Monday, September 18

Promoting Literacy: An Accidental Author


Last April, I was a guest speaker at the Kiwanis Club of Las Vegas as an accidental author. Why accidental? I didn't know what else to call becoming an author. I wasn't one of those book dreamers. I couldn't even read.

I grew up in what was then one street over from the wrong side of the tracks in Milwaukee, where my grandparents lived. They raised me. We were poor, and I had a handicap to overcome — having been born with club feet and relegated to casts and corrective shoes until I was 10. 

Early confinement has a way of stimulating your imitation. While I played outside more and more as I got older, I fancied myself more as an artist, like the father I lost when I was two. I loved telling stories, but most were acted out or drawn on sweeping rolls of painter's paper my grandfather sometimes brought home from his seasonal job as a trades painter.

I had some talent, but my artistic prowess was problematic. I would fill my spelling book with drawings instead of words — an exercise that landed me in what my school called the "barracks." These were outside portables where other undesirable students (primarily minorities) could be failed forward. 

The spelling book stunt wasn't the only reason I was relegated to the lower conveyor belt. Being a deceptively easy mark for bullies didn't help either. You learn to fight or flee early on. Yeah, I fought. What you don't learn to do is read. 

"Needs Improvement" as a Badge of Honor

I couldn't read in the third grade. It was one of the reasons I intervened in my daughter's education as early as I did. I didn't want her to land in the same place I did, failing forward until somebody caught you. 

In my case, it was my grandmother. She rejected the idea of sending an illiterate kid to the fourth grade. So, she pulled me from public school and re-enrolled me as a repeating third grader in a Catholic school. The school re-evaluated my skills, elevating me in some areas and getting me the help I needed in others. 

Say what you will about secular schools. They work well when they work. I don't just mean stricter discipline (although there was that too). I mean, being Christian trumping all other labels. Suddenly, it didn't matter that my skin was a little darker (I'm part Native American), my last name was ethnic (it wasn't Becker at the time), or my feet were in corrective shoes. It felt like a fresh start — for a year, anyway. 

Literacy comes from introductions, accidental and otherwise. 

With my grandmother dying of cancer, the family decided to reunite me with my mother and her new family. One of the benefits was my step-father figure enjoyed watching movies and ordered HBO through the apartment complex. 

I was hooked on fantasy after seeing the animated Hobbit (1977) and Lord of the Rings (1978). For those who remember, the first film only adapted The Fellowship of the Ring and The Two Towers. I had to save up $10 to get the four-book set on my 25-cent-a-week allowance. But it didn't matter. I was reading. I also played Dungeons & Dragons, which encourages reading, writing, and arithmetic. 

Fantasy caught my fancy, but I didn't become an avid reader until my family moved to Las Vegas by way of Minnesota. In the seventh grade, my reading teacher let me turn in a book report on the thinnest book I could find. But then he challenged me to read Dune by Frank Herbert. Maybe it was my own move from the land of lakes (Caladan) to the desert (Arrakis), but Paul Atredes was someone I could relate to. 

Art was still my first love, except for the fear and the doubt. 

My mother didn't want me to become an artist because that was what my biological father did. I gravitated to psychology instead. Writing wasn't even on my radar despite having had a few poems published, a short story serialized in junior high, and a one-act play with subject matter deemed too adult for high school. 

While I finished college only two classes shy of a dual major, I shifted toward advertising. I meant to do it with art, but the University of Nevada, Reno (by way of Whittier College) had an advertising track through journalism. They taught me to write — not fiction per se, but everything else: ads and articles. 

Most of it was short-form storytelling: Magazine ads, television spots, radio commercials, billboards, news articles, and feature stories. And then more stories, blog posts, websites, campaign strategies, core message systems, and integrated marketing communication. I told other people's stories and then taught other people how to tell other people's stories, too, when I taught classes at UNLV. 

It took almost 30 years and thousands of books before I realized I wanted to tell some of my stories. So that's what I did with the release of 50 States. And again with Ten Threads. And again with Third Wheel. 

Readers are the people who help others discover reading. 

Undoubtedly, my life would be very different had I not learned to read. Sure, I may have become an artist after all. Or not. I could have done a dozen jobs like those I did trying to pay my way through school. I might have been good at them, too, but I was never as satisfied as I am today. 

As a reader, I feel like I haven't lived just one life but hundreds and thousands of others. It was an amazing gift that opened my eyes to opportunities. And it's a gift I hope to pay forward. 

Sadly, right now in the United States, 48 million people cannot read above a third-grade level, which places our literacy rate at around 79 percent, which is a lower rate than it was in 1875. It peaked in the 1970s and has been declining ever since. Even among those who are literate, approximately half read at about a middle-school level. 

In some cases, all they need is a reason to read and the right book to hook them. I recently opened an online bookshop to promote some titles on the eclectic shelf. (I'll be adding two non-fiction shelves very soon; one specifically for writers.) This week, I've also discounted all digital versions of my books: 50 States, Ten Threads (free for Kindle Unlimited members), and Third Wheel in an effort to promote literacy. 

Maybe gifting the book or, better yet, promising to read along with someone can make a difference in their lives. That's how my children learned to love books — reading together with me, out loud, alternating paragraphs as we went. It's a technique that works at every age and one I hope you try with someone. 

You never know. One day they could become an accidental author too. Or at minimum, part of a national solution. What do I mean by that? Bringing all adults to the equivalent of a sixth-grade reading level would generate an additional $2.2 trillion in annual income for the country, and save between $106–$238 billion in health care costs. We can do better. Good night and good luck. 

Saturday, August 5

Reading Early Reviews: Third Wheel

I was having lunch on Balboa Beach when I received the review notification for my debut novel, Third Wheel, from Kirkus Reviews. A mist was over the water, and a dead seagull washed up in the surf. It didn't seem like the best of omens.

My daughter encouraged me to load the review anyway, a daunting task with only one service bar on my phone. She was amused to see me a little nervous and reassured me it was a good book. I shrugged. She had only read two chapters. 

Maybe I should have let it load in the parking lot. Maybe I should have just forgotten about it and enjoyed the view. I might have if it wasn't for the seagull. I already had two early reviews, both positive. And you know the old saying: Two in the pot is better than one caught in a tug of war between the sea and sand.

"Writers aren't supposed to care about reviews, anyway," she mused. She would say that. She's an artist.

Writers don't care about reviews, do we? Yes and no. You get good ones. You get bad ones. It's easy enough to weather reviews nine months down the line as readers express their impressions. It's a little harder to ignore the early editorial reviews ahead of a launch — you kind of need them to give your book lift on the front end.

My first editorial review came from the OnlineBookClub. I had steeled myself through the first paragraph, which is almost always a revised description before the hammer. You hold your breath for paragraph two.

"Third Wheel by Richard R. Becker is an exhilarating story... I rate the book five out of five stars." — OnlineBookClub 

I could breathe easy after that, insomuch as anyone can when there are still two or three more due. The second one was from Readers' Favorite. I wasn't sure what to expect because my debut book, 50 States, received a rave review, but only four stars there. 

"The best part is the way Becker’s storytelling technique incorporates realistic characters and subplots into a vivid story that is as engaging as it is thought-provoking. Becker deserves plaudits for the effort that went into creating this book and I enjoyed reading it." — Readers' Favorite

With reviews like this, my daughter was probably right. Don't worry about it, not even if the seagull washes right up to our newly purchased beach blanket. So I turned the phone over and then looked again anyway.

"A dark and skillful teenage crime novel with plenty of heart."Kirkus Reviews 

The review went several steps further, praising the prose and my my handling of a challenging protagonist. The verdict was to get it. It's a good book. I took screenshots and sent them to my wife anyway, asking if it was a good review. She smiled at the reviewer referencing John Hughes movies (except darker and more nihilistic) because there's some truth to it. We all lived like that in the 80s. I'll take it.

So my daughter and I decided to celebrate in our own way, dashing across town to catch a mere six innings of a Los Angeles Dodgers game against the Toronto Blue Jays. My book, Third Wheel, fared better than they did. They were trounced. 

Third Wheel will be released on Aug. 21, 2023. Members of Goodreads can enter a giveaway ahead of the release, with winners announced one day after. If the contest goes well, there may be another. Thank you for all the support!

Interested in exclusive content? Rich has a newsletter for that! Sign up here for Scraps

Friday, July 14

Comparing Customer Service: A Tale of Two Experiences

About four months ago, we bought a Whirlpool range from RC Willey. After a few weeks of use, the oven's computer board inexplicably rendered the oven inoperable. No big deal. These things happen, and it's under warranty.

Except, Whirlpool currently has a parts issue. The technicians could not get the needed parts, and Whirlpool was unable to provide an estimate of when these parts would be available. So we cooked on the stovetop and used a slow cooker for a few days. Then it became a few weeks.

After a month, with no foreseeable repair in the future, my wife decided to call RC Willey. She didn't expect a solution but wanted them to know about the issues related to selling Whirlpool products. RC Willey wouldn't have it. They immediately sent out a new range so we wouldn't have to wait anymore. 

Wow. That's customer service. And this is why we shop at RC Willey. 

Earlier this year, I was introduced to Pixellot, which focuses on AI-automatic video and analytics for sports. As a high school softball coach, I was interested in capturing player performance during games. 

Pixellot talks a good game. Even though their AI sports camera is not available for softball, they said they could set me up with a stationary camera solution with multiple angles and their VidSwap application. 

It was a pricey proposition with a three-year lease, but I decided to give it a go — even when they told me the analytics portion was not included in the camera lease. No big deal. I was already sold that this could somehow be better than a GoPro. It wasn't. 

For two months during the high school season, I lugged three heavy suitcases and two tripods to the fields. The setup of two angles took about 20 minutes (not five minutes, as I was told), plus an additional 20 to 30 minutes for the system to boot up and establish a connection (when it established a connection). On two occasions, the cheap plastic mounts that connected heavy metal cameras to heavy metal extension arms broke. The wind took the system out twice, one time blowing the tightly clamped arm clean off the fence and another time knocking over a tripod. 

Their software lacked too. It required me to strip my iPad of most other apps and content (to free up space for the footage), which would then be uploaded to the VidSwap platform. Overall, the capture-transfer success rate was about 20 percent with one angle and 0 percent with two angles. 

The first time I decided to leave Pixelott behind and film a game using my GoPro (and extended battery pack), it was a relief. I knew I would never unpack the Pixelott equipment again. I zip-tied the suitcases.

While Pixelott wouldn't hold me to the lease beyond the first year (I was still in the trial phase when I canceled), they weren't interested in extending any refunds on the unused analytics portion of the contract. I didn't expect it, but their explanation lacked. When I purchased the analytics, they charged me as an individual. But when considering the refund, they claimed the purchase belonged to my school. It also took a month to receive refund labels, which didn't correspond to the equipment I had to send back.

Wow. That's not customer service. And this is why I have nothing good to say about Pixellot. 

As owners and managers, we must always remember that customer service is a choice that directly corresponds to the choices that customers make in the future. More than that, it directly corresponds to what we tell other customers, too, and the overall reputation and brand of the company. Choose wisely. 

Thursday, May 11

Writing Books: Third Wheel As A Debut Novel


Great news!
I've set August 21, 2023, as the release date for my debut novel, Third Wheel. It's a coming-of-age story about a boy trying to find his identity by taking chances on random and fragile relationships forged in the early boomtown years of Las Vegas, 1982.

The teenage protagonist Brady Wilks is an outcast as a Midwest transplant, who forges a brotherly bond with an older teenage neighbor, Mick, and his friend, Brett. When Brett unexpectedly moves away, Mick invites a new kid into their pack, squeezing out the last remnants of their childhood in favor of a new world laced with cartel-supplied drugs and the deal of a lifetime. The path brings Brady face to face with the darker side of Las Vegas at a time when cartels, corporations, and the mob were in the midst of a power struggle (even though it is not a mob story).

Sure, the protagonist brushes up against organized crime, but the novel is more about belonging, betrayal, and breaking away from the paths laid before us. The grittier elements serve as a backdrop and something I know a little bit about. While the novel is fictitious, Wilks and I share a few experiences.  

Specifically, I also moved to Las Vegas from the Midwest in the late 70s/early 80s. I also had similar challenges at home and struggled to adapt to life on the fringe of a transient town known for adult entertainment.

Las Vegas as a backdrop

This isn't the Las Vegas that most people think about when they think of Las Vegas, which is why I always felt living here was paradoxical. In 1982, this town was much smaller, maybe 200,000 people, and most of them lived in a California-esque desert suburbia, but with slot machines in their grocery stores and minimal family activities outside of what kids could come up with on their own.

For teens, The Strip and Downtown Las Vegas were more akin to a drive-by experience. We would cruise Downtown Las Vegas and The Strip, stopping only long enough to eat at a buffet, see a show (the few that would let us in), or visit the carnival midway at Circus Circus or Omnimax at Caesars Palace. Sure, sometimes we would see how much we could get away with in the far more famous areas of the city, but mainly we caused our trouble well away from tourists. 

Suffice to say, the famous landmarks and locales are barely blips in this book but still provide the fabric for what life was like in a small town stuffed into a big city envelope. And yes, we all knew who ran it. But mostly, in this book, with the exception of a quick trip to the naked city, casino resorts are only part of the distant skyline, which is mostly how it was when I was growing up too. 

Third Wheel is in production

Behind the scenes, the second proof copy of Third Wheel has been ordered and I am in the process of submitting the manuscript for a few early reviews. Then, after another pass on the proof, we'll format the book for various distributors. 

Currently, Third Wheel preorders are available via Amazon Kindle. But like my first book, 50 States, Third Wheel will be available everywhere books are sold and libraries (as it has a Library of Congress control number). I will also have copies of the book on hand in August, making it easier for readers to purchase a signed copy rather than trying to connect after the purchase. 

There are two ways to read a sneek peak of the first chapter. The first chapter of Third Wheel doubles as a short story in Ten Threads, which is my ten-story companion to 50 States. And, closer to August, I will share a private link to the first chapter via my newsletter. A few months after publication, I'll also share a few additional bits related to Third Wheel in the newsletter, including how to discover its secret music playlist and a reference that grounds it in the 50 States universe. 

That's all the news that's fit to print right now, except I have a new biosite if you prefer to connect with me somewhere else. The only social network not listed on the biosite is Mastadon. I'm still kicking the tires there, much like Gettr and MeWe. Hope to see you around. Good night, good luck, and thanks for taking an interest.

Thursday, April 6

Winning Awards: 50 States Earns Its Fourth Honor


A few weeks ago, 50 States was honored with a 2023 Book Excellence Award. Out of thousands of books entered in this competition, 50 States was selected for its high-quality writing, design, and overall market appeal in the category of short stories. You can find its listing here

This isn't the first award 50 States has earned. It won first place for short stories in the Spring 2022 BookFest Awards; first place in the ABR Book Excellence Award for literary fiction, psychological thriller, and short stories; and was named a finalist in the IAN Book Of The Year Awards. 

For me, the honor isn't one of achievement as much as real affirmation. Debut authors tend to read all the reviews. Some are flattering. Some, not so much. And although we all know the score — even the best literary works in history have their 1-star critics — it's nice to see the work resonated with someone, somewhere. And in this case, it's nice to know that the first award wasn't a fluke or happy accident. Lightning might strike twice, but not four times. 

Writing 50 States 

When I first set out to write 50 States, it was never about winning awards. It was a two-year project to teach myself how to write for myself instead of everybody else — something I've done for more than 30 years (and still do today). As a teaching tool, 50 States has been invaluable to me — both in writing the stories and in marketing what most book publishers will tell you is a hard sell. 

Right. A collection of multi-genre short stories isn't on anybody's reading list (until it is). Fortunately, I've found readers anyway — with more than 2,000 copies sold to date (and counting). It's the kind of sales that propels you to push forward and finish work on your debut novel, especially when you are only a few months away — the editing complete, blurb written, and book cover finalized.

Writing a novel is something I would have never been able to do without 50 States and its brisk 10-story companion, Ten Threads. This is doubly true because one of the stories in Ten Threads was the springboard for it, just as 50 States will be the springboard for most, if not all, of my subsequent novels.

Plainly stated, the stories that make up 50 States might stand alone, but there is more to share about each of them. I think about them all the time. What will happen to the Idaho farmer who aches for absolution after a tragedy and is given one more chance at redemption? What about Liam Olsen? Will he ever know what is going on at the nightmarish government biohazard area in Utah he and his girlfriend stumbled into? Do my Maine characters, Billy and Jessica, ever find common ground after spending several years apart in two different worlds, with him never leaving home but her living in New York? Or, more importantly: When, where, or how deeply will all the stories inside 50 States interconnect?

They will, eventually. And it all starts with 50 States.

Finding 50 States

50 States was released by Copywrite, Ink. in January 2022, when it broke into the top 100 bestsellers for literary fiction short stories on Amazon for three consecutive months. It has found itself there, on and off, several times, even breaking into the top ten on one occasion. 

As a collection, it's perfect for readers with fifteen minutes or so to read a single story. A few have told me they like to read a few stories from 50 States when they're between novels. It's a good idea, given that so many stories qualify as dark literary fiction, regardless of genre.

You can still find 50 States anywhere books are sold. Ten Threads is a Kindle exclusive. Most sales seem to happen on Amazon, but you can order a copy from Barnes & Noble, Books A Million, or elsewhere. There are even several indie bookstores that have signed copies in stock. I've given them shoutouts here and on Facebook. The audiobook edition can be found on Audible and iTunes. It's read by Emmy-wining narrator Brian Callanan.

Tuesday, January 31

Writing Stories: Stranger Than Fiction

There is a childhood punishment that the protagonist of my debut novel describes in my forthcoming debut novel. One of the beta readers didn’t like it. She called it silly, disbelieving it would ever happen.


The irony is that I borrowed it from real life. No, the novel isn’t real life. It’s a work of fiction. But as most writers will tell you, we all draw on real people or events, especially those that leave physical, emotional, or psychological imprints on our lives. 


How else does one write straight, honest prose about human beings? Some of us look backward while writing forward, weaving the past into the present — even if we’re implanting the event on someone we made up, asking ourselves the whole time how the character might respond to it differently than we did. Sometimes they do. Sometimes they don’t.


This is where it can sometimes be tricky as a writer. We borrow bits of this and that from our lives and reshape them into something else for other people to experience until it isn’t our experience anymore, but someone else’s entirely, someone we made up. And this is why I sometimes offer a cautionary whisper to those who might remember actual events before they read my work. It’s not them or me or you or that or what happened, I tell them. Because, well, it isn’t any of that. Except in this case, maybe. 


The childhood punishment I’m talking about really happened, and it happened to me. It was so real, in fact, I spent the better part of my twenties believing I deserved it, coping with it and other psychological abuses as a sort of joke. How bad of a kid was I? I was so bad …


When I finally had my own kids, I stopped telling the joke. It was no longer funny as I realized it was a punishment that I could never prescribe on my kids or any kids, for that matter. There wasn’t any infraction worthy of such a punishment or even the threat of it — which four more children endured while growing up until it became a thing of legend. 


The punishment I’m talking about sounds familiar to most people. It was a room restriction, common enough that The Atlantic wrote about it like a rite of passage among previous generations. Some still argue that “grounding” can be effective. Maybe so. Except for mine, maybe. 


My grounding wasn’t a weekend or week, as some might have experienced. It was a month, with the real caveat being that everything interesting was removed from my room — books, games, papers, pencils, etc. The circumstances didn’t make sense either, as it had very little to do with anything I did but a demonstration of unchecked authority. She had told me there would be consequences, so she had to follow up. 


The consequence for putting one dish out of the dishwater away dirty was a month-long restriction. I didn’t doubt her. Past experiences had always convinced me she meant business. So I did what any preteen would do. I slowly, carefully, and meticulously inspected every dish while putting them away. And I felt true terror when she came in to inspect the work, slowing and randomly looking over glasses and plates and silverware. 


I was so very careful, but it was there anyway. There was a water spot on one of the knives. The declaration of its finding was so fierce that it alone would have taught me a lesson, assuming there was one to teach. But it didn’t stop there, couldn’t stop there. 


The consequence had already been outlined. I would be placed on room restriction for a summer month, only allowed out to use the bathroom and for meals.


I was so angry that it never occurred to me that I couldn’t see the offending water spot, nor could I discern whether it was the knife I had put away or some other that she had plucked from the drawer. What did occur, I learned later in life, is that she had triggered a fight or flight response, and I always tended to be a fighter. 


I made a cavalier proclamation that I didn’t care about her punishment or authority. I would take my punishment like a champ, shut myself off from her wickedness, and read, draw, and play games until my vacation from her ended. Tut tut. Lay it on me. 


That’s when she delivered what amounted to a left hook I never saw coming. She told me I was too smart for my own good, so all those things would be taken out of my room too. I would be left in there with nothing except my bed, clothes, and a window to look out of from the elevated first story of our apartment. It overlooked a pond. 


Sometimes my son and daughter ask me what I did for that month. They are especially perplexed because, nowadays, a cell phone restriction can be more impactful than banishment to a room ever seemed to be. From what I remember, and I blanked a good part of it, I imagined things. 

The protagonist in the novel, on the other hand, never says. He only mentions it as an illustration of circumstance, given the book isn’t about abuse. Any psychological abuse is only a subplot, a mechanism to help people understand the boy in relation to other events in the story. 


Even so, I sometimes hope its presence in the story sparks conversation about it as it did with one of my beta readers. When people hear or talk about abuse, the word conjures images of physical or sexual abuse before emotional abuse or neglect, but those things exist too. And the wholesale destruction of someone’s self-worth carries consequences that take even longer to heal. 


If you know of someone who needs help or if you need help yourself, Childhelp can put you in touch with local resources in your area. Aside from that, let’s have a conversation. Stories help people learn they are not alone, even when they sound stranger than fiction. 

 

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