“Optimism is earned from a track record of overcoming obstacles. I’m a problem solver, not a problem evader. I’ve been resourceful over and over again in such a way that I know I can handle what life throws me. Whenever I have a tough challenge, I say to myself, ‘When I get through this, it will be a great story.’”
–Dr. Terry Paulson, quoted by Erika Liodice at Beyond the Gray
Ever find a photo and wonder about its origin? There’s a search engine for that. It’s called TinEye, billed as a reverse image engine that uses image identification technology rather than keywords, metadata or watermarks. According to the company, “You can submit an image to TinEye to find out where it came from, how it is being used, if modified versions of the image exist or to find higher resolution versions.”
How does the beta site work in the real world? Well, with some limitations.
I tried it with a representative sample of images—people, objects and logos—with mixed results.
The first search, using a portrait of John F. Kennedy, yielded 81 results, including partisan blogs, poster suppliers and dating-gossip sites. (The link to the Slate online magazine did correctly identify the former president.) The search engine also led to the correct identification of singer Lady Gaga (through mtv.com), novelist John D. MacDonald (through blogs in the U.S. and Russia) and Dilbert, even though the comic strip contained three frames and multiple images. TinEye showed no results for personalities such as magazine finance writer Dyan Machan.
A search using the Leaning Tower of Pisa turned up 31 results, including several postings on the photo-sharing site Flickr. A search using the image of a bottle of Coca-Cola yielded a 2009 blog post about one of the company’s marketing campaigns, along with 19 other results.
For the final search I used the logo from one of my agency’s business-to-business clients, GGB. TinEye found the image on a French industry-directory site, correctly identifying the company as the manufacturer of metal-polymer plain bearings.
The conclusion? TinEye is good at finding images of popular people, objects and brands. In my limited sample it did not lead to official sources, so if you need to annotate research reports, the service may lose some value. I also could not consistently find information about image location, use or version, but that may apply only to certain types of images.
As an image search engine, TinEye isn’t picture-perfect but it could have a bright future, especially as it enlarges its database. On the whole, the service is a fast way to identify common images, and a fun way to view the Web.
Authors Christie Craig and Faye Hughes of Write With Us Online have created a funny but pointed video (“How To Make The Perfect Pitch (Without Striking Out)”) for aspiring authors who want to sell their book ideas to agents and editors. Thanks to Kathryn Craft of the Greater Lehigh Valley Writers Group for providing the lead.
He sped past the Van Wezel center, a purple bunker that sits on the waterway between Sarasota and the keys, and watched the marquee flash the names of the performers: the Moody Blues, Joffrey Ballet, “Mama Mia!” As he pulled into the Ringling museum complex off Tamiami Trail, he hoped he wasn’t too late. Dukat and the Pelican Boys had a head start. And then there was McGee. A great but volatile detective. Gulls were no match for his powerful hands, even with a splinted finger, and he wanted Dukat alive.
The Asolo Theater was empty, its huge red curtain and gilded crown molding glowing in the dim light. He jogged to the visitors’ center and down to Ca d’Zan, the Venetian palace circus impresario John Ringing and his wife Mabel built in 1925 as their winter home on the intracoastal waterway between Sarasota and the keys. It seemed every surface was covered in ornamentation, a riot of gilded, carved and bejeweled ceilings, walls and floors. Rococo squared. He didn’t know how the couple slept at night.
Tons of tourists but no Dukat.
He ran up the walkway to the Ringling Museum of the American Circus, which housed the Ringling Bros. human canon, bandwagon, calliope and Pullman car John Ringling used to travel the country when booking his shows. No sign of Dukat or McGee, although he did see the patchwork hat and suit of Emmett Kelly, the sad-faced clown who would sweep his spotlight into a dustpan.
There were several other buildings but little time. John Ringling had made a good living by running the Ringling Bros. Circus and selling real estate in the circus’s winter home of Sarasota, Florida. He’d used that money to buy art from around the world, including works by Rubens, Titian and Velazquez. He’d also acquired Cypriot, Greek and Roman antiquities, along with hundreds of pieces of sculpture. That’s where he’d find Dukat.
He dashed in the door of the Ringling Museum of Art and took a hard right into grand hall that was dimly lit. Ahead loomed a series of paintings by Peter Paul Rubens called “The Triumph of the Eucharist.” One in particular caught his eye. At the far end of the hall stood the massive “The Meeting of Abraham and Melchizedek,” 175 by 224 inches, painted around 1625. In it Abraham the returning warrior was offering the priest a tithe in return for bread and wine for his army. The skin on the figures was luminous, the muscles so well-defined they look real.
And then one of the men moved. Carving knife poised, Dukat paused just before slashing through the edge of the painting. But in that second’s distraction, he lunged for the thief and his henchmen.
They scattered, gulls and pelicans flying everywhere. He bounced hard on the floor. By the time he caught his breath, Dukat was gone. Outside he saw a car streak south toward the Van Wezel. He followed, hanging a right into the parking lot and nearly toppling a row of palms. Up the steps and into the lobby, where even the interior of the building was painted in that strange color. No sign of the gull. He ran to the left, through the concession area and around to stage left, leaping onto the boards just in time to see McGee grab the gull by the throat.
“Wait,” he yelled to McGee. “I want him alive.”
McGee was having trouble with the chokehold. With its splinted finger his hand refused to close.
“Don’t do it, McGee. What do you think this is?”
“With due respect to the master,” McGee said, looking heavenward to where the late John D. MacDonald might or might not be resting, “it’s a purple place for dying.”
If you’re going to deal with Gull Dukat, you need major league help.
He set out in search of Travis McGee, or more to the point, the haunts of mystery writer John D. MacDonald, who set the McGee novels on a houseboat in Fort Lauderdale but lived on Siesta Key. His house is located on the key side of Big Sarasota Pass but it’s private. He drove south on Siesta Key Drive through dense foliage, then took a left onto Midnight Pass Road to the Siesta Royale, a 1970s-era resort the kind that MacDonald may have experienced. It’s an apartment complex now with shiny white-peaked roofs and motel-style parking in front of each unit.
A littler further south on Midnight Pass sat the Crescent Club, a bar that featured prominently in MacDonald’s standalone novel Condominium. The bar’s made of gray snow fencing and fronts the busy road. The inside was as dark as a cave. A rounded bar took up one side of the room, cigarette burns on its top, whiskey bottles and upside down glasses lining the wall. Tables with red cloths and seats took up the rest of the space. The décor consisted of three TVs on the wall, portraits of women and aerial views of Siesta Key and school flags and pennants—Michigan, Miami, Gators. A jukebox played Madonna’s “Holiday.”
It was 2:30 on a Tuesday afternoon and already there were 12 patrons at the bar, 10 men and 2 women, the women sitting in front of packs of cigarettes and amber-colored plastic lighters, the men ordering Bud Light and Coors Light. They were salty dogs, guys with beards and camouflage caps.
Two sat at the end of the bar. One was broad and short with fine white hair. Looked like he worked on the waterfront. The other was tall and razor thin with a thatch of red hair. Looked like he burned easily. They were staring at the TV, at an ad that promised bankruptcy papers for $175. The short guy shook his head. The redhead started talking about new regulations from the Obama administration that would restrain the credit card operations of major banks and the lengths to which those banks were going to maintain their income from fees.
“I thought bankruptcy cost at least a thousand dollars,” the bartender said and slid down to serve him. She was in her mid-thirties with long dark hair, cinnamon skin and a luminous smile. She was wearing a red-striped T-shirt that gaped when she bent over the sinks. The afternoon’s entertainment. He ordered a beer.
“You want a glass?”
“No thanks,” he said.
“What’s your name?”
“Sam. Sam Ho.”
“Ho,” she said. “You a gardener?”
“Used to be, in LA.”
“Sam, like in Sam Spade?”
“More genteel,” he said. “This is Siesta Key.”
She cracked a smile that lit up her cheekbones.
“You see any suspicious characters?”
“Just you.”
It was his turn to laugh.
“Who you looking for?”
He thought about whether to tell her. Decided why not.
“Travis McGee, the salvage expert.”
She cocked her head. “You need something salvaged?”
“Yeah,” he said. “My life.”
“Can’t help you, sailor, but maybe he can.” She nodded to her left.
At the same time he felt a hand, big and moist, on his shoulder and turned to see the guy who’d been watching from the end of the bar. Short, blocky guy with fine white hair, his right index finger in a metal splint.
“You McGee?”
“You a cop?”
“Writer. Down here looking for you.”
McGee chuckled, a low rumble like a dump truck. “What can I do for you?”
He told him about Dukat and his gang from St. Croix and the Pelican Boys down from New York and his suspicion that they were here for a heist.
“What does this heist involve?”
“Paintings.” He told McGee his theory.
McGee nodded toward the red-haired man. “My associate Meyer and I will discuss it.” McGee named his fee and wrote a number on a napkin.
He emerged from the bar, blinded by the sunlight, got in the car and headed north on Tamiami Trail, past all the landmarks of modern FLorida, the Olive Gardens and Repo Depot, Sarasota Memorial Hospital and Walgreens. Then he was on the road less traveled, riding past the Mel-O-Dee and Cadillac motels with rooms for $29 a night, past North Trail Liquors and Mom’s Bail Bonds. He didn’t know exactly what Gull Dukat and his gang were planning but he had a good idea. Their target was straight ahead.
“You can’t buy attention anymore.” Alex Bogusky, co-chairman of Crispin Porter + Bogusky
Dell has sold $3 million worth of computers on Twitter. Lenovo cut call center activity by 20% by directing customers to a community website for answers. Retweets supporting Susan G. Komen for the Cure resulted in 11,000 visitors to the Atlanta Chapter’s website.
What works in the business world can also work in the literary world. Writers who want to promote their careers might take a tip from Socialnomics author Erik Qualman, who supplied those stats, and makes the case for using social media to drive engagement and sales, in this video.
Good writing can come from any place, not just fiction or poetry but ads, blogs and articles about business and science. It is muscular and inventive. It captures the heart and soul of characters, objects and readers. It nails that undefined emotion that’s been rattling around in our guts for years. And it’s largely invisible.
Good writing lives in literature. Witness John Pipkin (Woodsburner) as he describes the fire that nearly consumed Concord: “Henry [David Thoreau] looks up . . . and sees a host of elfin flames leaping into the air, one upon the other, riding the wind. . . . The fire advances in a crooked line a dozen times the length of Henry’s arm. The pine needles, though quick to ignite, are easily spent, hardly fuel enough to sustain the flames for more than a few seconds at a time. And the fire knows this; it behaves in accordance with its own set of a priori truths. It must keep moving and consuming to survive.”
It lives in contemporary fiction. Watch Laurie R. King (The Beekeeper’s Apprentice) as young Mary Russell verbally jousts with the legendary Sherlock Holmes: “A series of emotions crossed his face, rich reward for my victory. Simple surprise was followed by a rueful admission of defeat, and then, as he reviewed the entire discussion, he surprised me. His face relaxed, his thin lips twitched, his grey eyes crinkled into unexpected lines, and at last he threw back his head and gave a great shout of delighted laughter.”
Good writing lives in blogs, as Joyce Maynard (Labor Day) shows in this edited version of her essay, “In the kitchen of discontent”: Seven years after I separated from my children’s father it was still hard going back to our old house. For the first time in ages, I stepped into my old kitchen. A bitter taste rose in my throat, like what happens when you think you’re going to throw up, but you don’t. I stepped into the hallway and glanced at the bed where all three of our babies were born. I went back in the kitchen, ran my hand over the wood of the kitchen counter, where I must have prepared a 
thousand meals, and looked out the window, to an eerie and beautiful streak of light from a full moon slashing across new fallen snow. I remembered another full moon night, when my husband and I had skated on black ice on the pond down the road, and another full moon night, when we’d fought so bitterly I paced the rooms of this house until dawn, lying down briefly next to first one of my sleeping children, and then another, unable to find sleep.”
It’s kindled by contemporary poets like Barbara Aline Blanchard (I Was a College Dropout), who writes in “Jealousy” about an ex: “She has knots in her eyes/trying to be civilized.”
Good writing thrives in mystery fiction, as in this excerpt from P.D. James’ The Lighthouse: “This was the air of late October, still unseasonably mild with the first chill of autumn, the air faintly scented, as if the dying light had drawn up from the headland the concentrated sweetness of the day.”
You can find it in the complex and contradictory emotions of the characters that populate novels of suspense. Martha Grimes is famous for climbing inside heads to view life at the granular level, as she does with Inspector Richard Jury in The Old Silent: “Jury’s mood was as black as the biscuit Wiggins was now crumbling into a cup of water, and, irrationally irritated by his sergeant’s pursuit of some elusive and Platonic Idea of health just as he was reading of the kidnapping of one boy and the disappearance of the friend who had been with him.”
You can see it in the work of Ruth Rendell, as in these lines from Wolf to the Slaughter: “The shop squatted under a towering wall of brown brick. It seems to lurk there as if it had something to hide.” And this passage that fuses weather and emotion in a glowering tangle: “A high east wind blowing for a day and a night had dried the streets. The rain would come again soon but now the sky was a hard bitter blue.” With Rendell, even optimism carries a delicious menace.
Fiction isn’t the only place good writers come to rest. Two lines from Wall Street Journal writer Brett Arends illustrate that point: “The economy seems to have staggered up from its death-bed (at least for now). And the mother of all fiscal adrenaline hits hasn’t even entered the bloodstream yet.” And Barron’s Alan Abelson is always the delightful iconoclast, as when he holds forth on wayward personalities: “Shakespeare was wrong. A rose by any other name wouldn’t smell as sweet. Suppose, by some nomenclatural misadventure, a rose was called a stinkweed? Does anyone really believe that his or her olfactory response wouldn’t be influenced by the mental abhorrence triggered by the very word ‘stinkweed’?” Overwrought? Yes. On target? Oh yes.
Beauty isn’t always truth and truth isn’t always beauty, at least not in the Judeo-Christian West. But good writing reveals the truth that lies at the bottom of the well. And when we read it, we experience a moment akin to a religious experience, or a good session with the therapist. All is revealed, and remembered, at least until the medication wears off. Which makes what these writers do all the more valuable.
Describing those invisible emotions with precision is an art. Nailing the zeitgeist is a calling, and few do it better than these authors, or business writers Allan Sloan and Stanley Bing. “My bank came up with a way to spare me the shame of overdrafts,” Bing writes in a cheeky essay in Fortune about the financial crisis of 2008-09. “What favor will they do for me next?” That’s the setup. Not wishing to keep us waiting, he delivers the punch line in the opening paragraph: “You know, we don’t thank our bankers nearly enough.”
Or our writers.
At this point in the social media maelstrom, there might be as much writing about writing as there is product. For those of us looking for tips, distractions and advice for the forlorn, bloggers can provide diverting ideas and links for the price of your time.
We all want to read and write more, a wish that’s become a perpetual New Year’s resolution. As with all information in the digital age, finding and filtering sources of new ideas is the trick. With that in mind, Best Colleges Online offers its “Top 100 Creative Writing Blogs,” a compendium that covers inspiration as well as craft. Categories include blogs for aspiring and published writers, plus those that are focused on genres and grammar.
Some of the more fascinating sites: InkyGirl, daily diversions by cartoonist Debbi Ohi, and Backstory, a blog by M.J. Rose, where authors share stories of their inspiration.
Michael Stelzner has compiled the “Top 10 Blogs for Writers – The 2008/2009 Winners.” One highlight: the Freelance Parent, advice from two moms on writing while balancing time with small children.
The creator of “20 Must-Read Blogs For Freelance Writers” believes authors can sharpen their skills by reading others’ blogs. Highlight: Dosh Dosh, which discusses the use of social networks to market and monetize your work.
Then there’s Writer Blogs, Author Blogs & Book Blogs. The highlight here is Boomer Chick, meanderings by author and PR coach Dorothy Thompson, who skylines her blog with a quote from Erma Bombeck: “If you can’t make it better, you can laugh at it.”
Happy New Year. He’s hoping we can make it better, and still have fun.
The newest interview in the BBC World Book Club series: James Ellroy discussing American Tabloid, the first of three novels that chronicle the 1960s in America. Ellroy believes John F. Kennedy’s drive to kill Castro led to his own assassination. His heroes in Tabloid are three rogue American law enforcement officers. The book is the first in the Underworld USA Trilogy. The final novel, Blood’s a Rover, was released in September.
“Writing is the ability to think clearly on paper,” my boss, Henry Raab, is fond of saying. Update that to include a few more screens and you have a timeless saying. But what if you’re like millions of authors and you’re stumped? Is it a sign of laziness, or chemical imbalance?
Neither, says Mark Ragan, CEO of Lawrence Ragan Communications. In an article entitled “The cure for ‘writer’s block,’” Ragan calls the malady “the inability to think clearly about what you want to say.” While he’s talking to public-relations practitioners and other non-fiction specialists, his advice applies to all types of writers. When people say they have writer’s block, he says, they are dealing with information block. “They don’t have enough detail to make the story flow effortlessly from the brain, or don’t understand the volumes of material at their disposal.”
That’s a very left-brain way of looking at the creative process, one that doesn’t take into consideration emotional blocks, including lack of confidence and anxiety. But since this is blogging and not therapy, we’ll stick with Ragan’s more finite solutions. His tips:
He then borrows a few suggestions from Anne Lamott (Bird by Bird) and others like Natalie Goldberg (Writing Down the Bones):
There’s more, but I’ll let you discover the secrets. Meanwhile, here’s a video from Steven Patterson called “Whine Away Your Deadlines with Writer’s Block.” They say humor helps the juices flow. It might work better than coffee.