Mark Knopfler, Rüdiger and Me

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I recently wrote a short story called Rudiger.  I titled it and created the main character, John Rudiger, based on emotions evoked by a song called "Rüdiger" by Mark Knopfler.   For those of you who don’t know him by name, Mark Knopfler is better recognized as the front man, guitarist and creative force behind the now disbanded rock group, Dire Straits.  "Rüdiger" is from Knopfler’s first solo album, Golden Heart.  "Rüdiger" has a haunting melody and soft backing instruments and vocals behind Knopfler’s trademark lead guitar and gravelly voice with lyrics that linger.

A link to Knopfler performing the song on YouTube in 1996, when it was released, is here: http://tinyurl.com/423d85w

The melody and pace of the song always called to mind the image of someone skulking around with something to hide.  For years I’ve thought of writing a story about a crook hiding out in the Caribbean from the authorities, and every time I thought about it the song, "Rüdiger," played in my head.  So, I wrote the story.

In it, John Rudiger is a fugitive financier living under an alias in the Caribbean, because he ran off with close to $100 million from his hedge fund ten years ago.  He's now down to his last $2 million.  Katie Dolan, a lawyer with the US Attorney's Office in New York, is sent to Antigua to try to get enough evidence to extradite Rudiger back to the US to stand trial.  Rudiger recruits her to help him retrieve $50 million of stolen bearer bonds he can’t get otherwise get out of a safe deposit box in New York.

Katie is no dope, and neither is Rudiger, and each one has to figure out who's scamming who as they work their plan to sneak the bonds out from under the nose of Charlie Holden, Katie's boss, the Assistant US Attorney in New York (a character reprised from my Wall Street novel, Bull Street), who's wise to both of them.

I enjoyed the characters and writing the story so much that I’m creating a series out of it, called the White Collar Crime Series.  Rudiger and Katie will be back, and other shady types will be introduced as well.  I hope you’ll give Rudiger a try.

Update: since I wrote this post I introduced a new short story about Rudiger, Rudiger Comes Alive. It's the prequel to Rudiger, about how Walter Conklin, wunderkind hedge fund manager who runs a $1 billion technology fund, gets stuck between his CFO cooking the books to draw in more investors, Charlie Holden on his trail to arrest him, and his wife Angela, who's never at a loss for (sharp) words. Leaving the country begins to seem like a viable option to him.

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Rudiger is a 10,000 word short story.

Read an excerpt from Rudiger

Buy Rudiger

Rudiger Comes Alive is a 13,000 word short story.

Read an excerpt from Rudiger Comes Alive

Buy Rudiger Comes Alive

Now Rudiger's subsequent adventures are available in the collection, Rudiger Stories.  And a Rudiger novel, Spin Move, takes Rudiger and Katie on a new jaunt from the Caribbean to Africa, Continental Europe and the UK.  I hope you'll give them a try as well.

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Buy Rudiger Stories: Buy US  Buy UK

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Read an excerpt of Spin Move



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To John Glenn and Mrs. Slocum

Today was the 50^th anniversary of John Glenn’s orbit of the earth, the first by an American. It was also the 50^th anniversary of the first story I recall ever writing. Mrs. Slocum, my fifth grade teacher at Mt. Tabor School, gave us the assignment to write an essay about Glenn’s historic spaceflight on that day. She wasn’t more specific than that—it just had to be about Glenn’s spaceflight. I remember pondering over what to write for a while without coming up with an idea, then started writing when Mrs. Slocum said we had 15 minutes left, putting down the only thing that came to mind.

It was a story about seeing Glenn sitting on the steps of the Mercury capsule, looking dejected (I’m sure I didn’t use that word). I asked him what was wrong and he told me he’d locked himself out of the space capsule and had no way to get back in, and no way to get home again. I told him not to worry and tossed him a skeleton key. He thanked me, unlocked the door to the capsule and went in. He waved to me through the window as he continued on his way, orbiting the earth and finally splashing down safely.

I remember walking home that afternoon with second thoughts about my “essay,” afraid I’d get in trouble. The Glenn flight seemed to be the only thing anybody talked about on the way home from school, all we talked about at dinner and the only thing on television that evening. I couldn’t get away from it, and kept thinking about Mrs. Slocum sitting in front of the TV watching Glenn on the news, reading our essays, getting to mine and saying to herself, “What’s this? This isn’t an essay.” I had visions of getting my story back the next day with a “C” (that was the worst I could imagine, never having gotten one that I can recall up to that point). I went to sleep thinking, “Oh, man. A ‘C,’ Mom and Dad are going to be mad.”

When I got to school the next day I was still anxious.  Mrs. Slocum went about our lessons the usual way, never referring to the essay on Glenn.  It wasn’t until after lunch that she handed them out.  I sat about halfway back in my row, and the wait was excruciating as the kids in front of me passed them back. When it arrived I was thrilled: an ‘A.’ Mrs. Slocum even mentioned my story to the class, saying she thought it was a clever approach or something like that. I took it home and proudly showed it to my Mom, who also thought it was great.

Mom saved it for years, every once in a while showing it to a neighbor.  Mrs. Hutchinson, as I recall, pretended not to have read the story when Mom showed it to her the second time. It got to the point that I started to cringe whenever Mom brought it up with one of the neighbors around. Even so, as I write this I remember thinking back to that story many times over the years as the first evidence that I might have the inclination to be a writer one day.

Vaccine Nation--In the Tradition

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My new thriller, Vaccine Nation, is a fast-paced action thriller designed to entertain, but it also explores the very real issues in the current debate over vaccine safety in the mandatory U.S. National Immunization Program.  The book is now available on Amazon for pre-order for delivery November 22^nd.  Please click on the book cover to order.

In Vaccine Nation, Dani North is a filmmaker who just won at the Tribeca Film Festival for her documentary, The Drugging of Our Children, a film critical of the pharmaceutical industry.  She’s also just started work on a new documentary on autism.  When a pharmaceutical industry vaccine researcher hands her smoking gun evidence about the U.S. National Immunization Program seconds before he’s murdered right in front of her, Dani finds herself implicated and pursued by the police.

Dani realizes what she’s been handed could have crucial implications on upcoming hearings by a Senate committee.  A key issue the Senate committee will consider is whether Congress should continue the immunity it granted in 1986 to the pharmaceutical industry for claims by parents on damage to their children from the U.S. National Immunization Program. That puts Dani on the run in a race to understand and expose the evidence.  That is, before the police can grab her, or Grover Madsen, a megalomaniacal pharmaceutical industry CEO, can have her hunted down by his hired killers.  Madsen knows exactly what Dani has and how explosive it is for the pharmaceutical industry: it has the potential to make the tobacco industry’s lawsuits and subsequent multi-billion dollar settlements seem like routine slip-and-fall cases.  Madsen uses all his company’s political and financial resources to track Dani.

The book’s pace is intended to be reminiscent of Six Days of the Condor (and the film it spawned, Three Days of the Condor), or Hitchcock’s North by Northwest.  The action of Vaccine Nation occurs over four breathtaking days.

The current debate in the U.S. on vaccine safety portrayed in the novel is real.  My primary inspiration for writing Vaccine Nation was my exposure to the vaccine debate through my fiancé’s work as a documentary filmmaker in the health-related field, including films on ADHD and related drugging of children, and on vaccines and autism.  The facts in Vaccine Nation are accurate, based on my exposure to them through Manette’s films and my own research.  People will find some of them shocking.  For example, in 1986, Congress granted immunity to the pharmaceutical industry for liability related to their vaccines for the National Immunization Program.  Vaccines in the childhood vaccination schedule contain toxic substances like aluminum, formaldehyde and the chemical compound in anti-freeze.  The flu shot still contains thimerosal, a preservative that is 49.6% mercury.

The controversy represented in Vaccine Nation surrounding the safety and side effects of vaccines, and vaccines’ suspected relationship to the autism epidemic are still real.  The debate on vaccine safety is ongoing and increasing: recent CDC statistics show that 10% of parents (up from 2% to 3%.) are avoiding or delaying vaccinating their children because of concerns about vaccine safety.

As such, Vaccine Nation is a dramatization of this debate, presented in the form of a thriller that will hopefully both entertain you and make you think.

Read first chapter of Vaccine Nation

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Vaccine Nation's Characters

I had a dream the other night about a Martian easing the door to our bedroom open from the adjoining guest bedroom. It got to the point I felt I had no choice but to go in there and confront him before he entered. I had to protect Manette; as I started to pull the door open I also realized that Superman was off dealing with some other emergency, so it was all up to me. I don't remember whether Styles was there, and I don't know if Martians are afraid of pitbulls. Styles isn't much of a watchdog anyhow, and we've never seen him attack anyone or anything (he chases squirrels, but we're convinced he wouldn't know what to do with one if he caught up to it), although I like to think that if he saw Poppy in hand-to-hand combat with a Martian that he'd rise to the occasion and help me out. As I stepped around the moving door, my heart pounded. I awoke, gasping, to Manette shaking me and calling my name.

In a way it was refreshing, because I've been living--and sleeping--with the characters from Vaccine Nation, my upcoming thriller, all summer. I conked out on the sofa in the library the other day, and, half asleep, told Manette, "I need to get some drackume from Dani's ducks." She thought it was so funny she wrote it down on a blue post-it and stuck it to the top of the kitchen island. I saw it when I came down the next morning for my run, vaguely remembering it, and certain Manette didn't understand the profound significance of the words. Whatever.

Now it's fall and Dani North, Grover Madsen, Hunter Stark and Richard Blum are still inhabiting my brain. I've spent the last three days grinding through my editor's line-edits on Vaccine Nation. Now the hard part comes, muscling through his broader comments. That will involve reworking or completely rewriting key scenes, manipulating some plot elements, and, most importantly, pulling things out of the characters. I say pulling things out, because at this point I can't make anything up about them, or change them, because they are who they are, as evidenced by their visitations--waking and sleeping--throughout the summer. Tomorrow I'm heading up to the weekend house in Milford to isolate myself with them for 12 to 16 hour workdays. I still have things to record about their pasts. They need to tell me more about their passions. They need to reveal more of what their souls ache for and why. They have to show me why you should care about them as much as I do.

I'll be back when I'm done.

Read a sample of Vaccine Nation

Hank Lender's Photographic Legacy

"The Man in White"
Copyright 2005 by Herman J. Lender

Dad was an accomplished man on many levels, including having a good sense of humor.  I was with him when Dr. Kimmel, his cancer surgeon, visited him the night before his final surgery.  The odds weren't good, and one of Dr. Kimmel’s final comments was that Dad’s chances of survival were, "miniscule."  After Dr. Kimmel left, Dad said, "Well, at least I don't have to worry about running out of money."

Then he got serious.  He made a rueful comment about "all this knowledge" he'd accumulated, and that it would pass on with him.  Dad seemed to be interested in just about everything—classical music, photography, opera, The Beatles, bread baking, gardening, finance, running; the list is endless—and after high school was totally self educated.  We talked about his legacy and I made the point that the knowledge he accumulated, his interest in things, and his intense approach to learning about them was something that would be carried on through his four sons and all his grandchildren.  Ironically, one thing we didn't talk about was his photography, a life-long interest of his.

Copyright 2005 by Herman J. Lender

My brothers and I grew up hearing about Leicas, Nikons, Hasselblad's, telephoto lenses, light meters and f-stops.  Dad built basement darkrooms in each of the three houses in Mt. Tabor we lived in growing up, then another in New Canaan after I went off to college.  We all experienced the magic of going into the darkroom with Dad and watching under a dim yellow bulb as Dad's 35mm black-and-white images appeared in the developer bath.  He taught us how to pick up a photo from the developer bath by the corner with the plastic tweezer, let it drain, then dunk it in the fixative, then in the water bath.  Sometimes I detect a scent that reminds me of those chemicals and it always takes me back to those days.

After Mom died a year ago, we went through all of Mom and Dad's things to close up her apartment.  They had tons of his framed prints on the walls and stacked in boxes in the closets; they’re still sitting in my attic because my brothers and I haven't finished divvying them up.  Most of Dad's 35mm negatives and his color slides are upstairs in their house at Twin Lakes.  But after we closed up Mom's apartment, I put all of Dad's digital collection—he converted to digital in 2000—on 16 GB USB flash memory drives and sent one to each of my brothers.  So that's another part of Dad's legacy we can all carry on.

Copyright 2005 by Herman J. Lender

The cover photos for all three of my books—Trojan Horse, The Gravy Train and Bull Street—are Dad's.  Dad's originals are presented here, before I cropped and Photoshopped the first two so the lettering would stand out on the covers.  Most think the pictures are of Wall Street, which was the image I intentionally tried to evoke based on the content of my books, but they're actually of Second Avenue and the 59^th St. Bridge, taken from the balcony of Manette’s and my 24^th floor apartment at 58^th St. and Second Avenue in New York City.  Dad titled the photo for the Trojan Horse cover, at top left, "The Man in White."  If you look closely, you can see a man dressed completely in white jaywalking through the heavy traffic (he’s inside the “D” of “Lender” on the book’s cover).  The photo for the cover of The Gravy Train, at center, is about the same shot taken at night.  The Bull Street cover photo is at left, a night shot of the 59^th St. Bridge.

Hank Lender would have been 88 years old today.  Happy Birthday, Dad.

Writers

At 6:45 this morning it was cool enough, 70°, that I was able to run my 3 miles.  I needed it; this heat wave has kiboshed my exercise regimen: over 80° every morning.  I recorded my time, changed, and by 7:30 was outside in front of the pool, muscling the second half of my scene-by-scene outline for my latest novel, Vaccine Nation, with Styles, our pit bull, sharing half the lounge chair.  I had at least a few hours to work before the landscapers, a hoarde with weed whackers, leaf blowers and lawnmowers, would drive me inside from the two-cycle engine fumes and noise.  I'm halfway through the book at about 40,000 words.  Writing before I’ve finished the detailed outline of the whole book is an unusual way for me to work.  But months ago I had my benchmark critical points in the outline thought through, planned out all the scenes in the first half and wanted to get writing.  I've gone back to some of my old movies for ideas on structure, but I've still struggled with some holes in the second half of my story.


By late morning I'd made good progress with my outline, so I came back inside and dictated about 1,500 words into my Dragon voice-to-text software on my computer; critical scenes in chapters 9 and 10.  A decent day’s work.  At about 12:30 I walked into the kitchen.


Manette and Zac were walking back up Summit Avenue with Styles when they saw Peter mowing his lawn across the street.  He waved, made a display of shutting off the mower to emphasize the importance of the moment, known only to him, and started toward them, boney legs in shorts, glasses askew in his haste, his work gloves now in hand.  Manette was thinking Peter had obviously written something new he wanted to tell us about.  She watched him work his way through traffic across Summit Avenue like Woody Allen dodging lobsters while in pursuit of Diane Keaton in Annie Hall.  They talked for ten minutes, then Manette invited him for coffee.  He looked back at his idle lawnmower and said, "Just a little,” displaying an inch and a half between two fingers.


We’re currently reading Peter’s third-person memoir of his now-respectable friend, Santo, who wants to tell his saga, yet keep his distance from his Soprano-esque upbringing on the mean streets of Jersey City and Newark.  Santo’s story is told in independent vignettes, so shocking and starkly real that we know Peter didn't make them up because you can't make up stuff like that.  Santo relates each vignette to Peter over coffee at Starbucks one at a time, and then Peter goes to the public library to channel Santo longhand onto the page as clearly as he can remember. I'm helping Peter prepare the memoir for uploading a dozen vignettes at a time into Kindle.  Peter and his wife, Felicia, are successful, traditionally published children's book authors and illustrators.  Peter is also the guy who came up with a now famously ubiquitous ad campaign (Got Peter?).  So Peter and Felicia still do stints of advertising work for selected clients.  And Peter writes things that come into his head, as they come into it, like a dark children's book about scheming squirrels that plot to take over Easter (it ends badly for the Easter Bunny).  Like another book I'm helping him upload into Kindle, with the working title "Snapper," about a giant snapping turtle that terrorizes a town.  I can't figure out if it's young adult, paranormal or just creepy.


When I walked into the kitchen, Peter, Manette and Zac were seated around the marble-topped island.  I noted Peter’s shabby shorts, T-shirt and the fact he hadn't shaved.  Then I remembered my own appearance and smiled to myself.  When Manette offered coffee, Peter said, "No, really, I can't stay," and continued talking.  Zac prepared the coffee—we keep fresh-ground beans from Whole Foods wrapped in plastic in the freezer and use a French press—and the kitchen filled with the aroma of Brazil.  Peter's eyes went wide as Manette pulled out our "Abner" heavy cream, almost as thick as sour cream, prepared from raw, unpasteurized milk.  Abner is an Amish farmer who ships the stuff down from upstate New York once a week to our food guild.  "Well, maybe just a little coffee," Peter said, again showing an inch and a half between two fingers.  Manette poured him a full cup and he loaded two luxurious spoonfuls of Abner cream into it.  We talked about Santo’s memoir, Vaccine Nation, "Snapper" and other things.  Forty-five minutes later Peter asked if Manette's cell phone could make outgoing calls (he and Felicia don’t have a TV, on behalf of the kids—although they do love Mad Men and watch it on DVD—but Peter has a cell phone, so I don't know why he asked the question) and left a message for Felicia saying he'd be home in a few minutes.  He refilled his coffee cup, added more Abner cream. We kept talking.


Another forty-five minutes later Peter stood up and said, "I need to get home.  I think I'm probably in trouble."  As we stood saying our goodbyes, Peter launched into a description of another story he's writing, about a futuristic society where everyone is dumbed-down by taking some pill every day, and the quest of his hero to burst out of it.  He slowed down for a few moments and then got more animated, his eyes going wide behind his glasses, arms circling and hands gesturing.  "Have you finished this?" Manette asked at one point about fifteen minutes into the story.  I smiled to myself, knowing by that point Peter was making it up as he went along, because that was how he worked.


After I finished my coffee I went back to my outlining.

Reflections on the Past Months

It's now been over four months since I launched Trojan Horse. My attitude at the time was "What have I got to lose?" after deciding to commit myself to writing full-time and seeking out an agent to take the traditional publishing route. Since then a lot has happened for me. Trojan Horse made it to #1 in Spy Stories and Tales of Intrigue and to the top 15 in Kindle books. I released The Gravy Train, a 50 thousand-word novella, which is now #14 in Suspense Thrillers, and a week ago I released Bull Street, another thriller set on Wall Street during the financial crisis. Bull Street is now #29 in Suspense Thrillers. So I now have three books in the top 40 in the overall Thriller category on Kindle. I've had an offer of representation from a top-notch New York literary agent and, separately, have been offered a publishing deal. I'm at work on my next thriller, the first chapter of which is excerpted at the end of Bull Street. I consider it's been a successful few months.

As a result, I'm reflecting on my situation. I'm grateful to be in this position, one I never could have scripted back in mid-January when I released Trojan Horse. And that means I'm grateful to those who've read my books. Those of you I've heard from have been incredibly supportive and generous with your comments and reviews.

I feel like I've only scratched the surface in my education on the epublishing world, but I do know that it's here to stay and will undoubtedly dominate the publishing world reasonably soon, in years, not decades. It's made it possible for me to have three books out in less time than I would have needed to find a publisher--and then start the 12 to 18 month process of getting one book out. The advent of the Kindel, Nook, Smashwords and Kobo platforms allows an efficient mechanism for authors to get their work in front of readers quickly.

I don't know where all this takes me but I have a pretty good idea: I'm working as hard as I ever have in my life, and as an investment banker I worked hard; it's a punishing career. But now I have a constituency out there--readers--that I don't want to let down, so I feel like I need to deliver more you'll enjoy reading. I'm excited about Bull Street; it's my favorite of the books I've written so far. It's been a great few months and I'm looking forward to what comes next.