May 2024 – Page 3 – Richard L. Fricks

Novel Excerpts–The Boaz Schoolteacher, Chapter 2

The primary aim of the "Novel Excerpts" blog category is to showcase my creative writing, specifically from the novels I've written. Hopefully, these posts will provide a glimpse into my storytelling style, themes, and narrative skills. It's an opportunity to share my artistic expressions and the worlds I've created through my novels.

The Boaz Schoolteacher, written in 2018, is my fifth novel. I'll post a chapter a day over the next few weeks.

Book Blurb

In the summer of 2017, Katie Sims and her daughter Cullie, moved from New York City to Katie’s hometown of Boaz, Alabama for her to teach English and for Cullie to attend Boaz High School . Fifteen years earlier, during the Christmas holidays, five men from prominent local families sexually assaulted Katie. Nine months later, Katie’s only daughter was born.

Almost from the beginning of the new school year, as Katie and fellow-teacher Cindy Barker shared English, Literature, and Creative Writing duties for more than 300 students, they became lifelong friends.

For weeks, Katie and Cindy endured the almost constant sexual harassment at the hands of the assistant principal. In mid-October, after Cindy suffered an attack similar to Katie’s from fifteen years earlier, the two teachers designed a unique method to teach the six predators a lesson they would never forget. Katie and Cindy dubbed their plan, Six Red Apples.

Read this mystery-thriller to experience the dilemma the two teachers created for themselves, and to learn the true meaning of real justice. And, eternal friendship.

Chapter 2

“I’ll have four eggs over-easy and a pound of bacon.” Ryan Radford said as the young and shapely waitress multi-tasked writing down his order and fending off his left hand that was attempting to rub her lower back.

“You’re going to die at 40 if you don’t lay off that fat.” Fulton Billingsley said. “You may be as tall as your dear late father, but he used his head, exercised, and ate sensibly.”

“What’s so important we meet today and not Sunday’s as usual?” Justin Adams asked sipping a steaming cup of coffee.

“I have a final walk-through at 7:00, so let’s make this quick. This is my biggest sale in Pebblebrook.” Danny Ericson mumbled as he wolfed down a stack of pancakes. “And Fulton, if you call a meeting, make sure you show up on time.

“Are you going to answer my question? Justin said motioning for the newest and hottest waitress at Grumpy’s Diner to come take his order.

“Two words. Katie Sims.” Fulton said just as Ryan moved his hand across his throat indicating for Fulton to go silent until Tina, the waitress, came and went.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Danny said. “We promised a decade or two ago to never mention the lovely Katie.

“She’s in town. For good.” Fulton always liked being rather terse.

“For whose good?” Ryan asked.

“Stupid. She’s moved here from New York City. She’s teaching English at the high school.” Fulton said almost becoming windy.

“How do you know?” Justin asked.

“I didn’t see her, but she came to the bank yesterday afternoon to open a checking account for her daughter. I saw it early this morning on the New Accounts printout.” Fulton said alternating looking at each of his three friends and scanning the dining room for potential eavesdroppers.

“I say this doesn’t even justify a quick heads-up on the phone, much less a meeting. What’s the big deal?” Ryan said cramming three slices of bacon into his mouth at one time.

“I agree.” Danny added. “She doesn’t know anything. We made sure of that. Even if she did, all we need do is deny everything she would say. By the way, where is Warren? Why is he not here?”

“Nashville. A pastor’s conference of some sort. He’ll be back tomorrow. I’ll tell him then.” Fulton said eating the last spoonful of his oatmeal.

Ryan let out a low groan as he looked over at Tina two tables over. “I wouldn’t mind having that for breakfast. Come to think of it, I have an idea. Why don’t we do us a little replay with the lovely Katie. She liked it rough, just like me.”

“Ryan, get your mind out of the gutter. We’re not teenagers anymore.” Fulton said regretting having to spend a minute with the crude and vile Radford.

“As Ryan says, what’s the big deal?” Justin asked, looking at Fulton.

“Cullie Sims was born September 23, 2003. I saw it on her account application. That’s exactly nine months after our little roll in the hay with Katie Sims. Doesn’t that strike any of you as more than mere coincidence?” Fulton was always the most serious of the sons of the Flaming Five, the fathers who broke every high school basketball record within a hundred miles when they thrilled audiences during the early seventies.

“Let me make sure I understood you. Exactly. You are saying that one of us, including Warren, is the father of Cullie Sims?” Danny asked, laying his cell phone face down beside his plate.

“Right. How could it be anything else? I don’t know much about genes and science, but it seems to me that one of our little sperms found its way to one of Katie’s little eggs.” Fulton’s statement surprised the other three. It was so out of character for him to attempt any humor.

“I say you’re making too much of this. That was nearly fifteen years ago. What would she gain from bringing it up now? We would deny it and she would look silly. Even if she proved that I was the father of Cullie, couldn’t I say that we had consensual sex and had never been told Katie became pregnant.” Justin said.

“Let’s hope, at the worst, it would be that simple.” Fulton said looking for the time on his cell phone. “I have to go.”

“Me too.” Danny added.

As the four went their separate ways it wasn’t a stretch to guess that each of them, today, and Warren, tomorrow, would spend countless time pondering the potential effects from Katie Sims move to Boaz.

Novel Excerpts–The Boaz Schoolteacher, Chapter 1

The primary aim of the "Novel Excerpts" blog category is to showcase my creative writing, specifically from the novels I've written. Hopefully, these posts will provide a glimpse into my storytelling style, themes, and narrative skills. It's an opportunity to share my artistic expressions and the worlds I've created through my novels.

The Boaz Schoolteacher, written in 2018, is my fifth novel. I'll post a chapter a day over the next few weeks.

Book Blurb

Read this mystery-thriller to experience the dilemma the two teachers created for themselves, and to learn the true meaning of real justice. And, eternal friendship.

Chapter 1

Once again, I had not slept well. It was the sixth night since Cullie and I moved back to Boaz. The dreams, virtual nightmares, were no doubt triggered by sleeping in my bed, in my old room. I hadn’t slept here since 1996 when I finished college and moved to Los Angeles. During the intervening twenty years I had visited at least once every couple of years, but I had always made sure I slept at a local motel.

I had to make some changes. Maybe I would ask Nanny Bev, my grandmother, if I could have mother’s room upstairs. That was probably a bad idea. Mother, Darla Sims Radford, may be needing it herself. Her husband, Raymond Radford, is in some deep shit with the law, accused of a multitude of crimes, including murder. Mom hasn’t been too open about her situation, but I suspect Raymond’s grandson, Ryan, will pressure Mom out of the sprawling Country Club mansion if his grandfather is convicted and sent to prison. Maybe, a new coat of paint and some different bedroom furniture will chase out the demons who have homesteaded my room since I was a kid.

I pulled on a sweatshirt and a pair of jogging pants and walked down the hall and into the kitchen. It was 4:30 a.m. and the coffee was waiting, thanks to my automatic coffee brewer that I had brought. I couldn’t help but feel bad over the scene Bev and I had when Cullie and I had moved in. Nanny was a creature of habit, hated change, and believed anything smart enough to make coffee without your presence was also smart enough to be a spy.

The thought also reminded me of why Cullie and I were here. Bev was growing more senile by the day and Darla was too preoccupied to see the trouble Bev was in. It should have been apparent. Nanny was going on ninety years old but had a daughter whose dream had become a nightmare.

Darla was my biological mother, but I could hardly call her mom or mother. It was Nanny who had raised me. Darla had gotten pregnant at her high school graduation party in May 1972. She was still a kid herself. But, not one incapable of hooking up, eventually marrying, Raymond Radford, the man whose son, Randall, was one of the ones Darla had sex with that fateful graduation night. Raymond left his wife of twenty years for the young and pretty Darla. To his credit, he had offered to raise me, let me live in his big house. Nanny would not have it and literally made Darla sign me over for adoption. I doubt if I would ever forgive my mother for throwing me away.

Early morning was my time. It was now an ingrained habit, virtually like breathing. Since high school I had been a scribbler, finding deep satisfaction in putting words on paper. During college I had learned a lot about the craft of writing, but my short stories seemed hollow, with uninteresting plots. Not to mention, my characters were stiff and narrow. It was my first teaching job in Los Angeles where the early morning routine became the habit that continues today. Before my day job began, I had written at least a thousand words towards my current story. I owe my students, rather their seemingly unbearable lives, for transforming my writing from a head knowledge to a heart-throbbing adventure. My life, for the first time, had discovered meaning. I finally had a purpose and it was two-fold. Creating stories, short and long, that moved people, entertaining but also helping them discover something that made their lives more bearable or maybe even spurred them to reconstruct their circumstances and become a whole new person. The second purpose, closely related, was to inspire my students to read and write for themselves. I strived to motivate them to learn the power of words, others and their own. If they did, I knew the stories they read, and the words they scribbled, would provide virtual experiences, the cheap way: by traveling, hiking, swimming, flying, failing, succeeding, and dreaming. This would give them a better chance of coping with their current lives, and hopefully creating a better one in the days ahead.

This morning was the first in seven days that I had come to my writing spot. I had adopted this corner of the little used basement, windowless and damp, while I was in high school. Back then I was not a daily writer, scribbler was really what I was, but it was here that I attempted to fictionalize Darla’s story. It’s hard to realize how the little snippets I wrote, hardly the makings of the most rudimentary scenes, grew over the years into Out of the Darkness, my novel that won the PEN/Faulkner prize for best fiction in 2002. During the twelve or thirteen years it had taken to complete the story, it evolved far from where it had begun: Darla’s consensual sex with Randall Radford and the other four members of the Flaming Five (as they were called because of their basketball prowess), her pregnancy, and my birth nine months later. One thing I had learned in Out of the Darkness, was that horrible life experiences did not have to define one’s future. That too was what my protagonist had learned. I still had a way to go before this principle settled in my mind and heart as easily as my habit of rising at 4:30 a.m. every morning.

Today, I chose to work on another project I had put in a desk drawer nearly two years ago. Out of Control was born after that fateful night in December 2002 when I was gang-raped by the sons of the Flaming Five, including Ryan Radford, Raymond’s grandson. Sporadically over the past fifteen years I had attempted to gain momentum, but I always seemed to hit the wall. It was like my mind and my body were fighting each other. I guess it was because I was too close to the event. It had happened to me and my entire being, to protect itself, fought my every effort to relive the horrifying two-plus hours. Maybe now, back in the dark and dingy basement, where my only prize-winning story had sprouted, I could convince my writing mind and heart that my life would benefit, maybe even begin to thrive, by going deep to destroy the demons that were assaulting me lying upstairs in the bed of my youth.

At 6:15 a.m., I returned to my room, showered, dressed, and drove myself and a waiting Cullie to Boaz High School. It was my first day as an English teacher and Cullie’s as a ninth-grade student at the high school I had graduated from in 1991. I hoped our time here would be as rewarding as the last six years at Eleanor Roosevelt High School in New York City. For reasons that were not difficult to list, I doubted things would be as good.

Snowflake Summaries–The Pleasures of Helen, by Lawrence Sanders

The primary aim of the "Snowflake Summaries" blog category is to showcase the creative writing of great authors. I use Randy Ingermanson's 'Snowflake' method to create these summaries. Here's a brief description of the one-sentence, one-paragraph, and one-page summary method.

Hopefully, these posts will motivate you to read great fiction and to write your own novel, whether your first or your fifteenth. 

The first great novelist I'll start with is Lawrence Sanders. Here's a short biography.

The Pleasures of Helen, by Lawrence Sanders

**”The Pleasures of Helen” by Lawrence Sanders** is a poignant exploration of a woman’s life and her romantic entanglements in the late 1960s New York, capturing her struggles and aspirations with vivid realism and emotional depth.

### One Sentence Summary:

**”The Pleasures of Helen”** depicts Helen Miley, a 30-something career woman in New York, as she navigates the complexities of love and career, exploring the bittersweet truths of her romantic relationships while seeking happiness and fulfillment.

### One Paragraph Summary:

Set in the bustling backdrop of late 1960s New York, **”The Pleasures of Helen”** follows the life of Helen Miley, a woman in her thirties who is both ambitious in her career and longing for a committed relationship. As Helen experiences various romantic relationships, each revealing its unique challenges and lessons, she grapples with balancing her desire for love with her aspirations for professional success. The novel explores Helen’s journey through her interactions with different men, each relationship reflecting aspects of her own evolving identity and her understanding of what it means to be fulfilled. Lawrence Sanders masterfully portrays Helen’s emotional landscape against the societal expectations of the era, delivering a narrative rich in character study and the exploration of personal fulfillment.

### One Page Summary:

**”The Pleasures of Helen”** by Lawrence Sanders intricately captures the essence of Helen Miley’s quest for love and personal growth amidst the societal and cultural dynamics of New York City during the late 1960s. Helen, a career-oriented woman in her mid-thirties, finds herself at a crossroads between her professional ambitions and her deep-seated desire for a lasting romantic relationship.

The novel opens with Helen reflecting on her past relationships, each having shaped her but left her unfulfilled. As she navigates the dating scene, Helen encounters various men, including Harry Tennant, a charming yet troubled businessman, and Joe Rhodes, a sophisticated older man who offers stability but at the cost of passion. Each relationship offers Helen insights into her desires and the compromises she may or may not be willing to make.

Sanders vividly describes the settings—from Helen’s office, where she faces the challenges of being a woman in a male-dominated field, to the vibrant streets of New York, which serve as a backdrop for her romantic and personal explorations. Helen’s interactions with her friends and colleagues also provide a broader view of the era’s attitudes towards relationships, career, and independence.

As Helen delves deeper into her relationships, she confronts the realities of love, betrayal, and self-discovery. Her journey is punctuated by moments of introspection, where she questions her choices and the societal norms that often dictate the roles of women in both their professional and personal lives. Each chapter of her life closes with lessons learned and a clearer understanding of what she truly seeks.

The climax of the novel centers on a pivotal decision Helen must make after a particularly revealing and painful romantic debacle. This moment forces her to evaluate her past and make a choice about her future—one that prioritizes her happiness and integrity over societal expectations.

In its conclusion, **”The Pleasures of Helen”** sees Helen embracing a path that leads to self-acceptance and potential happiness, whether it includes a partner or not. Sanders crafts a resolution that is both empowering and reflective, leaving the reader with a sense of hope for Helen’s future.

Through **”The Pleasures of Helen,”** Lawrence Sanders not only tells a story of one woman’s emotional and romantic journey but also paints a picture of an era and its cultural complexities. The novel is a deep exploration of the themes of love, independence, and the pursuit of happiness, portrayed through the lens of an unforgettable protagonist whose experiences resonate with timeless relevance.

Novel Excerpts–The Boaz Schoolteacher, Prologue

The primary aim of the "Novel Excerpts" blog category is to showcase my creative writing, specifically from the novels I've written. Hopefully, these posts will provide a glimpse into my storytelling style, themes, and narrative skills. It's an opportunity to share my artistic expressions and the worlds I've created through my novels.

The Boaz Schoolteacher, written in 2018, is my fifth novel. I'll post a chapter a day over the next few weeks.

Book Blurb

Read this mystery-thriller to experience the dilemma the two teachers created for themselves, and to learn the true meaning of real justice. And, eternal friendship.

Prologue

I remember it like it was yesterday. It was 2002 and I was home for Christmas. It had been a whole year since I had visited my mother and my grandmother in our hometown of Boaz, Alabama. This year, unlike the previous five years where I had stayed in Los Angeles fully focused on my high school teaching and writing, I had seen them in April when they had flown to Washington, D.C. to see me awarded the PEN/Faulkner Award for Fiction in the Great Hall of the Folger Shakespeare Library.

I had driven my rental car from the Birmingham-Shuttlesworth International Airport and arrived in Boaz during late afternoon of the 23rd. Instead of going straight to mother’s house east of Boaz on Bruce Road, I opted to drive west on Highway 168 to old downtown Boaz to see if the fountain in the center of town was active or lying dormant. It had become something of a tradition for me after my grandmother had shared the story of how Darla, my mother, had met her husband, Raymond Radford. I loved Mama Bev’s oft repeated statement, “love is never stagnant, it is bursting forth, new every day.” It was, to me, a silly and too simple an expression. I had never known anything but the stagnant type of love. When I parked and walked to the center of town, the fountain was worse than stagnant. There was no water anywhere in sight. The huge basin that fed the fountain was empty.

I never saw anyone. I was walking back to my car parked in a dark parking lot on the south end of town and past the little building that housed the two public restrooms when someone grabbed me from behind and forced a black hood over my head. The whisper of voices told me there were several of them. I was shoved into the back of what had to be a van and driven for miles. I knew I was going to die. I couldn’t sit up but could feel a combination of hard and soft hands traveling across my bare legs. One quick stop by the van and I could hear the vehicle’s tires rolling across a graveled road.

I was removed from the back of the vehicle and led inside a tent. I knew it was a tent by the smell. Everyone knows that Army tent smell. Over the next hour I was laid across a bed covered with what had to be an animal skin and raped by at least five men. They made lots of sounds. The man inside me would moan and groan. The bystanders would laugh and jeer. The only words I ever heard were, “teach the little bitch not to write about Boaz.” Maybe I shouldn’t have set my one and only novel, Out of the Darkness, in my hometown.

When the five had each taken a couple of turns each thrusting inside me without a single condom, they drove back to town leaving me behind the public restrooms. That day, I never saw one of the men nor the vehicle they were driving. They left me hooded and tied up enough to make their getaway before I could untie my hands and remove the hood from my head.

It was as though they wanted me to know who they were. I did. But, I never went to the police. Instead, I drove to McDonald’s and went inside to the restroom, refreshed my makeup and straightened my clothes the men had hastily redressed me with, drank a cup of coffee, and drove home to an eager mother and grandmother worried that my plane had been late.

That was nearly fifteen years ago, nine months before Cullie, my beautiful daughter, was born. When I first saw her face and the sweetness of her smile, and felt the tenderness of her skin, I swore to myself I would forget the horror of that night, and instead, invest my life keeping Cullie safe and focused on the good all around her.

The Marginalian: On Giving Up: Adam Phillips on Knowing What You Want, the Art of Self-Revision, and the Courage to Change Your Mind

Here’s the link to this article.

BY MARIA POPOVA

On Giving Up: Adam Phillips on Knowing What You Want, the Art of Self-Revision, and the Courage to Change Your Mind

“A self that goes on changing is a self that goes on living,” Virginia Woolf wrote. Nothing is more vital to the capacity for change than the uncomfortable luxury of changing your mind — that stubborn refusal to ossify, the courageous willingness to outgrow your views, anneal your values, and keep clarifying your priorities. It is incredibly difficult to achieve because the very notion of the self hinges on our sense psychological continuity and internal consistency; because we live in a culture whose myths of heroism and martyrdom valorize completion at any cost, a culture that contractually binds the present self to the future self in mortgages and marital vows, presuming unchanging desires, forgetting that who we are is shaped by what we want and what we want goes on changing as we go on growing.

Changing — your mind, your life — is also painfully difficult because it is a form of renunciation, a special case of those necessary losses that sculpt our lives; it requires giving something up — a way of seeing, a way of being — in order for something new to come abloom along the vector of the “endless unfolding” that is a life fully lived, something that leaves your new emerging self more fully met.

One of English artist Margaret C. Cook’s illustrations for a rare 1913 edition of *Leaves of Grass*. (Available as a print.)

The psychoanalyst Adam Phillips offers a salve for that perennial difficulty in On Giving Up (public library) — an exploration and celebration of giving up as “a prelude, a precondition for something else to happen, a form of anticipation, a kind of courage,” “an attempt to make a different future” that “get us the life we want, or don’t know that we want.”

He considers how countercultural such reframing is:

We tend to value, and even idealize, the idea of seeing things through, of finishing things rather than abandoning them. Giving up has to be justified in a way that completion does not; giving up doesn’t usually make us proud of ourselves; it is a falling short of our preferred selves… Giving up, in other words, is usually thought of as a failure rather than a way of succeeding at something else. It is worth wondering to whom we believe we have to justify ourselves when we are giving up, or when we are determinedly not giving up.

At the heart of the book is the recognition that renunciation is the fulcrum of change. We give things up, Phillips observes, “when we believe we can no longer go on as we are.” (For many, this is the central crisis of midlife.) It is a kind of sacrifice in the service of a larger, better life — but this presumes knowledge of the life we want, and it is often experiences we didn’t know we wanted that end up magnifying our lives in the profoundest ways. (Nothing illustrates this better than The Vampire Problem.)

Phillips considers the paradox:

The whole notion of sacrifice depends upon our knowing what we want… Giving up, or giving up on, anything or anyone always exposes what it is we take it we want… To give something up is to seek one’s own assumed advantage, one’s apparently preferred pleasure, but in an economy that we mostly can’t comprehend, or, like all economies, predict… We calculate, in so far as we can, the effect of our sacrifice, the future we want from it… to get through to ourselves: to get through to the life we want.

*Falling Star* by Witold Pruszkowski, 1884. (Available as a print.)

“I did not know that I could only get the most out of life by giving myself up to it,” the psychiatrist and artist Marion Milner wrote a century ago in her clarifying field guide to knowing what you really want — which is, in the end, the hardest thing in life, for our self-knowledge is cratered with blind spots, clouded by conditioning, and perennially incomplete. Phillips — who draws on Milner’s magnificent book, as well as on Kafka and Judith Butler, Henry and William James, Hamlet and Paradise Lost — observes that, in this regard, giving up is a kind of “gift-giving.” He writes:

Not being able to give up is not to be able to allow for loss, for vulnerability; not to be able to allow for the passing of time, and the revisions it brings.

And what would life be without continual acts of self-revision?

It is our ego-ideals — the stories we tell ourselves and the world about who we are and who we ought to be, fantasies of coherence and continuity mooring us to a static idealized self — that feed what Phillips calls the “tyranny of completion.” But human beings are rough drafts that continually mistake themselves for the final story, then gasp as the plot changes on the page of living. We do this largely because we are captives of comfort in our habits of thought and feeling, victims of certainty — that supreme narrowing of the mind — when it comes to our own desires. That we don’t fully know what we want because we are half-opaque to ourselves, that something we didn’t think we wanted may end up enlarging our lives in unimaginable ways, is a kind of uncertainty that unravels us. But if we can bear the frustration of the figuring, we may live into a larger and more authentic life.

Art by Francisco de Holanda, 1550s. (Available as a print and as stationery cards.)

Building upon his excellent earlier writing on why frustration is necessary for satisfaction in love, Phillips writes:

Our frustration is the key to our desire; to want something or someone is to feel their absence; so to register or recognize a lack would seem to be the precondition for any kind of pleasure or satisfaction. Indeed, in this account, frustration, a sense of lack, is the necessary precondition for any kind of satisfaction.

[…]

The traditional story about lack and desire describes a closed system; in this story I can never be surprised by what I want, because somewhere in myself I already know what is missing; my frustration is the form my recognition takes, it is a form of remembering.

Wanting is recovery, not discovery… There is a part of oneself that needs to know what it is doing, and a part of oneself that needs not to… a part of oneself that needs to know what one wants and a part of oneself that needs not to.

It is in the continual investigation of our desires, with all the frustration of our polyphonous parts, that we find the recovery and gift-giving which giving up can bring — a way of giving our lives back to ourselves and giving ourselves forward to our lives. Phillips distills the central predicament:

The question is always: what are we going to have to sacrifice in order to develop, in order to get to the next stage of our lives?

Couple On Giving Up with John O’Donohue on beginnings, Allen Wheelis on how people change, and Judith Viorst on the life-shaping art of letting go, then revisit Phillips on why we fall in love, breaking free from the tyranny of self-criticism, and the relationship between “fertile solitude” and self-esteem.

Snowflake Summaries–The Anderson Tapes, by Lawrence Sanders

The primary aim of the "Snowflake Summaries" blog category is to showcase the creative writing of great authors. I use Randy Ingermanson's 'Snowflake' method to create these summaries. Here's a brief description of the one-sentence, one-paragraph, and one-page summary method.

Hopefully, these posts will motivate you to read great fiction and to write your own novel, whether your first or your fifteenth. 

The first great novelist I'll start with is Lawrence Sanders. Here's a short biography.

The Anderson Tapes, by Lawrence Sanders

The Anderson Tapes was published in 1970.

**”The Anderson Tapes” by Lawrence Sanders** is a pioneering crime novel that intricately combines elements of heist, surveillance, and social commentary.

### One Sentence Summary:

**”The Anderson Tapes”** follows the planning and execution of a high-stakes apartment heist by recently paroled thief John Anderson, unaware that an extensive web of surveillance captures every move, exposing deep layers of criminal activity and corruption.

### One Paragraph Summary:

In **”The Anderson Tapes,”** John Anderson, after being released from prison, decides to orchestrate a massive theft involving the residents of a luxury Manhattan apartment building. As he gathers a crew and lays out the plan, unknown to him and his associates, various government agencies and private entities are recording their activities through an array of surveillance technologies. These tapes reveal not only the specifics of the heist but also implicate a number of unsuspecting individuals and expose corrupt practices within several institutions. The novel explores themes of privacy, the pervasive nature of surveillance, and the intersection of criminal intent and opportunistic law enforcement, culminating in a dramatic and ironic twist that questions who the true criminals are.

### One Page Summary:

**”The Anderson Tapes,”** written by Lawrence Sanders, delves into the life of John Anderson, a skilled burglar who, immediately upon release from prison, begins to plan an ambitious heist targeting an entire upscale apartment building on Manhattan’s East Side. The narrative quickly introduces a diverse cast of characters, ranging from the wealthy residents of the building to the various criminals and specialists whom Anderson recruits to assist in the heist.

As Anderson meticulously organizes the logistics of the robbery, consulting with experts in safecracking, electronics, and other fields necessary for the success of his complex plan, he remains blissfully unaware of the extensive surveillance operations that are tracking him. These operations are conducted by multiple entities, including the FBI, NYPD, private security firms, and even nosy neighbors, all of whom have their own motives and agendas.

Through the intercepted communications and surveillance tapes, the readers gain a panoramic view of the broader implications of Anderson’s actions. Each tape provides a new layer of insight into the systemic corruption and ethical ambiguities faced by those involved. It reveals how deeply surveillance has penetrated the private lives of individuals and how it can be used to manipulate and control outcomes in both the criminal underworld and legitimate institutions.

The climax of the novel is a tightly choreographed convergence of law enforcement as they close in on Anderson and his crew during the execution of the heist. However, the real twist comes from the revelation of how much the various agencies knew in advance and their reluctance to intervene, choosing instead to let the events unfold to serve their larger purposes.

**”The Anderson Tapes”** is as much a commentary on the state of surveillance and privacy in modern society as it is a thrilling crime novel. Sanders masterfully uses the concept of ubiquitous observation to explore themes of freedom, paranoia, and the often-blurry line between lawful and lawless behavior. The novel ends with a reflective tone, questioning the morality of all parties involved, and leaving readers to ponder the true cost of security and observation in a society that prides itself on individual freedoms. This innovative narrative not only entertains but also challenges the reader to consider the implications of living in a surveillance-centric world.

Biography–Lawrence Sanders

Lawrence Sanders was an American novelist best known for his suspense and mystery novels, often involving intricate plots and deeply flawed characters. Born on March 15, 1920, in Brooklyn, New York, Sanders showed an early aptitude for writing. Despite his literary interests, he initially pursued a different path, attending Wabash College in Indiana, where he graduated with a degree in journalism.

After college, Sanders worked in a variety of fields including magazine editorial work before being drafted into the United States Marine Corps during World War II, where he served as part of the public relations department. This experience broadened his world view and provided a foundation for his character-driven stories.

Following his military service, Sanders returned to the workforce in magazine publishing. It wasn’t until the age of 50 that he published his first novel, “The Anderson Tapes” (1970), which won him the Edgar Allan Poe Award from the Mystery Writers of America for Best First Novel. This book introduced Sanders’ skill at integrating suspense with police procedural elements, featuring a plot that revolves around surveillance technology.

Sanders was prolific throughout the 1970s and 1980s, producing several popular series including the “Deadly Sins” series, which began with “The First Deadly Sin” in 1973, a book that later became a successful film starring Frank Sinatra. Another notable series was the “Commandment” series, starting with “The Tenth Commandment” in 1980, and the “Archy McNally” series, beginning with “McNally’s Secret” in 1992, which he wrote under the pseudonym Lawrence Sanders. The latter series features a flamboyant detective and is set in the lavish world of Palm Beach, Florida.

Sanders’ writing is characterized by its detailed plots, complex characters, and a narrative style that often includes a touch of dry humor. He had a particular talent for creating gripping, page-turning stories that appealed to a wide audience, blending elements of traditional mystery with psychological thriller.

Throughout his career, Sanders published over forty novels, several of which reached the New York Times bestseller list, making him one of the most popular and financially successful authors of his time. His work has been translated into more than a dozen languages, solidifying his place as a significant figure in the genre of mystery and crime fiction.

Sanders passed away on February 7, 1998, in Pompano Beach, Florida, but his legacy lives on through his vast body of work, which continues to captivate readers around the world. His novels remain popular both in print and in digital formats, attracting new fans and satisfying the cravings of mystery lovers with their intricate plots and memorable characters.

Randy Ingermanson’s Snowflake Novel-Writing Method

Randy Ingermanson’s Snowflake Method is a structured approach to developing a novel, emphasizing incremental and iterative growth from a simple idea to a complex narrative. The method involves expanding and refining the story in progressive steps, each building upon the previous one. Here, we focus on the one-sentence, one-paragraph, and one-page summaries, which form the foundation of the Snowflake Method.

One-Sentence Summary

The one-sentence summary is the most distilled form of your story, capturing the essence in a single, concise statement. This step is crucial as it forces you to identify the core of your novel, ensuring clarity and focus.

Key Elements:

Main Character: Identify the protagonist.
Goal: Define what the protagonist wants to achieve.
Conflict: Highlight the main obstacle or challenge the protagonist faces.
Setting: Optionally include the setting if it is important to the story.

Example:
“A young wizard must confront a powerful dark sorcerer who threatens to destroy the magical world.”

One-Paragraph Summary

The one-paragraph summary expands on the one-sentence summary, providing a broader overview of the story. It outlines the beginning, major conflicts, and the end, giving a clear picture of the narrative arc.

Structure:

Setup: Introduce the main character and setting.
Inciting Incident: Describe the event that sets the story in motion.
Major Plot Points: Outline the key challenges and conflicts the protagonist faces.
Climax and Resolution: Summarize the climax and the resolution of the story.

Example:
“In a hidden magical world, young wizard Harry Potter discovers he is the only one who can stop the dark sorcerer Voldemort, who killed his parents. At Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Harry makes new friends and uncovers secrets about his past. Despite numerous trials and encounters with Voldemort’s followers, Harry prepares for a final confrontation. In the climax, he faces Voldemort, ultimately overcoming him with the help of his friends and his own bravery.”

One-Page Summary

The one-page summary further expands on the one-paragraph summary, providing a more detailed outline of the plot. This summary should cover the main events of each act in the story, giving a clear roadmap of the narrative from start to finish.

Structure:

Introduction: Expand on the setup, providing more details about the protagonist, setting, and the world of the story.
Act One: Describe the inciting incident and the protagonist’s initial response.
Act Two: Detail the rising action, major conflicts, and key turning points.
Act Three: Summarize the climax, resolution, and how the protagonist’s journey concludes.

Example:
“Harry Potter, an orphan living with his cruel aunt and uncle, discovers on his eleventh birthday that he is a wizard. Hagrid, a giant of a man, escorts Harry to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where he learns about his parents’ death at the hands of the dark sorcerer Voldemort. At Hogwarts, Harry is sorted into Gryffindor House and makes friends with Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. He also meets Draco Malfoy, a Slytherin student who becomes his rival.

Throughout his first year, Harry experiences various magical adventures, including a dangerous encounter with a troll and learning to play Quidditch. He also begins to uncover the mystery of the Philosopher’s Stone, a powerful object hidden within the school. Harry, Ron, and Hermione discover that Voldemort is trying to steal the Stone to regain his power.

In the climax, Harry confronts Voldemort, who is possessing Professor Quirrell. With the help of his friends and his own courage, Harry prevents Voldemort from obtaining the Stone. The school year ends with Gryffindor winning the House Cup, and Harry returns to the Dursleys for the summer, knowing he has found a true home at Hogwarts.”

Additional Steps in the Snowflake Method:

Character Synopses: Write detailed descriptions of each major character, including their motivations, goals, and arcs.
Expanding the Summary: Expand the one-page summary into a four-page synopsis, adding more detail to each act and subplot.
Scene List: Create a list of scenes that will make up the novel, each described briefly.
Writing the Scenes: Start writing the novel, using the scene list as a guide.

The Snowflake Method is iterative, allowing writers to refine and expand their story at each step, ensuring a well-structured and compelling narrative by the time they begin the full draft.

For more on the Snowflake Method, click here.

Novel Excerpts–The Boaz Stenographer, Chapter 86

The primary aim of the "Novel Excerpts" blog category is to showcase my creative writing, specifically from the novels I've written. Hopefully, these posts will provide a glimpse into my storytelling style, themes, and narrative skills. It's an opportunity to share my artistic expressions and the worlds I've created through my novels.

The Boaz Stenographer, written in 2018, is my fourth novel. I'll post a chapter a day over the next few weeks.

Book Blurb

Walt Shepherd, a 35 year veteran of the White House’s stenographic team, is fired by President Andrew Kane for refusing to lie.

Walt returns to his hometown of Boaz, Alabama and renews his relationship with Regina Gillan, his high school sweetheart, who he had ditched right before graduation to marry the daughter of a prominent local businessman. Regina has recently moved back to Boaz after forty years in Chicago working at the Tribune. She is now editor of the Sand Mountain Reporter, a local newspaper.

Walt and Regina’s relationship transforms into a once in life love at the same time they are being immersed in a growing local and national divide between Democrats and traditional Republicans, and extremist Republicans (known as Kanites) who are becoming more dogmatic about the revolution that began during President Kanes campaign.

Walt accepts two part-time jobs. One as a stenography instructor at Snead State Community College in Boaz, and one as an itinerant stenographer with Rains & Associates out of Birmingham.

Walt later learns the owner of Rains & Associates is also one of five men who created the Constitution Foundation and is involved in a sinister plot to destroy President Kane, but is using an unorthodox method to achieve its objective. The Foundation is doing everything it can to prevent President Kane from being reelected in 2020, and is scheming to initiate a civil war that will hopefully restore allegiance to the U.S. Constitution.

While Walt is writing a book, The Coming Civil War, he is, unwittingly, gathering key information for the Constitution Foundation.

Will Walt discover a connection between the Foundation and the deaths of three U.S. Congressmen in time to save his relationship with Regina, prevent President Kane from being reelected as the defacto head of a Christian theocracy, and the eruption of a civil war that could destroy the Nation ?

Chapter 86

Regina’s body was found three days later. Three teenagers riding four-wheelers had discovered her lifeless body behind an old barn and beside a pond, three miles to the west of Douglas High School. The old home place had long ago burned but a local farmer, Niles Baldwin, had bought the place several months earlier and was in process of fencing in the nearly 100 acres situated at the end of a little-used dirt road. Regina had been shot, once in the head, with a small caliber weapon. A later autopsy revealed the shooter had used a 22-caliber pistol.

Regina’s funeral was the worst time of my life, so far. I muddled my way through it, doing my best to not think or show any emotion, although I do recall falling apart as the funeral director lowered the casket’s door as my mind told me, “Regina is gone. You will never see her again.”

Losing the love of my life under the best of circumstances would have been bad enough, but losing her knowing that she had deceived me, that she was not the woman I thought she was, made it impossible to face my future.

I left the service just as Belinda sang her final song, Victory in Jesus. I didn’t want to hear any more, “I’m praying for you,” or “She’s in a better place.” I kept my head down and didn’t look at a single soul as I walked out of the Chapel, through the vestibule, and out to my truck, parked in the same spot by the trees as it was at Mother’s funeral. All I wanted to do was drive, something I normally hated. I sure didn’t want to go home.

I drove south on Highway 431 without a destination in mind. I didn’t need one. Why should I? My entire life now had no goal, no purpose, so anywhere I went, anything I did, was just perfect. I found it funny that I could think at all. Why wasn’t my heart breaking and my tears flowing like a river, my emotions in full control of my entire being?

There was one emotion that saddled up against my desire to be rational. It was guilt. Guilt over being so stupid. One would think I would feel guilty over not saving Regina, not seeing the trouble she was in, the bad decisions she had made and was continuing to make. It wasn’t that type of guilt. I was ashamed of my inability to recognize reality. The world I had lived in ever since I moved back to Alabama was a world I hated and rejected. But, that didn’t make it unreal. In fact, it was the only truth that existed. Reasoning, rationality, truth, what I had always thought of as truth, didn’t exist. These things were not reality.

Ever since I had rejected God and Christianity, I had always prided myself on truth, on being a lover of the truth. What a fool I had been. Probably three-fourths of all Americans (virtually all Southerners) believe in God, the God of the Bible. Southerners believe the Bible is God’s words, that it has no error. They believe that God hears their prayers and answers every one of them with, yes, no, or later. Mix this philosophy with a hatred towards the federal government, and just as strong a feeling of love towards President Kane, and you have the perfect reality.

As I drove through Glencoe, my thoughts returned to Regina. It hit me. It hit me hard. Now, I realized how she was the brave soul, the one who had been determined to risk her life for truth. Her years in Chicago had taught her to forsake myth, to seek for facts and evidence that align with science and the world around her. Even though I didn’t agree with her willingness to break the law, I finally understood that she recognized the importance of standing up against pure ignorance, bigotry, and hatred. She did everything in her power to expose Christianity and Kane for what they are.

Now, I had a decision to make. In truth, it was already made. If I continued to live in Boaz, Alabama, I would have to be an absolute recluse, or choose to live a lie. Living alone, always alone at Shepherd’s Cove, without Regina, wasn’t inviting at all. Also, immersing myself in a make-believe world of ‘God is great,’ and ‘I’m praying for you,’ was nearly the most repulsive thing I could think about.

Yes, I had been such a fool. A fool to think that I could write a book that would have the power to persuade folks, particularly Southerners, to engage in basic reasoning, and to ultimately reject their falsehoods and myths. I had to accept that nothing, but death, would change the minds of these folks. It wasn’t because they were stupid. It was because they were brainwashed. True brainwashing is virtually impossible to break. Most of these folks, many that I had known all my life, were powerless. Decades of false teachings along with a perfectly matched society to reinforce these teachings, was the perfect recipe for brainwashing. No fool or genius had any power to break this code.

In Oxford, I almost drove up the Interstate 20 ramp towards Atlanta. I thought about driving to the Hilton Garden Inn in Tifton for a few days, even thought of requesting Room 420 to reminisce mine and Regina’s trip the week of July 4th, 2018. I’m not sure why I didn’t, but instead I chose to return home. Before I reached Gadsden on my return trip I had my answer.

I had to stay in Boaz. I had to continue teaching my stenographic classes at Snead State. It was there I had some influence. Felicia was living proof of that. I had learned she was not having an affair with Pastor Warren. She was debating him on the truth of Christianity. I didn’t have the ability or power to influence masses of people, not America, nor even a small community like Boaz. But, I did have a niche, one where its students had a deep interest in accurately recording what they were hearing. One thing can lead to another. If one more student in my life falls in love with accuracy, it will be inevitable that he or she pursues meaning. And, who knows, this student might just evolve into a truth-seeking human.

As I pulled into my driveway at Shepherd’s Cove, I felt Regina ease over beside me, pressing her left leg against me as she always did. My mind was tempted to think God was giving me a sign that Regina lived on and would always be by my side. I resisted the temptation. I chose science instead. My mind needed comforting and it fed me just the perfect memory to provide that comfort.

Always and forever I will love Regina. As teenagers, I broke her heart. As senior-citizens, she broke mine. I did so to pursue myth. She did so to pursue truth.

I unlocked the back door, walked to the counter, grabbed a notepad and pen, and wrote down, “Regina, the fearless truth-seeker.”

THE END

Novel Excerpts–The Boaz Stenographer, Chapter 85

The primary aim of the "Novel Excerpts" blog category is to showcase my creative writing, specifically from the novels I've written. Hopefully, these posts will provide a glimpse into my storytelling style, themes, and narrative skills. It's an opportunity to share my artistic expressions and the worlds I've created through my novels.

The Boaz Stenographer, written in 2018, is my fourth novel. I'll post a chapter a day over the next few weeks.

Book Blurb

Walt Shepherd, a 35 year veteran of the White House’s stenographic team, is fired by President Andrew Kane for refusing to lie.

Walt accepts two part-time jobs. One as a stenography instructor at Snead State Community College in Boaz, and one as an itinerant stenographer with Rains & Associates out of Birmingham.

While Walt is writing a book, The Coming Civil War, he is, unwittingly, gathering key information for the Constitution Foundation.

Chapter 85

Thaddeus Colburn was a no-show, although I had waited for over an hour. Before meeting with District Attorney Abbott and the FBI’s Special Agent Cory Stiller, I someway found the will to go vote. Even though I knew Regina was dead, my imagination kept telling me she was watching and desperately needed me to continue to do everything within my power to stop President Kane from being reelected.

I could never have denied anything to Regina.

At 9:00 p.m., I gave a detailed statement to a room full of local, state, and federal law enforcement officials in the City of Boaz courtroom. Everyone had been considerate enough to come to me.

While I was being interviewed, two FBI agents had learned that no Thaddeus Colburn had been registered at the Hampton Inn in Guntersville. Also, all attempts to reach him at his home and office in Chicago had been unsuccessful. It seemed he had gone into hiding. Finally, similar results were obtained regarding Ginger and Zell. By 10:30 p.m., every law enforcement agency in the country had been notified of Regina’s abduction by the Russian Semyon Ivankov.

I finally arrived home at 1:30 a.m. After leaving the Boaz courtroom I had taken a drive. All during my interview I had this weird and troubling feeling that Regina’s body could be found in the well of the old home place of Tom and Betty Rickles between Rodentown and Collinsville. My rational mind knew this was virtually impossible. How on earth would Semyon Ivankov know about this place? Then, it became clear. He could have forced Regina to tell him what she had done with his brother. Would she have told him? This troubling feeling and my rational mind had prompted me to drive to the Rickles farm. When I arrived, I found nothing to indicate anyone had been there since Regina and I had disposed of Sergei’s body. I spent the next thirty minutes trying to figure out how to determine if Regina was 88 feet down in the well. My flashlight was too weak to see clearly that far down. Finally, I had left, frustrated, and returned home.

I spent one minute at most in mine and Regina’s bedroom. I was overwhelmed with grief and memories of our trip to Tifton to purchase the antique bedroom suite. In sixty seconds I had seen every day since late 2017 that the two of us had spent together. Claustrophobia and near-suffocation attacked me and forced me downstairs. Sandi and I went outside and sat at the end of the pier until nearly 3:30 a.m. and looked at the stars. I had pondered how and when I had gone wrong. What could I have done, and when, to have avoided losing Regina? How had I been so blind? Why had she not trusted me enough to tell me the truth right when we started getting serious?

When I went inside and sat in my lounge chair I was surprised how easily I had fallen asleep. I was also surprised that I slept until 8:30 a.m. Sandi woke me licking my hand. My mind was cloudy. I made a pot of coffee and it dawned on me that the rest of the nation, the world, right now, knew who had won yesterday’s election. I walked back into the den and turned on the TV. CNN called it ‘Breaking News.’ To me, as I saw that President Kane had been elected, I thought it was not news at all. Even though I had not said it aloud, I had known for weeks that Kane would be reelected. The forces, as Vann and I had called them, were unstoppable.

The more I thought about it, the idea that Eric Salers, his candidacy, might have been arranged by Thaddeus Colburn. My mind doubted it, but my heart thought it quite possible. What better assurance that Kane would be reelected than to have his opponent be an atheist? There certainly was no way in hell that most Americans were even remotely ready to vote for someone who didn’t believe God existed. Christians, especially those of the evangelical stripe, would open-armed voted for Satan himself before voting for an atheist.

From CNN, I also quickly learned that Americans across the country had elected 22 new Republican Senators, including Roy Moore of Alabama, who all proudly carried the extremist banner. Just like Moore, these men and women would create an open-door for President Kane to march in legislation that would push the Constitutional limits far, far towards a theocracy, and when that failed, these new Senators, along with enough presiding Senators, would give him the power to call for a Constitutional Convention. I didn’t see any way for the country to avoid a theocracy. I did see dark days ahead for all minorities, including homosexuals and humanists.