HELP WANTED

By Michael Seese

It's crunch time, my friends. I am nearing the finish line on "The Secret World Of Gustave Eiffel." As I write this, I am through 183 of 264 pages with regard to revisions. And I have spoken with the printer. He is on board.

So...

What I need are proofreaders. Someone to go over it and look for the usual (typos, continuity flaws, etc.)  but also to offer a high-level opinion, specifically, "It sucks. Don't waste your money" or "It has a chance."

So if you are interested in helping out, please drop me a line by at 

mail AT MichaelSeese DOT com

You also could post a comment with your email, though if you do, please format it as I have done above: name AT MyServiceProvider DOT com, to avoid the SPAM bots.

I can't pay. But I will thank you in the book's acknowledgements.

Let the games begin.

Eiffel Slog-gress

By Michael Seese

Well, I'm in the revisit / revise phase of "Eiffel." As I said in my previous previous entry on the topic, I have finished the first pass-through, and now am filling in the blanks. The substantial blanks. Sometimes it's a drudge. Sometimes I fear having to tackle the task. And sometimes...

Last night I prepared to work on chapter 3, which takes place during Eiffel's school years. Some time ago, I had roughed out a wide-ranging conversation between Eiffel and one of his professors. I shelved it back then, because I realized that the topics they discuss should have a bearing on what comes in the rest of the book. So I opted to press on, vowing to later plug in references to the key events that I would devise as I moved forward. Prior to last night, as I contemplated what additional ideas to incorporate -- even though I now know comes in the later chapters -- I was drawing lots of blanks. But I had some time on my hands last night, so I persevered.

And the words just came.

When I first sat down to type, I had hoped to merely flesh out a few of the details already there, and perhaps refresh my memory of that skeleton conversation, so that I could see if any later events "fit."

But the words just came.

When the dust settled, I got down over 1,000 words. And I'm pretty happy with them. In fact, I would call that chapter done.

Such is the magic of writing.

Total count: 59,239.

Eiffel Terminé

By Michael Seese

(Per my French dictionary, that means "completed," rather than "dead.")

Exactly two months after typing the first words, I have completed the first pass of "The Secret World Of Gustave Eiffel." Total words to date: 57,323. For those of you keep score at home, it works out to just over 970 per day.

Not too bad.

So now it's on to Phase II. I think I'll take a "vacation" from Paris for a few days, and then get back to the daunting mountain of REALLY finishing it. The specific tasks will be:

1. Writing most of the detail in the first few chapters. Right now, they're basically placeholders.
2. Fleshing out details where I knew that I wanted additional description or dialogue, but didn't have it on the tip of my tongue. So I pressed forward, rather than lose momentum.
3. Finding the right word where I, likewise, did not have it "right there." (I call this an the previous my "digitial Post-Its.")
4. Making sure that there are no continuity errors.
5. Finally, making sure that, you know, it doesn't suck.

No problem.

My target for this effort is the week of April 22. That give my proofreaders some time to review and comment, a little time for me to implement the suggestions, and a few weeks (which I hope is enough) for the actual printing.

Tally ho!

Castle: "Target"

By Michael Seese

What a gritty, emotion-wringing episode! Of course, given the plot, could it be anything but? Still, it was nice found a way to let Castle maintain a little bit of his trademark humor.

Martha: "My heart is never wrong."
Castle: "What about your first marriage? And your second?"

Beckett: "Do you want a coffee?"
Castle: "No thanks. My adrenaline will suffice."
 
The latter came after Castle's tête-à-tête with Stevens, the "wheel man." Personally, I'm glad they had Castle go medieval on his heinie. (Off-screen, of course.) It's what any father would want to do. And since in other situations Castle has been less than macho -- the bar fight in "Headhunters" comes to mind -- I thought it was good to see his other side. Or, as he stated:

Beckett: "I didn't think you had that side to you."
Castle: "When it comes to the people I love, I do."

Director Bill Roe employed a visual trick the show has used before: sepia. When Castle and Beckett met with Agent Harris, the room was awash in a light brown tone, giving everything a warm glow, which contrasted nicely with the chill of the scene. I would point out that the interview with Sara's parents involved no such visual effect.

Naturally, the funniest lines came before Castle found out that Alexis had been kidnapped:

Castle: "Well, it was acceptance until you started applying your fiendish logic."

Castle: "He was hiding in plain sight. A foreign agent in deep cover, on a special reconnaissance mission."
Beckett: "Why would he shoot up a van?"
Castle: "Maybe Jack Bauer was driving it."

Castle: "Though by definition, science fiction is not science."
Esposito: "It has the word in it."
Castle: "It's...that's an excellent point."

This was not an episode for "looks."

If I may pat myself (and my wife) on the back, our predictions were pretty spot-on.

Last week, I said that Beckett's line, "Castle, you don't need to see this," would refer to a blood-soaked jacket. OK, so it was a blood-soaked floor of the van...close enough. I did, however, say that this revelation would be at the very end of part 1. So call me 50/50. This week, when we found out that Hasim possessed an arsenal that rivals Ted Nugent's, my wife said, "He was probably paid by her family to protect her." She nailed it. Then at the end, when Alexis ran out to the roof, I said, "She's probably in Europe." And to be 100% honest, in my mind I thought, "Paris." Though as I've said elsewhere in this blog, I kind of have Paris on the brain right now.

So here is my prediction for this week: Sara's parents were behind the kidnapping. We'll see if I'm any percentage of correct on that one.

We're definitely looking forward to "Hunt."

Feel free to share your thoughts. 

What happens when Castle learns that Alexis was really the "Target."  Click to tweet.

30K

By Michael Seese

When I last wrote about The Secret World Of Gustave Eiffel, I was on the verge of 20,000 words. I said in that post that I hoped to "ramp it up" this past week. Well...

2/3/13       19,573
2/4/13       21,012
2/5/13       22,789
2/6/13       24,815
2/7/13       26,193
2/8/13       27,405
2/9/13       28,114
2/10/13     28,507
2/11/13     30,177
2/12/13     30,884


I'm especially proud of the days on which I "skipped a 4th digit," if you will. For example, on February 4, I went from 19K to 21K. 

February 6 also was a good day. I had prepared to shut down for the night. But when I saw that my word count was 24,768 -- or 1,979 for the day -- I just had to press on to reach 2,000. (2,026 to be exact.)

My ultimate goal is 80,000 words. But my plan is to get from where I am now to the end, and total perhaps 60,000. Then, I can go back and fill in the blanks, especially at the beginning, which is very sparse. So while I still can't claim (even to myself) that I'm "there," I am "getting there."

I'd like to offer another snippet.  

Let me state, probably again, that I like writing dialogue. I really enjoy writing it. On the days I'm writing a lot of dialogue, I have humongous word counts. It just flows. Whether it's any good... I suppose that is for you, the readers (and ultimately the New York Times reviewer) to decide.

Here is the set up. An important plot element centers around the decision to choose Eiffel's design as the centerpiece of the 1889 World's Fair. The chapters which lead up to this section explain that it was a rigged contest; Eiffel was going to be selected. Per Wikipedia, it was contrived in reality, too. But Eiffel was a bridge builder. Therefore, the architectural community launched a subtle (and not-so-subtle) campaign against him.

    Simply pondering the scope and scale of the work which lay ahead caused his head to hurt. Eiffel rubbed his temples in an effort to silence the throbbing. When it grew in intensity and frequency, he realized that the pounding came from without, rather than within. Someone was at the door.
    As soon as he opened it, he wished he had not.
    “Gustave! How good to see you,” Jules Bourdais said through his sneer. Bourdais always addressed people by their first names as a form of condescension.
    “Monsieur Bourdais, to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”
    “Gustave, does one need a reason to visit an old friend?” 
    Bourdais emphasized the  word “old.” Eiffel certainly did not consider him to be a friend. He nonetheless maintained his cordiality.
    “Of course not, Monsieur Bourdais. Please do come in. Allow me a moment to straighten up."
    Eiffel hurried back to his table, and hid the drafts of the Tower beneath another sheet of paper which featured several half-finished doodles, and served expressly as a decoy. When Eiffel looked up, he saw that  Bourdais had shown himself in.
    “What are you working on, Gustave?” he asked, coming around to Eiffel’s side.
    “Nothing out of the ordinary. As you can see, just a bridge. Bridges are what I do best, after all.”
    “Would this be the bridge for Breslau?” Bourdais asked, raising an eyebrow.
    Eiffel tried to hide his astonishment.
    “Breslau? What do you mean?”
    “Nothing. So you are not preparing an entry for the Exposition?”
    “Why do you ask?” Eiffel couched the question in faux-sincere innocence. In reality, he desperately wished to know the real purpose behind Bourdais’s visit.
    “Even though you are an engineer, Gustave, perhaps you have had conversations with some of my colleagues in the Société Française des Architectes. Securing the commission for the the gateway of the Exposition would be a great honor for any of us. For you, I would imagine, the crowning achievement of a lifetime. So I just assumed that you would be preparing a proposal. Even though you build bridges.”
    Eiffel noted that Bourdais overemphasized the last word, even more so the second time than the first.
    “Oh, I am,” Eiffel said, casually. He knew that Bourdais was baiting him. But he could not resist playing the game a little.
    “Oh?” said Bourdais as he scanned the table.
    “Oui. As of now, I have just a few rough sketches. Nothing even remotely worth mentioning. The competition is not to be formally announced until 1 October, is it not?” Eiffel, it goes without saying, knew by heart the correct date.
    “No, Gustave, it is 3 October.”
    “But of course.”
    “So you have not committed much to paper?”
    “No. You?”
    “I am nearly complete,” he boasted.
    Eiffel knew Bourdais, or at least his reputation for vanity, very well. He knew that the proper mixture of prodding and ego-stroking would loosen his tongue.
    “I am certain that yours will prove a magnificent fabrication. I must confess, Monsieur Bourdais, that whenever I stroll down the Pont d' Iéna, and pass the Palais du Trocadéro, I am compelled to linger for several minutes so that I may drink it in, and admire its bold Byzantine flavor." 
    Eiffel knew full well that “byzantine” could also be interpreted as “devious” or “surreptitious.”
    “You, then, are in concordance with most of Paris. And whenever I travel by train and cross one of your bridges, I think, ‘This bridge was built by Monsieur Eiffel. I can rest secure in the knowledge that, most likely, it will not collapse.’ ”
    “You are too kind, Monsieur Bourdais. So your proposal for the Exposition...will it be modern, or adhere to the classical schools of thought?”

If I have not said so lately, I learned of Jules Bourdais through my "encyclopedia," also known as Eiffel's Tower, by Jill Jonnes. For that matter, many of the characters which I am building worlds around are those real-world personalities who populated Paris at the time, and who come to life on her pages. 

I am so going to have to send her a copy when it's done.  (Positive thinking.)

 

 

City Of Light

By Michael Seese

Last year, I entered a poem in the (radio station) WCLV annual Valentine's Day Love Poem Contest.

I didn't win. I didn't even place in the top 10. Did that stop me from trying again?

Nope!

So here is this year's entry, "City Of Light."

September stroll, Champs-Élysées,
Mona Lisa, café au lait,
Place du Tertre, al fresco dine,
Le Moulin Rouge, fountains of wine.

Our honeymoon down by the Seine,
"We will return. Some day." And then...

The babies came: one, two, then three,
Bottle feeding, Band-Aid knee,
Soccer practice, violin,
Homework, laundry. What's that? Sleep in?

Play, bath, story, then kiss goodnight.
Our home, our own City Of Light.

(Gee, I wonder why I thought of Paris.)

My wife said "Awwww" when she read it.

It's due tonight (or was it last night? no matter; I sent it Saturday) at midnight. Wish me luck.

Five Figures

By Michael Seese

Five figures...

Blog followers? That would be nice.
Advance on royalties? That would be REALLY nice.

No, I'm pleased to say that after just a little over a week of writing, my new novel-in-progress has reached the 10,000-word mark. Here is the official day-by-day tally.

1/12      627
1/13      849
1/14      2,126
1/15      3,805
1/16      5,433
1/17      6,457
1/18      7,117
1/19      7,374
1/20      7,671
1/21      8,339
1/22      9,201
1/23      10,252



Though I have said in the past that I tend to concern myself too much with word count, in this case, I'm a deadline. So it does matter. 

I now feel as though I can share the title. It's "The Secret Life Of Gustave Eiffel." Below is another snippet.

     He had just settled back into one of the plush leather chairs with a cigar and a snifter of Brandy de Jerez when he heard a minor commotion near the door. Rising from his comfortable position, he saw that the excitement stemmed from the arrival of the American humorist Mark Twain. Though Eiffel had never read any of Twain’s three (or was it four?) novels, he had heard that the Missourian was an excellent conversationalist, one possessed of a sharp mind and a sharper tongue. Reasoning that it would behoove him to secure Twain as an ally—lest his world-renowned vitriol join the already maddening chorus of critics—he followed Twain to the bar and said, “Marcel, I would like the pleasure of buying Monsieur Twain’s drink, if he will accept it, that is.”
    Turning to face Eiffel, an impish smile erupted from beneath Twain’s famously bushy mustache. “Actually, I stopped in to inquire about purchasing this entire establishment. So, as long as you’re buying...” Seeing a flash of fear trace across Eiffel’s face, Twain quickly added, “Forgive me, Monsieur. I am told that my sense of humor is an acquired taste. Merci. I gratefully accept your kind offer, Monsieur...”
    “Eiffel. Gustave Eiffel.”
    “Ah, the man behind the Statue Of Liberty. Or should I say ‘underneath?’ It is a great honor to make your acquaintance, sir.”
    A second drink arrived, and Eiffel motioned toward his chair near the fireplace.
    The men sat down. Twain took a deep breath of the oakey scent, and said, “Magnificent! Now all that I require is a fine—”
    Eiffel produced from a pocket his leather cigar case, and offered one.
    “Monsieur Eiffel, I must say I have found that everything we Americans hear about the French—your grace, your civility, and your timing—is absolutely true. Thank you,” he said, likewise accepting a light from the match held in Eiffel’s outstretched hand. After a few puffs, he said, “At times like these, good sir, I am convinced that the almighty created man, alcohol, tobacco, and woman...in that order.”
    Eiffel chuckled at the bon mot. Clearly, Twain’s reputation did not exceed him.
    “I would suggest the addition of ‘humor’ in the fourth position, Monsieur Twain.”
    “Touché! Very well played, sir.”
    They took simultaneous sips of the fragrant alcohol.
    “So, what brings you to Paris, Monsieur Twain?”

I feel that I've made some good progress, though this past weekend, I found my faith a bit shaken. I had come up with the basics -- though they needed fleshing out -- leading up to the "defining moment" in the book. But I only had 7,000 words leading up and including the "defining moment," and very little idea of what would come next. 

And then from my library came a book I had ordered: Eiffel's Tower by Jill Jonnes. I'm basically scanning it, but the book has proven to be a veritable encyclopedia that details the events surrounding the building of the Tower which, as you might have guessed, is the aforementioned "defining moment." In short, it is chock full of the personalities, other than Gustave Eiffel, who were swirling around Paris at the time. (Ergo, the Mark Twain passage.) It's given me new life.

I so will have to acknowledge Ms. Jonnes in the foreword, and send her a copy when the book is published. 

Let us see what the coming week brings... 

Full Speed Ahead!

By Michael Seese

A few posts back, I described how agent Janet Reid tempted me (well, any of her blog followers) into a new, foolhardy adventure: writing a book about France in order to enter it in the American Library in Paris Book Award.

Why foolhardy? Because I need to send them an actual, real book. By June 1.

(GULP!)

Let me say something about writing, and me. 

When an idea "just comes" to me, it's easy. But coming up with an idea is hard. 

So I thought...

And thought...

And thought...

And...nothing.

I recognized that I was pressing to come up with something "French." I easily could have concocted a love story or a thriller and simply set it in Paris. For that matter, I could have taken Nightmares -- which is set in Cleveland, based on the locations I mention, though "Cleveland" is never named -- and changed the landmarks. But that seemed like cheating.

Then, on Saturday afternoon, an idea came. I scribbled down some notes. By the time I went to bed, I had just over 600 words, representing the first and last chapters. Here is a little taste.

    Ba-ba-ba-bummmmmm. Ba-ba-ba-bummmmmm. 
    The eight notes, known throughout the civilized world, but known only for what they purported to be rather than what they truly were, rained across the sky. A single tear of joy traced down his cheek and disappeared into his now-grey beard.
    “Ils sont arrivés. They’re here. It is time,” he wheezed.
    He struggled to stand, to raise himself from the chair, so that he might make his way over to the window to see, to see it with his own eyes.
    “Will the docking be successful? Will they latch? I hope I understood the design specifications, interpreted them correctly,” he said aloud. Converting the measurements from their system to newly adopted metric standards of his country had presented one of his greatest challenges.
    He collapsed back into the chair. His 91-year-old body had grown too weak, too feeble. So he would not be witness to the crowning achievement of his life’s work. But he had succeeded. He knew he had.

I'm going to try to balance writing this -- after all, I am on a deadline -- with my normal stuff, such as Castle reviews. I'd hate to give up the latter. But every minute spent fawning over a TV show is a minute not spent writing about France.

Stay tuned...

Here I Go Again!

By Michael Seese

A few posts back, I mulled over launching my own personal "NaNoWriMo," a self-imposed and self-guided effort to just get a book done. I was considering a YA fantasy that I had been kicking around in my head. And then...

Janet Reid, the best agent who is not my agent, offered up this on her blog. In it, she talked about the American Library in Paris Book Award.   

Per their website:

Any book-length prose fiction or nonfiction work, written originally in English, about France or the French-American encounter, will be considered by a committee of Award screeners. Nominated books must have been originally published between July 1, 2012 and June 30, 2013.

First prize is $5,000, and an all-expense paid trip to the City Of Light. So of course, I have to enter. Unfortunately, I do have to write (and print, as in, "publish") the damn thing. In fact, the way I see it, the contest presents five challenges:

1. Come up with an idea for a novel.
2. Write it.
3. Write it by June 1, or better said, at least six weeks before June 1 to allow for editing and printing.
4. Get it physically published.
5. Win it.

Piece of cake...right? (Or should I say gâteau?)

Since there is no way I could get it published through one of the "big houses," even if I had an agent, I'll probably tap the owner of the best bookstore IN THE WHOLE ENTIRE WORLD and see if he will assume the mantle of publisher, as he did for Haunting Valley. 

It's off to the races, my friends.