On Becoming an Artful Writer by Robert W. Walker

Robert W. Walker is a graduate of Northwestern University and NU’s Graduate School of Education; he holds a master’s degree in English, and has recently turned his 1972 dissertation into a novel entitled Children of Salem.




His novel Dead On was released last year by Five Star Books. Rob is the author of the 11-book Dr. Jessica Coran Instinct Series, the 4-book Detective Lucas Stonecoat Edge Series, and the historical trilogy featuring Inspector Alastair Ransom in City for Ransom, Shadows in the White City, and City of the Absent.

Rob has published over forty novels and has recently begun publishing in ebook format as well.

While he grew up in Chicago and was born in Corinth, MS., Rob now lives with his wife, Miranda, and their four children in Charleston, WV. To learn more about Rob or to get his help on your next story, as he is an accomplished editor as well, visit him online at: www.robertwalkerbooks.com,

On Becoming an Artful Writer

by Robert W. Walker

Martin Scorscese was awarded a special life’s work Golden Globe award for directing films, and his acceptance speech was a long eulogy to all those who came before him, all those he learned from and built upon. Ever watch a young artist at work? Go to any museum and you will find a young painter at an easel set up before one of the Masters—Van Gogh, Renoir, Picasso, Rembrandt. A look over the student’s shoulder shows that she’s not painting just anything, but rather she is attempting to duplicate the master artist’s method, trying to determine precisely how the artist in question used line, shape, light, shadow, brush stroke, color, medium, pick, pencil, charcoal—the whole of it. A student of art learns skills, tools, and techniques via mimicry and imitation, or if you prefer stealing—focusing so closely on how Renoir did it to learn it and own it. The how and why of the masters has to be harnessed. Even if one doesn’t care for Picasso’s art, one needs to know how he pulled it off.

Writers do the same, but they do so via voracious reading. As a writer reads, so shall he reap. Learning the art of establishing shots, openings, dialogue, settings, character, plot, props, symbols, metaphor, simile, texture, depth, color, tone and the marriage of all the parts amounts to working on a PhD in Letters. Steinbeck liked to say, “I’m just a storyteller” and that’s all well and good, but he was also an artist to learn from—a writer’s writer in other words.

Writers who succeed in finding their own brush stroke(s) or style do so by closely examining and trying their hand at crafting words in the “voice” of various writing masters—either consciously or unconsciously. All artists in all fields build on the backs of those who came before. Even the genius Shakespeare built upon playwrights who came before. For the struggling, thrashing young writer mimicry and imitation is the wisest form of flattery if one is to eventually learn from the masters and succeed. This success is measured in how far the young writer then moves on to find his own voice.

In short, read it, study it, steal it, own it, and use it. As a crime writer, thievery comes easy. Look at E.B. White’s description of the barn and later the rope in Charlotte’s Web. The method he uses—simple, straightforward, making a singsong of the verb WAS—has become for me a tool I use when called for. I read those depictions and studied White. I can now move others with a simple description when I need it, where I need it in my own work. Does it harm White that I stole his method for my purposes? No, not at all, and I have no reason to apologize. My first novel was to be the sequel to Mark Twain’s Huckleberry Finn, and I never looked back.

Whether you plan to write literature or genre fiction, it behooves one to challenge oneself to learn the tools and skills of the masterful hand at work. The student writer has to set up his easel before the master, be it Dickens, Dumas, Austen or Dean R. Koontz, and put that understanding into actual practice—as in writing a chapter of Twain or Hemmingway, or Faulkner, trying out all the various ranges from simplicity to complexity and back again: the serpentine sentence to the hammer blow of a two-word declaration. Try out the extremes. Test and challenge oneself with the two-step of an O’Henry or the beauty of a Chekov. If it’s Stephen King you wish to unseat, you do a chapter of King. It’s your story in Kingly style. The point is any struggling writer can and should learn from the classics and the masters just as painters, sculptors, poets, and film directors learn. I for one am still learning, but thanks to those who came before me, I have learned a great deal, and I owe homage to them all.

Thanks and do leave a comment, and find my 8 Free chapters of Children of Salem at www.authonomy.com and Dead On at a bookstore near you.

Rob

www.robertwalkerbooks.com

Two-on-Two Interview of Crime Fiction Couple Robert W. & Miranda Phillips Walker by Kaye Barley

I, Kaye Barley, being of sound mind and body, caught up with Robert W. Walker and wife Miranda Phillips Walker in Kill Devil Hills, NC in a shady, seedy dark dive that specialized in exotic drinks and an ocean breeze, as the bar amounted to a garage door that opened and closed on the sea. You know the type of place where seagulls and pelicans pick apart the leavings from your table? Where paper towels stand in for napkins? Where tattooed servers look like meth heads? The Walkers were doing research, and it was the only time I could see them for an interview before they left NC. I found them in a jolly, receptive mood here at Buck’s Gunshop and Oyster Bar.

My initial question broke the ice as I sat across the picnic bench from the infamous crime writing duo, asking, “So how have you two managed to only kill off fictional characters with two crime novelists under one roof?” Rob, whose latest is Dead On, Five Star Books and Miranda's latest and first is The Well Meaning Killer from Krill Press, turned to one another and smiled wide.

Rob sardonically replied, “Both our books are enjoying rave reviews. No reason for any ahhh…in-house bloodshed, right dear?”

Miranda nodded appreciatively. “The wonder is that the dogs in both our books also managed to survive.”

I asked, “I understand your son, Stephen, did the artwork and cover design for Dead On, and it is a fantastic cover.

Rob perked up at this. “The kid’s got his own graphic arts biz, and he’s a genius at it. How many publishers do you know who go with a cover designed by the author’s son?”

Miranda smiled proudly. “Stephen’s helped us with promotion material and business cards as well. It’s all in the family. And while my cover art is not designed by Stephen, it’s pretty hot, too!”

Recording the answers, I next asked, “What’re you two hoping to find here in the Outer Banks? I understand you’re doing research for your next book?”

Miranda shouted, “Oh, oh—this one’s for me. My sequel to The Well Meaning Killer is set here, and while we’ve visited the area before, Rob says there’s nothing like firsthand research for a book—especially if I’m footing the hotel bill.”

Rob leapt in with, “She’s seriously researching, and I’m seriously on R&R—came for the beach, the sun, surf, Buck’s Oysters, the Wright Brothers museum, the nightlife. But I think a setting with the name Kill Devil Hills in itself tells a reader to be on the look-out.”

“I see, so this will be a continuation of Megan McKenna’s FBI casework, eh?” I asked.

“That’s right, and I bring on some new characters to kill off! Bringing back some characters, who didn’t die in The Well Meaning Killer.”

Rob piped in with, “I think only Max, the dog, survived that last one, hon.”

“Nooooo! Some people survived that book as well.”

“Here I thought you were trying to trump my body count,” Rob joked and sipped at his Blue Moon.

At this point, I felt I should ask another question or order a drink. I did both. “Rob, you don’t intend to use Kill Devil Hills in a sequel to Dead On or another title?”

“When I set a book in New Orleans, I do NOT use Anne Rice’s cemetery, and I also steer clear of anything smacking of James Lee Burke, so as to make my New Orleans unique. Using Kill Devil Hills on the “heels” of Miranda Phillips Walker, no way. Colorful place but no way.”

Miranda muttered in his ear, “That’s OK, Rob, if he wanna use the location in the future sometime.” Rob pouted and said it was spoiled now for him.

“Will you two ever collaborate on a book?” I asked and man did this break up the bit of bickering.

They looked like two deer caught in the headlights. And both said at once, “No, no, no,” as in a chant. Then they added, “Maybe, maybe, maybe.”

“We love one another too much for that,” Miranda suggested.

“Family is far more important than fame, fortune, or any of that sort of nonsense,” added Rob, the two of them talking over one another in a rush. “However,” added Rob, “never say never. If the right idea came along, and if we can put our egos on the shelf, who knows?”

“Stranger things have happened,” added Miranda. “But honestly, we do read over one another’s work, and we do take good direction from one another.

“Yeah we do help one another throughout the process,” added Rob, “but more importantly, we maintain a respectful relationship toward one another in all we do.”

“Well this has been splendid but time’s run out for me.”

“That sounds like a line in a gangster movie…Curtains for ya…time’s run out for ya, Blackey,” joked Rob and Miranda grabbed him by the arm and tugged him to her. I left the couple in high spirits and laughter amid the music of Buck’s Gunshop and Oyster Bar, but the partners in crime fiction insisted on walking me safely to my car. Outside, the three of us strolled along a thumping, withered old wharf, surrounded by sea oats, below a huge moon over the ocean. At my car, we said our good-byes.

“ I surely wish to thank you and it’s wonderful you two know how to enjoy yourselves in wonderful North Carolina! I never knew this place existed.”

“You gotta go so soon?” asked Rob.

Yeah, the night’s young,” added Miranda.

I slipped into my car with photos taken and recording done wondering if I could sell this thing on eBay or even to Writer’s Crack Me Up Journal, unsure really what I had just faced, but on waking the next day and reviewing my notes, I realized wow, an interesting review overall and I figure Meanderings and Muses could use an infusion of the Walker mystique

For more info on Robert find him on the web where writers hang out and at www.robertwalkerbooks.com

For more info on Miranda find her on the web where writers hang out and at www.mirandawalkerbooks.com

(Note: while I would truly love taking credit for the above piece, in all fairness, I must admit it was written by the talented and ever clever, Mr. Rob Walker. But! One of these days I intend to catch up with Rob and Miranda and kick back with a Blue Moon or two. For real - they're adorable! AND talented!)

The Metaphysical Aspects of Fiction for Readers & Writers by Professor Robert W. Walker aka Pontificator Extraordinaire

Robert W. Walker is a graduate of Northwestern University and NU’s Graduate School of Education; he holds a master’s degree in English, and has recently turned his 1972 dissertation into a novel entitled Children of Salem.




His novel Dead On is due out in July from Five Star Books. Rob is the author of the 11-book Dr. Jessica Coran Instinct Series, the 4-book Detective Lucas Stonecoat Edge Series, and the historical trilogy featuring Inspector Alastair Ransom in City for Ransom, Shadows in the White City, and City of the Absent.

Rob has published over forty novels and has recently begun publishing in ebook format as well.

While he grew up in Chicago and was born in Corinth, MS., Rob now lives with his wife, Miranda, and their four children in Charleston, WV. To learn more about Rob or to get his help on your next story, as he is an accomplished editor as well, visit him online at: www.robertwalkerbooks.com, www.myspace.com/robertwwalkerbooks, www.facebook.com/robertwalker


The Metaphysical Aspects of Fiction for Readers & Writers by Professor Robert W. Walker aka Pontificator Extraordinaire

Although I write scary, frightening, exciting, suspenseful, fast-paced fiction, I consider what I do literature first—that it strives for the level of literature. I don’t know if it’s great lit or bad lit but my definition of literature is a story that aspires to the metaphysical. I am ever-wanting to deal with issues both of a physical nature and a metaphysical nature—that is concerns of this life: hunting, gathering, sex, fighting, fleeing or how we live our lives when put in a pressure cooker. However, I also want to deal at the same time, in the same story, concerns of a spiritual nature, i.e. who we are, why we act as we do, and how we live our lives between the dates on the tombstone. Working both pumps at once has always been my larger goal, and the longer I write, the more important this has become for this author.

From the get-go, let us all understand what it means to talk met•a•phys•i•cal-ly. Yes, it is an adjective with five shaded meanings, and what mystery writer doesn’t like a little shading or noir?

1. Relating to the philosophical study of the nature of being and beings, or a philosophical system resulting from such study

2. Based on speculative reasoning and unexamined assumptions that have not been logically examined or confirmed by observation

3. Extremely abstract or theoretical

4. Without material form or substance

5. Originating not in the physical world but somewhere outside it

A writer’s quite physical efforts which cause him back pain and eye strain, and sometimes blood clots, his or her fifty re-writes result in openings, pivotal plot points, mid-point slumps, denouement, endings, but it all begins with an abstract notion of theme or various “threads” the author consciously wishes to examine and deal with and tug at or carefully pull through. A River Runs Through It is not just a title. In other words, what is physical aside from the manuscript itself are such things as establishing shots and props just as in the movies (or at least in the story these things are ‘physical’ and ‘real’). What appears in the story of a physical nature should be used for what it is—a door is a door for instance, and it should be opened and closed and be mired in the real world (to the degree a writer wishes to represent the real world). However, a writer is often working with abstract notions as well, and often a physical prop from a horse to a deadly stick can and does take on representational or symbolic meaning, or a double entendre as in a stout door that is impenetrable and standing between two characters, or a rope that is unraveling, or an unbreakable chain representing a “relationship”. And suddenly aha! You now have a foot in the metaphysical. Perhaps only the sparest of styles can avoid this lurch to an abstract level within the story—but even Hemmingway is layered with abstract truths.

Authors are throwing fast balls, slow balls, curve balls, knuckle balls, and sliders (physical cues with metaphysical wrappers around them), and it behooves readers to be engaged as catchers with the mitt held at the ready. Else a reader “misses” the strike, or calls a ball when it is a strike, or mistakes a bean-ball to the head, a hammer blow, for something else entirely. What I am getting at in a nutshell is that you can read John Steinbeck for just the story, and you may be happy with that—the plot’s the thing or as Shakespeare said, the play’s the thing. Both Shakespeare and Steinbeck seem to want to be taken simply as two storytellers—only! But if either gentlemen ever said that, they lied. Anyone who works at a Shakespearean play or a Steinbeck novel is an engaged reader who reads these men for the amazing layers of complexity and metaphysical truths each dealt with, most centering on the human condition, ‘human bondage’ so to speak—relationships, being born into hell, crimes of the flesh, addictions, obsessions. Often obsessions that get between a father and his daughters, a father and son, a mother and son, between brothers, among families from their joy to their suffering and back again. And sometimes they look inward and other times they look to the stars for answers.

True a reader can dissect an author to the point of destruction and ruin of style and art, but there is a great deal to gain in seeing the metaphysical aspects of the author’s work—the connections and the double entendres and the meaningful names and meaning-filled titles. Look at that fifth definition of metaphysical again—originating not in the physical world but somewhere outside it. Ideas of an abstract nature are the starting point for many an author. We say to ourselves, “I want to deal with this issue in all of its complexity and demonstrate its physical reality in a world of my creation.” It is kind of like roping a cloud and tying it to your hitching post as Pecos Bill once did.

Imagine the author takes the notion of hatred—a father’s hatred for his two sons’ mother, and it spills over into their relationship and poisons their every encounter. Give it a name: East of Eden. Now write the story and you have to tell a physical story—a fictional plot to illuminate a truth about hatred and anger poisoning the family well. Readers are asked to see how these abstract notions riding the backs of concrete props guide us down a dark path or a light path depending if it is Gone With The Wind or The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, or Slumdog Millionaire. In its way, East of Eden is as much literature as is King Lear—and all of the stories mentioned here deal with similar metaphysicals—themes or threads.

So by now you’ve got to be asking, “So what’s Walker’s point?” In writing a noir novel, an historical novel, a suspense novel, even a horror novel, this aspect of literature is at work if the author chooses to cultivate it. It is
what I demand of myself—and what many authors demand of themselves. It ain’t easy! But for moi it is a necessity—as I learned to write by closely studying the classics, often reading in a dark closet of a room in a Chicago ghetto. No matter the nature of the novel or story I am working on, I need an abstract target! So again if a reader reads without catching the nuances, say if he reads with ears closed to the sound effects embedded by the author hurling them from the mound . . . if the reader misses the unveiling of the special effects embedded, the taste of the book, the smells embedded by the author, the sights and props, then the metaphysical aspects of the story may remain invisible to such a reader whose only interest is a well turned plot that asks nothing of the reader and does not disturb him into asking questions of himself and of mankind.

All of these spit balls and fast balls—props to sound effects—are pointing upwards from the bargain basement of the physical world. In other words, reading story for plot alone and being satisfied with that is similar to writing
for plot alone, and not challenging oneself to reach for the clouds where the philosophical aspects of the story live. If writing is like keeping twenty spinning plates in the air at once while riding a unicycle, at least one or two
of those plates ought to be metaphysical in nature.