The Pitch for MOURNING DOVE

Pitch from Baseball's Only World Series Perfect Game, Don Larsen, 1956

This is my pitch for MOURNING DOVE, the novel I, Shawn Oueinsteen, wrote to help put mankind's climate-disaster mitigation on a war footing.

Logline for MOURNING DOVE

A post-apocalypse family of climate scientists, engineers, dreamers, and sharpshooters travels from their climate-extinction-prevention station in Alaska to Antarctica to join distant family rebuilding civilization; in their journey, they see how tragic and heart-rending a climate apocalypse can be

Elevator Speech for MOURNING DOVE (aka Jacket-Flap Summary)

“Dammit Jen! You didn’t have to die to get me to grow up.” These are the words of the main character, Ttuuee, and they are false. Witnessing his sister’s murder triggers his coming of age with the character of a diamond, hard and brilliant, with sparkling but sharp-edged humor. Leading the family, his experiences include drawing into his arms the painted body of his adopted witch, as she sobs with regret she was born truly evil. Sleeping at the bedside of his deathly ill father, he awakens with joy hearing Dad’s obviously phony delirium, a joke; Dad is no longer a breath away from dying. Ttuuee smiles into the ocean breeze as he watches the pirates who attacked flee in their damaged ship. He forces an evil queen (a cousin) to remove handcuffs from his father’s wrists. He savors a hug of thanks from his Rembrandt girl for his suggesting and then digging a grave to bury the old, old dog she grew up with and loved. A few years later, he places a billion-dollar engagement ring onto her finger.

Two-Page Synopsis

The mission of Jen Darlton’s family for generations has been and still is to prevent further extinction of all life and when that’s done travel from their climate station in Alaska to Antarctica to join family restoring civilization from the climate apocalypse. Jen’s Mom, a climate scientist, believes they can do no more concerning extinction and she starts leading the effort to go to Antarctica. But Mom dies due to a surprise ice storm caused by climate change. As Mom’s body is lowered into her grave, Jen, promises to her mother’s soul that she will fulfill Mom’s dream.

Jen’s Dad refuses to go. Grandpa tells Dad how a pair of mourning doves made a nest in the carport of his childhood home. When the mother bird was killed by a neighbor’s cat, the father bird stood a foot away from the nest and shouted, for 18 hours straight, the call of the Mourning Dove: koo kurikoo koo koo. He flew away and the eggs eventually rotted. Grandpa tells Dad not to let his own children rot away without ever seeing others their own age. To Dad, Jen cries, “Koo kurikoo koo koo.” That changes his mind.

At the fall of the U.S., Grams was a colonel and her father was chairman of the Joint Chiefs. As a result, their Alaska station is well provided for and includes a military cargo plane. An airplane malfunction forces them to touch down in a small joint Naval/Air Force base town in southeastern Brazil. They inspect the town, which appears deserted. Jen wants to give Ttuuee a birthday present and sees something he would like. She arises early the next morning and runs off to get the present before the others wake up. Ttuuee gets up and realizes she is gone. He awakens Dad and they start off after her. But as they leave the safety of their plane, they find they are under attack. They learn later these are from a family of “post-apocalypse have-nots,” who wish to murder them for their supplies and capture Jen. In the post-apocalypse world, healthy young women are a valuable commodity. Dad is a trained sharpshooter and he, Ttuuee, and Jen all carry U.S. Army-supplied munitions that are well maintained. Dad kills the attackers and they race to the town center. There they see Jen fighting to escape from a young man about her age. Her assailant reaches for a pistol near him, Jen grabs his arm and bites it. In desperation, he grabs a knife from his belt with his other hand and stabs Jen her through the heart. He is shot by Dad, a moment too late.

Shortly after Dad and Ttuuee finish burying Jen, Dad hands Ttuuee a pistol and begs Ttuuee to shoot him, and then shoot himself. Ttuuee slams his fist into Dad’s chest. He shouts, “No! Jen had a mission she died for. We will achieve her mission or die trying.”

Dad and Ttuuee carry heavy bags of water back to the plane on a very hot day, Dad feels sick and collapses, unconscious. Ttuuee cannot wake him. But he feels a hand on his shoulder. Its from a young woman who wears only impressionist camouflage paint. She wipes Dad’s face and chest with a wet cloth. She drips water onto Dad’s lips. He wakes up coughing. She and Ttuuee half walk, half carry Dad to her home, which she shares with an old, fat, dark-skinned artist named Manny. Her name is Gerta, and she gives Dad her bed.

Ttuuee and Gerta both care for Dad and he slowly recovers. Manny suggests they continue to Antarctica using a Brazilian military spy ship his mother worked on just prior to the climate apocalypse. The ship’s name is the Bucephalus. As they set sail, they fight off an evil king (Manny’s cousin). Manny has coughing fits in which he spits up blood. During one fit, he intentionally falls overboard to die at sea. Near the South Orkney Islands, they are attacked by pirates, who attempt to seize the Bucephalus. Ttuuee and Dad use the ship’s sophisticated weaponry to defeat the pirates.

Grandpa’s cousin, Catherine, built the Darlton colony with great family wealth she and her cousins inherited. Grandpa and Catherine are on different sides of family hatreds ongoing for more than a century but they get along. However, Grams hates Catherine and says she created the colony not to rebuild civilization but to make herself queen. Shortly after docking, Ttuuee notices a girl in strong sunlight and dark shadows. With the lighting and her mischievous smile, she reminds him of Rembrandt self-portraits. He thinks of her as the “Rembrandt Girl.” As Ttuuee begins school, he befriends her. Her real name is Snana, which comes from her Lakota heritage.

Grams proves to be right about Catherine. She has Dad arrested. She attempts to have Ttuuee seized but he manages to flee from his captors and run to the Bucephalus. He instructs it to immediately run a program he wrote to use the Bucephalus weaponry to save the colony from a threatening glacier. When the noise dies down, he has the Bucephalus amplify his voice. He announces that his ship just saved the colony but never again will it assist the colony unless they immediately release his father. He knows his demonstration scared everyone who saw it. Catherine has Dad released.

Snana’s very old, beloved dog dies. Ttuuee volunteers to dig a grave under a tree and help her conduct a proper funeral. She is grateful. She mentions that Catherine brought mourning doves to the colony. A few days later, they spend a day together in the woods and enjoy each other’s company as they see and hear the doves. On another day, she plays for him parts of a Lakota symphony she is composing. As he walks back to his ship, he stops to rest at a comfortable grassy patch. He thinks of how much he is attracted to Snana, and how nothing speaks to the rebuilding of humanity as much as a new symphony that incorporates tribal melodies. He leans back and shouts to the sky, “Thank you, Jen, wherever you are.”

He hears a very distant response. He is sure it is Jen’s voice. It says, “Koo kurikoo koo koo.”
A few years later (epilogue), Ttuuee places a magnificent Darlton-family engagement ring on Snana’s finger.

Who I am: Author Autobiography of Shawn Oueinsteen

My hopes and dreams were baked in before I turned five. As editor-in-chief of a movie magazine, my Dad was kissed by Elizabeth Taylor and Marilyn Monroe but said my mother was more beautiful than either of them. When my Mom died, my father wrote a love poem to her every day for a year. Because of that, MOURNING DOVE character Max Nytlee writes love poems to his wife every day after she passes away. Romance is in my DNA. The final pages of MOURNING DOVE include a diamond ring being slipped onto a beloved's finger.

When my father was a teenager, the Philadelphia Phillies offered him a contract as a pitcher, but World War II ended his baseball dreams. As a toddler, I used to watch him pound out sentences using two fingers on an old manual typewriter. Then he would tear the paper from the machine, scrunch it into a ball, and throw it to the floor harder than he ever threw a baseball. He did that hundreds of times and never got to his novel's second page. I started writing fiction at the age of seven. I studied for an Master's Degree in creative writing under J.R. Salamanca, whose first two novels became major motion pictures. At the age of twenty-two, I wrote a short novel and had it published by a division of Random House. I type, with all ten fingers, at more than 120 words per minute.

My big sister hated me. Almost from the day I started to walk, she would get me to follow her, lead me to places I didn't know, and intentionally lose me. If I was lucky, strangers would see me crying and come to help. She lost me once when we were on vacation. I couldn't tell the strangers how to reach my parents. It was many hours before both sides called the police. My sister took great pride in being the bad kid. She enjoyed, and still enjoys, being in trouble. She would never do her homework. I can't help but be her opposite. I am the good kid. I always do my homework. As homework for my climate novel, I have read more than 200 books about climate change, many by scientists. I have connected on social media with more than 35,000 climate experts, and I communicate one-to-one with many of them. Readers of my blog have recommended me as a climate-change expert to give a speech and perform in a podcast.

An evil soldier with a bayonet stabbed and killed my cousin as a baby in the arms of my grandmother's sister, my mother's favorite aunt. This was in Auschwitz. After a climate apocalypse, migrants will become hungry, thirsty, and diseased, and will experience their loved ones dying. People will kill people, doing anything for food, water, electricity, and medicines to stay alive. I wrote MOURNING DOVE to keep babies from being stabbed to death in their mothers' arms. That is why I am so very dedicated to marketing MOURNING DOVE, as I describe in the Query Letter.

I am very confident that a top literary agent will represent me and will sell MOURNING DOVE to a great publishing company. To follow the progress of MOURNING DOVE, and see whether my confidence is justified, please friend me on Facebook, follow me on Twitter, and connect with me on LinkedIn. Thanks.

Shawn Oueinsteen      
www.shawnoueinsteen.com
mourningdovenovel.blogspot.com 

Long Author Bio for Novel MOURNING DOVE

My dad was kissed by Elizabeth Taylor and Marilyn Monroe but he said my mother was more beautiful than either of them. He was right. I have pictures to prove it. My mother was a gorgeous blonde from Poland. My father a boy from Brooklyn. When my mother died, my father wrote a love poem to her every day for a year. Romance is in my DNA. My wife is a gorgeous brunette born in the USSR. She hates my writing and she and I disagree 100% on politics. But after many years of marriage, we’re crazier about each other than ever. The final pages of MOURNING DOVE, my novel, include a diamond ring being slipped onto a beloved’s finger.

My hopes and dreams were baked in before I turned five. When my father was a teenager, the Philadelphia Phillies offered him a contract as a pitcher, but World War II ended his baseball dreams. As a toddler, I used to watch him pound out sentences using two fingers on an old manual typewriter.  Then he would tear the paper from the machine, scrunch it into a ball, and throw it to the floor harder than he ever threw a baseball. He did that hundreds of times and never got to his novel’s second page.

In my biggest game as a pitcher in little league, my best friend hit two home runs against me, ending my team’s playoff hopes. I was not good enough. But in graduate school, I studied creative writing under J.R. Salamanca, whose first two novels became major motion pictures, one starring Elvis Presley; the other Warren Beatty, actors my father never met, despite his years in the movie business. Salamanca bought a yacht, traveled around the world, then ten years later drove in a beaten-up Mustang to a writer-in-residence job at the University of Maryland, where he was chairman of my Master’s thesis committee. That’s the sort of life my Dad admired. At the age of twenty-two, I wrote a short novel and had it published by a division of Random House. I type, with all ten fingers, at more than 120 words per minute.

I was born in Mount Sinai Hospital on Miami Beach, Florida. We moved away when I was one, but I was back every summer to be with my grandparents in Miami. I played with lizards that were often scurrying about in their backyard. I watched bananas grow on my grandmother’s banana trees so I could pick them and eat them when they ripened. I consider Miami my hometown. South Florida, including Miami, is built on porous limestone, which is frequently described as “similar to Swiss cheese.” This means that today, due to sea-level rise, king tides raise the water level not just in the ocean but also in the streets and back yards of Miami, even on sunny days. The rising water destroys septic tanks, so back yards such as the one I played in as a child are often filled with raw sewage. Harriet Beecher Stowe wrote UNCLE TOM’S CABIN to end slavery. I began writing MOURNING DOVE to end climate shit.

My big sister hated me. Almost from the day I started to walk, she would get me to follow her, lead me to places I didn’t know, and intentionally lose me. If I was lucky, strangers would see me crying and come to help. She lost me once when we were on vacation. I couldn’t tell the strangers how to reach my parents. It was many hours before both sides called the police. My sister took great pride in being the bad kid. She enjoyed, and still enjoys, being in trouble. She would never do her homework. I can’t help but be her opposite. I am the good kid. I always do my homework. As homework for my climate novel, I have read more than 100 books about climate change, many by scientists. I have connected on social media with more than 35,000 climate experts, and I communicate one-to-one with many of them. I’ve learned that climate shit is the very least of the climate problems.

My mother was driving our family car and tears were streaming down her face. I was in the back seat; my sister in the front. She asked Mom what was wrong. Our mother said her favorite aunt had just passed away. My sister asked if she was “that aunt.” My mother said yes, adding that her aunt had never been the same in the years since “it” happened. Even though I was very young, I somehow knew my mother did not want me to know what she was talking about. I complained loudly, as only a toddler can. My sister told me what a bayonet was. Then she said that our aunt had been carrying her baby son in her arms. An evil soldier stabbed the baby with his bayonet and killed our little cousin in the arms of his mother. I had trouble comprehending this, and let my mother know it. She said this was in Auschwitz and tried to explain to me what death camps were, what the Holocaust was, and how they affected me and my family, personally. I was younger than three years old. This is one of my very first memories.

From my climate-change homework, I know that it is physically impossible to prevent the oceans from rising at least a foot within the next thirty years. The oceans are too big. There is too much heat. It cannot be stopped. There are millions of people in South Florida. All will have to move to higher ground. Coastal cities throughout the world will have similar problems. Hundreds of millions of people will have to flee to cities that have no flooding, drought, super storms, or extreme heat. These hundreds of millions will need jobs, homes, food, water, electricity, and medicine. The cities they move to will have enough to take care of their own people but not much more.

The climate migrants will become hungry, thirsty, and diseased, and will experience their loved ones dying. They will see the non-migrants with jobs, homes, food, water, and medications. The migrants will become increasingly desperate just to stay alive. They will steal what they need, fighting and killing those who get in their way. The non-migrants will fight to keep what they have. Governments will try to keep the peace and fail. Governments will try to make sure food, water, electricity, and medicines continue going where they are needed and fail. People will kill people. Many will be armed. Those without guns will use whatever weapons they can find. Harriet Beecher Stowe wrote a novel that started a war and ended slavery. I’m writing a novel to mitigate climate disaster and keep babies from being stabbed to death in their mothers’ arms.

 

This long biography is part of the pitch for my novel, MOURNING DOVE. The images in this post are self-portrait pencil sketches. The one above was drawn from photos of me from when I was three. The one below is what I look like today as I see myself in a mirror.

I am very confident that a top literary agent will represent me and will sell MOURNING DOVE to a great publishing company. To follow the progress of MOURNING DOVE, and see whether my confidence is justified, please friend me on Facebook, follow me on Twitter, and connect with me on LinkedIn. Thanks.

Shawn Oueinsteen      
www.shawnoueinsteen.com
mourningdovenovel.blogspot.com 

Synopsis for Novel MOURNING DOVE

SPOILER ALERT: The sentence below is the most untrue statement in MOURNING DOVE:

“Dammit, Jen! You didn’t have to die to get me to grow up!”

Jen’s grandfather’s lifelong mission has been to save life on Earth from climate disaster and then join his extended family in Antarctica rebuilding human civilization. Jen’s Mom, a physician and biological scientist, believes they can do no more to prevent humanity’s extinction. She takes over ther mission to make sure the family travels from their Alaska mountaintop station to their family’s community in Antarctica so Jen and her siblings can finally meet people their own age. The mission is dangerous. They must get past desperate people who barely manage to survive by killing others to take everything they have.

That afternoon, Mom and her oldest child, Fred, get caught in a freak snowstorm, slide over a cliff and die. The following day is Jen’s sixteenth birthday. As her mother’s body is lowered into the ground, Jen vows to her mother’s soul she will fulfill her mother’s mission herself. While Grams, Jen’s grandmother, conducts the service, Jen notices her younger brother, Ttuuee, has his tablet computer at the funeral. He’s an “evil little devil,” and she’s angry until she realizes he’s using it to hide his tears. Grandpa, their grandfather, is a rocket scientist and says Ttuuee is the smartest member of the family, even smarter than Grandpa. For her mission, Jen will have to work with Ttuuee, help him grow up, and repair his relationship with Dad, with whom he has never gotten along. After the funeral, Jen is on her bed, crying. Ttuuee knocks and comes into her room with his iguana, Caulfield, on his shoulder. Jen hates the lizard. But Ttuuee insists Jen is the sweetest and most beautiful person in the family. Having a tough, strong, and beautiful pet will help her be tough and strong. He says he loves Caulfield but loves her more, so he must give her his pet for her birthday. Jen’s heart melts and she accepts. She reaches to give Ttuuee a hug. Caulfield runs off but the door is closed. The iguana turns around and looks at Ttuuee and Jen quizzically. Jen and Ttuuee laugh, and cry, and hug each other.

On the day after the funeral, Jen’s Dad, Phil, refuses to get out of bed. He also refuses to even consider their trip to Antarctica. Grandpa tells Dad a pair of mourning doves made a nest in the carport of the home Grandpa lived in as a child. In their first year they had two eggs. The birds cared well for their eggs and hatchlings, and eventually all flew off healthy. The pair returned a year later. They had three eggs this time. But shortly before the eggs were to hatch, the mother bird was killed by a neighbor’s cat. The father bird refused to sit on the eggs. Instead, he stood a foot away and shouted, as loud as he could, the call of the Mourning Dove, koo kurikoo koo koo. He continued for eighteen hours straight, and then flew away. The eggs eventually rotted. A year later, the father bird returned. He stood in the same spot, a foot away from the nest, and cried the same cry. He mourned for four hours this time before flying off never to return again. Grandpa tells Dad not to let his own children rot away without ever seeing others their own age. Jen walks up to Dad. In his face she cries, “Koo kurikoo koo koo.” She knows it’s the strongest thing she can do. Saying anything will detract, so she turns and runs back to her bedroom, hoping she succeeded. She did.

Grams insists to Jen and Ttuuee she and Grandpa will not leave. Grams is Jen’s best friend. They watch movies together nearly every night. Jen asks how she could possibly live without her Grams. Grams says that is why they must separate. She refuses to be a burden on Jen, in Antarctica or Alaska. Jen must fly off, leave the nest, and not be a caretaker for her old grandmother who becomes more frail every day. Jen is stunned. Grams gets foot cramps, and Jen loves massaging the pain away. It is a special time for them together. Who will do that for Grams if she left? Grams insists Ttuuee and Jen go and prepare for their trip. Ttuuee runs off. Jen hesitates. She so much wants to turn back to Grams, give her a hug, and say she will stay and always care for Grams in her old age. But Jen swore to her mother’s body as it was lowered into the ground. In the toughest decision of Jen’s life, she forces herself to keep walking, moving away. She begins to sob, as she is abandoning her Grams.

The family jokingly calls Grams, “The Colonel.” Her father, who was a four-star general on the U.S. Joint Chiefs of Staff, helped make sure their Alaska station is lavishly provided for. They have a military cargo plane, but not enough remaining fuel to reach Antarctica. As they fly to Chicago to get fuel, Jen becomes airsick. She stands up when her stomach starts to hurt. Concerned, Ttuuee stands next to her, holding his tablet computer. The plane encounters turbulence and bounces. In a reflex reaction, Jen’s arms shoot out to keep her balance. Her hand hits Ttuuee’s tablet. It smashes into a sharp object in the plane’s storage area. The screen is cracked and the computer is dead. He starts to cry. Then he runs to his co-pilot seat in the plane’s cabin. He already is angry because she did not take Caulfield with them. She needs her brilliant little brother’s support, but she keeps making it worse. She collapses into her seat, reaches for a barf bag, and barely manages to open it in time.

Grams and Grandpa’s friends, the Nytlees, are not at the Chicago landing strip. Dad fears desperate climate refugees might have killed them. Taking weapons, he, Ttuuee, and Jen walk to the Nytlee’s apartment. Max Nytlee is slumped over his desk, dead. A paper near his hand is addressed to Grams and Grandpa. He has written that his wife, Rochelle, died a few weeks earlier. He has buried her and asks to be buried next to her. He describes how to find the fuel they need and that there no longer are desperate, evil climate survivors in Chicago. Other papers are love poems he wrote to Rochelle after she died. Jen reads them and changes the goal of her mission from meeting others their own age to finding romance that lasts a lifetime and more.

In the air, a warning light shows flying at fuel-efficient altitudes is dangerous and they cannot reach Antarctica without repair and refueling. Storms prevent them from returning to Chicago. Dad insists they fly to a Denver climate station for repairs and fuel. Before they left Alaska, Grams told Jen not to let Dad fly to Denver. The love of his life, Jennifer, died in his arms there. Grams thinks Denver might make Dad, her son, suicidal. Jen knows he named her after Jennifer. She is very confident in her father’s love for her, and it will keep them safe. Jen believes her decision concerning Denver is the strongest leverage she will ever have over him. She will use it to fix the relationship between Dad and Ttuuee. Mom was unaware of Jennifer until she was nine months pregnant with Ttuuee, more than a year after Jen was born. Jen tells Ttuuee that Mom, who was from Finland, gave Ttuuee his Finnish name as revenge against Dad, and Dad has resented Ttuuee because of it ever since. Jen negotiates. She will allow the trip to Denver only if Dad apologizes to Ttuuee and agrees to try to love him as much as he loves Jen. She persuades Ttuuee, out of his love for Mom, who forgave Dad, to also forgive Dad and consent to Denver. Dad and Ttuuee eventually agree. But before landing, they notice the Denver station is now occupied by murderous climate migrants. They continue to fly South.

They touch down in a small joint military base town near a bay in southeastern Brazil but the untended, aging landing strip damages one of the plane’s wheelsets. The rough landing also damages the shortwave radio they use to communicate with Grams and Grandpa. Walking to the bay to desalinate water, they pass through the town center but see no evidence of living inhabitants. In one of the few intact storefronts, Jen notices boxes containing tablet computers similar to the one she knocked out of Ttuuee’s hands. Early the next morning, she straps guns on her hips and sneaks out to get him a new tablet as a birthday present. Ttuuee gets up, realizes Jen is gone, and awakens Dad. As they exit the plane, a woman points a rifle at them. Dad shoots her and a teenage boy with her. Grams was a decorated Army sharpshooter and trained her son well. As he and Ttuuee approach the town center, they see from a distance Jen with an older teen on top of her, attempting to rape her. Others are nearby with guns. Dad starts shooting, while Ttuuee runs to Jen, dodging bullets. Dad shoots a boy holding one of Jen’s guns, which falls next to the left arm of the rapist, who reaches for it. Jen grabs his arm and bites it, at the same instant Ttuuee shoots the gun away from him. In desperation, the rapist grabs a knife from his belt with his other hand and stabs Jen in her naked chest, through the heart. His head explodes with a bullet from Dad, a moment too late.

Dad carries Jen’s body to the town’s church cemetery. He and Ttuuee find a pair of shovels waiting for them, and an open door to a shed containing caskets and headstones. Emotionally and physically exhausted after burying her and very hot, Dad sits in the Church’s shade. He falls asleep. Hours later, Ttuuee falls asleep as well. When he wakes up, Dad hands him a pistol and begs Ttuuee to shoot him, and then shoot himself. Ttuuee slams the palm of his fist into Dad’s chest. He says “No! Jen had a mission she died for. At Mom’s and Fred’s funeral, Grams talked of life after death. Even if you only barely believe in it, could you face Jen in an afterlife and say you gave up on her mission and killed yourself? Could you look her in the eye and tell her that?”

Dad says, “No,” and his eyes tear up. Ttuuee grabs him and hugs him. Dad returns the hug. They are father and son, and still have each other. Ttuuee feels love in that hug. It is something he has been craving, needing, for his entire life and especially now.

Repairs and refueling are possible but will take months. They again desalinate water. It is a very hot day. Carrying heavy bags of water back to the plane, Dad feels sick and collapses, unconscious. Ttuuee shouts, “No! You can’t die here.” He cries for help, and just cries, until he feels a hand on his shoulder. She wears nothing but impressionist camouflage paint, a bikini bottom, and a toolbelt. She uses a knife from the belt to cut Dad’s shirt into rags, dips some of them into a bag of water and wipes Dad’s face and chest with the wet cloth. She drips water onto Dad’s lips. He wakes up coughing and asks Ttuuee for water to drink. There is no common language, but they understand her name is Gerta. She and Ttuuee half walk, half carry Dad to her home, which she shares with an old, fat, dark-skinned man named Manny, who has a terrible cough. Ttuuee and Gerta set Dad down on her bed. Dad insists Ttuuee run to the plane for a laptop with a simultaneous translation app so they can communicate.

Ttuuee searches the plane’s medical files and medical supplies for a cure. Back at Manny’s, Dad insists on using the translation system before taking Ttuuee’s medications. Dad asks, should he die, that Manny and Gerta take care of Ttuuee. Manny agrees on the condition that should Dad survive, they take Gerta wherever they go. Dad’s illness worsens. Ttuuee fears he is killing Dad rather than curing him. While Dad sleeps fitfully, Manny tells of his marriage to his childhood sweetheart. They adored each other, but could not have children. She was visiting her brother’s family as they were attacked by desperate climate migrants. Hearing gunfire, Manny ran to help. He saw his wife shot and killed by a woman holding a toddler girl in her arms. Manny shot the woman. The girl was unharmed. One of the few words she knew was her name: Gerta.

Dad’s fever breaks but he is very weak. Fixing the plane depends on a quick and full recovery. Manny’s mother was part of a military intelligence team building a highly advanced spy ship disguised as a factory fishing vessel. One week before its launch, the military recalled her team to protect major Brazilian cities. She arranged to stay and secure the ship in drydock to survive the passage of years. She tinkered with it for the rest of her life. Manny offers her ship to Dad, Ttuuee, and Gerta, as a better and easier way of getting to Antarctica. Ttuuee convinces Dad to at least look at it. The drydock building is huge and very hot, without water nor electricity. The ship is electric powered. Dad believes the batteries can never be charged. The ship is not an option. Ttuuee studies the considerable documentation Manny’s mother left behind and disagrees with Dad. He climbs to the drydock’s roof and replaces every solar panel and electrical cable. He restores the building’s plumbing. He turns on the building’s light, air-conditioning, elevators, and working bathrooms. The ship’s name is the Bucephalus, after Alexander the Great’s horse. Because of Ttuuee’s efforts, Dad and Manny mount working commodes, with soft toilet tissue both fondly remember from childhood. Ttuuee goes to the ship’s helm and mounts his steed.

Manny coughs up blood. He tells Ttuuee that in Antarctica without paint, Gerta will be seen by other teens as a pretty seventeen-year-old who cannot read nor write in any language, nor even count past ten, someone ripe for abuse. He asks Ttuuee to care for her as a sister. When the Bucephalus is out of dry dock and in port, Manny paints its name onto the hull. Then he dives off his scaffolding, swims out into the bay, and allows himself to sink. His wife was buried at sea nearby. Ttuuee imagines them swimming side by side for all eternity.

At sea, Dad repairs the short-wave radio and connects with Grams and Grandpa. Speaking to his mother, he cries like a baby from guilt that he failed at saving Jen. Despite his mother’s lessons, he hesitated to take the kill shot that would have prevented her death.

Sailors from a South Orkney Island fishing fleet protected by a well-armed police boat mistake the Bucephalus for a factory fishing vessel and attempt to seize it. At Ttuuee’s encouragement, Dad takes command, uses the Bucephalus’s advanced munitions to destroy the invader’s weapons, and chases them off. Dad’s mood is greatly improved.

Grandpa’s cousin, Catherine, built the Darlton colony with inherited money. She acts friendly and welcoming. She rules the colony as queen and even jokes with Ttuuee about it. She introduces Dad to engineers and scientists. Ttuuee notices a girl in a far corner that has strong sunlight and dark shadows. With the lighting and her mischievous smile, she reminds him of Rembrandt self-portraits. She is his “Rembrandt Girl.” As Ttuuee begins school, he befriends her. Her real name is Snana, which comes from her Native American Lakota heritage. In a short-wave call, Grams tells Ttuuee that Catherine pretends to be friendly but actually is rather evil. Her money, Grams says, rightfully should have been Grandpa’s. Grams also says that Ttuuee should not trust Snana, who very likely is a pawn Catherine uses to do harm to him and Dad. Grandpa blames Grams’s mood on Jen’s death.

Ttuuee writes a program to have the Bucephalus weaponry redirect a melting glacier’s tributary stream so when it calves off it doesn’t destroy the hydroelectric power plant on the Colony’s river. A Darlton cousin and his bully friends try to grab Ttuuee moments before he hears the sound of a Bucephalus laser cannon. Ttuuee escapes and outruns them. As he nears the water, he sees evidence that the Bucephalus shot a blowtorch out of the hands of a man trying break through locked gates to board the ship. In the distance, Police officers are holding Dad in handcuffs. Ttuuee instructs the Bucephalus to immediately run his program to divert the glacier’s tributary. When the noise dies down, he instructs the Bucephalus to amplify his voice. He announces that the Bucephalus just saved the colony. The ship cannot be boarded without his strongly password-protected approval, and never again will it assist the colony unless they immediately release his father. He avoids the word “weaponry,” knowing his demonstration scared everyone who saw it. Catherine has Dad released. Showing bravery and spirit, Snana runs aboard the ship to talk with Ttuuee and Dad. She relays Catherine’s order that Dad meet with her that afternoon. Ttuuee insists that he, not Dad, will meet with Catherine and Snana must be there. Dad will command the Bucephalus’s weapons should they be needed. At the meeting, Ttuuee issues non-negotiable demands: no one will ever contest that the Bucephalus is owned by and is the home of himself and Dad; he and Gerta will continue in the Darlton Colony educational system; and Catherine no longer will use Snana or anyone else as a pawn against him. Ttuuee tells Snana he knows he has just accused her of pretending friendship at Catherine’s command. If she hates him now, he understands. But he asks her to forgive him and remain friends. He tells her how much he likes her. She appears confused, struggling to suppress anger. She glances at Catherine who indicates she should remain friends with Ttuuee. Looking defeated, she says she will. Ttuuee ends the meeting over Catherine’s strong objections.

Snana does not avoid Ttuuee, but her anger is evident despite his best efforts. Then her very old, very beloved dog dies. Ttuuee visits her at home. She is waiting for a veterinarian to take the body. Ttuuee volunteers, instead, to dig a grave under a tree and help her conduct a proper funeral. While he is digging, she shouts, “Why are you being so kind go me?” They talk. By the time the last shovelful of dirt is placed on the grave, her anger is gone. During the discussion, she mentions that Catherine brought mourning doves to the colony. A few days later, they spend a day together in the woods and enjoy each other’s company as they see and hear the doves. He watches her practice piano and she gives him lessons. She teaches him and plays for him. After romantic sonatas, he walks back to his ship. The weather is beautiful and he sees a comfortable grassy patch. He rests on it and thinks of how much he is attracted to Snana. Then he leans back and shouts to the sky, “Thank you, Jen, wherever you are.”

He hears a very distant response. He is sure it is Jen’s voice. It says, “Koo kurikoo koo koo.”

I am very confident that a top literary agent will represent me and will sell MOURNING DOVE to a great publishing company. To follow the progress of MOURNING DOVE, and see whether my confidence is justified, please friend me on Facebook, follow me on Twitter, and connect with me on LinkedIn. Thanks.

Shawn Oueinsteen      
www.shawnouinsteen.com
mourningdovenovel.blogspot.com 

Agent Query, Version 1, for MOURNING DOVE

MOURNING DOVE is 81,000 words. Inspired by Abraham Lincoln’s apocryphal quote to Harriett Beecher Stowe, I wrote it to be the little novel that starts the great war against global warming. I am sending this to you because you represent X, whom I admire, and you ask for Y on your #MSWL.

Jen, sleeping, sensed that Mom entered her room, bent over her, and kissed her cheek. Jen loved it when her mother woke her this way.

“G’morning, Honey,” Mom said. “It’s our last launch day. We have to talk. You turn sixteen tomorrow and you've never experienced friends your age, especially someone who makes your heart flutter. That's not right for a teen. I need you to persuade Grams. You're the only one who might be able to convince her to leave with us. And even if she refuses, we’re flying to our family and civilization in Antarctica without her and Grandpa. You've got to be my partner in this. If anything goes wrong, it could be very dangerous, with people trying to kill us. But we have to do it. Are you in? Can I count on you?”

“Mom. Of course you can. I’m in. It will be my mission, from almost sixteen onward.”

Mom put her arms around Jen and hugged her close. It felt good.

#

A flash snowstorm coated the ground seconds before liftoff. Jen and Grandpa in the command bunker followed the take-off on live video. When the rocket left the camera’s view, she watched another video feed showing her older brother, Fred, at the outdoor weather station. He bent over backward as he tracked the flight. Suddenly, both legs flew out from under him. Their launch center was on top of a mountain. He was on a narrow asphalt path, overlooking a steep drop, and the blacktop was slippery. Mom, suddenly in the picture, reached for Fred to keep him from going over the cliff. But as she grabbed him she lost her footing, too, and they both slid over the edge clutching each other. On a speaker somewhere, she heard her mother scream. Seeing the empty cliff, Jen shouted, “No! Mommie! Come back. I need you. Mommie!” Grandpa wrapped Jen in his arms.

#

At the funeral, Dad turned a wheel that gently lowered Mom’s coffin into her grave. Watching, Jen said, almost out loud, Mom, I won’t let you down.

Ballantine Books published my novella "Oceans Away" in Stellar Short Novels. I ghosted for Senator Paula Hawkins, and my op-eds appeared, under her name, throughout the United States. I've spoken about climate and MOURNING DOVE on 5 podcasts so far, as well as to a high school, and I will be featured in a Netflix climate documentary. On Facebook, Twitter, and LinkedIn, I have 65,000 connections following MOURNING DOVE. I expect cover blurbs from the most famous of these. My author page has had 100,000 hits and my blog 10,000. My day job is Beltway bandit wordslinger. I'm submitting this query to multiple agencies. Thank you for your time and consideration.

Short Story: Sorry Officer; I'm In Love

Sorry Officer; Im In Love

I finished homework at my favorite nook in the school's main library and walked toward the steps to head home, taking my time, browsing at books on the shelves as I went. But the fourth floor I was on had a balcony overlooking the library's entrance lobby, where I spotted Rachel checking out books. From the moment I saw her I sprinted toward the steps. Once there, I ran down them three at a time, as fast as I could possibly go.

I had to catch her before she left the library. I couldn't lose her. It was already six weeks into the semester, and I had been dreaming every day what I would say to her if I saw her. On the last day of classes the previous spring, she had dumped me.

"I don't think we should see each other any more; with summer and all," she had said.

"I, I don't understand. I'll be less than an hour away."

"I know, and I know you don't want me to say you're a nice guy, Shawn, but you are. I like you. You know that. It's just that, well, I have a life at home. And an hour apart, that's still a long-distance relationship. It just won't work. Please be understanding. Don't make this any more painful than it is."

"And we both know I'm not the type to make things painful," I said.

"Of course you're not. Thank you. Don't be bitter." And she gave me a kiss on the cheek and went running off. That was the last time I saw her until now.

Many times over the summer I considered calling her, but I never did. I tried to keep my pride. And in my head I often thought of what I'd do if I saw her on campus. In one scenario, I would very pointedly ignore her. In another, I would speak to her but be cold and distant.

But now, as I watched her pick up the books she had checked out and move toward the door, my only thoughts were that I didn't want her to see me breathing hard. I smoothed out my hair with my fingers. I made sure my shirt was properly tucked into my pants. I tried to breath normally. And I walked over to her.

"Rachel," was all I could say.

She turned to face me, with a smile. "Oh, hi Shawn. I didn't notice you. How are you? How have you been?"

I had a feeling of deja vu. She was exactly as I remembered, but even more special: the joy in her eyes, the way she tilted her head, the upward curve of her lips, and, most enchanting, her voice. She had personality in each word, every sentence with a unique inflection. She was more adorable than the most angelic four-year-old, with the wisdom of a brilliant college girl. But there were no other college girls like her; the kindness that came through in everything she said; the shine and bounce in her short black hair, the graceful way she stood, the perfection of her slim, white hands; it all was unique and it made her far, far more attractive than any other woman I had ever seen. I thought that all guys must find her as alluring as I did. I wondered how girls saw her. Most women liked Audrey Hepburn, but what Audrey Hepburn had, Rachel had a thousand times better. No other girl was as appealing, from top to bottom, as she was. No one else possibly could be. My insides were flittering, as if I were filled with butterflies.

She wasn't drop-dead gorgeous, but the first thing friends who met her said to me about her was that she was pretty. We had met through a computer dating system that the entire campus had participated in. I had been given a list of fifteen names and phone numbers and Rachel's name had been number one. Among twenty-nine thousand students, she was the one girl that best matched the responses I had put into the computer. I had spoken with her on the phone but hadn't seen her before. We had arranged to meet outside Talliaferro Hall, where she would be leaving a class. Other girls came out before she did. With each one, I thought to myself, "Ooh, I hope it's not that girl; I think she's ugly," or "that girl's pretty but dresses as if she's from the Flintstones." But when she came out, the words in my head were, "I hope it's her; she's very cute." She was slightly above average in height, with a round face and a perfect nose, and nice, kind-looking eyes; a good looking girl, far better than average. And she was dressed in a nice, blue and green sweater and designer jeans. I was glad when she came over to me, my computer date.

We sat together talking on a bench outside Talliaferro for what seemed like minutes but was really hours. The computer was right: we enjoyed the same movies, we had similar tastes in food; we laughed at the same jokes, and we both loved kids and dogs. We were perfect for each other. From that warm late-fall day until the last day of classes in the spring, I dreamed of her every night but couldn't wait to get up and be with her during the day. It was the happiest time of my life.

Now, in the library, I responded to her question with, "I've been Okay. I was looking forward to us running into each other. I thought it would be long before this." I hoped I didn't sound too eager.

"Well, here I am."

She said it with enthusiasm. It gave me hope.

We chatted just outside the library for about ten minutes. I asked about her summer and she told me how her parents treated her to Lasik surgery for her birthday.

I joked, "So no more fishing your contacts out of the drain."

"No, I guess not. You were brilliant figuring out how to do that. I was so grateful."

"I remember how grateful. That turned out to be a wonderful day."

"It did," she said, with a shy smile. Her cheeks reddened. At the thrill of seeing her blush, the butterflies inside of me stopped beating for a moment, and then started again more fluttery than ever.

And we talked about movies we'd seen over the summer. She said, "But of course it wasn't as much fun as seeing the Gene Wilder - Richard Pryor film in a black neighborhood. That was amazing how we laughed at one set of jokes and they laughed at another. That was a great date."

"Yeah, that was fun."

Our few minutes by the library was just as wonderful as our conversations from the previous spring. Just seeing her and being with her made me feel as if I were floating on cotton candy.

But then she said, "Oh no. I forgot the time. I'm going to be late for my class."

She hesitated for just a second, enough time for me to ask, "Can we see each other again?"

"I'd like that."

In the midst of pure elation, it occurred to me that it was Thursday and I had a date with Liz-Anne on Friday night. I would split up with her then, something I'd been considering for several weeks.

I said, "How about Saturday night. I'll make sure it's something special."

As she walked off, she said, "Sounds great. Call me tonight and tell me about it. Same phone number as last year. Thanks."

"I'll call you. It's great seeing you again."

"Bye." It was the world's most adorable Bye. She started jogging to her class, and I enjoyed watching her; she was very sexy.

I found myself on the Beltway driving. I had no idea how I had gotten there. All my thoughts were on Rachel, replaying every second of our meeting at the library. I decided I would get up very early the next day and stand in line at the Kennedy Center for special reserved student tickets. They had a play going to Broadway that was based on a comic strip. It would be magical. Every second being with Rachel was magical. And I would be with her again. I started to cry, thinking what a joy it would be talk to her on the phone that night, to see her, and to touch her on Saturday. I began to sob. I could no longer drive. I pulled over to the side of the Beltway and just let myself sob with pure joy.

But then I thought what I would do if a policeman stopped and knocked on my car window. I would say, "Sorry, Officer, I'm in love."

Novel-Writing Methodology Overivew

This was written to help keep myself on track to write the best novel possible. I decided that the most important thing I could do was constantly work at holding the reader's interest. As I wrote the novel, I created a spreadsheet, which I am now using as a check-off list to make sure I am covering all the points listed below and more for every chapter. I will post a version of my spreadsheet sometime soon. I am working on the novel's second draft. I will submit it for publication after I finish my third draft. A: NARRATIVE TENSION: THE DESIRE TO GET TO THE NEXT PAGE! The reader has to desire something. What? Perhaps all of the following. Every sentence of the book has to be presenting the reader with at least one of these things and probably several. I also need to keep in mind how it advances the plot.
1. Questions	The book must have unanswered questions that the reader is very anxious to have an answer for. That is what makes a "whodunit" fun to read.
2. Goals	Do primary characters have defined goals? Reader must share characters' passion for reaching the goal, which must be attainable. Climax of each character's story line is reaching the goal.
3. Excitement	Will character whom reader cares about die in next paragraph? Will character's dreams be dashed in next paragraph? Will plans currently running carry to fruition? Will plans character doesn't know about, but reader does, hit character in the head?
4. Urgency	Is reader asking, "Why doesn't X happen now?" The reader must feel that unless X happens now, something bad will happen.
5. Passion	Is character whom reader cares about passionate about something or things? Does reader identify with those passion(s)? Are passions being fulfilled?
6. Romance	Readers want to feel "in-love." There are thousands of things, usually a person is unaware of, that makes up romance. Does the reader have the "feeling?"
7. Poignancy	Do events pull at heartstrings?
8. Humor	Does the general tenor of the writing keep a smile on the reader's face? Are events humorous? Are at least some characters funny.
9. Cleverness	Do readers think, "Hey that's neat, a clever idea?"
10.Awe	Is environment awe inspiring, or giving sense of wonder? Sitting on a Saturn V at takeoff.
11.Sympathy	Are there little lost puppies, either real or as part of characters?
12.Escape	Is the world less mundane than the reader's world, and yet complete, with enough details to make the reader want to escape to it?
13.Education	Are readers learning things they didn't know?
14.Setting	Does the world feel solid. It should be a setting that the reader sees in his mind as being a real world, as well as being an enjoyable world to be in. The reader should feel as if he is walking on the grass, eating the foods, etc.
15.Human	Depth: are true human emotions, or complex personalities being explored?
16.Theme	Does reader feel author is trying to say something important (without being preachy)? Are major issues being examined.
B: CHARACTERIZATION To achieve most of the above, the readers have to have characters they care about, either loving them or hating them. To do so, characters first and foremost need at least one distinguishing character trait (and maybe a maximum of three). Beyond that, they also need the following:
1. Likability	Characters cannot be bland: people readers don't care about. Readers have to find them attractive. A character's attractive because it is accomplishing reader's dreams, it is overcoming handicaps, it is funny, it thinks in a lively way, it deals well with a situation readers wonder about, it is nice to children and puppies, it is smarter than the average bear, it comes from an odd background or is doing odd work or hobbies. What are the character's interests?
2. Identity	Can readers tell who each character is by its speech, mannerisms, humor, intensity, intelligence, vanity, humility, kindness, sternness, morals, passions, the way others look at it, leadership, sensitivity, childishness, way of thinking, etc.
3. Character	Forceful, serving, exacting, or entertaining? Loud or quiet? Colorful or dull? Thinker or doer? Quick or slow? Smart or dumb? Physical or mental? Nice or mean? Happy or depressed? Masochist or Sadist? Oblivious or observant? Manipulator or manipulated? Likes kids and dogs? Nice to retarded? Nice to beggers? Curiosity priority.
4. Believability	Are characters people you might meet in the street?
5. Appearance	What's the character look like, sound like, smell like, and feel like (baby skin or lizard skin?) Posture.
6. Family	Spouse, kids, mother, father, siblings, aunts, uncles, pets, etc.
7. Clothes / Possessions	How character dresses? What car? What type of house? Favorite toys.
8. Resume	What jobs? When? What skills? How long per job? Reasons for leaving? Mentors? Favorite jobs / bosses and why?
9. Hobbies / Interests	Games character likes to play. Sports teams. Favorite music. Favorite colors. Breakfast cereal. Foods character can't stand. Food character loves. Favorite books. Favorite TV shows.
10.Religion	Which one? How does the character feel about it? Prejudices against others? What rituals are participated in? Desire for religion in children?
11.Background	Does reader feel he knows the character? What was the character doing on his 12th birthday? What scars does the character have and how did they happen? What recurring pains? What medications taken? How many pairs of shoes are in the closet? Is the closet neat or messy? Is the character punctual or always late? Does character listen to talk radio? What political parties? Has the character ever called a Congressman? In elementary school, was character a bully? get picked on? or defend kids from bullies? What animal identified with? How spouse was met? Other old and new relationships? How did the character start dating in school. Did the character enjoy junior high and high school? What racist or other types of persecution did the character experience, either against the character or in the character's presense and what was the character's reaction. When was the character born and what season does the character like best. Which parent the character's spouse's personality most resembles? Level of testosterone, PMS, feminine sensitivity, feminine intuition? Morning or evening person?
C: PLOT A plot essentially is the question, "What happens?" Plots have to deal with something, usually striving for or against something. Typical plots involve "man vs. man," "man vs. self," or "man vs. nature." Examples, respectively, are "Batman vs. Joker," "To be or not to be," or "Locked in a room with a ticking bomb." Three to seven subplots are necessary (more might be confusing, unless done extremely well), each of which should have the following:
1. Beginning	Something must happen to make clear to readers (not necessarily characters) what the goal is. The reader must have an idea on what achieving the goal means. The goal may be to survive till tomorrow, it may be to get the girl, to decide not to kill yourself, etc.
2. Middle	Reader must feel that progress is being made at achieving the goal. There should probably be subgoals. There should be new obstacles. But some obstacles should be in the reader's mind at the beginning and the solving of them is the middle for the plot.
3. Climax	The point at which the most major goal or goals are achieved is the climax.
4. End	When all loose ends have been neatly tied up.
D.THEME  A book is considered merely escape unless it has some theme. Whether the author is trying to get a message across or just explore some heavy concepts (to be, killing your king, or not to be), all throughout the novel must be an intellectual idea, with every word of the novel leading to that idea. E.STYLE The author must consider every word, every sentence, and every paragraph. What is its purpose? How well does it convey that purpose? Does it need to be there. Is there a better substitute? It is abstract? If so, does it confuse the reader? Does it slow the reader? Can it be better expressed with a visual description. If it is visual, is it a cliche? Is it verb-centric, or is the idea brought across through adjectives, adverbs, or clauses? Can it be written better to be shorter, more visual, or to better get the idea across? Is the idea absolutely necessary? The language should not get in the way, but should be beautiful for those who look for it. Original, but unobtrusive, similes and metaphors are important. Language should be visual, but simple; e.g., Hemingway's "The horse smelled water." Keep sentences short, active voice, with powerful verbs, not adjectives and adverbs. And yet sentences should not be too short or boring in style. Style can also lend humor or lighten the tone of the novel. If the language or images are heavy, the novel is heavier. Are the sentences mixed, interesting, and not intrusive? For example, all subject, verb, predicate, subject verb predicate, subject verb predicate works for a waltz, not a novel.. Does each character have a personal style? This is not only sentence structure and word choice, brut also style of thinking? Artists should think graphically and include lines, shades, and colors. Poets should have meter and rhyme. Kids should not have long, abstract concepts. Engineers should think with logic and machines, etc. Overall, the language should be easy to understand, not get in the way, say what it needs to say without anything unnecessary, and beautiful if possible.

Novel-Writing Methodology: Chapter Checklist

Long before I start writing a novel, I create an outline of chapters, with a synopsis of each chapter. That is the first version of this spreadsheet. As I write the novel, I modify the spreadsheet to match the actual novel. Occasionally, I add fields for issues I want to make sure not to forget. Those fields become my checklist for each chapter. So for the second draft of the novel, I read each chapter and compare it to my checklist. Here is a blank version of the checklist.

#	Prologue	Ch1	Ch2	Ch3	Ch...
Title	...	...	...	...	...
Synopsis	...	...	...	...	...
What makes the chapter?	...	...	...	...	...
Purposes	...	...	...	...	...
Poignant	...	...	...	...	...
Relevant	...	...	...	...	...
Believable (actions & characters?)	...	...	...	...	...
Pageturner?	...	...	...	...	...
Characters (strong, consistent?)	...	...	...	...	...
Faults	...	...	...	...	...
Humor	...	...	...	...	...
Setting (Readers feel there?)	...	...	...	...	...
Clothing (appropriate to character, season?)	...	...	...	...	...
Environment (smell, color, etc.)	...	...	...	...	...

How can you be happy when Prince Andrei Nikolaevich is dying?

Tolstoy once came down into his living room from the office he wrote in, saw his family laughing, and said, "How can you be happy when Prince Andrei Nikolaevich is dying upstairs?" When you truly experience that feeling concerning your own characters, you are a writer.

Post-novel depression's intense pain tortures the most talented writers. When the writing is finished, the developing, changing, coming-to-life characters are no longer alive and growing. They are the writer's children during the writing process. When the novel is done and the writing stops, they become unchanging memories. It's like your own children have died, and all you have left is their memories.

David Brin says that writing is the ultimate sadomasochistic experience. A writer succeeds when the readers can't stop reading, giving up food, sleep, and sex, because they can't put the book down. The greatest compliment I ever received was when an MIT student complained that my novel gave him a bad grade on an exam. With the best novels, readers are in bondage to the novelist. The aim of the writer is to create characters as vivid as one's best friend, parents, or even spouse, so that the reader worries terribly about what is going to happen next to that character. The readers are enthralled, with "thrall" being another word for "slave." But the one most enslaved by the writing is the writer himself, as Tolstoy was with Andrei Bolkonsky. Tolstoy destroyed my vision, because I read War and Peace in one weekend.