Before Language, There was Telepathy
Hidden in the deepest, darkest recesses of our human genomes are secrets only the ancient speechless knew. Before man could walk, before he grunted his agreement or disapproval, his ancestors may have communicated entirely without speech. This art slowly disappeared for most humans as evolution and harsh environments forced humans to adapt. Without the formalities of fully evolved vocal chords or a structured language with which to communicate, the world was silent but for the regular roaring of hungry carnivores always on the lookout for food.
Scientists tell us our earliest possible ancestors came evolved from amoeba-like sea creatures. Deep beneath the sea, it might be imagined that the only communication necessary was the natural instinct to survive and follow with like species. As the vast oceans subsided and land appeared, these amoeba-like humans evolved again and again, adapting to the environments in which they found themselves. Perhaps, a glint of the eye or a dart of the head was the first form of communication repeated over and over until the message was understood.
The most advanced societies of the earth's earliest formations understood a nod of the head, a raise of the brow or a variety of expressions to speak a silent kind of language. It's well known in scientific circles that the human brain has enormous potential for use. Yet, most humans use only a small quantity of that potential mental capacity. We call the ancient thinkers philosophers. Their mental processes bore validity for the idea of study and meditation. These are tools that help humans to delve into the deepest core of their intellectual capacity.
Science has never fully explained how a child prodigy like Mozart was capable of such enormous talent to compose whole symphonies and operas as a young boy. There is a possible link between the mental processes of a prodigy and that of the ancient telepathics. It's the ability to restore long forgotten memories of those in generations far removed from the present.
As humans advanced, certain humans remained endowed with the gift to reproduce the ability the ancient telepathics possessed. During times of greatest trial and societal upheavals, war, natural disasters and pestilence, these special humans kept their secret gift hidden. In the Dark Ages, these telepathics were referred to as sages. These people knew things others didn't and never would. In later societies, the ability to see events of the past and future more clearly was viewed as evil witchcraft.
It was easier to create a carnival-like aura of fortune telling than to see that certain individuals had a hypersensitivity and cognition. It was simpler to believe fortune telling was nothing more than predicting the future. Antagonists were absolutely certain this was impossible. Yet, the entire concept of telling a fortune has been seriously maligned. Those with the gift of heightened telepathic skills were laughed off as fortune tellers and seers.
The Ancient telepathics never sought to see the future. Telepathy was their only means of communication. Even today, there are tiny semblances of the gift of telepathy. For example, a newborn has only to look at his mother's face to know when she is angry, sad or happy. How does a newborn, with no advanced communication skills, know this? A newborn holds the clue to how ancient telepathics communicated through sensory perception. Facial expressions may have led to the ability for two highly telepathic individuals to communicate totally without words. This is similar to how sea creatures communicate through sonographic sounds. Sounds without words. Sounds emanating from silent movement only. Sounds based entirely upon mental telepathy. Mimes struggle to make their silent movements understood and to be translated into communications. Telepathic had only to gaze intently into each other's eyes and whole volumes of words were spoken silently.
In the world of words today, it is possible that human ability to communicate telepathically will resurrect from the ashes of intense high volume verbalizations. The resurrection has already begun. The advanced used of typing text into phones has already replaced verbal phone conversations. How many generations will it take before the cell phone is no longer needed and only silence and intense mental cross communication is effected? Will that be called futuristic telepathy?
Friday, September 13, 2013
Monday, September 9, 2013
Mr. Penbloom's Treaty of Veracity
Mr. Penbloom was one of those annoying little guys. His daily routine was rote from the moment his alarm clock rang at six in the morning. His life was as predictable as each phase of the moon. His wardrobe was simple. Yet, his lifestyle was enormously complex. He wore a black bowler hat to top off his black wool suit and brushed silk waistcoat. He rarely left his modest suite of rooms at old Mrs. Dellingham's Rooms For Gentlemen without the ever-present umbrella with the heavy wooden gnarled handle. Punctuality was the other strong suit he wore obsessively. His intense distaste for tardiness was exceeded only by his inability to tell the truth.
Now, mind you. Mr. Penbloom wasn't a "liar." He just couldn't tell the truth. If you asked him a question, you'd get a response that had two meanings. Not really a lie and not really the consummate truth.
By 8AM, he took the tram from Mrs. Dellingham's rooming house to downtown Claston, a city rife with small shops, large mercantiles and numerous eateries. Not that Mr. Penbloom ever ate in town. He prepared his own lunch each evening and stored it in the refrigerator. Each morning on his way out the door, he reached for his brown-bagged midday meal, usually a cucumber or watercress sandwich. This, he washed down with a small pint of milk the milkman left at his door long before he had awakened for the day.
Once upon the tram, Penbloom endured all manner of public humiliation from the great unwashed masses he loathed to call "business men." The shoving, elbowing, nudging, grunting and clearing of throats insured Mr. Penbloom would be pea green with nausea before he reached his place of business.
Penbloom was a man of accounts. His job was to maintain a handful of clients; daily accounts and produce a semblance of reports of grandiose prosperity per annum. Perhaps, this might not be an ideal position for a man born with the inability to tell the truth.
After three score and ten at his job, Lorcan Penbloom considered himself a successful businessman. Neat as a pin he was. Each number entered into general ledgers was remarkably legible. Just not altogether factual.
At this late stage of his career, Mr. Penbloom felt secure in the knowledge that his record-keeping and business acumen provided him with a relatively prosperous life. Not a man to adapt easily to modern business equipment, Mr. Penbloom ciphered and tallied as he always had...with pencil and pad.
Of late however, several of his clients had begun to purchase machines he considered a nuisance. These machines could calculate to the penny the exact number of invoices, purchase orders and cash receipts faster than he and his pencil and pad could. These machines were all too accurate and presented Penbloom with quite an unexpected conundrum. Now, his customers would have the ability to check every figure he presented in their reports at the end of each fiscal quarter. Not a good thing. Not a good thing for Mr. Penbloom at all.
With a few "additional numbers," Penbloom saved a tidy little sum for the retirement he hoped he'd enjoy by year's end.
Then his client, L. Rothenby, noticed a discrepancy, Lorne Rothenby immediately alerted banking authorities. Mr. Penbloom defended the shortage in the numbers of cash receipts as the bank's error. Another Penbloom client, J. R. Haspens Ltd., found some of their customer invoices were reported unpaid. Again, Mr. Penbloom indicated he could not verify missing customer payments in "his" record keeping.
Penbloom's complexities stemmed from his easy manner of waving away any knowledge of errors and then, making it appear they were unrelated to his accounting practices. This was a strategy that worked quite successfully for decades. If customers continue in pursuit of factual validation, Penbloom's skill and talent at covert conveyance of an error was always to change the focus of the inquiries.
The real kerfuffle began when Mrs. Dellingham discovered her "rents" had been posted to the wrong account. This resulted in "light" bank deposits. Penbloom, not wishing to cause dear Mrs. Dellingham distress, took the trouble to review her "accounts." For free, of course. "Free" was always a good mechanism to soften the distress clients were experiencing. Since he was not quite ready for retirement, he wasn't ready to suffer eviction from Mrs. Dellingham's establishment either. A free audit, particularly one in which only he had control of the true numbers, was more than worth a possible report to the law.
Mrs. Dellingham, a woman with hair nearly as blue as the sea and eyes to match, watched as Penbloom's unusually linear index finger ran through the columns of her banking report.
"Aha!" Penbloom exclaimed.
"Aha?" Mrs. Penbloom echoed in response.
"I've found the error in your accounts," Penbloom said.
Again, he ran his index finger down to the spot where a group of figures "appeared" to be duplicated. In truth, they had been. After all, it was Penbloom who made the deposits for the dear elderly lady, wasn't it?
For Penbloom, it was a simple matter of delaying a deposit to appear on a monthly bank statement as a duplicate. By posting it to a receiving account, he could later re-post it to the correct account causing the appearance of a "minor" error. The delay of the deposit was to advance a small sum of interest on the "doubled" larger deposit which Penbloom assigned to a miscellaneous account he titled, "PRF," or in more covert terms, Penbloom's Retirement Fund. This account, he could later claim, was part of "accounting services" from which he was paid by Mrs. Dellingham for regular oversight of her accounts.
Penbloom's Nemesis
The First Savings Bank of Claston, was managed by Aloysius Clendennon, a Scotsman of great financial expertise. Few things financial in Claston passed by the attention of Clendennon. He ran his bank like the captain of a royal ship and with just as much aristocratic posture and comport as expected from a banking president of his status. In truth, Clendennon had a grave distrust for men of accounts like Penbloom. He knew how flexible some numbers can appear if ciphered with ill intent.
Clendennon especially disliked Penbloom. A man that punctual about his routine and his clients' deposits and withdrawals was bound to warrant suspicion. So it was, that Aloysius Clendennon personally reviewed every detail of Penbloom's clients' financial accounts. It was true. Thus far, there had been nothing he could raise his unusually thick eyebrows over. But, Clendennon would take great joy in that final moment when he had exposed Penbloom as he always knew he would. He believed the people of Claston had a right to expect absolute honesty from their accountants, auditors and bookkeepers.
Perhaps, Penbloom was just a thorn in Clendennon's side because he was insular. Or, it could be his manner of shuffling about as if he was wearing ballerina slippers and dancing upon eggshells. He'd observed Penbloom entering his bank on numerous occasions. Penbloom's exacting manner of halting to a stop at the nearby patrons' area where the large desk allowed them one last opportunity to check their banking transactions was curious.
Penbloom stood counting the cash in the tawny cash bag he carried inside his briefcase. Then he proceeded in that peculiar gait to the next available teller. The entire process took Penbloom no longer than ten minutes before he was on his way and out the door.
Never a word spoken to tellers, Roger Smythe, Beatrice Middlemass or Anne Royce. Nor, to the bank security guard, old John Ratcliffe. Not so much as a hint of an expression on Penbloom's expressionless face. Clendennon watched this daily comic vignette with grave annoyance.
It was a Friday afternoon. Most of the banking transactions were done for the week. Customers at this time of day were mostly those who forgot to make their deposits or withdrawals and were in a hurry to have them recorded before the five o'clock bank closing. Clendennon always reviewed the last of the business accounts in that hour before the bank's closing.
Mrs. Eliza Regnye brought several bank clients' business reports to his desk.
"Rather light for this Friday, Mr. Clendennon," she said.
"Always a good thing before closing for the weekend, Eliza," he responded, with a bit of a brogue.
Clendennon was the kind of man who valued relaxation as much as he did hard work. He hoped clients' business reports this day would be "light," as Eliza had said. That way, he could be on his way home at the proper time.
He flipped to the first page of the bank report of L. Rothenby. Banking executives have an odd way of "eyeballing" numbers that seem to pop out in reports. He took note of the changed numbers in two columns of the Rothenby report.
Next, he reviewed the report on the Dallenby account. Again he noticed numbers changed from one posting to the next. It wasn't until he looked at the J.R. Haspen account that he sat back in his big, overstuffed leather chair and realized he was looking at a template that appeared almost the same in all three reports: changes to posting of numbers, always in the last week of the clients' bank reconciliation forms.
On all three accounts? How was that possible. His bushy white eyebrows hunched over his leaden grey eyes as the furrow in his forehead grew deeper. He rang up Eliza. Then, he remembered she'd already left for the day.
Clendennon stood up in his chair and walked to the stairs on the second floor where his office was located high above the bank lobby. He hurried down the stairs to the active bank files and thumbed through until he found three he wanted. He walked over to Eliza's desk and plopped the files down to the opened page where each of the most recent month's records of deposits and withdrawals had been posted. Next, he searched these deposit records to check the depositor's name and date and time. All were deposited late in the afternoon and all by the same person: Penbloom.
Clendennon was a man who'd leave no stone unturned when it came to solving a financial mystery. He often told himself he might have been a policeman had he not been so excellent with numbers as a young man. He pulled out another file on Penbloom. Clendennon's face bore the smile of a Cheshire cat. Given the late hour and the final banking day of the week, he knew it was not possible to pursue this matter with Penbloom until Monday. But, on Monday, Clendennon would pursue it, come hell or high water.
Penbloom was so perfunctory that his Friday afternoons were like a blur on the page of calendar. He ate his Friday supper in Claston even though Mrs. Dellingham always tried to convince him to take his meals in her dining room. Mrs. Dellingham offered supper only to certain of her rooming house guests. For a modest price, of course, However, Penbloom's utter disgust for the trams packed with business people and shoppers hurrying home for their weekend encouraged him to take his supper at the same small establishment every Friday.
He walked one block to Marston's dining hall. He took the same place he always had each week: an inconspicuous table at the far end of the room nearest the long, wide display window. From here, he could see the situation of crowds on the streets and near the tram station. He had closely calculated how long it would take him to eat his supper, walk to the station and arrive home at the shank of early evening. All, with the benefit of having avoided the busiest hour of the week.
He sat eating his supper in silence. The silence was broken only by the advancing of his waiter who refreshed his glass of water.
"More water, sir?" the waiter asked.
Penbloom responded with a silent nod.
When he looked out the window, he saw Mr. Clendennon locking the bank door and pulling the iron gate across. He watched Clendennon lock the grate. Something occured to Penbloom. He looked at his watch. It was one hour past the bank's usual closing time. He saw Clendennon hold tightly to some files under his arm. Penbloom shifted in his seat. What if those files were Penbloom's client accounts?
Penbloom wiped his chin, pushed his chair under and walked toward the line where people paid their bills. He waited patiently until it was his turn. He handed the cashier his bill and payment for his meal. He walked out of Marston's, adjusted his bowler and tucked his cane tightly under his left arm. He started to cross the street. As he did, he saw Clendennon also crossing at the intersection. The two men nearly brushed past each other. Clendennon stopped with an abrupt halt.
"Oh, Penbloom. Glad to have caught you before you are off for home," Clendennon said.
Penbloom thought this a most unusual meeting. He had a strange feeling about the whole scene.
Penbloom remained silent.
"Yes. I would like for you to come into the bank on Monday morning, if you please. I have some questions I would like to discuss with you," Clendennon said.
"I'm sorry. I am not able to meet with you. Monday is a very busy day. Can this meeting be rescheduled for a more convenient time?" Penbloom said.
Penbloom kept his eyes keenly on Clendennon's face.
"No. I am afraid it is not possible. I will see you on Monday earliest," Clendennon said.
Penbloom saw there was no option to continue to protest. Before he could affirm the meeting, Clendennon was gone. Penbloom felt a peculiar knot in his stomach.
What could be so important to Clendennon that necessitates my leaving my work on the busiest day of the week? Penbloom realized it could be only one thing. He had to think clearly and act quickly. He wouldn't allow his entire working life to be abruptly halted by the snooping of a banker. He knew the files Clendennon had under his arm had to be Penbloom's accounts. Why else would a banker take work home on a Friday?
Penbloom believed he was smarter than any banker. He managed numerous clients' financial accounts for years. He had been able to put aside a tidy sum for his retirement. He had to think about this new situation seriously.
He boarded the late evening tram for home. He was able to find a seat at this hour. He sat staring out the window with a million thoughts running through his mind. What if Clendennon had figured out how he'd been managing those accounts? This particular thought replayed over and over in his mind until he felt as if his brain would burst.
As he walked to Mrs. Dellingham's, he had already fashioned an idea. He had been able to avoid all notice for decades of how he had tucked away. He considered taking retirement before Clendennon could report his findings to the police. He realized that wouldn't work. It would only serve to prove he felt quilty. Penbloom would never admit his guilt. Not under any circumstances. He felt an enormous justification for what he had done. He refused to allow a sense of guilt to destroy all he had worked so hard to accomplish. Who was Clendennon to question him anyway?
Penbloom felt a deep sense of indignation. For Penbloom, indignation was the first step to assuaging wrongdoing. On Monday, he would express outrage and indignation if Clendennon dared to blame him for any minor indiscretion. What difference did it make if he amassed the interest on clients' deposits? The bank collects interest on these deposits all the time. Why shouldn't he have the same entitlement?
He ran all of the possibilities over in his mind. Once home and in the solitude of his room, he sat down at the writing desk and made a list of all the things he could use as proof that he had done nothing wrong. This list was a kind of treaty of veracity.
Penbloom knew if he believed it was true strongly enough, that's all that mattered to prove it was. All he had to do was insist he was telling the truth. He always used this strategy if ever questions of a somewhat
"delicate" nature arose about his financial practices. Until Clendennon's scrutinizing, he never had to use that strategy. Now for the first time, it appeared he would have no alternative. He would keep insisting his was the only possible true version of the status of these accounts. He would insist until Clendennon believed it.
Penbloom was sly enough to know that an innocent man protests the loudest and longest. He knew the surest sign of guilt was silence. His treaty of veracity was to strenuously insist on his "innocence" should Clendennon try to lay blame at his doorstep.
He realized he couldn't continue his financial practices now that Clendennon was suspicious. He also knew that retirement was imminent. He would withdraw his "funds" as soon as the meeting was concluded. He always wanted to live near the sea. He would check on accommodations in Toringham in the Claston Herald. He would visit Toringham and place a deposit on a small cottage.
Penbloom slept fitfully that night. He hurried off to the news stand to purchase a paper. He sat on a park bench nearby and searched for accommodations in Toringham.
"Cottage for rent," one advert said. Penbloom looked up absently. The bus stop was a few feet from the park bench. He walked toward it and waited. He heard the grinding roar of the bus heading to the stop. The sign at the front of the bus said, "Toringham, Delwinton and Maplethorpe." Penbloom climbed aboard.
The transit bus deposited him on Main Street in Toringham one hour later. Penbloom walked as if in a trance. He had no idea why he had felt so compelled to come to Toringham. It was as if something force inside him was propelling him onward.
He could smell the sea air immediately. The cottages must be near to the beach, he thought. He followed the scent of sea air until it was nearly overpowering. He heard gulls calling to each other in the distance. Now and then, he heard the sound of a boat horn. He found Lyme Avenue. These cottages were located about three blocks from the sea wall. He walked along Lyme Avenue until he found the rental office.
"I'm interested in renting one of these cottages," Penbloom said.
"Yes, sir. We have only two available for rent at the moment. The models are all the same inside and out. I can show you one of them," the woman behind the desk said.
"That would be fine," Penbloom said.
"When would you want your rental to begin?" she asked.
"As soon as possible," Penbloom said.
"Since there are no occupants, you could begin your rental tomorrow," she said.
They walked to a white beach cottage with clapboard siding and a short cobblestone walk to the front door. Penbloom noticed the swing on the gated front porch.
"You can see the ocean from the porch," she said.
Penbloom remained silent as they walked into the cottage.
It was well maintained and impeccably clean. Although, there was a slight musty odor in the living room. He sniffed and then sneezed.
"The room has not been aired since it was unoccupied," the woman said.
Penbloom barely nodded. She noticed he hadn't spoken more than a few words since he had walked into her office.
"It will do nicely," is all he said.
They walked back to the office. Penbloom signed a rental agreement. He scrawled the James L. Brattenton. He paid the deposit and the first two months' rent in cash. He waited at the bus stop in Toringham that would return him to Mrs. Dellingham's. His plans were now in place.
Penbloom was a master of details. He deftly maneuvered around any sticky situations with ease. He had never failed to proceed without maximum success. Once in Toringham, he would be completely out of the jurisdiction of any trouble Clendennon could muster against him. He felt reassured that by Monday evening, he would be safely tucked away into his rental cottage with decades of his retirement funds secure.
On Sunday, he began packing for his relocation to Toringham. There wasn't much to pack. He could fit nearly all of his clothes and personal effects into a large valise without a problem. There was just one thing left to do. He rode the late afternoon tram downtown to Claston. He hurried to his office.
He hastened to the safe where he kept most of his valuable documents and stuffed them into a leather case. He put the black ledger inside his vest pocket. He glanced around the office. Perhaps, for the last time. Now, Clendennon could investigate every last sheet of paper in the office. He'd find nothing to incriminate Penbloom. He felt his chest swell with pride at the accuracy of his planning down to the last detail.
When Monday morning came, Clendennon awaited the meeting with Penbloom with a little more than self-satisfaction. He'd spent the weekend comparing the Rothenby, Haspen and Dallenby accounts. They were amazingly alike in the way Penbloom had been reporting them. Clendennon hurried to the bank's client accounts. There was just one more thing Clendennon needed to make an accusation of fraud against Penbloom: Penbloom's personal account records.
He studied the dates and times of Penbloom's deposits into an account listed as PRF. What was PRF? Clendennon wondered. There it was! The amounts of deposit matched the amount of interest collected on the Penbloom clients' accounts. Penbloom was hiding the accrued interest in his personal account. This was unlawful.
Clendennon turned over in his mind the possible reasons Penbloom might give for transferring client interest into a miscellaneous account. Penbloom could say it was part of the fees he charged his clients. He could say that.
Clendennon placed three phone calls to Rothenby, Haspen and Dallenby. He spoke directly to their chief accountants. None recalled these large amounts being paid to Penbloom. In fact, all three accountants stated that they felt Penbloom's fees were unusually inexpensive by comparison to others' fees.
So that's it! Clendennon thought. He offered low fees to his clients in exchange for amassing interest on their deposits. Clendennon knew he had to move quickly. He alerted the local constable's office of his meeting with Penbloom.
By eleven o'clock, Penbloom had not arrived. Clendennon knew he wouldn't. He decided to walk over to Penbloom's office. It was barely possible he might have been detained client business. He arrived at Penbloom's office. He saw the office was still closed. He hurried back to the bank.
He checked Penbloom's account to see if there had been any withdrawals. His face went white when he saw the account was closed by a single check written on Saturday by Penbloom. The entire account was wiped out. The check was cashed at another bank. Penbloom knew banks would never question a check written against the First Bank of Claston, the town's oldest and most reputable bank.
Clendennon was furious. It was as if Penbloom slipped away like a thief in the night. The Constable checked the Penbloom office. It had been scrubbed clean of all possible evidence linking Penbloom to bank fraud.
The day was bright and beautiful in Toringham. There was a gentle breeze. A smallish, thin man sat in a lounge chair on the beach. Yes, he thought, Toringham was a wonderful place to retire.
Now, mind you. Mr. Penbloom wasn't a "liar." He just couldn't tell the truth. If you asked him a question, you'd get a response that had two meanings. Not really a lie and not really the consummate truth.
By 8AM, he took the tram from Mrs. Dellingham's rooming house to downtown Claston, a city rife with small shops, large mercantiles and numerous eateries. Not that Mr. Penbloom ever ate in town. He prepared his own lunch each evening and stored it in the refrigerator. Each morning on his way out the door, he reached for his brown-bagged midday meal, usually a cucumber or watercress sandwich. This, he washed down with a small pint of milk the milkman left at his door long before he had awakened for the day.
Once upon the tram, Penbloom endured all manner of public humiliation from the great unwashed masses he loathed to call "business men." The shoving, elbowing, nudging, grunting and clearing of throats insured Mr. Penbloom would be pea green with nausea before he reached his place of business.
Penbloom was a man of accounts. His job was to maintain a handful of clients; daily accounts and produce a semblance of reports of grandiose prosperity per annum. Perhaps, this might not be an ideal position for a man born with the inability to tell the truth.
After three score and ten at his job, Lorcan Penbloom considered himself a successful businessman. Neat as a pin he was. Each number entered into general ledgers was remarkably legible. Just not altogether factual.
At this late stage of his career, Mr. Penbloom felt secure in the knowledge that his record-keeping and business acumen provided him with a relatively prosperous life. Not a man to adapt easily to modern business equipment, Mr. Penbloom ciphered and tallied as he always had...with pencil and pad.
Of late however, several of his clients had begun to purchase machines he considered a nuisance. These machines could calculate to the penny the exact number of invoices, purchase orders and cash receipts faster than he and his pencil and pad could. These machines were all too accurate and presented Penbloom with quite an unexpected conundrum. Now, his customers would have the ability to check every figure he presented in their reports at the end of each fiscal quarter. Not a good thing. Not a good thing for Mr. Penbloom at all.
With a few "additional numbers," Penbloom saved a tidy little sum for the retirement he hoped he'd enjoy by year's end.
Then his client, L. Rothenby, noticed a discrepancy, Lorne Rothenby immediately alerted banking authorities. Mr. Penbloom defended the shortage in the numbers of cash receipts as the bank's error. Another Penbloom client, J. R. Haspens Ltd., found some of their customer invoices were reported unpaid. Again, Mr. Penbloom indicated he could not verify missing customer payments in "his" record keeping.
Penbloom's complexities stemmed from his easy manner of waving away any knowledge of errors and then, making it appear they were unrelated to his accounting practices. This was a strategy that worked quite successfully for decades. If customers continue in pursuit of factual validation, Penbloom's skill and talent at covert conveyance of an error was always to change the focus of the inquiries.
The real kerfuffle began when Mrs. Dellingham discovered her "rents" had been posted to the wrong account. This resulted in "light" bank deposits. Penbloom, not wishing to cause dear Mrs. Dellingham distress, took the trouble to review her "accounts." For free, of course. "Free" was always a good mechanism to soften the distress clients were experiencing. Since he was not quite ready for retirement, he wasn't ready to suffer eviction from Mrs. Dellingham's establishment either. A free audit, particularly one in which only he had control of the true numbers, was more than worth a possible report to the law.
Mrs. Dellingham, a woman with hair nearly as blue as the sea and eyes to match, watched as Penbloom's unusually linear index finger ran through the columns of her banking report.
"Aha!" Penbloom exclaimed.
"Aha?" Mrs. Penbloom echoed in response.
"I've found the error in your accounts," Penbloom said.
Again, he ran his index finger down to the spot where a group of figures "appeared" to be duplicated. In truth, they had been. After all, it was Penbloom who made the deposits for the dear elderly lady, wasn't it?
For Penbloom, it was a simple matter of delaying a deposit to appear on a monthly bank statement as a duplicate. By posting it to a receiving account, he could later re-post it to the correct account causing the appearance of a "minor" error. The delay of the deposit was to advance a small sum of interest on the "doubled" larger deposit which Penbloom assigned to a miscellaneous account he titled, "PRF," or in more covert terms, Penbloom's Retirement Fund. This account, he could later claim, was part of "accounting services" from which he was paid by Mrs. Dellingham for regular oversight of her accounts.
Penbloom's Nemesis
The First Savings Bank of Claston, was managed by Aloysius Clendennon, a Scotsman of great financial expertise. Few things financial in Claston passed by the attention of Clendennon. He ran his bank like the captain of a royal ship and with just as much aristocratic posture and comport as expected from a banking president of his status. In truth, Clendennon had a grave distrust for men of accounts like Penbloom. He knew how flexible some numbers can appear if ciphered with ill intent.
Clendennon especially disliked Penbloom. A man that punctual about his routine and his clients' deposits and withdrawals was bound to warrant suspicion. So it was, that Aloysius Clendennon personally reviewed every detail of Penbloom's clients' financial accounts. It was true. Thus far, there had been nothing he could raise his unusually thick eyebrows over. But, Clendennon would take great joy in that final moment when he had exposed Penbloom as he always knew he would. He believed the people of Claston had a right to expect absolute honesty from their accountants, auditors and bookkeepers.
Perhaps, Penbloom was just a thorn in Clendennon's side because he was insular. Or, it could be his manner of shuffling about as if he was wearing ballerina slippers and dancing upon eggshells. He'd observed Penbloom entering his bank on numerous occasions. Penbloom's exacting manner of halting to a stop at the nearby patrons' area where the large desk allowed them one last opportunity to check their banking transactions was curious.
Penbloom stood counting the cash in the tawny cash bag he carried inside his briefcase. Then he proceeded in that peculiar gait to the next available teller. The entire process took Penbloom no longer than ten minutes before he was on his way and out the door.
Never a word spoken to tellers, Roger Smythe, Beatrice Middlemass or Anne Royce. Nor, to the bank security guard, old John Ratcliffe. Not so much as a hint of an expression on Penbloom's expressionless face. Clendennon watched this daily comic vignette with grave annoyance.
It was a Friday afternoon. Most of the banking transactions were done for the week. Customers at this time of day were mostly those who forgot to make their deposits or withdrawals and were in a hurry to have them recorded before the five o'clock bank closing. Clendennon always reviewed the last of the business accounts in that hour before the bank's closing.
Mrs. Eliza Regnye brought several bank clients' business reports to his desk.
"Rather light for this Friday, Mr. Clendennon," she said.
"Always a good thing before closing for the weekend, Eliza," he responded, with a bit of a brogue.
Clendennon was the kind of man who valued relaxation as much as he did hard work. He hoped clients' business reports this day would be "light," as Eliza had said. That way, he could be on his way home at the proper time.
He flipped to the first page of the bank report of L. Rothenby. Banking executives have an odd way of "eyeballing" numbers that seem to pop out in reports. He took note of the changed numbers in two columns of the Rothenby report.
Next, he reviewed the report on the Dallenby account. Again he noticed numbers changed from one posting to the next. It wasn't until he looked at the J.R. Haspen account that he sat back in his big, overstuffed leather chair and realized he was looking at a template that appeared almost the same in all three reports: changes to posting of numbers, always in the last week of the clients' bank reconciliation forms.
On all three accounts? How was that possible. His bushy white eyebrows hunched over his leaden grey eyes as the furrow in his forehead grew deeper. He rang up Eliza. Then, he remembered she'd already left for the day.
Clendennon stood up in his chair and walked to the stairs on the second floor where his office was located high above the bank lobby. He hurried down the stairs to the active bank files and thumbed through until he found three he wanted. He walked over to Eliza's desk and plopped the files down to the opened page where each of the most recent month's records of deposits and withdrawals had been posted. Next, he searched these deposit records to check the depositor's name and date and time. All were deposited late in the afternoon and all by the same person: Penbloom.
Clendennon was a man who'd leave no stone unturned when it came to solving a financial mystery. He often told himself he might have been a policeman had he not been so excellent with numbers as a young man. He pulled out another file on Penbloom. Clendennon's face bore the smile of a Cheshire cat. Given the late hour and the final banking day of the week, he knew it was not possible to pursue this matter with Penbloom until Monday. But, on Monday, Clendennon would pursue it, come hell or high water.
Penbloom was so perfunctory that his Friday afternoons were like a blur on the page of calendar. He ate his Friday supper in Claston even though Mrs. Dellingham always tried to convince him to take his meals in her dining room. Mrs. Dellingham offered supper only to certain of her rooming house guests. For a modest price, of course, However, Penbloom's utter disgust for the trams packed with business people and shoppers hurrying home for their weekend encouraged him to take his supper at the same small establishment every Friday.
He walked one block to Marston's dining hall. He took the same place he always had each week: an inconspicuous table at the far end of the room nearest the long, wide display window. From here, he could see the situation of crowds on the streets and near the tram station. He had closely calculated how long it would take him to eat his supper, walk to the station and arrive home at the shank of early evening. All, with the benefit of having avoided the busiest hour of the week.
He sat eating his supper in silence. The silence was broken only by the advancing of his waiter who refreshed his glass of water.
"More water, sir?" the waiter asked.
Penbloom responded with a silent nod.
When he looked out the window, he saw Mr. Clendennon locking the bank door and pulling the iron gate across. He watched Clendennon lock the grate. Something occured to Penbloom. He looked at his watch. It was one hour past the bank's usual closing time. He saw Clendennon hold tightly to some files under his arm. Penbloom shifted in his seat. What if those files were Penbloom's client accounts?
Penbloom wiped his chin, pushed his chair under and walked toward the line where people paid their bills. He waited patiently until it was his turn. He handed the cashier his bill and payment for his meal. He walked out of Marston's, adjusted his bowler and tucked his cane tightly under his left arm. He started to cross the street. As he did, he saw Clendennon also crossing at the intersection. The two men nearly brushed past each other. Clendennon stopped with an abrupt halt.
"Oh, Penbloom. Glad to have caught you before you are off for home," Clendennon said.
Penbloom thought this a most unusual meeting. He had a strange feeling about the whole scene.
Penbloom remained silent.
"Yes. I would like for you to come into the bank on Monday morning, if you please. I have some questions I would like to discuss with you," Clendennon said.
"I'm sorry. I am not able to meet with you. Monday is a very busy day. Can this meeting be rescheduled for a more convenient time?" Penbloom said.
Penbloom kept his eyes keenly on Clendennon's face.
"No. I am afraid it is not possible. I will see you on Monday earliest," Clendennon said.
Penbloom saw there was no option to continue to protest. Before he could affirm the meeting, Clendennon was gone. Penbloom felt a peculiar knot in his stomach.
What could be so important to Clendennon that necessitates my leaving my work on the busiest day of the week? Penbloom realized it could be only one thing. He had to think clearly and act quickly. He wouldn't allow his entire working life to be abruptly halted by the snooping of a banker. He knew the files Clendennon had under his arm had to be Penbloom's accounts. Why else would a banker take work home on a Friday?
Penbloom believed he was smarter than any banker. He managed numerous clients' financial accounts for years. He had been able to put aside a tidy sum for his retirement. He had to think about this new situation seriously.
He boarded the late evening tram for home. He was able to find a seat at this hour. He sat staring out the window with a million thoughts running through his mind. What if Clendennon had figured out how he'd been managing those accounts? This particular thought replayed over and over in his mind until he felt as if his brain would burst.
As he walked to Mrs. Dellingham's, he had already fashioned an idea. He had been able to avoid all notice for decades of how he had tucked away. He considered taking retirement before Clendennon could report his findings to the police. He realized that wouldn't work. It would only serve to prove he felt quilty. Penbloom would never admit his guilt. Not under any circumstances. He felt an enormous justification for what he had done. He refused to allow a sense of guilt to destroy all he had worked so hard to accomplish. Who was Clendennon to question him anyway?
Penbloom felt a deep sense of indignation. For Penbloom, indignation was the first step to assuaging wrongdoing. On Monday, he would express outrage and indignation if Clendennon dared to blame him for any minor indiscretion. What difference did it make if he amassed the interest on clients' deposits? The bank collects interest on these deposits all the time. Why shouldn't he have the same entitlement?
He ran all of the possibilities over in his mind. Once home and in the solitude of his room, he sat down at the writing desk and made a list of all the things he could use as proof that he had done nothing wrong. This list was a kind of treaty of veracity.
Penbloom knew if he believed it was true strongly enough, that's all that mattered to prove it was. All he had to do was insist he was telling the truth. He always used this strategy if ever questions of a somewhat
"delicate" nature arose about his financial practices. Until Clendennon's scrutinizing, he never had to use that strategy. Now for the first time, it appeared he would have no alternative. He would keep insisting his was the only possible true version of the status of these accounts. He would insist until Clendennon believed it.
Penbloom was sly enough to know that an innocent man protests the loudest and longest. He knew the surest sign of guilt was silence. His treaty of veracity was to strenuously insist on his "innocence" should Clendennon try to lay blame at his doorstep.
He realized he couldn't continue his financial practices now that Clendennon was suspicious. He also knew that retirement was imminent. He would withdraw his "funds" as soon as the meeting was concluded. He always wanted to live near the sea. He would check on accommodations in Toringham in the Claston Herald. He would visit Toringham and place a deposit on a small cottage.
Penbloom slept fitfully that night. He hurried off to the news stand to purchase a paper. He sat on a park bench nearby and searched for accommodations in Toringham.
"Cottage for rent," one advert said. Penbloom looked up absently. The bus stop was a few feet from the park bench. He walked toward it and waited. He heard the grinding roar of the bus heading to the stop. The sign at the front of the bus said, "Toringham, Delwinton and Maplethorpe." Penbloom climbed aboard.
The transit bus deposited him on Main Street in Toringham one hour later. Penbloom walked as if in a trance. He had no idea why he had felt so compelled to come to Toringham. It was as if something force inside him was propelling him onward.
He could smell the sea air immediately. The cottages must be near to the beach, he thought. He followed the scent of sea air until it was nearly overpowering. He heard gulls calling to each other in the distance. Now and then, he heard the sound of a boat horn. He found Lyme Avenue. These cottages were located about three blocks from the sea wall. He walked along Lyme Avenue until he found the rental office.
"I'm interested in renting one of these cottages," Penbloom said.
"Yes, sir. We have only two available for rent at the moment. The models are all the same inside and out. I can show you one of them," the woman behind the desk said.
"That would be fine," Penbloom said.
"When would you want your rental to begin?" she asked.
"As soon as possible," Penbloom said.
"Since there are no occupants, you could begin your rental tomorrow," she said.
They walked to a white beach cottage with clapboard siding and a short cobblestone walk to the front door. Penbloom noticed the swing on the gated front porch.
"You can see the ocean from the porch," she said.
Penbloom remained silent as they walked into the cottage.
It was well maintained and impeccably clean. Although, there was a slight musty odor in the living room. He sniffed and then sneezed.
"The room has not been aired since it was unoccupied," the woman said.
Penbloom barely nodded. She noticed he hadn't spoken more than a few words since he had walked into her office.
"It will do nicely," is all he said.
They walked back to the office. Penbloom signed a rental agreement. He scrawled the James L. Brattenton. He paid the deposit and the first two months' rent in cash. He waited at the bus stop in Toringham that would return him to Mrs. Dellingham's. His plans were now in place.
Penbloom was a master of details. He deftly maneuvered around any sticky situations with ease. He had never failed to proceed without maximum success. Once in Toringham, he would be completely out of the jurisdiction of any trouble Clendennon could muster against him. He felt reassured that by Monday evening, he would be safely tucked away into his rental cottage with decades of his retirement funds secure.
On Sunday, he began packing for his relocation to Toringham. There wasn't much to pack. He could fit nearly all of his clothes and personal effects into a large valise without a problem. There was just one thing left to do. He rode the late afternoon tram downtown to Claston. He hurried to his office.
He hastened to the safe where he kept most of his valuable documents and stuffed them into a leather case. He put the black ledger inside his vest pocket. He glanced around the office. Perhaps, for the last time. Now, Clendennon could investigate every last sheet of paper in the office. He'd find nothing to incriminate Penbloom. He felt his chest swell with pride at the accuracy of his planning down to the last detail.
When Monday morning came, Clendennon awaited the meeting with Penbloom with a little more than self-satisfaction. He'd spent the weekend comparing the Rothenby, Haspen and Dallenby accounts. They were amazingly alike in the way Penbloom had been reporting them. Clendennon hurried to the bank's client accounts. There was just one more thing Clendennon needed to make an accusation of fraud against Penbloom: Penbloom's personal account records.
He studied the dates and times of Penbloom's deposits into an account listed as PRF. What was PRF? Clendennon wondered. There it was! The amounts of deposit matched the amount of interest collected on the Penbloom clients' accounts. Penbloom was hiding the accrued interest in his personal account. This was unlawful.
Clendennon turned over in his mind the possible reasons Penbloom might give for transferring client interest into a miscellaneous account. Penbloom could say it was part of the fees he charged his clients. He could say that.
Clendennon placed three phone calls to Rothenby, Haspen and Dallenby. He spoke directly to their chief accountants. None recalled these large amounts being paid to Penbloom. In fact, all three accountants stated that they felt Penbloom's fees were unusually inexpensive by comparison to others' fees.
So that's it! Clendennon thought. He offered low fees to his clients in exchange for amassing interest on their deposits. Clendennon knew he had to move quickly. He alerted the local constable's office of his meeting with Penbloom.
By eleven o'clock, Penbloom had not arrived. Clendennon knew he wouldn't. He decided to walk over to Penbloom's office. It was barely possible he might have been detained client business. He arrived at Penbloom's office. He saw the office was still closed. He hurried back to the bank.
He checked Penbloom's account to see if there had been any withdrawals. His face went white when he saw the account was closed by a single check written on Saturday by Penbloom. The entire account was wiped out. The check was cashed at another bank. Penbloom knew banks would never question a check written against the First Bank of Claston, the town's oldest and most reputable bank.
Clendennon was furious. It was as if Penbloom slipped away like a thief in the night. The Constable checked the Penbloom office. It had been scrubbed clean of all possible evidence linking Penbloom to bank fraud.
The day was bright and beautiful in Toringham. There was a gentle breeze. A smallish, thin man sat in a lounge chair on the beach. Yes, he thought, Toringham was a wonderful place to retire.
Living Your Writing Life
The Mental Machine
Writers spend most of their time...well...writing. Their minds are like machines that create stories and ideas they turn into written works. But, writers are also inextricably linked to the underbelly of the world around them. Down through history, some of the most famous writers, like Wordsworth, Dickens and Wolff have been social reformers. Other writers like H.G. Wells inspired hi-tech changes that could only have come from the minds of these creative writers. The written works of philosophers give impetus to the literary social reformers and are a balm of tranquility to those least accepting of rapid changes. As with the Industrial Age, the Literary Age never loses its patina of creativity.
Living Your Writing Life
Distractions and minutiae exist all around us. Writers find distractions detract from their steady stream of mental motion. To live your writing life, it's often necessary to step back from the activities of the rat race and retreat into the world between writer and keyboard. On the other hand, writers have a keen sense of regeneration of their creative juices. They know when their pipeline of creativity is flowing all too slowly. It's at this point, they wander into their own worlds of introverted relaxation. For some, that may be a long, slow walk on the beach, a dalliance into nature in a thickly wooded area, traversing a mountain path or riding a bicycle in a solo quest for reestablishing touch with the world. Many writers find it difficult to engross themselves in hobbies. Writing is their hobby, their daily activity and the all-encompassing part of their lives.
Married to Writing
When writing is what individuals love to do most, it's difficult to establish working relationships with others. The world of the writer is a marriage unto itself. Unconsciously, writers take the same marriage vows for their writing as others do with marital relationship. Writers love and honor, in sickness and in health, till death do they part from their lifelong love affair with writing. Don't be fooled that there isn't an enormous amount of emotional security in being a writer. It is, perhaps, the only relationship of humankind that is worthy of total trust and offers lifetime commitment with no strings attached. In such an exclusive relationship, the obvious result is an ongoing consciousness of the power of the written word. A single word can be earth-shattering or world-shaking to the reading audience. This is the reason so many fiction writers manage to have social influence and inspire social reform. Writing is a marriage of verbal convenience to the most talented writers among us.
Prepare to Live Your Writing Life
Few writers are socially active butterflies who flit from one party to the next. These introverts prefer small groups of literary comrades in arms. To prepare to live your writing life, it's important to recognize the writing environment you consider the absolute necessity to produce your most effective literary works. Many writers use pen and pad to write. Others prefer a desktop or laptop computer. The next time you see a writer at work, take note of the expression on their faces. Intense, right? You're seeing the individual writer drawing from the deepest depths of their mental well. There is no one, save the characters in their stories, who comes between writer and story, at that unique juncture in literary time. Not even a military troop of one hundred could pry the writer from that moment. Be prepared to dive deeply into that mental well every moment of your creative writing life. You'll eat and take power naps where you write. In the middle of the night long after you've gone to sleep, you might wake and realize you have the final chapter of your novel. Writing is your life and your true vocation.
If you are already a writer, you knew this. Didn't you?
Writers spend most of their time...well...writing. Their minds are like machines that create stories and ideas they turn into written works. But, writers are also inextricably linked to the underbelly of the world around them. Down through history, some of the most famous writers, like Wordsworth, Dickens and Wolff have been social reformers. Other writers like H.G. Wells inspired hi-tech changes that could only have come from the minds of these creative writers. The written works of philosophers give impetus to the literary social reformers and are a balm of tranquility to those least accepting of rapid changes. As with the Industrial Age, the Literary Age never loses its patina of creativity.
Living Your Writing Life
Distractions and minutiae exist all around us. Writers find distractions detract from their steady stream of mental motion. To live your writing life, it's often necessary to step back from the activities of the rat race and retreat into the world between writer and keyboard. On the other hand, writers have a keen sense of regeneration of their creative juices. They know when their pipeline of creativity is flowing all too slowly. It's at this point, they wander into their own worlds of introverted relaxation. For some, that may be a long, slow walk on the beach, a dalliance into nature in a thickly wooded area, traversing a mountain path or riding a bicycle in a solo quest for reestablishing touch with the world. Many writers find it difficult to engross themselves in hobbies. Writing is their hobby, their daily activity and the all-encompassing part of their lives.
Married to Writing
When writing is what individuals love to do most, it's difficult to establish working relationships with others. The world of the writer is a marriage unto itself. Unconsciously, writers take the same marriage vows for their writing as others do with marital relationship. Writers love and honor, in sickness and in health, till death do they part from their lifelong love affair with writing. Don't be fooled that there isn't an enormous amount of emotional security in being a writer. It is, perhaps, the only relationship of humankind that is worthy of total trust and offers lifetime commitment with no strings attached. In such an exclusive relationship, the obvious result is an ongoing consciousness of the power of the written word. A single word can be earth-shattering or world-shaking to the reading audience. This is the reason so many fiction writers manage to have social influence and inspire social reform. Writing is a marriage of verbal convenience to the most talented writers among us.
Prepare to Live Your Writing Life
Few writers are socially active butterflies who flit from one party to the next. These introverts prefer small groups of literary comrades in arms. To prepare to live your writing life, it's important to recognize the writing environment you consider the absolute necessity to produce your most effective literary works. Many writers use pen and pad to write. Others prefer a desktop or laptop computer. The next time you see a writer at work, take note of the expression on their faces. Intense, right? You're seeing the individual writer drawing from the deepest depths of their mental well. There is no one, save the characters in their stories, who comes between writer and story, at that unique juncture in literary time. Not even a military troop of one hundred could pry the writer from that moment. Be prepared to dive deeply into that mental well every moment of your creative writing life. You'll eat and take power naps where you write. In the middle of the night long after you've gone to sleep, you might wake and realize you have the final chapter of your novel. Writing is your life and your true vocation.
If you are already a writer, you knew this. Didn't you?
Monday, August 5, 2013
Is There A Book Inside You?
How to Know If There's a Book Inside You
Ideas are wonderful inspirations that come to writers from a wealth of deep wells. Some writers spend months mulling over an idea for a book project. Inevitably, they arrive at the realization that an idea isn't always substantial enough to meet the word volume needed for a bona fide novel. So how can you know if there's a book inside you? Try write the idea until your muse exhausts or hits the proverbial brick wall. Leave the idea for a week or two. Then, try to restart from the last page. If the idea continues to flow smoothly, you have a book inside you that has potential.
The Truth Is...There's a Book Inside Each of Us
It's a true statement that life is a story that often has numerous twists and turns, colorful characters and odd, bizarre even, circumstances. Not every writer can reach best seller list level. If you love to write, just do it for personal satisfaction as well as a sense of compiling daily entries into life's journal. Thus, there's a book inside each of us if we know how to look for the basis of our story. For better or worse, we marry our fates to our continually evolving circumstances. Writing for the love of it brings out the inner individualism we are all born with. Writing also reflects our emotions and general fears and sensitivities as we grope our way through the maze of each twenty-four hour cycle of life.
Your Approach to Writing
How you approach your writing speaks volumes of your innermost motivations and thoughts. If you know how to apply fingers to a keyboard or pen to paper, your approach to writing is an opportunity to venture into your undiscovered talents. If punctuation and grammar are a problem, bone up on these basic elements of writing necessity. Approach your writing as you would any new adventure: with eyes wide open and spine stiffened to accommodate potential pitfalls. Expect obstacles. Once you confront the idea that life is the biggest obstacle to our sense of free will, you can overcome pitfalls and obstacles like a champion prize fighter. You'll need those boxing gloves because you'll find yourself sparring with yourself and those who would deny you the pleasure of doing what you love best: writing.
Take the Time to Study Other Writers
There are millions of writers in the big world of literature and media. Take the time to study other writers, myself included. This helps develop likes and dislikes in literary style. For me personally, I'd love to develop the unique writing simplicity of Chekov and combine it with the complexities of Virginia Wolff with a dash of Stephen King's elements of macabre. Yes. I know. That's impossible. Or, is it? Agatha Christie is my favorite writer. Yet, Christie is an acquired literary taste. As I trek onward, upward and forward in my goal of providing suspense novels with a focused subject, I know the path ahead is fraught with boulder sized obstacles. Only unbending literary willfulness prods me on.
Beware the Genre Trap
Most writers know the dangers of trying to switch tracks when writing novels. If you write suspense, writing comedic novels can be culture shock to your readers. The other genre trap is being at the mercy of contemporary reader interests. A writer who writes to their readership knows the value of developing their genre with each new literary contribution. Yet, it takes a writer with a bit of daring to break out of the ordinary and write outside the demands of the top ten best seller list. If you watch this list, you'll see the perpetuation and duplication of themes. If there's a book inside you, it should be one that has never been written by you or another writer. You can choose familiar topics so long as you approach them with your own unique brand of writing style and content. In other words, look for the furthest approach to a familiar subject. It's likely to be one that has yet to be written.
Accept Criticism and Rejection - Every Writer Has Done So
Learn to accept criticism even when you disagree with it. Remember that constructive criticism can be your best ally to moving ahead with literary skills. Be able to judge the difference between constructive and destructive criticism. You can accept the former and reject the latter. Rejection is another tool that helps good writers learn to tighten their literary aspirations. If you intend to be published, plan to be rejected more often than approved. Somewhere inside all of that rejections lies you, the writer, unwilling to be daunted by rejection and more than willing to soldier on to literary success.
Look for the Book Inside You
How do you know for certain there's a book inside you? Simple...there's a nagging and daily recurring thought that grips your mind and creates mass preoccupation. Your book is in that part of your brain that has stored away all those long forgotten ideas and opinions, hopes and dreams. Now...isn't it time to free those thoughts and start Chapter One?
Ideas are wonderful inspirations that come to writers from a wealth of deep wells. Some writers spend months mulling over an idea for a book project. Inevitably, they arrive at the realization that an idea isn't always substantial enough to meet the word volume needed for a bona fide novel. So how can you know if there's a book inside you? Try write the idea until your muse exhausts or hits the proverbial brick wall. Leave the idea for a week or two. Then, try to restart from the last page. If the idea continues to flow smoothly, you have a book inside you that has potential.
The Truth Is...There's a Book Inside Each of Us
It's a true statement that life is a story that often has numerous twists and turns, colorful characters and odd, bizarre even, circumstances. Not every writer can reach best seller list level. If you love to write, just do it for personal satisfaction as well as a sense of compiling daily entries into life's journal. Thus, there's a book inside each of us if we know how to look for the basis of our story. For better or worse, we marry our fates to our continually evolving circumstances. Writing for the love of it brings out the inner individualism we are all born with. Writing also reflects our emotions and general fears and sensitivities as we grope our way through the maze of each twenty-four hour cycle of life.
Your Approach to Writing
How you approach your writing speaks volumes of your innermost motivations and thoughts. If you know how to apply fingers to a keyboard or pen to paper, your approach to writing is an opportunity to venture into your undiscovered talents. If punctuation and grammar are a problem, bone up on these basic elements of writing necessity. Approach your writing as you would any new adventure: with eyes wide open and spine stiffened to accommodate potential pitfalls. Expect obstacles. Once you confront the idea that life is the biggest obstacle to our sense of free will, you can overcome pitfalls and obstacles like a champion prize fighter. You'll need those boxing gloves because you'll find yourself sparring with yourself and those who would deny you the pleasure of doing what you love best: writing.
Take the Time to Study Other Writers
There are millions of writers in the big world of literature and media. Take the time to study other writers, myself included. This helps develop likes and dislikes in literary style. For me personally, I'd love to develop the unique writing simplicity of Chekov and combine it with the complexities of Virginia Wolff with a dash of Stephen King's elements of macabre. Yes. I know. That's impossible. Or, is it? Agatha Christie is my favorite writer. Yet, Christie is an acquired literary taste. As I trek onward, upward and forward in my goal of providing suspense novels with a focused subject, I know the path ahead is fraught with boulder sized obstacles. Only unbending literary willfulness prods me on.
Beware the Genre Trap
Most writers know the dangers of trying to switch tracks when writing novels. If you write suspense, writing comedic novels can be culture shock to your readers. The other genre trap is being at the mercy of contemporary reader interests. A writer who writes to their readership knows the value of developing their genre with each new literary contribution. Yet, it takes a writer with a bit of daring to break out of the ordinary and write outside the demands of the top ten best seller list. If you watch this list, you'll see the perpetuation and duplication of themes. If there's a book inside you, it should be one that has never been written by you or another writer. You can choose familiar topics so long as you approach them with your own unique brand of writing style and content. In other words, look for the furthest approach to a familiar subject. It's likely to be one that has yet to be written.
Accept Criticism and Rejection - Every Writer Has Done So
Learn to accept criticism even when you disagree with it. Remember that constructive criticism can be your best ally to moving ahead with literary skills. Be able to judge the difference between constructive and destructive criticism. You can accept the former and reject the latter. Rejection is another tool that helps good writers learn to tighten their literary aspirations. If you intend to be published, plan to be rejected more often than approved. Somewhere inside all of that rejections lies you, the writer, unwilling to be daunted by rejection and more than willing to soldier on to literary success.
Look for the Book Inside You
How do you know for certain there's a book inside you? Simple...there's a nagging and daily recurring thought that grips your mind and creates mass preoccupation. Your book is in that part of your brain that has stored away all those long forgotten ideas and opinions, hopes and dreams. Now...isn't it time to free those thoughts and start Chapter One?
Monday, July 29, 2013
Develop Your Inner Writer
Everyone Is a Writer
The literary world has evolved from the days of Guttenberg's first printed page to handheld electronic readers. Writers have had to evolve with these modern literary changes in more ways than just writing for online blogs and content. Today, everyone is a writer whether they are established in the literary world or not. The line between mediocre writers and those who enter the hallowed sanctuaries of the world's greatest writers is as fine as a strand of baby's hair. Mediocre writers often develop into great writers.
Who Is Your Inner Writer?
In order to know your inner writer, you have to listen carefully to the voices of the characters you create. If the voice sounds too familiar, it isn't the character's voice. It's yours. It's difficult to write in first person without boring readers quickly. Determine who your inner writer is before attempting to write bios, non-fiction or fiction. There's a writer inside all of us and knowing who that writer is and the goals your inner writer has in mind is the best way to proceed confidently into your first writing project.
Develop Your Inner Writer
When a new writer begins their first writing project, there's a dimension of disconnection between what we want to write and how we choose to express that in writing clearly understood by our readers. One tip is to write your opening paragraph as if you are climbing the gangplank of the HMS Titanic. Everything that follows can be an unforeseeable disaster. The first sentence is as important as the last. It's the first sentence that gives readers impetus to continue reading. Always end your chapters as a lead into the next chapter. Continuity is crucial. You develop your inner writer by perfecting your style and your natural writing talents. Pavlova couldn't perform those thirty-two fouette turns in Swan Lake without practice. Tolstoy's friendship with Tchaikovsky helped him develop as a writer by observing the self-discipline of one of the world's greatest composers.
Your Writing Today, Your Writing Tomorrow
Most of our most famous authors began writing as novices in the literary world. When you read their first works, you see the great, as yet, undeveloped writing talent. By the time they've produced their last literary work, the polish and unique nuances are their signature style. Your writing today grows into your writing tomorrow when you make writing a life choice. Your inner writer develops into your signature style. Work hard to create that signature style so that your writing talents are valued by readers. You want that style to be easily recognized and anticipated.
E-Readers and How They Affect Your Writing
E-readers are convenient. Can you write for e-readers in the same way you'd write for a hard copy? The answer is yes. Writing is all about content. Good writing in any genre comes from writing skill, experience and talent. The only difference with writing for e-readers is the form.
Write What You Like
It's obvious that writers have enormous freedom to write about any topic and in any genre. However, be aware that scattering writing energies in too many genres can confuse your most loyal readership. For example, if you prefer to write sci-fi and then abruptly decide to write bios, your sci-fi experience can overshadow your newer choice of genre. Most children's writers find the transition to adult genres difficult and their credibility compromised. Dr. Seuss writing a murder mystery is a little difficult to process. Dr. Seuss writing a sci-fi is slightly more palatable to his readers. When making a writing transition, make certain it's a natural next step to a similar or related genre.
Like What You Write
If you don't like what you write, your readers won't either. Find your literary comfort zone. This helps you enjoy what you've written and more so, like it so much you'll feel an aching for the characters and the plot after it's been completed. This is usually a clue that a sequel might be the next writing project. Sequels are fine so long as the plot is revitalized. Readers love to find a character they might recall from a prior novel. Agatha Christie did this excellently with Miss Marple and Hercule Poirot. You'll find a character in my next novel, "The Hanging House on Partridge Lane" uncovers several characters mentioned in "The House at the End of Langdon Road." Like what you write so you readership will too.
The literary world has evolved from the days of Guttenberg's first printed page to handheld electronic readers. Writers have had to evolve with these modern literary changes in more ways than just writing for online blogs and content. Today, everyone is a writer whether they are established in the literary world or not. The line between mediocre writers and those who enter the hallowed sanctuaries of the world's greatest writers is as fine as a strand of baby's hair. Mediocre writers often develop into great writers.
Who Is Your Inner Writer?
In order to know your inner writer, you have to listen carefully to the voices of the characters you create. If the voice sounds too familiar, it isn't the character's voice. It's yours. It's difficult to write in first person without boring readers quickly. Determine who your inner writer is before attempting to write bios, non-fiction or fiction. There's a writer inside all of us and knowing who that writer is and the goals your inner writer has in mind is the best way to proceed confidently into your first writing project.
Develop Your Inner Writer
When a new writer begins their first writing project, there's a dimension of disconnection between what we want to write and how we choose to express that in writing clearly understood by our readers. One tip is to write your opening paragraph as if you are climbing the gangplank of the HMS Titanic. Everything that follows can be an unforeseeable disaster. The first sentence is as important as the last. It's the first sentence that gives readers impetus to continue reading. Always end your chapters as a lead into the next chapter. Continuity is crucial. You develop your inner writer by perfecting your style and your natural writing talents. Pavlova couldn't perform those thirty-two fouette turns in Swan Lake without practice. Tolstoy's friendship with Tchaikovsky helped him develop as a writer by observing the self-discipline of one of the world's greatest composers.
Your Writing Today, Your Writing Tomorrow
Most of our most famous authors began writing as novices in the literary world. When you read their first works, you see the great, as yet, undeveloped writing talent. By the time they've produced their last literary work, the polish and unique nuances are their signature style. Your writing today grows into your writing tomorrow when you make writing a life choice. Your inner writer develops into your signature style. Work hard to create that signature style so that your writing talents are valued by readers. You want that style to be easily recognized and anticipated.
E-Readers and How They Affect Your Writing
E-readers are convenient. Can you write for e-readers in the same way you'd write for a hard copy? The answer is yes. Writing is all about content. Good writing in any genre comes from writing skill, experience and talent. The only difference with writing for e-readers is the form.
Write What You Like
It's obvious that writers have enormous freedom to write about any topic and in any genre. However, be aware that scattering writing energies in too many genres can confuse your most loyal readership. For example, if you prefer to write sci-fi and then abruptly decide to write bios, your sci-fi experience can overshadow your newer choice of genre. Most children's writers find the transition to adult genres difficult and their credibility compromised. Dr. Seuss writing a murder mystery is a little difficult to process. Dr. Seuss writing a sci-fi is slightly more palatable to his readers. When making a writing transition, make certain it's a natural next step to a similar or related genre.
Like What You Write
If you don't like what you write, your readers won't either. Find your literary comfort zone. This helps you enjoy what you've written and more so, like it so much you'll feel an aching for the characters and the plot after it's been completed. This is usually a clue that a sequel might be the next writing project. Sequels are fine so long as the plot is revitalized. Readers love to find a character they might recall from a prior novel. Agatha Christie did this excellently with Miss Marple and Hercule Poirot. You'll find a character in my next novel, "The Hanging House on Partridge Lane" uncovers several characters mentioned in "The House at the End of Langdon Road." Like what you write so you readership will too.
Saturday, July 27, 2013
The Long Hard Road at the End of the Last Chapter
The Final Chapter Is Just the Beginning
The last chapter of my third novel, "The Hanging House on Partridge Lane" is finished. The final chapter of a novel is just the beginning. The next step is editing the entire manuscript for grammatical errors, errors in fact or chronological time, punctuation and of course, typos. Writers can have professional proof readers edit their manuscripts. This is actually the best way to insure the manuscript is publisher/editor ready. Don't rely solely on grammar, spelling or punctuation checkers to do the editing. Homonyms like to, too and two are rarely caught.
Step Two - Submitting the Manuscript
Many new writers discover today's world of publishing means writers, not agents or publishers, will do all of their own marketing and self-marketing. This may be difficult for some writers who are also tech, ghost, copy and content writers who earn the major share of their income from these types of freelance jobs. The smart writer creates their literary persona and builds their literary resume based mostly on an enormous amount of self-confidence in their writing skills. No writer can afford the luxury of second-guessing their writing skills. If your writing elicits responses or reactions, make sure you keep a record of these. Keep your own literary "Me" file. Fill it with accolades from individuals willing to be mentioned in your literary profile.
Selecting the Correct Publishing Medium
The "Last Chapter Blues" includes angst over which publishing medium will be most likely to exact the desire result: to have your book published. Fortunately, self-publishing today is as close to traditional publishing as it has never been before. The reason is simple: The writer will do the lion's share of the marketing in either venue. Writers can choose self-publishing, traditional publishing or small press publishing. Remember, you can be a much bigger fish in a smaller sea than a minnow in an ocean.
Do Book Reviews Matter?
If book reviews are important to your self-marketing program, choose those that offer video interviews first. Don't be afraid to approach local TV and radio stations about giving you an opportunity to discuss your book. If you wrote it, you have the right to publicize it.
The Value of Literary Lawyers
At some point in the discussion of a contract between writer and publisher, a literary lawyer may become necessary. If the publisher is really interested in your work, the cost of the advice of a literary lawyer may be absorbed by the publisher. Choose a literary lawyer with a successful track record of experience.
The Traditional Publishing Conundrum
For writers who love the suspense, sci-fi and other fiction genres, attracting the attention of celebrity hungry publishers is a difficult nut to crack. The best advice is a trial run on any of the most popular social media sites that allow you publish your work. This works to reinforce your literary persona and keeps your author's status fresh in mind.
Persistence Pays Off
Like any sport of kings, persistence pays off when winning is the main goal. Becoming an author and being a recognized author takes time and daily effort. Snap up every opportunity to publicize your work even in casual social media conversations. Don't forget to check out the numerous venues that offer free publicity at local events. When your own local readership recognizes you, half of the battle to move ahead is won. Make sure your local library carries copies of your books. Offer free copies whenever possible. This is all part of your marketing strategy.
"The Hanging House on Partridge Lane" is completed. The editing is nearly there. It's a suspense novel that builds upon, but isn't a sequel to, "Barrow House" and "The House at the End of Langdon Road." I like the idea of using a single, less prominent character from the two previously published "House" books. Houses and the people who live in them fascinate me. "The Hanging House on Partridge Lane" is yet another example how a house isn't just a home when a murderess has spent years plotting and scheming, compromising even the wealth she managed to acquire, to hide her part in several deaths in her mysterious past.
The last chapter of my third novel, "The Hanging House on Partridge Lane" is finished. The final chapter of a novel is just the beginning. The next step is editing the entire manuscript for grammatical errors, errors in fact or chronological time, punctuation and of course, typos. Writers can have professional proof readers edit their manuscripts. This is actually the best way to insure the manuscript is publisher/editor ready. Don't rely solely on grammar, spelling or punctuation checkers to do the editing. Homonyms like to, too and two are rarely caught.
Step Two - Submitting the Manuscript
Many new writers discover today's world of publishing means writers, not agents or publishers, will do all of their own marketing and self-marketing. This may be difficult for some writers who are also tech, ghost, copy and content writers who earn the major share of their income from these types of freelance jobs. The smart writer creates their literary persona and builds their literary resume based mostly on an enormous amount of self-confidence in their writing skills. No writer can afford the luxury of second-guessing their writing skills. If your writing elicits responses or reactions, make sure you keep a record of these. Keep your own literary "Me" file. Fill it with accolades from individuals willing to be mentioned in your literary profile.
Selecting the Correct Publishing Medium
The "Last Chapter Blues" includes angst over which publishing medium will be most likely to exact the desire result: to have your book published. Fortunately, self-publishing today is as close to traditional publishing as it has never been before. The reason is simple: The writer will do the lion's share of the marketing in either venue. Writers can choose self-publishing, traditional publishing or small press publishing. Remember, you can be a much bigger fish in a smaller sea than a minnow in an ocean.
Do Book Reviews Matter?
If book reviews are important to your self-marketing program, choose those that offer video interviews first. Don't be afraid to approach local TV and radio stations about giving you an opportunity to discuss your book. If you wrote it, you have the right to publicize it.
The Value of Literary Lawyers
At some point in the discussion of a contract between writer and publisher, a literary lawyer may become necessary. If the publisher is really interested in your work, the cost of the advice of a literary lawyer may be absorbed by the publisher. Choose a literary lawyer with a successful track record of experience.
The Traditional Publishing Conundrum
For writers who love the suspense, sci-fi and other fiction genres, attracting the attention of celebrity hungry publishers is a difficult nut to crack. The best advice is a trial run on any of the most popular social media sites that allow you publish your work. This works to reinforce your literary persona and keeps your author's status fresh in mind.
Persistence Pays Off
Like any sport of kings, persistence pays off when winning is the main goal. Becoming an author and being a recognized author takes time and daily effort. Snap up every opportunity to publicize your work even in casual social media conversations. Don't forget to check out the numerous venues that offer free publicity at local events. When your own local readership recognizes you, half of the battle to move ahead is won. Make sure your local library carries copies of your books. Offer free copies whenever possible. This is all part of your marketing strategy.
"The Hanging House on Partridge Lane" is completed. The editing is nearly there. It's a suspense novel that builds upon, but isn't a sequel to, "Barrow House" and "The House at the End of Langdon Road." I like the idea of using a single, less prominent character from the two previously published "House" books. Houses and the people who live in them fascinate me. "The Hanging House on Partridge Lane" is yet another example how a house isn't just a home when a murderess has spent years plotting and scheming, compromising even the wealth she managed to acquire, to hide her part in several deaths in her mysterious past.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)