Showing posts with label Dr. Bob Rich. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dr. Bob Rich. Show all posts

Thursday, April 4, 2013

An Interview with Dr. Bob Rich!!

Where are you from?


I live in Australia, in a place of beauty with lovely mountains. The city of Melbourne is far enough to be ignorable, but close enough that I can go there when I need to (as seldom as possible).



You're a psychologist and mudsmith! Tell us a little about those interesting facts.


You can read all about that at http://bobswriting.com/bobrich.html

Because I am a conservationist and like recycling, this is actually the introductory part of my short story collection "Through Other Eyes" http://bobswriting.com/othereyes.html

A mudsmith is a person who crafts buildings from mud. A psychologist is a catalyst for inner change. You are suffering? I can't fix you up, but can show you how you can do it for yourself.



How did you like the writing challenge? Have you done anything like that before?


I cheated. :) The story "Duck" is actually one of the 26 in "Through Other Eyes." But yes, I have done things like that when I had the time to enter short story contests.

Short stories are a great discipline, and an excellent way to improve writing. I have three collections published. "Through Other Eyes," "Striking Back from Down Under" http://twilighttimesbooks.com/StrikingBack_ss1.html and "Bizarre Bipeds" http://bobswriting.com/bipeds.html

They are very different collections, but all were fun to write.



Have you ever been to any writing conventions, conferences, etc? How was that experience?


No I haven't, only the online Museitup conference, about 3 times. I offered courses in writing. It's a lot of work, but worthwhile.



What inspired you to write your first book?


From 1980 on, I had a byline column in a wonderful magazine, "Earth Garden" http://www.earthgarden.com.au

You see, when I started to build my house, I was certified and licensed as the most impractical person on the planet. So, I worked as a builder's laborer in whatever field I wanted to learn about. For example, I worked with a carpenter, installing timber floors. Then I did it for myself in my budding house, and wrote it up for the magazine.

By 1984, I was teaching a course on building. I wrote a letter to Keith Smith, the publisher of "Earth Garden," suggesting the two of us could write a book together. He'd already had 8 published titles. I posted the letter, then checked my PO box. In there was a letter from Keith, with the same suggestion. So, it was meant to happen, and did, after 2 years of work.

That was the first edition of the "Earth Garden Building Book: Design and build your own house" http://mudsmith.net/builcont.html The fourth edition is still in print.



Do you have a specific writing style?


Yes, mine. Well, "Duck" is a good example.

I want my language to be invisible. Writing can scream, "Look how clever I am! Admire me!" Or it can do a job so well that you don't even notice the words. They are the medium, not the message. The first is Literary. The second is readable. :)

For this reason, when I write:

·      I use the minimum number of words that will do the job.

·      I'll say, "He climbed the stairs" rather than "He ascended the stairs" -- the most common available word is the best, except to avoid repetition.

·      I keep to the simplest syntax I can, again without falling into a repetitious, boring pattern of sentences.

·      I avoid anything that will attract attention to the language rather than the message, such as repeating words.

·      In fiction, I avoid author intrusions. Everything is from the point of view of a character.

   All of this can be summarized by the motto of the Australian Army Engineers: K.I.S.S.: "Keep It Simple, Stupid."



How did you come up with the title?


My new release, "Ascending Spiral," http://bobswriting.com/ascending.html is about the journey of a particular soul through many lifetimes. The first one was perhaps 12,000 years ago, when that person was quite self-centered and not really aware of the welfare of others. Life after life, sometimes as a male, sometimes as a female, and on one occasion as neither but an intelligent plant, this person grew in wisdom and maturity, as we all do. The lives went round and round, usually going up, but often needing to go back in order to pay restitution for a mistake, but overall, upward toward being able to learn the ultimate lesson.

This is not because I believe in reincarnation. I don't believe in anything, being a scientist by training. Instead of believing, I look at the available evidence, and construct a tentative model of the universe. Well, the evidence supporting reincarnation is surprisingly robust. You don't need to believe what comes after death, any more than you need belief about the shape of the earth (it's flat, right?) or the causation of illness (it's a witchdoctor casting a hex, everybody knows that). If you're interested, look up Peter Ramster http://pastliferegress.blogspot.com.au/search/label/Past%20Life%20Regression%20Hypnotherapy and Jim Tucker http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jim_B._Tucker



Are experiences based on someone you know, or events in your own life?


You've sprung me. The book is a partial autobiography of my past 12,000 years.

Actually, everything a fiction writer produces is autobiography. Hemingway said, "Write what you know." We go through life, gathering raw material even if unaware of it, and combine it in many ways.

OK, the heroes of "Liberator," the main story in "Bizarre Bipeds" are little, have green skin, no head, and three arms and three legs. As far as I know, I have never been a person like that, but the story is autobiographical all the same. Their emotions, reactions to their situations, hopes and fears and joys and sorrows are that of any person, including me.



What books have most influenced your life most?


When I was in high school, I read every book in the school library, and every book in the public library. Reading was a joy, and an effective antidepressant. I've been a keen reader since. So, to give a proper answer would need a library catalog!

Part of my reading has been to study the Bible, the Koran, the Buddhist writings, Confucius, the Tao Te Ching, even Zoroaster. I did try the Hindu sacred texts but found them too complex to follow. I realized that they share a common body of wisdom, and you don't need to follow any religion to benefit from their teachings.

Actually, this wisdom is best summarized by something that is not religious: "Above all, do no harm," part of the Hippocratic oath all medical practitioners are supposed to work by. It's a good guide to all living.



What book are you reading now?


You think I have time to read for pleasure? I wish!

Actually, I have had a great deal of pleasure reading a series of very good books, as part of publicizing "Ascending Spiral." I have arranged review swaps with several writers I respect and even admire. So far, I haven't been disappointed, and my partners have posted very positive reviews. This is good, especially since none of these people will lie to please me or anyone else. You can read their reviews of my book, and my reviews of theirs by going to http://mudsmith.net/bobbing.html#reviews



Are there any new authors that have grasped your interest?


Sorry, haven't had time to seek them out. As I've said, I've been reviewing books by people I know write good stuff, and also I do a lot of editing, but that's not necessarily new writers, and if they are new, they are not necessarily good yet. My work is intended to move them in that direction.

One of the first writers I edited a book for was Max Overton, in the late 1990s. I have just finished reading his coming book, "We came from Konigsberg," as part of a review swap. It's a masterpiece. I flatter myself that I've had a part in helping him to improve his writing to the level he shows in this wonderful book. Keep an eye out for it.



What are your current projects?


As a counseling psychologist, I work with many suffering people. They come first. I am also currently editing a science fiction story for a lady. A major time investment is letting the world know about "Ascending Spiral."

In the background, taken out and lovingly continued when I have the time, is a story I started some years ago. Here is the start of the Preface:

A blind old gentleman was referred to me as a victim of crime. He and his old seeing-eye dog had both been beaten up by some teenagers.

You can’t do therapy with a person if you share their emotions; if their issue becomes personal for you. I needed to do something about my outrage.

So, on the evening after my first session with him, I started a story I could invest the emotion in. I invented old Sylvia, who witnessed a horrendous crime.

I thought the story would be one of just retribution, but... but once you create a character, that person comes to life. Sylvia had different ideas. The story has become one of compassion, and changing the unchangeable through love.

So, Sylvia has become dear to me, one of my teachers. I hope you will also make her special in your life, and learn from her.

I've now written a bit over 80,000 words, so am thinking about how to draw the various subplot lines to a close.



If you had to do it all over again, would you change anything in your latest book?


I did, over and over. I revise my work all the time. So, I don't think it's necessary any more.

There is one exception. I sent a copy to my daughter in Sydney. She found a typo in it: an "an" written as "and."

She takes after her father all right.

Anyone else who spots that same typo has earned a free copy of one of my books.



Do you recall how your interest in writing originated?



I started creative writing in order to avoid breaking my marriage vows. I was a student nurse, living in a nurses' home, and needed something to distract me from the hordes of young women around me. So, I wrote short stories instead.



Is there anything you find particularly challenging in your writing?


Finding the time for it.



Who is your favorite author and what is it that really strikes you about their work?


There are many favorites, but if I must choose one, it's Dick Francis. All his heroes start as ordinary-seeming people, who are then put into an unbearable situation, and cope. There is always a mystery element that is fun to solve. I am not interested in horse racing, and every book has that in it, but I can forgive Dick for the horsy bits because there is always some other specialty, impeccably researched, so I can learn while I am being entertained.



Do you have to travel much concerning your book(s)?


I travel as little as possible. We live on a planet with finite resources that have been over-used. Some years ago, humanity was consuming one and a half earths' worth of resources, and we only have one. Since then, the global economy has grown, so it's even worse.

Did you know that globally, we use more fresh water than falls on all the land areas combined? We are mining the aquifers. We are destroying the complexity of nature, and we are kept alive by the web of life.

So, I do my best to live as simply as possible. Above all, do no harm. Traveling does harm. I do it only when I must.



Who designed the cover?


My publisher, Victor Volkman, came up with the concept, and he has a favorite cover designer, Doug West, who actualized it.



What was the hardest part of writing your book?


Nothing really. Perhaps finding names for the minor characters. All the main characters came with names; I had nothing to do with choosing them. But I had to experiment with the walk-ons. For example, Amelia is one of the major characters. She is Amelia Margaret McQuade nee Poole, and that's a given. But in childhood she had a couple of friends, and I gave them three sets of names before settling on Ethel and Mary, simply because they were very common names for the times.



Did you learn anything from writing your book and what was it?


I learnt a great deal about Irish history of the 18th and 19th centuries. I already knew about the Viking times in Ireland and the Victorian era in Australia from previous writing.

Australian Aboriginals feature strongly in the story. While I already knew a fair bit about their pre-colonial culture, and the effect of the European invasion on them, I learned a lot more about these wonderful people.



Do you have any advice for other writers?


A lot of advice is archived at http://mudsmith.net/bobbing.html#writing Some is from me, some from other contributors to my newsletter Bobbing Around.

Perhaps the most important for beginning writers is to seek feedback. In the early days, I paid for the editing of three of my manuscripts, and learned lots from each. And don't be precious about your work. Praise doesn't teach you anything much. It's when someone picks up what you are doing wrong that you have an opportunity to improve.



Do you have anything specific that you want to say to your readers?


Go to http://bobswriting.com and enjoy the offerings. I hope lots of people will buy my books, particularly "Ascending Spiral," because I think that's my best to date.

I have a standing policy. Email me proof of purchase of any of my books, anywhere, in any format, and you get an electronic book for free.



If you could live anywhere, where would it be?


I lived for 33 years on a mountain of beauty and power, much of it in the house I built myself. Because nowadays I need a body transplant, my wife decided to export me, and I now live in the town nearby. I'd love nothing better than to return HOME.



If you could pick a super power, what would you choose?


To transform people ruled by greed, hate, resentment, self-pity and other negatives to becoming motivated by compassion and caring for others.

Not only would this make our world a great place to live in, but it's also the transformation necessary to allow humanity to survive.

If you want to understand what I mean, read "Ascending Spiral."

Sunday, March 31, 2013

Writing Challenge With Author, Dr. Bob Rich

Duck

Dr. Bob Rich

 

Harry noticed her as soon as he walked into the cozy dimness of the bar. A new bit of talent sat at one of the tables in the far corner. It was quite early yet, few of the guys were there, and nobody seemed to have latched onto her.

He did a slow slalom among the empty tables and stopped by her side. She was a blonde, maybe even natural, and looked nervous. Probably about thirty, though it was hard to tell in the indirect light. Nice tits, but then again you can’t tell when a girl is dressed, can you? He flashed the famous friendly smile. 

“Hi. Welcome to the pub. Can I buy you a drink?”

Her eyes measured his six-foot-two frame and managed to return the smile, though he could see it was an effort. “I’m… I’m not that used to alcohol. A shandy maybe?”

“Good. I’ll have the same, but if you don’t mind I’ll leave the lemonade out.”

Well, that got a laugh. He fetched the drinks, a beer for himself, the adulterated version for the chick, and sat down on the next chair, at right angles to her.

“Thank you,” she said, “I guess we’d better introduce ourselves.”

“I’m Harry Tompiere.” He spelt it out, knowing from long experience that otherwise people never got it right.

“I’m Midge Martin. At least, I’ve gone back to that.”

Harry was quick. “You’re divorced, are you?”

“It’s a happy anniversary today: we split up exactly a year ago. That’s why I thought I’d celebrate. This is the first time I’ve gone out since then. I’ve… I’ve decided I’m ready for a new start.”

“Good for you. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. You got any kids?”

“No, that was part of the reason we had problems. He fired blanks, and wouldn’t hear of raising someone else’s kid, and I want children.”

“Oh, there are too many people anyway, aren’t there?” He laughed, to show he was only teasing, but she changed the subject.

“And tell me about yourself, Harry. What do you do?”

Harry finished his beer and leaned back. “Most people think that question means your occupation. There’s nothing wrong with mine, I’m an electrical engineer. But I do that only to make money. What I do is to hunt.”

 Her face froze over. “You mean, you kill animals?”

“Well, they do taste delicious. Do you eat meat?”

She was silent for a little while, then admitted, “Yes.”

“Yeah, what you eat is poor animals raised in slavery, then killed in an impersonal way. I’m a hunter. I care for nature, do things to ensure that conditions are right for the prey species. And it’s more honest than leaving it to some butcher.”

She looked up at him with a defiant look on her face. “Dress it up however you like, you get enjoyment from killing. That’s wrong.”

“No it’s the natural condition of…”

“Fair go, Harry, I heard you out.”

“OK, go on then.”

“What do you hunt?”

“Whatever is in season. Foxes and rabbits are vermin, I hunt them any time. Deer ducks, feral pigs…”

“All right, Harry. Imagine, you’re this deer, a beautiful creature minding his own business, happily eating, being with your kind, out in a forest where you belong. And then suddenly something completely beyond your understanding happens, and a great pain blasts through your body. You turn to run as you hear the bang, but collapse after a few steps.”

Her face glowed, and she looked far prettier when angry than when she was apprehensive.

But Harry had lost interest. A bang in the bedroom wasn’t worth a constant argument about a bang in the bush. So, when he saw Tom and Jim barge in from the street, he waved them over. “Fellas,” he said, “let me introduce you to this lovely lady.”

He soon made his excuses and left them to it. “I need an early night,” he explained, “I’ve got to get up before dawn. Tomorrow is the first day of the duck season.”

But of course he didn’t go to bed, no point to do it alone. Wasn’t there a party at Jack and Judy’s place?

***

First shot of the season! Harry smoothly tracked the huge cloud of birds clattering off the lake, but shifted target with a gasp. One mallard rising from the grassy edge was twice the size of any other, though it had the duller female coloring. He’d never seen a duck that big!

He tracked the monster duck smoothly, then squeezed the trigger. He saw feathers scatter: a hit, but the great bird didn’t fall. 

Unbelieving, he watched it change into a large, thin grey sheet that formed itself into a strange curve. Bright colors chased one another across its surface: brown and black swirls that changed momentarily into yellow, as it volplaned after each feather in turn. Within seconds, the giant mallard reappeared, and was again spiraling down towards the grass.

Harry blinked and shook his head. He must have imagined it. Too much piss at the party last night? “Fetch!” he called.

Slinky reached the mallard just as she touched the ground. There was an indistinct grey melee ¾ then bitch and duck were both gone. Disappeared.

I’m going crazy! Harry thought. He walked over and stopped a few steps from where they should have been. There was absolutely nothing to see but waving blades of ryegrass, clover in flower, paspalum, cooch, the same as everywhere else. Except, Slinky’s neckband lay there on top of the grass.

I’ll be buggered. He stepped forward onto solid-seeming grass to have his boots slip on something slimy. He landed with a thump, the gun flying from his hands.

The grass instantly rose into an oozy grey mound, enfolding his feet, his legs, flowing along his body with great rapidity. Terror stretched time, so that he saw every detail as the grey tide engulfed him, as an incredible pain started in his feet, flared along his shins, his thighs, his innards. Within a second, he’d been consumed by a fire, a supernova of agony. His mouth was still opening for the scream he’d never have time to make when his heart was eaten, when his dimming eyes saw the rising river of greyness swallow his head. Then, mercifully, his brain was gone too.

Having consumed dog and man, the grey jelly had grown to many times Its previous size. It formed a seven foot high standing egg shape, covered in purple and green swirls, the color of repletion. After a loud click It disappeared.

The mussed grass held no clue other than Harry’s few scattered belongings: his clothes, the gun, ammunition pouch, the backpack (but with the lunch gone), his sturdy boots. Oh, and Slinky’s neckband.

***

The Earth circled the Sun, and the Moon circled the Earth. Several bits of man-made junk also orbited the Earth, but there was nothing else around.

And then, suddenly, the interstellar vehicle appeared, neatly hidden beyond the far side of the Moon. Several cubic kilometers of space was occupied by a bewilderingly complex network of glistening ovoid shapes of varying sizes, joined by tubular ooze passages.
Eight Beings waited for the Captain in the Conference Module. Katloi felt both nervous and proud at having been chosen for the initial reconnaissance. From their rapidly changing bright colors and the animated waving of pseudopoda, obviously the other seven felt similarly.

Tading oozed over to Katloi, Its shape a tall cylinder. It was covered with a mixture of colors: bright green and yellow stripes indicating excitement, the red of laughter below, but with flashes of brown and black swirls breaking through. That was the color of fear. It sent out a stream of pseudopoda, signaling, “If only we knew a little more!”

“Then we wouldn’t need to go,” Katloi answered. “From their electronic emissions, we know they’re primitive enough to kill their own species, and that they have distance weapons. So, they’re dangerous.”

“Of course. But what about the chemistry of the planet?”

“It’s a water and oxygen world.”

“Sure, but their DNA, is it right or...”

The valve from the Command Module dilated, and the Captain oozed through. Tading stopped in mid-sign.

The eight scouts formed a line facing It. Each assumed a smooth ovoid shape, and became the snow-white of receptivity.

Showing the pink and orange swirls of declamation, the Captain signed, “My friends, I won’t understate the risk. You’ve seen the evidence, just like I have. We are sure the simpler of the radio-wave emissions are designed to be translated into atmospheric vibrations, hard as that is to believe. However, the more complex message format seems to represent vision as well as this exotic sense-modality. On the basis of our decoding, we know what they look like. They are locked into a fixed shape. Somehow, they bear their weight on two stalks, we think by having a hard internal framework.

"These Beings are on the cusp of achieving space travel. Already they’ve sent primitive devices through their planetary system. And we suspect they are dangerous. So beware, don’t risk yourselves. But even more important, under no circumstances must they detect your extra-planetary origin. You need to go, in order to find out just one thing: the accuracy of their broadcasts. Are there any comments or questions?”

There were none. “Connect up to your translocators, and good luck.”

Katloi’s pre-programmed point of arrival was near a large population center, but far enough from it for an almost certain unobserved materialization. On finding Itself on the planet, Katloi assessed Its surroundings, and spread out to exactly imitate the ground cover: a mixture of soft-bodied green plants. The only disadvantage of being this low was that It could see little. 

Therefore, It extended a stalk that almost immediately became a miniature copy of nearby brown shanked, green foliated tall plants.
The yellow light of the primary shone on blue water. Motile Beings half Katloi’s current size swam on the surface, waddled along the shore, or flew above it. Katloi studied them and assumed an experimental copy. 

It was no good, the thin downward stalks wouldn’t bear Its weight. It oozed toward the water, maintaining the shape, until It was among the strange Beings. As several rose into the air, Katloi saw their flying mechanism. Two airfoil cross-section articulated limbs were covered with frondy extrusions. Achieving such a complicated shape took time and considerable effort, but soon Katloi was soaring among the smaller shapes. It was pleased at having achieved a suitable, motile camouflage. Its next task was to find one of the dominant Beings. It landed.

And by great good fortune, one was just approaching. It was using a similar form of locomotion to that of the flying Beings when on the ground, so in this regard the decoding of the transmissions was accurate. A smaller Being accompanied It, on four stalks.

The smaller Being rushed forward. It had a sort of elongated lump sticking out in front of the leading pair of weight bearing stalks. A wide gap at the forward edge of this lump opened and closed several times. Katloi deduced It was making atmospheric vibrations to frighten the flying Beings, because they rose in panic. Wishing to blend in, Katloi accompanied them.

Without warning, swift metal pellets blasted through Its body. Not only did this cause great pain, but several components of Its body were separated off by the attack. It retrieved scattered components. Angry, hurt, disoriented, It resumed camouflage and landed.
The smaller Being attacked. Katloi defended, and got a nice surprise.

***

Katloi was the first to return. It materialized, then separated from Its machine. The Captain was alone within the module. When It noticed Katloi, It turned a bright orange, the color of eager anticipation, as Katloi gathered Itself. “Tell me. How did you go?” the Captain signed.

Katloi swiftly rose into a respectful oval. “Respectability, I have good news. They taste delicious!”


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