The Writer on Drums

Creativity: the survival instinct expressing itself in unorthodox ways

August 23rd, 2010

Finally! We have quit Doylestown, PA, which has gotten increasingly crowded, for the farmlands outside of Bedminster, PA. Greenery! Peace! Birds! Best of all, on the first full day we were here in the new place, Grace and I received word that our co-authored story, No Show, has been accepted by Flash Fiction Online. Now, that’s an auspicious start.

And the second full day we were here, which was yesterday, saw me finish the first draft of a new story, tentatively titled Mercy Kill. It is off to my intrepid first readers now. This is a near-future story in the same background as Original Position and The Bight, the latter of which is as yet unpublished. It involves the sexbot industry. Is Isaac Asimov spinning in his grave?

(Probably not.)

August 4th, 2010

What with moving the household and dealing with the treatment and storyboards for a graphic novel, an entire month has slipped past me without blog updates. Lucky month.

I am also working on a new short story tentatively titled “Mercy Kill,” but more on that later. It’s about sexbots and the men who… love them.

June 19th, 2010

Originally written more than 10 years ago, TROGL is a novella set in 1936, the story of the first “successful” interstate flight of a liquid-fueled mail rocket. Quotes there because the Gloria – for such was the rocket’s name – was provisionally successful, getting across the state line by the metaphorical skin of its teeth, and not aloft the entire time but skidding along the frozen lake.

You can see a short video of the flight here on YouTube – A posting in Spanish of a German newsreel of the American flight. Ah, multiculturalism! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PJBmxtuZV9s (I have other, better footage, but on VHS that I haven’t converted to digital format.)

You can also see that the Gloria was not a big rocket, and certainly did look more like a small airplane, but rocket it was, and fly it did. The mail it contained was postmarked to commemorate the flight. There was also a commemorative post card (left). Obviously a “photoshop” job, since the Gloria never attained such a level, serene attitude during her flight.

It’s a small story in the annals of American rocketry but it has some personal resonance for me, even though I wasn’t even born until 1950. One of the principals of the effort was the German rocket enthusiast and science writer Willy Ley, who left Germany for the US as Hitler was closing his fist on the country. Though not Jewish, Ley hated the Nazis and what they were doing to his homeland. Concerned lest he be forced to work for the Nazis developing rockets (his friend and colleague Werner van Braun didn’t need to be forced; he willingly labored for them), Ley came to the US with the help of some members of the American Rocket Society and after a short time started experimenting with rockets once again.

The Greenwood Lake flight was one of his projects.

The Greenwood Lake Rocketeers

The Greenwood Lake Rocketeers

Here (right) is a picture of the Greenwood Lake rocketeers. I think that’s Willy Ley with his back to the camera, but I can’t be certain. Note the optimistic legend emblazoned on his asbestos suit: ROCKET AIRPLANE CORP. OF AMERICA. That I know of, they never got that particular business initiative off the ground — joke intended.

In the early 1990s I happened to be living in the next town over from Greenwood Lake, Warwick, New York. I drove through Greenwood Lake daily on my way to work in White Plains, passing by a small monument near the center of town. One day I, curious, I happened to stop to inspect it and discovered to my amazement that it had been erected to celebrate the flight – of which I had never heard!

But the plaque named Ley, and I was very familiar with his name. Having grown up in the 1950s, I was one of many boys interested in model cars and planes and the like, available as plastic kits from hobby and toy stores. (left and right; click the images for larger versions) I could not help but be aware of rockets, of course, given the launch of Sputnik in 1957 and popular culture’s interest in the possibility of space travel and trips to other planets. Willy Ley, who by that time was fairly well known as a popularizer of science in common with other writers like Isaac Asimov, lent his name to a series of model spacecraft from Monogram – and I had them all.

So, when he appeared as a guest on a “Tomorrowland” episode of Disney’s Wonderful World of Color in 1957 about future space travel, I recognized him. And of course, as I grew older I ran across his columns in Galaxy magazine. His was also the only non-fiction piece in the seminal sf anthology from Healy and McComas, Adventures in Time and Space.

But why was Willy Ley mentioned on a plaque in the middle of Greenwood Lake? I sensed a story, and set about doing research. Soon enough I unearthed the story of the Greenwood Lake flight. I dove into it, going so far as to contact Ley’s widow, Olga, who was still living in Greenwich Village at that time. I went to interview her and she was most gracious and helpful.

I wrote the novella, embellishing a few things here and there; there were some hints from those I interviewed that the Nazis may have been interested in Ley’s post-German rocket experiments, so I made that a part of the plot. That’s pure speculation on my part, but it is certainly true that the V1 “buzzbomb” (below, left) bears a interesting resemblance to the Gloria. True or not, the Nazi subplot makes for an exciting addition to the tale.

Captured V1 buzzbomb

However, it never occurred to me to wonder who, exactly, had set up that monument. And it wasn’t until this year, 2010, that that final piece of the puzzle fell into place for me.

I had already decided in mid-2009 or so to turn the Greenwood Lake story into a full-length book, set in New York circa 1935-1936. Ley wouldn’t be the main character, as he was in the novella – I created the character of a young Brooklyn boy who gets involved with early sf fandom and rocketry and who subsequently befriends Ley and becomes involved in the flight of the Glorias – yes, there was more than one rocket plane. (History records two – but I have photos to prove that isn’t accurate. However, that’s another story.) To that end I asked a few friends to recommend reference material concerning the period. Among the recommendations was The Futurians by Damon Knight, about early fandom in New York City.

In that book I came across the amazing fact that New York fan John Michel, who knew Ley, had moved to Greenwood Lake in 1958 upon the return of he and his wife from a period spent in California. His wife went to work for a lawyer in nearby Warwick and Michel became interested in civic affairs. In 1960 he proposed that the town erect a monument to the mail-rocket flight. It was set in front of the Greenwood Lake library and dedicated on February 23, 1961 on the 25th anniversary of the flight.

So in brief, that’s the story. A small one in the annals of American rocketry – but interesting nonetheless for the involvement both of Ley and of sf fan John Michel – and of this writer as well.

So if I wrote this over a decade ago, why is it a “work in progress”? Because it’s being published in an anthology called Distant Worlds, edited by Lance Schonberg, who is, in my opinion, rather a good editor. (Not because he’s accepted the tale!) So I’m proud to have it appear there, and happy to have been able to revise and upgrade the story — all the more so because I am expanding it into a young adult book. Recent research has brought me additional information and insights, and I’m delighted to be able to add a few bits to the historical record.

May 25th, 2010

While living in New Haven a number of significant events happened. I sold my first fiction; I began playing drums more regularly in gigging bands; I started doing covers and interior illustrations for the New Haven Advocate, a weekly more-or-less alternative newspaper — and I was hired as an assistant by Wally Wood.

I was working in Superbooks, a porn store on Chapel Street. It was a pretty tacky job, as might be supposed, but there were lighter moments — such as the time a customer phoned to say he was coming right down to buy a blow-up doll — for a party. We only had one in stock — the “display” model, which was inflated and hanging from a couple of brackets. The guy was on his way in a taxi, so my boss and I had to untie the doll and squeeze as much air out of “her” as possible. This wasn’t easy — for one thing, we were laughing so hard we were weeping, and for another thing, a blow-up doll isn’t very easy to deflate at the best of times. But we managed — mostly. We stuffed the mostly deflated doll into a big paper bag and, still giggling, handed her over when the customer showed up.

Anyway, I’d been working there for about a year when one day Woody walked in.

I knew him; I’d met him a few months previously at the home of one of the members of the New Haven Science Fiction and Fantasy Association, NHSSFA — pronounced “Fred” — during a meeting. Fred met twice monthly at various members’ homes. This night we were hosted, for the first time, by Martin Shaefer. I showed up and saw a quiet middle-aged man sitting in a corner. Assuming this was Martin’s father, I went over to say hello.

“I’m Al Sirois, Mr. Shaefer,” I said, shaking his hand.

“I’m Wally Wood,” he said.

Whoa! Now, I knew Woody was in the area, living in an apartment in West Haven. But I’d never seen him. Through my astonishment I managed to say something about how pleased I was to meet him, and how I’d always admired his work — then, because I’m not the fan-boy type, I retreated to recover my aplomb.

A couple of the other members, younger ones, made a bit of a fuss over Woody, but he didn;t seem comfortable with that and I knew I was smart to keep my distance.

So I was surprised to look up from to counter that day in Superbooks, a couple of weeks later, to see Woody standing there.

After a moment or two of polite conversation he asked me if I’d like to go to work for him.

I think I said something about who I’d have to kill to do that, but again I managed to cover my astonishment and accept. He’d pay me $10 a page for background work — and maybe a little KP duty around his apartment.

He’d seen some of my work… turned out he was dating one of the older women in the club, who knew he needed an assistant, and whose daughter I was dating. Green and raw as I was, Woody must’ve seen something in it… so he hired me on.

I started out ruling lines and filling in blacks, and practicing drawing with a brush — which I’d never done.

All of a sudden I was, really, a pro artist. This, just a year or so after selling my first couple of stories, and working with a couple of good bands. Other interesting events were coming.

May 7th, 2010

I made my first short story sale in 1973, to Fantastic (fantasy-oriented sister magazine to Amazing) under the editorial helm of Ted White. I’d been writing for at least ten years by that time, and making gradual progress. My natural ability to tell a story combined with a decent visual sense gave my work a certain vivid quality, but it was like a color rough for a painting. I had no finesse. I didn’t even do an outline… I sort of bulled my way through. For that reason, I wasn’t good at writing longer things, though I attempted at least two novels around that time.

By 1973 I was living in New Haven, CT, where I had moved after dropping out of college in 1970. I lived in Bridgeport, CT for a couple of years after college, then moved to New Haven to join a rock band. (It seemed like a perfectly good idea at the time.) While there I got a job at Book World on Chapel Street, by the expedient of going into the store every day and asking if there were any openings. After a couple of weeks of this, the management gave me a job — overseeing the fantasy and science-fiction section! And I had a budget! It was pure heaven. I stocked the hell out of those shelves, and word got around… readers of fantastic literature began coming in more and more frequently. (Some of them were involved with science-fiction fandom, which is how I got into that as well… but that’s another story that I will get to in time.)

Working in a bookstore is a wonderful experience for a fledgling writer, and I took full advantage. I could bring books home and read them. being careful not to break the spines or dog-ear the pages (which I never did anyway). For a while there I was reading a book a day, and I mean that literally.

Among the many books I read in 1973 was one called Robopaths: People as Machines, by Lewis Yablonsky. Originally pubbed in 1972, it’s OP now. The back cover copy reads: “The robopaths are the people who pull the triggers at My Lai, Kent State, and Attica, make policy in Washington, and live next door. Dehumanized by regimentation, bureaucratization, and indiscriminate violence, they are growing more numerous in today’s society.” (This is a link that shows the cover of the edition I read.)

Well, that book sparked something in my mind. As far as I can remember now, on the night of the day I read it, I had a dream about a planet of robopaths — where there were no humans at all, just genetically designed creatures who were used to fight humanity’s wars. When I woke, I jotted down the idea. That day I typed the draft, very short — maybe 750 words — of War Baby, which would be my first published story.

From working in Book World I had come to know the fellow who had had change of the sf section before me — Grant Carrington. Grant had gone on to become an assistant editor at Amazing. The buyer at Book World, George Wagner, had stayed in touch with Grant. He suggested I send my story to him. I did so… and Grant passed it along to Ted, who bought it, and published it in Fantastic.

(This was slightly disappointing because I’d been reading Amazing for about 10 years and really wanted to have a story published there! I did manage it, though — about 20 years later!)

For that first sale I earned about $15, which I blew on Chinese take-out.

I was a pro writer! My world was opening up.

April 29th, 2010

I wish I had more examples of my early artwork, but this is as good — or bad — as it gets. Let me introduce you to my first cartoon character (excepting a few abortive attempts), Superdwart! This drawing dates from 1966, when I was 16. As you can see, I was clueless. This was drawn on the back of a manila folder holding script for The Thurber Carnival, a play I acted in during my sophomore year of high school. I played Walter Mitty, among other roles. It was probably the most fun I have ever had on stage despite the fact that I was suffering from strep throat at the time. At 16, those things can’t stop you. I was smoking in those days, too.

So, Superdwart, here, was an alien — mostly because I wasn’t very good at drawing human-type people, which you can probably tell. From the look of this, I was learning how to use pen-and-ink as opposed to ballpoint pen, which was how I had done all my drawings up until this time. Someone must have told me — or I figured it out for myself — that real artists don’t use ballpoint. (This will get me into trouble with Taral — and maybe George Barr; I apologize, Taral! But back in the day, who knew?) But as you can see, I was still doing all my shading with pencil, because no-one had told that real artists don’t shade with pencil.

Real artists, of course, shade with anything they damn well please, if not the first thing they grab in the heat of the moment. But again, back in the day, who knew? I was ignorant of mechanical shading film (zipatone and the like) and Doubletone paper… I wanted grays, so I used what I had.

Anyway, I had ever gone so far as to do up an entire comic book of this “repulsive character” (which is what they called him at MAD when I tried to submit him there a few years later… this from a magazine that had published Basil Woolverton), and as you might expect, it was drawn on 11″x14″ sheets of paper folded over. I wish I had that, because it would be fun to see, but I tossed it years ago. I regret doing that, but at least this small drawing survives, the lone example of my teen-age efforts.

This next one is actually my first professional publication (thank you, Ric Meyers), and dates from when I was 25. As you can see, I was still clueless, but maybe a bit less so. At least I had discovered zipatone. I didn’t know much about perspective, though…. or anything else. (If you click on the pic you can see a full-size version of it.) This drawing was published in Volume 1, number 4 of Movie Monsters, dating from August, 1975. I was actually paid for it, but I can’t recall how much. The aforementioned Mr. Meyers got me the gig, and I am eternally grateful, which he may be surprised to learn.

But everything in my life was about to change. Within a year and a half I would be married, working for one of my childhood heroes: the great comic artist Wally Wood. I’d also be churning out loads of freelance art for various publications. How that came to be is the topic of the next update. Unless I do a flashback to the story of how I sold my first professional piece of writing, to Fantastic, in 1973…

April 20th, 2010
Ganesha playing tabla, in black marble

Shri Ganesha on tabla

Post-modern Ganesha

Shri Ganesh gets down!

Some more wonderful images of Ganesha playing tabla. I’ll be on the lookout for more of these.

April 17th, 2010

While I was starting to develop my chops as a writer, I was simultaneously doing the same thing as an artist and a musician. I’d been drawing ever since I was a child (all right, a young child) and started taking lessons on the accordian when I was 8 or 9. I loved to draw, but I never really loved the accordian, so that only lasted two or three years. Because I read a lot of comics — and this was back in the days when they still cost only a dime, so my $1 weekly allowance often went for 10 comic books — what I tended to draw were superheroes. I was a good copyist even though I really had no idea of how to actually draw; there’s a big difference. I also loved MAD Magazine, and although the artists there were far ahead of me, I would copy stuff from there.

When I was about 10, I discovered the MAD paperback collections, which I loved; especially the first half-dozen or so, from the days when MAD itself had been a color comic book, before going black and white. The work of the original stable of MAD artists — Bill Elder, Wally Wood, Jack Davis — coupled with Harvey Kurtzman’s loony writing, really captured my attention. Wood’s stuff in particular fascinated me. I began looking for his work in other comics and outlets and became something of a Wood fanatic.

I started writing and drawing my own comics, still not really understanding what I was doing and certainly knowing nothing about how comics were actually produced. So in terms of writing fiction and drawing I was on about the same level.

Music was lagging behind. But not for long. My family moved across town when I was 10, and there were other kids in my new neighborhood who were playing instruments that captured my imagination and nascent desires far more than the accordian or even the trumpet, on which I had a few lessons when I was 12 or so. At the end of 1963 and the beginning of 1964 Beatlemania had crashed like a huge wave over America, submerging my friends and I, who were still recovering from the shock of JFK’s assassination. The radio stations out of New York, WMCA, WABC and WINS, were pumping rock and soul out into the aether 24 hours a day. I’d fall asleep with a transistor radio under my pillow, night after night, listening to the Beach Boys, the Coasters, Elvis, Ray Charles, the Beatles, the Stones…

My emotions provided fertile soil for the seeds of rock ‘n’ roll. Then, in 1966, I found my axe: the drums.

April 9th, 2010

Stop that grovelling!
I’m not a scientist, and I’m not a “Christian.” However, I respect many scientists and I respect many Christians. It seems self-evident to me that our civilization has come as far as it has (for good or ill) because of science. Without profound scientific discoveries in such things as electricity, astronomy, and medicine, we would have no refrigerators, we wouldn’t have sent out the probes that have given us so much information about the Universe, and we’d be prey to far more diseases than afflict us. And so on.

I think the jury is still out on Christianity, primarily because of the tendency of many to take on faith matters which they do not understand — but think they do. I do not believe in the Christian “God,” but I do believe in larger spiritual forces, call them what you will. (Not demons; those things come solely from the darker recesses of the human psyche, cloaked in flesh, mostly, and manifesting as various types of psychopath.) I wouldn’t even mind that some Christians take their beliefs on faith if they didn’t try to force the rest of us swallow them.

Science has developed from the ancient Greeks and Arabs through the work of Ptolemy, Copernicus, and many other brilliant men and women.

Here is what modern science does:
It seeks explanations for observed phenomena that rely solely on natural causes.
It progresses through the creation and testing of models of nature that explain the observations as simply as possible.
A scientific model must make testable predictions about natural phenomena that would force us to revise or abandon the model if the predictions do not agree with observations.

The “theory” of Intelligent Design does none of these things. It is not science. It is a matter of faith, of opinion. You can’t really argue with faith or opinion, and indeed IDers do not want their assumptions or faith challenged in any way. They cling desperately to their spiritual equivalent of the Flat Earth, waving a shibboleth book in front of their eyes and going “La la la! I can’t hear you!” when confronted with facts. This demonstrates a profound ignorance of what science is and what it does.

We all know that truth and facts are different thing. There are many truths, as many as there are people on this little planet. Facts, however, do not vary from person to person. They are not based on belief. IDers do not want to be confused with facts. They confuse the very concept of fact with theory — gravity is a fact, but the theory of gravity explains how it works, offers testable hypotheses, and allows scientists to makle predictions about how gravity will work (except on the quantum scale — which is why we know that the current theories we have about gravity are incomplete).

ID (or Creationism, under its earlier name) offers none of the three hallmarks of science. If it is allowed to take hold in our school systems, our students will fall further behind in principles of science and engineering, principles that have made our country strong and have allowed us to become pre-eminent in the world marketplace. ID is rot in more ways than one.

I had said that my next post here would concern my development in art and music, but I got derailed. Next time for sure!

April 7th, 2010

My sophomore year of high school was probably my favorite. I became involved in theatrical productions, discovered girls (well, I had already done that, but they sort of discovered me that year), started playing drums, and joined the school’s Creative Writing Club.

By that time I was firmly under the sway of Edgar Rice Burroughs, so even though I hadn’t created my own tree-swinging ape-man or sword-swinging Martian warrior, I was writing, as I said earlier, pulp-inspired stuff for the most part. Lots of adventures on other planets and space-stuff. Being a child of the Space Age and fascinated by the Mercury and Gemini programs, as well as pictures sent back by satellites like TIROS and TELSTAR (not to mention the lunar Rangers and Mariners and Sputniks and Lunas and Veneras… wow! We were seeing images of places that only Chesley Bonestell had visited. Heady stuff!

I was enamored of astronomy and spent a lot of time reading popular accounts of new discoveries. I wanted my fiction to be as accurate as possible, even though I knew I was no scientist; so I tried to depict space travel in as realistic a way as possible. And by extension, life in the future. My taste in reading broadened, therefore; and it was already pretty eclectic, ranging from theatrical criticism, bios, scripts; humor from Benchley to Thurber to H. Allen Smith; and lots of science fiction. The Fairfield Library had a number of good sf anthologies, mostly from Galaxy, and I ate those guys up.

Plus I was buying all the monthly magazines available to me: Galaxy, If, Amazing, Fantastic, Analog, and whatever I could scrounge out of second-hand stores.

Good times for a developing sf writer.

Under the tutelage of the Creative Writing Club teacher, who didn’t seem to mind that my idea of creative writing was to parody each James Bond book, covers and all, I slowly got better at things like proper manuscript format, narrative,and dialog. My first sale was still years away, but I kept submitting. My rejection slip collection kept growing.

So did my other interests, and the next post here will be about my development in art and music: comic book art for the most part, and rock ‘n’ roll.