The In-Between Period

During October I thought that when I finished my book, I’d be chock-full-o’ blog posts. After all, when you get to the end of a long-term project, it makes you reflective. It’s like a New Year’s moment—you look back on what you’ve accomplished and see what it teaches you for the future. But I was wrong. I’m not full of posts. In fact, the opposite’s been true. Without the security of known work, I end up fidgety, distracting myself with 100 different ideas but settling on none.



One day I looked up a few Daily Show episodes on YouTube and ended up getting a liberal-political education, learning for the first time who Keith Olbermann was (a self-styled Edward R. Murrow-type commentator) and seeing too much of Bill O’Reilly, whose name I’d heard but never actually listened to before—not many people depend on the power of volume as he does. It sucked up an entire day, this continual video-linking. I spent the whole time simply absorbing, like an alien who’s wondering what all these human beings are up to.



Another day, I watched Richard Dawkins’ BBC4 2-part documentary, “The Root of All Evil?”, which takes pointed, if imprecise, aim at how religious thinking harms rational political dialogue and society. I found myself surprised by how openly he spoke of the dangers of religion—all the three main monotheistic ones, mind you—and then wondered why I was surprised. After centuries of religious leaders speaking openly of the dangers of secular thinking (and occasionally burning people for it), it’s long overdue. Dawkins isn’t the best when it comes to getting his point across, but he does make an effort. The documentary then led me to peruse the Richard Dawkins Foundation and other secular humanist sites.



I bring this up not to convince anyone of the fallacy of religiously inspired thought, but to point out that, very quickly, this endeavor had sucked up another entire day.



Of course, there’s been television. I make no secret of my admiration for some recent shows, and new ones have been added to the roster of must-sees. Prison Break, some old seasons of Spooks/MI5, very old episodes of The Sandbaggers, and those mainstays, Battlestar Galactica and Lost. Last night I watched my very first episode of The Wire, and have a feeling that this will be devouring an enormous amount of time in the coming weeks.



Which isn’t to say I haven’t been working as well. I’ve maintained my overall anti-social lifestyle, which actually leaves me time for writing. I’m working on an espionage screenplay, using the main character who will be in the spy novel that will come next. The work’s been slow going, because despite having written 3 screenplays in the last few years, the fact is that none of them have been up to par. A couple film agents have looked at them and sent them back, unimpressed. So I know that whatever I was doing before wasn’t right, and I have to move slowly through this, methodically, so that each page is more cinematic than literary (which, I think, was part of my original problem).



Put these things together, and at the end of each day, I’m completely exhausted. The worst thing is that I don’t have the attention span to sit down and simply read, because I’m overcome with the feeling I’m not working enough, and time is slipping away from me. It’s a kind of panic, a kind of awareness of mortality. It also detracts from my ability to focus thought long enough to come up with a tenable blog post. Which is why, today, you’ve been stuck reading this wandering non-narrative.



But I’ll get over it soon. “Work” is the one thing that, over the past five years, I’ve been able to depend on to keep my head screwed on right. With time, it eases the pains of doubt and the mania of indirection. It helps everything make sense again.



It should, and I hope soon, help me write a post that makes a little more sense…

(Originally posted at the Contemporary Nomad)

The End of the End

Victory Square is the name of the book I’ve just emailed to my editor and agent. I’ve done this four times in my life, sending a final manuscript for publication, but this time is different. Victory Square is the final volume of the series that has entirely occupied the last five years of my life, and because of this, I’m left with some mixed feelings.



Of course, I’m happy. Can’t get around that. One day in New York in late 2000, while shaving, I came up with idea for this five-book series. Though I’d already written three novels, I was still (deservedly) unpublished. I thought I had a good enough idea, but I had no reason to think anyone would publish it. But they did, and thus began what I was finally able to call, after twelve years of trying, a “career”.



No matter how much I bitch about sales or advances or PR, it’s exciting to look back and see that not only do I have a career, but I’m no longer a “newbie” writer, or somesuch. And unlike too many things in my life, I’ve actually followed through on what I said I’d do in 2000, and I’m proud of this.



Of course, I’d do things differently if I started again. I have problems with my first book, and it would’ve been nice to know, when writing that first one, what would happen in the later books, if only to allow more connections between the books. But really, I’m good with what I’ve done.



One of the overarching blessings right now is that, finally, I can wash my hands of the Cold War. I’ve written about that period because I find it immensely interesting and full of potential, but after five years, you get a little exhausted from the Marxist catchphrases and rusted Trabants and faulty heaters and breadlines. When you’re working on a series, even one as loose as mine, for years, that imaginary world becomes nearly as real as the one you live in.



And yes, I’m saying that communist society does become a drag after a while. What a surprise.



But like anything, good or bad, that you live with over the years, you grow to depend on it. There’s security when you start a book and don’t have to question the setting of your story. There’s a history already written in your previous books, and you can reach back for plenty of material—secondary characters, streets, offices, hotels and restaurants, as well as the overall ambiance, the mood. That’s real security, and now it’s gone.



The other side of the coin, of course, is that this is also my liberation. The books have kept me a velvet-lined prison, and now it’s time to break out. I’ve spent a lot of this year worrying over the “what next?” question. A spy novel, yes, but what kind? What mood?



I’ve written a novel’s worth of pages, all of which will probably be trashed, trying to find that “thing” that will hook me, and potential readers. I’ve written satirical pages ala Len Deighton, some dense pages ala Le Carre, and pages that fall somewhere in between. I’ll figure it out, but right now it’s a bit of a struggle, and it reminds me how good I’ve had it these last five years.



All that aside, it’s done. When I get the copyedited pages from the publisher, there will certainly be numerous little changes, a few I can see right now, but the truth is that I can finally take a breath. I’ve just taken about 1500 laser printed pages full of old drafts and ballpoint edits to the dumpster, and the wall behind my work area is actually visible. (Hello wall!) I’ve got a TBR stack to read through in the garden as long as the weather holds. And I’ve got some time to perhaps even leave my compound and see a bit of the world.



Yes, that’ll be nice. See what the world looks like when it’s not being run by apparatchiks and sycophants—unless, of course, it still is.

(Originally posted at the Contemporary Nomad)

Coming Up For Air

I’ll be returning soon to the Nomad—my work on this book in very close to complete—but I wanted to pop in briefly because of yet more chaos here in Budapest. It’s a continuation of the previous weeks’ demonstrations against Prime Minister Ferenc Gyurscany, compounded by the 50th anniversary of the 1956 Revolution against the Soviets. Compounded, or confused—both words work well enough.



I wasn’t in town when things blew up again, nor was Mr Nadler (he’s in Canada), but a friend and true blog magnate, Erik D’Amato, was not only in town, but lives in an apartment on Bajcsi Zsilinski, a main thoroughfare that saw some heavy action. Don’t believe me? Go to Pestiside.hu, where the usual front page has been replaced with two YouTube video feeds shot from Erik’s dining room window.



*****



Update: Pestiside has gone back to its original format, and I don’t see the videos Erik shot anymore. However, it’s been replaced by a lengthy and informative article that should shed some light on yesterday’s events.



Also, for a nice assemblage of photo/video and some tongue-in-cheek commentary, visit the Riots In Hungary blog.

(Originally posted at the Contemporary Nomad)

Just a Note...

…to say I’ll be pretty silent over the next week and probably through most of the month. This is due to edits on Victory Square, the last book of my Eastern European series. The more I dig, the more I find to fix, and the more I fret about getting it all done to my own satisfaction by my end-of-the-month deadline. Were this not the cap to the series I’ve spent 5 years writing, I might not be so anxious—but it is, and I am!



It’s also a bit of an emotional experience, because this is where I’ll be saying goodbye to characters who have accompanied me through some of the most eventful years of my life. In a sense, it’s liberating, because I’ll no longer be tied to the Cold War for my inspiration. But like saying goodbye to any old friend, it’s also full of melancholy.



More on that later, when it’s done. Cheers.

(Originally posted at the Contemporary Nomad)

There's a Spy in My Closet

Since it’s turning out to be an unnervingly rare event with this most recent book, Liberation Movements, I’m drawing everyone’s attention to this review, posted on Powells.com by Anna Godbersen from Esquire Magazine.



Anna’s now officially one of my favorite people in the world. She also reviewed 36 Yalta Boulevard last year in clean, crisp, wonderful prose, and I love the way she says that this new one is “imbued with a retro kind of cool”. Check it out.

(Originally posted at the Contemporary Nomad)

Destination Danger!

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Danger ManThe Prisonerhttp://www.televisionheaven.co.uk/dangerman2.jpg



PrisonerDanger Man Megaset













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Alias









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In “Fair Exchange”, a female agent who was brutally tortured by a Stasi interrogator sneaks into East Germany to kill the man. Drake is sent to follow and stop her, and if necessary, kill her before she can commit the murder.





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The young McGoohan has a strange intensity about him that’s almost unnerving. My girlfriend sometimes looked at his face and said, “He’s like a psychopath, isn’t he?” Kind of, though as the series moves on Drake becomes a more flexible character.



There were some ironies in the production. For example, in the original half-hour series, Drake works for an unnamed subsection of NATO. This is because the producers didn’t think a US audience would go for a British secret agent. The irony is that these NATO episodes did poorly in the US, and almost ruined the show. Only once the second season began, after Bond mania was sweeping the world, and he was working for the British MI9, were American audiences treated to it (under the title Secret Agent, with the Johnny Rivers hit theme song “Secret Agent Man”).



It was a big hit, and deservedly so. It didn’t have the silliness of U.N.C.L.E., nor the preciousness of The Saint. But McGoohan was right to leave the show when he did. The episodes were beginning to repeat, and the final nail was no doubt pounded in when he viewed the 2 color episodes of the fourth season—“Koroshi” and “Shinda Shima”. These are just abominable, mixing a Bondlike villain in a secret Japanese lair with the aforementioned problematic portrayal of Asians.





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Though The Prisoner is better known, those interested in tight writing (which The Prisoner sometimes lacked) and a realistic, yet human, portrayal of sixties espionage could do no worse than getting hold of some Danger Man, or Secret Agent, episodes, and giving them a whirl. I’ll certainly be watching them again.



The History Next To You

One of the many flaws in my overseas living is that I don’t speak the local language, Hungarian. I haven’t corrected this situation because, over the years, my life has become something that doesn’t require knowing Hungarian. I live in my bubble, and when I interact with locals they either know English, or they’re on the other side of a counter, and my limited Hungarian is good enough for buying whatever they’re selling. The only time I’m really troubled by my ineptitude, though, is when I speak to my neighbor.


our garden



















Ferenc Szecsi







HorthyArrow Cross























wants







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Popes, Cartoons, Short Films, and Fatwas: an aside

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The recent debacle concerning Pope Benedict.



A very interesting New York Times review of Murder in Amsterdam, dealing with the murder of Theo van Gogh.



Remembering the cartoons. (CN coverage)



And, of course, the recent Hungarian troubles.










herehereheregreat good tastehereTheo van GoghSubmission139 dead, 823 injuredSatanic Verses







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openly question the Holocaust



New York Times is even misrepresenting Benedict’s words





“Hey, it smells like caramel today—well then, they must be burning the diabetic Jews.”



“I just went to see ‘The Passion of the Christ,’ a film as bad as an LSD trip which shows once again that also in the sewers of Christianity collective daftness just leads to mud.” (source)










Jyllands-Postenmy little say



New York Times