Kicking Back

Hobbies - some people garden, others work on jigsaw puzzles, cartoon, or play music. What's your creative outlet when you're not writing? 

by Dietrich

My pastimes lean to the creative, and I think of them as passions, while hobbies are more relaxed than intense, like gardening, cooking and going for long walks. I like to pick up my guitar and tend to play songs with roots in the blues. There have been several guitars since I was in my early teens, but I never had what it took to really make anything of it. But I still like to kick back, and I enjoy learning new licks, purely for my own personal enjoyment. No aspirations of being the next Tommy Emmanuel or Jorma Kaukonen.

I’ve always had a broad appreciation for music, and I enjoy listening to everything from Bill Evans to Hound Dog Taylor, Beethoven to Alice Cooper. And while I still listen to a lot of what lit me up when I was younger, I delight in finding performers and bands that I’ve never heard before. And it’s always great when some legacy rocker comes out with something that’s (almost) as good as what they did back in the day. And there have been some good ones recently by Dylan, Iggy, and the Stones. And Willie Nelson just turned 91 on the heels of his latest album release. Yup, he’s still living the high life, and I understand he’s going on tour too.

I’m rolling some of that “pastime” into a story that’s still at the early stages of the first draft. What I’ve got so far is a guitar player who’s out to find his big break as he gets involved with a shady record producer with ties to organized crime. And I’ve tossed in a political-anarchist girlfriend for good measure, and we’ll see how it goes.

There’ve been other passions over the years, some I would like to get back into sometime. I dabbled in art since I was a kid, and I was into oil painting for several years, followed by a stretch when photography became a creative expression. Much of which came in handy and served me well in a career as a commercial artist.

And reading has always been a pastime that I find both relaxing and inspiring. I’ve always got a book on the go, and usually there are several more waiting to be read. As with music, I love finding an author who’s new to me, as well as rereading some old favorites now and then. Some new ones I’m looking forward to: Nobody Walks by Mick Herron, a standalone, not part of the Slough House series; Horror Movie by Paul Tremblay; Clete and Harbor Lights, both by James Lee Burke, and the new one by Emily Schultz, Sleeping with Friends. 

Crooked: coming September 24th from ECW Press.

fusty and forgotten

Do you have old unpublished manuscripts that you might revive? Why did you abandon it (or them?) What would it take for you to go back to them?

by Dietrich

I have an unpublished collection of a dozen shorts that I put together before I wrote my first novel. It was signed with a small press, then the publisher went bust before the collection ever saw daylight. I was busy working on my first novel, and I didn’t pursue another publisher for the collection, and I haven’t done anything with it since. It sits in a file and once in a while I think about reviving it because I still think there’s some good stuff in there. At other times, I’ve thought about mining a couple of those stories to use as subplots in another novel. 

The thing of it is I write every day, and I usually complete a novel a year, more or less. And by the time I’m halfway through the one I’m working on, there’s always an idea for the next one waiting. Beyond that, there are usually loose concepts that I’ve jotted down that may or may not take shape beyond that. So, there are more ideas than there is time to get to them all. 

What’s great about banking ideas is that I usually stumble across other nuggets that could work alongside those original ideas, often giving me a new twist that I hadn’t thought of before. While I try to keep a never-say-never attitude about some of the older ideas like the collection of short stories, I suppose that’s what it would take to revive one or all of them: the right nugget to come along to add a perfect twist to an old idea.

At the beginning, I used to save just about every cut I made from a draft — and sometimes those cuts were a chapter or longer. My thinking was that I might use them somewhere else in the future. And after the file of outtakes gained some heft, I realized I’d never take the time to go through all that in hopes of finding something worth salvaging. They’re called outtakes for a reason. Eventually I tossed the file in the bin, but I did come away realizing that all those cuts and extra writing weren’t a waste of time, but a very good exercise in learning to become a better editor of my own writing.

Well, that’s it for old bits and pieces in the bottom drawer that may or may not get revived. And now for something new … coming June 6th.

Lenny Ovitz has plenty of secrets. He works for a volatile crime boss, is drowning in debt to the wrong people, and he’s certain his soon-to-be ex is aiming to screw him over. Somebody is going to have to get whacked.

“Smooth plotting, vivid characters, and sharp dialogue (especially from the rough-edged leads) bolster this darkly comic story, which Kalteis shepherds to a hugely satisfying conclusion. Fans of Elmore Leonard and George Pelecanos will find much to enjoy.” — Starred review, Publishers Weekly

You can find out more and pre-order yours from ECW Press. Thank you.

Supporting Cast

Which secondary character have you created that you find the most intriguing and memorable? Please share the scene where they appeared and outline the impact they had on the story and on you.

by Dietrich

Secondary characters play significant roles by adding interesting counterpoint to the main characters. They bring along their own subplots, back stories and baggage. Like the main characters, I love writing them and watching them come to life. Here are two who I’d like to introduce you to. 

Wren McKenna’s from my current novel, Nobody from Somewhere. She’s a teen running from an abusive foster home. She’s tough as nails, street savvy and plays well off the main character, Fitch Henry Haut, an aging and ailing retired cop who sets out to save her from a couple of crooks trying to drag her into their SUV. Maybe by the end of the story, readers get a sense that maybe it’s Wren saving him from himself. Here’s the scene where we first meet her.   

The Snows put Wren up on the Murphy bed in the main-floor den. Pulled down, the bed left a foot and a half between the desk and a shelf of books, mostly self-help books: The power of this, the art of that. Growing rich and awakening giants. Titles like Unfuc*ing Yourself, and Not Giving a Sh*t, with lots of astericks. A grocery-store print above the pullout, a still life with fruit and purplish shadows.

Being next to the kitchen, Wren could hear the hum and rattle of the old Frigidaire, keeping her company on those nights when sleep dodged her. Propped against her pillow in the dark, she was thinking about her mom. 

The third night she tiptoed in the dark past the noisy fridge, crossing the cold tiles, heading to the powder room in her undies, needing to pee. Kevin sat in the dark at the kitchen nook, a short drink of whisky in front of him. Clicking on the light, he smiled, eyes sweeping up her bare legs. Wren covering up and hurrying to the bathroom, saying, “Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about.” Kevin was smiling, leaving the light on and waiting when she hurried back to her room. Finishing his drink, Kevin came to her door, whispering from the other side, “Nighty night.” The stairs creaking as he went back to his room, switching off the lights.

Sitting on the bed, Wren looked around the dark room for something like a weapon, one of the self-help books could do the trick. If he came through that door, she’d bonk him with the corner of Unfuc* Yourself. But, he didn’t try it, not that night. Nothing but the sound of the clunking Frigidaire.

Next, I’d like to introduce Isaac Levine. He shows up in The Get, which will be released by ECW on June 6th. He’s a senior, though you wouldn’t know it — just a rock of a guy who’s obviously done a lot of living. He’s a respected jeweler and father to Paulina, and he’s just added beefed-up security doors to his jewelry shop as we meet him.

“We have insurance, Poppa,” Paulina said, still on about the mantrap, looking at the doors.

“And now lower premiums,” Isaac said. “Pays for itself in five years, six tops. You’re going to see.” He waved a hand in the air like it was already done.

She pointed to the front, saying, “And what kind of name is that, mantrap?”

“A good name. Exactly what it does, it traps.”

“Traps your customers?” She laughed, taking the wrapped sandwiches from the bag. “Don’t stand there, buy something. Then you can leave.”

Isaac loved her sense of humor. Told himself it’s what kept him going. Pinching a dill spear, he took a bite, then tried changing the subject. “This from Mica’s?”

“Where else?”

“Got to admit, the boy works hard, he’ll give the rest a run for their money. Mark it down.” Isaac looked at the sandwiches she took from the bag, piled high with meat, a half inch extra for family.

“Everyone knows you, Poppa. Isaac the Jeweler.” Paulina not swayed from the conversation, saying, “Who would even think of robbing you?”

He smiled at her: beautiful and smart, but maybe a touch naïve. Saying, “And you with a gun in your purse.”

“It’s a derringer, Poppa. A lot of Jewelers carry these days. It’s almost stylish.”

“But, you do the books, schatz.”

“Think the crooks know it?”

“And you can shoot?”

“Yes, I can shoot, and stop changing the subject, and tell me, how much?”

And his smile widened. Yes, just like his Helen. God, he missed her, but it felt like she was living in this girl, a mirror image of his darling wife.

“You look at me like that, Poppa — like I’m your little girl — I already know it’s too expensive.” She folded her arms, trying to look stern. Paulina steadfast as a hound, going to find out what the mantrap cost.

“Eat your lunch, ketsele,” he said, smiling. “Not like I can send the doors back.”

“I’ll have to enter it in the books.”

“Yes, you’ll find out in time, but now, let’s eat.” He finished the spear of pickle, tapping the glass display of bracelets and necklaces. “Let me show you the Buccellati, just came in. And here, the Cartier Panther, white gold and emerald eyes. What do you think?”

“I think I’m going to eat.” She didn’t look at the case, her eyes going from her sandwich back to those doors. Saying, “I mean, if we can still afford food.” Adding, “But, you know I will find out.”

“Of course you will, schatz.”

If it’s in there, get it out.

A lot of folks will have resolved that 2023 is THE year when they write the book they have inside them. Any tips for absolute beginners?

by Dietrich

If you feel the urge to write, don’t let anybody tell you different, especially that little voice in the back of the head.

Don’t put it off, and don’t kick the can down the road. Sit down and get started. Be in it for the long-haul and have fun every inch of the way.

You work at home, so there are plenty of distractions. Don’t play with the cat, switch off the phone, and stay away from the internet. I like to crank up the music before I start. I know that’s not going to be for everyone, I get that, but it’s good to find whatever works to help get yourself into that writing zone.

Don’t aim for War and Peace. Do some trial and error, find what works — find your voice. I wrote short stories, quite a few of them, trying to find what worked for me.  

Read the kind of books you want to write — and read a lot of them. Personally, I love to read fiction, non-fiction, biographies and autobiographies. There’s so much inspiration in any great book. And there are some good how-to books too. If you haven’t, check out Stephen King’s On Writing. It’s like the how-to bible for writers. 

And there are classes and courses that are worth checking out, many of them online. 

Refrain from reading the daily noise, and anything else that might distract, depress, or keep you from planting that bum in the chair.

Find a mentor. Meet some published writers. They hang out at writers’ conferences, festivals, writers’ events. They’re generally a fun and helpful bunch and easy to approach — especially in a bar.

Create your own best set-up for writing. A desk, a quiet corner, and if possible, find the best time of day to write. And by all means, jot down those little ideas that come to mind, and keep them handy.

Don’t be in a rush to send your masterpiece off in hopes of finding an agent or publishing house. Get it right first. There’s nothing worse than sending something off that has potential before it’s ready. It’s like self-sabotage and a set-up for hearing, “No thanks.”

If you’ve been out of school for awhile, you may want to brush up on your grammar. 

When you get through a first draft, set it aside for a few days before going back through it again. And don’t have a total number of drafts in mind. Four, five, six, or more — who cares. Rework it until it feels ready. How do you know when it’s ready? When you write enough, the confidence will build, and you’ll know.

Get set to hear, “No thanks.” Then get ready to hear it again. You’re putting yourself out there, and that takes a certain amount of courage. Go for it.

Last thoughts: When you edit, look for anything that doesn’t move the scene forward, and cut it. You want to make them laugh, and you want to make them cry, but mostly, you want to keep them turning pages. 

When you read a chapter over, read it aloud. 

Never worry about what anybody thinks of your writing. Write it bold.

Lastly, I asked fellow author Eric Beetner to weigh in on the topic, and he had some pearls:

“My biggest tip for new or aspiring writers is to lose the notion that writing a book is a monumental task. I think too many people treat it like scaling Everest or circumnavigating the globe alone in a boat. Go into any bookstore or library and look around you. Books everywhere. Millions of new books every year. How can it be that hard and be done so often by so many people?

Now, writing a good book is no easy task, and that should be where the hard work goes in. But if you free yourself with the idea that starting on page one is the beginning of an arduous journey that will bring you to the brink, then you can focus on the real work of writing a good book. The rest is just typing.”

“Can we please stop this nonsense attitude that a first draft is supposed to be crap? Why would you write a terrible first draft? The work of a first draft, to me anyway, is to get it as close to right as you can. Then the rewrite process isn't spent "figuring out the story" as too many people seem to do, it becomes refining, making it better, elevating what you already have. If you need a whole first draft to find the story, then you're doing it backwards. Make notes, outline, keep voice memos on your phone, but know your story when you start so the first draft isn't awful. So your rewrites and revisions aren't torturous. Writing is supposed to be joyful. If it's a slog then that will come across on the page to the reader.

But, you do you. If you like the tortured artist thing, then go ahead and write a terrible first draft. Just please stop complaining about it.” — Eric Beetner

In the works

Adding description to a story is an art. Too much, and readers skip over it. Too little, and the sense of place and mood aren’t adequately drawn. What techniques do you use, and please provide examples from your work?

by Dietrich

For me, the process is more instinct than technique. The telling works in time with the pace, and the words fit into the moving scene that comes to life as I write. There are no rules or formula that I stick to. Instinct just guides the way. 

When I’ve finished a first draft, I go back over it, looking for anything that didn’t quite work the first time around, catching any description that needs to be trimmed, smoothed, or even added onto. More importantly, I’ve learned what needs to be left alone. 

When researching a story, I usually end up with far more than I can use, so I’ve also learned to be selective, using what I consider to be the best of it, and just enough to set the mood and to create images for the reader. For the sake of pace and moving the story along, I’ve reluctantly had to leave some interesting details behind.

The question asks for examples, so here’s an excerpt from the my current novel, Under an Outlaw Moon, based on the true story of the FBI’s most wanted Bennie and Stella Mae Dickson, published by ECW Press. This was a departure for me, basing the story on actual events, and adding a lot of fiction to bring the characters and scenes to life.

 

. . . one

June 12, 1937

“Sixteen, huh? Well, I might’ve guessed older.” Flashing

her the honest blue eyes.

“Well, maybe you’d’a been wrong then, huh?” Said her

name was Stella Mae Redenbaugh, looking at him like she

saw something underneath his smile, this guy with the wavy

hair, skating around the roller rink, looking at her now and

then, finally coming over when she was alone next to the

boards. Making a fast stop and showing his moves.

Stella knowing her friend Liz and the other girls were

looking over from the concession stand, whispering and

giggling to each other. Made her feel good, lying to him

that she was sixteen.

“Well, I been wrong a time or two,” he said, “but still,
I guess you’d pass for older.”

“Older, like how much?” Crinkling her nose — Stella

guessed it looked cute like when she practiced it in the

mirror — smiling at him, liking the way this Johnny

O’Malley was flirting with her, something no boy had done

before. Not feeling that unease she often felt around men.

Been that way since her real father just walked off, Stella

thinking good riddance, happy her mother wouldn’t get hit

and bruised anymore. Her stepfather, Lester, being made of

better stuff, a quiet man working hard for the family. Maybe

dull in that way, but at least the man didn’t leave those awful

bruises on her mother.

Fifteen and Stella wasn’t sure what the look meant

that Johnny D. O’Malley was putting on her, but she was

thinking maybe she wouldn’t mind finding out.

“I don’t know, let’s see . . . eighteen maybe.” Johnny

grinned, saying, “Guess I ain’t saying it right.”

“Well, I think you’re saying it just fine.” She liked the

way his cheeks flushed then, yeah, starting to feel easier with

him. Not tall, but a nice build and good looking with the

blue eyes and wavy hair. Older by a mile, even if she had

been eighteen. Stella liking the way Liz was watching from

the refreshment stand, talking to some boys, the rest of the

girls gone home.

•

Bennie Dickson had been feeding lines to the pretty blonde,

this Stella Mae. Now he was getting caught up in it. Laid

it on pretty thick, saying he was a prize fighter in training.

That part was true, and Johnny O’Malley was the name he

used when he stepped through the ropes.

Not sure why he used the name on her, the name the

promotor had come up with, telling Bennie it gave him the

Irish edge, a young fighter showing promise, along with a

punishing right hook, something they could build on.

Bennie didn’t tell her anything about the trouble he’d 

been in, the stuff he got into back when his old man told him 

he was acting more loser than winner, anything but a Dickson

man. Strike one coming for the stolen car, doing time in

that reformatory and shaming the family. Bad Bennie not

learning life the easy way, then taking a second swing when

he got mixed up in the Missouri bank job, giving up six

more hard years in the Missouri pen, same place they kept

Pretty Boy Floyd, the place inmates called The Walls on

account of that high gray limestone surrounding the place.

Life’s lessons kicking Bennie hard that time. Working in

the prison library and learning to box while inside. Finally

convincing the parole board he got the message and wasn’t

going to make the same mistakes, released into his father’s

custody. Just turned twenty-six, and Bennie swore to go

straight this time.

Might have been partly why he was feeling more Johnny

than Bad Bennie right then, telling this girl about the job

he just took driving a cab, the money he made allowing him

to sweat and work the bag in the Hard Rock gym. Then

switching the focus, telling her she skated like a pro.

“You been watching me, huh?”

“Admit I was.” From over by the boards, betting all 

the boys looked her way. From the corner of his eye now, he

caught the three mutts eyeing him from over by the food

stand, the ones chatting to Stella’s friend. The looks meant

they guessed who he was and knew about the time he served.

Thinking they were better and wanting to prove it. Bennie

feeling glad his older brother Spencer had showed up 

at the rink today, two years older and born on the same day,

the two of them of the same blood. Spencer known around

town as a tough customer. And although the oldest of the

three wasn’t there that day, the same went for Darwin, a

reputation for watching out for his brothers, likely the main

reasons the mutts were keeping their distance. Still, they 

had that look, like they had something to prove.

•

“Me, pffft, nobody sees me. Just a place I meet Liz and the

girls and have a few laughs, is all.” Stella Mae thinking who

had money for roller skating, a nickel just to get in the place,

wondering again if Johnny meant what he said, that she

looked eighteen, maybe older. Could be on account of the way

she’d pulled her hair back that day, not wanting it in her eyes

when she skated around, the sweater showing the promise

of changes coming, and the ruby lipstick from her mother’s

dressing table completing the picture. Liked her lips red like

that, Stella doing it more these days when her mother was out

of the house. Always wiped it off before she went back home.

“How you like it, the music?” Johnny asked. Not sure 

what the number was piping from the speaker cone. Admitting 

to her he had a tin ear.

“This one’s Lionel Hampton, called ‘Hot Mallets.’ They

play it all the time, everybody skating to it. One the girls like

to dance to.”

“That right? Well, lucky for Lionel, how about it then,

let’s see you do it. Dance or skate, either one.”

“Just ’cause you say so, huh?” Stella acting indifferent, 

the smile letting him know she was playing too.

“Just like to watch you move.” The blush in his cheeks

betrayed him, and he pushed off the boards and skated around

the rink, turning and going backwards, moving faster between

and around the couples and singles, pretending he was doing

it to the music, moving his hips and clowning, looking her

way, smiling from across the rink. He swished around and

grabbed hold of the boards next to her, saying, “So, come on,

girl, catch up if you’re any good.” And he was off again, going

around and looking to see that she was watching. “I’ve Got a

Pocketful of Dreams,” coming through the speakers now. The

three mutts over at refreshments watching him too.

Standing with a hand against the boards, Stella glanced

over at Liz still talking to the boys, likely saying something

dumb. Pushing off, she windmilled her arms to gain her

balance, half the rink between them.

Johnny coming around and past her, calling out, “Hey,

slowpoke.”

Picking up speed on the rented skates, she ducked and

went under a couple with joined hands, nearly ended on

her butt as she bumped them apart. Johnny slowed and

let her catch up, holding out his hand, then catching her

again from falling, the two of them moving around the

rink, holding hands now. Going around two more times,

he stopped over by Spencer and introduced her, asking

how old Spencer guessed she was, mouthing eighteen

behind her back. Also pointed at himself and mouthed to

call him Johnny.

Spencer said, “It ain’t right to guess a lady’s age.” 

Smiling at her, offering his hand.

Stella liking this older brother calling her a lady, told

him it was nice to meet him.

Taking her hand again, Bennie did it like it was a natural

thing. Stella not pulling away, thinking maybe he did it to

keep her from falling, but she liked the way her friend Liz

kept looking, the three boys looking too. And she lost track

how many times she skated around with him, talking about

where they went to school, places around town they both

knew. Bennie saying he was serious about his boxing, and

driving a cab too. Then asking about her, where she lived,

how she liked the school she went to, getting to know her.

Letting him buy her a soda after, the two of them

just kept talking, not running out of things. Playing at

being eighteen, she pushed away thoughts of her mother

worrying about her being out as the afternoon gave way to

evening. Then realizing Liz had gone home, Stella told him

she’d better get on home too.

“Well, I got my car, can give you a lift if you want?”

Wanting to trust him, but knowing her mother’s rule

about getting in cars with boys. Saying, “I’m okay, I can

walk.”

“Well, I’m just offering is all.”

They stood talking a few more minutes. Bennie didn’t

push it, offering to return her skates to the rental desk,

asking, “So, how do I see you again?”

“Well, you come next Saturday and maybe you will.”

Smiling, she let him take the skates.

“Not the brush-off, I hope — I mean, you’re gonna 

show, right?”

“Guess you’re gonna find out.” Smiling, she started

walking, knowing he was watching her, not sure how she’d

get another nickel, but she’d get it, and she’d be here next

Saturday alright.

Copyright © Dietrich Kalteis, 2021

Better safe than sorry

“But I really want to use that quote.” Where do you go for legal and copyright advice? Do you ever use public or historical figures in stories? A song lyric? A meme you saw (after fact checking I hope)?

by Dietrich

A few years back, I wrote Zero Avenue, a story which centers around a female punk rocker trying to break into the punk music scene during the late seventies. I wanted to use lines from song lyrics in the chapter titles, having never bumped into copyright issues up until that time. My publisher and editor shook their heads, cautioned me, and set me straight.

Looking it up, I found out there’s a no-number-of-words rule, meaning permission is needed for as little as one lyric line. And there’s no percentage or minimum word count, so even a partial line might be considered copyright infringement. If the material is protected under copyright then even substantial similarity means it’s best to get permission. And it’s interesting to note that while lyrics are protected by copyright, song titles aren’t. I was also surprised to find out the Beatles’ “Yellow Submarine” and David Bowie’s “Ziggy Stardust” are trademark protected.

So, for Zero Avenue, I was free to mention song titles, but my character, Frankie del Rey couldn’t sing any actual song lyrics, but she was free hum along, or being punk, she could bang her head against a wall or table to the beat of the music.

Do I need permission to use quotes? I tune in to the way people speak and exchange with each other, and I often jot interesting expressions or exchanges down — not something I’m likely to get into hot water over. If it’s a quote by a famous person, and if it’s used in a positive way, along with proper attribution, then it’s probably alright.

As I understand it there are limitations to copyright.: After a copyright holder’s death, the work falls into public domain and is from then on no longer protected by any intellectual property laws. The public owns these works, and anyone can use them without having to seek permission.

Have you ever used public or historical figures in stories? As a matter of fact I have, and although there may be a few gray areas here, a public figure’s right to privacy expires after they die, so it’s okay to mention or use them in fictional settings.

In order to avoid confusing fictional characters with living people, there’s often a disclaimer along with works of fiction, something like: The characters in this book are entirely fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is entirely coincidental. 

Copyright and memes: Since a meme is a derivative work, the meme’s creator isn’t likely the legal copyright holder of the original work in the first place. But, I’m way over my head here, so it would be best to ask a copyright lawyer about it.

Being far from an expert on the subject of copyright, I live by one simple rule: When in doubt, I seek any necessary permission or professional advice from a lawyer specializing in copyright law, because it’s far better to be in my studio writing than in a courtroom trying to explain things to a judge.