Tag Archives: J. Boyce Gleason

Confessions of a Junior Beatle

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On the heals of selling a million copies of “I Want to Hold Your Hand” the Beatles flew from Heathrow Airport to JFK on February 7, 1964 to officially begin the “British Invasion” of American pop-culture.  Three thousand adoring fans greeted their arrival.  Two days later, they appeared on the Ed Sullivan Show, pulling in the largest television audience ever recorded (at that time) with 73 million viewers.

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Reporters panned their brash sound and critics spoke derogatorily about their long hair, as if it were a threat to their way of life (they may have had a point there).  Despite this, the “fab four,” as they were dubbed, drew mobs at their first U.S. concert gig at the Washington Coliseum one day later.

By April, twelve of their songs made the Billboard “Hot 100,” five of them held the top five slots.  Everywhere they appeared young women would weep and scream and swoon and (as bizarre as it sounds), chase them.  Seriously.  They would chase them – and if they caught them – they would try to rip off pieces of their clothing.  It was called, “Beatlemania.”

I was eight at the time.  And I was a Junior Beatle.

Now being a Junior Beatle was not some sort of traditional fan club sort of thing – where you send in your name to get a membership card and a signed photograph – it was a product of our own invention.  Four of us in the fourth grade: Donny O’Hagen, Rich Nalven, Michael Harrington and I, each channeled one of the fab four and performed every recess under the trees just outside the Todd School Gymnasium.

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I was John, Donny: Paul (only because he was left-handed), Rich: Ringo and Michael: George.  We each took our positions in exactly the same order as the real Beatles had appeared on the Ed Sullivan Show and sang the hell out of “I Want to Hold Your Hand,”  “Twist and Shout,”  “I Saw Her Standing There,” and “Do You Want to Know a Secret?”

None of us could play an instrument, but most of us could sing.  So, we air-guitared our way through every riff.  We shook our heads, our butts and sang the harmonies with all the requisite “Ooooo’s” and the screams and “yeah, yeah, yeahs.”

And like the Beatles, we were surrounded by girls.  At eight, I wasn’t sure this was such a good thing, but every recess we had a ready made-audience of 15 or so of my female classmates who would squeal their way through the entire set and chase us (I’m not making this up) all the way around Todd Field trying to kiss us and tear apart our clothes until we agreed to sing another song.  (If only I had used this lesson later on in life when it mattered!)

It didn’t end well.  My mom and the school administration didn’t like all that girl/boy stuff contaminating the fourth grade so they made us stop.  But for a brief and shining moment, we were Junior Beatles.  And it was glorious. Yeah.  Yeah.  Yeah.

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English 5

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Unknown

“Welcome to English 5.”  A small sardonic smile lit Professor Ermarth’s face, suggesting a deeper meaning than her words conveyed.  In the innocence of my youth, however, I ignored any instinct to run, took my seat in Sanborn House, and flipped open my college-lined, spiral notebook.

Every student at Dartmouth was required to take English 5, preferably in the first year of study.  And having a profound fear of writing, I figured I would stress less if I took the course fall term and got the requirement out of the way.  It was the first class I attended and seemed pretty tame until Professor Ermarth closed her book at the end of class. “Your first assignment, due Monday, is to write a five page paper on the first four chapters of Paradise Lost.”

Have you ever read Paradise Lost?  Not an easy thing to decipher, much less about which to write. Turns out, we had to write one paper each week.  The good news was, that if we didn’t like the grade we received, we had the option to rewrite the paper – as many times as we’d desired.  The only grade that would count would be the last version submitted.

Although anxious about the volume of writing, this sounded feasible to my seventeen-year old, virgin ears.  I spent the next few days deciphering the first four chapters of Paradise Lost, wrote my paper and called home to tell my folks that all was well.

And it was, until I got back the graded paper.  It was covered in ink.  Every sentence was edited – several times.  “Wrong word choice.” “This makes no sense.” “You already said this.”

I got a “D+” – not the way I planned to start my college career.

After a few bouts of despair, I took solace from the fact that others had received similar grades. I also knew I could rewrite the paper to receive a new grade. I already had another paper due, however, and from Ermarth’s comments on the first paper, it was clear the second paper wouldn’t fare much better than its predecessor.  I had to redraft my second paper as well as the first – and in those days we had to type everything on a typewriter that had no self-correcting features (we used liquid paper to cover our mistakes).  I put in a few late nights to catch up.

I got a “C-” on the rewrite and no grade on the second paper.

“What’s on the pages seems much ado about a small point, namely that the form of the work is a device to involve the reader.  This is true of any work in any language, and so in effect you say nothing in saying this.  The language isn’t bad, considering how hard it is to write well without an argument to develop…much of your argument here is merely assertion, which of course is no argument at all.”

Ermarth had given us the opportunity to suggest our grade.  I had given myself a B-.

“Your evaluation seems optimistic.”

I called home in a panic.  I was in over my head.  Even after my Dad’s pep-talk – “They wouldn’t have let you in if they didn’t think you could do the work.” – I wasn’t so sure.

I went back to writing, now with a new third paper and two re-writes behind it.  I began to think the professor was sadistic – until I realized that she had to grade every paper we submitted.  Okay, so I figured, maybe sadomasochistic.

I got to the point where I was writing or re-writing (and typing) a paper each night.  And I, who never had gotten a “C” in my life, was relieved to get a “C+” on any of my first drafts.

I rewrote the Lost paper five times (for an A-/B+, thank you).  I rewrote one on Camus’s The Fall four times (never choose an existentialist subject with an English professor) and was relieved to get away with a gracious C+.

Needless to say, English 5 did nothing to help my fear of writing. After ten weeks of sweating through paper after paper, I ended the term with an exhausting B+.  It was the last English class I took at Dartmouth. As you can imagine, I now consider this an enormous personal loss.  Dartmouth had some of the finest English professors (including Ermarth) on the planet.  More risk averse than I am today, I was foolish and cowardly to pass them by.

I still have a fear of writing, although it is less pronounced than it was during my freshman year at college.  I could not have imagined then, during those early autumn walks to class in Sanborn House, that I would wind up a writer. But, somewhere in the back of my mind, I must have had my suspicions.  There are only four files from my days at Dartmouth still in my writing desk.  Ermarth’s edits of my English 5 papers is one of them.

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Interview with Flashlight Commentary

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The following interview with me originally appeared January 21, 2014 on Flashlight Commentary (http://flashlightcommentary.blogspot.com).  Head shot 3

Welcome to Flashlight Commentary. To start things off, please tell us a bit about Anvil of God.

It is a story about what happens to the family of Charles the Hammer when he dies.  The power behind the Merovingian kings (recently made famous by Dan Brown’s Da Vinci Code) Charles wants to take the throne for his children.  Only one thing stands in his way.  He is dying.  He tries to bequeath the kingdom to his three sons and marry his daughter off to a Lombardy prince (to secure his southern border), but the only thing to reign after he dies is chaos.  Son battles son, Christianity battles paganism and his daughter must choose between love and her family’s ambition.

What inspired you to write this story?

I had studied Charlemagne in college and read the Song of Roland, an epic poem about one of Charlemagne’s greatest knights.  I remember thinking that it would the basis for a great novel. I always thought that if I were to write a novel, I would start there.  Years later when I finally decided to write it, I had to decide whether to follow the true history of Charlemagne and Roland or follow the legend. When I did the research, I fell in love with the history.

What research went into Anvil of God and did you discover anything particularly surprising while investigating the background material for you book?

Researching that period of history is a bit of a challenge.  There are very few sources that bring all the pieces together into one place.  I had to research Bavarian history, Alleman (German) history, Thuringian (Flemish) history, French history, Italian history, Church history.  Then, after I had put the timeline together, I struggled with where to start.  I couldn’t seem to find a good place. I kept moving back in time to discover something compelling that would capture my (and the reader’s) interest. I found that the story kept getting more interesting, the further back in time I moved.  I ended up so far back in time, that the Anvil doesn’t even mention Charlemagne – it is the story of his parents and the conflicts that led to the family’s rise to power.

What drew you to this particular period and why use it as the backdrop of your story?

One story in particular captured my interest.  Charles the Hammer’s daughter fled his court to find love amongst his enemies.  It was, according to some historians, the biggest scandal of the Eighth century.  How could that have come to pass?  How did they meet?  When did they fall in love? How did she get away?  How did she cross the continent on her own?  She must have been quite a character.  When I read her story, I knew I had found a place to start.

Another question from my research begged an answer.  I knew that Christianity had become the dominant religion on the continent (the Merovingian kings converted two centuries earlier), but so much of the Church history of that time period had to do with converting the pagans (and/or suppressing the pagans).  How could that be?  St. Boniface, who is a main character in the story, made his mark doing missionary work in what is now Germany and Bavaria.  If Christianity was so dominant, why was all that missionary work necessary?

That led me to make the conflict of religions (and the power associated with it) a key factor of the story.

The historic record for this period is sketchy at best. How did you approach composing a novel from a story with so many unknown elements? 

Actually, by writing the novel, I got to fill in the gaps.  I knew what happened, but I didn’t know why.  And you can’t understand why unless you figure out what motivates the people who shaped the history.  So, when you get down to it. Anvil is a story about a family. And by telling their story – what motivates them, and the choices they make – the history falls into place.  I didn’t try to write the history, I tried to tell the story of a family in crisis. Only this family’s choices affect an entire continent.

You probably have many, but is there one scene that you particularly enjoyed writing?

I enjoyed bringing to life a religion about which we know very little.  Having been raised in the Catholic Church, I was very familiar with the rites and prayers that surround that faith.  What rites and prayers would bring the pagan faith to life?  There is a scene about mid-way through the book with a sibyl that seemed to come out of nowhere for me.  It was so otherworldly, that I took great delight in writing it.

What scene posed the greatest challenge for you as an author?

The sex scenes were difficult, at first.  So much has been written about sex – and so much of it poorly – that I struggled with finding the right tone.  I didn’t want to have the characters kiss and then fade to black.  I felt like it was dishonest for me as an author to shutter such a big window into their characters.

But the language for sex has been so overdone, I agonized over the first scenes I wrote.  A writing professor eventually helped me out.  She said sex between two people is so intimate that people create their own language for it; they establish their own rituals. So, if you are writing about sex, it must be intimate to that character.  It must use language that that character would use.  Writing about sex should provide a unique insight into the character.  If you are writing to titillate you reader (or yourself for that matter) you are doing it for the wrong reasons.  After I understood that, it became easy.

Sometimes fiction takes on a life of its own and forces the author to make sacrifices for the sake of the overall story. Is there a character or concept you wish you could have spent more time with or expanded on? 

There were a lot of scenes that never made the final cut.  My problem, as an author, (or so my editors tell me) is that I like to tell ALL the story.  I take out the mystery.  You see the story from every perspective.  What they’ve taught me, is that sometimes it is better for the reader to wander around in the dark – just like the characters – to build some suspense for the resolution.

Fortunately, I have some good editors.  Unfortunately, some of my favorite scenes had to be cut.

If you could sit down and talk with one of your characters, maybe meet and discuss things over drinks, who would you choose and why?

I would love to meet Charles.  The man was a force of nature.  He literally conquered a continent and saved Christianity in Europe.  Bradius would be my second choice because his character is so complex. I’d love to see the world from his perspective – as painful as it is.   I’d also love to meet Sunni, but I doubt she would take time to bother with me.  She too was a force of nature and didn’t suffer fools lightly.

What do you hope readers come away with after reading your work?

I hope they put down the book and say “Wow!  What a great story.”  Then, I hope they say, “I can’t wait for Book II.”

Finally, what is next for you? Any new projects waiting in the wings?

I’m about halfway through Anvil’s sequel “Wheel of the Fates” which picks up the story two months after Anvil’s conclusion.  I’m also working on a novel that is somewhat closer to our timeframe and perhaps more familiar to readers.  It’s called “Sin of Omission.” It’s the not-so-pretty story of Ben Franklin as a young man.

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