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GOOD FOOD MEMORIES
Since we’re coming up on a holiday of thanks, sharing with friends and family and good food, I wanted to share some of my Good Food Memories.
I have heard that scent is very important to memory, but I find that food also is helpful in recalling things of the past. For instance, I cannot eat a corn dog without recalling a memory from a carnival years ago. And those big black and white cookies? Fuggidabout it! I will always remember my first trip to a real New York Deli!
The smell of popcorn takes me back to the Saturday morning movie matinees where I think every kid in town went. I have great memories of seeing all the Edgar Allan Poe movies with my brother and cousins and a theatre full of screaming kids. And there are some shocking food memories, too. Such as the time my cousin was eating a Bid Daddy candy bar. You remember those hard caramel candy bars on a stick that you’d bite into and it felt as though it was going to pull the fillings right out of your teeth? Anyway, he bit into the candy bar and pulled it away from his mouth to find his front tooth sticking out of the top of the bar.
At one point in my life I got very much into baking and very much into baking sourdough bread. I had my sourdough starter which I mixed with water and flour, put in a Styrofoam cooler with a small light and a thermometer to keep it at the perfect temperature and I grew my sourdough starter. The bread was great and it was really fun getting that starter up and running. Then there was noodle making, and clay pot cooking and fun with filo and wonton wrappers.
I remember all those endeavors with great fondness and there was great fun involved with my family, friends and loved ones. What fun food memories do you have?
I wish everyone a very Happy Thanksgiving and hope you make some new fun food memories this holiday.
Nancy A. Niles is the author of Vendetta: A Deadly Win and Lethal Echoes.
ALL IS NOT AS IT APPEARS
ALL IS NOT AS IT APPEARS
For the past four days and nights here in Las Vegas, Nevada there has been constant rainfall. It varies between light and gentle to hard and furious. The streets are flooding, some of them are closed. Some of the phone lines have gone out, there are power outages and many fender benders. The news is warning of flash flooding which can sweep away cars and trucks and people die in these relentless rains that come every four to five years to the desert.
I watched a large home crumple and slide into the Virgin River right outside Mesquite, Nevada. There had been no huge shaking of the earth, or tornado or hurricane, just this mostly gentle, continuous rainfall. This rain does not call to mind danger or violence, in fact yesterday I took a walk with an umbrella and the gentle drops all around me were in a strange way relaxing and seemingly very peaceful. Yet the power that these rains generate is anything but gentle and peaceful.
And I am always amazed at how a desert landscape can be so completely wiped out and recreated, as though a celestial artist is at work busily creating a foreign landscape before my very eyes. Last night around midnight I glanced outside to see fog so dense I could barely make out my neighbors homes and the street lamps. As I stared I saw a scene that could be in London, or San Francisco. It did not seem to be my same old street in the middle of the desert, anymore.
I’ve always felt a certain mystical undercurrent to the desert. And after reading Carlos Castaneda’s writings again, (I started reading his work in the sixties and every ten years or so I reconnect once again with his books), I am even more convinced that the desert holds many secrets, both manmade and metaphysical.
Looking at the range of mountains called the Spring Mountains, not far from where I live, I have to wonder if there are secret rooms carved inside them. Or are they bunkers where the heads of state will hold up in the event of a nuclear world war? Some have said that extraterrestrials live in the mountains and are monitoring us.
And Area 51, the base that officially does not exist has many underground bunkers, and who knows what? Sometimes I think there are more mysteries all around me in this desert than are in the public library. What about your home? What mysterious things have you noticed? Do you incorporate them in your writing?
Nancy Niles is the author of Vendetta: A Deadly Win, and Lethal Echoes.
What Motivates Your Characters?
I don’t know about you but I’ve never had much success in drafting those ten page character sketches before I begin a novel. It just seems I get to know my character along the way and as her personality comes through it changes the plot and the book goes through an evolution. I do lots of re-writes and sometimes feel as though I’m running around in a dense forest occasionally glimpsing the path to my characters. It’s frustrating and not very productive.
If you’re like me, the good news is there is a tool called the Enneagram. Renee Baron and Elizabeth Wagele define it in their book: The Enneagram Made Easy:
“The Enneagram is a study of the nine basic types of people. It explains why we behave the way we do, and it points to specific directions for individual growth. It is an important tool for improving relationships with family, friends, and co-workers.
“The roots of the Enneagram go back many centuries. It’s exact origin is not known, but it is believed to have been taught orally in secret Sufi brotherhoods in the Middle East. The Russian mystical teacher G.I. Gurdjieff introduced it to Europe in the 1920′s, and it arrived in the United States in the 1960′s.”
The nine basic personality types as put forth in Gloria Kempton’s book, Dialogue, are: (This is just a thumbnail sketch of her definitions, the Enneagram is much more complex.)
1. The Reformer – this one is motivated to live the right way, improving themselves and the world around them.
2. The Giver – They are motivated to be loved and valued and to express their positive feeling to others.
3. The Achiever – They are motivated to achieve success and avoid failure.
4. The Artist – They are motivated to experience their feelings and to be understood, to search for the meaning of life and to avoid being ordinary.
5. The Observer – They need to know and understand everything, to be self sufficient and to avoid looking foolish.
6. The Questioner – They need security. They can be outwardly fearful and seeking approval. Or they can confront fears. Both of these can appear in the same person.
7. The Adventurer – They are motivated by the need to be happy and plan enjoyable activities, contribute to the world and avoid suffering and pain.
8. The Leader – They are motivated by the need to be self-reliant and strong and to avoid feeling weak or dependent.
9. The Peacemaker – They have a need to keep peace, merge with others, and avoid conflict.
Gloria Kempton uses the Enneagram to chart out the personalities of her characters and gives examples of how the different personalities might relate to each other. In a sampling of dialogue she has a #1(Reformer) speaking to a #9 (Peacemaker) about the progress of the cops in finding their missing daughter. The Reformer (Wife) is lambasting the cops, wondering why it’s taking them so long to find the monster who kidnapped their daughter. The Peacemaker (Husband) is saying things like: “I’m sure they’re doing the best they can.” And “I’m sure they’re frustrated, too,” etc. The wife gets more and more irate as he tries to make peace finally accusing him of “defending” the police and of not caring. That shuts down the husband and he cannot figure out why she would say that to him, he is hurt and his feelings turn to despair.
It is a very powerful example of the different personality types, what they want and how they go about expressing it.
Do you see the different personality types in yourself? In your friends and family?
How do you choose personalities for your characters? Does the plot choose them or do the personalities create the plot? Or both?
He Thought He Knew The Devil Well
A short story written in verse.
Jonathan drove a Mercedes Benz
And with a Benz
Comes friends.
The car dripped money
Like honey.
It attracted bears
Who tried to sell their wares
To Jonathan who drove a Mercedes Benz.
Jonathan was a friendly sort
Could play any sport
Picked up tabs – never was short
Drank whiskey mixed with Port.
His eyes were green
Flecked with amber.
“Made my money selling lumber.
Sold out before we went under.
The forest reflected
Through Jonathan’s eyes
And one neglected
To see the lies.
“My friend, times are not lean
I just have a penchant for jeans.
Look at these seams
Gucci, you know.
But hey,
I don’t want to put on a show.
Hop it and we’ll play
Fast or slow
Whatever you say
You know we look cool.”
The salesman sat down,
His face a mask like a clown
Jonathan had his fool.
Jonathan drove at a steady speed.
He sensed his companion’s need.
He knew he was wondering
Perhaps pondering
If Jonathan was squandering riches
Thus the reason for the tacky britches.
If so,
The salesman reckoned knowingly
He was moving much too slowly.
Seemed to be
As far as the salesman could see
That all these rich kids are
About to flip their lids.
They should be easy marks
Always off on larks
He was about to give his sales pitch
When Jonathan hit a ditch.
“Damn!” It made him forget his speech.
Jonathan stopped the car with a screech.
“The fender’s bent
And I bet it’s got a dent.”
“Shut this machine off.”
The salesman laughed and then coughed.
Sarcastically he chimed
“Yes, thanks, I’m fine.”
In fact it gave him his next line
He made his statement:
“Your money is badly spent.
Fender bent
Side dent
This car will put a hole in your pockets
Until your eyes need to be sold from their sockets.”
Jonathan gazed toward the sky.
“Okay, what then SHOULD I buy?”
The salesman felt high
He had his fly
Now to wrap him around
With sound
Words and phrases
That brought on dreams
Of golden gleams.
He could talk well
And sell, sell, sell.
He knew he’d probably end up in hell
And felt he already knew the devil well.
Maybe he’d even sell
Stock in hell.
Or sell
A well
In hell…
Sell, man, sell.
“Jonathan, how old are you?”
“Thirty two.”
“Are you willing to make an investment
Of a fairly large size?”
“Yes, if you think it wise.”
They had not looked into each other’s eyes.
Jonathan knew what he’d see in the salesman’s.
And the salesman was yet to learn what was in his.
“At your age
And stage
In life…”
“What do you mean stage?”
Jonathan feigned rage.
He did not want to make it too easy.
He knew the salesman could get pretty sleazy.
Jonathan admired his fellow con man
And he wasn’t going to be a lamb.
The salesman was tired, but he fought.
“Thirty two is young.
It’s praises should be sung.
Everyday full of life and fun.
Work is a collar.
You could live at this stage forever
Except for one thing – the dollar.”
Jonathan sighed from deep within his chest.
“Invest
My boy, invest.
Sell this junk and you’ll be making money
While you rest.”
“I have this car, a country home and a little in the bank.”
“Approximately what do you think your assets are worth?”
The salesman wished he had someone to thank.
“I’d say
Since I make no pay
I’d better hold onto the cash.”
“Young man, let’s not get rash.
You’ll make cash
From the very first day.”
“Okay, low figure -mind you-
Quarter of a mil
Give or take a dollar or two.”
“Let’s go
Not so slow.
The office might close.
Every minute we wait
Is money you lose.
You are buying certificates
Silver or gold.”
The salesman looked old
And felt cold.
He had just sold
Another financial horror
To feed the slimy mold
That passed for his soul.
His office was plush
The secretary lush
And he was in a rush
For Jonathan to sign
“Right here, on the line.”
Jonathan took the pen
To seal the salesman’s sin
Clicked it thrice and laid it down again.
“What’s wrong, boy,”
In a voice meant to be coy.
“You should read it first, I understand
There’s lots of crooks in this land.”
“That’s not it, I trust you.
I just don’t understand
Why you trust me.”
The salesman almost slapped his knee.
This boy was so naïve.
Here he had the title to Jonathan’s car in his hand
And the deed to his land.
The contract he had
Would’ve made a baby sad
And here this lad
Acted as though he were his dad.
“If it bothers you
Here’s what we’ll do.
You sign your name
And I’ll do the same.
On the ‘Amount Line’
I can list as many as nine.
We’ll list three:
Mercedes, country home, cash $10,503.
Tomorrow meet me here
We’ll appraise the car and home
You’ll get your certificates
And we’ll go have a couple of beers.”
“You mean today
I walk away
With nothing?”
The salesman was ready to kill.
The boy was making him ill.
Maybe he couldn’t write his own name.
I swear, he will.
Patience, do not maim
The clients.
He’d like to kick the boy right in the pants.
“This is highly irregular
But I’ll give you a paper.
It will guarantee
The $10,300.”
“Okay, but I take the deed
And title when I leave.”
The salesman was not about to let
This slip from his hands.
He would make a stand.
“The car we’ll say,
$48,000. Okay?”
“More than that, it’s their best.
But I guess tomorrow I’ll get the rest.”
The salesman nodded.
“The home appraised
Back in the days
When everyone had country ways.
Now the high property
Is in the city.
My staff
I’m sure
Could get you at least half.”
“Hey, man,”
Jonathan sighed.
“I haven’t lied
And I’m not in a jam.
But if I sign
And you say it’s fine -
I ask for who?
I can lose my can
All to you.
Just like that
One moment flat
Even my hat.”
The salesman sat
Nose twitching
Like a rat.
Hands itching
For the cash
Of Jonathan’s stash.
He became brash.
“My boy
What guarantee
Do you want to see
To prove this contract
Is no toy?”
Jonathan began his act:
“I would feel safer
If I could take this paper,”
He pointed the note
Like a saber
And I quote:
“And cash it
For the amount written in.”
The salesman began to smile.
“There is no doubt
Certainly about it.
This is stout!
It’s strong stock.
You should put it
Under a lock
And wait.
It’s bait
Hold on a while.
For each mile
Will triple
And you’ll go in style
No cripple.”
Jonathan began to moan.
“Without my home
I’ll have to roam.
If I sell my car
I won’t go far…..”
The salesman was wary.
“Don’t want to sacrifice
And earn triple the price?
Want to set down the dice
And lose paradise?”
Jonathan looked small
As he built his wall
Of words
Like swords
Of silver chords
Spoken softly
His mind loftily
Plotting
The salesman’s fall.
“I want it all.
My car, for instance
Is one circumstance.
Of it’s value
We’re pretty sure
Right?”
Like a light
The salesman’s logic took flight.
The goal in sight.
The end of the fight
In one night.
His mind reeled
On getting this deal sealed
The boy pealed
Another deal wheeled.
“Low figure, son,
I’d say twenty one
Thou.”
Like a cow
Facing a sow
He gave him the pow
Of the bargain.
“Cash it in?
It seems a sin.
But if you desire
This certificate will sire
To the buyer
What he’s put in
At the rate
On the slate
Of the date
You think it well
To sell.
Our advisors
Are wiser
Than most misers.
Their only desires
Are for your
Best interest.
And means to invest.
“That makes us,”
The salesman cussed.
“Damned better
To the letter
Of any other
Competitor.”
“I believe it!”
Jonathan almost spit.
He focused his attention
Once again
To the mention
Of the current rate
And stated:
“I can’t wait!”
But once burned
And twice learned
Jonathan spurned
The promise
To prevent his demise.
Jonathan turned the table
On one who sold so able
To guys less wise
Who collected cries
Instead of cash
For a piece of trash
And a barrel of lies.
“OK,” said Jonathan
“On one condition.
My Benz
I heard you state
Is worth at least
Forty eight.”
Without a moment’s wait
The salesman nodded
“That I do capitulate.”
“But you see
I’m sure we agree
For awhile
My style
Will be forced
To be divorced
From it’s previous
Luxurious ways.
I’m in a daze
And even a haze.
My logic says,
‘Do this
For better days.’
But I’ll miss
The bliss
Of wealthy ways.
The deal I trust.
I must
Because I’m going bust
Over lust
To protect
And credit
My future.
True.
It’s quite a lure.
But sir
I am sure
You understand
Without my land
Without my Benz
And my friends
My future ends.
I have always been
The one who lends
And have always seen
Beginnings
Not ends.
To buy a rose
Would be skin off my nose.
And anything I propose
Would seem morose
To those
I associate with
And my wealth would become a myth.
To obtain more
I must become poor.”
For one such as I,”
Jonathan continued
“Who never faced a closed door
I fear my spirit would die.
The deal I suggest
Is that I begin this quest
With caution
And options
That allow for rest
So I can do my best
Without worry
Or hurry
And needless scurry.
Therefore, I will sign
On the line
And claim 21 thousand
As mine.
The rest is for certificates.
Tell me if this deal fits.”
The salesman
Already behind
And somewhat blind
To the brilliant mind
That shined
And chimed
Finally resigned
With one goal in mind:
Get the name
On the dotted line.
“This title and deed
Before we proceed
Will stay in my possession.”
The salesman demanded.
And so they made their concession.
That is how the deal went.
Jonathan was never seen again
Much to the salesman’s chagrin.
The 21 thousand
Jonathan collected
Was easily spent.
False deeds and trusts readily lent.
Rent a car companies
Who leased Mercedes
Collected their monies
From phonies
With certificates
Who could sell
And thought they knew
The devil well.
Writing Noir Fiction
By Nancy Niles, author of Vendetta: A Deadly Win.
I’ve always loved books that had the “haunted hero” as the protagonist. The policeman who is avenging his family’s murder, while blaming himself for their deaths, the confirmed criminal who is wracked with regrets, the war veteran who witnessed his whole platoon being wiped out and cannot come to grips with the fact that he alone survived.
Who doesn’t question themselves from time to time or second guess their decisions, or regret mistakes that they made in the past? Isn’t that part of what makes us all human? And aren’t those questions, regrets and second guessing catalysts to growth and knowledge? I certainly hope so!
One of the reasons I so enjoy the Noir genre is the philosophy that goes on in the head of the MC. I like that she is flawed and at times indecisive and frightened, and in many of the books she is actually a criminal, or has been involved in criminal activity in the past. It seems that her criminal behavior is needed for survival as most times she runs with very unsavory characters and is thrown into dicey situations.
Even the scenery in the Noir novels speaks to the life of the MC, usually very bleak, dark and hostile. But eventually some light does shine and when it does it’s explosive. I’ve been studying this genre and writing in this genre for the past few years and find that the deeper I reach into myself the closer I come to writing “true” Noir.
Having a basically sunny personality I enjoy letting the darker side come out and play with this genre. Finding a balance between bleak and just plain whiny, though is sometimes a challenge. (Thankfully I have a good editor who sometimes draws blood with the very deep cuts she makes.)
In my latest novel, Lethal Echoes, My MC, Tina Munroe has a very bleak outlook on love since she had a horrific experience with the first love of her life. When she starts falling in love with Lex she fights the feelings and when he tells her he wants to discuss some ‘conditions’ with her, she is sure that she’s not going to like what he has to say.
His ‘conditions’ are merely that they trust and respect each other and by that he means he doesn’t want her lying or hiding things from him. He wants to be a part of her life, but as a partner, not as a boss or dictator.
This is new for Tina and the idea intrigues her, but when he gets shot because she allowed him to get involved with her case she turns to her dark side for strength. Without giving away too much of the novel I show how the dark side comes to her aid and she steps into criminal activity with a vengeance. It saves her life and the lives of others. She understands her dark side, but it is the loving, vulnerable side that needs nourishing and she finds that the two can co-exist quite well.
GEMS OF RESEARCH
I have found many gems while doing research on entirely different subjects. For instance, doing research for one of my novels years ago ( I was researching Desert climate), I came across the mysterious moving rocks in Death Valley National Park, California. Specifically they are in the Racetrack Playa of Death Valley which is nothing more than an almost perfectly flat dry riverbed. The boulders actually move by themselves and leave long trails in the dirt behind them. (Check out the photos on the web, just search for: Death Valley Moving Rocks). Some of these boulders weigh hundreds of pounds. There are many theories about how these boulders move around as they do, but none that can be proven.
Then there is Superstition Mountain in Arizona. I first heard of that when a Las Vegas local man claimed to have communed with extraterrestrials on that mountain. Doing research, (looking for ET sightings) I found the legend of the Lost Dutchman’s gold mine, which is supposed to be somewhere on Superstition Mountain and has to this day never been found.
And hearing more stories of UFO’s and alien activity I made a trip to Search Light, Nevada and the dry riverbeds just south of town. I saw lots of lights zipping around in the sky and with my writer’s imagination working overtime the trip was labeled as successful. (I later learned I was under a flight pattern for McCarran Airport in Vegas). But were all those lights airplanes? Who can really know for sure?
As a fiction writer I am not bound by facts or truth. And the more research I do I realize that truth IS stranger than fiction. These gems of research go far beyond my meager imagination and I am fascinated by these places and hope someday to find a place for them in my writing. In the meantime I’ll surely uncover more mysterious places and tales of the unknown. Are there mysterious places close to where you live? Places that tweak your imagination? What gems of research have you unwittingly uncovered while searching for something entirely different?
