Selling a novel in a glutted market is a tough proposition. One important part of my marketing plan for Sins in Blue involved a series of blog posts. Rather than bludgeon people with a hard sell, I thought I’d write a series of thoughtful articles on the novel’s themes. I’d drive traffic to my homepage by promoting the blog posts on Facebook, both through the use of ads and by posting in Blues groups I’d joined. I asked illustrator and friend Wade Dillon to do some original art for the posts.
Sonny Terry
But things don’t always work out as planned. Facebook rejected my ads because they discussed social issues (clearly a faux pas), failing to recognize that my purpose was to sell books. The Blues groups I joined rejected the articles because they had rules against self-promotion, regardless of the issues I discussed. Fair enough. I can’t have it both ways (though I see the irony of not being able to have it either way).
The sad part is, I have access to these wonderful pieces of art, suddenly irrelevant to my novel’s promotion efforts. It occurred to me that I should post them anyway, if only to share.
Paul Simon
I’ve known Wade since he was a kid living in Texas. Now, he’s a professional illustrator who channels thoughts and ideas into visual art. I am particularly partial to the picture of Billie Holiday, though every piece is frame-worthy.
As for my novel, give it a thought. I think it’s my best. (Link to the right.)
Singer Billie Holiday was a known drug user. Harry Anslinger, commissioner of the Federal Bureau of Narcotics, was a known racist. Anslinger believed that drugs caused black artists to “step out of line.” One song of Billie’s particularly offended him and he ordered Holiday not to perform it. When she refused, he had his men sell her heroin in order to arrest her. After she spent a year and a half in prison, the feds declined to renew her cabaret license, ending her career as a nightclub singer.[i]
Holiday did not stop performing—she could sell out Carnegie Hall, always performing the song that offended Anslinger. When she fell back to her heroin habit, ending up in a New York City hospital, he sent his men to handcuff her to the bed, forbidding the doctors to treat her. She died within days.[ii]
An ugly, heartbreaking story. But one that I’m using to introduce a complex, politically charged topic, which explains my segue from Billie Holiday to the slogan, “Buy American.”
Consider Toyota trucks. The company is Japanese owned. The Tundra, a full-sized pickup, is manufactured in Texas. A 2012 study revealed that, for example, Chevrolet’s Silverado had considerably less American materials than did the Tundra.[iii] So, is the truck American or Japanese?
And consider tariffs, meant to protect American manufacturing. In the late 1980s, Ronald Reagan imposed a huge tariff on Japanese-manufactured crystal display screens. One of the first casualties to this protectionist move was American computer manufacturers. The Japanese product was a necessary component of this country’s computers. The tariff raised prices, and American sales plummeted. This isn’t just the law of unintended consequences in action—this is an illustration of the difficulty of sorting out elements of origin.
It’s simple enough to say, “Buy American,” but when examining all things human, anomalies abound. We humans are messy and intertwined. Claims of purity are phony. Adults know this. Children and ideologues do not.
“Race theorists, who are as old as imperialism itself, want to achieve racial purity in peoples whose interbreeding, as a result of the expansion of world economy, is so far advanced that racial purity can have meaning only to a numbskull.”
― Wilhelm Reich, The Mass Psychology of Fascism
Now, consider the great American music form that traces its roots to West African tradition and slavery. Call and response, polyrhythms, blue notes and field hollers led directly to what we now call the blues.[iv]
But the blues had European influences as well.
The harmonica, a mainstay instrument of the blues, was invented in Vienna, Austria. The tuning (as well as the blow-and-draw mechanism) was invented by Joseph Richter in 1826. A German clock maker, Matthias Hohner, began producing harmonicas and shipping them to the United States in 1857. The instrument was immediately popular. Abraham Lincoln carried a harmonica in his pocket throughout the Civil War.[v]
Likewise, the guitar comes from Europe, credited to Spanish guitar maker Antonio Torres Jurado.[vi]
The twelve-bar progression is also European. Bob Brozman, the guitarist and ethnomusicologist, characterizes the blues as “a hand-built compromise between the modal music of Africa and the diatonic (chord changes) music of Europe.”[vii]
White blues players contributed to the music. Author Imran Rahman-Jones notes that playing the blues was “one of the only times whites and blacks would mix.”[viii]
My novel, Sins in Blue, explores themes of cultural appropriation. It’s my sense that the current debate suffers from the same problem as tariffs and Toyota trucks. The quest for purity, racial or cultural, is essentially flawed. Claims of cultural appropriation presuppose pure origins. And pure origins aren’t common, either in the creative process or the human condition.
Blues themes of love, injustice, and whiskey are not limited to one race. As for the element of slavery, music conveys things that words can’t. Perhaps there’s a different kind of awareness to be had for musicians who look beyond the three chords.
Which brings me back to Billie Holiday. Consider her iconic song, “Strange Fruit”—the piece that Anslinger hated. Imagine the courage necessary to risk everything for a song! Playing to pitch-dark rooms with a single spotlight on her face, Holiday placed America’s shame center stage:
Southern trees bear a strange fruit
Blood on the leaves and blood at the root
Black bodies swinging in the southern breeze
Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees[ix]
The songwriter was Abel Meeropol, a white, Jewish-American man born in the Bronx. He taught English at DeWitt Clinton for seventeen years. His inspiration for the song was a historical photograph that disturbed him. During his lifetime, he never visited the Deep South.[x]
The Holiday/Meeropol collaboration has since been covered by other musicians including Nina Simone, Jeff Buckley, and Siouxsie and the Banshees. Those embracing diversity might well consider that trio of artists to be a just measure of Billie Holiday’s triumph.
Note: The beautiful depiction of Billie Holiday is the work of Wade Dillon, a professional illustrator living in Texas. (https://www.wadedillonart.com/.)
[iii] “What Percentage of Your Truck Is Made in America?” PickupTrucks.com, news.pickuptrucks.com/2012/03/what-percentage-of-your-truck-is-made-in-america.html.
The story goes that Willie’s stepmother was sleeping around. Willie’s father caught her with another man and beat her. Seven-year-old Willie Johnson became collateral damage—his stepmother splashed Willie in the eyes with lye water, blinding him for life. Another story places the blame for his blindness on gazing at a solar eclipse. Both stories might be true.
Blind Willie Johnson was born in 1897 in Pendleton, Texas. His father gave him a cigar box guitar when he was five. Willie began his musical journey playing church hymnals. After he lost his sight, Willie met another blind preacher/vocalist (Madkin Butler) who probably had an influence on his style.
That style included slide guitar skills (often performed with a pocketknife), a harsh “chest voice” (lower register singing with thick, low, warm tones), and an evangelical bent. Willie did most of his singing on street corners, which explains his vocal style—the sound was meant to travel outdoors without a microphone.
Willie’s recording career included 30 songs. His unique style caught the attention of blues critic Edward Abbe Niles, who praised his “violent, tortured, and abysmal shouts and groans, and his inspired guitar playing.”
Though Willie’s records sold reasonably well, the Great Depression finished his financial hopes. With no money and few prospects, he moved back to Texas to run a house of prayer. A fire burned his home, but he stayed on in the ruins, eventually contracting malarial fever. The death certificate listed syphilis and blindness as contributing factors.
In the 1960s, Johnson’s music was recorded by Led Zeppelin, Bob Dylan, and Eric Clapton. When Carl Sagan and his team selected music for the Voyager probe in 1977, Willie’s “Dark Was the Night, Cold Was the Ground” was among the 27 songs chosen to represent the human experience.
The protagonist of my novel, Sins in Blue, is named Willie Johnson, too. I chose the name because of an off-color joke I wanted to tell. Discovering the story of the real Willie, a gospel blues giant, did not dissuade me from using the name. The Blues is replete with name repetition. (One famous example—two men performed with the name Sonny Boy Williamson. Both were great harmonica players.) I liked the idea of multiple Willie’s—mine being a secondary figure, tucked into the back pages of Blues history.
As for the real Willie, I hope you’ll follow the link and take a listen to the man.
Note: This is one of a series of articles about that great American art form, the Blues. The illustrations were done by Wade Dillon, a professional illustrator who lives in Texas. You can find Wade at https://www.wadedillonart.com/.
I used to haunt a little record store across from Colorado State University in Fort Collins, Colorado. Back in the day, I’d sift through stacks of vinyl, looking for something good. One afternoon, I found a four-song EP by bluesman Sonny Terry. My first thought was that I’d found a collector’s item, and might turn the record for a profit. That impression was reinforced when another shopper spotted the EP in my hand, and asked if he could please have it!
I didn’t know what was coming. Back in my basement apartment, I put the disc on my turntable. The first song was Women’s Blues (Corinna). I heard a lyric line that, on the face of it, might seem nonsensical. That isn’t how I took it. The words and the soulful vocal, backed by some killer harmonica licks, simply blew me away:
I ain’t got no sweet potato/frost done killed the vine/Blues ain’t nothing/but a little Corinna on my mind.
Who can tell what will resonate in advance? Those lines started a lifelong love affair with the blues.
Sonny Terry was born Saunders Teddell (or Terrell) in Greensboro, Georgia (1911). Injuries suffered as a teen took his sight, so he learned music to be able to make a living. In the 1930s, he established a partnership of sorts with a guitarist named Blind Boy Fuller. When Fuller died, Terry linked up with Brownie McGhee. Over the next two decades, the pair made a name for themselves among both blues and folk artists.
Terry’s harmonica style featured a lot of whooping between notes, a trick best featured on the video that follows. (Lost John was another of the four songs on my little EP.) The breath control Terry demonstrates is mind-boggling.
It shouldn’t surprise anyone that after listening to Sonny Terry, I spent a while trying to learn blues harp. Like my subsequent guitar adventures, I learned just how little talent I had for music.
But as with my love for baseball, my obsession with the blues led to a novel.
Sins in Blue(Black Rose Writing) tells the story of a Depression-era blues guitarist hoping to be “rediscovered” in the 1960s. The novel released today, and is available on Amazon.
Given that my novels tend to come out of personal fixation, I thinkSins in Blue can trace its lineage straight back to a four-song EP hidden in the bargain bin of a long-ago record store. For that, and for the music, I’ll be forever grateful to Mr. Terry and his blues harp.
Note: This is one of a series of articles about that great American art form, the Blues. The illustrations were done by Wade Dillon, a professional illustrator who lives in Texas. You can find Wade at https://www.wadedillonart.com/.
Dread Tribunal of Last Resort (Five Star/Cengage) is now available for pre-order at both Amazon.com and Barnes & Noble.
Decker Brown is a proud young Virginian, educated in Boston, with plans to manufacture illuminations (fireworks) and raise a family. He loves Paula Crane, the daughter of the flour mill owner. When the country is divided by Civil War, their loyalty to each other is put to the ultimate test. Decker believes in the Republic’s promise of liberty, while Paula can’t fathom taking up arms against her friends and neighbors. Decker struggles to protect his dreams from a catastrophic war that will cost more than half a million lives. What happens when the runaway train of history shatters every hope for the future? Even as postwar Richmond rebuilds, Decker Brown faces his most important challenge…building a new life from the rubble of war.
“Brian Kaufman’s Dread Tribunal of Last Resort is historical fiction like none other… I have nothing but love for this book.” (Four stars out of four) ~Online Book Club
“Dread Tribunal of Last Resort is an extremely well-written and well-researched page turner…Kaufman brings in the unexpected perspectives of the slaves, the women, and those other conflicted individuals caught in the middle…”~Peter Bridgford, author of Where Eagles Dare Not Perch
Sins in Blueis available for pre-order at Amazon.com.
A young man on a mission. An aging musician with a dream. Society perched over a racial divide.
It’s the 1960s, and nothing reflects the cultural revolution more than music. When Kennedy Barnes, a runaway teen, stumbles upon a rock and roll song recorded by a blues musician in the 1930s, he heads west in search of the man behind the music.
Willie Johnson, ex-bluesman, is a motel laundry worker with a bad hip and a dark past. When Kennedy arrives with the promise of riches, Willie wonders if he’s finally getting his shot at the big time. But is fame worth the cost of dredging up past sorrows?
Sins in Blue is a novel about lost dreams, crippling grief, and the healing power of an unlikely friendship.
“Like that song, the story will play in your head unbidden. This story – it rocks!” ~Miriam Molina, Online BookClub
“Sins in Blue is a poignant, gripping tale of shattered hopes and dreams and the ultimate acceptance that life goes on.” ~Pat Stoltey, author of Wishing Caswell Dead
“Kaufman’s prose is textured and full of personality.” ~Kirkus Reviews
For those of you who follow my writing, 2020 will be an interesting year. Two new books are coming from two different publishing houses.
First up is Sins in Blue (May 2020, Black Rose Writing). Young Kennedy Barnes pins his hope for fame on Willie Johnson, a bluesman who may (or may not) have invented rock and roll. The story unfolds in two timelines—The Great Depression and Fort Collins in 1969.
“Like that song, the story will play in your head unbidden. This story – it rocks!” ~Online BookClub
“Sins in Blue is a poignant, gripping tale of shattered hopes and dreams and the ultimate acceptance that life goes on.”
~Pat Stoltey, author of Wishing Caswell Dead
Next up is Dread Tribunal of Last Resort (July 2020, Cengage/Five Star Publishing). Decker Brown is a proud young Virginian, educated in Boston, with plans to manufacture illuminations—fireworks—and raise a family. He loves Paula Crane, the daughter of the flour mill owner. When the country is divided by Civil War, their loyalty to each other is put to the ultimate test. Decker believes in the Republic’s promise of liberty, while Paula can’t fathom taking up arms against her friends and neighbors.
Decker struggles to protect his dreams from a catastrophic war that will cost more than half a million lives. What happens when the runaway train of history shatters every hope for the future? Even as post-war Richmond rebuilds, Decker Brown faces his most important challenge—building a new life from the rubble of war.
“Brian Kaufman’s Dread Tribunal of Last Resort is historical fiction like none other… I have nothing but love for this book.”
~Online Book Club
Dread Tribunal of Last Resort is an extremely well-written and well-researched page turner…Kaufman brings in the unexpected perspectives of the slaves, the women, and those other conflicted individuals caught in the middle…
~Peter Bridgford, author of Where Eagles Dare Not Perch
I’m pleased to preview the cover for Sins in Blue, a historical novel about a Depression-era blues guitarist. The book will be available in both hardback and softback editions from Black Rose Writing.
Here’s some back cover text to give you an idea of what’s in store for readers:
A young man on a mission. An aging musician with a dream. Society perched over a racial divide.
It’s the 1960s, and nothing reflects the cultural revolution more than music. When Kennedy Barnes, a runaway teen, stumbles upon a rock and roll song recorded by a blues musician in the 1930s, he heads west in search of the man
Willie Johnson, ex-bluesman, is a motel laundry worker with a bad hip and a dark past. When Kennedy arrives with the promise of riches, Willie wonders if he’s finally getting his shot at the big time. But is fame worth the cost of dredging up past sorrows?
Sins in Blue is a novel about lost dreams, crippling grief, and the healing power of an unlikely friendship.
Tracing the roots of my love affair with books, I come back to my mother and father. Let me tell you about some of their tricks.
Those of you with children have surely had this shopping experience: “Mom, will you buy this for me?” It almost doesn’t matter what “this” is. Kids don’t want to go home empty-handed. My clever mom always said yes. But she said yes to books.
I recall going to a drug store late at night. I was probably eight or nine. Back then, drugstores had a toy aisle. I’m sure I found something I wanted. Instead, I walked out with a book on rockets. Years later, I still remember the book, because the excellent illustrations, and because it introduced me to physics—my first attempt (mostly without success) at working my way through concepts like trajectory and escape velocity.
Books for Christmas? Yes. Birthdays, too.
Both Mom and Dad read to us. A long car trip meant a new book. The one that really struck home was George Orwell’s Animal Farm. Again, I was fairly young—no more than nine. I was fascinated by this animal story with a moral.
The scene that hit me was when noble Boxer tried to break his way out of the horse van as the pigs shipped him off to the glue factory. Even now, when I hear the word “betrayal,” I think of poor Boxer.
I don’t know if Dad “abridged” the story as he read. Probably not, knowing him. I recall a mention of the Russian Revolution, but only in passing. When I was in junior high, I read the book myself and realized that Orwell was talking about totalitarianism, not barnyards. In high school, I read the book again and understood the allegorical elements. Snowball was Trotsky? Napoleon was Stalin? My mind boggled.
Finally, there were the trips to the library every Monday night with my father. I checked out seven books a week—one for each day. No subject was off-limit. When I was twelve, I started reading psychology texts. Who knows why? I went from subject to subject, like surfing the net. When we finished mining the home town library, we started making the long trip to the Cleveland Public Library—a dark, sprawling nightmare of a building that steered me from science fiction to horror (for which I am grateful).
Dad worked sixty-hour weeks, and time was dear. But so, apparently, were us kids.
Both Mom and Dad are gone now, but my love of books will continue. I used some of the same tricks with my own kids. Even now, everyone gets a book for Christmas…just me, passing on the addiction.
Tracing the gateway drugs to my reading addiction, I give a nod to classic series chapter books written for young readers. I’m going to mention three series that I devoured. Two of them were mysteries (it’s a wonder I didn’t end up writing cozies). The third was a sports series.
The Hardy Boys Mysteries were created by Edward Stratemeyer in 1926. The book that captured me was the first in the series (The Tower Treasure). The fact that the climax occurred in a railroad yard (another obsession of mine) didn’t hurt. The series is interesting because the books, originally written by ghostwriters, were rewritten (dumbed down) for the modern reader in the late fifties in order to compete with television. The language was simplified and some of the richer descriptions were truncated or cut. I believe I read the edited versions.
The Happy Hollisters was a series about a family of amateur sleuths. The series was written by Andrew Svenson under the pen name Jerry West. I think I was eight or nine when I started reading the books, and the ten-year-old girl in the story, Pamela, was my first literary crush. I often wondered if there was a real girl behind the fiction, and in researching this blog, I discovered that Pamela was based on Svenson’s daughter Laura.
Bronc Burnett stories involved a New Mexico teen with a rocket arm, pitching for his high school team. The team enters a tourney sponsored by the American Legion. Each book covered a different level of the tourney, culminating in a national championship. Subsequent books covered exhibition series against the Mexican champions, Canadian champions…
Each story had a moral—my introduction to a story’s theme. Twenty-eight tales were authored by Wilfred McCormick. I generally stuck to the baseball stories, though the football stories were good, too.
I don’t suppose these stories would matter to the modern reader. I grew up in a gee-whiz world, where families that solved crimes together stayed together, and the guy that won the game in the ninth inning was the one with moral courage. No matter. I cherish the books, and a representative of each series sits on my keeper shelf in a place of honor.
Singer Billie Holiday was a known drug user. Harry Anslinger, commissioner of the Federal Bureau of Narcotics, was a known racist. Anslinger believed that drugs caused black artists to “step out of line.” One song of Billie’s particularly offended him and he ordered Holiday not to perform it. When she refused, he had his men sell her heroin in order to arrest her. After she spent a year and a half in prison, the feds declined to renew her cabaret license, ending her career as a nightclub singer.
The story goes that Willie’s stepmother was sleeping around. Willie’s father caught her with another man and beat her. Seven-year-old Willie Johnson became collateral damage—his stepmother splashed Willie in the eyes with lye water, blinding him for life. Another story places the blame for his blindness on gazing at a solar eclipse. Both stories might be true.
Dread Tribunal of Last Resort
I’m pleased to preview the cover for Sins in Blue, a historical novel about a Depression-era blues guitarist. The book will be available in both hardback and softback editions from Black Rose Writing.