David-Michael Harding talks Steinbeck, Genies, and Cats
Hello
like-minded readers & writers of all ilks.
This is David-Michael Harding penning from the west coast of the peninsula
of Florida.
I once heard
someone say that everything said before the word BUT, is likely a lie. Example – “I really like ________ (fill
in the blank with a place, a person, or a thing), BUT, ________ (repeat
same place, person or thing) needs to do thus and so.” A horrific example might be, “I love you,
but… change/stop/do/don’t blah blah blah…”
YIKES! Or maybe something less
profound like, “The NY Yankees are the best team in baseball, BUT their
pitching is a little off, they lost 78 games this season, and missed the
playoffs.” You get the idea. So here goes regardless. This guest post isn’t about me, BUT you do
need some background for context. How’d
that go down?
I’ve written
five novels and a short story collection.
There are two screenplays floating around LA with my name on them
looking for homes. Add to that, publications
in collegiate journals (once a time honored passageway to publication prior to
the electronic/digital revolution) and magazine articles, and I’ve managed to
pay the figurative rent for quite a while.
I know how fortunate I am and also how much work has gone into my
solitary career. Here’s the thing and
the REAL reason for this post. Though we
toil in comparative quiet (except Stephen King, who often writes to heavy metal
music) even he labors alone.
Ours tends
to be a solitary existence. When you run
across someone who can be constructively critical without ramming a pin in your
bubble, literate enough to put a red circle around your use of ‘use to’ and
‘used to,’ and can recognize when the arc of a character stubs his toe, while
still making you smile and get back in the chair for another 1,000 words,
you’ve got a genie in a bottle.
Sometimes a few words of encouragement or a shared tale is all it takes. I had a genie in a bottle and he passed away
all but unnoticed a little more than a month ago. His name was Thomas Steinbeck.
Yep, it was
THAT Steinbeck. Like millions of junior
high school students I read John Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men and The Red Pony
at some point in an education that always seemed on the brink of
suspension. In college, on academic
probation, I launched into Cannery Row
because it was the thinnest book in the stack of acceptable books to read and
summarize. When I finished, I found Sweet Thursday for extra credit. The
Grapes of Wrath and magna cum laude later, I was a ravenous reader of
anything Steinbeckian.
That was
over 30 years ago and I haven’t stopped.
But the sad fact is, there is a limit to John Steinbeck’s
creations. While I can still smile at
Mac and the boys and their adventures on ‘the Row’ after countless readings,
one can only plumb the depths so many times without the brain excusing itself
from the current pass and wandering back to where you were when last you tasted
this wine instead of relishing the wine itself. Enter son Thom.
A few years ago I was compiling a
collection of shorts on the heels of a semester of teaching writing at my local
community college. My pitch to young
writers bent on being the next J.K. Rowling has always been to hone your craft
by writing short stories. They will
still possess the necessary elements of grammar, character, conflict, and
crucible. I’m blatantly stealing from Steve Barry’s 6 Essential C’s of Story Structure .
I often tell students that you wouldn’t attempt a piano recital without
practicing scales first. Nor would you
have much success running a marathon (a novel or feature length screenplay)
without doing a bunch of two mile runs (the short story). Once the writing muscle gets stronger THEN
you take on the marathon.
At my
students’ suggestion and consistent with their picks, I compiled what would
become The Cats of Savone – 8 Short Novels for Busy People.
Being my first go at a collection, I looked at the competition. That’s when I discovered Down to a Soundless Sea, a short story collection by Thomas Steinbeck. I was
skeptical. Was this a son banking on his
father’s name? Drawn by my love of his
father’s work, I picked up a copy.
Down to a Soundless Sea turned out to be an astonishing
read. The pieces are written in a tight
style, not unlike the senior Steinbeck.
Humor runs pleasantly amok in the background and the scenery (Big Sur,
Monterey & southern California – again, not unlike his father) is
vivid. Thom didn’t steal a word from his
father, yet the years of sitting at THAT knee listening to JS spin yarns is
apparent and delightful. Thom went on to
develop more of his own voice with the publishing of two subsequent novels (In the Shadow of the Cypress and The Silver Lotus) that don’t
disappoint. Still, I am drawn to
the concise simplicity that is the story-telling-around-a-fire posture of Down to a Soundless Sea.
Several
stanzas of Sea stuck with me. So much so that I sent a brief email to
Thom’s publisher commending the style and specifically asking if he had smiled,
choked up, or patted himself on the back when a particular line trickled out
his fingers. Unashamedly, I have done
all of the above. Shock of shocks, my
email eventually crossed his desk and he sent a hearty response. That was the beginning of a correspondence –
not a long drawn out affair, but simple notes on wording, sentences gifted from
the muse in our lives, movies, and a joint love of sailing – me in Florida and
Thom in California.
The truth
is, we never met, though we would have eventually had illness not intervened. We never even talked on the phone. “We’re writers. Writers write.” Just emails – sometimes sent off in the
middle of the night – “Look at this! Now
that’s a helluva sentence!” It was
nothing profound – no book of letters to be found here – just a gracious man
who led a life at times horribly difficult.
I cannot fathom growing up in a shadow that cast such a reach. It might have been alright if Thom wanted to
be a welder, but a writer? Oh, that was
going to hurt. And it did. I even suggested once he write under a
pseudonym and embrace the pains the rest of us feel. It never quite came to that.
Thom had
much more in him and was just hitting his stride after a life spent adapting
his father’s work and carrying the mantle of blessing and curse that came with
that name. For me, when some day they
pack up my things, Thom’s signed copy of Down
to a Soundless Sea will still be found at the exposed end of my highest
prized classics. Somewhere in his
office, someone will find my Cats of
Savone I gave to him. The discovery
won’t mean the same thing to whoever is tasked with packing our books, but the
books and the memory mean something to me and I know it did to him.
Many thanks
to Marcie for permitting me to step onto her platform for a few moments.
David-Michael Harding
is a former PEN International winner whose novel, How Angels Die, continues to receive critical acclaim. A former semi-professional football player,
his writing is hard hitting and passionate.
He resides in Tampa, FL, which serves as the backdrop for The
New Illuminati.
David-Michael Harding
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