Mason of the Bar X

Some books a person remembers for a long time. They bear reading and rereading. Others are kind of middle of the road. Some, a body has to wonder how they got published. Mason's the latter.

This was published in 1920. The Virginian had been around for years. Zane Grey, Max Brand, and B.M. Bower were writing. Mason reads like a six-reeler from the picture show.

Jack Mason, the scion of a banking millionaire, gets the choice of going to Dad's old friend's ranch and making good or getting disinherited for his scapegrace ways. This is kind of standard opening number 28 for westerns. In the better ones, Jack would go west, learn how to be a cowboy and a man, maybe fight a grass fire, deal with a stampede or two, track down some rustlers, and win the love of the beautiful daughter of the rancher.

In this one, Jack hangs around the house, and fiddles with his motor car. Josephine, the beautiful daughter falls for him right off the bat, but at least she tries to keep him jealous until the end. Every time she goes riding without an escort she gets kidnapped by the bad guy, who intends to force her to marry him. She says things like "You beast!" The beautiful Mexican girl is named Waneda and addresses Jack as Signor. She seemingly manages to fall in love with him at a glance. There's a Marshal who's a Master of Disguise. He shows up at the ranch, says he had to come west for his health, and would the old man mind if he stayed at the ranch. Sure. No "who sent you," no questioning of bona fides. One character, Percy, shows up when Mom and sister Ethel come to visit and has no significance except maybe comic relief. Jack's aviator friend flies in, finds the kidnapped girls by coincidence, then flies out.

This is the sort of book you read with your mouth open, stunned by the awkward, complicated plot, the lack of motivation, the lack of work it takes to run the ranch, and generally how bad the book is. It's actually so bad it's to be treasured.

Nellie Moriarty

Nellie is published on Smashwords. I changed the title from Sweet Nell to Nellie Moriarty because of the identification of Sweet Nell with Nell Gwynne. I changed the cover to a Poconos scene instead of Afghanistan. It's just short of 77,000 words, by Smashwords' count.

I feel like this might be my best book yet. I think I've painted Nell as a human character, not as a damsel in distress. Her feelings and her thoughts are rational for the person she is. Quincy might be a little bit too Country Prince Charming, but I think he's pretty human too. He's looking at content, not container. Both characters might be a little old-fashioned in outlook, but I'm pretty old-fashioned myself.

Sweet Nell

Sweet Nell isn't quite finished yet -- almost there, but not quite. It's around 72,000 words, and I doubt greatly it will reach 80,000. I had a slight case of writer's block as I was reaching the end. I had two alternative endings, one of them too abrupt and the other one a potential second half that would have been another 60,000 words to resolve. I went back, added a chapter in the middle and that fixed the too abrupt ending. I took part of the second ending, and rather than following it all the way down the road to a tedious resolution I just used it to finish the other thread, rather neatly, I think.

I'll go through the whole thing another time or two, to take out a few of the repeats, or to try and smooth them over. Nellie spends lots of time dwelling on her problems, and the problems are the same ones: her missing arm, her missing leg, her scars, and her self-image. Considering that it's a story about an attractive woman whose husband rejects her after her physical trauma as a pilot in a combat zone, she kind of has to spend a lot of time agonizing over the same things; her entire persona is wrapped up in them.

I like her though. She's a tough babe and she's been through a lot. She's got guts. She's just trying to be tougher than it's possible for a normal person to be. She's like lots of vets: she's reluctant to rely on other people. Having her home knocked out from under her -- her husband is a slimy lawyer who dumps her cat while she's deployed in a combat zone, then has multiple affairs while she's in rehab -- reinforces that tendency.

Nellie ends up Going Home to Mother. She moves back into the room she occupied as a girl. Her brother takes her out with his girlfriend and their friends for a night at a beer joint, where she meets Quincy Holmes. Naturally, if I was going to write a love story involving Holmes, Nellie's maiden name had to be Moriarty. So I could write a story about a Dustoff pilot and one of her former transports, set it in the Poconos where most of my other novels are set, use existing characters from the other books, and come up with something new.

I've consciously made it a very lower-middle class story. Quincy and Nellie grew up in the same town, a year apart in school. She went to Penn State, he went into the Marines. He's working framing houses, her brother Todd's stuck laboring for a bricklayer, and his girlfriend's a horny hairdresser. Quincy and Todd get into a fistfight with a couple dirtbags the first time they take Nellie out. He takes her to a hog slaughter on a "date." Quincy and Todd do under the table work for Pete the Plumber, and strike a fountain of shit when a slumlord want to unblock a sewer line on the cheap. (Pete says "Smells like money to me, boys!" -- true story.) Quincy buys the house both he and Nell separately grew up wanting to live in, a 1600 square foot rancher built in the 1930s. They have advice from other people, some of them wealthy, but they're the ones who solve their problems, and they're the ones who'll make a success of themselves.

Now I've got a bit of cleanup to do. I'm not a helicopter pilot, and I've never been one. I've never worked in Medevac. I've never been to Afghanistan. I crewed (didn't pilot) on fixed-wing aircraft in Vietnam. I worked with the Marines, but I was in the Army. I was an EMT in my younger days, but not an Army medic. Probably my terminology and my references are slightly (if not wildly) off.

I've never, thankfully, been an amputee. I got to thinking about the problems amputees face listening to Mary Dague's talk to a VA group. I've done research with the help of Google on artificial limbs, but as far as I know, Nellie is a member of a small to non-existent group of right arm-right leg ATE-ATK amputees. I've had to do a lot of theorizing on how she would cope with life, and probably I've gotten lots of details wrong. It would be nice if I could find a Dustoff pilot, a double amputee, a current Marine NCO, a small farmer, and probably a few other people with specialized knowledge that I lack as proof readers.

The photo for the (first hack) cover is a modification of a DoD photo of Dustoff operations at Camp Blessing in Afghanistan. I don't know at this point if I'm going to go with that idea or if I'll emphasize the amputee aspect.

The Scarlet Pimpernel

Some books are pretty neat the first time read, less so on a second reading. Some books, if you allow enough time to go by, stand a third and a fourth, maybe even a fifth reading. It's best to stop at the first with the Scarlet Pimpernel. You get it all on the first reading, and on the second all you see are the flaws. I know it's a classic, but there won't be a third, fourth or fifth. It's been years since the first time I read it, so a second reading should have been almost a first.

I think my irritation comes from the perfection of the protagonists. Marguerite Blakeney, Sir Percy's French wife is described as "the sharpest wits in Europe," yet she's remarkably dumb. She goes for a year not realizing her husband isn't the silly fop he pretends to be, despite the fact that he's the richest fellow in England and somehow manages to administer his extensive holdings and he's friends with a coterie of rich and gallant fellows who'll do anything for him, to include the Crown Prince. Somehow he was intelligent and fascinating enough for her to marry him in the first place. Duh.

After accidentally betraying him to the evil Frenchie Chauvelin, she grabs one of those gallant friends and sets out for Calais to rescue her genius husband with absolutely no idea where to go or what to do. It never occurs to her to merely give the friend the message and send him, since he'd be less conspicuous  and he'd know where to go and he could defend himself. Duh.

The sneering Chauvelin is dumb enough to leave Sir Andrew and Lord Tony alive after having them conked on the head and stealing the compromising letter. He's dumb enough not to recognize Sir Percy disguised as a Jew, and to "come back later to deal with" him and Marguerite. Duh.

Robespierre is dumb enough not to have Chauvelin's head chopped off, like they were chopping the heads off anyone else who screwed up big time, which is why he got to appear in so many sequels. Duh.

Meanwhile, I'm typing. Most of it is writing. Del's got most of a new chapter and he's around 70,000 words. I've roughed out the story of Nellie Moriarty and Quincy Holmes. It's at 30,000 words right now, so the bones need a lot of flesh, otherwise I end up with a tale of lightning courtship, which isn't what I want. Its purpose is to let the characters' personalities take shape, which they are.

Nellie is pretty and she's competent, but she's damaged both physically and emotionally. Obviously it's a tale of courtship -- most novels are. Quincy has to serve as her catalyst, to bring her out of the funk she's fallen into after the breakup of her marriage and the realization that her husband found her ugly. Amputation stumps really aren't pretty, and an explosion powerful enough to deprive a person of an arm and a leg will leave lots of other incidental damage. In the first draft I've probably spent too much time on the things she has difficulty doing, anything from taking a bath to fishing. Quincy, on the other hand, comes across as slightly too perfect. The conflict comes from Nell's reluctance to accept the fact that someone can still find her attractive. She has to go through friendship and to accept the support of the people around her.

I've seen "Nellie" on several occasions, though I'll admit I've only ever seen her missing a leg or an arm, not both. I've seen pictures of Mary Dague, minus two arms but with both legs, and I've seen guys minus an arm and a leg. Nell's still pretty real to me, despite her approximation, every time I go to Walter Reed.

Quincy's not a millionaire. He's got a moderate amount of money saved up and he wants to go into business. He's got another fund to buy a house, not outright but with a mortgage like everybody else. He's the poor but honest lad, and Nellie is his princess. His "wealth" lies in his network of friendships.

We'll see how they work out.

The Door Into Summer

At the moment I'm listening to Mascagni's L'Amico Fritz, which I like, but at the same time I'm wondering if I shouldn't just put on Cavalleria Rusticana, which would be a demonstration of workmanlike competence followed by a work of genius. When you've put Turiddu and Santuzza and Lola and Alfio and Mama Lucia to music, what do you do for the rest of your life?

I re-read Heinlein's The Door into Summer yesterday evening and this morning -- it's a very quick read, obviously. It's one of my favorites and I haven't read it for a few years. It was written in 1956 and set in 1970 and 2000. The Del Ray edition had 304 pages, and I don't remember the type being extraordinarily large, so a 24-hour or less read means it's very smoothly written, which Heinlein's best is. It's of interest to see how Heinlein imagined the world a mere fourteen years ahead of him at the time. He saw a nuclear war or two ahead, for one thing. The capital's in Denver and Washington is no more.

Yet the society he sketches for 1970 is more the society of 1956 than it actually was in 1970, and much like it in 2000. I take that as a sign that we're all trapped in our own amber. The protagonist, Daniel Boone Davis, is a mechanical engineer who gets gypped out of his half of the company he founded by a dame (not a girl or a woman) named Belle and his Army buddy Miles. He's got a cat named Pete and he's fond of Miles' little girl, Ricky. Dan puts on a toot, decides to have himself frozen for thirty years, then changes his mind and and decides to go have it out with Miles and Belle. He ends up drugged and frozen anyway, at another company. That sets Dan up for a one-way trip to the year 2000. We eat bacon made from yeast and use fasteners instead of zippers and they can regrow teeth, but other than that it' still 1956.

As an engineer Dan designs Hired Girl, which we actually have today as Roomba, which hasn't had the impact Hired Girl was expected to have on society. That's the company he gets ejected from. He's got other things on the drawing board, to include a drawing board that sounds like approximately CAD. Thirty years later (after he's been frozen for thirty years) he gets a job with Hired Girl, which is now a company comparable to General Motors. He's "chief engineer emeritus" or some similar pompous title and they want to use him for advertising, at one point wanting to dress him in a derby and spats. He meets Belle plus thirty years, now fat, frowzy, and failed, which is fine revenge. Miles died two years after Dan got the freeze, likely murdered by Belle.

He's still got a grouch on about losing Pete, and he wants to find out whatever happened to Ricky. She'd be 41, which would make her ten years older than Dan. A few convolutions follow, with him finally put in touch with a professor who might, possibly, be able to send him back thirty years in time. Naturally it works. He gets the goods on Belle, forms a second company that competes with Hired Girl in the future, steals and destroys his working model of Flexible Frank the night of their coup, finds Pete, finds Ricky, and saves the stock. He -- and this time Pete -- go back to sleep for thirty years at the original company he contracted with. Ten years later Ricky does the sleep, is met by Dan in 2001, and Happily Ever After ensues.

It's a nice story, very sentimental. I get choked up in places. But boy, is the background off! First, Hired Girl and the other products Dan designed were all stand-alone. They didn't communicate. They did use "Thorson Memory Tubes," which kinda sorta implies computing power. But all of information technology is missing. I know Heinlein couldn't be expected to envision the internet in 1956, but the actuality overlays the story, a sort of alternate universe thing. Unix was first used the year before Dan's story is set. We could and in many cases are developing Dan's niftiest products. Here we are finishing up sixteen years on the other side of Dan's future.

It just doesn't feel like the future.

Not Quite Sabbatini

There has been the usual bustle of a household at Christmas and mine's been no exception. We live in a townhouse, with three finished levels, a son and his family -- two girls, one of them angelically beautiful -- temporarily occupying the lower level. My wife's been out shopping for multiple families, putting up a tree, decorating the front yard, and cooking.

We had dinner at my brother-in-law's on Christmas Eve. He and his wife, Faye, entertained on that evening by tradition. She would make lasagna and have an enormous salad that never quite got finished, and one or two other dishes. We ate at the table for years, then buffet style as their son married and their daughter-in-law's father and his girlfriend (he's a widow) would fly in from Buffalo. Faye was diagnosed with stage four pancreatic cancer in September, a couple years ago, and she died close to Christmas that same year -- maybe on Christmas Day. I can't remember precisely, either because I'm getting old or because I'm trying to forget. The point is that it was a very pleasant little party. My wife did the cooking, with two lasagnas made from scratch (the best she's ever made, in fact), and an enormous salad we threw together out of bagged grocery store salads and store-bought dressing. I was expecting it to be maudlin, but I think I could hear Faye's laugh more than a few times.

I read Robert Neilson Stephens' Philip Winwood. It was the first book of Stephen's I've read, and I doubt it'll be the last. The setting is New York just prior to the time of the Revolutionary War. The plot's fairly simple: Philip the stray boy, taken in by Margaret, a little girl of his own age; her younger brother Tom; her sweet sister Fanny; and her older, ne'er do well brother Ned, all narrated by Bert, the boy next door. Margaret's stern patriot father takes the boy in, raises and educates him. Margaret's thing is that she wants to go to see the sights of England. She and Phil get married and at that point the Revolutionary War starts. She's a spoiled little creature and when Phil goes to join the rebels instead of sailing for England she turns on him. Little brother and boy next door join the Loyalists, so 'tis a tale told from both sides, with understanding and sympathy for both. The villain in the whole piece is Ned, not even actually Captain Falconer, who sullies Margaret's reputation, fights a duel with Tom -- the younger brother -- and kills him.

I can see where Sabatini picked up the mantle of writing adventure stories from Stephens. Much of the feel is the same. The main characters are nicely drawn. You can see their motivations, you can feel the friendship among them, you can feel sympathy for them. When Philip first appears he's carrying two suitcases and a kitten in a sack slung over his shoulder. Fanny could be a lot more developed -- Bert ends up marrying her, so you'd think he'd give her a bit more attention. I can see where Ned has to be a nasty fellow. The plot as constructed wouldn't work without him being the way he was, and God knows there are enough people in the world who follow the path of least resistance, whose empathy with others, even close family, stops at the inside of their own epidermis. Most aren't quite as overtly unpleasant as Ned.

Stephens presents both sides of the story of the Revolution, Philip and Mr. Fairingfield, Margaret's father, adhering to the rebels, Bert and Tom to the Loyalists. They don't hate each other and they remain friends. All do their duty as they see it. That keeps it interesting. Having all murderous villains on one side and all cleft-chinned, muscular heroes on the other would have made it boring. Even though the reader know how it's going to turn out (SPOILER: The rebels won) the reader wants to see how this particular drama plays out, feeling sympathy with all the characters but Ned and sometimes Margaret.

I believe reading Philip Winwood and Sabatini's The Carolinian back to back would present little difference in the quality of the writing. Philip is no Captain Blood, or Scaramouch, but he's of the same quality as The Lion's Skin or Bardelys the Magnificent, which is saying a lot.

As for my own productivity, I finished the chapter I was working on and  wrote a part of the next on Del of Kerao, but the ideas are tangled and my thoughts have been on other things, including the holidays and my health. I wrote the first chapter and most of a second on a new book, featuring a heroine with only one arm and one leg. I had to fight the temptation to simply write a romance based on Mary Dague.  I've made her a helicopter pilot, but that could change -- it's irrelevant to the rest of the story. She could be Quartermaster or Signal Corps, could even be a Personnel Officer. Quartermaster would probably be best, in fact. I've named her Cornelia Catherine Moriarty and her love interest will be named (probably) Quincy Holmes, just so I can make jokes about that and eventually have them start Moriarty & Holmes, Inc.

In the first chapter, which might just be a prologue, C. Catherine (she hates her first name) tells her husband she's getting a divorce after his fourth affair. The same thing happened to Mary, and she doesn't blame her husband; she was a burden, and their relationship had become more of a nurse-patient. A burden that's light when you assume it weighs more after a couple miles. If you've assumed it for a lifetime it can be really heavy. C. Catherine, single and at large, is trying hard not to any burden to anyone, to include her family. I look at what life is like for people with disabilities, following her through the abominable processes of taking a bath and going to the gym. With half the number of limbs she's got to be twice as strong and capable. I think one of the themes will be reliance and trust in others. C. Catherine (Quincy names her Nellie) is something of a hard ass, unwilling after her divorce to admit that sometimes she does need help. That's a problem lots of military people have, despite the emphasis on teamwork. "Suck it up" is the usual phrase, and it becomes a way of life. In the event of major problems, like loss of limb, it can lead to depression, so there's something for me to write about.

It's not Sherlock

I spent an overnight in the hospital the other day, then had unrelated appointments the day after they let me out. Lots of reading time is to be found in two days and a night in the hospital, especially when combined with a drive from Baltimore to Bethesda.

So I read Arthur Conan Doyle's The White Company. Coincidentally, I read Bernard Cornwell's 1356 recently as well, so I've been vicariously living in the 14th century off and on. I'd recommend either book, and, if you have the time, both of them back to back.

Neither book is perfect, both are very good, and it's interesting how both make the period come alive with different world views. The Conan Doyle book has what I think is a romanticized view of the period, where Cornwell's goes a bit, I think, in the other direction.

The White Company tells the story of part of Prince Edward's campaign to reinstall Pedro of Castile on his throne. The protagonist is squire to Sir Nigel Loring, whose daughter Maude provides the (minimal) love interest. The main characters are nicely drawn and sympathetically treated. Historical characters abound, so thickly that it's hard to keep track of them -- many are mere walk-ons, with no development.

The amount of chivalry depicted is slightly overwhelming. Clearly Froissart was a major source. Sir Nigel spends much of his time looking for someone to cross swords or break lances with him, a kind of romanticized bully boy who would be outlandish if he was the only one. You wonder: Can human nature be bent to that extent?

It's not bent in the Cornwell book, which is an account of the battle of Poitiers, eleven years before the battle of Najera, the climax of the Conan Doyle book. Thomas of Hookton leads a company of archers similar to the White Company. (Was Conan Doyle one of the inspirations?) The characters are more human to 21st century readers. The cities are stinky; at one point Thomas escapes hidden in a shit cart. The concept of chivalry is treated condescendingly -- one of the main characters is a virginal knight, because he was visited in a dream by the Virgin Mary. Naturally he's smitten by a beauty who ran away from her (disgusting) husband. 

I like Cornwell. I've read all his Sharpe stories, the Viking series, the Grail series, and a few stand-alones. His heroes are impervious to pain; in one book a character cuts off the protagonist's little finger. He's at work in the trenches a few days later. Thomas, prior to 1356, was tortured, his hand maimed by an evil Dominican. He's using the hand to pull his bow in 1356. Having once maimed my right hand with a table saw, I can tell Cornwell hasn't actually had a similar injury.