two of 2010’s finalists.  I’ll let you guess who might have come up with a recipe for Deep Fried Frozen Margaritas.

Now to the point of this blog.  In 2007 the winner of the Big Tex Choice Awards was Desperados with their “food item”:  Deep Fired Latte!

Now of course you’re thinking, latte?  Isn’t that something a coffee barista would make–something derivative of the Italian caffèlatte: coffee and milk; meaning espresso and steamed milk.  How the heck do you fry that?  In the culinary world, a name for an existing dish or “food item” is just a gastronomic jumping off place.  The name ‘latte’ offers the main flavor-clues, coffee and milk. (Note:  some people claim latte and cappuccino are interchangeable; in fact a rather strident barista said, of course they’re different; they have different names.  Then went on to explain that a latte is espresso and steamed milk topped with an inch of frothy milk, while a cappuccino is espresso with a splash of steamed milk with milky-froth on top.  So you tell me the difference.)

Jake Levy, owner and GM of Desperados (Uno) came by our table to make sure everything was as it should be.  My companion and I said everything was wonderful; as usual.  Jake said, “Have you tried our Deep Fried Latte?”  I had to admit I had not and knew my out of town companion had not.  He explained it was Desperados’ signature dessert and that it had won the 1^st prize at the 2007 State Fair.

I thought, that was three years ago, I remembered having heard about it during the fair that year, but never got to the Desperados vendor-booth at the fair.   And here I had been to Desperados umpty-odd times in those three years, such a creature of my likes that I rarely open the menu; I just order my Desperado Tacos – Beef.  But sure enough, there it was on the dessert side of the menu under “Postres”.

“Please,” Jake said, “you’ve got to try it.”  We said we’d be delighted.

I was still trying to ponder the shape of Fried Latte.  Was it going to come in a bowl, a coffee cup… or what?  A few minutes later out came a mouthwatering eyeful on a dessert plate.  The waiter set it in the middle of the table with two spoons.  Its visual impact went, for the moment, un-catalogued.  My companion who eschews coffee, in any form, pushed the plate over onto my side of the table.

Undeterred I picked up my spoon and let it slide through, what I perceived was, coffee-flecked whipped cream into the scoop of coffee flavored ice cream and through the swirls of a maple-tasting syrup lacing the top and inside of a rectangle of delicately deep-fried puff-pastry; their tasty sopapilla.

Desperados’ menu proclaims:  “Deep Fried Latte The winner of the 2007 State Fair of Texas “Most Creative”deep fried food. A sopapilla topped with homemade cappuccino ice cream, maple syrup, whipped cream and instant coffee crystals. Enjoy a little Fair all year.”

My now unloaded spoon passed my closing lips leaving a warm and cold, melting, delight on my tongue’s taste buds.  I remembered my eyes rolling in a swoon of gastronomic ecstasy.   So sublime, apparently, was the satisfied look on my face that my companion immediately grabbed her spoon and (paraphrasing director Rob Reiner’s mom’s famous line in the Meg Ryan scene in “When Harry Met Sally”) said, “I’ll have what you’re having!”, then immediately consumed ‘her share’.

Yes, Desperados’ Deep Fried Latte is that good!  You must try it on your next visit there.  It is a sure bet that it will be on my order from now on as well as the new best dessert of Michael Grant (except his father’s cheese cake).  For a little art-imitating-life see pages 372-5 of the new Black Book Adventures of Michael Grant and Associates:  And… Never Again.

At the Kindle launch in November 2007 the e-reader touted over 90,000 titles.  Eleven months later in August of 2008 the catalog of titles was reported to be over 160,000 with a growth rate of 25,000 titles per month (tpm).  At 25k tpm over the last 23 months, the total Kindle catalog of available titles should be nearing 750,000 books.  Some say the total is closer or over one million.

Regardless of the size of the pond, one little fish is now swimming around waiting to be caught; the detective murder mystery: Jamaica Moon.

As the growth and availability of titles as well as device platforms (Kindle, iPad, iPhone, Nook, & etc.) increases it would seem that there is a strong market for the speed and portability of electronically readable books.

So, if you have one of these nifty gadgets, download Jamaica Moon for a great read!

Above, millions of acre feet of water.  Below the dam, a town, a chemical munitions storage facility & a gang of enviro-terrorists.  Terry Dean Ballard is in Colorado, bent on devastation. Can Michael stop the inevitable? How many more times can he say: And… Never Again!

To whet your appetite (you’ll have to read the book to find out the exact date) here is an excerpt from:

Chapter Four

Trinidad, Colorado  1:15 pm Tuesday December 26, 20??

“THIS PLACE LOOKS like a four-tiered wedding cake, for an architect,” Tom said as they mounted the shoveled but snow-crusted steps from the street.”

Crawford was waiting for them on the porch.  It took a moment for all four men to shake hands with one another as Nicholson “Sonny” Crawford, a CIA operative, introducing himself, using the name Michael knew him by, Franz Largés.  Though the Nordic looking man, who’d picked them up, had given Michael the recognition sign, he had not yet spoken.  Franz introduced the large beefy blond man as his ‘associate’, Abel Borghild, who greeted them with the undercurrent of what Michael took to be a Swedish accent.  Michael didn’t know whether it was genuine or not.  Their voices were low, controlled and further damped by the quieting acoustics provided by the snow.

“Franz, Abel, this is my associate Tom Darrow.  He’s aware of certain things, what else you share is up to you, I vouch for him.”

“Normally that would be a strong enough recommendation,” Franz said, “but since Penwhistle went to Texas to work with you on this matter and Tom and I met up here before Christmas, we vetted him.”  He looked over at Tom; stuck out his hand again, “Good to see you again, you’re cleared at least for what we’re going to share here.”

They shook hands again.  “Guess I’m in a club I didn’t apply to join?”

“Something like that and you’ve just received the secret hand shake.”

“Hell, I wuddn’t even payin’ attention,” Tom smiled, “I’ll watch more closely next time.”

“Why are we here?” Michael asked stomping the snow from his new Tex Robin boots, a Christmas present to himself.  Tex had finished them before Thanksgiving, but waited to ship them for arrival on Christmas Eve, as Michael had requested.

The porch was covered and looked out over a wooden balustrade painted gray, over a black wrought iron fence that guarded the small inner yard from the stone retaining wall and the seven foot drop to the street accessed by a double set of stairs.  Everything beyond the porch was covered in snow.  It was cold, but for the moment, under snow-laden clouds, there was no wind.  The three-story (four if you counted the single-story one-room tower) Victorian mansion called Le Chateau Bleu Ennui, according to the plaque on the wall, had been built in 1882 in the French style.  The veneer was red brick with white interlocking cornerstone blocks and green shutters at the windows.

“Yeah,” Tom said, “the plaque says this is a Museum run by a Historic Society.”

“Well it was and it is.  They’ve recently turned it into an expensive bed and breakfast and it’s the only place in town I could inconspicuously put all four of us.  DocuTel is picking up the tab, by the way.”

“I got that,” Michael said, “but why are we here… in town?  Michael pointed at a couple of peaks.  Isn’t Terry Dean Ballard holed up in a cabin up there?”

“Ah, you want to rough it in the mountains?  Command decision: this will be our headquarters, tourists still come here for the daily tours after breakfast is served, and we won’t stick out.  I told them our wives would be joining us in a few days; that they were skiing and got stuck there by the blackouts.  Besides I don’t want to rough it in the mountains for however long we’re going to be here.”

“Let us go up to rooms,” Able said.

“Good idea.  Tom, you’re in the “Portrait Room” and, Mic, the “Blue Room”, both on the second floor; there’re names plates on the doors.  After you’re settled in, come up to my room, third floor; “Sarah’s Suite”¾say thirty minutes.”

“I guess nobody noticed that we landed at the football stadium in a ‘black-ops’ military chopper that makes virtually no noise?”

“Actually, no.” Able said.  “I watch before I pick you up.”

Tom said, “Well, too bad we won’t have that resource, said he had another mission.  A ‘Bump-Priority’ he called it.”

Franz nodded, only the President can bump a bump-priority, “The man has a BP mission, no problem, we’ve got good ground transport.  Air missions maybe scrubbed in this weather anyway.”

AT 1:45PM with Tom, Michael knocked on the brass door plate marked “Sarah’s Suite”.   Able opened the door. Franz was standing at a window across the room; he turned,  “Come in friends.”

They sat around a dainty French table in dainty French chairs, certainly not built for twenty-first century derrières.  “Sorry for the uncomfortable chairs,” Largés said, “I prefer them, to out there.”  He stabbed a thumb backwards to the window where he had been standing.  Large snow flakes were raining down.  “Here’s what I know.  At 9:06 am yesterday, Christmas Day, one of the biggest ski-days in America, a computer virus was activated in twenty computer systems affecting a number of ski-resorts and other ancillary infrastructure facilities.  The result was a stoppage ranging from various mundane cash register failures to the serious failures of HVAC and safety systems, including ski lifts and all computer-controlled electronic equipment.  Authorities are reporting to the news media a current death toll of eight-seven, but it is higher than that.  There are a couple of government facilities, mountain installations, which are not reporting.  We could be talking about thirty-seven ‘Company’ personnel in peril.   They’re at two separate survival posts, training for Afghan mountain operations.  In theory they should be able to survive.  Our mission is first to secure the laptop and second to reestablish a link with the two out-posts to determine their situation.”

“And,” Michael paused trying to block out his disquiet, “we are 200 miles south of where we think the action may be?”

“More or less.  Yes–”

Michael continued, “And didn’t you tell me you last got a hit from Terry Dean’s laptop in Colorado Springs, a what–”

“Two hour drive up I-25 under good conditions,” Tom offered, “I looked it up before we left.”

“Yes.”  Largés smiled and took a sip of breath, “I don’t know where the guy is exactly; we’re working on that.  But we do know where he has been and may return to.  He has no reason to believe that his safe-house here has been compromised. Both of you have been there before.  Tonight we’re going up there, don’t expect him to be there, but you never know.  If he’s not, we’ll plant listening devices and cameras.  Abel will then monitor that location from here as we go tomorrow to Colorado Springs and look for that teenaged shit Ballard.”

“Alright,” Michael said, “that’s reasonable and this is your ‘op’, guess my logic is a little fuzzy.  We’ve had to put off getting Ballard and I feel like those people he’s killed are on my head¾”

“They are not, my friend, any more than they are on mine.  Ballard is responsible for his own actions and if we had ten Supermen in the world, instead of the four of us now, they still couldn’t stop all the crazies–so let’s focus on the bad guy here and to that end–I know you guys haven’t had much rest in the last forty-eight hours; let’s meet here again at a nine this evening.  Wear your night cold-weather gear.  It’s in your rooms in pink-duffels.”

“That’s a ‘light’ touch,” Tom said.

AFTER THE ROOM was clear, Franz picked up a small phone-like device and called.  His contact, R7R picked up on the second ring, knowing who was calling and said without preamble, “I want it back and I want them found.  With regard to the first, use all means necessary included XP, authorized on high,” said Bertrand B. Baker, Deputy Director of Operations for the Central Intelligence Agency, over the secure satellite phone.

“Yes, Sir.” Franz said with a laugh, “what the hell is R7R still doing running a field op, I thought you turned all that stuff over to R7Rm and his operations people?”

“I have,” R7R said.  “Yours is the only ass in the field the Director still lets me kick.”

“What?  I’m your last old recruit?”

“Something like that–won’t be long before we’re both out of the field for good.”

“Well, that’s a reality for another day, but before that comes I want you to bring Grant in; he–I’d like to groom him as my replacement.”

“I know he worked with us through Jandra years ago–you think he’s ready for a two-tier jump?”

“I think so; his PI business and his connections with law enforcement are a great cover, not to mention his clandestine contacts; yeah, I think he’s ready.  I’ll know more after this operation.”

“Then I’ll take it under advisement.”

“I will call, when I need something, I will need something?”

“Call me then.”  The sat-phone went quiet.  Franz pushed his disconnect button.  The phone remained in an encrypted handshake-mode with its satellite.  He knew that at Langley, on what Largés dubbed, in his mind, as the “Colorado Desk”, was a monitor displaying the location of the phone and by extension, his whereabouts on a real-time, in-orbit, aerial map.

And… Never Again, due out mid-November 2010!

On – Judas Oracle

1. Place has a very prominent role in Judas Oracle. Not only is the book set in several locations, but when the action occurs in the home location of Dallas, you are very specific in your use of place names, street names, and locations.  Place, especially Dallas, becomes a character in Judas Oracle. What do you as the author think geographical details add to character development and gravitas?

Glad you picked up on that.  Several things come to mind, particularly other city’s shamus’, like San Francisco’s Sam Spade, Los Angeles’ Phillip Marlowe, and Boston’s Spencer.  I hope Michael Grant can become the iconic private investigator for the city of Dallas.  In my mind, to do that one should marry the character to the city.  It seemed logical to me that using place names, street names and locations was integral to that marriage.  In San Francisco, for instance, you can still go on guided Dashiell Hammett tours of Sam Spade’s city and city haunts.  I want native Dallasites and readers who know Dallas to have that same opportunity.  Readers have told me, how much they enjoy knowing where the action is taking place and like, if not having actually been there, know where ‘it’ is.  I try to provide the same level of ‘place’ when the action shifts to other locales so that those familiar with ‘there’ will have their own sense of ‘place’.  I also think that geography grounds the actions and impels the interest of the reader–to me, that sounds like gravitas.

2. You have informed your readership by the subtitle of the series, from the Black Book Investigations of Michael Grant & Associates, that the plots for your novels are case studies.  Do you write about cases individually or do you conflate several cases to create a new plot?  Consequently, do you write one novel or several novels at a time?

As much as I would like to do otherwise, I only write one at a time.  That doesn’t mean that differential plots are not hatched and followed.  I have on more than one occasion stopped writing on the then current book to start or amplify writing on a different book/story.  Since there are now six completed books from the Black Book Investigations of Michael Grant & Associates series, I have had several instances of moving back and forth between books.  As for ‘do novel plots come from actual case files or studies?  I think I make it clear to readers, at least in my blogs, that ‘story’ comes from Michael’s Black Book entries.  But it sounds more like you are asking if my novels’ plots come from my own law enforcement and private investigations case background.  If that is your question, then yes many of the plot lines develop out of personal experiences.  Over the years there have been certain cases I’ve worked whose stories I have wanted to tell.  I can do that now.  I do not consciously bring together several cases to create new plots.  What I am consciously trying to do is show that during Michael’s average day he is not focused only on one case.  In the real ‘PI’ or ‘cop’ world, if you are busy at all, you are working on multiple cases at the same time.  Therefore there are multiple plots moving through each book.  Obviously, at crucial moments, the action is bent toward the resolution of a single plot.  However, in the next moment the scene, that is to say the client/case, may shift.  I wanted to create the certainty of action and the uncertainty of when that action would find completion.  I want to carry the reader forward by multiple activities.  I did not want to write single stand-alone stories where everything was geared toward the resolution of a single plot, the ubiquitous ‘whodunit’.  I don’t want my readers to experience the feeling of , ‘damn I’m finished, wish there was more’.  Rather, I hope the experience is, ‘damn I’m finished, and wow, there’s more!’

3. Judas Oracle is replete with dialects and tonal accents written into the dialogue.   They stand out from most characters’ standard English dialect.  How do you think dialect enhances character development?

You mean ‘American’ English dialect?  LOL.  The English speaking world is full of dialects and America is a bubbling melting pot of dialects and tonal accents.  Absolutely, I use these literary devices to distinguish characters in the mind of the reader.  If I see a particular character, usually a minor character like farmer Neff, I will sometimes use a dialect to hopefully make that interlude of dialogue more interesting.  In other instances dialect or speech patterns (such as never using contractions) are hopefully iconic enough that when used they identify the character as easily as say a ‘limp’ would.  I am trying to create something memorable for the reader, but don’t want to get tiresome by using dialect extensively with a major character.  As the writer, if I construct a character that I ‘see’ as having a certain dialect, that may indeed inform how I develop the character.  But as for ‘does dialect enhance character development,’ I’m not sure it does unless the dialect changes as part of the character’s story arc.

4. In both Jamaica Moon and Judas Oracle, you invite the reader “behind the scenes” of subject topics such as security and technology techniques.  How important is research of the latest techniques and computer programs for your novels?

In my business I come across a lot of information regarding security, technology, techniques and trends.  In general, I use information to make believable the character’s actions.  I am not trying to inform the reader on deep details of computer operating systems, for example.  I want to try to make something the reader may not be familiar with sound real, doable and accessible.  I am telling a story–the “behind the scenes” information is there to give depth to the characters and more deeply engage the reader.  I try to stay close to what I ‘know’, but I am constantly ‘researching’ various things from the interior of Tom’s Shelby Mustang to the inscription on the bell in the tower of the Sacré-Coeur Basilica in Paris.  You’ll have to wait for book six, Murder Fever, to find out about that… and why.

Additionally, in answer to question #4 and #2, I refer you to one of my reader’s five-star comments about Judas Oracle, left on Amazon.com by H.D. Frymier (PI and former FBI Special Agent):

Many writers attempt to create a complex series of subplots in their work. Such a strategy can lend texture and interest to an otherwise simple narrative. Only a small percentage of such attempts are successful. Robert Sadler has succeeded beyond any measure. He weaves a complicated tale of multifaceted police work into a highly credible and entertaining series of subplots. Each subplot is masterfully handled in its own right and each then blends in with the overall theme of the book, creating a blockbuster ending to this phase of Michael Grant’s latest case work. The author has clearly been in a learning mode as he pursued his various careers in police work, private investigative work, and time spent in Vietnam during that conflict. He shares those lessons with readers in this dramatically entertaining novel.

http://www.amazon.com/Judas-Oracle-Mr-Robert-Sadler/dp/1449561446/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1277224965&sr=1-1

5. You portray Michael Grant as a poet.  Will we ever see a book of his poems published?

I haven’t felt the need to establish Michael’s bona fides as a poet per se.  The end of Jamaica Moon was concluded with a poem (not Michael’s), but it was integral as a ‘pay-off’ to one of the plot lines.  My belief is that while the readers will think it remarkable and even endearing that Michael is a man of words and poetry, I do not think they want to see poetry interspersed in a detective/spy/thriller.  I have considered using ‘lines from Michael’s poems’ or perhaps listing several of has poetry books, or I might have a character pull one off a shelf and peruse it… but that’s about it.  If there were a reader ground swell for a book of poetry from Michael Grant, it could happen… a separate book, not putting Michael poems in the novel.

6. Michael Grant, as a former cop and a current detective, sees all manner of human behavior.  Are there behaviors that can still surprise him?

Alfred Hitchcock was reported to have said: “There is no fear/terror in the bang, only in the anticipation of it.”  Similarly surprise is often a function of environment and moment.  Where those juxtapositions overlap, Michael will be surprised.  On the other hand, Michael is aware that people do bad things to each other.  He is no longer surprised that it happens.  Perhaps it is the depths of his disappointment at seeing what ‘we do to each other’ that surprises Michael the most.  Michael believes in God.  He recognizes ‘evil’ as a descriptor, but knows evil is the absence of God not an entity unto itself.  He believes the Devil has no God left in him, ergo is evil.  And, for those who believe the Devil can be redeemed, that none of God’s creatures is devoid of God or outside His redemptive grace, then Michael would say: “the Devil has turned his back on God or denied Him more thoroughly than any other sentient entity”.  It is for these reasons that Evil is so ‘scary’ as a character and plot foil; it is so easy to anticipate and dread the opposite of good.

7. Ghosts of his deceased wife, Elanna, and her near-twin, Sara and other relationships haunt Michael.  Especially the weight of Elanna’s ghost is present for Michael.  Does Michael intentionally continue and on-going, ‘living’ relationship with Elanna?  How does that relationship continue contemporaneously with the development of new relationships such as with Laurie?

Good question.  I have to say that so as to give myself a moment to think about this.  Michael’s ghosts represent reminders of things he cannot let go of (lives lost)… and yet they don’t play a part of his new relationship with Laurie.  Michael is not shy about his past and his love for his wife Elanna, or Sara.  It seems as long as everyone is aware of Michael’s past, they don’t have to be afraid of Michael’s ghosts or being haunted by them.  None of the characters in the book think or see ‘his ghosts’ as a handicap or a hindrance to their relationship.  These ghosts do provide a literary meme to enter into Michael’s head and heart.  And… in future books, Michael’s ghosts may become harder to control.

8. All love roads for female characters lead to Michael.  Elanna, Sara, Nancy/Nance (who ends up with Michael’s associate), Helen, Marnie, and Laurie.  Can you comment on the apparent situation that Michael just exudes charm and can’t help the response from the women who orbit around him?

To use your paraphrased ‘all roads’ analogy… the story is about ‘Rome’ (Michael Grant), so where else would the ‘roads’ lead?  The archetype of the iconic man of action is that of strength through reason with physical force applied where and when needed.  I think this character trait is magnetic and creates charisma; an integral ingredient in Michael’s character.  The OED shows two senses for charisma:  “a. Theol. A free gift or favour specially vouchsafed by God; a grace, talent; b. A gift or power of leadership or authority; aura.  Hence, the capacity to inspire devotion or enthusiasm.”  Charisma, then, is an attractive or magnetic quality, aside from Michael’s ‘pleasant features’, and perhaps the main reason, coupled with his ‘eligible bachelor’ status, that women feel pulled toward Michael.  Surely, Master Kong (Confucius) or one of his students must have written Novel Writing for Dummies, whose first corollary is: feng shui; for every yin there must be a yang.  Thus, just as the hero-protagonist Michael must be juxtaposed with the antagonist, Michael, the alpha-male of the stories, must be juxtaposed by females.  To me, that makes good story-sense.

9. In Jamaica Moon and in Judas Oracle, there are two types of (male-female) relationships: the Kingsley/Marquis physically degrading, abuse, and toxic type of contact and the Elanna, Sara, Laurie contact which portrays youngish, playful, almost innocent relationships.  Do you intend to make a statement about the physical and sexual abuse of women?

In one sense, writing about violence is gratuitous.  It doesn’t have to be in or a focal part of any story but often is, because we see violence on a daily basis either as part of our own lives or have seen vicariously through the eyes of others.  Given these realities I make use of violence as part of Michael Grant’s existence.  A modern day Don Quixote, Michael constantly tilts against the windmills of violence and particularly against violence toward women.  Michael sees the ‘Dulcinea’ in all women and does not brook abuse of any stripe.  I think the dichotomy is natural that Michael, the protagonist, would have reasonably well-rounded relationships with his female characters and that the antagonists would be just the opposite.  To the degree that physical or sexual abuse of characters in my books allows me the platform to encourage anyone in an abusive relationship to get out, get help, and get on with real living I am happy to do so.  Likewise I am happy to highlight abusers and seek for them to pay a price for their abuse.

10. Judas Oracle seems to unfold more slowly than Jamaica Moon due to the detailed explications of the computer issues of the terrorists.  Additionally, Judas Oracle has less romance than Jamaica Moon.  Michael’s attention in Judas Oracle is more based in the plot action than in establishing romantic connections.  Is this difference and intentional process of the series in the long term?

You are asking several questions here.  First one of pacing and second the romance angle and how that informs the plotting now and in the future.  As I said earlier, these are essentially ‘day-in-the-life’ stories.  They have a natural ebb and flow of daily activities and occasionally, (as actions may require), dogmatic attention to resolution.  I do generally adhere to the Chekhov’s Gun theory.  So I want the reader to be present, to acquire the story’s details, because details generally have a payoff later.  I think readers’ of the Black Book Investigations, have learned now after the second book that the details are worth acquiring and do enhance the reader’s enjoyment.  Having said that, if you felt, judging one book against another, that Judas Oracle seemed to unfold more slowly than Jamaica Moon, I can only say they are different stories with different engagement levels for the reader.  Again, though stand alone, Judas Oracle follows on the heels of the action in Jamaica Moon and much has already been established in the reader’s mind.  The computer details (though not truly details) are a generic expedience to setup the unparalleled possibilities of control and abuse should the story’s ‘enhanced’ computer fall into the wrong hands.  The MacGuffin here is the computer’s capacities, though not fully utilized by the bad guy, are scary enough to warrant all the actions taken to reclaim it.  In terms of pacing, I’m not writing a pure whodunit; page one, a killing, followed by 400 pages of find-the-killer, etc.  Although I may put a murder on the first page, that is rarely the motivation for the plot of that book.  In terms of pacing, I am sure there are readers who will not want to plod along if they find the ‘details’ too slow.  The best selling author Elmore Leonard says those details (that some skip) would be the ones he cuts out.  I, on the other hand, ‘see lots of detail’ and like reading ‘the details’ and so I write with detail.  I am trying to tell a believable story, which takes the reader on a journey, not just provides an action-highlight-ride racing toward ‘the end’.

Regarding your sense that Judas Oracle is less romantic than Jamaica Moon” and your questions that “Michael’s attention in Judas Oracle is more based in the plot action than in establishing romantic connections” and “is this difference an intentional process of the series in the long term?”  Your sense is probably correct.  However, remember that one of the key plot lines in Jamaica Moon was the romance between Michael’s client Chris Chisholm and his lost love, Laurie Holden, who Michael must identify and find.   The time-frame for Judas Oracle is more compressed.  And, given the action, there is not time for Michael’s romance per se; he’s left the women and children behind.  Remember, as yet, the reader does not know the true nature of Michael and Laurie’s relationship; whether it is a flash-in-the-pan or something lasting.  But you will find out in And… Never Again.  The series is not about romance any more than it is about cops and robbers; it is about Michael Grant’s life and his experiences.  Exploring Michael Grant’s life is the long term intentional process of the series from the Black Book Investigations of Michael Grant & Associates.

I am in the middle of writing the seventh book in the Michael Grant series.  Many of the answers to the these questions will be found in And… Never Again, due out in November 2010.  This book will be followed by Innocent And Guilty; Cry… Walk, Run; Murder Fever, and The Boxman… and on and on, I hope!

Sunny, thanks for the insightful questions.  Once again it was fun.

I do have a question for you.  I did notice a contrast between these questions and those for Jamaica Moon.  In our last interview you focused a lot of attention on Jamaica Moon’s bad guy, David E. Kingsley and this time said nothing about the Judas Oracle antagonist, Terry Dean Ballard.  (Ex. He was not mentioned in Question #9).  What do you think is the reason for that?  Was Kingsley such a bad bad-guy that all antagonists, and Terry Dean Ballard in particular, pale in comparison? I’ll answer my own questions. First, I know it was not an oversight, you just wanted to give the readers a different perspective via different questions.  But since I want to discuss bad guys… I thought Ballard was a fairly unique and well constructed character, possessing youth and youth’s disregard for mortality and historical context as well as the intellect and callousness of a criminal mastermind.  In the archetype of the story arc, the bad guys allow the good guys to be good and to triumph over godlessness.  I thought Terry Dean Ballard was an excellent bad guy.

Thanks again, I look forward to your reading And… Never Again.

rjs

Often wordsmiths, (my sister refers to me as a wordsculptor), those regular users of words who have acquired a varied and mature vocabulary come under fire for the use of certain words that may not be in ‘regular’ use in the vulgate of the vulgus. (Vulgate and vulgus, two words, themselves likely to cause incensed reaction as well as arched and scratched brows.)  Words have always held beauty for me, whether it was aural or visual.  I have the strange facility to use words, in context, which I may never have even attempted to spell.  This can obviously cause me to rush to the dictionary to make sure of the spelling as well as make sure of usage… and parenthetically, I will often find there ‘new’ words to add to my vocabulary.

So it is that as I write, I often use words that have a specific meaning and use, though they are, unfortunately, no longer common to some people.  This is the usual instance when those unfamiliar with the word, will often, to disguise their own less full vocabulary, make fun of the speaker or writer for using “big” words.  True, to ask for the definition of a word can be embarrassing, but moreover it is enlightening.  The question I always ask myself when ‘challenged’ for using a “big” word is whether the challenger is scared of being embarrassed or being enlightened.  If their bravado is to put me down for using a word they are not familiar with, I know where they stand.  Enlightenment is not their path.  If you possess a light, you may have a duty to hold up that lamp.  However, you can only hold the lamp up in the darkness; you can make others either come to the light or follow you as you walk.

Now, on the other hand, if I or someone else is using “big” words for supercilious or spurious purposes, just to make themselves sound ‘grand’, then they may deserve some comeuppance.   I am about expression, about describing the babbling of a brook, the murmuring of a stream, or the plaintiveness of a far off train whistle.  If you know the meanings of sibilant and susurrant, few other words could better describe the sounds made by the gentle rustling of leaves or the whisper of wind through the trees.   As a poet, a large pallet of words increases the poet’s ability to paint beautiful and varied pictures.  Rather than limiting my vocabulary, I have always striven to increase it and make use of it.

In general, I use the same rule of thumb in novels.  I use language suitable and true to individual characters, but I do not dumb-down my character’s vocabulary just to make sure that I, the author, do not offend those easily embarrassed by words they haven’t seen before, as if they are scared of the dark.  If it’s dark where you are, find a light or find someone who has a light.  To me, the dictionary is the flashlight of the mind.

Some years ago, as you can see by the dates below, I interacted with a critique group of poets and true to their nature one critic among them was critical of my choice of words, in particular the use of ‘big’ words, or so it seemed. When I read, “Letter Postmarked Paris”, he ‘famously’ said of my use of “erubescent” after I explained that it means, in one sense, reddish, “why don’t you just use red!”  When I read “Caribbean Aunt”, I was chastened for my use of the word “languid”.  Again after I defined the word and explained the word was also a metaphor, he huffed and said something to the affect of, ‘use a more common word’.  As and example he said, “Like ‘embrace’, why don’t you just say hold?  I’d change embrace to hold or holding.”

By way of further example, I wrote: “Seven Faces of a Languid Shore”.  Its inner message, regarding word use, went unnoticed.  Ditto, the poem “On the difference: holding and embracing”.

If it sounds as though I am setting myself above, then you misinterpret my passion for words, for writing and how I feel it is accessible to all those who will apply themselves.  If, on the other hand, you have no passion to write I suspect you will find my attitude haughty, if not downright high and mighty.  (How’s that for mixing metaphorical directions.)

To See Attachments, click on the link below which you takes to its page, then click on the active link there to read the pdf.

letter postmarked Paris [r] 2colums

Caribbean Aunt -

seven faces of a languid shore

On the difference – holding and embracing

‘D-Day Plus One’

Troops of the 2nd Infantry Division file up the bluff from Easy Red sector, Omaha Beach, on D-Day plus 1, June 7, 1944.

Photo:  National Archives, Washington, D.C.

In the intervening years, of those who returned home to retake their place in our civilian population, many have now passed on.  Those who stand today have experiences and memories none of us can fathom, yet they stand proudly saluting the flag they served and still revere.  These men, whose average age is now 83-87, will, God willing, continue to remind us of the real price of our daily freedom, for a few years more.  Not only on D-Day and Memorial Day (remembering the fallen) but on Veterans Day and everyday of the year these men, those who died on the battle field and those who came home to savor the freedom they fought for, deserve to be honored by each of us.  It is on this D-Day Plus One, that I praise God for their sacrifice (the living and the dead) and ask His blessing on them now and forever.  May God continue to bless the United States of American and its service men and women, may their sacrifices never be forgotten… regardless of how long ago their battles, the wars they fought in or in which they now fight.

From and early age I knew my father respected law men.  Though he was aware of the dangers I would face he was proud that I chose to be a Dallas Police Officer.  In fact, since I was not yet twenty-one, when I joined the DPD, he had to go to court with me to have my ‘minorities removed’, a legal procedure in which, after appropriate testimony, a judge declares you to be a legal adult, able to execute contracts etc., even though you have not yet reached the age of ‘majority’, twenty-one.

In his own way my father, William Henry Sadler Jr., (aka Bill) was a ‘crime-fighter’ and caught his share of bad guys.  Below is the picture and article from”Peace Officers Magazine” (transcribed below) that appeared in the mid 70s after he sold his radio station in Hanford (Kings County) California.  Always mindful of the civic good that could be accomplished through appropriate use of his station’s air waves, he created a ‘Secret Witness’ program.  It became, if not the first, one of the first Secret Witness programs in the country.  City after city followed his model.

Peace Officers Magazine (page 18)

‘Secret Witnesses’ land many in jail: head of unit leaving

Kings County is going to have to find a new “cloak and dagger man.”  W.H. “Bill” Sadler Jr., founding president of the “Secret Witness” program is resigning and moving away and the county and its top law enforcement officials paid him tribute.

For four years Bill Sadler has worked countless hours and given real leadership to the program,” said J.K. Sweeney, board of supervisors chairman, in presenting him with a framed certificate, “he has rendered outstanding service to the county.”

“Protection of witnesses, some in fear of their lives, who yet can furnish us information has added a new tool to the arsenal of law enforcement,” said Sheriff Art Thomas.  “Sadler has worked out an effective way of providing that protection.”

District Attorney, John O’Rourke pointed to the difficulty of Sadler’s work.  He has had to get detailed accurate information from fearful individuals, never meeting them face to face and creating a climate where they knew their identity really was not known and could never be betrayed.”

Sadler was one of the partners in ownership of KLAN radio when he asked to organize Secret Witness four years ago.  He recently sold the station and plans to move to Texas in the near future.

In the past four years, we have paid out about 20 rewards, totaling more than $5,000.”  Sadler said in reviewing the work of Secret Witness.  “Since those rewards are only paid after conviction of the criminals reported by our secret witness, that means quite a few of them have gone to jail.”

Likewise, my sister, Sherry Sadler McDonnell, has a life of demonstrated appreciation for law enforcement.  Inspired by her love of the Texas Rangers and their history as well as my service in law enforcement, Sherry (then Chairman Tomball Texas Sesquicentennial Committee) conceived of the poster to honor law enforcement and to raise funds for the Sesquicentennial.  Sherry wrote the poem [It's Hard To Be A Lawman] honoring the job of the lawman, which was included on the poster beneath the badges.  A select number of prints of this poster were signed by the photographer Gary Havard* and Sherry Sadler McDonnell.  In addition, Sherry arranged for this select group of posters to be signed by all the then-current Ranger Captains.  Among the lawmen and their respective agencies that were honored with a gift of the fully-signed and framed poster were:  Clint Peoples (a former Texas Ranger Captain), all the then-serving Ranger Captains, Harris County Sheriff Johnny Klevenhagen and Dallas Police Chief Billy Prince.  Hundreds of the posters, also bearing the Texas Sesquicentennial seal, were sold to the public during the Texas Sesquicentennial year of 1986.  Many were framed and now adorn the walls of appreciative citizens  as well as those  of law enforcement offices across the state.

Peoples – McDonnell – Sadler

Dallas, Texas – July 11, 1986, office of Clint Peoples, U.S. Marshall, Northern District of Texas.  Marshall Peoples received a framed, officially sanctioned and sealed, Texas Sesquicentennial poster from Sherry Sadler McDonnell (presenter) along with her brother Robert J. Sadler (former Dallas Police Officer) who help Sherry obtain badges from the DPD to be including in the poster.  U.S. Marshal, Texas Ranger, and badges from other Texas law enforcement agencies are also represented.

* Gary Havard, was a photographer, artist, and historian.  He was dedicated to Texas and military history.  Mr. Havard, who passed away October 30, 2003, was an Arlington State College (now UTA) graduate, class of 1953, and creator of the UTA school logo.

]]> http://robertjsadler.com/2010/05/runs-in-the-family/feed/ 3 http://robertjsadler.com/2010/05/website-writing-investigating/ http://robertjsadler.com/2010/05/website-writing-investigating/#comments Sun, 23 May 2010 17:02:22 +0000 Robert Sadler http://robertjsadler.com/?p=928 Some of the ‘millions’ of readers and viewers of this website have noticed some changes recently.  We had at first thought we would put up an ‘under construction’ sign but decided the changes would not take that long.  While the elements of the website remain the same, the process for posting and displaying them has been made more ‘administrator’ or ‘host’ friendly.  However, in the process of transferring information from one platform to another, some of the ‘active links’ have been interrupted.  I will be working to effect those changes so that links that should be active will be.  Also the opportunity for sharing your comments has been enhanced, except for the ‘Artwork’ segment of the site.

Since I am also a poet, several readers have suggested I include some of my poetry on the site.  However this site is primarily about novels and writing ideas, I have eschewed adding poetry.  Perhaps in the future I will find a way to share both.

The business of investigating cases, security consulting and the like are rarely only Monday through Friday 8 to 5 affairs.  The time required to work on individual matters can be time and labor intensive.  Writing and investigating are very seldom compatible.  I am either doing one or the other.  For the last three months I have been engaged in investigative contract work for a large multinational computer and computer parts manufacturer and supplier.  The result is that the seventh book in the Michael Grant series (The Boxman) languishes for want of time.  Likewise my true-crime book, which is 90% complete, suffers the same fate.  I am highly desirous of finishing both books, but the ‘investigative work’ has its own priorities that for the moment will out.

Fortunately I have already completed books, three, four, five, and six of the series: from The Black Book Investigations of Michael Grant & Associates.  Book three And… Never Again is on track for publication in mid November 2010.  If you enjoyed Jamaica Moon and Judas Oracle, you’ll love And… Never Again.

In And… Never Again more loose ends from the previous books get tied up, new life-threatening challenges appear and several flashbacks provide the reader in-depth insights into how Michael Grant became the Michael Grant of today.

Let me hear from you.

Normal vs Paranormal & Universal Truths

I woke up this morning thinking about character conundrums and flashed on one of the points I told you I had made to the ‘students’ I talked to… that of ‘the universe is both infinite and finite; it contains only what you can conceive that it holds, till you can conceive that it holds more or something else, not previously part of that ‘known’ universe. I said that a universe has ‘universal truths’ more specifically, there is only ‘Truth that is universal’. And that everything in that universe is begot from, by and answers to that Truth. One example of a system in our existence would be ‘gravity’ as part of the universal Truth.

Given that preface or premise, consider for what ever universe your Alpha male-female inhabit there will be a set of principles or truths that those around them (the non-paranormal) and within which they will have to act and will be subject to. Your dilemma is placing your paranormals in that normal universe, which they now inhabit, bringing with them their paranormal set of universal principles by which they are guided and to which they must adhere. One of the operative questions is, does the ‘normal’ have the ability to see, understand or interact with the paranormal; i.e. have a causal effect on the ‘paranormal‘ or does the normal only react to the stimulus or force of the paranormal thus the normal is only able to be affected or effected by the causation of the paranormal. The corollary is to what degree, if any, do you want to have the paranormal to be affected/effected by the normal; i.e. does the normal have any causal affect or effect on the paranormal?

At any rate, you get to decide what those universal operating principles or ‘Truth/s’ is/are for the paranormals and they in turn must be true to the nature of those organizing and operating laws or properties of their universe, which somehow mesh with the universal constant of the normal world they now inhabit. For example, each in their own universe, the normal and the paranormal, neither can walk through a ‘solid’ or physical wall, as they each perceive a wall or impenetrable barrier. However, for example, you take the paranormal and place her in the normal universe and she now has the ability to ‘walk through or pass through walls’. This act in it self is not paranormal, it is perceived as such by the normal and would only be perceived as extra-normal to the paranormal while in the normal universe, because for the paranormal that ability or facility would not occur in their own plane of existence.

I think it is in the explication and example of those kinds of issues (powers, gifts, capabilities) that your characters will flourish and be real to the reader. This is perhaps the basis behind Superman… it was not so much that he possess uber-strength on his own world (all the beings there could fly, were strong, etc) but on Earth he could do all those things which humans could not; therefore, he was superhuman, ergo: paranormal.

Also as I went into the Waffle House, I pulled out one of the books I keep in the car to read on surveillance or times such as dining alone… I turned right to a chapter I had not read and it had some very interesting things that tangentially apply to what I wrote above. I would recommend that you seek out this book, most likely available at a college campus book store or on Amazon. The title is Metahistory and is subtitled: The Historical Imagination in Nineteenth-Century Europe, by Haden White. In particular look at White’s take, in Chapter 2, of Hegel, the German philosopher.

Although some of Hegel’s adherents and detractors took his philosophy to the dark side I think Hegel speaks clearly to this aspect of a universe’s, cause and effect. So give it a try. I was going to try to copy a few paragraphs and realized the entire chapter needed to be read… and its twenty some pages… too much to transcribe. And since, you are in bookstores quite a lot; I thought you could pick up a copy…

—

Six Fidelities of Poesie

Author’s Note: Caveat on Quoting Oscar Wilde. He had an opinion on everything and quoting Wilde is a little like looking in a mirror; it’s not necessarily contradictory, but the image is reversed and, given its angular penchant for refraction, what you see is totally dependent on your point of view.

Of those who speak of the Arts (be it sculpture, painting or poetry) their observations are as a bee, the same bee, gathering pollen from various flowers in the garden of Art. Likewise the cross-pollination of art and life has engendered its own cliché: that art imitates life and by example life imitates art. Or as philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche said, perhaps more clinically, [a]rt is not merely an imitation of the reality of nature, but in truth a metaphysical supplement to the reality of nature…[1] As an example observation of art in life, by one of these ‘busy-bees’, in his book The Picture of Dorian Gray, Anglo-Irish playwright and author Oscar Wilde had his character, Lord Henry, say: What a fuss people make about fidelity! Why, even in love it is purely a question for physiology. It has nothing to do with our own will. Young men want to be faithful, and are not; old men want to be faithless, and cannot: that is all one can say.[2] Emotionally poets, the makers of poetry over the last fifty plus years, are polar opposites of Wilde’s “young men/old men lovers”.  As novices we wanted nothing to do with fidelity, we’d bridle at form and meter, desiring to trod our own paths, irreverent pioneers, though our lack of experience had us often plowing the same furrow, time and again whereas now as mature poets we’d found our experience as poetic-bounders often led us into strict fidelity to such principles as: expression, idea, voice, style, original intent and process.

—

Such principles become ingredient to the six fidelities of poesie outlined here. These ‘fidelities’, like art appreciation itself, are my considered opinions and subject to disagreement. Agreement is a two-way barb according to Wilde, [b]ad artists always admire each others work. They call it being large-minded and free from prejudice. But a truly great artist cannot conceive of life being shown, or beauty fashioned, under any conditions other than those he has selected.[3] Therefore, I will not be dismayed by your disagreement.

—

Though not one of the, to be enumerated, six principles of poetic faithfulness, fidelity to the name Poet is perhaps the sum in which these six principles reside. For to accept the name, Poet, is perhaps the single most important distinction a writer can assume. What we call or name ourselves is what we take ownership in… or as author Milan Kundera said of our fidelity to names, [w]e don’t know when our name came into being or how some distant ancestor acquired it. We don’t understand our name at all, we don’t know its history and yet we bear it with exalted fidelity, we merge with it, we like it, we are ridiculously proud of it as if we had thought it up ourselves in a moment of brilliant inspiration.[4] Yet, even as we all are, poetic-sons and daughters of Shakespeare, Dunne, Browning, Wordsworth, Whitman, Eliot and Cummings, what another calls you is never as important as what you name yourself. The poem Becoming[5] speaks to that point:

Becoming

invoking

the great I AM

is the first step

of creation.

His greatest secret is

revealed in His name,

and when I claim it

I become it.

in the act of claiming:

I am a Poet; I am!

Regardless, that the mere claiming of a mantle leaves open the question of whether one can successfully carry it (a question often best left to history), I submit that without claiming the name Poet no writer ever becomes one and those writers who deign to use the title or refuse the title, out of perceived vanity; do themselves and poetry a great disservice. It’s like the refusal of a compliment or a courtesy. It shows a lack of grace on the part of the refuser and a slap to the face to the one who offers it. The refusing of poetic respect is similarly baffling. Like the hard-working laborer who (greeted by a new younger co-worker, who having been raised to respect elders, [i.e. those with seniority] says Good morning, Sir) replies to a youngster, Don’t call me, “Sir,” I work for a living. That type of self-criticism or insensitivity is self-serving and usually a sign of insecurity, a proclivity unfortunately adhered to by authors and critics throughout the history of literature. Perhaps insecurity is at the root of all poetic insensitivity on the part of poets toward critics and audiences, critics toward poets and audiences, and audiences toward both.

—

Viewed properly the Six Fidelities of Poesie: expression, idea, voice, style, original intent and process, debunk, the erroneous, belief in (for some) the poetic necessity of insecurity. To not cure one’s insecurity as a writer is equivalent to giving ones poetic-life over to an internal prognosticator. In effect the poet who asks fortune-tellers the future unwittingly forfeits an inner intimation of coming events that is a thousand times more exact than anything fortune-tellers may say. The poet is impelled by inertia, rather than curiosity, and nothing is more unlike the submissive apathy with which he hears his fate revealed than the alert dexterity with which the man of courage lays hands on the future.[6] It is to this end, strengthening the internal poet, that these fidelities are enumerated. They are not the six principles of how to write a poem or the six essential elements of a poem, rather these are six principles of how and why we write poetry, how and why we should write and lastly how and why you as a poet should first, be true to yourself. Whether we came by that comment from Greek philosopher Socrates, Plato, or Aristotle or we take the admonition know thyself from the (6th century B.C.) inscription on the Oracle of Apollo at Delphi, Greece, the point is knowing your true self and being true to that knowledge of self is the single most important factor to securely laying claim to the title Poet. Self-knowledge is then at the heart of The Six Fidelities of Poesie: expression, idea, voice, style, original intent and process.

—

The first principle is that of fidelity to expression. Expression is essentially the inert having something to say combined with the action of saying something or the revealing in words the adroit intricacies of the imagination. Expression emanates from the inner self, from the poetic-soul, and is articulated for three purposes: self, audience, and commerce. Verity of self is the primal reason for expression. To speak or write out ones thoughts, though potentially self-aggrandizing, in its pure form is more self-affirming than self-promoting. The purely artistic expression is a subliminal mote under pressure that must bubble or, under intense pressure, burst to the surface and, once free of resistance, rise into the ether. To the poet it is enough that this mote has been manifest to the universe. This pure expression seeks not to wear the coat of many colors. Release is its honor not recognition. Expression for self might be termed natural expression . The opposite position might be argued by Wilde who, as one of his literary characters, said, [t]o be natural is to be obvious, and to be obvious is to be inartistic.[7] A second facet of expression is for the audience. Whether this expression is of or to the audience the poet prepares his poem with the audience in mind. In the latter, the poet is addressing the poem directly to the audience, a performance piece, spoken like a rhetorical question, not needing the audience’s acquiesce, tacit approval, or response. In the former the poem is speaking of the audience and as such, requires of them open ears with which to hear, open eyes with which to see and open hearts with which to receive. The third facet of expression is commerce. A poem expressed thusly views its outcome based on its commercial acceptability. Commercial may mean publication, award and accolade, or monetary remuneration. In each of these facets of expression, for self, for audience, or for commerce, a different engine drives the poet, if not the poem. To maintain fidelity to expression a poet must know self well enough to appreciate the purposes for why poems are written and be faithful enough to express those poems, regardless of an individual facet’s particular luster.

—

The second principle is that of fidelity to idea. It is critical to understand that expression derives from that mystical source the idea and that each idea has its own poetic intent. To the poet a poem’s intent is, a purveyor of motivation, its raison d’être. Intent is the poem’s vision that allows a poet to find its completion. This vision, the poem’s intent or idea, has nothing to do with the mastery, or lack thereof, by the poet. Poet Thomas Hardy once wrote, [m]y weakness has always been to prefer the large intention of an unskilful artist to the trivial intention of an accomplished one: in other words, I am more interested in the high ideas of a feeble executant than in the high execution of a feeble thinker.[8] I take this to represent that the poetic idea is elementally more important than its poetic execution. And though I do not excuse poor execution for a good idea, I can successfully mentor a poor maker of poems. What I cannot do with great success is mentor a poor maker of ideas. This principle of being true to the idea provides a poem with its stamina and locomotion, i.e., the transitive stirrings in the mind of the reader where passion is its brand. Accordingly, [b]e still when you have nothing to say; when genuine passion moves you, say what you’ve got to say, and say it hot.[9] That was D.H. Lawrence’s method of operation. Ian McEwan, though, was wary of where ideas can lead and suggested about writing (particularly novel-writing), [y]ou enter a state of controlled passivity, you relax your grip and accept that even if your declared intention is to justify the ways of God to man, you might end up interesting your readers rather more in Satan.[10] My experience suggests this modus operandi is even more particularly inherent in poetry, for though prose may be deviously complex, its meaning is contextual. That is to say, poetry’s use of metaphor, for example, provides the reader with a many-prismed glass through which to view a poem’s idea thus its interpretation expands exponentially. Unexpectedly then fidelity to idea, the poem’s intent and where its interesting road leads, is key to finding that something new so Poundingly required by critics and editors. And if one needs a reason for pro-Pounding perhaps excursionist Lady Mary Wortley Montagu gives us a clue when she said, [w]e travellers are in very hard circumstances. If we say nothing but what has been said before us, we are dull and have observed nothing. If we tell anything new, we are laughed at as fabulous and romantic.[11]

—

The third principle is that of fidelity to voice. Next to fidelity to ideas, fidelity to voice is a very close cousin. Its import was not lost on Wordsworth as in his poem Home at Grasmere: Is there not / An art, a music, and a stream of words / That shalt be life, the acknowledged voice of life?[12]

—

Nor was it lost on author Henry Miller who linked voice and daring to imagination and godliness when he said, [i]magination is the voice of the daring. If there is anything Godlike about God it is that. He dared to imagine everything.[13] Voice is that indispensable governance that makes a poem identifiable to an individual poet; it is the poem’s fingerprint; it is the poet’s DNA. Find a poem’s or a poet’s voice and you have found its core constituent. It is that ineffable thing that differentiates poems and poets, those liked and disliked. This distinctiveness has consequences, as literary critic and theorist Harold Bloom commented, I realized early on that the academy and the literary world alike—and I don’t think there really is a distinction between the two—are always dominated by fools, knaves, charlatans and bureaucrats. And that being the case, any human being, male or female, of whatever status, who has a voice of her or his own, is not going to be liked.[14] Fidelity to voice then offers a poet the best opportunity to write distinctive poetry.

—

Fidelity to style, the fourth principle, is constitutional to a poem. Style is that breath-giving essence of poetry, it is the poet’s way with words; how one chooses them or phrases them. Style is often the critical point of interest for students of poetry and individual poets. Wallace Stevens said of style, it is not something applied. It is something that permeates. It is of the nature of that in which it is found, whether the poem, the manner of a god, the bearing of a man. It is not a dress.[15] What is it that permeates a poem more than the individual poet? Nothing. If fingerprints are the poem’s voice, then a poem’s style is the poet’s hand. Style is so intrinsically part of the individual that it is easier to find your own style than to copy another’s. Whitman put it this way; [h]e most honors my style who learns under it to destroy the teacher.[16] Novelist Katherine Anne Porter put it another way, [a] cultivated style would be like a mask. Everybody knows it’s a mask, and sooner or later you must show yourself—or at least, you show yourself as someone who could not afford to show himself, and so created something to hide behind. . . . You do not create a style. You work, and develop yourself; your style is an emanation from your own being.[17] Lastly, educator and author Meyer Schapiro’s definitional view is, [s]tyle is, above all, a system of forms with a quality and a meaningful expression through which the personality of the artist and the broad outlook of a group are visible,…communicating and fixing certain values of religious, social, and moral life through the emotional suggestiveness of forms. It is, besides, a common ground against which innovations and individuality of particular works may be measured.[18] Style then, like voice, is a non-fungible commodity. Nothing in a poem can substitute for style and as a commodity, for some it is as illusive as buried treasure and for others as a fickle as orange juice futures. Style, like voice, must be found and sometimes has an inglorious way of slipping away. If for no other reasons, these last two qualities prove a poem’s fiduciary heir is style and deserves the fidelity of all poets or to paraphrase artist Paul Klee, [h]e has found his style, can we do otherwise?[19] Penultimately, fidelity to style issues hard won dividends. According to author Raymond Chandler, [t]he most durable thing in writing is style, and style is the most valuable investment a writer can make with his time. It pays off slowly, your agent will sneer at it, your publisher will misunderstand it, and it will take people you have never heard of to convince them by slow degrees that the writer who puts his individual mark on the way he writes will always pay off.[20] Finally, an admonition about style from Wilde, [w]hile one should always study the method of a great artist, one should never imitate his manner. The manner of an artist is essentially individual, the method of an artist is absolutely universal. The first is personality, which no one should copy; the second is perfection, which all should aim at.[21]

—

A fifth principal would be fidelity to original intent. If the principles of fidelity to ideas and fidelity to voice are very close cousins, then fidelity to original intent is fraternal twin to fidelity to ideas. That each idea has its own poetic intent, as herein enumerated, is a given. Why then would any poet lose sight of that original intent? Philosopher Georg Hegel said, [i]t is a matter of perfect indifference where a thing originated; the only question is “Is it true in and for itself?”.[22] Here are four differing artistic views of origin: 1) from Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr., A thought is often original, though you have uttered it a hundred times.[23], 2) from Baudelaire, Nearly all our originality comes from the stamp that time impresses upon our sensibility.[24] , 3) from W. H. Auden, Some writers confuse authenticity, which they ought always to aim at, with originality, which they should never bother about.[25], and 4) from Salvadore Dali, The first man to compare the cheeks of a young woman to a rose was obviously a poet; the first to repeat it was possibly an idiot.[26] The commonality of these views is their reverence (disdain in Auden’s case) for originality, for the substance that is original, the innate origin. It is here in the holding dear of originality and intent that the poet applies the knowledge of the poetic idea, the poetic intent, the what was intended to be said or expressed to the knowledge of what is expressed. It is fidelity to original intent that circles the poem bringing poetic conclusion (knowledge of what you have expressed) out of poetic beginning (the knowledge of what you intended to express). What greater ambition could a poet have than that a poem finds its conclusion. Curiously fidelity to original intent is the propelling engine to poetic conclusion, the want of poetic intent to find its finale. To have expressed what one intended is a powerful confirmation of creation and over fidelity to voice and style, the only unselfish reason for poetic satisfaction.

—

Satisfaction is a key sub-element of fidelity to original intent. The poet should know when the poem is finished and should at that point be satisfied. Emerson points out three wants that can never be satisfied: that of the rich, who wants something more; that of the sick, who wants something different; and that of the traveler, who says, “Anywhere but here.”[27] Obviously, Emerson did not say, since I have not included the want of a poem to find its end among the three unobtainable wants then a poet who says what he intended to say should feel satisfied. But why not? If not then, at the point of having manifested one’s poetic idea, when will a poet feel satisfied? I would state categorically the unsatisfied poet was not true to original intent. Others would argue that a poet should be in a constant state of dissatisfaction, and always striving, never realizing poetic wholeness in a poem. To those who find themselves dissatisfied with or at the conclusion of their poems, I say eschew revision–write a new poem. I do not pretend to have all the answers. Creation, making, is, after all, dissatisfaction with what is. So if you are dissatisfied with your poetic effort, make something new. As Hemingway says, From things that have happened and from things as they exist and from all things that you know and all those you cannot know, you make something through your invention that is not a representation but a whole new thing truer than anything true and alive, and you make it alive, and if you make it well enough, you give it immortality. That is why you write and for no other reason that you know of. But what about all the reasons that no one knows?[28] Hemingway’s statement, I submit, is the essence of fidelity to original intent.

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The sixth principle is fidelity to process, though separate, capitalizes on the other five fidelities. The test of a poet’s fidelity to process is similar to Thornton Wilder’s test of an adventure as pontificated by the character Barnaby in The Matchmaker, …when you’re in the middle of it, you say to yourself, “Oh, now I’ve got myself into an awful mess; I wish I were sitting quietly at home.” And the sign that something’s wrong with you is when you sit quietly at home wishing you were out having lots of adventure.[29] It is not my purpose here to describe the fully wanton variety of poetic processes extant. They are as numerous as whatever fulsome number of poets you can predict. However, discovering your process and being faithful to it will lift you out of Thornton’s test. You will know by being true to your process that each poem is an adventure and a worthy one at that. It is important to note that process will evolve and being faithful to process always involves allowing for that growth.

In order to grow, a poet should be aware of his or her level of poetic competence and make a commitment to its increase using the model below[30]:

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The poet in his development, as with all types of learning [or learning stages], will as a matter of course traverse the standard model… This theory purports that we move through five stages of development when we learn a skill or task. These stages are: 1] Unconscious Incompetence; 2] Conscious Incompetence; 3] Conscious Competence; 4] Unconscious Competence, ultimately leading to; 5] Conscious-Unconscious Competence or Meta-Conscious Competence.

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Using human expression in the form of poetry as the skill or task developed, in stage one – Unconscious Incompetence, the individual [future poet] is unaware of poetry or the writing of it and more importantly is unaware of this unawareness. In stage two – Conscious Incompetence, the individual becomes aware of poetry and the writing of it, attempts writing poetry and becomes aware that he has little or no skill at writing poetry. In stage three – Conscious Competent, the individual acknowledges he is not a poet, but wants to be and starts working on his skills. At this level poetry can be achieved through concentration, ergo, the individual becomes a poet with concentration. In stage four – Unconscious Competence, the individual has continued to practice what has been learned and has accepted himself as a poet because the learned skills have become automatically accessible and ideas become automatically expressible. The poet is now functioning as a poet without having to think about how to write a poem. In the fifth stage – Meta-Conscious Competence, the poet knows his voice, can express his ideas automatically in that voice while being consciously aware at all times of the unconscious mental processes or sub-conscious poetic abilities being utilized. This is the stage of the master-poet, an individual confident in voice, trusting that ideas are being freely intuited and expressed… all without thinking about, thinking about it. A poet in this stage of development is free of attention to detail. That attention is lifted to be aware of higher-level activities signifying mastery. It is in this stage that the poet is most able to express ideas with true artistry, to teach others by demonstrating that mastery while explaining the demonstration. It is in this last stage that a poet transcends—becoming, not a crafter of poetry but a creator of poetic art.

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Growth as symbolized by these developmental stages is elemental to the acquisition of personal knowledge. Fidelity to process is concomitant to personal and structured education. The reading and studying of poets, poetry, literature, dictionaries, and works of etymology, foreign languages, syntax, grammar, biographies, histories, and quotes is a passive key. These, whether in a formal or informal setting, provide fodder for the fires of process. Beyond the enhancement of knowledge, as fidelity to process, lies the proactive key of poetic experimentation. Experimentation applies the poet’s well of knowledge to current process thereby forcing it to expand, to grow. Growth also takes place in numbers, in the sheer weight of production and the frequency with which those numbers increase. Unlike Shelley’s vision of love, [c]onstancy has nothing virtuous in itself, independently of the pleasure it confers[31], artistic (in particular poetic) expression is aided by constancy whose over and over again coming to the idea and propelling it to its poetic conclusion makes fluid the poetic voice and the style.

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Production, writing frequency, and volume do not occur in a vacuum, it is that part of fidelity to process that deals with commitment to writing goals. Many a poem has been written in the passion of the moment. Many a poet has stood poised in front of a blank piece of paper awaiting the foment of passion, for lightning to strike. To those poets whose fidelity to process involves waiting for lightning, they come to poetry only accidentally. The fully-realized, the meta-conscious competent, the master poet will create his own lightning by devising goals that place him or her in the most receptive place or position to be struck. The master poet also realizes that when lightning doesn’t strike, there are other things to write about than what only comes out of passion’s pen.

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The last aspect of fidelity to process is its result, the finished, completed poem and where it goes. At some point in the poet’s life there is the realization that creation, though perhaps a solitary effort, is an effort that nonetheless should be shared. Fidelity to process, then, also includes the sharing of yourself as poet and your work, your poetry with the world. This should be done in the gifting of lines, the oral reading of your poetry, and the submission of poetry for publication. It could be argued that every creation brings joy, and joy should be shared. The pessimist could say, but what about the creation of evil? Hardy said, [p]essimism… is, in brief, playing the sure game. You cannot lose at it; you may gain. It is the only view of life in which you can never be disappointed. Having reckoned what to do in the worst possible circumstances, when better arise, as they may, life becomes child’s play.[32] I submit pessimists do not make very good poets for a true poet’s heart would say of the creation of evil; it is by the depths of evil I can better gauge and juxtapose the heights of goodness–that is truly joyful. Submissions subsequently lead to the last element of process, feed back and its incumbent recognition. Perhaps all poets are only seeking joy, the joy of creating, and the joy of sharing. Philosopher William James in a letter to philosopher Henri Bergson said what we, as makers of poems know to be true, [w]hat every genuine philosopher (every genuine man, in fact) craves most is praise—although the philosophers generally call it “recognition”![33] I deem poets to be James’ quintessential every genuine man and therefore craving of recognition. Fidelity to this aspect of process will bring recognition.

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In conclusion, self-knowledge is proffered as at the heart of The Six Fidelities of Poesie and in the sincere heart of the Poet pulses the yearning of faithfulness, the passion for observing the duties of insight, and the correspondence with truth. This yearning, passion, and correspondence find their cohesion in the specific fidelities of poesie: expression, idea, voice, style, original intent and process. As addressed in earlier paragraphs, these six fidelities encompass the development of a poem from its inception in the mind of the poet to the completed poem. Being cognizant of the impact of each of these fidelities, being truthful to their attendant qualities allows the poet the best opportunity to write.

[2] Oscar Wilde (1854–1900), Anglo-Irish playwright, author. Lord Henry, in The Picture of Dorian Gray, ch. 2 (1891). Fidelity: What a fuss people make about fidelity! Why, even in love it is purely a question for physiology. It has nothing to do with our own will. Young men want to be faithful, and are not; old men want to be faithless, and cannot: that is all one can say.

[3] Oscar Wilde. Gilbert, in The Critic as Artist, pt. 2 (published in Intentions, 1891). Bad artists always admire each other’s work. They call it being large-minded and free from prejudice. But a truly great artist cannot conceive of life being shown, or beauty fashioned, under any conditions other than those he has selected.

[4] Milan Kundera (b. 1929), Czech author, critic. Agnes, in Immortality, pt. 1, ch. 7 (1991). We don’t know when our name came into being or how some distant ancestor acquired it. We don’t understand our name at all, we don’t know its history and yet we bear it with exalted fidelity, we merge with it, we like it, we are ridiculously proud of it as if we had thought it up ourselves in a moment of brilliant inspiration.

[5] Robert J. Sadler (b. 1946), American poet, author, Becoming, rjs Poetic License #4121964 Volume 6, Chapter 2, Rima’s, and Other Thinga’s, pg 39

[6] Walter Benjamin (1892–1940), German critic, philosopher. One-Way Street, “Madame Ariane—Second Courtyard on the Left” (1928; repr. in One-Way Street and Other Writings, 1978). He who asks fortune-tellers the future unwittingly forfeits an inner intimation of coming events that is a thousand times more exact than anything they may say. He is impelled by inertia, rather than curiosity, and nothing is more unlike the submissive apathy with which he hears his fate revealed than the alert dexterity with which the man of courage lays hands on the future.

[7] Oscar Wilde, Gilbert, in The Critic as Artist, pt. 2 (published in Intentions, 1891). All bad poetry springs from genuine feeling. To be natural is to be obvious, and to be obvious is to be inartistic.

[8] Thomas Hardy (1840–1928), English novelist, poet. Letter, 8 July 1901 (published in Florence Emily Hardy, The Later Years of Thomas Hardy, ch. 7, 1930). My weakness has always been to prefer the large intention of an unskilful artist to the trivial intention of an accomplished one: in other words, I am more interested in the high ideas of a feeble executant than in the high execution of a feeble thinker.

[9] D. H. Lawrence (1885–1930), British author. Studies in Classic American Literature, ch. 2 (1924). Be still when you have nothing to say; when genuine passion moves you, say what you’ve got to say, and say it hot.

[10] Ian McEwan (b. 1948), British author. A Move Abroad, Preface (1989), on novel-writing. You enter a state of controlled passivity, you relax your grip and accept that even if your declared intention is to justify the ways of God to man, you might end up interesting your readers rather more in Satan.

[11] Lady Mary Wortley Montagu (1689–1762), English society figure, letter writer. Letter, 10 March 1718 (published in Selected Letters, ed. by Robert Halsband 1970). We travellers are in very hard circumstances. If we say nothing but what has been said before us, we are dull and have observed nothing. If we tell anything new, we are laughed at as fabulous and romantic.

[12] William Wordsworth (1770–1850), English poet. Home at Grasmere (written 1800; published as The Recluse, 1888). Is there not / An art, a music, and a stream of words / That shalt be life, the acknowledged voice of life?

[13] Henry Miller (1891–1980), U.S. author. Sexus, ch. 14 (1949). Imagination is the voice of daring. If there is anything Godlike about God it is that. He dared to imagine everything.

[14] Harold Bloom (b. 1930), U.S. literary critic, theorist. Interview in Criticism in Society (ed. by Imre Salusinski, 1987). I realized early on that the academy and the literary world alike—and I don’t think there really is a distinction between the two—are always dominated by fools, knaves, charlatans and bureaucrats. And that being the case, any human being, male or female, of whatever status, who has a voice of her or his own, is not going to be liked.

[15] Wallace Stevens (1879–1955), U.S. poet. Opus Posthumous, “Two or Three Ideas” (1959; first published 1951). Style is not something applied. It is something that permeates. It is of the nature of that in which it is found, whether the poem, the manner of a god, the bearing of a man. It is not a dress.

[16] Walt Whitman (1819–92), U.S. poet. Song of Myself, sct. 47, in Leaves of Grass (1855). He most honors my style who learns under it to destroy the teacher

[17] Katherine Anne Porter (1890–1980), U.S. short-story writer, novelist. Interview in Writers at Work (Second Series, ed. by George Plimpton, 1963). A cultivated style would be like a mask. Everybody knows it’s a mask, and sooner or later you must show yourself—or at least, you show yourself as someone who could not afford to show himself, and so created something to hide behind. . . . You do not create a style. You work, and develop yourself; your style is an emanation from your own being.

[18] Meyer Schapiro (b. 1904), U.S. educator, author. Theory and Philosophy of Art: Style, Artist, and Society, George Braziller (1994). Style is, above all, a system of forms with a quality and a meaningful expression through which the personality of the artist and the broad outlook of a group are visible,. . . communicating and fixing certain values of religious, social, and moral life through the emotional suggestiveness of forms. It is, besides, a common ground against which innovations and individuality of particular works may be measured.

[19] Paul Klee (1879–1940), Swiss artist. The Diaries of Paul Klee 1898–1918, no. 825 (1957; tr. 1965), 1908 entry. He has found his style, when he cannot do otherwise.

[20] Raymond Chandler (1888–1959), U.S. author. Letter, 7 March 1947 (published in Raymond Chandler Speaking, 1962). The most durable thing in writing is style, and style is the most valuable investment a writer can make with his time. It pays off slowly, your agent will sneer at it, your publisher will misunderstand it, and it will take people you have never heard of to convince them by slow degrees that the writer who puts his individual mark on the way he writes will always pay off.

[21] Oscar Wilde (1854–1900), Anglo-Irish playwright, author. Dramatic Review (London, 20 Feb. 1886). Style: While one should always study the method of a great artist, one should never imitate his manner. The manner of an artist is essentially individual, the method of an artist is absolutely universal. The first is personality, which no one should copy; the second is perfection, which all should aim at.

[22] Georg Hegel (1770–1831), German philosopher. The Philosophy of History, pt. 3, sct. 3, ch. 2 (1837). It is a matter of perfect indifference where a thing originated; the only question is: “Is it true in and for itself?”

[23] Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr. (1809–1894), U.S. writer, physician. The Autocrat of the Breakfast-Table, ch. 1 (1858). A thought is often original, though you have uttered it a hundred times.

[24] Charles Baudelaire (1821–67), French poet. “The Painter of Modern Life,” sct. 4, in L’Art Romantique (1869; repr. in Selected Writings on Art and Artists, ed. by P. E. Charvet, 1972). Nearly all our originality comes from the stamp that time impresses upon our sensibility.

[25] W. H. Auden (1907–73), Anglo-American poet. The Dyer’s Hand, pt. 1, “Writing” (1962). Some writers confuse authenticity, which they ought always to aim at, with originality, which they should never bother about.

[26] Salvador Dali (1904–89), Spanish painter. Dialogues with Marcel Duchamp, Preface (ed. by Pierre Cabanne, 1968; tr. 1971). The first man to compare the cheeks of a young woman to a rose was obviously a poet; the first to repeat it was possibly an idiot.

[27] Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803–82), U.S. essayist, poet, philosopher. The Conduct of Life, “Considerations by the Way” (1860). There are three wants which never can be satisfied: that of the rich, who wants something more; that of the sick, who wants something different; and that of the traveler, who says, “Anywhere but here.”

[28] Ernest Hemingway (1899–1961), U.S. author. Interview in Paris Review (Flushing, N.Y., Spring 1958; repr. in Writers at Work, Second Series, ed. by George Plimpton, 1963). From things that have happened and from things as they exist and from all things that you know and all those you cannot know, you make something through your invention that is not a representation but a whole new thing truer than anything true and alive, and you make it alive, and if you make it well enough, you give it immortality. That is why you write and for no other reason that you know of. But what about all the reasons that no one knows?

[29] Thornton Wilder (1897–1975), U.S. novelist, dramatist. Barnaby, in The Matchmaker, act 4. The test of an adventure is that when you’re in the middle of it, you say to yourself, “Oh, now I’ve got myself into an awful mess; I wish I were sitting quietly at home.” And the sign that something’s wrong with you is when you sit quietly at home wishing you were out having lots of adventure.

[30]from, Essay On the Genesis and Birth of Fatales Rimas by Robert J. Sadler © 2000, 2001, excerpts published in The Raintown Review, a journal of metrical poetry, September 2000.

[31] Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792–1822), English poet. Even Love Is Sold, a note from Queen Mab (1813). Constancy has nothing virtuous in itself, independently of the pleasure it confers, and partakes of the temporizing spirit of vice in proportion as it endures tamely moral defects of magnitude in the object of its indiscreet choice.

[32] Thomas Hardy (1840–1928), English novelist, poet. Note written 1 Jan. 1902 (published in Florence Emily Hardy, The Later Years of Thomas Hardy, ch. 7, 1930). Pessimism . . . is, in brief, playing the sure game. You cannot lose at it; you may gain. It is the only view of life in which you can never be disappointed. Having reckoned what to do in the worst possible circumstances, when better arise, as they may, life becomes child’s play.

[33] William James (1842–1910), U.S. psychologist, philosopher. Letter, 13 June 1907, to philosopher Henri Bergson (published in The Letters of William James, vol. 2, 1920). What every genuine philosopher (every genuine man, in fact) craves most is praise—although the philosophers generally call it “recognition”!