The first post.

Breaking ground.

Popping the cork.

I sit here toying with how to start. I want to say something significant. I mean, come on, it’s the first post. But I don’t want to come off too obscure or woo-woo. Then again, I named this “The 8th Sense Blog.” Readers must be wondering WHY? There are tons of blogs. What makes this one different?

I’m not satisfied to just blog about writing or promoting “Protector.” Sure, that’s obviously a major factor of this endeavor. You’ll still be the first to find out where I’m signing a book or what town invited me to speak at their conference. I’ll share exclusively with you how “Protector” came to be and the multitude of hidden and embedded elements within the book. (And trust me, there are lots of those.) And yes, there WILL be contests. But in addition to all of that, I want to create a blog that gives readers the opportunity to touch on subjects that percolate outside the realm of writing.

“Protector” is a crime fiction thriller. But it’s also a lot more. It’s the journey of Detective Jane Perry as she comes face-to-face with a powerful, unseen force she can’t explain but seems to be driving her life and compelling her to take action. If Jane ignores that gut intuition or those odd visions that make no sense to her, she will lose her battle. But Jane Perry is not someone who easily accepts that mystical, unexplainable place, lingering just outside the thin veil of what we call reality. However, that unseen reality still exists and continues to function whether she wants to believe it or not.

It’s that otherworldly dimension that has always fascinated me. No, not just ghosts or cute 10-year-old boys who “see dead people.” I’m talking about the stuff that connects us as human beings…That symbiotic weirdness of synchronistic events that makes a thinking person stand back and say, “Damn, there must be a God.”

You know what I’m talking about because you’ve felt it and you’ve been there. You’ve felt that quiver of recognition as the hairs on your arms stood up and paid attention. Perhaps you’ve had dreams that made no sense at the time until they played out in your “real” life. Some of you may not want to admit it because the sensation doesn’t jive with your upbringing or it clashes with your religion. But what I’m talking about exists whether you want to believe it or not. It’s the link between humans and the unseen forces that can guide us or destroy us. It’s the power of the mind and the determination of the soul. It’s where you allow your heart to see what your brain can’t fathom.

It’s more than a sixth sense and beyond the seventh. I call it “The 8th Sense”—a place where illumination and creativity merge. Any good writer or artist has been to this place many times. They dip their toe into the deep, collective pool and create something where nothing existed beforehand. Listen to Mozart or stare at a Rembrandt and you’ll begin to understand it.

My hope is that like-minded people from all over the world will join me here. I’ll talk about writing, the process of creating something out of nothing and an inside look at “Protector” and the sequel I’m currently working on. But I want to also introduce other topics along the way; topics that mesh with many of the ideas that “Protector” introduces. Precognition. The mind-body connection. Synchronicity. Symbology. The Great Mysteries. The Interconnectedness of everything.

And with any luck, that fascinating interconnectedness will come to life as a diverse band of readers link to this blog and find a common ground with their uncommon experiences. It’s all about looking past what’s in front of you and accepting that a whisper away is a world so infinite and full of delicious strangeness. It’s about realizing that we’re all more powerful than we’ve been given credit for. I want to make you ponder the possibilities as you drive to work…exchange “outside the box” ideas around the water cooler.

Yeah, I guess it could sound a little woo-woo. Nah, not really.

Just take a risk and venture outside of your comfortable sleeve and find out that you are not alone.

And remember that…what lies buried in the mind is destined to be revealed…

There are so many “rules” to writing a good book. One of those rules is giving your main character a great name that is memorable and fits that person to a tee.

James Bond.

Harry Potter.

Liza Doolittle.

Miss Marple.

These are names etched in fiction. The path an author takes to establish that all-important name is never the same.

Trust me, coming up with that name is not always easy. There’s a lot of pressure to create a moniker that suits the personality of the character. If you’re planning a series of books, then you REALLY want to choose the perfect name. It’s like a brand. Kleenex. Pop Tarts. Cheerios. You don’t just throw any name on the board and hope it sticks.

Which brings me back to Protector.

I was cleaning out my file cabinet the other day and came upon a crinkled manila folder titled “Protector.” Upon opening it, I found about 25 pages of handwritten notes detailing the various characters in the book that, at that time, were still struggling for an identity. The pages were dated 2001. (Yes, that’s right. Between four drafts of the manuscript and countless rejections, it’s taken almost six years for Protector to see the light of day.)

As I read the often-faint scribbles, I kept finding references to “Kate Lincoln.” At first, I thought Kate might have been a character I’d outlined and then cut from the book. Then I realized exactly who Kate was. It was the name I’d given the main character of Protector.

Detective Kate Lincoln.

I wanted a strong name for the main character. I wanted it to be a name a reader would remember. One of my favorite actresses was Katherine Hepburn, often known as “Kate.” If anyone exemplified strength and power, it was Kate Hepburn. There was also the musical, “Kiss Me Kate” based on Shakespeare’s “The Taming of the Shrew.” The “shrew” was named Kate. Again, a rough-and-ready, belligerent, take-no-prisoners woman. I was seeing a pattern here. Kate = resilient. Thus, I named her Kate.

Lincoln? Well, frankly, I don’t recall where that came from. I did admire President Abraham Lincoln and Lincoln had two syllables. Don’t ask me why, but I wanted the main character’s first name to be one syllable and the last name to have two syllables. To me, the cadence of that combination felt solid. And, God knows, my main character HAD to be solid.

I was days away from penning the first chapter to Protector when my aunt called me. For years, she’d been urging me to “Write that novel, dammit,” even though I had no novel figured out yet. I informed her that, indeed, I was about to embark on that endeavor. Briefly, I told her the story idea and a brief description of Detective Kate Lincoln.

“Kate Lincoln?” my aunt mused. “Hmmm.” She thought about it some more. “Sounds like she wears high heels.”

“No,” I informed her. “Kate wears cowboy boots. Rough-outs. And leather jackets. Kate’s tough.”

“Kate Lincoln shops at Nordstrom,” my aunt stated.

“No,” I said with determination. “Kate Lincoln doesn’t buy designer clothes. She shops at Eddie Bauer.”

My aunt was unmoved. “Kate Lincoln likes fine wine.”

“NO.” This was getting out of hand. “Kate Lincoln drinks beer and Jack Daniels. She’s a drunk and a chain smoker. She plays pool…”

“Kate Lincoln does NOT play pool.” There was a pause. “I think you need to re-consider the name.”

That’s just what a writer wants to hear when they’re days away from starting their first novel. Without the main character’s name firmly established…well…it’s like starting a road trip without the car.

That sinking feeling came over me. I could sit in my apartment and brood or, since we’d just had a nice heavy spring snow, I could go cross-country skiing. The brisk, biting wind and freezing temperatures always seem to jumpstart my creative juices.

But by the time I’d skied to the mid-point of the cross-country course, I was still stumped as to a name for my hard drinking, chain smoking, tough as nails detective.

I threw down my ski poles and yelled into the air, “Aunt Jane! I can’t think of a damn name!”

Hello.

Jane.

Solid name. No nonsense. Shops at Eddie Bauer. Someone named Jane could like beer and Jack Daniels. Might even be a chain smoker…

I picked up my far-flung ski poles and proceeded up the pass, trying to figure out Jane’s last name.

I turned to the sign that gave the distance marker. It read: “Perry Pass.” I had an Uncle Perry who I never met. And I’ve got a good friend whose last name is Perry.

By the time I’d reached the summit of Perry Pass, it was official.

Detective Jane Perry was born.

Naming villains in your book? Well, that can be fun and also dicey. More on that next time…

Generally speaking, writers can be a sensitive bunch. Obviously, it takes a lot of sensitivity to create characters that never existed before and give them interesting stories where they can play out their dramas. On a whole, I think it’s fair to say that most writers are a lonely lot, spending most of their time holed up in front of their computer, blasting their adrenal glands with too much coffee and nicotine and worrying if they’ve got what it takes to compete in the big bad publishing world.

It also might be safe to say that, given a writer’s artistic temperament, they weren’t necessarily understood when they were younger. Maybe their peers shunned them. Rejected by their parents. Perhaps they were teased or beat up on the playground. But you want to know a secret? When those future writers were going through hell in their younger years, they were quietly taking down names.

Oh, yeah. They had a plan. A somewhat flaccid, yet sinister plan. For every individual who mocked or abused them, that future writer had a special plan to take out their revenge. One day, the bully would become the antagonist in their novel.

Consider it literary justice. Literally.

Sure, it’s passive/aggressive justice. But we writers are not exactly known for starting actual physical fights. It might damage our fingers and, thus, prevent us from sitting behind our keyboards and gunning down our aggressors.

With this in mind, I had to chuckle when I visited Tess Gerritsen’s blog last week and read about author Michael Crichton’s literary brawl with Washington political columnist Michael Crowley. Seems Crichton fits into that “sensitive” category I mentioned. As the story goes, Crichton was deeply insulted by Crowley’s criticism of the writer and his politics. So Crichton did what any self-respecting writer does: he named the villain in his latest novel, Next, after the guy. And he wasn’t subtle about it, giving the antagonist the name MICK Crowley.

Oh, it gets better. He made Mick Crowley a sodomizing, child rapist. But best of all, Crichton gave Crowley’s character a small penis. Talk about cutting a guy off at the knees…or higher. While the real Crowley is fuming about this obvious defamation of character, a lawsuit doesn’t seem to be in the works. As Tess pointed out, very few men are going to cop to a character being named after them when said character has a pecker the size of a postage stamp. In the literary world, libel lawyers unofficially call it “the small penis rule.”

I can speak from experience about naming the villain of a story. It’s always a moment of power mixed with unrestrained glee. The added perk is that after months of writing your book, it’s akin to a long therapy session of beating the crap out of a pillow where you imagine the face of your enemy. In some ways, you’ve exercised your demons by continually typing the name of your oppressor hundreds of times and placing him/her in situations that humiliate, taunt and eventually, destroy.

But there can be problems in the villain-naming department. For example, what if your playground bully had a name that was common? John? Cathy? Tom? Ann? And what if there were other people in your life—decent people who you like—with the same name? I’ll tell you what happens. The decent people call you up, incensed that you chose THEIR name as the serial killer/wife abuser/child molester/deranged lunatic. “What did I ever do to you?” they ask you, offended that their common name has been trashed.

However, when you tell them that you were not trashing THEM, but someone else who happened to have the same name, they take a meaningful pause. “You mean it wasn’t ME?” they ask, sounding a bit disregarded. It’s no a no-win situation because now they feel left out!

Or, there’s this one: instead of naming the villain after a foe, you name them after someone you like. Yes, I know that goes against the creed of naming your bad guy after a putz. But this dilemma occurred recently. My editor, Lou Aronica, has been a wellspring of support since the inception of Detective Jane Perry. When I started outlining the sequel to “Protector” (titled “Redemption”), I promised to name a major character in the book after him. However, I’d already bestowed all the main characters with meaningful names. The only character that remained unnamed was the central criminal mind—a guy who was a child killer and rapist. I’d NEVER named a villain after anyone I liked. Never. But I really wanted to get Lou’s name in the book in a prominent way. When I emailed Lou to ask if this was okay with him, he wasn’t sure at first how to take the news. But when I explained everything, he agreed to allow his name to be sullied “in the spirit in which it was bestowed.” Thus, the villain of Lou Peters was born.

Finally, there’s this predicament when choosing your scoundrel’s moniker: their namesake simply doesn’t get it. This exact thing happened to me years ago when I was fresh out of college and ready to sully the name of someone I didn’t like. I wrote a short story and merrily named the antagonist after a particularly nasty literary professor (talk about justice) who had been a thorn in my side. The story was published in an obscure literary journal and, out of the blue, I get a letter from the Lit. Professor telling me how much he loved the story and how “honored” he was to be one of the characters. Honored? Talk about knocking the wind out of my vengeful sails.

In retrospect, I should have given his character a small penis…

Next installment, I’ll talk about the thrill of embedding unusual names, towns, etc. in stories…

And to read more on the Michael Crichton feud, check out Tess Gerritsen’s Blog here: http://tessgerritsen.com/blog/2006/12/16/the-small-penis-rule/ (Copy and paste to your browser.)

Hello, everyone! Happy Holidays!

Just a shameless post to remind everyone that the Protector book contest ends on December 31st.

Yes, I’ll randomly (and I mean randomly) choose 10 lucky readers to receive a first edition book hot off the press. Furthermore, I will sign it to you PERSONALLY. That means, if your name is Amy, it’ll say, “To Amy.”

Yep. I want to go the extra mile for my readers because I DO appreciate your continued enthusiasm and support.

And may I take this time to thank the hundreds of people who have visited this website and blog, watched the Protector Trailer and sent me wonderful, heartwarming, inspiring personal messages. Protector is obviously hitting an emotional chord with many readers. I am grateful for all of it and promise to keep the ball rolling for a long time.

Laurel

So, when is a “cigar” really NOT a cigar?

Ever since Dan Brown’s DaVinci Code swept the publishing world, readers seem more receptive to uncovering hidden code in seemingly ordinary stories. Embedding veiled messages in works of fiction and art is nothing new. A lot of times it’s just another way for a writer to enjoy their own little “wink-wink” toward their more perceptive readers. That’s why I’ve been doing it for years in my writing. From character’s names to odd-sounding towns, I have peppered a lot of my work with obscure coded references that only a few readers have been able to break.

My first foray into this subterfuge started in college when I was putting together the playbill for a one-act play I directed. I’d had nothing but trouble dealing with the theatre department head as my play was not the featured production of their season and she didn’t see any point in giving my actors or myself any special treatment. Thus, I had to do everything on a bare bones shoestring.

And that included writing and printing the one page playbill to give to the audience.

By the time I sat down to write the playbill, I was fairly irritated. I was not only the director, but the set designer, costume designer, makeup artist, hair stylist…you get the picture. My playbill was going to look pretty weak, I thought, with only my name and the five actors on the page. Thus, I came up with my own little coded retribution for being hung out to dry: I created names for the non-existent crew. The set designer was Haven Agud Tyme (Having a good time), costumes were courtesy of Sowen Lasnite (Sewn Last Night), makeup was by May Belline (I think that one’s obvious) and hair was done simply by Coiff.

But you know what? Nobody got it. It went over their heads like an obscure reference to Plato at a cattle auction. That’s the problem with embedding code in your work. But that hasn’t stopped a lot of writers from giving it the ol’ college try.

The famed author E.M. Forster gave it a shot way back at the turn of the 20th century. Forster’s books were rediscovered by Hollywood in the 1980’s and enjoyed a major renaissance when Room With A View, Maurice, Howard’s End, Where Angels Fear to Tread and Passage to India were brought to the screen.

One of Forster’s lesser-known works, a short story titled “The Celestial Omnibus,” has always held a soft spot in my heart. Published in 1914, the story is a quietly subversive tale of Forster’s dislike of intellectuals who have lost touch with their heart and soul. This was big stuff in 1914 and a story that had to be told with some code thrown in for good measure. Forster wanted to make his point without alienating readers. Thus, he couched the story in fantasy: a children’s fantasy.

“The Celestial Omnibus” tells the story of a sensitive young boy growing up in a middle class English family. Like much of Forster’s work, the characters in Omnibus suffer from what the author beautifully labeled “an underdeveloped heart.” The boy in the story, however, is pure and has eyes to see and a heart that listens. His father and mother are obsessed with appearing intellectual, even though their ideas are shallow. To this end, they encourage the company of an elitist named Mr. Bons, hoping that by association with this seeming erudite blowhard, their status will rise in the community. Mr. Bons is the quintessential dinner guest who demands center stage as he spouts off about poetry, art, music and literature all the time while resting his teacup precariously on his overdeveloped belly.

The magical element in the story takes off when the boy discovers a mysterious horse-drawn omnibus (a covered carriage) that suddenly appears out of nowhere twice a day, at dawn and dusk, from the end of the alleyway across from his house. One day, the boy escapes the oppressive Mr. Bons and takes a ride on the omnibus. To his shock, the contraption lifts into the air and lands in The Heaven of the Immortals. There he meets scores of artistic and musical people who befriend him without ever revealing their names. When the boy returns home on the omnibus that night, his parents castigate him for wandering off when he could have been soaking in the intellect of Mr. Bons. What we don’t find out until the end of the story is that all the artistic masters that Mr. Bons superficially rambles on about turn out to be the cherished friends the boy met in heaven. Everyone from Dante to Keats reside in that magical place. The dramatic climax finds Bons heading off on the Celestial Omnibus with the boy, only to find that he is not welcomed into heaven due to his hardened heart. When he comes face-to-face with his heroes of art and literature he is cowed by them, finally revealing his true nature. He falls through a hole in a cloud and to his death. And the boy? He stays in heaven with his newfound friends of the Ages.

Yes, I suppose “The Celestial Omnibus” is a bit on the erudite side of popular mystical entertainment by today’s standards. But in 1914, this story was brave and ahead of its time. It was Forster’s slap in the face to intellectuals who refuse to think outside the box. And to make this point even more interesting, he gave his antagonist, Mr. Bons, a trick name that, spelled backwards, is SNOB.

Author Lewis Carroll took embedding code to new heights in his Alice in Wonderland series. Most students of Carroll agree that he masterfully created what seemed to be a children’s story but was really a tart assault on the British government. The Queen of Hearts was really Queen Victoria, for example. The Cheshire Cat and White Rabbit were caricatures of political buffoons. It was Carroll’s “wink-wink” to society. But to most people, the Alice series was just another fantasy-based children’s book.

There are more modern examples out there, from Disney’s Fantasia to Rod Serling’s Twilight Zone. You see a pattern here? Through what looks like “fantasy” or science fiction on the surface, may hide explosive messages that the writer possibly didn’t feel he or she could deliver without incurring the wrath of the public.

Or, it can be just for fun. In one of my short story collections, I named a character Mr. Mepps. He was a man who liked to lure people into his nefarious net. He also liked to fish. Mepps? It’s the brand name for the #1 fishing lure.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Nobody got it…

I’ll be signing first edition copies of Protector on Monday, January 15th (Martin Luther King, Jr. Day) at the Borders Bookstore in Dillon, Colorado at 1PM.

On Saturday, January 20, from 1PM to 3PM, I’ll be signing books at Through the Looking Glass in Glenwood Springs, Colorado.

If you live around that neck of the woods or if you happen to be traveling through, stop by and say “hello.”

Laurel